I am surprisingly fond of Fabius. An unwieldy character who is allowed by his main author to fail spectacularly and still grow. He's one of the few standout Warhammer protagonists who undergoes any real development.
And of course he's a fucking sarcastic, egomaniacal asshole. Completely justifiably hated by his countless enemies (most of them his brothers) and often by his very few friends. A synonym for indifferent cruelty and ruthlessness in achieving his goals.
But one thing he is never - boring!
So here now is my look through his eyes (and through those of his consortium) at the dark world of … hmmm … probably not 41st millennium. I'm deliberately keeping the time vague so I can use all the characters I want. I mix times (I want Saqqara to have a Keeper of Secrets in the bottle already! That's too funny!) and use as a location the crummy Crone World, where the Consortium was reasonably comfortable at its best - so ignore quite a few events then. Otherwise I stay as close to the canon as possible. Fortunately, the lore is vague and full of holes, so I have room to spread out.
In this attached post I will gradually introduce the protagonists so that people who have not yet read the Fabius Trilogy know who these people are.
Lieutenant Commander Fabius Bile
The Clonelord, vehement atheist and constantly angry at his gene sire and his brothers - while just as constantly helping them out and being dependant on them. It's complicated.
He is using cloned bodies to avoid the effects of something that may look like the Blight that nearly wiped out the Third Legion before Fulgrim was found. But it isn't - it's something entirely different.
When he starts using a body he looks like a "more vulpine" (his words) version of Fulgrim.
The Chirurgeon
Designed by Fabius to help him with his work, the Chirurgeon has developed some kind of consciousness over the many centuries in the Eye of Terror and is even sometimes sneaking off to hunt serfs for sport and to reproduce. Yes, there are baby-Chirurgeons somewhere and they are dangerous.
Saqqara Ur-Damak Thresh
A Word Bearers Diabolist, sent to assassinate Fabius. Got caught and Fabius implantet a bomb into his chest that will go off if the Clonelord dies a permanent death. Saqqara acts as Fabius' bodyguard against threats from the Warp and is constantly trying to bring the light of the Gods to his employer/captor. Waldorf to Arrian's Statler. Hated by Fabius' brothers, because slaaneshi (and every other) demons love him and are drawn to him.
(he normally shaves his head and has black hair. This is just him being edgy)
Arrian Zorzi
The World Eaters no longer need Apothecaries, so Arrian left his brothers behind and joined the Consortium. He's the only Astartes of the 12th Legion able to suppress the influence of the nails with a selfmade concoction. He killed his squad way back on Terra and is carrying their skulls with him - and talking to them. And they answer. He's Fabius' bodyguard against physical threats and hates Khorne with a passion - which may be a bit ironic.
He loves arguing with Saqqara for reasons entirely his own.
Oleander Koh
Terran Emperor's Children Apothecary and one of Fabius' star pupils. He fancies himself a gifted politician and diplomat, but he's mostly wrong. He really wants the Third Legion to rise to glory again and works to unite the bickering warlords and to motivate the unwilling Fabius to take up the mantle of leadership. He spents a significant part of his time away from the Consortium to pursue his own goals.
Khorag Sinj and Paz'uz
Blessed by Nurgle the Death Guard no longer has need for Apothecaries. But Khorag wanted to continue pursuing his craft and expand his knowledge, so he left his Legion and joined the Consortium to act as Fabius' specialist for poisons and handcrafted viruses. With him came Paz'uz - the grace of Nurgle manifest. A rather friendly, playful, yet deadly demon-"dog".
Herik Stymphalos
An Emperor's Children Apothecary Herik got obsessed with avian creatures way before the desaster on Terra. At first he experimented on prisoners to produce winged humans, but then he expanded his scientific field by giving himself wings, too. He is still losely affliated with the Consortium and is still conducting experiments for and with Fabius, but most of his time is spent on the backwater planet of Holvall in his giant aviary. Doing bird-stuff.
The Venerable Diomat
Chaos Contemptor Dreadnought of the 12th Milennial. Now serving the Chief Apothecary. Very aggressive and senile, he is kept asleep most of the time. For some reason he really likes Fabius.
Duco
A Night Lords Apothecary tasked with most of the search-and-destroy-stuff that sometimes comes up. As with a lot of his brothers he isn't the most approachable person. He likes to hang out with Herik, because they both have a kind of outsider view on the Consortium.
if your necromancer is digging that is NOT cute. they only exhume bodies when they're extremely stressed. a proper well-enriched necromancer is provided with enemies to kill and reanimate on a regular basis and will make their enemies claw out their own graves as a play behavior.
alternatively you might have a mad scientist that was sold as a necromancer. this is sadly very common but the two breeds actually have very different habitat requirements
Matriarch Khornelia is thriving and well! She may be way past the normal life span for geese, but since her appearance on Urum was as unexpected as it was mysterious, that's just another oddity concerning this extraordinary waterfowl.
Hey, sent back your Beast of Nurgle. I couldn't find the cheese assassin but supposedly Trazyn found the poor bastard. Your Beast of Nurgle has been fed but I fear that he may have gotten an energy drink of mine prior before being sent back. Sorry if he's got the zoomies
(I think this ask was meant for the Consortium)
The splashing and snorting can be heard from afar. Added to this is the popping of slime bubbles and the occasional scratching of claws.
Those who live in the Eye of Terror quickly learn to recognise and distinguish the typical sounds of manifested demons.
This particular soundtrack belongs to a Beast of Nurgle: deadly dangerous when it gets close, easy to avoid if you are able to walk briskly in another direction. Since Duco, as his father's son, also considers the walls and ceilings to be perfectly walkable, the Night Lords Apothecary remains calm and only turns around to keep an eye on the demon in case it wants to spit on him.
… and is therefore completely surprised when Paz'uz is practically standing right behind him already! The wet, slimy barking is interspersed with bits of cheese, causing Duco to instinctively take a step back. Actually, Khorag's monster is not hostile towards the rest of the Consortium, and Paz'uz is not in his war form either. Nevertheless, the sudden appearance and the usual stench are enough to make the Night Lord take another step back. And then another.
Paz'uz barks again and spits out something that could be a chewed-up mechanical scarab. Duco squints his eyes. What is that cylindrical object floating around in the demon's transparent torso?
But his thoughts are interrupted by an astonishingly loud ‘Paz'uuuuuz! Baaaaby, where have you been all this time?!’ and Khorag pushes him aside, unstoppable like continental drift, to get to his pet.
Duco grins, shrugs his shoulders and decides to take a visit at the goose colony in Diomat's crypt. Apparently, it's pet time.
It is never truly quiet on Urum.
The ticking and clacking of medical devices and cogitors, the soft, organic sounds. The less soft organic sounds. The rustling of the Vatborn in the walls and the cries of the patients. All of this creates a living, breathing tapestry of sound that is as familiar to the members of the Consortium as the beating of their hearts.
And in this absence of silence, a soft smack of cheese on a gelatinous surface goes almost unnoticed.
Engrossed in conversation, the Chief Apothecary and Khorag Sinj wander down the corridor. Their attention is entirely focused on their topic.
And yet Fabius pauses as they pass Paz'uz, who is sitting in an alcove. looking innocent and unhelpful.
Fabius blinks irritadely.
‘Has the monster always had that yellow slice on its head?’
But before Khorag can answer, the cheese has disappeared inside the Nurgle demon’s skin. Absorbed by eternal decay.
Both scientists shrug and return to their conversation.
A bubble rises inside Paz’uz and bursts greenish in the air.
There’s also @depressedperpetual for an honestly interesting story.
Now, these are all varying levels of in-character blogs, but they all have their own little fun quirks and storylines. Fulgrimfanboy has got the hots for Iron Warriors, and is currently tracking one down. Adeptus Arbites Official is run by Arbitrator Helracht in the Morningstar above Atoma and has committed to the bit and character wholeheartedly. Solar Chiton Public Relations is a Tau radio station in the middle of nowhere. Tired Administratum Clerk is fresh from the 41st millennium, no notes, they will die before breaking character.
This blog is more accurate towards what Roboute's mental state should be after 500 years of trying to fix things. Some things at least on the Macragge's Honour are how he wishes to be, an idyllic reflection of 30k, he himself is not well.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 16 is up!
Read about thrown fruit of questionable shape, Saqqara not getting that denial is a river in Egypt (despite his name), Narvo being a dick (just a tiny bit) and Erebus and Fabius taking the heroic way out (despite both of them hating heroics).
Written by the lovely @legiopraesagio, who, as always, did the most wonderful job in adding obscure colchisian religious texts! Really, if GW ever decides to publish excerpts of Lorgar's writing ... that's your author right here! 😁
I just think having that cute word bearer hug me as hard as he could would fix a lot of my problems. Ya know? Throwing in that world eater and making it a sandwich could fix all of them.
While about 95% of his brothers and 100% of the 12th Millenial wouldn't call Saqqara cute, there's an overwhelming majority of demons voting otherwise! They love him, want to squeeze him and lick his whole body to the bones.
( @tired-space-politician ) An iteration of Cawl scuttles suspiciously around, they are where they should not be without permission.
"Query: Do you have data collections on your primarch cloning experiments? I wish to test things and Guilliman's genetics are insufficient."
The quiet thud with which the drone lands in the ruin-strewn sand of Urum goes unnoticed at first. But its scurrying around among the stumps of the old towers, the rolling of stones and the soft, irritated clicking attracts curious eyes.
First, the mutant birds, which, in never-ending hope of everything being edible, dive down on the mechanical thing to try to put it entirely in their mouth-beaks (without success and forced to retreat by a few electric shocks, accompanied by disgruntled cawing). Then the hunters of these hunters. A few packs of Gland Hounds gather in empty window cavities. More curious than aggressive. Their alert eyes follow the movement of the drone, which now marches purposefully towards the next entrance to the research complex. Quiet laughter. Mayasha raises a modified crossbow, but Igori simply raises her hand and the weapon is lowered.
The matriarch of the Gland Hounds taps her Vox Bead. ‘A mechanical visitor, Benefactor. Here's a picture. What should we do with it?’
The grey, pixelated image of the creature with its many metal protuberances whizzes through the ether. Seconds of silence. Then the weary voice of the Pater Mutatis: ‘It was only a matter of time before he showed up here. Let him through and make sure none of my brothers or students try to collect or destroy him.’
And so, after half an hour of wandering around the Consortium's sprawling complex, the mechanical marvel arrives at the Chief Apothecary's laboratory.
Behind it it leaves a happy Paz'uz, who wanted to ingest the clicking thing, but was cleverly distracted by the Gland Hounds with the carcass of one of the mutants, which smelled absolutely delicious to him, and a hysterically laughing Bellephus, who didn't even need to be distracted because he found the thing itself incredibly amusing (it's pretty certain that drugs were involved).
Fabius eyes Cawl (because pars pro toto applies here too and he totally respects anybody able to divide their conscious to gain more reach) morosely for a while. Of course, his facial expressions leave no impression whatsoever.
He crosses his arms and the Chirurgeon leans forward over his shoulders, clicking and clanking curiously.
Finally, Cawl speaks.
"Query: Do you have data collections on your primarch cloning experiments? I wish to test things and Guilliman's genetics are insufficient."
‘So, this is actually a purely collegial visit, hm?’ He raises his narrow eyebrows. ‘And who claims that I allowed the primarch of the thirteenth to mature in my test tubes to such an extent that the deliberate flaws in his construction could have become apparent?’
To deny having cloned him at all would be an insult to both scientists present.
Cawl cared not for the hinderences in their way. It was convenient that the path was cleared. Elimination of the Chirurgeon's party would be impolite and hostile, leading to suboptimal interactions.
"Stock is missing Chirurgeon Fabius Bile. Trayzen is the largest suspect. You have rumours of dealings with him. Too many lilac decorative items were scanned during permitted visitation.
Own supplies of Guilliman: adequate. Pure supply of Fulgrim, Konrad, and Horus: Inadequate."
The many limbs shift beneath the blood spattered but well embroidered cloak. The blood is mostly old, and definitely not theirs. Out comes a very well sealed chamber. "Suggestion: trade. Offer: Care guide on growing Roboute and heart failure anticipatory signs. Recieve: Samples of available primarch stock, data or organic."
They shift uncomfortably, like a millipede wanting to shed its shell but it was not quite ready. "Warning: Roboute Guilliman precious, failure of care... continued existence failure. Proof:" out of some depth of their arms a holo streams out the battle of Mortarion vs Guilliman and the explosive golden conclusion. "Continued existence failure primarily for enemy, perceived or otherwise."
The Chief Apothecary prides himself on controlling his emotions, unlike his brothers, and normally he doesn't let surprise creep into his expression. But this suggestion comes unexpected.
He blinks, shrugs his shoulders, and the subtle cracking of his vertebrae reveals the advanced state of the Blight, which has once again begun to render a body useless. He takes his time, scrutinising the ticking creature in front of him. He is used to Hereteks, having employed several of them on the Vesalius, and they also have their workshops and horror filled laboratories on Urum. He tolerates their strange religion, their fetishisation of demons for their usefulness. He has not had anything to do with one of the representatives of the Adeptus Mechanicus (if Cawl still considers himself part of this cult at all!) for several centuries. He has completely forgotten that the original branch of the Martians is just as bizarre as their counterparts in the Eye of Terror.
Fabius taps his chin thoughtfully with a long, slender index finger. ‘Do I understand correctly… You want me to raise a clone of Guilliman, and in return I will receive uncorrupted gene-seed from the Third, Eighth and Sixteenth Legion?’ He tilts his head and smiles a humourless smile. "At present, I enjoy the luxury of Abaddon ignoring me because I supply him with monsters for his ever-expanding ventures. But if he finds out that I'm raising our unloved uncle here, that tolerance would surely reach its limits very quickly. I can do without having a Black Legion fleet in orbit. So how do you propose to keep such an undertaking secret? I have complete faith in my staff – but I'm under no illusion that the Warmaster has surveillance here that I haven't yet found. Can your cabinet of technical curiosities guarantee security in this regard?"
He turns halfway around, pointing behind him to the passageway to his private laboratory. ‘I could set it up on the Vesalius and hide it more easily if we keep moving. But there I have fewer options for responding to unexpected emergencies. With Fulgrim, I took the risk because I had no choice, but in principle I prefer to be able to use all my equipment.’
For a singular instant, a fraction of a moment, all of Belisarius Cawl focused on Fabius Bile. And then the unrelenting focus faded like mist under the harsh sun. "Partially correct. Prepare materials for an additional body. Not a clone in full. Seperate organs are easier to hide in plain sight. In exchange, a solution to your genetic damage. Primaris of partial mix proven stable." The last sliver of a remaining emotional side snipped through "Your little brothers suffer not due to my care. Loyalty to Roboute is thus given." Cawl cared not for the Emperor nor mankind, only Roboute.
"Additional trade offer, instruction on stabilisation procedures in exchange for geneseed of Konrad Curze, Horus, and Fulgrim." If Belisarius could squeeze even an ounce of favour, a microgram of trust, out of Fabius and place it in Roboute they would consider it an immense victory.
Fabius frowns and cracks his knuckles. His gaze wanders to the darker corners of the laboratory, where the Vatborn sit among the equipment and in alcoves, not only to satisfy their innate curiosity, but also to be ready in case they are needed. Their bright eyes sparkle in the light of the electric sparks and lumens.
"I haven't had anything to do with the Mechanicum for too long. My Hereteks have adapted; they are keen to be understood. I suspect you never had that need. Just like me, in your cosmos, you are the one whose habits everyone else follows. But here I need clearer statements. What do you want and what do you offer? You want a building kit for the 13th Primarch? And how do you intend to raise him without my laboratory? And you want gene seed from Fulgrim, Horus and – for whatever reason! – Curze? Or do you offer those? And in return, you think you can give me information about the disease I've been researching for ten thousand years?" Disbelief resonates all too tangibly in these statements.
A laugh that would have been a death rattle for another person. "Don't get me wrong – I want to get rid of this thing. It restricts me and is a constant nuisance that I have to deal with. And as you know, I am extremely reluctant to let my behaviour be dictated to me, least of all by my decaying body. But I wonder how you came across data relating to this phenomenon and what approach you are taking that I haven't already tried myself."
Wayward Son – Chapter 15: No gods, no kings, no rules
He doesn't want to admit it, but he can't really push it away.
In the back of his mind, there's a little thought telling him how good it is to fulfil his destiny. To be useful. To help. Primum non nocere. Good Astartes! Good Apothecarius.
Fabius growls in disgust. Straightens his shoulders anyway. Shakes his head and the Chirurgeon hums trivialities as he purposefully walks past the mutants looking up (down) at him in awe, places his gloved hand on the wall and searches for where the pipes run.
Behind him, he hears the voice of Erebus preaching to the small tribe of feral Homo sapiens. The Chief Apothecary deliberately blocks out the meaning from his perception – it would only annoy him. But he has to admit that the power and emotion that Erebus effortlessly puts into his words do not fail to have an effect on him either. The Dark Apostle has always had a silver tongue and, even without his sorcery, is one of the most powerful and dangerous creatures in the galaxy.
Fabius' fingers find the rivets that seal the maintenance hatch. He is not a Techmarine, having relied on the knowledge of Tzimiskes and the Hereteks for millennia, but this is simple. Repairing things that are so similar to a living organism. Replacing a heart valve - reattaching a pipe connection - what's the big difference? He falls into the rhythm of the work. He follows the pipes, humming quietly to himself, just as he does during operations on Urum. In a few minutes, he has repaired three of the inlets and the water begins to circulate through the hydroponic tanks again. Behind him, the mutants sing enthusiastically as they sacrifice one of the rat creatures under Erebus' guidance.
Fabius snorts. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose, if you believe the old Terran proverb. He straightens up, stretches his shoulders, cracks his knuckles, and sets about making the final, purely cosmetic repairs (he likes nice seams).
Yes, as always... Always … same … as it was …
He freezes. Looks up. The crackle of the voxbead in his helmet comes at the same second he opens a channel to Erebus. Both speak at the same time: ‘He has us...’ - ‘We fell for it...’ A brief silence. Then Erebus speaks again. Of course, speaking fast, speaking truth, spitting lies. ‘We should have seen it coming!’ - ‘That's his strength. You may pride yourself being a master manipulator, but Fulgrim has always got what he wanted.’ - ‘Well, let's disappoint him this time!’ - ‘Oh? What happened to “impressing the Primarch”?’ - ‘This is getting annoying.’
Another brief moment of silence. Only the singing of the mutants and the lapping of the water in the pools fill the room.
‘We've never followed rules before. The fact that we've started doing so now is, in a way, very embarrassing,’ Fabius finally remarks. A sigh from Erebus. "Yes, let's stop playing his game. Let's do our own thing. Let's no longer follow his labyrinth to whatever lurks at the end. Let's make our own destiny!"
Fabius laughs. ‘What has become of your belief in the gods?’ - ‘The gods help the active. The doers. Not the meek who do what they are told!’ - ‘When you put it that way, I could almost start taking these absurd monsters seriously.’ - ‘No, you never would, you damned atheist.’ - ‘Yes, you're right. So, what do we do to escape the levels of this game? Jump straight to the final boss or break out completely?’
Far away or just a breath away, on Callax, a murmur ripples through the audience. Fulgrim straightens up. His scales rattle menacingly. His silver hair slowly waves around his perfect face as if underwater.
Everyone sees that Erebus and Fabius have paused in what they were doing. But the private vox channel ensures that no one knows what they are discussing.
Kolos Undil allows himself a grin, despite his reverence for the beloved son of the youngest god. He knows what his superior looks like when he is planning something that will soon anger powerful people.
Arrian also leans forward tensely. He has been expecting the Chief Apothecary to do something for several minutes now. It looks like Fulgrim is in for a surprise. Well, whatever Fabius is planning, Arrian will be ready.
Apparently, the ‘demeaning comment’ bots have been unleashed on A03 again!
But in this case, it hit the RP fanfiction by @legiopraesagio and me, and it's so perfect that we should almost leave it be.
I mean, bot is not wrong!
Of course we took the most beloved, innocent characters in the universe and twisted them into the most hateful, sarcastic old war criminals you can imagine!
Why, thank you for noticing! 😁
The characters in question:
So, if you are intersted in Erebus and Fabius having an angry adventure:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
(we are not done, yet, of course. It's a work in progress.)
