Confrontation: Prologue

I'm travelling south today to take part in my first Warhammer 40k tournament this weekend - a doubles event by the name of '1st Confrontation Alliances'. I'll be travelling with my friend and regular gaming cohort Jody, who'll be fielding Hawk Lord Space Marines, while I'll be taking my Blood Angel successor chapter the Stigmata Seraphim, who will be detailed quite extensively here in time. I thought this would be a great chance to weave a narrative about some games and fit it somewhere into my overarching 40k timeline. So without further ado...

Timeline M41.999

In the year 998 of the 41st millenium, Librarius Dominus Perfecti Galadrian, Chapter Master of the Stigmata Seraphim and self-styled Lord of Angels, decreed the Protean Crusade and sent his chapter forth. He was met with consternation from the Conclave Perfectus - the Blood Angels, sire chapter to the Stigmata Seraphim in the dark and distant days that followed the Horus Heresy, had issued forth a call to arms, for the sacred homeworld of Baal itself was under threat. Yet Galadrian would brook no dissent and his authority was well entrenched by then - the holy mission of the Seraphim was of more import than even this, he declared - and so the crusaders went.

So did the Carnivore class cruiser of Librarius Epistollerus Zarathustra and his Confrontation Conclave leave the immaterial nightmare of the Warp and shudder back into the void of realspace. Long had his passage been to reach this point, long and violent and blood soaked, and now, as blast shields rumbled from port viewers, and sensor arrays flickered online to reveal the strobe-beat augur icons of a grinding warzone spread about them, he closed his eyes a moment, and sighed.
Zarathustra called for a report, an identification of combatants. The list that came back was long, and bewildering.

The Key of Assai, that would unlock the gates of the Palace of Woe, was within his grasp; it called to his psychically attuned mind, from somewhere out there, out amidst the carnage. Had it drawn this spiral of violence about itself? Did it wish to remain out of his reach? At the inception of the crusade he had hand selected a small strike force, veterans and specialists every one, representatives of the Conclaves of Shadow and Spite, of Fury and Air, and they had served him well. Yet they alone would not be enough to traverse the conflict about them.

"We will need allies, if we are to fulfill our purpose here," he mused.

A servitor drone hooked into the sensor galley announced the identification of an engaged Astartes Battlecruiser, a short distance out to port. Hawk Lords.

Zarathustra rubbed his chin. A fine and noble chapter; they would serve his needs well.

"Hail the Hawk Lord's vessel," he commanded, "offer our assistance."

"What should I tell them?" he was asked.

"Whatever they need to hear," the Librarian replied, "except for the truth..."