In the Grim, Dark Off-season…

…there is only conflict. Upon the blasted-out ruins of a forgotten peninsula, called Boca Raton in the Third Age, the thirty two Primarchs of the Shieldperium meet to decide what tactical changes must occur before the War begins in earnest once more in the months to come.

“Take your seats.” The halls of the chamber echoed with the power of the Red Hammer’s voice, and thirty two ceremonially armored figures fell silent and seated themselves at the massive, oblong slab of granite.

“I am here but as an observer for the Emperor, may He rule forever. Now converse, and finalize the modifications to the War that your forces may bring Him greater glory this cycle.”

Silence stretched on as the Primarchs regarded the Hammer. The automaton stood at the head of the table, its blank face unreadable. The Shieldperium’s crest stood out in brilliant red, silver and blue upon its armored chest. Each Primarch hated the Hammer in his own way. The wretched machine was essentially a puppet for the Primarchs, but it was necessary to grant it some semblance of power over the them. The Hammer was an invaluable bodyguard for the Emperor, but that did not ease the loathing directed towards it.

“Very well, then.” Primarch Bisc, clad in midnight purple and black, stood from his seat. “As Lord of the Raven Guard I propose that each grunt in the trenches, before becoming eligible for combat, must mark himself as eligible in a special red cloth hood and…”

“Sit down, Bisc!” Arthur the Blank’s battle scarred face crinkled with disdain as he spoke the words. “We’re here to consider serious propositions only.”

“Yes,” an eerie chorus of voices added. “We must always remember the safety of our legions is paramount.” Several Primarchs shifted in their seats as Ne’F Loener spoke. The being was a hivemind of all inhabitants of its home planet, Sheezhed.

“Safety? Safety?!” cried the Primarch adorned with glittering silver and blue stars. “By the Bells of Hells, my Legion’s a Chaos-damn STAR! Nothing can bring them down! Not even this preposterous Cee’Tee abomination. Corrupter of Minds? I don’t think he even exists and I’M FUCKING CRAZY!”

“The Emperor’s position, may His wisdom guide us, on the Chaos Being known as Cee’Tee, Corrupter of Minds, is that there is no connection to its influence and soldiers succumbing to battle lust so completely they lose all rational thought.”

A slurred voice leaked out of an iron-horned helm of deep blue and pure white. “Whaat? Did sssomeone ssssay sssomething about looosing rational thought?” The hiss of narcotic stimulants being administered by automated injector tubes in the Primarch’s armor punctuated each sentence. “Nuthin’ wrong wiith that.”

Arthur the Blank stood. “My Falcon Legion was particularly decimated by its rivals bringing them down from behind, pulling on the necks of their armor like godless cowards! Let us punish all those who would do such.”

A chorus of ascent spread around the table. A small figure dressed in the official robes of a Shieldperium Legislator approached the table from the shadowy periphery of the room. “Lords, may I make a suggestion?” The Primarchs turned to regard the newcomer.

“What is it Parliamentarian Blandino?”

“Deploying Chop Blocks should also be punished, honorable Primarchs, and punished severely. And without hesitation,” the Legislator offered, head bowed in respect.

Primarch Zyg the Wulf of the Berserker Legion growled his opposition. “Should we not be concerned about the rumored power gained by the Yellow One with each infraction?”

Blandino’s head turned upward slightly. “Mere rumor, Primarchs.”

“Then it is settled. I shall report to the Emperor, may He rule forever, the new proclamations for this cycle,” the Hammer thundered.