Macragge heresy
The Macragge Heresy is the story of the destruction of the Ultramarines, as told by an unnamed, retired IG general to his great-great-grandson.
Enjoy.
The Macragge Heresy[edit]
A young boy shuffled nervously into a large, circular room. A well clothed servitor stood on either side of the door silent as death and just as cold. Its one wall filled near to bursting with books. Old and new, dusty and worn, they crowded every shelf from the floor to the very ceiling, a full three stories above the boy’s head. He walked, even slower than before, into the center of the room; his head on a swivel, taking in everything at once. On each level above the first there was a cast iron terrace that wound around the whole room. The second story was noticeably larger than the third, giving the room a strange, funneled look. The first floor sported a pair of wheeled ladders connected to its wall; and he could make out at least one more on the second. Another well dressed servitor stood blankly at attention next to the base of each ladder. The boy couldn’t make out any details of the third floor even with his head tilted back till his neck began to ache. Large, comfortable chairs were placed at irregular intervals around the room, each flanked by a large, ornamental lamp.
The ironwork columns were lavishly decorated with eagles and fleurs-de-lis. At the highest point of each level, just below the next level’s floor, were four snarling faces. They were rather abstract, as they were fashioned from bent iron bars, but he could just make out that they were meant to be bulldog heads. One head on each column pointed inwards, with another to both the left and right, with a fourth pointing outwards towards the wall. Equally lavish lanterns were gripped by the handle in each snarling maw. A spiral staircase wound its way upwards directly across from the door.
Most impressive of all was the beautiful ceiling. Fashioned by master artisans out of stained glass, the room’s domed ceiling depicted the Emperor of Mankind in all of His glory staring downward. Hovering around his benevolent features were dozens of smaller figures; saints, cherubs, winged skulls, and complex roses of red and white. An intricate network of florescent lights illuminated the image from behind.
The boy’s mouth began to drop open.
“Enough gawking boy, get up here already.”
The gruff, sandpaper voice caught him by surprise and he quickly stiffened and slapped his mouth shut with an audible snap.
“Second floor, boy. To the left. “
He gulped nervously and made his way to and up the staircase. As he ascended, he noticed a small track inlaid between the handle and the railing. At the base of the second level, its purpose became clear. A motorized chair was attached to it.
“Quickly now,” rasped the voice. He picked up his pace, his feet clanking noisily on the iron floor.
Around the bend, hunched before a ladder and straining to look up at the servitor at its zenith, was the oldest man the young boy had ever seen. He wore a fine robe of black wool, with red silk on the inverse side. Slippers of almost comically large size were on his feet. His tiny left arm was drawn behind his back in the military style, whilst the other held a large ivory pipe with a long wooden neck in his shriveled lips. A few vapors of smoke rose lazily from the head. The side of his face was an almost indiscernible patchwork of wrinkles, old scars, and metallic implants. Though not a hair made its presence known on his bald scalp, a bushy grey mustache engulfed his upper lip and threatened to drown the little peak that was his cauliflower nose. A small matte-green canister hung from the hovering skull to the man’s left. From it, two thin tubes snaked their way down and up again into the opened front of the man’s robe.
“G-great-great-grandfather, sir?” the boy began.
“Just a second,” he croaked with a puff of smoke. He was still looking up at the servitor on the ladder.
The boy followed his gaze. This servitor, like all luxury models used as servants, was still mostly humanlike in appearance; only the bulky metal box growing from the back of its head and the padded claw that replaced its right arm. As the pair watched, the figure ceased its visual scan of the books and delicately extracted a large, leather bound tome with its metal hand. Then it slowly made its way back down the ladder, its joints humming and boots clanking on the metal.
As it reached the floor the old man shuffled out of the way. It made a loud thump as it landed and it quickly turned and offered the book to its master.
After an awkward silence the man turned his head towards his young descendant and regarded him for the first time. His face was just about unreadable, but the boy thought he could make out a scowl hidden in the man’s labyrinthine face. He withered under the scrutiny and suppressed the urge to shuffle.
“Aren’t you going to carry that big, heavy book for your old man’s old man’s old man?” the ancient wheezed.
The youth fairly jumped forward and grabbed the tome with due haste. “Yes sir,” he spouted just as quick.
“Good,” the man croaked. “And you can stop with that ‘sir’ and ‘great-great’ nonsense,” another puff of smoke, “it makes me feel as old as I am.” This was followed by more croaking, somewhere between a laugh and a cough. “Grandpa, or granddad, or grandfather, or just general, will do fine.”
He shuffled his way to the stairs with the boy in tow while the servitor took up its customary place next to the ladder and stood at attention once more like all of its peers. The motorized chair at the stairwell unfolded automatically as its owner neared. He, in turn, slumped into the seat and fastened the belt around his waist. With the barked command, “down,” the little chair hummed its way to the ground floor.
Once he reached the bottom he unfastened his harness and hopped down. Then he made his way to a pair of recliners separated by a small desk and fell into one with an audible sigh of comfort. The boy, following in his wake, stood nervously a meter away from his elder.
As if noticing him for the fist time, the old man looked up. “Oh, yes. Place that here and make yourself comfortable,” he said. He watched as the boy carefully placed the book on the desk and climbed into the much too large seat.
Once the boy stopped moving he nodded in approval and spoke again. “I have some tea on the way, it should arrive-“
The library’s double doors silently swooshed open and a servant, a real human this time, glided in with a silver dolly.
“-nowish,” the old man finished with what the boy believed was a smile.
The servant placed a large tray on the desk. In the center was a large china teapot decorated plainly, but tastefully, with a few red and white lines that curled their way around its midsection. A pair of matching cups on tiny saucers were placed on either flank, around which lay a few plates of hot, thinly sliced cakes and biscuits.
His task completed, the servant stood at attention just behind the desk. “Thank you, Franz,” nodded the seated elder. Franz made a formal bow and made his way towards the door, sidestepping the servitor that marched from its place to the right side of the door to take his place. The partially mechanical man then lifted the pot and began pouring out two precisely measured cups of steaming tea.
“Good old Earl Grey,” swooned the old man as he took his cup, “one of the oldest known teas, from all the way back to the days before the Emperor's ascension on Terra.” He took a deep breath of the vapors, “I happened to have ordered the leaves for this pot straight from the Blessed Cradle herself.”
The youth nearly dropped his cup at that last remark. His elder shot him a nasty look, a scowl for certain this time. He mumbled an apology as he thought about the implications of wealth and power that would require.
“Just be careful,” the old man said as he took a tentative sip from his cup. “This china is almost six hundred years old.”
At this the boy just stared, wide eyed, at his senior.
Seeing his look the old man chuckled, “Have to save the good stuff for special occasions, don’tcha know.” He smiled and took another sip.
“So,” he began, “your father’s second tour is up and he’s brought his family back to his homeworld.” This was a statement, not a question.
“Yes s- yes grandfather. Father served on the Delphi for forty years. Fifteen as her captain.”
“He’s a good boy. I was a tad bit disappointed that he didn’t serve in the guard like his father and me, but I supposed enough of your uncles did that, now didn’t they?” He shuffled into a more comfortable position. “Yes, all-in-all, I have to say I’m proud of him for branching off and doing something different. Took courage, that.” They both sat in silence for a moment. “What was his name again? And yours too, for that matter.”
The boy coughed awkwardly to clear his throat, “Adolphus, grandfather. Adolphus Farchivald Zurbrück. And I am Gustavus Farch-“
“-Farchivald Zurbrück, yes I remember now. One of Krell’s boys. You must forgive my poor memory.” He thought to himself for a moment. “You’d be nine, now, right?”
Gustav smiled as he answered, “Yes, grandfather, nine Terran standard just three weeks ago.” “See, it’s all coming back to me, I just need a kick start sometimes. How was the trip from the Ottward Sector?”
“Quite fine, actually. I’ve been through much worse; the trip was only 180 days, transition to transition,” the young Zurbrück answered after a sip of tea (which he noted was quite delicious).
“Right, you’d have been born in-void.”
“Yes.”
“Ever been planetside before?”
“Only twice, for victory parades on Ganthax and Ortz; and never for this long.” The elderly man nodded and took a puff from his pipe. “How do you find Roltz’ World?”
“Beautiful,” he answered truthfully. “These mountains are breathtaking.”
“Quite eloquent, for a young man, aren’t you?” the old man chuckled. He was silent for a moment. “I feel like testing my memory some more. Would you mind humoring an old crusader for awhile, and listen to a story?”
“I’d love too,” beamed Gustav. “Hear a story, that it, grandfather,” he added hastily. After laughing for moment the wizened general began, “Good, boy. Good boy.” He took another sip of tea. “Now where should I begin?” He tapped his pipe on his chin a few times, “I know a good one, the Macragge Heresy, how does that sound?”
“Wonderful, grandfather.” Truth be told, he had heard the basics before in history class, but his grandfather had asked him to ‘humor him,’ did he not?
“This was all many hundreds of years ago, you understand, back in the waning days of the 41st millennium. It all started at the Second Scouring of Croxgar, in the Ultima Segmentum. After the local populous repelled a fairly large invasion from the Orks of Charadon while the reinforcements from the Imperium were still on-route, they got it in their heads that they didn’t need the Emperor’s help anymore. So, after the Fleet arrived some months latter and began to resupply (as was their Emperor given right), the Croxgards announced that they were seceding from the Empire and attacked. They hit pretty damned hard, too, considering they had just survived an Ork Waaagh! Nearest we can estimate, they took out a fourth of the Fleet’s warships and over a third of the ground troops.
“Obviously, this didn’t sit well with the Imperials, and they quickly launched an all out attack. In those first few weeks thousands of ground troops and fleet personnel died as we knocked out their orbital defenses and began landing our troops.
“Finally, we did manage to exert air superiority, well, in space at least. On the ground, however, things were very different. You see, Croxgar had seen a lot of war in its lifetime. They got invaded by Orks or Eldar around every century or so, so they knew how to fight. Most of their cities were buried in the mountains or under their oceans, with underground bases scattered all over the planet. Everywhere our boys landed they got hit hard, but couldn’t find anyone to shoot back at half the time.
“By the time General Davis, the commanding officer, realized he had lost half of his remaining troops, he was getting quite worried. He quickly sent out a request for reinforcements from the Guard and any Space Marines that might be in the area, and lo and behold, the Ultramarines show up three weeks later.
“Now, I don’t know how much you know about the “Ultramarines,” but there are some things you have to understand. They were one of the first twenty Legions, and their founder, the Primarch Roboute Guilliman, just about saved the Imperium after the Horus Heresy. He literally wrote the book on space marines, and all though his “Codex Astartes” isn’t widely used anymore, it was regarded with almost religious reverence and followed to the letter by almost every chapter in the galaxy, at the time. The thing is, this went to the Ultramarines’ heads. They believed that they were better than every other space marine chapter in every way, and believed that marines were better than everyone else in every way. They were pompous and arrogant as hell, but about two thirds of the 1000 or so space marine chapters that existed at the time were descended from their stock, so the High Lords had no choice but to let them have their way.
“Anyway, it wasn’t just any Ultramarine army that showed up at Croxgar, it was two full companies led by Marneus Calgar himself. Calgar, you see, was their Chapter Master at the time; and even people that didn’t like his chapter had to admit that he was a damned good warrior and leader of men. Thing is, for an Ultramarine, he was pretty humble. In fact, he only ‘requested’ that he be given overall command of the campaign, rather than demanding it. After some deliberation, Davis and his staff decided that they couldn’t risk losing the support of over two hundred space marines by refusing, so they gave him command. Truth be told, Calgar lived up to his reputation. He led from the front and didn’t waste the lives of the guardsmen under his command (this is significant as many marine commanders think of us mere mortals as cannon fodder). He directed the guard with all due competence and had his marines strike where the enemy was presumed to be weakest.
“It all fell apart at the Hill 53 incident, however. Intelligence indicated that a major command center lay under that hill, and Calgar led the combined marine/guard assault himself. That’s where things get sketchy. We know now that Hill 53 wasn’t nearly as important a base as they had thought at the time. We believe that the rebels moved everything important to a base they built while the original fleet was still inbound, one that obviously wouldn’t have been on any Imperial records. We also know now that the rebels had the area heavily and pre-sighted with heavy ordnance.
“What we don’t know, is how Calgar was separated from his honor guard and came to be in direct command of an IG platoon. It is believed that his unit suffered a direct hit from a massive enemy bombardment, which we base on the fact that none of his honor guard were reported to have survived the battle.
“It was shortly thereafter that the “Shot that was Heard Across the Galaxy” was fired; and Marneus Calgar was summarily executed by the platoon’s commissar.
“According to the official report, ‘Calgar ordered the surviving members of the platoon to fall back. Commissar Reyard voiced his opposition to the order. Calgar repeated his order, stating that the attack had failed and that they needed to regroup to plan the next assault. Reyard then fired a single round from his bolt pistol into the Ultramarine commander’s unhelmeted face.’
“Lieutenant Haggard, the platoons senior officer, would latter testify that ‘he just stood there and took it in the face. I don’t think he believed what he was seeing, a commissar turning his weapon on him.’
“Afterwards, Reyard ordered the platoon forward. They managed to find a hole in the side of the hill, presumably caused by a stray round fired by the enemy. By using every grenade, demolition charge, and melta bomb they had, the platoon blasted their way into the Hill 53 base. After forty seven minutes of fighting, only thirty four of the original seventy five members of the platoon, including a wounded Commissar Reyard and Lieutenant Haggard, survived. They had captured the complex, fifty-six prisoners including a colonel and eight other officers, and valuable maps of the enemy’s underground network.
“Twenty-two days later, the high command of the Croxgar Successionist Armed Forces surrendered to the Imperium. The surviving Ultramarines would not learn of the events surrounding their commander’s death for another six days.
“However, when they did discover how their Chapter Master met his inglorious end, they immediately demanded the life of Commissar Reyard, whom had been quickly shuttled off planet to a ship leaving the system. For seventy-seven days the Ultramarines pursued the Carthago Nova, the ship the commissar has hitched a ride in, all the way to Prefectus Primus, capital of the Prefectus Sector and the staging ground for most Fleet and IG operations in that area. They arrived two days after the Nova, and once again demanded that Commissar Reyard be handed over to them.
“Reyard, having just been exonerated by a Commissariat Tribunal on the ground that the battle situation not hopeless as the Ultramarine Master had asserted as proven by the platoons heroic success. As such, Governor Sedaris of the Prefectus Sector, at the urgings of the Imperial Guard and Commissariat, refused to comply with the Ultramarines’ demands.
“Exactly one hour later, a terminator strike force under the command of Chapter Master-elect Agemman teleported into the Adeptus Munitorum Central Office on Prefectus Primus, killed six-hundred and eighty two adepts, guardsmen, and visitors, and burned Commissar Reyard to death with a heavy flamer.
“After teleporting back to the Battle Barge Octavius, they destroyed one hundred twelve vessels in orbit, including the Star Fortress Emperor’s Shield, the defense ships sent to detain the Octavius, and numerous civilian vessels. Between the deaths at the Central Office, in orbit, and from the stray round fired by the Ultramarines that hit Jacobi Hive, it is estimated that at least three million adepts, soldiers, sailors, and civilians were killed.
“The event has gone down in history as the Prefectus Massacre.
“The Ultramarines were declared Excommunicate Traitoris by the Inquisition, and the Macragge Heresy began.
“A total of sixty-six space marine chapters, all of which were descendants of the Ultramarine geneseed, sided with the now rogue chapter. The Guilliman Alliance, as the traitors called themselves, massed an estimated fifty-two thousand space marines at Macragge, their headquarters, under the command of Warmaster Aggaman. It is believed that Aggaman, the first company captain and rightful successor of Calgar as Chapter Master, was challenged for the position by the second company captain, Cato Sicarius. To avoid in-fighting that would have crippled their initiative, the Council of Chapter Masters, made up of the sixty chapter masters present at Macragge, decided to give Sicarius the title of Chapter Master, but gave the loftier title of Warmaster to Aggaman, which appeased them both.
“Declaring the noble Imperium corrupt, the Alliance launched the Guilliman Crusade, an all out assault towards Terra and the Segmentum Solar to take control of the Imperium. They left nothing but destruction in their wake.
“Believing that anyone planet that did not subject itself to the Alliances rule was a traitor to Guilliman and the Emperor (in that order, I might add), they razed every world they resupplied at in between Macragge and the Segmentum Solar. They were particularly harsh on space marine chapters that did not join their cause, and thirteen chapters were wiped out to the man, and their geneseed destroyed, by the vengeful Ultramarines and their allies. These chapters are now know as the Thirteen Martyrs, and thirteen shrine worlds were commissioned afterwards to commemorate and honor their sacrifice in slowing their traitorous once-brothers. It should be noted that eight of those chapters were descendants of the Ultramarines.
“By the time the Alliance reached the outskirts of the Segmentum Solar, marines from nearly one hundred chapters flew with them.
“However, a massive fleet had been raised to stop them. Four-hundred thirty five-thousand space marines from a confirmed five hundred eighteen chapters, and well over six million sailors of the Imperial Navy met and crushed the Alliance fleet at the Battle of Gibraltar. Amongst the chapters present in the fleet were marines from all eight of the First Founding still loyal to the Imperium. It was decided that Commander Dante of the Blood Angels would be given command of the fleet, while the Space Wolves Lord Grimnar was given overall command any and all ground operations. The Battle of Gibraltar was bloody indeed, with many casualties on both sides. At the time, it was believed that both Aggaman and Sicarius, the arc-traitors of the alliance, were killed along with thirty-three thousand of their followers (their numbers having been boosted by recruits along the way). We learned much later that Sicarius fled to the Eye of Terror with nearly two thousand marines in tow. There he slew Abaddon the Despoiler and took command of his Black Legion and all of his Allies. But that is another story.
“Fleeing in every direction, around seventy-two chapters begged for and were eventually granted pardons by the High Lords of Terra. Roughly nineteen-thousand marines still loyal to the Ultramarines’ cause fled back to Ultramar. Once the Imperial Fleet Retribution caught up with them, less than nine-thousand still stood to defend their Primarchs old empire. It is believed that in-fighting did indeed tear apart their traitorous alliance in the end. Each surviving captain of the Ultramarines believed himself to be the ideal successor of the title Warmaster, while fifteen captains and chapter masters from other chapters believed the same, declaring that dead Aggaman had proven that the Ultramarines were not fit to lead the Alliance.
“In the end, they never did decide on a new leader. They were still bickering and arguing amongst themselves, violently in fact, when the loyalists fell upon them. The host, led by Commander Dante and Great Wolf Logan Grimnar lead their marines in a bloodless battle of absolute slaughter. Only one hundred and two loyalist marines were felled during that, the Battle of Ultramar. The traitors were hit with such ferocity and righteous zeal that they were dead to the man before any of the Fleet’s guardsmen even made planet fall.
“It would be another two and a half centuries before the Heresy officially ended with the Exterminatus of the Sons of Orar’s homeworld of Armato. They were the last of the seventeen chapters that remained unrepentant or unsalvageable by the High Lords.
“The Imperium has changed much since so days. The High Lords passed sweeping legislation allowing any chapter that fought for the Imperium against the Ultramarines and their allies to completely abandon the Codex Astartes if they so chose. Those chapters were also invited to found new chapters and to greatly expand their numbers. Of remaining First, each founded at least four new chapters, with the exception of the Space Wolves, who only founded one new chapter, the Catachan Devils. The Blood Angels alone founded seven new chapters within fifty years, and now number nearly ten thousand.
"However, every chapter, especially those that did not take part in the war, were required to reaffirm their fealty to the Emperor and his Imperium. For the first time in recorded history, an envoy from every loyal chapter stood before the Emperor himself and swore, in the name of their respected chapter, to serve Him and His High Lords as His proxy for the rest of eternity. As part of their oath, every chapter is required to maintain a garrison of at least one hundred marines at Terra at all times. A new chapter was formed with similar organization to the Death Watch, called the Praetorian Guard, which is tasked with supplementing the Adeptus Custodes should they need it, and to persecute the Imperium’s wars against traitor chapters. In this way, the Astartes polices itself, albeit at the command of the Imperium."
He sat smoking silently for awhile as he let it all sink in. “Do you know what the moral of that story is?”
Gustav raked his brain for the answer. After several moments he ventured, “the actions of one man can change the galaxy?”
“No, it’s: Don’t piss off a commissar.”