“…HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THE CODEX?”
There was some conferral. Eventually the Brother-Captain stepped forward again and said “We… are… neutral on the subject of the codex?”
“GOOD. I HATE THE FUCKING THINGS.”
Guilliman leaned forward, as much as was possible for a Primarch to do, until he teetered precariously over the Brother-Captain and the slightest tremor from the engines of the ship risked condemning the unfortunate marine to a crushing death. He spoke.
“NO CODEX. NO QUESTIONS ABOUT IMPERIUM SECUNDUS. ABSOLUTELY NO REFERENCES TO WORD BEARERS. ANYBODY WHO ASKS ME A QUESTION ABOUT THE OLD TIMES IS GOING TO BE USED AS PAINT TO HELP FIX THIS SHITTY JOB YOU’VE DONE ON ME,” Guilliman rumbled. “THOSE ARE MY TERMS. AGREE AND I’LL PRETEND NOT TO NOTICE WHAT YOU THIEVING LITTLE BASTARDS HAVE DONE. DEAL?”
The Captain nodded frantically.