In the fire of battle is peace forged

- Proverb of the Salamanders Chapter-

 

Greetings Fraters et Sorores, 

 

I've long had a vague idea of what my army's story should be. I like it when my forces have a little background. A little place in the setting that's theirs as much as it's mine. As a first founding chapter, the Salamanders are a little more difficult to do that with. I can't write up a whole culture from nothing, nor command structure, nor broad strokes of history. What to do then? Inspiration first came upon reading of the Forgefather's role some years ago. Furthermore, I discovered rumors of "an ember burning bright deep in Imperium Nihilus, an ember that hints at the location of the Unbound Flame". Since then, my Salamanders have been on a quest for this relic of their primarch, in the hopes that by retrieving this thing, they can come one step closer to being reunited with him. 

 

Specifics are still a bit vague, as indeed they should be, but this Crusade of chapter heroes has wandered through the galaxy, battling through war-torn Imperium Sanctus, including on Armageddon, before finally reaching the mouth of the Nachmund Gauntlet. And that is where we find them in the following short work. More of character than combat, it was an opportunity to practice description and conversation. I hope you enjoy it. Comments welcome : )

 

Battles are behind them. Brothers lost. The Crusade for the Unbound Flame has come far. 

 

But the journey has only begun. 

 

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Forgefather 

 

 

Darkness shrouded the forge. 

 

Embers glowing faintly in a small votive brazier cast their reddish light upon curved walls. The four thick pillars that flanked it in perfect symmetry deepened the shadows behind them, hiding whatever stood by the chamber’s edge. 

 

Between two of those mighty columns a great man stood still. 

 

A cloak of reptilian hide hid his form. Falling from immense shoulders, it hung straight and heavy to his bare heels. A chain of gold clasped the hide, glinting firelike against the scarred expanse of his coal-black chest. He wore nothing else save a set of black skin-tight leggings, studded with darkly sheened sockets and connection-points of obscure purpose and function. A small number of like structures jutted from his muscled torso, further points of light and reflection amidst the darkness of his flesh. 

 

The man's face, though situated high above the dying fire, was rendered visible by its inclined posture. He stood with head bowed, the ridges of his face illuminated by the brazier's feeble light. The dimensions of that face, though perhaps fair by a normal standard, nonetheless held a certain strangeness. Perhaps it was the way the light caught its subtly blocky features. Perhaps the shape of it was just wrong, an almost imperceptible artificiality to it, the result of forced growth by pre-pubescent hormone-application and archaic gene-sciences. It might have been the scars, too many and too deep for any true man to have survived whatever trauma inscribed them in his features. Or it may have been his eyes, so black that they seemed to absorb the faint light that reached them, only to expel it once more in pinpricks of burning scarlet from their centers. The man's gaze, half-lidded and heavy with the weight of portent, rested upon the embers. 

 

Something, a noise, a shift in the air, caught the man's attention. He lifted his head, fixing his burning eyes on the shadows directly to the fore. 

 

Two glowing points shone from the blackness. A mirroring red. 

 

A voice, inhumanly deep and possessing nobility that no true human could ever hope to emulate rumbled from the dark. 

 

“Forgefather. You asked for me. I have come.”

 

The man's reply was modulated. “I did. You have.” Blunt, but made personable by an undercurrent of warmth and the dry humor evidenced by a quirk of the mouth.

 

“The running of a ship is no easy affair, let alone a fleet such as ours. My time is short, translation from the materium is imminent. Why then do you desire my presence here, brother? There are pressing concerns elsewhere.” 

 

The speaker’s remarks were delivered concisely, without guile, though not unkindly. He regarded the Forgefather with an open expression on his heavy features. 

 

“Why should the concerns of travel come between a meeting of brothers? For truly, I have scarce seen you since our departure from Armageddon.”

 

“I have been busy. That campaign cost us dearly, in men and machines. I have been occupied among the wounded, and the recruits, and in seeing to the repair of our craft that could be restored without attention in a shipyard. Surely you understand this, brother. I have missed you, and desired to speak with you once more, but-”

 

“‘But the responsibilities of an Astartes Captain supersede all his personal wants,’ I know,” the Forgefather said, laughing. “It has been said many times.”

 

“Xavus, my brother,” he said, using his visitor's name for the first time, “I know your responsibilities are pressing. Believe me, I do. Was I not Captain of the Fourth before taking on this mantle?” He gestured to the mantle slung about his shoulders. “I was your predecessor, brother. It was I, in truth, who chose you for your role when I took on the role of Forgefather. And I have been justified in my choice, I think.” He adjusted the clasp of the chain holding the hide in place. “Come, brother, we both know that the operation of the fleet will continue apace without you for a time.” At Xavus' nod he continued.

 

“I have summoned you here for a ritual of brothers. The Chapter Master has assigned overseers to take care of fleet preparations in your absence. Besides, you were going to need to do this before translation anyway.”

 

Here the Forgefather raised a hand toward Xavus’ robed form. “We are about to embark on a very dangerous journey. The Unbound Flame is a prize few will wish us to have. Our current goal – to cross the Nachmund Gauntlet in search of that relic – will be neither unnoticed nor unopposed by the enemy. We must be ready to defend our ships and serfs at a moment's notice.” 

 

“We must be the shield of our people,” Xavus intoned. 

 

“We must be their blade as well. Brother, will you don armament with me now?” 

 

Xavus studied the man before him. His gene-forged eyes pierced the gloom and looked upon the face suspended over the dying brazier. 

 

The role of Forgefather was no easy one. He who donned Kesare’s Mantle, the very one that cloaked the shoulders of the man before him, also took up the task of travelling the galaxy in search of the Primarch's artifacts, alone. A wanderer apart from his brothers. Forever alone. Forever bonded to an impossible task, hoping only to bring that search a little closer to completion for the next to take it up. And then the next, and the next, until the current seeker’s bones had flowed back from the depths of Mount Deathfire and become one with the bedrock of Nocturne.

 

A lonely task indeed. 

 

Xavus looked upon the face of the man who had been his mentor and saw the marks that quest had left. 

 

The Forgefather had spent decades, centuries wandering the galaxy. Sometimes alongside his brothers. More often alone. Isolated among the teeming and varied masses of Imperial civilization. It showed in his face. A being forged to fight alongside his brothers could only feel strain at such prolonged separation. The Forgefather’s spirit was of a tough vein, and he endured. But the strain still told. Xavus could read the signs plain to see. 

 

The Forgefather yearned for brotherhood. 

 

He'd been gone so long, and the number of familiar faces was fewer each time he returned. 

 

Xavus was one of the few left. A former pupil. Now an equal. But at their core they could never be anything other than brothers. 

 

Xavus smiled at his old master. His brother. His friend. 

 

“It would be my honor.”