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(Part I) Chapter Datafile: Venerators of Korumani Founding - M.34 Progenitor Legion - Dark Angels Known Descendants - None Homeworld - Korumani III Allegiance - Loyalist Notable History The Venerators of Korumani Chapter was more commonly known simply as "The Venerators." The Chapter amassed a respectable battle record in the six hundred years of its existence, including the Paramon Crusade, the Vandressen Punitive Expedition, and the Defense of Ferotas IV. The Chapter is most well known, however, for sacrificing itself in order to ensure the defeat of the daemon prince known as “Doombreed” when that fell being led a bloody black crusade in early M35. Despite being descended from the Dark Angels Chapter, the Venerators of Korumani followed the dictates of the Codex Astartes quite closely and aren’t known to have deviated from that tome in terms of organization and heraldry as commonly followed by the other Unforgiven Chapters. In addition, there is no evidence that the Chapter maintained a close relationship with its predecessor during its six hundred year existence. Some speculate that the Dark Angels Chapter turned its back on the Successor on the basis of the High Lords’ decision to create the Venerators of Korumani despite the severe losses the Dark Angels had suffered during the Fourth Black Crusade of Abaddon the Despoiler. Livery The Venerators of Korumani wore silver armour. The Chapter badge depicted a black shield with a yellow winged lion passant in chief bearing a sword upright in one hand. Company affiliation was indicated by the addition of the company number in white at the bottom of the shield in the Chapter badge, an uncommon practice, but one within the broad interpretations of the Codex Astartes. Squad affiliation was indicated by the squad number in white upon the black squad badge, with the Chapter using the style of squad badges most commonly used by those Chapters that adhere to the Codex Astartes. When wearing tactical dreadnought armour, the Chapter badge was worn upon the right shoulder and the number upon the shield indicated the squad to which the terminator-brother belonged (since the Venerators of Korumani followed the dictates of the Codex Astartes and only allowed the trained veterans of the 1st Company to wear the rare tactical dreadnought armour). The veterans and officers of the Chapter often wore black tabards, though this practice was by no means universal. The winged lion image is used by kind permission of Mike Harpin. You can see more of his work at http://dribbble.com/cre8ivmike. I've been debating whether to post this in the Dark Angels forum or in Liber Astartes. In the end, I decided to post it within the Dark Angels forum because the Chapter was developed as part of the Brotherhood of Angels project and is posted as a continuance of that project. I will probably take the steps to link to it from the Liber Astartes forum later. As the "(Part I)" at the top indicates, there's more to come (wheels within wheels...).

http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b257/alienbastard89/Warhammer/PAeECover.png At the same time the lighting systems failed, the firefight escalated, illuminating the corridors with the flashes of autogun and lasgun fire. The dim, stuttering light was punctuated by the brighter flash of plasma blasts and bolt explosions; whoever was returning fire was doing so with superior arms. Electrical fires gave flickering life to the corridors where the fighting had ended, or moved on, illuminating the upturned and grimacing faces of the fallen. The barge shuddered under another exterior barrage, its plates and its men groaning beneath the punishment. The ship was lost. From the black recesses of a ceiling vent a quartet of glowing red optics kindled to life, looking into the corridor below. A lithe form, feminine but otherwise indiscernible in the dark, dropped with trained silence onto the floor. The sounds of the battle were not far off, and as the figure edged cautiously to a corridor crossing, it cocked its head to listen. "Arrrgh!" "Cover fire, someone pick that shield up before we're broken completely," A defender, then, rallying the ship's crew, "If we don't give them enough time, it's all for noth---" Another voice, volume enhanced by a vox amp, cut through the rallying call, "It's over, heretics! Surrender and you may yet be redeemed!" At that, the volume of fire from the defenders appeared to redouble. There were no doubts as to what 'redemption' meant. Still the voice demanded acknowledgment, "Then die as the Emperor's enemies, and we will take them anyway!" Like a shadow, the red eyed figure flitted across the opening, pausing only a moment more to listen, but the two forces had resigned themselves to the fury of combat, and the only thing to hear were incoherent shouts and the grunt of life being extinguished by each true shot. A plasma bolt cleared the melee, traveling the length of the hall and flashing before the figure's face, leaving a scorch mark on the bulkhead as it struck. The flash revealed a full body suit of mostly white, with a few black panels, and the four glowing optics organized one each above and below where the eyes ought to be. The illumination was only momentary, as the plasma flash prompted the figure to turn and sprint into the darkness of the hall. The sounds of weapon fire faded as she ran, making one turn, then another, the sounds of battle replaced by the rasp of air recycling through her breathing unit, perfectly regular, timed with her every move. The barge shuddered again, more violently, and the ship listed slightly. Already at a turn, she compensated, footfalls finding purchase on the wall instead of the floor. She righted herself with the ship and went on without breaking pace. The floor panels shuddered again, but not from an external blow, and she stopped, straining to hear any sign of an approach. A security bulkhead somewhere between her and the fighting had been breached. After a moment, two rasped breaths, she took off again. Turning one more corner, a dim flashing red light ahead told her she had reached her destination. Too late, though. She could hear shouting now, on the otherwise of the wall beside her, and ran faster. "You'll never find her! They're gone, both of them!" And then that same vox-cast voice that made her blood boil, "You reveal too much. I'm close, aren't I?" She heard the thud, a body striking a wall, between her and the room, and then the wall set aglow for a second before exploding into the corridor in her path. She knew it was coming, and training cut off any instinct to scream or gasp. Instead she flung herself through the smoke and fire like a bolt. As if time had slowed, she saw a light blossom in the heart of the smokey opening, and could only hope to be through before the plasma found her in its path. She felt the heat, but no pain came, and she landed safely only meters from the room she'd come all this way to get to. The cruel voice echoed through the smoke, accompanied by hastening, but heavy footsteps, "Ah, and there you are. Almost too easy!" Optics flaring as she glanced over her shoulder, she saw first the boots, then the broad brim of the hat, the seal of the Inquisition breaking the smoke. There was the glow of a plasma pistol from one side, and at the sight of the flickering muzzle of an inferno pistol, she turned her attention back to the escape. In two bounds she passed below the flashing red glow and into the embrace of the shadows within. The Inquisitor pounded after, diving without hesitation into the darkness, only to be greeted by a metallic roar and the terrifyingly close whirring of a massive mechanical limb. A fraction of a second slower and the Inquisitor would have lost his head. As it was his hat disappeared beneath the giant’s swipe and the powered fist punched through the wall as the Inquisitor ducked beneath it and made to level the inferno pistol. Finally this elicited a response from his prey, as with a snarl the female dropped from the shadows above, slashing at his midriff with a glowing orange blade. The Inquisitor was forced to roll back towards the doorway. With speed belying its size, the owner of the powered fist wrenched it from the wall, circling with thunderous footsteps deeper into the room and leaving an electrical fire to spring to light behind it. The Inquisitor slowly rose, staring down the two forms before him in the new, flickering glow. Towering above him was a Dreadnought, one of its arms missing- not damaged, but removed. The ancient shell was white, while the sarcophagus in its center was yellow, along with a single stripe that rose from its center up over the hull, with identifying markings in black, most of which differed from standard Astartes patterns. Silently, the female dropped again from her vantage point above, landing astride the dreadnought, and staring unyieldingly back at the Inquisitor. His pale face was given stark contrasts by the fire light, and his crooked, self-satisfied smile was broken by a neat scar beginning below his chin and crossing the bridge of his nose, over his left brow and into dark hair, currently matted with sweat. At last he spoke, this time foregoing the vox amp. "Both together, eh? The Emperor has truly smiled upon me. Look," he leveled both his weapons at the pair, then slowly lowered them to the deck, "we can help each other. No need for you both to perish here. If you aren't heretics, turn yourselves in, and I can protect you from the repercussions. You must know there is no way to escape, but I can spare you! The secrets that must lie in your minds," his eyes flashed hungrily as he looked at each of them, "I have laid down my weapons. As a token of good faith...why not tell me who sent you?" The female raised her hand towards the Hereticus operative, as though about to strike, but a voice rumbled from the dreadnought, not loud, but firm,"No, Jacqueline." Slowly, her hand lowered. The Inquisitor took this as license to continue, "Yes, very good, just come quietly. We want you ali--" She brandished a spherical object, no doubt explosive, and the Inquisitor's eyes widened. If it were possible, a smile could be heard in the dreadnought's voice. "Now. Do it." ~~~[/intro] So I've decided to try and piece this idea together, detailing the Cerberus Chapter's Operation Shingle . I enjoyed how this first bit came out, for being typed on the phone during the 20 hour drive to Utah. I'd love to get C&C, both on the story and the 'cover' I'm working up, if the artist permits me to use the subject piece I have in mind. Anyway, more to come before too long, I hope. Edit: original cover art image by .

Part One: Enter Caduceus The pirate frigate had first tried to flee, but the first time it had reemerged from the Immaterium, the green clad Astartes frigate had been only moments behind. Each time after that, there was one more Astartes ship than before. Seeing the uselessness of running, the pirates had put up stiff resistance, but could never have hoped to out maneuver so many ships. The way they moved, like one long segmented vessel, seeking to encircle the pirates in a death grip, the Space Marines appeared to treat the battle with disturbing leisure. Three times the hapless vessel tried to fire on the more predictable escorts in the coiling Astartes formation, but each time the lead frigate would strike in the opening with its own lasers, followed by a torpedo, and to change targets only resulted in a blow from another unattended angle, every salvo obliterating gun batteries until none remained. Anticipating another attempt to flee, the Space Marines ships fired on the pirates’ engines, and after a number of shuddering internal detonations in the ship’s aft it began to drift listlessly. Moments later a much larger vessel broke through the warp, a strike cruiser bearing that same heraldry, the serpent, winged and crowned. No sooner did it appear then it had launched a single Thunderhawk which streaked across the void and came to rest on the hull of the disabled pirate frigate, clamping down near one of the breaches left by a destroyed laser battery. A dozen Astartes descended the ramp, their leader a Marine in identical armor save for the gray tabard covering it and the gold coloring of his helmet’s radio spine, unlike the red on his brothers. Three Marines immediately broke from the group and made towards the aft of the ship. The remaining nine briefly surrounded the mangled hole left by a destroyed gun emplacement. Through the sparks that pierced the darkness they could just make out the shape of the torpedo that had punched through. Apparently satisfied, the Marine leading the squad lowered himself into the opening, pushing off the rim until his boots could lock onto the deck. As his brothers followed into the dark, he crossed silently to the nearest hatch leading toward the bridge. It appeared to have been sealed prior to the chamber’s decompression…unusual. Cocking his head toward the rear of the ship a vox crackle finally cut the silence among the Astartes. “Brother Lorens,” the voice was low, hardly more than a whisper, and chillingly smooth, “We’ve encountered a sealed bulkhead. They may have been prepared for the virus warheads. Have you reached the environmental systems?” The voice that responded was deeper, and coarser, but equally cold, “Negative Captain, ETA in thirty seconds.” “Very well,” returned the Captain, checking that the eight marines with him had fallen in, “it will take us more time to reach the bridge, and if they sealed any more bulkheads, we’ll likely meet resistance. Introduce the agent with a five minute time release, then meet us at the bridge.” “Yes, Captain Vitras,” the line died with the simple reply, and the Captain returned to the sealed hatch blocking their path. He gestured at the nearest Marine, who held a plasma rifle, stepping back as the weapon unleashed its blue fire on the door. The blast dissipated before the vacuum could throw it back in their faces, and when the initial mixture of smoke and atmosphere cleared, there wasn’t much left of the hatch. Streaks of atmosphere still pulled at the ragged edges of the opening as the corridor on the other side continued to depressurize, and moments later a limp form slammed through the opening trailing a spray of red. If the pirate hadn’t already been dead, he was now, the limply held mask in his hand too little too late now that he and his right arm were drifting slowly apart, the silent marines looking on approvingly. Vitras wordlessly stooped through the now crimson rimmed opening, eyes and helmet optics accommodating for the deeper darkness. The marines filled almost the entire corridor as they followed it deeper into the ship. They reached the next bulkhead almost without incident, but just as the plasma gun was about to do its work, lights flickered on overhead, and a blast door came down behind them. With a pneumatic hiss the hatch before them unsealed and burst open, autogun fire already spilling through. With no door on hand, Captain Vitras let roar his chainsword and tore through the wall to his right, finding sleeping quarters on the other side. Four of his men further back found doors on the other side of the corridor, while two more followed after Vitras. The brother bearing the plasma gun, and the brother behind him made no move, already in the act of carrying out the order that followed. “Cover fire!” Barked Vitras just as the bolter fire began, “Brother Viboras, to ash with them!” Vitras and his men leaned into the corridor to fire as one while a pair of plasma blasts streaked into the flashing gunfire that was the enemy. The volume of incoming fire immediately dropped, and as it did Vitras thundered back into the corridor, the bulkheads shaking with the collective pounding of his ceramite form and the renewed roar of the chainsword. The rest of the squad followed after, though all they really had time to see was the Captain surrounded by a halo of autogun fire and viscera as the chainsword arched and slashed, cleaving everything before it. Seconds later, the corridor was silent again except for the quiet dripping of blood both from the chainsword and the ceiling. Brother Viboras stepped up behind the Captain and could see that the autoguns had chinked away enough armor on his arm to expose the bionics underneath. These whirred briefly as Captain Vitras gestured to his squad once more, and they passed through the scene of the carnage. “Captain,” the vox crackled with the incoming hail. “Speak, Brother,” Vitras’ voice remained disturbingly level. “The distributor is in place, as are we.” “Status of the bridge?” “The corsair is cowering here with his retinue, awaiting your arrival.” “Excellent. Trigger the distributor. How much time was left?” There was a chuckle on the other end, “A minute and thirty three seconds, Captain.” “Hm, best time yet.” An alarm began to sound, and the lights dimmed, replaced by pulsing red glow, a sign that the ships environmental systems had been compromised. Through the next unsealed hatch was the short corridor leading to the bridge. Visible through a small viewport, two of the pirates stood guard about thirty feet outside the door, though they seemed awfully relaxed for their situation. Both leaning almost casually against the walls, they at least gripped their weapons tightly. When the Marines appeared in the corridor…the pirates didn’t move, nor did the Marines react to their presence, but strode directly towards the bridge access doors. Around the necks of the brigands hung oxygen masks ready for use, but the dimness of the corridor made it difficult to distinguish their faces until they were close. Neither Vitras nor Viboras payed them any mind, but walked past the guards to the door controls, the Captain replacing his pistol on his leg as he went. Each Marine except the last ignored the guards as though they weren’t there, the brother in the rear removing his bolt from its maglock as he approached. As his brothers approached the door he leaned down to see the face of each pirate. Satisfied with the terrified, strained and even tearful faces he found, he put a bolt round into each one’s head, practically destroying their skulls. At the door, Captain Vitras had found to his surprise that the controls weren’t locked out, and the doors opened to the last echo of the bolt shots. The bridge was darker than the rest of the ship, lit more by the panels and instrumentation than anything, and as the hulking marines fanned out into the room they found that each of the stations was still occupied by a crewman, and the captain sat in his throne in the center of the chamber, facing the Astartes, his mask only half on. There were several other armed pirates around the room, but each lay on the ground in an awkward position, unmoving, but with apparently unwounded. As Captain Vitras stalked across the chamber to the captain the rest of his men drew their pistols, and when the Captain leaned down and spoke, gripping the back of the throne with a bionic fist, his words came with the staccato of the bolt shots executing his crew. “Your struggle against the Imperium is at an end, heretic,” breathed that cold, smooth voice out of the helmet, “I am Captain Vitras of the Basilisks. You have lived to this moment only so that the fear of our name can go with you into death.” He lowered his hand and tapped the arm of the throne, where the pirate captain was still depressing a rune with a white knuckle grip. An attempted transmission, or a successful one in truth, as the text on the tiny screen above it indicated that the corsair had opened a line to somewhere…and they were still listening. Whether a call for help, or last instructions to another clan of raiders, whoever was at the other end was hearing the grim last moments of the doomed ship. “Consider it a final act of loyalty to--” “Cap-tain,” the pirate had managed to speak! To resist the Basilisks’ nerve agent to that degree without the help of a mask would have required bionics in the lungs. Apparently this was not an average pirate, and Vitras soon discovered why, “I ha—mess-age,” with enormous effort, the pirate lifted his finger, releasing the rune to allow return communication. A garbled voice came hissing through the ship’s vox, barely distinguishable as Low Gothic. “Blood of the crowned snake! Vengeance for Bahl’s sons!” There were a number of flashing lights through the viewports and, crossing rapidly to the nearest, Captain Vitras peered out into the void. A sizeable fleet of Astartes-class ships had emerged from the warp, easily twice the strength of the circling Basilisk fleet, and from where he stood Vitras could already see guns turning on his brothers…as well as the disabled ship where they now stood. “Lorens, now!” he cried, voice turning ragged, drawing his pistol and unloading into the viewport, and in answer, a meltagun discharge struck it from the outside, bathing the room in white for a moment before the meter thick panes disintegrated and exploded into space. Vitras and his men inside barely had time to lock their boots, but no sooner had they done so than they charged out of the opening onto the ship’s hull, greeted by Brother Lorens and his two companions. Behind them the bodies of the crew and the still living pirate captain vented into the void, but the marines were already traversing the hull towards the Thunderhawk as fast as they could go. Flashes above them told Vitras that the enemy fleet had engaged them, and a shudder below told him something had struck the frigate. A violent buckle and a blossoming orange glow from behind followed promptly, and two of the Marines were swatted off the hull by the impact, no chance to react. The rest of the squad carried on, and they soon reached the boarding ramp of their ‘hawk. Detaching as soon as the last marine had a sure foot on the ramp, the Marines locked themselves in place and the Thunderhawk rocketed away from the frigate. The former pirate ship was already coming apart, wracked with explosions both internal and external. In the tense minutes since the appearance of the enemy fleet, the Basilisk’s hadn’t yet lost a ship, but as the Thunderhawk docked with its Strike Cruiser, Vitras leaping prematurely from its hold and making for the command deck, the voxes announced the destruction of the frigate Stone Fang. Bursting into the command center, Vitras’ gaze sought the ship’s commander. “D’selvus, status!” “Captain! The enemy is unkown! Our formations are dogged but holding, reinforcements enroute!” “Damned heretics! I want to know who these faithless traitors are!” “Vitras!” The Captain whirled to find Codicier Seranus striding into the command center, “I have your answer,” Vitras followed the Librarian to the viewport where both could clearly make out the dulled, dark red hulls of the enemy ships, the symbols at their prows all but erased for want of attention, save one. A red serpent coiled threateningly over the atlas ellipse of an unknown world, resting on a sand colored field…familiar, “They are Pythons,” Vitras’ head snapped back to the Codicier, revealing shock and disbelief, “That’s right, brother, the Baal Pythons have returned.” ~~~~~~~ Comments & Critiques very welcome, looking forward to refining and expanding this story.