The Purging of Nostramo

[Captain Engelhardt]

Hi all,

this is a story about Konrad Curze's reunification with his Legion and the events that lead to the fall of the Legion. I will update the story over the next few weeks.

Please keep in mind that I'm no native speaker, so some passages may seem a bit strange ;)

Anyway, enjoy, and please give some C&C:

 

Note: The story is NOT finished. I just added the epilogue because I already finished it. I marked it as spoiler if someone doesn't want to read it :)

 

The Purging of Nostramo

 

And thus I clothe my naked villany

With odd old ends stol'n out of holy writ,

And seem a saint,

when most I play the devil.

- attributed to Terran author William Shakespeare, 93M.015

 

Fear is the lengthened shadow of ignorance.

- attributed to Terran author Arnold Glasow, undated

 

Mine is the night, with all her stars.

- attributed to Terran poet Edward Young, undated

 

 

Prologue: A Voice In The Dark

 

 

''WHO ARE YOU?''

 

Victor Lear's voice now had lost everything of its former strength. He barely was able to breathe, his heart pulsing to the maximum of its capacities, hurting his lungs. Stumbling through the dark hall, Victor always kept his eyes on the creature looming in the shadows in front of him. The once bright lights in the enormous hall flickered, revealing the shattered forms of human bodies lying on the ground from time to time. Stabbed or torn open, put to death by something they never saw. Victor pushed all thoughts from his mind that his end would be no better. And that it would come soon.

 

''Who are you? What the fug do you want?''

 

His robes heavy with clotted blood, Victor limped as fast as he could towards the gigantic doors of the hall. For minutes that seemed like hours he had not gotten an answer to his questions. For the first time now, a voice arose from the shadows.

 

''Run, Victor. I want you to run.''

 

It sounded like someone had given darkness the ability to speak, every word thundering and whispering alike. Hearing it made a cold shiver travel down Victor's spine.

 

''Now you don't feel so mighty anymore, do you? Alone, in the dark, wounded.''

 

The pure horror.

It wasn't easy to make his way out. Dark red liquid was smeared all over the masterfully arranged mosaic of the floor.

Victor slipped and fell down, landing next to another body. He let out a shriek of dread as he recognised the crippled form of his former guardian Kherran Lumides.

The darkness spoke again.

 

''Yes, now you know them.''

''What the fug do I know now?''

'' Now, my friend, you can comprehend the feelings of the people you dare to oppress.''

 

Victor got desperate, the voice now coming from entirely different directions everytime it spoke.

 

''What are you talkin' about? I didn't do anything wrong''

 

''Ha!''

 

The laughter boomed through the hall and Victor almost got a heart attack. He didn't expect the darkness to be able to laugh.

 

''Victor, my dear Victor, still ignorant, even during your last gasps. You know fully well what I am talking about. Suffering families, exhausted workers being treated like dirt, women being beat, children killing their kind for money and food.''

 

The darkness around Victor seemed to come closer every second. On his back he crawled as fast as he could, facing the direction that the voice seemed to come from. Hectically he searched his robes' pockets for his needle pistol or at least his knife. They were gone. Everything he found was the silver medal that identified him as a merchant from Nostramo Quintus, the symbol of his power. He cursed it and wished that he had never followed this path.

In the shortest moment desperation took over and he threw the medal away at the dark voice.

 

''Still fighting, eh?''

 

Victor winced and turned in a hurry, the voice now coming from the shadows behind him.

He gave up. No longer could he endure this scenario of fear and darkness.

 

''Come and show yourself to me! Come and fight like a man!''

 

The answer sounded angry, but it didn't seem that Victor's provocation had really worked.

 

''I will not fight you like a man. For I am no man.''

''Then what are you?''

''I'', the voice began, now being a sharp whisper that hurt Victor's ears,

 

''I am darkness incarnate. I am the Night Haunter.''

 

Victor Lear collapsed. Then the shadows swallowed him.

 

Justice had been served.

 

 

One

Night Lords Warship Darting Avenger

 

 

''I WAS ONE of the first to meet our father, and I loved him from the very moment that my eyes caught sight of him.''

 

 

Ancient Coreol looked up. His mechanical bodyparts hissed in relief as he changed his pose after hours of story-telling. The shreaks of his limbs echoed through the mighty halls of the Legion's archives. Coreol knew most of what was conserved in these venerable chambers. In fact, he had helped to bring large amounts of the stored wisdom onto data-slatas as well as onto parchments. Now the honour of passing this knowledge on to future generations of Space Marines was his. The mighty warrior entombed in his Dreadnought armour enjoyed this task, it was an honour indeed. It made him proud. Proud that his Primarch had chosen him to teach and to form new men who would soon serve the Emperor in battle alongside him. During the hours that had passed Coreol had told the initiates who sat around him about the era of Unification and the ascendency of the Emperor. Although having listened to the old Dreadnought without speaking or interruptng him, the men began whispering between each other. They now realised that their bodies ached from not moving for quite a long time and they were glad that Coreol seemed to make a pause.

 

''Quiet!''

 

The word produced by Coreol's vox implants sounded like metal hammered on metal, the strengh of it enough to immediately stop the young Marines from talking.

They were intimidated, Coreol could feel it, but he didn't mean to frighten them. He spoke with the voice of a father teaching his children, guiding them and preparing them for their role. But he also had to show them their limits.

One hand open to aid those who needed the help, the other hand ready to show his pupils what happened if they went too far.

He liked his attitude, benevolent yet strong in will. He was the ideal of a warrior of the Emperor.

And even though he was the very essence of age, he was not willing to quit his service for his beloved creator. Coreol had fought in uncounted campaigns, slaughtering the Emperor's foes and spreading the light of the Imperium of mankind. But the older Coreol got, the more he enjoyed staying in the archives for long times, resting, learning and teaching alike. He had become the Legion's most feared warrior long time before he now had become the Legion's most talented storyteller.

While telling his stories Ancient brother Coreol seemed to slip out of reality, focussing all the force of his brain implants on reproducing the events that happened so many centuries ago.

 

He had been a young Sergeant back then.

He rememberd every little detail of the Emperor's glorious appearance and the magnificence of the meeting with the eighth of his lost sons. He was paralyzed that moment, speechless in awe.

But for the initiates to be able to understand the whole grandness of the occasion he had to start at the very beginning. And the beginning was the reunification of the Master of Mankind with the Night Haunter.

 

The Astartes Legion that travelled with the Emperor's personal fleet during the campaign towards a planet called Nostramo was the VIII. Legion. Its name was known throughout the Imperium, the deeds of its legionnaries legendary.

The Space Marines of the ''Desmodon Raptors“ had already served alongside the other Legions on Terra during the Unification Wars. After the rise of the Emperor these Marines were assigned with the noble task of bringing the lost human cultures of the rest of the galaxy back to the light of the Imperium.

Originating from the middle and eastern parts of former Europe, the 8th Legion Astartes was named after a long extinct mammal from Terra that used leathery wings to fly and hunt during the night. The name of it coming from the old roman term ''Desmodontinae'', it was said to even haunt humans. Imperial records named this animal ''vampire bat'' and due to the myths of its effectiveness in hunting at night the Marines from the 8th were well worthy of adopting its name.

 

For the Desmodon Raptors excelled at rapid assaults. The Legion's Marines who proved themselves in close combat were given Mark I jump packs. Jump packs allowed them to bring death from above by jumping off of Thunderhawk ships or crossing huge distances in a short amount of time.

These Assault Squads were highly valued by the rest of the Legion and their reputation made them one of the most feared foe throughout the galaxy. Assault Squads that were composed out of the veteran Marines called themselves ''Raptorcults'' and they were the best of the best. With the permission of the Emperor himself and the Legion's Lord the Raptorcults were organized in a separate company, the 23th, the Storm Company.

 

Coreol smiled. Not one of the initiates was able to understand what the Dreadnought was talking about. For noone of them had actually seen what he had experienced in battle for hundreds of times. He had fought alongside the Raptorcults and they always had cut bloody swathes through enemy lines.

Each single one of them was a brutal sight in battle. Their deep blue armour was nearly invisble against the dark skies during the attacks at night, making it really hard for enemies to pick targets.

The Storm Company's men wore the insignia of the Desmodon Raptors, but non-standard equipment was beginning to become more common.

Chainglaives and warpaint went into this category. Chainaxes were in use of almost every Legion that used Assault Squads, and they served really well. But they lacked elegance. Assault Marines from the World Eaters were famous for hacking their foes to shreds, but simple hacking was uneffective against stronger armour. So the Techmarines from the 8th had signed a deal with the Mechanicum on Mars to produce hybrids of chainswords, chainaxes and the upcoming technology of Thunderhammers.

The results were weapons which could be used as stabbing, armour-piercing weapons as well as scythe-like instruments for reaping through close enemy formations.

But not only weapons changed.

The contract with the Mechanicum also included the newest technology for jump packs. With that, the Desmodon Raptors were the first to recieve newer marks of jump pack which meant more stability, control and the ablity of staying airborne for a longer time.

While perfecting the Legion's tactics through adaption of new technologies, the legionnaries did their best to underline their reputation as deadly hunters.

Skull shaped face masks or painted markings of terror on their helmets became very popular with the time.

Often, the last thing a foe of the Imperium who was facing the VIII. Legion's Raptorcults saw was the grin of death right in front of him. Some warriors painted stylised lightning bolts on their armour to show their loyalty to the Master of Mankind at the same time as using the imagery of thunderstorms to frighten their enemies. During the years of the Nostramo campaign the Storm Company became some kind of warrior lodge. The veterans who joined the ranks of the Raptorcults were blamed to make use of brutal rituals that made them overly bloodthirsty in combat. They had to deal with the reproach of only killing for killing's sake, losing focus in hand-to-hand and therefore neglecting the Imperial ideals. But the battles that were won and the systmes reclaimed made the critics fall silent. There was no argument against the Emperor's most loved warriors. The Storm Company's commander, who held the title ''Talonmaster'' took his place at the side of the Legion's Lord. Zso Zahaal, a hero of many campaigns, had the rank of the Talonmaster at the time the first doubts about the Raptor's actions arose. Zahaal was as deadly a warrior as he was an eloquent orator. He picked his words wisely everytime he was called to account for the alleged wrong-doing of his brethren.When asked what he knew about the mysteries and the lapses of controlled thinking in the midst of his company, the Talonmaster came up with answers that allowed no argueing.

 

''Have you been there?'', he would say, his voice turning into a mere whisper, cold as ice, ''Have you ever been to the frontline of a battle?''

 

Everytime his words froze the blood of the inquirer. Obviously the people who were tasked to ask questions were Imperial personal and not warriors, so none of them had experienced war, let alone the cruelties of close combat.

 

''Will you ever acknowledge what my brethren are accomplishing? Leave war to the warriors, and the warriors will leave the talking to the bootlickers. My company serves the Emperor and Him alone. We use every method we need to strenghten His force and to further support His struggle. We slay foes for you to live on. We stalk them at night for you to enjoy safe daylight. We overcome darkness to bring your illumination to them. We endure horrors that would crush your simple mind. And you dare to question my methods? Who says that I am the one who can not be trusted? Maybe it is you if you go on holding a whole company of Astartes off of their duty. Think about it.''

 

This answer had been enough. Intimidated, noone asked again.

Coreol smiled. Not one of the initiates was able to understand what the Dreadnought was talking about. For noone of them had actually seen what he had experienced in battle for hundreds of times. He had fought alongside the Raptorcults and they always had cut bloody swathes through enemy lines.

 

Coreol did his best to describe the surprise attack tactics of the Cults to his students.

 

''Strike hard, strike fast, that is the Raptorcult's philosophy. Noone can see them coming. Once you see them, you are already damned. They come for you, they fall down from the heavens. Every light from their armour's systems is turned off. Raptors are invisible during the night. And then they hit you like birds hit their prey after a nose-dive, headlong into enemy lines. Once a Raptor is on top of you, he will switch his light systems on again and a loud shreak is heard all over the battlefield. If you're still alive while a Cult hits your position, your ears will burst at the shreaks of these killers. There is no possibility of escaping. They are your doom.

 

 

Hundreds of battles had been won keeping the Raptorcults in reserve, dropping them in at the right point of time from atmospheric and orbital aircraft like Thunderhawk Gunships.

 

In the first years of their appearance on the battlefields of the galaxy, they had been fighting alongside the Legion's mobile infantry, for example charging enemy position backed up by squads of Astartes transported in by Rhinos or Terminators carried in Land Raider heavy tanks. This trend was receeding with the years, the Raptors were more and more becoming hunters that allowed noone else but the elite to go to battle at their side and join them in their actions.

Also, they were employed more and more only for highly specialised and often highly dangerous missions. All of these factors combined to instill a unique 'esprit de corps' amongst the warriors of jump pack-equipped units. It was this spirit of dangerous individualism which was to have terrible consequences during the years to come...

For now they were the most feared warriors under the command of the Emperor. They were the very ideals of the warriors of the 8th Legion. And what the Legion would become known for.

They truly were the lords of the night.

 

TWO

Nostramo Quintus

 

They were now crossing Encubis Square, a gigantic open space paved with black tiles which were produced in factories all over the planet. The acidic rain that fell from the shrouded heavens of Nostramo made the Astartes look like they were walking on an ocean of black water.

On the first look all of the streets of Nostramo Quintus were empty. The only things that dared to move were the flickering bowls of light that engulfed the beaded lamp posts on both sides of the streets. They looked like little suns, desperately trying to bring some light into the dark void of their environment.

The drops of rain that were touched by the glow shone like little silver stars, completing the imagery of small star systems that blended together into one big galaxy.

A sudden crack followed by the sound of splintering glass ringed through the silence. One of the lights faded from the rows of lamps and left a dark scar in the galaxy of light.

Coreol pushed any treacherous thoughts about bad omens aside and refocussed his mind. His enhanced senses noticed movement in the dark side streets and recesses of the main road. Coreol stopped and raised his left arm to signalise his squad to have their weapons at the ready. When there was no sounds of safety catches being released and bolters being aimed he turned around. He smiled when he saw that there had been no need to tell his men to be aware of a possible threat. Brother Nemet, who carried the squad's heavy bolter, looked over to his Sergeant and nodded in assurance that everything was already under control. Crouching in the shadows, slowly, the people that fled from the light and purity of the foreigners now left their hideouts, crawling on their knees. Through the vision slit of his helmet he could see the expression of their faces. They spoke of fear and incomprehension towards the sudden appearance of the armoured giants from the heavens.

Coreol imagined what they were thinking of him and the rest of his squad. He envisioned what they saw when they looked at him.

He was a giant, Astartes build of course, clad in a heavy suit of Mark II ''Crusade'' pattern power armour. Painted blue and red he had to be an awesome sight. Stylised eagle wings and lightning bolts were attached to the armour's breastplate and to the left shoulderpad, gleaming white in the scarce light of Nostramo Quintus.

The artists of Terra could have made brilliant paintings out of this scene.

 

Coreol had been part of the delegation that had been sent down to the surface of Nostramo Quintus.

The ''delegation'' had in fact been a military strike force to secure the city and its surrounding area. Noone knew for sure what waited for them on the surface of Nostramo, therefore the Commanders of the 157th expeditionary fleet had mustered a respectable amount of soldiers.

The strike force consisted of roughly two thousand Astartes of the Desmodon Raptors, four thousand five hundred Imperial Army soldiers of the 42th Lybian Archers and several war engines from the Legio Mortis, mighty Titans from the Adeptus Mechanicus of Mars.

It was a military presence like it had never been seen on Nostramo before. Several Army Commanders called the amount of troops 'showing off' and that half of the deployed troops would have done the job as efficiently as the number actually mustered. But the opportunity of recovering a lost son and one of the most competent leaders that soldiers can think of was too precious to be dealt with carelessly.

 

Deployment happened as planned. The first to go in were the Astartes of 5th and 6th company. Each contingent was about two hundred and fifty Marines strong, which left the whole north of the city under control of little under five hundred Space Marines. The first warriors to smell the air of Nostramo were the men of Captain Belhaan's 5th.

Belhaan wasn't really pleased with the task that he was assigned with.

He was to secure the northern train stations of Nostramo Quintus, as well as the vehicle production facilities in the north-west. Noone should be able to leave or enter the city without the Astartes allowing it. This was a necessary action, but it meant that Belhaan would be far off the main action in the centre of the city, leaving him with little glory at best. But he was a man of duty and he would never have questioned the tactical genius of the Legion's Lord.

At dusk, the first drop pods descended from the heavens like firey comets.

Once they hammered into the streets of the city, their armoured flanks, shimmering midnight blue, burst open and disgorged dozens of Astartes warriors.

 

''Sergeants Zeron and B'kaal, take your squads as well as squads 3 to 9 and secure the train station a mile to the north!''

 

Belhaan opened the vox-link to advise his sergeants to bring their squads into position.

 

''Aye sir!''

''Miriel, take squad 12 to occupy that facility over there.

''Aye sir!''

''Lo, you and Jubos are to secure the Hithert Gate train station in the north-west!''

''Understood!''

''Krieg, lead your men through the facilities to your right! All others, follow m! I'll keep the vox-link alive in case of enemy contact. One last order: Only shoot if someone shoots at you! Is that understood? Alright, everyone knows his objective? Good hunting brothers!''

 

........................

 

 

Epilogue: Heresy

Night Lords Warship Darting Avenger

 

 

''My Lord, word has arrived of Horus gathering his forces on Isstvan V.''

 

The black marble columns in the strategium of the Night Lords' flagship glinted even in the scarce light of the V-shaped lamps at the ceiling. The dull lighting made the room look like a cave. A cave that had its end in a huge artificial hemisphere, a mighty panel crafted from purest Afrik-Gold and finest Arabian glass. One could see the stars and smell the cold of the void. Some years ago, standing here for hours, dreaming of distant galaxies, heroic deeds and glorious conquests, this had always been the favourite place of the VIII. Legion's Primarch. If one looked for him, one would find him here. Nowadays, the strategium was dark and empty.

Except for today. Today there was a need for it not to be empty. Three men were here, standing in front of a throne of onyx.

Dwarving his seat, Konrad Curze sat in the big throne, looming in the shadows, his features invisible to his visitors. With Zso Zahaal beginning to speak, his face moved from the shadows and now rested in one of his mighty hands that had slayed so many foes. It was a gesture of respect: To show his visitors that he was aware and listening, despite his mood being obviously grim.

 

''The Warmaster'',

 

Zahaal continued,

 

''he now is officially named a traitor in the face of his father and of the Imperium as a whole.''

 

He tried to stay calm. A message of such treacherous content made his blood heat up. Delivering it was no easy undertaking, although something told him that Night Haunter already knew of what his Talonmaster had just told him.

 

''The Emperor has already sent six other Legions to stop him. Your brothers Ferrus Manus, Vulkan, Perturabo, Lorgar, Corax and Alpharius will be reaching Isstvan V in the next few days.''

 

Standing next to Zso Zahaal, there were two other men, sharing the audience with the Talonmaster. The one to his right was the Legion's Lord, Captain Lo Shang of 1st company. The one to his left was Bidon Gloch, Master Astropath of the Night Lords' fleet. Now it was Gloch's turn to speak.

 

''We are not too far off, if we tried we could reach the Isstvanian system in mere 3 days.''

 

Konrad Curze's pale face sank back into the shadows, silent, though Zso and Shang knew that he had already made his decision. A long time before this meeting.

 

''Lord Astropath, tell you're men to change course. We're heading for Isstvan V.''

''As you wish, my Commander.''

 

Lord Astropath Gloch nodded, bowed and took his leave. When Lo Shang followed him, Zso also turned to do the same. But once Shangl and Gloch were gone, Night Haunter arose from his seat and adressed the Raptorcult's master once more. His expression spoke of more grief than it had ever before.

 

''Zso.''

''Yes, my Lord ?''

''Please, stay. I need to speak to you about our next steps.''

 

Zso Zahaal knew that he now had to say what had remained unspoken until now.

 

''So what are your plans my Lord, are we going to side with Horus?

 

Night Haunter breathed heavy, a sigh that spoke of surrender and hope alike. Times were difficult. He now had to rearrange loyalties, to break with his past and to head into an uncertain future.

 

''My Talonmaster, in your heart you already know what destiny we are to face. My brothers on Nostramo, my brother Rogal, and finally my own father have forsaken me. I lost everything, Zso, I only know one more person I can trust.

I, we, have no choice.''

 

 

***

 

Ancient Dreadnought Coreol closed his eyes.

 

''And so, not willing to hold on to empty promises of the false Emperor and the hypocrisy of our brothers who exploited us,''

 

he sighed,

 

''we became the traitors.''