Dedicated

[Corsair]

It's been an even longer time coming!

 

I wrote the story 'Worthy' (which can be found in the Librarium) a couple of years ago, which was my attempt at showing a Space Marine in a situation a little different to the typical wartorn battlefield.

 

After this I eventually completed the sequel 'Potential', which directly followed on from 'Worthy', and was another attempt at showing Marines in a unique situation; this time being interacted with by a normal human on the medical deck of a ship.

 

Now after a bit of a hiatus away from writing fiction, I've decided to celebrate actually painting my Lords of Twilight by completing the conclusion to this story arc (which I have named 'The Making of a Lord, incidentally').

 

This is another attempt at writing a dialogue-heavy representation of Marines being something other than faceless killing machines. It also serves as something of a proper introduction to various characters that appear in my army, which I might even get around to posting some day

 

Anyway, now that the backgrounder is out of the way, onto the show! Please feel free to critique away; I'm sure there are tense errors and whatnot, and I still haven't had a great deal of experience writing dialogue heavy stories. I would really appreciate any comments, good or bad.

___

 

 

Dedicated - Part Three of 'The Making of a Lord'

by Tim 'Corsair' Sweeney

 

"We are the pinnacle of humanity,"

 

The array of weaponry on display was enormous, easily covering the entire wall of the training deck.

 

"And so it is only natural that we must strive for perfection in all we do, even as we acknowledge that true perfection is impossible for all but the Lord of Mankind to achieve,"

 

He barely glanced at the various firearms on offer; this was to be a confrontation of a more...personal nature.

 

"For if we do not strive for perfection, unattainable though it may be, then we are not worthy of our status as the greatest of our race,"

 

His eyes passed over swords and spears, axes and daggers. He knew he should not be bothering; he had made his choice of weaponry almost a century ago in the desert wastes of Dagmar VII, and he was hardly going to change his preference now.

 

"To not reach for perfection in all you do is the worst form of cowardice. If you shirk this responsibility, then you are unworthy of joining our sacred brotherhood,"

 

The twin swords, straight-bladed and razor-edged, felt perfect in his hands. He spun them through a few simple attack routines, the interweaving blades feeling like an extension of his own flesh.

 

"If you fail to reach for perfection; if you just once refuse to sacrifice everything in His name; then you will have failed yourself, your brothers, and the honour of this Chapter,"

 

Telmarr Gwillum Faer'dalis, Lord of Twilight and recently of the First Company, had smiled wryly as Sergeant Brachuss' reading from the Manifest had washed over him; but at the last he just could not help tweaking his friend's nose in front of the students.

 

"And worst of all, you will have failed your teachers," He grinned slyly as Brachuss' head snapped around at his interjection.

 

"Now to my mind," Faer'dalis continued, "I really don't care whether you piss your greaves the first time you face an Ork, as long as I'm not close enough to smell it,"

 

The vein on Brachuss' forehead was pulsating now; it was all Faer'dalis could do not to laugh.

 

"But the Lord Sergeant here, he seems to care whether you Dedicated live up to his standards and actually manage to not disgrace yourselves. Why don't you lot ask young Potential Novak over there what Brachuss did to the last group of young bucks that didn't live up to his standards."

 

The raven-haired young Potential, still a child by the standards of most cultures in the Imperium, seemed to wilt under the sudden attention of the eight Dedicated.

 

Or perhaps it was the reminder of what Brachuss had done to the rest of his juvenile gang; Corwyn Novak had been the only survivor, and severely injured at that. At first Faer'dalis had disagreed with the Sergeant's decision to make the lad a Potential member of the Chapter, thinking him small and somewhat pathetic, but over the weeks since they had come aboard the strike cruiser An Amber Mourning, Novak had begun to train with the others, seemingly accepting that his old life on Reach's World was over and embracing his new existence.

 

Now it seemed almost inevitable that the surprising Potential would one day join the ranks of the Dedicated, recently inducted warriors still undergoing their Trials to be accepted as full Astartes.

 

To the lad's credit, his initial shyness under the stares of the others on the training deck quickly gave way to a look of grim resolve. Squaring his shoulders, Novak returned their looks with a challenging one of his own.

 

There was a certain mettle to the boy, even if he still...

 

Stars flared behind Faer'dalis' eyes and he found himself on one knee. Long blonde hair hanging over his eyes, the room seemed to spin slowly as his senses returned.

 

His ears were ringing.

 

"Oh I'm sorry Telmarr," came Brachuss' deep voice, "were you not ready to begin?"

 

Brachuss stood opposite Faer'dalis, blood dripping from the pommel of the huge cutlass held in his left hand, and a truly evil smile upon his face.

 

Faer'dalis shook off the last vestiges of the blow that would have killed any mortal man, and grinned nastily. "Just giving you a head start old friend; I figured you might need it now that you spend more time preaching to the children than actually fighting our enemies!"

 

He had prepared himself to receive Brachuss' charge, knowing that the insult to the older warrior's combat prowess would not go unheeded.

 

The heavy blades whirled, blocking the initial flurry of blows from the cutlass. At the last moment he noticed the wavy-bladed dirk clutched in Brachuss' right hand, and only the superhuman reflexes of a Space Marine allowed him to dance his loincloth-clad form away from the viper-like strikes.

 

"Even decrepit old teachers know a few tricks," It was once again Brachuss' turn to speak, the verbal sparring every bit as important in this duel as the clash of blades; Faer'dalis was amused to notice that some of the Dedicated were scribbling notes, even as they watched the battle, enamoured of the sight of two veteran Astartes in personal combat.

 

"Treat every exercise as though it were real; every opponent as though they will be your death; every moment as though it can define the fate of the Imperium itself..."

 

Brachuss' sonorous recital of the Manifest trailed off as Faer'dalis managed to slip through his defences, drawing blood in a long line across the veteran's hip. It was hardly a serious wound, but the first 'official' blood had been shed.

 

He withdrew to one side of the mat as one of the Dedicated shouted "First point: Lord Brother Faer'dalis!"

 

He noticed that Novak had edged closer to the duel, sitting now with the group of Dedicated. His wiry frame was dwarfed by those of the already-enhanced physiques of the students, though they were barely a few years older. Interestingly, the young Potential had moved to a position in front of the others, and none seemed to be objecting to the presumptuous behaviour.

 

The boy's eyes seemed to be peering into his own, willing him to lower his guard and accept his inevitable death.

 

"Brother Faer'dalis here," shouted Brachuss as he launched a new flurry at the distracted marine, "has an honour roll greater than most within the Chapter, and yet he is almost a pariah within our brotherhood!"

 

He barely managed to block a high-low combination; Brachuss had never spoken of him in such a disparaging tone before.

 

"Ill-disciplined!" The words echoed like a whip-crack, accompanied by a furious blow that almost took Faer'dalis' hand.

 

"Arrogant!" The dirk swept across low, even as the cutlass feinted high, and Faer'dalis was forced to throw himself backwards gracelessly to avoid being disembowelled.

 

"Wilfully ignorant of the tenets of the Manifest!" Brachuss made this sound the greatest sin of all as he advanced upon his prey.

 

Faer'dalis darted forward suddenly, knowing that his act had drawn his opponent in. He had just one moment to savour the outraged look on Brachuss' face before he drove his knee into the Sergeant's groin, the twin swords sweeping across to rest their blades on either side of the neck.

 

"And worst of all," Faer'dalis could not help giving his defeated opponent one last jibe, "is that..."

 

"The arrogant bastard is just that little bit faster than you, isn't he Brachuss?"

 

At the sound of this new voice, Faer'dalis saw his friend's eyes widen in shock. Pushing aside the younger marine's blades, and heedless of the lines of blood that had appeared on his neck, Brachuss leapt to his feet and saluted fist to heart, shouting: "Attention on deck!"

 

Faer'dalis spun and saluted, even as the young Dedicated genuflected, dragging a startled Novak with them.

 

"Please be at ease brothers," came the silken voice once more, "there is no need to stand on ceremony when my armour still bears the stains of battle and my throat is still parched by the dust of that forsaken xenos world."

 

He paused for a moment, clearing his throat, "Yes Dedicated Cael, that was a hint; mulled wine if you please."

 

The startled looking Dedicated scurried away, "And please don't think such things; I would hardly annihilate you over a matter of wine...unless it is truly bad, I suppose."

 

Faer'dalis laughed in spite of himself as he watched the youngster trip and fall on his face at these last words.

 

The moment of levity over, the Astartes watched in awe as the Tactical Dreadnought Armoured figure walked slowly towards him, the bulky, deep blue armour a startling contrast to his own purple plate hanging on an armature near the doorway.

 

Belisarius LaCroix, hero of the Chapter and the most powerful Librarian of the Lords of Twilight, accepted the proffered goblet of wine with a nod of thanks to the still-startled appearing Cael. It seemed amazing to Faer'dalis that LaCroix could even hold the goblet without crushing it in his mighty grip; even more that the hulking figure could appear to glide so effortlessly across the deck of the Mourning.

 

"My Lord," Brachuss' words seemed to tumble out in the presence of the renowned warrior, "I was not aware you were coming aboard. I -"

 

"Things have changed Elkinn, and not for the better. I am newly returned to the fleet aboard His Might, Atomic-"

 

Faer'dalis interjected, "the Atomic? but that is..."

 

"Precisely brother. I regret to inform you both that our Lord Captain Commander is lost to us, although perhaps not in the way we would have anticipated."

 

He paused for a moment, a faraway look in his eyes.

 

"Regardless," LaCroix continued, "your mission alongside Inquisitor Bautista is now over. The Mourning shall travel along with the rest of the fleet back to the homeworld, that we may decide what to do next."

 

Faer'dalis exchanged a confused look with Brachuss.

 

"Forgive me Lord, but why would we two be recalled from our mission against the xenos-worshipping cult in this sector?" objected Brachuss, "surely the future of the Chapter is the province of yourself and the Council?"

 

LaCroix seemed to sag for a moment, and despite the bulk of his Terminator armour and the tremendous aura of power he radiated, Faer'dalis suddenly saw not a tremendous warrior of the Chapter, but instead a man almost brought low by the pressure of his responsibilities and the weight of a great sadness.

 

It was a sobering sight.

 

The Librarian leaned in closer to the two Astartes, the sound of whirring servomotors almost drowning out his now-whispering voice, "We lost far more than just our Master on that abominable planet. All of the deployed companies took heavy losses repelling the Tau, and as though that were not bad enough, the thrice-cursed Necrontyr..."

 

His voice trailed off for a moment, the memory of the soulless automatons obviously still fresh in his mind. Faer'dalis was shocked; he had never come up against the Necrontyr in battle before, but he had heard the tales of the horrors they inflicted whenever they attacked.

 

"They appeared in the midst of the vanguard as we moved to crush the Tau once and for all. Brothers of the First and Third managed to repel them in the end, but not before they decimated the advance force. As you are probably aware, Lord Captain Lyr'kelis was leading almost half the Tenth-

 

"Emperor no..." he heard Brachuss whisper; Faer'dalis himself was almost speechless at the news.

 

"Aye. Lyr'kelis got a few of the young ones out...but not enough. The bastard automatons eviscerated the scouts, the relief force, and finally they disappeared with the Lord Captain Commander's body, if indeed he even fell; I shudder to imagine what they will do to him if he still lived when they took him."

 

He paused to clear his throat; Faer'dalis and Brachuss stood mute, horrified at how badly the xenos had wounded the Lords of Twilight.

 

"The fallen, Lord Captain Commander Horshak and Lord Captain Lyr'kelis included, will be given full honours and a place in the Necropolis; they served their Chapter, their Imperium, and their Emperor well."

 

"May they shelter in the palm of the Emperor's hand," the three Astartes ritually intoned, drawing sharp looks from the cluster of potential marines.

 

They had obviously been trying to eavesdrop on the hushed conversation, and just as obviously trying to appear to be doing anything but; all, Faer'dalis noticed, except for Corwyn Novak, who made no pretence at doing anything but trying to decipher what the Astartes were discussing.

 

LaCroix had obviously noticed this too; he continued in the same hushed tone, penetrating glare now on the Dedicated and the Potential; "and that of course brings us to -"

 

"-Dedicated!" The single word cracked like a whip, cutting off all whispered conversation between the students, the inherent command in his voice quite at odds with the grave, low tones Faer'dalis had heard only a moment before.

 

The youngsters immediately snapped to attention.

 

"It appears that your ongoing training is now complete."

 

The Dedicated, to their credit, did not break out into the self-congratulatory behaviour that Faer'dalis had half expected.

 

"We travel now back to the Fortress of Light on Dagmar IV. After our fallen brothers are honoured, and a new Lord Captain Commander chosen, you will all face the final Trial. Those of you who succeed will join the Tenth Company...under the command of Lord Captain Brachuss."

 

The sombre mood of moments before seemed to break at the startling announcement, and Faer'dalis grinned as he clapped his friend on the shoulder in both congratulations and - judging by the faintly queasy look of shock on Brachuss' face - commiserations in equal measure.

 

"Brother Faer'dalis," he felt his grin slip at LaCroix's mentioning of his own name.

 

"Or should that be, Brother-Sergeant Faer'dalis? " LaCroix smiled at Faer'dalis in much the same way that a hungry toxhound looks at a pregnant bovinus. "Sergeant Faer'dalis will be joining Captain Brachuss in the Tenth Company, and will specialise in teaching you all the finer points of the art of melee, which he so ably demonstrated earlier."

 

"Ah melee coach, that explains it; you never could shoot worth a damn!" he heard Brachuss whisper malevolently; at least his friend's good humour had returned.

 

LaCroix continued, ignoring the exchange between the pair; "Until such a time as we have returned and all these changes are made official by the Council, you are all to go about your usual duties... Which would be bolter drill, if I am not mistaken?"

 

At such an obvious dismissal, soon-to-be-Sergeant Faer'dalis saluted the Librarian and, gesturing for Novak and the Dedicated to follow, began to file out.

 

"Leave the boy."

 

Faer'dalis watched Novak freeze, and saw the quickly hidden glimmer of fear in the boy's eyes.

 

He heard Brachuss whisper "The Lord Librarian is a great and just man young Novak. Be truthful, show due respect, and all shall go well for you."

 

Faer'dalis could not resist leaning in and adding; "And remember, he is a powerful psyker, so he's already reading your thoughts anyway."

 

A wild look appeared on the boy's face, "Oh, and if he tells you that you will 'destroy the Lords of Twilight', don't worry too much; he says that to all the new blood."

 

"That will do Brother," came LaCroix's voice. Faer'dalis laughed as he walked from the room, unable to resist turning at the doorway for one last look back. Novak was on one knee, the Librarian's gauntlet resting on the brow of the young Potential, who was shaking visibly.

 

He felt himself being dragged through the door, and sighed theatrically as he looked at Brachuss, "Ah to be young again, hey Captain?"

 

"It is a wonder you survived long enough to become this arrogant, Sergeant."

 

"You wound me, Brachuss! It is not arrogance to strive for perfection, especially when you come this damn close to achieving it!" Faer'dalis gestured to his own muscular body, the few wounds marking his frame from the rough duel already healed by his super-human regenerative powers.

 

At this absurd display, Brachuss burst out laughing, and soon Faer'dalis joined him, their guffaws echoing through the darkened confines of the ship.

 

"You know, the Tenth will never recover from having the pair of us inflicted on it." Brachuss said after a moment, apparently serious in demeanour once more.

 

"The Tenth?" Faer'dalis countered, "Captain, I guarantee you that by the time we are through, the Lords of Twilight in our entirety will never be the same again!"

 

 

= = =

Novak knelt before the one they called LaCroix, and every single fibre of his being cried out to be somewhere - anywhere - but where he was at that moment.

 

++You will destroy the Lords of Twilight.++

 

The voice echoed in his mind; he was shivering, and frost had appeared on his clothing as if from nowhere.

 

++The others will play their part: Brachuss, Faer'dalis, Cael, Domon, Tae'dar, del Fontaine, others too; but it is you Corwyn Novak, Corwyn the Black, who will unmake us.++

 

He tried to shake his head no, but he was unable even to move; he could barely even breathe. He could feel the sweat freezing on his skin.

 

The Librarian's eyes blazed.

 

++I could destroy you now. No one could stop me. I could rip your heart from your chest without ever moving. Perhaps I could even show it to you before you died.++

 

Novak's eyes rolled in his skull; why couldn't he move? Emperor's bones, WHY COULDN'T HE MOVE?

 

++You know my power; you know why you cannot escape my grasp.++

 

The Librarians eyes were glowing with an eldritch blue fire now, matching the colour of his hulking armour.

 

++Yet if I crush you, the Lords of Twilight shall be no more.++

 

Suddenly Novak felt the grip on his mind relax, and he felt himself slide to the floor, gasping feebly for air.

 

"'A remnant of a remnant he will save, and from the ashes begin anew.' This I have foreseen. It is a hard bargain, but hard bargains are the price of being Astartes."

 

Slowly, gently, the huge warrior helped the still-shaking Novak to his feet, holding him steady lest he fall to the deck once more.

 

"You are to be one of us, Corwyn Novak, and I know that you will succeed in achieving your destiny. Surround yourself with allies, and beware the enemy within."

 

Servomotors whirring, the huge figure turned and began to depart as suddenly as he had arrived.

 

Novak sunk to the deck, thoughts swirling as he lay, unable to comprehend what had just transpired.

 

He looked through the open hatch, staring at the rows of escape pods built into the corridor bulkheads, thinking once more of escape.

 

++You could never run far enough. Know that I will be watching you, Corwyn the Black.++

 

A pause, and suddenly Novak's mind was on fire, a burst of pain unlike anything he had ever experienced.

 

++You are dedicated to us now, brother. Your moment will come, Emperor have mercy on us all.++