The Sound of Wings

[Lucifer216]

Hi all. My friends and I are gearing up for a Deathwatch campaign. I'm looking to roleplay a Blood Angel Assault marine and thought I'd share my character prelude with you.

 

The Sound of Wings

 

 

Deep within the fortress, Decimus Artorius Venator lay dreaming. While without, only the gentle hiss and whir of the arcane devices endlessly tasked with filtering impurities from his blood punctured the silence, within, a cacophony of sights and sounds streamed through his slumbering mind.

 

 

He dreamt of his father and the day that the awful burden had been placed on his narrow shoulders. He had barely turned twelve cycles by the count of his people that day. He knew most of the tale even as his father spoke it. Of how his great-great grandsire had won great honour for the clan and how that renown had dripped and ebbed away, despite their best efforts, like a man touched with a mortal wound who knowing the inevitable, still clutches at it in desperation, even as his heart's blood pools on the floor before him. The tale moved on, to the most recent calamity. Decimus's older brother Claudio had been found wanting by the Angels, despite being powerfully built by the standards of his emaciated and stunted people. Rumours that a weakness had found its way into the blood of the family were running rife and unless something was done, they would be forced to look to their own, turning the gossip into unwholesome truth. It was his turn to untaken the journey to Angel's fall. After his father had stopped speaking, he closed his eyes, almost crushed by the task ahead. Then for a fleeting instant, he thought he could hear the sound of wings...

 

 

His mind's eye shifted, only to focus on another memory. It was from the time when he was still growing, still shifting into a distant echo of his new father's former glory. He and his squad had infiltrated into the heart of a catacomb, searching for one of the mad servants of a man who plunged an entire world into fire and darkness. Eventually their field-craft had been found wanting and they had nearly be overwhelmed by a living tide of flesh racked and twisted away from its true form by the darker powers that thirsted from beyond the stars. Besiphon and Valenius had died that day. A single crimson tear for his brothers welled up and ran down his achingly perfect cheek even as the dream moved on. Still they had prevailed. When the raging insanity had died away, he had come to the senses as he was about to bring his blade down upon the body of a girl with crimson eyes. For a moment, he froze, confronted by the ghost of the mutant girl who had said nothing, only stared when he in another life had foolishly taken up his friends' dare and tried to sneak into the cannibals' camp. He knew in that instance that only blind fate had seen to it that he had been born and raised among the chosen. The girl before him now spat and hissed, her face contorting into bestial fury and the moment was broken. In an instant so small it could barely said to have existed, her head was severed, her chest pulped asunder as he vented his shame upon her.

 

 

His vision wavered and the scene before him redrew itself to form that of another conflict. His second engagement clad in the might of mark VII plate. The Eldar had come with all the fire and deadly grace that their dying race could still command and the Blood Angels had met them head on, loathe to allow them the satisfaction of denying a world to his Divine Majesty. In their mercurial haste and limitless arrogance, the wandering ones had not even deemed it necessary to inform their victims as to the reason behind their slaughter. It had only been after he had crossed blades with one of their seers that the truth had come out. In the flurry of blows, his helmet had been rendered useless and after its swift removal, they had met in a clinch. With a roar, he had ripped the creature's palid throat out and drunk deep of the crimson fluid. His perception had shifted, almost overwhelmed by the dead creature's terror. For unknown to all, a deluded cult was even now seeking to slash the veil between this world and the next and bring a blasphemy into the world. For once, his sergeant had to make do with the Eldar's sweetmeats.

 

 

Again a ripple and a change. This time, the memory was more recent, vivid with the hues of his last battle. The orks had come, burning and breaking. Laughing like idiot children while they tore man's works asunder, oblivious to their fragile beauty. His and his squad were patrolling through the blacked corpse of one of too many cities, when they had stumbled upon the Church. Within, the beasts gibbered, grunting in their moronic, thick tongue, while they unloaded thick roaring bolts into the statues of the Emperor and his saints. A dull roar had filled his ears and it had taken him a brief moment to realise that it was the dull double-thump of his twin hearts, stretched out in time. The red mist had descended and raw power burned through his veins. The thick blood of the beasts drenched the floor, the chapel turning into an abattoir, barely able to contain the wrath of the Blood Angels. When the slaughter was done and his vision had cleared, he looked up at the shattered glory of what had undoubtedly been the work of a gifted man's lifetime and wept. The statue despite its violated and broken condition still held the eye. A monument to the nobility and glory of mankind had been lost to the ages.

 

 

Decimus woke with a start. Footsteps echoed as two forms walked towards his crypt. His eyes drifted briefly over the slab of marble that with his best efforts had yet to take on the radiance of the statue in his dreams. With a thought, he ordered the devices to detach from the various apertures in his black carapace and swiftly donned the crimson habit that had been hanging on the wall. His brow creased in consternation as he gazed into the supernova blue eyes of Captain Zedrenael, before turning to look upon a man clad in dark armour, a red and black marble "I" proudly displayed upon his chest. The man smelt of secrets and of terrible knowledge gained from musty tomes. His aged face was still hard with purpose.

 

"Decimus," Zedenael spoke, "this is Inquisitor Toll of the Ordo Xenos. He has ever fought alongside us and now looks to us for aid."

"Tell me, marine," the inquisitor's voice was deep for a human and was only just starting to quaver with age, "what do you know of the Deathwatch?"

 

Years of training flew by. Some of it had tested him more than he could have imagined. Several times his post-human flesh had felt more like that of the timid boy that had by luck as much as skill made the journey through the rad-deserts to Angel's fall. Then abruptly it was over and he was left to meditate on the task before him, standing in somber vigil over his armour. As he stared at its now unfamiliar form, Decimus felt a cold shiver, like the chill promise of the grave, run down his spine. Repainted in matt black, the plate now resembled that of the Death Company, those doomed souls driven mad by their father's last moments. Only the gun metal shoulder pad and right arm broke the illusion. That and one other detail, the true significance of which began to penetrate his consciousness. No longer was his helm framed by the twin globes of his backpack's heat sinks. With dawning elation, Decimus stepped to one side, saw the might of an Astrates pattern jump pack and for an instant, heard the sound of wings....

[Brother-Captain Devlonir]

Very nicely written, I enjoy the theme and the story. The short moment of doubt that was quickly destroyed by the sense of duty and shame, the fight with the Red Thirst from time to time, the little detail of gaining information from drinking the Eldar's blood, as well as 'the sound of wings'.

 

One thing though.. what makes Brother Decimus Artorius Venator above his 1000 other peers that he is the one chosen to join the Deathwatch?

[Lucifer216]

Thanks :devil:

 

Actually that's where it gets a little tricky. Because of the demands of the RPG format, as far as "Deathwatch the game" is concerned, Deathwatch Space Marines are inducted from the top 0.1% of relatively new Space Marine recruits. As a result, the emphasis is on potential rather than experience. Sorry if it didn't come out particularly well in the prelude, but one of Decimus's more unique traits is a desire to understand the alien so that it can be better purged, while at the same time having the strength of will and purpose needed to maintain his purity in the face of potential corruption. As a result, I intend to roleplay him, so that he uses his omniphage more than his squad-brothers, often relying on the information for tactical insight.

 

If I were to write the prelude again, I would flesh out the encounter with the Eldar Seer, emphasising Decimus's curiousity at the different world view of an alien.

[Brother-Captain Devlonir]

Not necessarily needed to explain that further. Sometimes, unclear things are what makes a story in it's written form.

It's just that these things do indeed need out of story explaining for an actual character concept in a roleplaying game ;-)

 

A reall nice concept! Was at a moment afraid you went for the bloodthirsty vampire BA of old, but it seems he has a real reason to do it: as he desires information of his enemy through the use of his omniphage. That is one thing that does set an Astartes apart from the other 0.1% of recruits indeed.

Nice concept surely!

[Kurb]

Very cool.

I will keep up with this for sure.

[Demoulius]

very nicely done :)