Element 2 – Warband of Brothers

[Brother Tyler]

Element 2: Warband of Brothers

M

aro Aquilinus was experienced and charismatic, well respected among those with whom he had served. When he turned on the Chapter and stole the Argent Consul he did not act alone. Such an act required loyal lieutenants. These lieutenants conspired with the captain of the 2nd Company and helped him in overpowering those Ultramarines that remained loyal to the Chapter.

CHALLENGE: Describe the members of the detachment that were Aquilinus’ chief supporters.

LIMITATIONS:

Requirements: If a member submits two characters, at least one must be a Sergeant (includes Veteran Sergeants).

Restrictions: No Chaplains, Standard Bearers, or “chiefs” (Master of the Forge, Chief Librarian, Chief Apothecary) joined Aquilinus in going renegade. None of these characters were corrupted by Chaos or agents of the Dark Powers – they acted based on their loyalty to Maro Aquilinus.

Format: Each character description must be from 500 to 1,500 words in length . Members are limited to two characters apiece.

Deadline: All submissions should be submitted to me via PM no later than Friday, 27 May 2011 (which means I’ll accept anything I receive prior to the first time I login on Saturday, 28 May ;) ).

If you have any questions, feel free to ask them in this discussion.

[Chapter Master Ignis Domus]

Two questions:

1. Would members of the command squad who aren't the standard bearer work?

2. Are there any librarians I could use?

[Brother Tyler]

Two questions:

1. Would members of the command squad who aren't the standard bearer work?

2. Are there any librarians I could use?

Yes and yes.

 

I know it's after the deadline, so I'll give everyone until the end of the day tomorrow for this based on the answers to the questions CMID posed (and those of you that submitted entries may adjust them if you'd like - I'll take the most recent submissions from each member as the final submissions).

[Brother Tyler]

We only had three entries this time around, and all three were sergeants, so only one will be included. Here they are, in alphabetical order.

 

Hadrian Varro

 

++Excerpts from the Aquilinus Betrayal, Chapter II++

 

“Of all the losses suffered by the Ultramarines on that dark day, the one most surprising (and some would suggest the most dear) was the betrayal of Veteran Sergeant Hadrian Varro, the Lance of Guilliman. In his nearly three centuries of service to Ultramar and the Emperor, Varro had trained and led hundreds of his fellow battle-brothers through dozens of the Ultramarines bloodiest campaigns, most notably the Purge of Cadriax II and the destruction of the Space Hulk Endless Torment, for which he received Terminator honors. Having been chosen to assume Captaincy over the 7th Company after 200 years of loyal service, Varro declined the honor; he claimed his place was on the battlefield, leading the charge – a poor place for a Captain, to be sure. He would confide later in his confidants that he had little stomach for the political mire that Captaincy would bring. He considered himself a weapon, with as little care for how he was wielded as a sword has.”

 

“Varro’s relationship with Aquilinus was, by all accounts, complex. Where Aquilinus was charismatic and well loved, Varro’s reserved manner and blunt speech gained him few friends among his brothers. If Varro found a course of action unwise, he would voice his opinion without hesitation, and once found himself confined to his quarters when he and Aquilinus nearly came to blows the evening before the Battle of Twelve Bridges. Still, Aquilinus held Varro’s experience in high regard (even if he didn’t always agree with it), never having to second-guess the Sergeant’s straightforward judgment as prideful ambition or political maneuvering. Likewise, Varro admired the way Aquilinus inspired his men by his mere presence and speech, stirring them to heroic actions in a way that Varro could not. Varro’s admiration of Aquilinus ran deeper than most suspected: in a rare moment of loquaciousness, Varro remarked, ‘I have never beheld our Primarch, or gazed upon the Emperor’s face; but I serve at the right hand of Maro Aquilinus, and I am satisfied.’”

 

“Though absent from the actions on el-Jasad, Varro remained a strident voice for continuing the search for Aquilinus and his men long after the search had been abandoned. Though the 2nd company was being reformed after the loss of so many brothers, Varro remained vigilant and quietly prepared his subordinates for Aquilinus’ eventual return. During those long months of waiting, Varro showed a hint of Aquilinus’ distinctive charm, winning over former critics with the thought that if the Chapter would abandon one of their best and brightest to an uncertain fate, what hope would any of them have? Is it right, is it just, to show loyalty to those proven to be disloyal? That Varro could even ask these questions out loud (let alone find sympathizers) without being executed for treason proves the poor state of morale within the 2nd Company.”

 

“And so it was that when Aquilinus addressed his men from the Argent Consul, he found receptive ears and open hearts, his words nourishing the seeds of sedition that Varro had planted. Accounts from survivors claim that Aquilinus seemed almost surprised by the sheer number of brothers that took up his cause – evidence, perhaps, that Aquilinus fully expected to be executed for his treason. Surely, without the aid of Sergeant Hadrian Varro, the outcome would have been radically different.”

 

Kormuk Bladesman

 

Kormuk sat within his arming chamber with his blade on his knees and a polishing cloth in his hands. There was something meditative and purifying in the gentle motions of fabric against adamantium, a way to let the mind sink deeper into itself. He had been reluctant to do so of late. Sinking into the mind brought memory. The memories were sweet.

 

He opened his eyes and the first light of this hell brought pain. Sharp searing agony through his skull that thumped in time with the sound of ordnance being detonated around him. Wrenching off his helmet he inspected the damage and winced when he saw just how close he had come to having the ceramite driven forcefully through his own reinforced cranium. Tossing it aside he pulled his bolter from the mag-lock on his thigh and scanned for targets as the rest of his squad spilled from the drop pod around him. A strong grip clamped around the rim of his shoulder guard and dragged him back into the sparse cover of the pod as a missile exploded feet away, obliterating three of the squad in the process. He glanced around at his saviour and grinned when he saw the armour markings. “Watch your step little brother, we can’t have the Emperor knowing your name before we tack a little glory on to it” voxed his twin.

 

The ghost of a chuckle echoed around the chamber as Kormuk reflected on the rebuke. Typical Othan he mused. Raising his sword to eye level he ran a professional gaze down the blade’s edge and reflected on how he had earned it.

 

The bright arterial blood erupted against his autosense receptors and painted the world in crimson as his chainblade carved its messy way through the traitor’s throat. The ancient armour, forged on Mars in millennia passed failed to withstand the jagged teeth screaming along the edge of the sword. The helm rolled away as the blood erupted before dwindling away due to the regenerative healing processes of the corpse. Kormuk grimaced in disgust when he saw the corruption of the flesh. Such is the price of treachery he thought. Still, he had to give these treacherous bastards some small ounce of respect, their retreat under constant harassment over several weeks had been exemplary, maintaining an organisation that would put some brother astartes chapters to shame. Contempt soured his features again. Lesser chapters perhaps but never the true sons of Gulliman.

 

Breaking into a run he darted amongst the dense foliage of the jungle and the bright sparks of bolter fire, killing anything that crossed his path not bearing the cobalt armour of his brothers. He saw Joren fall, a smoking hole through his torso from the deadly kiss of plasma and nearly tripped over the prone form of Lierus, his armour carved open in at least a dozen places. Up ahead he saw Sergeant Thronard battling away against a monster bearing the armour of an astartes but grossly distorted to bear leering faces and 4 arms, each one ending in talons dripping black venom. Thronard hacked away at each of them but they resisted the lightning sheathing his blade and struck back faster than the eye could catch them. Even as he ran, Kormuk watched as the corrupt ruin of the traitor used two arms to catch the glowing blade while the other two lashed out, flaying the flesh from Thronard’s face. The sergeant staggered back yelling curses from torn lips as the fallen astartes pounced for the kill. Kormuk didn’t hesitate. Even as the creature wrenched Thronard’s head from his shoulders, he raised his sword. And threw it. The whirring teeth span through the air and the creature registered barely a moment of surprise as the sword bit through the sinew of one of its arms and severed it in a welter of steaming ichor. Roaring its rage it span around and felt a resounding thump in its stomach. There was just enough time for the thing to lower is gaze and watch as Kormuk carved it apart from midriff to neck with the shimmering power sword.

 

Othan found him watching as the creature died. Somehow it still clung to life, ragged breaths being forced from ruined lungs by some unknown power. Othan was covered from crest to boot in gore yet he didn’t even appear out of breathe. “The captain is pushing on, this is the last live one here,” he reported. Kormuk didn’t respond, He hefted the ornate sword he had used on the thing in both hands and said “Is the Chaplain still present or has he too moved on?”

 

“He is marching at the captain’s side bellowing how he will deliver every single traitor into the Emperor’s burning judgement,” sighed Othan. Kormuk knew that the excessive piety bored his brother but he tolerated it as much as he could. “Then I shall do it,” he muttered. Raising the sword high he spoke the ritual words; “I Kormuk, lesser of twins, sword sworn to the Emperor, eternal be His might, deliver you unto his judgement,” and suiting action to words brought the blade down on the traitor’s neck.

 

Kormuk sighed as he remembered the words. They were true, every one and he believed in them as well. Or had. He was the lesser twin and to the surprise of most he did not resent his brother the greater share of the glory but celebrated his achievement s all the more. Rising he placed his sword on the rack bolted to the hull of the Argent Consul and took down the glaive resting there instead. This time as he polished the weapon, the memories were bitter.

 

The despair had begun to slowly choke him as he watched the fortress come to unholy life. His captain, his brothers all still inside doomed to the vilest of deaths by the trickery of these damned traitors. Now it threated to drown him in it altogether. His ceramite boots left great gouge marks in the dirt the world he hated as some of his brothers dragged him bodily back towards the dubious safety of the trees. He was sure he was screaming inside his helm but with the daemon-things birth cries still ringing in his head he could not say for certain where one ended and the other began. Othan’s mangled corpse lay in the dirt where he had been felled, his glaive inches from his outstretched hand. He needed that weapon. He could not bear his brother’s remains. The weapon was all he would ever have. His last sight before the trees swallowed them was of the daemon thing stopping to crouch over Othan’s body.

 

Kormuk stopped his work and closed his eyes as the pain of seeing his brother die washed over him. He couldn’t look at the blade without seeing his brother wielding it as a champion of humanity should, dead traitors and heretics left in the wake of every swing. Still he thought, it was never used to spill loyal blood.

 

Klaxons blared in his ears as he stalked the corridors and gangways of the Consul. The captain had declared his intent and his men were with him. They would not be cast aside after they had sacrificed so much in the cause of the Emperor and his Imperium. Even now the false servants of that Imperium were being put to the sword amidst the decks. It was all nothing but a lie he mused as he cut down terrified crew who attempted to escape him. The true Imperium died during the Great Betrayal. Brothers would never have suspected each other before then.

 

As he emerged into the tertiary hanger he spied a shuttle being prep’d for emergency take off. His rage began to boil through his blood as he saw the weapon one of his former brothers carried. “Give me that blade!!” he’d screamed at them and then the blood had flowed. Even now he could not remember killing them. The rage had taken him, heart and soul. Only the last he remembered, the one who had carried Othan’s glaive. Him, he had ritually executed but this time there were new words “I am Kormuk the….Bladesman, sword sworn to Aquilinus, in the dark night of the stars it shall be my blades that burn brightest, in the unlight of the void we shall burn the false Imperium to ashes and spit on the corpse on the Throne.

 

Kormuk smiled. The memories were tended. Now it was time for deeds.

 

Mefaneh

 

Saerion & Mefaneh, a Friend and a Stranger

 

When the Captain returned and the Company assembled for their final review, and the last time all of them would be the same place, Mefaneh stood behind the Company's banner, where the fourth sergeant would always stand. That place was not his, its owner lately dead on el-Jasad at the last day of fighting. The banner which he faced and did not look at was bedecked in yellow-gold ornament; his own harness though spangled in honors had none such, was instead trimmed all through in blue.

The Captain began it seemed in platitudes, if ones earnestly delivered. The words were all of loyalty, a subject with which Mefaneh was well experienced, if only in the eighty years preceding these last days aboard Argent Consul. His causes had never been other than the Ninth's, even his first thoughts were ever of his brothers whether current, departed, or promoted.

Latterly his thoughts were of parting, however unwilling he may have been. Only redundancy had brought this to mind, his role in the Devastators now played by a newer man of more recent promise, the space vacant by presumption and the reward of young, rising talent. He and his command were now surplus to requirement, vaguely commended for the value of their recent experience, which, it was suggested, made them perhaps better suited to a company less oriented toward duty and discipline?

That experience, it was true, was of of privation, was of improvisation, of self-preservation, he could deny none of it. Still, he knew what duty was; the experience was of that too, and he knew duty and loyalty now after el-Jasad better than when he took his first oaths. Those were what had effected the survival of his squad, the unreserved brotherhood forged in the cruel denouement of the Captain's heroism. The Captain knew them as well, it was coming out now in his words. Aquilinus knew a duty and a loyalty greater than any Mefaneh had heard of during the decades in ninth company. Aquilinus also knew the horror of loyalty spurned, of duty denied and fulfillment refused.

The speech was not mincing or long-winded, and everyone in the hall understood it equally. The shock was only that the truths spoken aloud actually dared to fulfill what had been portended by all the words before them. Saerion, who carried the golden standard, had the entire time carried a drawn sword in the ceremonial posture by which he guarded the company's honor. At the final, thrilling pronouncement of defiance, he raised the banner and thrust his weapon accusingly toward the lectern, damning his erstwhile lord and onetime savior, and loudly summoning the true and loyal second company to denounce and arrest the Captain.

A commotion did at that command arise, and Mefaneh stepped forward to stand at the Saerion's shoulder. When he met the captain's eye, Aquilinus made no move nor spoke no word his defense, only fixed his gaze on the banner. Mefaneh, confirmed that his choice was the dutiful one, struck out and drove the Saerion to the ground. He took up the standard, and made his declamation.

“The Second Company are only those who are true and loyal, and in all the galaxy as I have seen it, truth and loyalty lie only with this man.

 

Voting ends Thursday evening, which means I'll accept anything before I log in Friday morning.

[Brother Tyler]

Interesting ... a tie.

Well, since the original intent was to create two lieutenants, we can work with a tie.

Congratulations to Balthamal (Kormuk Bladesman) and elohimalpha (Hadrian Varro).

Balthamal is now entitled to display the Contributor image in his signature:

[img=http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/uploads/1305894391/gallery_26_4045_2746.gif]

And elohimalpha is entitled to add a start to his banner:

[img=http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/uploads/1307051625/gallery_26_4045_1473.gif]

And a big "thank you" to voit shet magir for his entry, Mefaneh. He is entitled to display the Participant image in his signature:

[img=http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/uploads/1305894391/gallery_26_4045_586.gif]