What Immortal Hand Or Eye

[BlueWaterDragon]

Well it has been a long time since I last posted a piece here, and I understand that few of my pieces have been completed, this one is just shy of finished, you'll be happy to know! :P As a little aside, the Chapter called the 'Knights Aeturnus' and the character of Jurgen Von Spachkhemmar belong to a friend of mine, he asked me to write him a short story about the Chapter, and I loved Jurgen so much it became a full one. I like and welcome any comments you might have. Anyhoo, I hope you'll enjoy my humble offerings to the Emperor.

 

 

What Immortal Hand or Eye.

 

It had been human once, but now the being inside Cilas’ skin could not be called so noble a creature.

 

The creature/Cilas looked up from the ruined corpse of its last foe, the entrails it clasped halfway to its mouth still convulsing. Ears twitching, it turned its head this way and that, trying to locate the source of the sound that had disturbed its meal. The unnatural fog that shrouded the battlefield swirled briefly exposing a comrade of his a few feet away. As the other was swallowed by the haze once more, there was a brief flash of brilliant white light and a scream that was abruptly silenced by a wet crunch.

 

Its nostrils flared as it tried to obtain more information, but all it could smell were the miasmas of death and terror; the stench of fresh blood that aroused in its twisted soul a lust that an eternity of war would not slake. Too late it caught a scent of sweet oil and the ozone tang of a recently discharged force weapon. Before it could add all of these things up, the fog parted like rupturing flesh and suddenly, in a flash like lightning the creature was gone, leaving Cilas to fly through the air alone.

 

The Space Marine Librarian lowered his force weapon with a grim smile playing around his lips. ‘Another soul returned to the light of the Emperor,’ he thought, closing his eyes and searching around. The guardsman at his feet still had the spark of life in him. As the Librarian knelt, the man’s eyes fluttered open and he tried to feel for the grip of his lasgun.

 

“Steady, little one,” the Space Marine said, the softness in his voice belying the imposing bulk of his Tactical Dreadnought armour. “You have no more need to fear. I am the Hand of the Emperor, and I am here with you.”

 

“Thank you,” the guardsman whispered his breath rapid short gasps. The Librarian could sense the man’s agony and his struggle to remain conscious. But he could also see that the man had no hope of surviving his wounds.

 

“Brother Space Marine,” he panted. “Will I see the Emperor when I die?”

 

“For your valour on this field I am certain he would take you to his right hand. What is your name? Tell me and it will be recorded.”

 

“Johan, Michal, 4694251-D, Corporal, 469th Kaladrian Regiment,” he whispered.

 

Corporal Johan did not feel the Librarian’s fingers on the back of his neck. His eyes widened as the Space Marine shoved his mental defences aside as easily as he would have shouldered his way through a stout brick wall. Turning his face to the sky, the Librarian sought out the continually blazing light that guided the Imperium of Man and allowed it to flood into his soul. Johan’s breath caught in his throat as its radiance seared the pain from his body. The fingers on his neck closed, crushing his spine. The Librarian shut his eyes once more as Johan expired. There would be many on this battlefield that would not have the luxury of company in death.

 

“Brother-Librarian Jurgen?” the voice that sounded over his vox brought him from his prayer for Corporal Johan’s soul.

 

“Yes Brother-Captain Archimedes, I am here.” Letting go of the corporal’s neck, he wiped his face with the hem of his tabard.

 

“We are returning to the transports, Brother. I shall rendezvous with you there,” the Captain said warmly. “Bring Wraith squad with you.”

 

“Last transmission acknowledged, Captain.” Heavily he clambered to his feet, armour feeling as thought the suspensors had failed and it was now fighting his muscles. “We shall be with you as soon as possible.”

 

As he and Wraith squad crested a rise, the retaining wall at the bottom gave way and the scree under their feet began to slide into a hidden ravine below. Their combined weight on a bomb damaged ceiling initiated its collapse and all seven of the Marines fell into darkness.

 

 

The helmet lights on the Adeptus Astartes accompanying Jurgen automatically engaged, illuminating the large cavern that surrounded them.

 

Jurgen could sense no threats around them; indeed, the Warp appeared to be silent. Curiosity roused, he roamed the gantry seeking a way down to the stalagmite encrusted floor. The material on which they stood was strange, the beams around them looping and flowing into one another. It was as though this place had not so much been constructed, as grown. Touching the pallid surface he found that even through the thick armour of his glove, it was warm under his fingertips, nothing like the chilly calcite of the cavern. The stuff gave under a firm squeeze and he held up the resulting dust to his face. Its taste was peculiar, as though he was eating the most wonderful food he had ever partaken. Rolling the stuff around on his tongue, and still savouring the taste he turned back to his brothers. They had made their way down to the cavern floor and were sweeping it in a standard pattern, searching for targets. Satisfied that there were none available, they spread back out to cover Jurgen in case something should materialise. The Librarian could feel their uneasy expectation, and a couple of the brothers seemed to be hoping that it would happen, in order that they could strike it down with the Holy Wrath of the Emperor, as was written in their divine mandate.

 

Jurgen walked behind one of these two, Brother Charikk and placing his hand between the man’s pauldron and the gorget of his armour whispered into his mind for him to be still.

 

Out loud he said, “Brother-Sergeant,” his voice echoing in the chill emptiness. “I think that now would be an excellent time for the Brothers to get some rest. Today has been a hard won fight, and given that we are as safe here as we can be, I believe that it would be appropriate before we attempt to extricate ourselves from this situation.”

 

The Brother-Sergeant’s voice was level as he said, “You are certain.” It was not a question, he knew better than to second-guess the Psyker and he continued. “I take it that you will join us?”

 

“Shortly I shall, but for now, I must attempt to contact the Captain.” He settled himself down a short distance from the others and focussed his mind. Calling into his practised eye the battle-barge that he knew drifted serenely in orbit far above. On board the ship were at least two Lexicanum, he had trained them himself, and they should have been easy enough for him to find. But outside of this cavern all was silent to him, as though the universe beyond these walls did not exist.

 

Pulling his power back in, he sensed, or rather thought he did, a glimmer of laughter.

 

Scowling he stared as, in a space between two stalagmites and stalactites that had joined into columns, a light began to form. Gradually it took on a humanoid shape as it swirled like a luminous miasma in the darkness.

 

Instinctively Jurgen curled his fingers around the hilt of his Force-Weapon, uncertain as to whether or not the arcane device would do this new threat any damage. With this last thought, the peal of laughter echoed out again, rolling around the cavern. The Astartes appeared to not have heard it however. Their attitude remained calm, bolters within easy grasp. The Librarian tried to move, but discovered that his armour had locked up.

 

“Yes, small-minded Imperial lackey, I have you somewhere you will have to listen to me.”

 

Jurgen growled softly. Discovering, as he pushed some minute buttons with his tongue that his armour had not seized, but that time’s flow had been stilled. The creature in the centre of the swirl cocked its head, jewels in the plate that covered its face, glittering in the eldritch light that surrounded it.

 

“I may appear small-minded to you, but I am no-one’s lackey, Xeno trickster.” Jurgen’s voice was composed as he broke the lock on his body by sheer force of will, and towered over the newcomer. “I am the Hand of the Emperor. I carry out His Divine Will.”

 

“It is hard to believe that a corpse could have a will of its own, don’t you think?” It folded its arms.

 

“The Emperor has more power than you can imagine, Xeno.” Jurgen raised his Force-Weapon, resting the butt of it on the ground.

 

“I brought you here so that we could talk,” the figure gestured at the motionless Marines

 

“Then talk fast, Xeno,” Jurgen growled. “What do you want?”

 

“I want something that belongs to us. Unlike you Imperials, we Eldar learn from our mistakes. The Encounter with the Dark Angels was,” it paused, a deep sigh lifting its shoulders. “Unfortunate.”

 

Jurgen frowned at its choice of words, undeterred, it continued, “I am aiming for something quieter and less problematic.”

 

“I will not deal with you, Xeno.” Jurgen turned away from it.

 

“Shame that, I was going to offer you something rather special in return for your services.”

 

“You cannot buy the ‘services’ of the Adeptus Astartes.” Jurgen said over his shoulder, his voice sounding calmer than he felt. If he was honest with himself, he felt like tearing the creature’s head off, but was repressing the urge.

 

The creature must have sensed his growing impatience, for it flinched back from him, saying, “Do you humans not have an ancient saying that states that every man has his price?” Its hand rose to its face desperately trying to cover itself from his impending rage.

 

“The Astartes are not merely men.” Jurgen snapped, subsiding back. So the Eldar believed that it could be harmed as this projection, and flatteringly, considered him capable of causing it damage. He kept this revelation from his upper thoughts and his features.

 

“Just listen to me for a while and you will understand…”

[BlueWaterDragon]

Any more for any more?

[Brother Cambrius]

My interest is very much piqued. I want to see what this Eldar trickster has to offer Librarian Jurgen. :( Good to see you back among the Legio again too. ;)

 

Cambrius

[BlueWaterDragon]

It had explained about Calliope, and told him how to find it. She was, according to the heretic Xeno, a goddess in her own right. Jurgen had taken this rather well, as far as he could tell, discovering in the process that he could indeed harm the image, should he choose to. The creature’s polite, if strangled request to be put down had been upheld and when it’s feet were once more on the ground it had continued.

 

Once it had finished speaking, it had escorted him through an archway he had not noticed before. It had stipulated that he must leave his armour behind and although it irked him to do so, Jurgen had complied. Stacking it carefully in a corner he had turned around to find that the Eldar Harlequin had produced a set of clothes from thin air.

 

The fabric still felt strange against his skin as he nursed a large cup of recaf. The windows he was staring at covered the wall from floor to ceiling and looked out over the other side of the station. Points of light were the only indication of the in-system traffic that passed beyond the vaulted arches, strung out like glittering diamonds.

 

Jurgen watched them for what felt like a long time, studying their patterns and trying to discern their trajectories. The station’s architecture appeared pre-Gothic in style, although, as far as he could see looking out, it varied according to the age of the sections, and the differences were, in places, very stark.

 

It had surprised him that the man who had handed him the large cup, did not comment on his unnatural size. When Jurgen had asked him why, the man had shrugged, saying that the gifts of Calliope were varied and some found greater favour with her than others. Asking what he meant the man had merely shrugged once more, but stayed silent. Jurgen had given up at that point and stumped off to find a chair. The place was U-shaped and the seat he threw himself into was on the left hand arm of the station. The windows stretched in an unbroken pane twenty storeys high.

 

A man parked on a stool at the opposite end of the bar from Jurgen, about fifty feet away, attracted his attention. The man’s clothes were as finely made as Jurgen’s own, well tailored to suit his extraordinary physique. The jerkin was cut close to the man’s waist, the black and navy blue chevrons, matched by a stripe down each leg of his trousers. From the holster at his hip, to the baldric that crossed his chest and his boots, all of the leather was crafted in a shiny black. Olive skin framed a pair of emerald green eyes that stared out at the passing ships. As he reached up to brush away a strand of long, pure white hair from his face, Jurgen heard him whisper.

 

“It is surprising to find a Brother of mine here.”

 

“How can you be sure that I am a Brother of yours?” Jurgen responded, keeping his voice low and casually dusting down the front of his brown and gold tunic. Before the other man had a chance to answer, the window split into multiple screens, one for each tier, displaying footage from the planet’s surface.

 

The stranger stood up and walked to the rail that edged the tier, resting his elbows on its brass edge. On impulse Jurgen joined him and they both looked out over the drop, watching the images.

 

A city was burning; according to the readout to one side of the display it housed a mere twelve million inhabitants, making it little more than a village by Imperial standards. The central spires had fallen in places, crushing the buildings at their bases. The flames leapt halfway up these tallest buildings, eerily illuminating them from behind and within, as though people still lived in them. The view pulled in tighter and the two men saw something that made them look at each other.

 

“I have a ship docked at this station,” the other man said, glancing at Jurgen.

 

“How do you know you can trust me?” Jurgen stared into the deep green pools, gently probing the other man’s mind.

 

“I would advise you stop that,” the Marine, for that was what his surface thoughts told Jurgen, said softly. “The last Librarian that tried to go deeper into my mind, ended up falling down a flight of stairs, and almost got me killed.”

 

Jurgen blinked rapidly as he watched Brother-Librarian Tigurius’ descent in horror.

 

“How did …” he began.

 

“My name is Brother Indarin, and you, Brother-Librarian Jurgen von Spachkhemmar, ask too many questions. If you wish answers,” his haunted eyes gazed at the glass behind the images and Jurgen looked up. “Ask him.”

 

The dark brown eyes that stared from over his shoulder, bored into his very soul. They were eyes that had looked upon the triumph and tragedy that comprised the history of humanity from the day that their owner had awakened. A soft smile played around the man’s mouth and the expression filled Jurgen’s heart with both sadness and joy. Arcing in smooth curves over his left shoulder that reached to his elbow were claws that glittered with delicately engraved patterns. Jurgen knew who it was and he reached up to touch the hand, his eyes breaking contact with the reflection for the briefest moment, and the epiphany was gone, fading into the distant past as though it had never been. With it went all of Jurgen’s questions and doubts, he felt as at peace as he did when he was seeking the light of the Astronomican. With his faith renewed Jurgen followed Indarin to his ship.

[BlueWaterDragon]

They stood on an outcropping of rock above the still-smouldering ruin. There were seven of them in total, Indarin, Jurgen and another Marine by the name of Constantine. With Indarin had come a pack of four Space Wolves, and they had fanned out below, speaking in the harsh language of Fenris. Their Pack Leader looked up at Jurgen, his long red hair blowing in the breeze, a smile broadened across his face and he saluted before leaping down the rock face. Jurgen returned the salute with a wave of his hand, glancing at the ceramite that now covered his body. It had amazed him that Indarin had a suit of armour to spare, more so that the Marine could attune the armour to him in a matter of hours, rather than days. Indarin’s beetle black armour reflected the flames and he shook his head.

 

“I don’t see what could have caused devastation on this scale, Brother.”

 

“Give me half of a Grand Company of my brethren, and I’ll show you.” Jurgen grinned as the red-haired Wolf called from below, raising his power sword and receiving an answering howl from the Wolves. Indarin laughed and rapped on Jurgen’s shoulder with his knuckle.

 

“Loveable aren’t they? Thank you for the offer, Lofgren. But I would rather find out what has caused this, than instigate further destruction,” the Marine looked crestfallen and Indarin held up a hand. “However, I do believe that the four of you that I have will acquit yourselves with equal gusto, should the opportunity arise.”

 

This produced another howl of joy, and the blonde Marine to Jurgen’s right, the one introduced as Constantine, rolled his eyes, muttering.

 

“Cry Havoc, and let slip the Dogs of War.” In a gust of wind, a corner of Constantine’s cloak was whipped up, revealing a feathered lining that almost seemed to be real. The armour he wore did not bear a conventional back-pack on it that supplied the reserve power and oxygen to the Marine when in a hostile environment. As Constantine turned back to the city, Jurgen saw that the pack had been re-designed, with the round exhaust vents at the bottom.

 

Indarin was watching carefully as they entered the place, there was movement in the city that could not be explained by the fires. A shadow, cast onto a flat surface by the flames, made his primary heart shiver. Jurgen calculated its size to be immense despite the distortion of its projection. It was a mockery of an Astartes silhouette, with horns protruding from its head and shoulders. Another shape flickered in the gloom of the smoke and Indarin cocked his bolter, the Wolves copied the action. Something cracked beneath Jurgen’s foot and he crouched down to examine the material. It was ceramic, plain ordinary ceramic. The population of this small city had had no warning of this attack and no capability of defending from it. There were bullet holes in the walls but few of them were of a calibre large enough to scratch the paintwork on a Marine’s armour let alone put even a dent in it. Punching holes through it would be impossible for them.

 

Not far away was a cluster of human corpses, their broken forms looking somehow sad in the light. None of them showed the characteristic marks of a gun fight, all of them had been slaughtered with bladed or spiked objects. Jurgen had seen much in his long life as a Marine, but this…

 

“I know,” Indarin said, his green eyes sparkling, as he gently turned one of the corpses over. “These people fought with everything they had. When they ran out of ammunition they took up whatever there was to hand.”

 

“These beasts look like those who have descended into the depravity and madness of Chaos, but they cannot be.” As Jurgen spoke, one of the Wolves emerged from the heap of fallen monsters scattering pieces everywhere.

 

“Why not?” Lofgren asked, shaking his long hair at his Pack-Brother, and raising his lip.

 

“Because these things are only empty shells, far too easily broken to be the Traitors that they pretend to be.” To emphasise his point, Jurgen ground some of the clay between his fingers, watching as the dust blew away into tiny dervishes. There was silence for a minute as each man absorbed this information. Rubble settled some distance away and Jurgen caught the noise of panicked breathing. Waving two of the Wolves to flank the sound, he headed directly for it.

 

At the junction of three walls he stopped and sniffed the air. The woman who cowered behind the highest point of unbroken masonry was exhaling the scent of terror. Stepping through a low gap in the wall he looked down at her.

 

With a scream, she launched herself at him, swinging a pole that was longer than she was tall. The end struck Jurgen in the centre of the Imperial Eagle that emblazoned his chest. He caught it in the crook of his elbow and pulled it sharply from her hands. Opening her arms wide she backed away, staring at him in horror. She was clearly defending something that she was willing to die for.

 

One of the Wolves levelled a Bolter behind her, the cold of its barrel pressed against her skin making her squeal. The Wolf prodded her away from the wall and she hissed at him like a feral animal. Smoothly he removed his helmet and clipped it onto his belt. She gasped as he showed his fangs, and Jurgen sensed relief flowing from her in waves.

 

The Wolf looked startled as she threw her arms as far around his waist as she could manage, burying her face in the wolf pelt that hung there. She turned around to find the other Wolf behind her, covering his Pack-Brother with his Bolter.

 

All Three Marines followed her gaze down to a niche in the wall where there had been some kind of grating covering a storm drain. In the gloom, two pairs of small, terrified eyes stared out at them. The woman motioned them out asking Jurgen as the ragged pair hid behind her legs,

 

“Are you come from the capital to save us?” her voice tremulous with hope.

 

“No,” he replied, swallowing. The fear the children were experiencing rushing around him as though he was a rock in the bed of a stream, it was so deep it felt like he would drown in it. “We are the Chosen of the Divine Emperor, Lord of Terra and we have been sent to bring you the Light of his Imperium of Man.”

 

At this she knelt down and hugged the children tightly to her, making Jurgen notice something. He joined her, resting his knees in the dust, and his hands on his thighs, indicating that the two Wolves should stand down, the Marine who still wore his helmet voxed Indarin. The three arrived and at Jurgen’s hand signal they either sat or knelt in the rubble. The only exception was Constantine, who perched on the edge of a wall. The long cloak and unusual back-pack, coupled with his intense stillness making him seem like a statue from some ancient edifice. Returning his attention to the woman Jurgen asked,

 

“What manner of creatures are these clay automata?”

 

“I do not know,” she replied, curling up and pulling the boy closer. “All I understand is that they swept through the wall defences like they were matchwood and men fell like ripe fruit from a tree. There was little that could be done to harm them. Although they were smashed to pieces in their hundreds, thousands more stood to replace them. Those things used the bodies of their fallen comrades to climb over the walls.”

 

“How did the fires start?” Lofgren asked. The little girl had become curious now that these strange giants had settled down and she had tentatively reached out to the wolf fur at Lofgren’s shoulder. In a move that surprised Jurgen, the Wolf pulled the pelt off for her to look at. He was now stroking the girl’s dark hair with a fingertip. Realisation dawned on the Librarian. The Marine with the helmet had recording capability, and Lofgren must have reviewed it. The girl had come out of the fox-hole clutching an axe, and thus, according to Fenrisian tradition was to be afforded the same respect that they would grant a sister. Lofgren offered his combat knife to the boy with his free hand and when the lad ambled over to take it, the Wolf hauled him onto his lap.

 

Their mother had been hesitant, but now that her children’s safety seemed to be assured, her voice was stronger and she told them everything she knew.

 

The fires had been started when one of the defenders had discovered that the monsters broke more easily when touched by whatever passed for promethium on this world. The things were formed from the raw earth. That was one question countered, but the answer brought several others to the forefront of his mind. He was about to ask the woman if she knew where the things had originated when he heard a voice whisper in the silence of his mind.

 

“I know… there is someone… out there,” it called weakly. “I can feel… you glowing… you shine upon my eyes… as the stars once did.”

 

“Who are you?” Jurgen was unaware that he had surged to his feet.

 

“We are five-hundred miles…from you I think…give or take a few yards. North-west, I will be gone… when you arrive, but I am…glad to have seen another man of the Imperium… before I expired. My name is… is Christos, yes, it is Christos. The name of the other survivor here is unknown to me… She may not live too long.”

 

“Brother Jurgen?” concern sparked in Constantine’s eyes as the Librarian looked from him to Indarin. Acknowledging the concern with a nod and a brief smile, he asked the black armoured Marine,

 

“Did you hear that?”

 

“Yes indeed, I did, it sounded like an Astropath. We will move to the location he has indicated. It will not take us long if I request that a transport meet us.”

 

Jurgen noticed Lofgren’s expression of disappointment at this pronouncement, echoed by a sorrow that clouded the woman’s face.

 

“I suppose I should thank you for being here at all.” She stood, the children clinging once more to her skirts.

 

“And I must thank you for the information that you have given us.” Indarin’s smile was filled with warmth. “If I had thought that we would be on a rescue mission, I would have brought a larger vessel with me.” A deep rumbling growl as he half turned away, made him raise one eyebrow and his smile broadened. “However, I may have further need of you. Pack-Leader Lofgren,” The Wolf snapped to attention. “You seem to have a liking for these people. If that is truly the case, then they shall be your Vassals.”

 

Lofgren’s grin made him look as though he had donned the mask of a Chaplain.

 

“What does that mean?” the woman looked at all of them, the startled horror returning to her face.

 

“It means that you will be joining us,” Lofgren said. “In exchange for our protection, you and your children will serve the Chapter. I shall explain later. But know one thing,” he stroked her hair. “You will be taken care of.”

[Dark Apostle Thirst]

“I do not know,” she replied, curling up and pulling the boy closer. “All I understand is that they swept through the wall defences like they were matchwood and men fell like ripe fruit from a tree. There was little that could be done to harm them. Although they were smashed to pieces in their hundreds, thousands more stood to replace them. Those things used the bodies of their fallen comrades to climb over the walls.”

She's very poetic for a hapless citizen. Only nit-pick I had :)

[BlueWaterDragon]

“I do not know,” she replied, curling up and pulling the boy closer. “All I understand is that they swept through the wall defences like they were matchwood and men fell like ripe fruit from a tree. There was little that could be done to harm them. Although they were smashed to pieces in their hundreds, thousands more stood to replace them. Those things used the bodies of their fallen comrades to climb over the walls.”

She's very poetic for a hapless citizen. Only nit-pick I had :P

She's not an Imperial citizen ^_^. Lady Calliope gives a better education than the Emperor.

[Dark Apostle Thirst]

“I do not know,” she replied, curling up and pulling the boy closer. “All I understand is that they swept through the wall defences like they were matchwood and men fell like ripe fruit from a tree. There was little that could be done to harm them. Although they were smashed to pieces in their hundreds, thousands more stood to replace them. Those things used the bodies of their fallen comrades to climb over the walls.”

She's very poetic for a hapless citizen. Only nit-pick I had :)

She's not an Imperial citizen :). Lady Calliope gives a better education than the Emperor.

Ah, so she features later on in the story?

[BlueWaterDragon]

Calliope does, yes. The woman herself doesn't but she'll be around in another one.

 

EDIT: Just realised I've put up what should be the next part. I'll edit that out and then put it up with next update

[Brother Cambrius]

Hmmm very interesting, glad to see Indarin again. I wonder how the plot will thicken with Calliope and the Astartes.

 

Cambrius

[BlueWaterDragon]

The pilot’s blonde hair was cropped close to his scalp, the bands for the control system glittering in the light from his panels. Jurgen prodded the Land Raider’s Commander between the cuirass and his belt, making the Marine look down. He poked his finger upwards and the Librarian nodded. The Commander pulled out of the opening and Jurgen poked his head out of the tank.

 

The three Land Raiders charged across the open the countryside following the unmistakable trail that the automata had carved into the landscape. Turning around he came face to nose with Constantine. The strange Marine was travelling on the outside of the transport of his own choice, claiming that he needed the fresh air. Indarin had not just ordered the transports, the other two Land Raiders were packed full of Katrina’s finest warriors and the outside of both of them were festooned with Imperial Guardsmen. They were a peculiar bunch. Each one of the Land Raiders had been painted with fantastic images, some were of battles the machines had fought in; some were wars from their homeworld. The most startling thing about the Guards themselves was the array of skin pigmentation, from the alabaster of the void-born, to a shade that would spark jealousy in the heart a Salamander. Their uniforms were blue combat trousers, with a red camouflage jacket and brown leather. With a few exceptions, each one had a meticulously cared for lasgun slung on their backs or cradled in their arms and a holstered laspistol at their hip.

 

 

How had the Mechanicus Explorators managed to hide this site from the locals? Jurgen wondered as the tanks crested a hill. Below them lay a teardrop-shaped crater that was several miles across. A wide crescent swooped around rising gracefully from the rolling lowlands. Something had crashed here, probably centuries ago. Since that far off catastrophe a river had carved a deep hanging gorge into one side of the crescent, creating a spectacular cascade so high that the water landed as spray. The base of the crater, due to geological peculiarities, trapped a layer of densely heated air below the cold winds that blew from the north. This created rain and the perfect conditions for a rainforest of what looked to be native vegetation that should not exist at this latitude. Towers of stone, whose creation Jurgen could not even begin to understand, twisted up from the canopy to loom over the trees.

 

Jurgen was called back to their immediate situation by a cry of pain from Christos.

 

“Stay with us,” he whispered out loud, watching a flock of brilliantly coloured birds flapping up out of the canopy, their bodies forming a beautiful pattern under the clouds. He heard Christos muttering to himself and the man sounded much stronger when he replied,

 

“Hmm, Brother, I have managed to find some medical supplies, but they will not stay the hand of death for long. I must tell you about the problems we encountered when we came here. There is a route through the swamp at the bottom of this bowl. If you lock onto this transponder code,” A string of illuminated numbers and letters inserted themselves into his vision. “The system will give you the correct map. The chasm beyond is however, a different matter. The soldiers on the side you are on blew out the controls for the bridge in an attempt to stop the warriors getting across.”

 

“Can you get to the controls on your side?” Jurgen gripped the edge of the turret hatch, resting his elbow on the metal.

 

“Alas, no, the building they are in is in lockdown. It is impossible for me to get in there; I do not have command clearance of that level.” His voice sounded sad.

 

“I wholly understand, Christos. Thank you for your help. If it is possible to save you, I will try.” The man was tiring again and although Jurgen thought it would be unlikely that the Astropath’s rescue would be possible, he thought to at least bring the man some comfort. A third voice heard this growing weariness and it joined in the conversation. It was not Indarin as Jurgen had expected, but one with a deeper timbre, it spoke of generations of command, of grief and ecstasy. It was a voice that could well judge the sacrifice of a man, for it was that voice that had justified the surrender of a god.

 

“My dearest Astropath Abraham Christos,” it said. “You will not die; it is not yet your time.”

 

Jurgen shuddered involuntarily, dropping back into the tank. The Commander looked at him, his head tilted to one side.

 

“I know something strange just happened,” he said scratching at his blonde crew-cut. “I felt a cold shiver down my spine. Chapter-Master Indarin ordered us to hold here and then ask for instructions from you.”

 

Jurgen smiled. “I need to request an uplink from the machine spirit to lock onto a transponder. The facility has a map of the swamps down on the floor of the crater and I have been informed of its access codes.”

 

“Certainly Brother,” the Marine nodded, and tapped a few keys on a control panel beside him. Jurgen could imagine the readout displayed on the back of his eyeball, and he winced as the Commander punched the panel in irritation. Grimacing apologetically at Jurgen he said, “She’s a bit cantankerous sometimes.”

 

“Rather appropriate given the vehicle’s nature do you not think Brother?”

 

The Commander smiled wanly, and flicked on a screen.

 

“I have established the uplink, Brother, and all we are waiting for is the code to access the system so that we can download this map.”

 

Jurgen tapped in the string of letters and numbers, watching as the machine-spirit purred and began the download.

[BlueWaterDragon]

Okay, Update for those of you who are reading this!!

 

A short time later the three Land Raiders picked their way in convoy across the crater floor, their enormous tracks digging great gouts of mud from the leaf-mould. Outlandish life-forms chirruped and whistled in the emerald half-light cast through the canopy. Indarin had split the Space Wolves into two packs, one led by Jurgen and the other by himself. Some of the Guards had dismounted and were escorting the vehicles, although the term of ‘escort’ could only be loosely applied in this case. He lifted a young woman from the muck by the back of her armoured jacket and set her on her feet.

 

“Thank you, Marine,” she spat out mud. “You are most generous.”

 

Jurgen nodded, staring at the mud on her hands. A bemused expression settled on her face as he wiped some off with his index finger, and examined it. It was exactly the same lurid red as the monsters and smelled identical. The shadows skulking in amongst the trees took on a sinister aspect and the atmosphere felt thick. A wave of dizziness swept over him and something caught his attention as he fell to his knees. Lofgren was beside him in a moment, his bolter cocked and at his shoulder. A stone pillar that Jurgen had not noticed before lurked in the gloom. It stood about the height of a man and was larger around than the same man could reach. The entire thing was deeply carved with writing, but it was not a script that Jurgen could read. Getting heavily to his feet, he crossed to it and ran his fingers across a large gem embedded in the top. The deep russet stone began to glow at the touch, the light flowing down through the deepest parts of the carving. A shape shimmered into existence, coalescing from a shaft of light that had burst forth from the gem. Before it had finished emerging, it spoke, the lips moving slightly out of sync with the sound. Having not understood a word the figure had said Jurgen spent a moment studying it. It was a female Eldar, but he was glad that it was not the Harlequin.

 

She pursed her lips, and then repeated the words, the lilting sound undercut by what seemed to be profound irritation.

 

“Do you not speak High Gothic, Xeno?” Lofgren demanded, the barrel of his bolter rock steady, aimed not at the figure, but at the pillar.

 

“I can comprehend some of this blighted and clumsy tongue,” she replied stiffly, her eyes on the Wolf. “Not that I draw much pleasure from the fact.”

 

She folded her arms under her breasts, and Jurgen held up a placating hand to Lofgren. Now that the Eldar had become totally opaque, Jurgen could see the intricate detail on the lapped armour plates that covered her body. Coloured in delicate swirls of orange and highlighted in cream; it was beautiful and gave him a grudging appreciation for Eldar artistry. A pair of spurs grew from her backplate, their sweeping curves mimicking those he had seen in the cavern at the start of this debacle. Pinned to her shoulders and running between the spars was a cloak in cream, the design embroidered on it in orange and black. The gem that nestled below her breasts was the same deep red as the one embedded in the pillar.

 

“What is your name,” Jurgen asked, the use of her title bringing a small gasp of surprise from her lips that she quickly suppressed.

 

“Khel’lurae Aluren’Viate,” she replied. “And I am indeed a Bonesinger as you would say. To whom am I speaking?”

 

“I am Chief Librarian Jurgen von Spachkhemmar, and I am currently the acting Chapter-Master of the Knights Aeternus. What befell the Craftworld that you called home?”

 

“Aluren’Viate was a fair place; your tongue cannot even begin to describe her beauty. There have been times that I could weep tears enough to quench a star for her desecration. But it will be far easier for me to show you.”

 

Holding out her hands in front of her, palms down, she moved her them apart slowly, describing an arc at waist height that shimmered in the air for a moment as she once more spoke the words that Jurgen did not understand. The glow from her palms seemed to be sucked into the pillar, turning the carvings a startling shade of green. With the pillar filled, the light spilled out across the countryside. One of the rushing lines shot between Lofgren’s legs and he stared down at it, the light playing on the points of his teeth as he grinned like a dog tracking laser pointer.

 

The unusual rock formations he had seen dotted through the jungle shuddered, shaking free millennia of growth by lichens and mosses. Looking up, Jurgen saw that he and Lofgren were below a nexus point of fine arches whose sweeping buttresses formed an almost circular space around the pillar. Following the lines up and over his head Jurgen’s eyes alighted on Khel’lurae once more. The image of a Craftworld had formed between her hands. From pictures he had seen of Iyanden and Ulthwé, the artificial habitat was tiny, but it was still several times the size of a Ramilies-class fortress. The same brilliant colours that adorned her armour glowed in the starlight, and pennants streamed from the pinnacles and spires. Their fabric was so flimsy that it wavered in the winds from the star it orbited and the wash from ship’s engines, creating a spectacle so beautiful that it made him think of the fleets of Terra. Khel’lurae’s quiet voice explained that the banners declared the Craftworld’s allegiances, and the residence of her Great Families.

 

The image flickered, showing a battle above the world on which they were now standing. The sleek black ships that glittered in the starlight harried the defences of the Craftworld, tearing through some and breaking upon others. He knew their name before Khel’lurae said it, the scourge of every civilisation they encountered, the Dark Eldar. As abruptly as they had appeared, they vanished, leaving the pennants in tatters and the graceful spires smoking. Her face grave, Khel’lurae moved her hands in a complicated gesture that returned the Craftworld to her former glory, and spoke again.

 

“We recovered from the ravages of our fallen brethren, only to be attacked by a horror that would ultimately cause the light of Aluren’Viate to be extinguished forever.”

 

Rifts in the Materium opened, disgorging a fleet of Gothic Battleships. Some of the designs were familiar to Jurgen, but others he had only seen being broken up for scrap. Here they were returned to their past grandeur, their gilding shining.

 

A voice resounded through the Craftworld in fluent Eldar, demanding that they hand over the Infinity Circuit technology, or the Toratoridae Fleet would take it by force in the name of Holy Terra. The Farseer had politely explained that neither scenario was feasible, and that any attempt to seize anything from the Craftworld, would be met blow for blow. The newcomer laughed mirthlessly and replied, “So be it. I have been merciful and granted your people a choice.”

 

“No more so than any other of your victims,” the Farseer replied smoothly, dropping his opponent’s title like a week long dead animal. “Inquisitor.”

 

“Know this mage,” the voice was angry but calm. “My name is Tora Nekura Hagane, and I am more than an Inquisitor of the Imperium. You have forfeited not just your own life, but also the lives of all those you hold dear. It is by your arrogance that they will perish. All ships, engage main batteries and fire at will!”

 

Jurgen had seen space battles before, had even boarded countless vessels during the actions, but the damage inflicted on Aluren’Viate made him look away. Space Marines, chosen of the Holy Emperor of Mankind, may know no fear, but Librarians alone amongst them know absolute terror. When a planet is destroyed on order of Exterminatus, the Librarians could hear the screams of the dying; feeling their agony as they perished. Blocking out such images was not as easy it sounded and he remembered the first time it had happened on Armageddon. The towering fires in the Hives brought him back to the burning Craftworld. Stabilisers in the massive station had obviously failed and she had begun to list, the smoke belching from huge gashes in her sides. The Toratoridae Thunderhawks charged in once more, dodging through the batteries of lance fire in an intricate ballet that would cost the life of whoever missed a step.

 

The view shifted to the inside of Aluren’Viate. The Eldar Farseer, bedecked in his ancestral robes of office, stood in the centre of a stand of trees. Some of the trunks were thicker than a Dreadnaught’s body; others were saplings barely thicker than a man’s wrist. The Bonesinger walked up to him, the downturned mask hiding the expression on her face. Jurgen did not know what passed between them; he had no knowledge of Eldar body language and no sound was recorded. After a moment she bowed deeply to him and departed. The scene changed again, once more showing the exterior of the Craftworld. Sections of the structure had broken away from the core and were spinning in erratic circles.

 

“The decision was made to bring the Craftworld down on this planet. We had hoped that our action would destroy what was left,” she smiled at the architecture around them. “We built these vessels to last until the universe ends, should we need them for that long. It would seem that Aluren’Viate had a different destiny in mind for us both.”

 

Jurgen nodded, his bolter barrel rising as he sensed rather than heard a presence behind him. Brother Constantine gently pushed the weapon aside with his index finger. Indarin stood behind the strange Marine, taking in the scene with a placid expression in his green eyes, he acknowledged Jurgen with a nod of his head. His gaze swiftly returned to the Bonesinger.

 

“Destiny is always a tricky proposition,” he said with a soft sigh. Khel’lurae stared at him with anxious eyes. Jurgen could sense something in the air, as though a storm was rolling in, but he had no idea as to why she should be so scared of the Marine. What he had seen, or though he had seen, Indarin manifest at the station was certainly unsettling, but nothing to be particularly frightened of. Although, come to think of it, there had been the strange voice that had spoken to Christos. That beautiful voice that made him weak at the knees of his soul, made him want to surrender. Jurgen shook himself and continued his questions with,

 

“Why have we been brought here?”

 

“I do not know. Who brought you?”

 

“My presence was requested by a Harlequin,” Jurgen said, glancing at Indarin and Constantine. “And I believe these men were requested by the same creature.”

 

“I was told that we would find a mighty weapon on this world,” Indarin said, directing his words at Jurgen, if not his gaze. “And instead we find this,” he indicated the majesty of the projected images and the Bonesinger with a throwaway gesture.

 

“This,” Khel’lurae said angrily, her hands moving through the images again. “Is a marvel of history and technology the like of which you will never achieve!”

 

“Pretty moving pictures?” Indarin growled. “We have had those for some time now.”

 

“Again, you only see that which is in front of your eyes. You fail to see what is around you!” With the last word she threw her arms wide and the forest convulsed violently. Some of the native trees were uprooted, toppling over and crushing plants around them. The animals that dwelt in their branches were scattered screaming, some of them pounded into mincemeat by their homes. Up until this moment the green light had been little more than a glow, contrasting only slightly with the leaf-filtered sunlight from above. Now the stone arches flared, gaps in their structure filled in as though it was re-growing itself, the flames dripping to the ground in syncopation with Jurgen’s hearts. The globules solidified as they fell, forming into strands that distorted the arches into a maw that looked as thought the Marines were about to be devoured by some titanic monster.

 

And still the conflagration rolled onwards, uprooting more trees and shaking the foundations of the buildings in the distance. Had anyone still been alive in the burned-out city, they would have heard the buildings tremble and seen those that collapsed.

 

The Bonesinger’s image flickered and the fire spread out over their heads.

 

“I told you, Brother Jurgen,” she panted. “That Aluren’Viate was not destroyed when we crashed her on this world. I would thank Lady Calliope if I could, for keeping my presence here silent for all of these centuries. I wish that I could warn her people of my intentions. But I regret that I cannot. Neither can I allow these vessels to be stripped of all that I have guarded for so long.”

 

“Bonesinger,” Jurgen said. “What are you doing?”

 

“The sleeping tiger awakes,” her voice was stronger now, filled with determination and pride. “His own mind conjures horrors from his past into this present. I had hoped that he would sleep until the stars fell, but it is not to be so. I can only stop him by giving up my own being. If I do not, then this terror will spread.”

 

“These clay creatures, those are his nightmares aren’t they?” the only answer was a brief nod, a single tear falling from her cheek, it dropped to the ground as green fire. Jurgen continued. “You don’t have to die Khel’lurae, tell us where this ‘sleeping tiger’ is and we will take him away from here.”

 

“So that he can destroy another Craftworld to satisfy his ambitions, I do not think that will happen. I am finally in a position to stop him entirely.”

 

Jurgen could feel something far below them, a deep pulsing energy that filled him with dread. Briefly he wondered how big the engines on a Craftworld were. Another part of his mind was marvelling as to why the Craftworld had not been found by the Eldar before now. Yet another part wondered that he could still not see the Astronomican from this world. He turned to Indarin and said.

 

“Do you know what use an Inquisitor would have for an Infinity Circuit?” The Marine shook his head.

 

“I have no idea Brother; I don’t know exactly what it is, let alone have any clue as to its operation.”

 

“Okay, so we have no idea what it is or why this tiger would want it, but if we don’t find out, then this crazy dead Eldar is going to cease her existence, taking an entire planet with her.” With Indarin’s puzzled nod, he turned back to the Bonesinger, who was now up-lit by hellish green illumination. The angular planes of her face seeming to dance as the light rippled.

 

“Bonesinger, we didn’t come here to die,” the forest suddenly darkened for a moment and the Librarian thought that she had relented. Only when he looked up, he saw that the arches had fanned out above them, creating a solid roof sixty metres high and covering over a third of the forest. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked at it, half expecting to see the long golden claws there. Instead he met Indarin’s calm eyes.

 

“Bonesinger Khel’lurae Aluren’Viate, hear me. A long time ago a Farseer gave the Emperor part of a prophecy. In holding back, he almost destroyed the Imperium.”

 

“That does not matter to me,” she replied, her face darkening. “Why should it?”

 

“Because the Emperor was on the verge of an alliance with your people,” Indarin continued calmly. “The loss of your Craftworld could have been avoided had he been given the information he needed.”

 

“That is the past,” she said sharply, all trace of her former fear gone. “I told you it no longer matters, it is irrelevant.”

 

The next moment Jurgen was flat on his back. Brilliant yellow-blue light streamed out from around Indarin like a corona. The light was almost blinding and Jurgen held up one hand to shield his eyes. In the corner of his vision he could see Brother Constantine; he was on one knee with his head bowed. Lofgren had crawled beside the Librarian and as he got to his knees he asked,

 

“Brother, are you alright?”

 

“Yes thank you. What is Indarin doing?” Jurgen raised himself on his elbows.

 

“He is showing that woman the truth.”

 

“The truth,” Jurgen frowned. “There is no truth but the Emperor, Lofgren.”

 

The Space Wolf grinned, displaying more teeth than were strictly necessary on a Marine.

 

“I am a son of Fenris, and I will always call to her moons in my heart. I say what I mean and I mean what I say.”

 

“But that’s impossible!” Jurgen struggled to his feet.

 

“All things are possible by faith.” Lofgren said simply, his pauldrons grating as he shrugged. He joined Jurgen and they both watched as the light faded. Constantine caught his Chapter-Master as he fell backwards. The rumble from deep below ceased and Khel’lurae was on her knees.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said, staring at the floor. “I cannot stop it now; can you help Lady Calliope evacuate her people?”

 

“No,” Indarin managed to sit up. “We can’t, there are just too many, there’s no way we can get them off of this world. Is there any way to shut the engines down at the core?”

 

“Yes, that is the only way now. But I have no access to the system down there.”

 

“Excellent,” Indarin shook his head a couple of times and bounced to his feet. “All units!” he said into his comm. “Saddle up and head for the edge of the canyon.” Striding to the pillar he clasped the gem in one hand, tapping the stone as Khel’lurae directed. With his last touch, her image faded and the last thing she said was, “Take care of me, please?” Indarin held it for a moment, staring into its depths before tucking it inside his cuirass.

[BlueWaterDragon]

Umm... I know there are people out there reading this. If you are can you tell me, please? <_<

 

 

The abyss yawned below their feet, the broken controls for the bridge a short distance to their left. The bridge itself was retracted into the cliff face, hundreds of metres ahead of them. The rumble from the tank’s engines pervaded Jurgen’s consciousness, he had to admit that he was still somewhat shaken by the radiant vision he had seen earlier. He sat down, dangling his feet over the drop and considered the controls across the chasm. It would be nigh on impossible for him to move them at that kind of distance, and they didn’t have enough line to throw a grapnel over the gap. It had been hard enough for Indarin to get the Land Raiders onto the planet so using aircraft was out of the question.

 

“So,” Lofgren crouched down and began to toss rocks down into the tear. He looked up at the cloaked Marine, showing his teeth. “You’re up, Tannie.”

 

Constantine grimaced, the points of his upper incisors reaching almost to his lower gums, and a spark of light dancing in his deep blue eyes. Constantine sighed happily and walked away from the drop, for a moment Jurgen wondered where he was going, but he continued staring into the darkness below. The sound of heavy footsteps thundered across the ground. They stopped abruptly and Jurgen looked up in amazement. The cloak was flicked out of the way by Constantine’s fall, and Jurgen saw that the lining wasn’t embroidered with feathers; it was a pair of massive wings that seemed to unfold forever. He caught the up draught and soared up to come level with the edge. The primary feathers were stunning as they caught the light from the setting sun, glowing as though they had been edged in red gold. As he flapped them once and rose higher, a well thrown pebble caught him on the top of his left thigh.

 

“Thank you, Lofgren. Here, fetch!” he caught the pebbled and threw it back. The Wolf growled as the stone flew over their heads and carved a tiny gully in the leaf-mould. It came to a stop after bouncing off of a Land Raider’s track. The weirdest thing was, that whist every single Marine had watched the rock’s trajectory; several of the Wolves had actually licked their lips. The Tank Commander, hanging out of the top of his machine, laughed and scratched his head. Flicking down the microphone on his vox unit with a casual finger, he said,

 

“Will the pair of you, stop it! I do believe that Brother Indarin, Chapter-Master of the Sons of Plunder and Lord of Katrina, gave us a mission to complete. Brother Constantine, I would very much appreciate if you would find some way of accessing those controls to get this bridge over.”

 

“Received Brother-Captain Corinne, I shall keep you appraised of any developments as I come across them.” He turned gracefully and disappeared into the gathering gloom on the other side.

 

Jurgen stood up and on impulse he walked back along the tracks left by the transports. A shadow flickered between two trees and he tracked it back into the forest. The branch that struck him across the face snapped on impact, but disoriented him for long enough to allow something huge to hit him from behind. He lifted his face from ground as a foot was planted beside his head. He got to his knees and levelled his bolter at the back of one of the shadowy figures. The round caught it on the rear right of its torso, blowing its ribs open like a crushed apple.

 

“All squads,” Jurgen shouted into his vox. “I have contact in the forest about three hundred meters from you and closing fast. I can’t give you numbers, they’re moving far too quickly.”

 

Something made him turn around, and he tried to bring his weapon to bear on the target behind him, but the thing batted the gun aside, punching him squarely in the mouth. Surging to his feet, he swung for it, his brain taking in all of the details.

 

It stood about a foot taller than he was, and at least three feet wider. Its grotesque form bulged everywhere, muscles stacked on muscles in a hideous parody of a human being. It alarmed him certainly but he squared himself up to it, dodging its first swipe with an easy movement and levelling his bolter. He squeezed the trigger once and the round buried itself deep into the creature’s flesh before detonating, showering Jurgen’s armour with bloody lumps. One of its massive hands swept at him, it caught under his left side, throwing him into a thick tree. He rolled over and fired his weapon again, another chunk of its gross tissues blown free, twirling away through the forest to land with a quiet thud. The creature turned back to him with a howl that shook the trees, before he could fire again it began to run.

 

The trees blurred as Jurgen followed it, crashing through the saplings and undergrowth. He took a tangent to the creature’s path, emerging onto the edge of the chasm just in time to see Lofgren thrown off of the cliff. Axes and blades appeared from unknown places in the other Wolves’ armour. There was no stopping them now and they howled back at the creatures incensed, and charged. The clearing was turned into a charnel-house as the Wolves cut the things to pieces. The huge creature that had attacked Jurgen, crashed out through the vegetation, and the panting Wolves stopped to stare at the new-comer. Jurgen brought up his weapon and fired, aiming at the gap his previous rounds had created. It charged directly at him, its shoulder catching him in the stomach and lifting him off of his feet. He managed to get the bolter pressed against the skin of its shoulder and he emptied the magazine, feeling the explosions deep within the creature. As it died it let go of him, letting him drop, and it was just the beginning of his problems.

 

A flurry of images ended with him hanging by the fingertips of one hand over the edge, the boltgun tumbling into the infinity below. Far below him he saw the pale flash of Constantine’s wings, and saw what he was holding in both arms. Lofgren was totally still, but still clasped his bolter with both hands.

 

“Constantine! Help me!” Jurgen shouted, the Marine’s face flicked up and he saw him shake his head. So he was on his own, and… And the edge was giving way, the grass tearing out in a large clump. His mind working calmly on his problem, he brought his other hand up and tried to gain purchase in the loose earth, failing badly, stones rattling off his armour. Shortly this handhold would give up and he would plummet to his death. On the upside, it meant that he would be able to retrieve his bolter. With a heavy sigh he decided to let go and released his fingers, kicking away from the wall.

[BlueWaterDragon]

Peace filled him as he fell and he opened a comm-channel, knowing that he didn’t have time to send a coherent message to Indarin, but just listening in to the transmissions from the surface. The Wolves sounded as though they had won the fight and were in the process of calming down. Something struck him on the left side and he grabbed for it, catching hold of a piece of fabric. His own distorted reflection swung into his vision and he realised it was the Harlequin. The Eldar nodded once and Jurgen felt as though he was yanked sideways as he fell through a hole in reality and onto a solid floor. Constantine landed in an opening fifty meters to his right, and laid Lofgren down before folding in his wings allowing the light to flood in. Jurgen looked around him, the construction was definitely Imperial the massive double-headed Aquila was often a dead giveaway in these matters. There was one of the icons on a bulkhead above Constantine, and its wings had seemed to flutter as he had folded his own. Lofgren woke, surging to his feet and drawing a blade from somewhere about his person. Snarling he stood absolutely still for a moment, breathing hard, his eyes darting everywhere. Jurgen held out one hand to the Marine and stilled the turmoil in his mind with a comforting thought. The Wolf lowered the axe, and fastidiously dusting down his armour said,

 

“Tannie, my sincerest gratitude,” The former Blood Angel nodded in reply, meticulously re-arranging the cloak over his wings. “So where are we?”

 

“On board what is left of an Imperial Cruiser, by the look of it.” Jurgen replied. “We have to go. Lofgren, Constantine, have either of you got vox capability? Mine seems to have been destroyed.”

 

“I do,” Constantine replied, putting his finger to his ear. “Brother-Captain Corinne, what is the situation on the surface?”

 

“We have eliminated all of the hostile targets available,” the Captain’s voice was relayed. “What is your current position?”

 

“We are aboard an Imperial vessel, she looks to be ancient.” Jurgen replied. “Brother Lofgren and I are going to continue,” he was interrupted by whoops and howls of joy from the Wolves as they heard that their Pack-Leader was still breathing. Lofgren activated his own vox and he said something that sounded to Jurgen like a variation on ‘Go ye forth and multiply,’ but was probably the Fenrisian version of ‘I love you guys’.

 

Constantine met his eyes and the Librarian said,

 

“Brother, complete your mission and get the bridge extended. Lofgren and I will reconnoitre this new discovery.”

 

Constantine saluted crisply and fell backwards out of the opening. Jurgen heard his wings snap open and waited for a while, before leading Lofgren further into the ship.

 

They must have walked for miles through the tunnelled corridors of the ship. Lofgren had his entire attention on the walls and ceiling, checking for movement, and allowing Jurgen to concentrate his entire attention on their route. It was one of the famed abilities of the Space Marines their flawless memories, able to call the most distant recollection to mind, even after centuries. Each Marine, even a young one, was a repository of different skills and fighting styles, providing them with almost unmatched prowess in combat. However, fighting was far from Jurgen’s mind, he was remembering a map of a similar ship he had seen. The overlays for all of the different accesses had only been shown to him once, but that had been enough. He was now attempting to navigate them through the darkened corridors and passageways. The ship was in an appalling state; she had been built in space and it had never been intended for her to set down on any planet. Places that he had expected to be open had been crushed into gaps he could barely get a servo-skull through.

 

At a collapsed intersection Jurgen stopped to consider their direction and he asked Lofgren what he had said.

 

“It doesn’t translate well into High Gothic, Brother.” The shaggy haired Marine replied. The metal ends that held the plaits in place had been knocked off and now the hair was escaping in clumps. Morosely he examined them, twisting the ends in his fingers.

 

“Is something the matter, Lofgren?” Jurgen continued looking around them.

 

“These damned things are always getting lost,” the Wolf replied in a low voice. “I have had them, the originals anyway, since I was just a warrior. They were a gift from a girl I once knew…”

 

“This way,” the Librarian said. “You can tell me along the way.”

[Dark Apostle Thirst]

I can tell you I'm reading this, and liking it ;)

[BlueWaterDragon]

Thank you Dark Apostle :lol:

[BlueWaterDragon]

Updates!!! and just to warn you the next one will be a long one.

 

The star the ship orbited was a corpulent, belligerent body that was nearing the end of its life; its red light glittered from the paintwork, turning the Gothic Battleship into a cathedral of blood. Lurid carmine light slanted in through the large panel windows on the bridge, making the hard-wired servitors look like denizens of their own hell.

 

Brother-Captain Fharin Archimedes rested his elbows on the command pulpit and made shapes in the light with his fingers, at the moment he felt that it was about all that he could do. Their acting Chapter-Master had been missing for three days and he was doing his best to appear calm in front of the rest of the Brothers, but something about Jurgen’s disappearance was irritating him. A Marine scout walked onto the bridge and rested on one knee in front of the pulpit.

 

“Go ahead Little Brother,” the Captain rolled his dark eyes down to him, and the scout looked up.

 

“Brother Raldrin is having problems, sir,” Archimedes blinked once and nodded his head.

 

“Problems, Brother? Where is he?” the Captain gestured him to stand up with the slightest movement of his hand.

 

“In the Reclusiam, sir,” the scout led the way from the bridge down to the sanctuary of the Librarians.

 

Of all the things that Captain Archimedes loved about having become a Space Marine, even above having the great honour of receiving his Tactical Dreadnaught armour, was the magnificent Battle Barge through which he now walked. Each of the companies in the Knights Aeternus had their own ship, but the one that was the mobile base for the first company was beautiful. When the Knights had been formed there had been nothing else available but a Lunar Class cruiser. The Navy had not been too happy with the decision, even though the ship was not in very good condition; the Knights had taken excellent care of her and she was now the star of her fleet and to those in the Chapter, she was one of the brightest points in the galaxy, second only to the Astronomican.

 

The scout stopped at the doors. On the other side was bedlam, green light flashed around the lintel, the bizarre energy emanating from inside the room making the Captain’s hair stand on end. He raised his hand to knock, but the door was opened by another young Marine, and Fharin vaguely wondered why there were so many of them around these days. The three long service studs in his forehead glittered as he looked around the room.

 

“Where is Brother Raldrin?” he asked softly, he was just over a foot taller than the young Librarian and the man was staring up at him with unguarded interest.

 

“Over here, Brother-Captain,” the Marine led him to a room off to one side and opened the door a crack. There was a loud bang and the door slammed shut, copious amounts of swearing emanating from the other side.

 

“This is Captain Archimedes,” he shouted without malice or anger, pushing on the door handle. “Open this door Brother Raldrin or I will open it permanently!”

 

The door obligingly bounced back ajar and Fharin pushed it open further, stepping inside. Ares Raldrin was seated in the corner his arms around his knees, the flashing tendrils of light abated and the room darkened.

 

“Brother Raldrin, what’s going on?” Fharin demanded, folding his arms across his chest and leaning on the doorframe.

 

“Jurgen’s gone far away,” Raldrin said flatly, resting his chin on his knees and staring vacantly at a point on the wall.

 

“Really, and there was I thinking that he was hiding somewhere on this ship.” Fharin cupped his elbow in one hand and gestured with the other. “Is there any chance that you could tell me something useful?”

 

Ares looked up, the pupils in his clouded; almost blind eyes adjusting to the light coming in from the door. He waved a hand at the room in general. “I don’t need to tell you the most useful thing that I have perceived. See it for yourself.”

 

The eldritch light returned, blazing from Ares’ eyes and crackling down his arms. Fharin gazed around the room.

 

“Get me the Navigator.”

[Dark Apostle Thirst]

Alright, it looks like it's all going to go down soon :o

[SteelTygre]

So, when is the next installment?

 

:D

[BlueWaterDragon]

Umm, now?

 

A creak in the darkness made both Marines stop. They had found a munitions locker on their travels, Jurgen had claimed himself a new bolter, and both Marines had stocked up on ammunition. They both levelled their barrels at the noise. A piece of the ceiling fell in revealing something that Jurgen did not expect this far down. A shaft of light that pierced the gloom, holding minute particles in spinning alignments.

 

Jurgen led the way out onto the Central Corridor of the ship. The bow end of the corridor, some ten kilometres from them, was flattened and dark, but the emergency lights in the section they were in, along with the structure, were relatively intact.

 

“Why are there functioning lights on this ship?” Lofgren asked. “I would’ve thought that the power would be down after so long.”

 

“That I don’t know,” Jurgen shrugged. “Can you contact Brother Indarin and find out if they have gotten the bridge operational.”

 

Before Lofgren had a chance to act, a massive explosion rocked the ship, causing a landslide of debris from the damaged walkways above. The two Marines took hasty cover at the base of a pillar, dust raining down around them.

 

“Constantine, can you hear me?” Lofgren shouted into his vox.

 

“Yes, I can,” the Marine’s voice came back strained, contrasted by a staccato of bolter fire. “But sadly I’m a little busy at the moment. Break you…!” Thankfully the transmission gave out.

 

“Brother Jurgen wishes to know if you have got the bridge down yet.” Jurgen held up a finger to his lips and Lofgren switched his vox to internal only.

 

Jurgen looked around the pillar, near the collapsed end of the corridor there was movement. Large shapes shifted in the gloom down there. Shapes that he recognised from the city, well if they were going to be anywhere, they were going to be here.

 

The column next to them had fallen onto the walkway above giving access to the upper decks. Jurgen gestured that he was going up and Lofgren nodded, taking a quick glance for himself. Jurgen buried his fingers into the plasteel and hauled himself up slowly, taking care not to make more noise than the creatures themselves were making. He got into position and looked over the parapet. Lofgren had moved into a crouch his weapon trained on the first of the things to emerge.

 

The two Marines looked straight at each other and as Jurgen nodded the Wolf opened fire. He had spotted the same weak joint as Jurgen and round after round detonated in the metal. It gave under the assault and the end of the walkway opposite them collapsed, crushing a large group of the monsters.

 

Jurgen heard Lofgren announcing the contact to the main battle group. But they both continued firing timing their reloads so each was covered. He knew that he was running out of ammunition, and there were more of the things coming in through the gap. Another rumble from the open end of the corridor preceded the rapid concussion of heavy bolters and the buzzing sound of lasgun fire that the creatures took in their stride and kept on coming. Jurgen ran down the tilting walkway his feet occasionally losing their grip, dirt cascading across the plates. At the lower end he stopped and called his focus, with a roar he summoned his power lashing out with a bolt of white lightning that struck at least five of them baking the clay into glassy ceramic. The heavy bolter rounds struck the hardened material and shattered it. Jurgen felt the power surge through him and centred it on his finger tips; the electricity flowed out, striking six of them this time.

 

It seemed to take forever and when it was over, Jurgen’s knees buckled with exhaustion. He sat down heavily on a piece of shattered masonry and stared at the floor. Combat drugs were all very well, but for a Librarian any loss of concentration could be explosively fatal. A bottle of water appeared in front of his eyes and he took it gently, looking up at the person offering it. It was the young woman he had picked out of the mud in the forest. She sat down on a higher piece of stone, bringing her face level with his, her dark brown boot scuffing at an ancient bullet hole.

 

“I’ve never seen a Librarian in combat before,” she stated.

 

“Does your unit not work with Marines often?” he asked, handing the bottle back.

 

“We’re normally on support with the First Company. This Chapter doesn’t have many Psykers.” She went take a sip and winced, wiping the mouth of the bottle.

 

Jurgen blinked, wondering if he had left a trace of his acidic saliva on it. The woman saw him looking and said.

 

“Don’t worry it’s just dust,” she smiled. “I know about the acid, dissolving thing you guys do with your spit. I saw a Marine eat a tin plate once,” she shook her head with a smile. “Folded it in half around the bacon on it and stuffed it down like a taco. I suppose he didn’t want to get caught by his Sergeant.”

 

The Librarian chuckled, and sat up straight, the grin vanishing from his face to be replaced by a frown of mild confusion. “Please excuse me, Guard. But I’m not entirely certain we’re safe here.”

 

“Halliard,” she replied, standing up. “I’m Squad-Leader Renatia Halliard. I have to go; there are important things I have to do. Thank you for your time Marine.”

 

“Chief Librarian Jurgen von Spachkhemmar,” he stood up, towering over her and held out a hand. Halliard took it without hesitation and shook it firmly.

 

“I look forward to doing further business with you, Librarian von Spachkhemmar.” Letting go of his hand, she cocked her bolter, and adjusted the sling that allowed her to fire the weapon from the hip; anything else would have been tantamount to suicide.

 

Again Jurgen heard the faintest of whispers, it was as though someone had created a multitude from the same voice and it was repeating words that were as familiar to him as his own name. It was one of the many Litanies that a Librarian would recite to prepare himself for combat. But some parts were not quite right and in that moment he knew who it was. Unbelievably his Codicer was somehow getting through to him.

 

“Halliard, I have one last question for you.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “How did you know where we were? I know Lofgren voxed Brother Constantine, but it wouldn’t have been easy to track us down.”

 

“Indarin took a guess.” Halliard smiled and walked away to join Lofgren and the other two Guard squad leaders.

 

“Lucky guess,” Jurgen growled to himself. This strange Brother Indarin placed him in an uncomfortable position. Was the Marine the greatest gift to be left to the Imperium, or was he simply a heretic possessed by a charismatic daemon? People often distrusted a small lie, but tell them a galaxy sized whopper, and it will generally be accepted with relative equanimity. He banged on the door to the Land Raider and Corinne dropped the ramp.

 

“Brother-Librarian,” he grinned. “Can I help you?”

 

“Not with everything,” Jurgen said darkly, climbing into the tank. “But tell me, why are you all from such disparate Chapters? I know that when it is deemed necessary we Brothers must stand and fight together. But for it to be a permanent arrangement…” he shook his head. “That isn’t one I’ve heard of before.”

 

“It does appear strange to someone who doesn’t know the Sons of Plunder,” Corinne sat on a stool at one of the panels on the wall, the lights changing as he clicked switches. “But believe me, we all work to our strengths and thus minimise our weaknesses.”

 

“A fair assessment, Brother,” Jurgen replied, running his fingers over his head. “Where are the rest of the transports and the other Marines?”

 

“They are exploring the interior of Aluren’Viate. Indarin requested that we pick you up and return to his position.”

 

“He would rather search a Xeno vessel than a Battle Cruiser of the Imperial Navy?” Jurgen’s voice betrayed none of the irritation he felt.

 

“With respect Brother,” Corinne looked sideways at him, his blue eyes hard. “It isn’t this Cruiser that is about to open this planet like a krak grenade.”

 

Jurgen could find little fault with Corinne’s logic and he said so. The two Marines discussed Indarin, Jurgen expressing his concern about the man’s possible possession, and Corinne explained it was not unusual for people to feel doubts about Indarin, but the Captain managed to allay some of Jurgen’s fears.

 

The tank thundered through a gap in the tangled wreckage at the end of the central corridor, emerging onto a broad avenue inside the Craftworld. Everywhere was littered with suits of armour; all of them were riddled with holes, some of them very large. Jurgen dismounted from the Land Raider and crouching down beside one of the suits turned it over with one hand. The chest plate bore a gaping hole through its left side that went all the way through to the back. He stood up, still holding the thing and gestured to the tank to carry on, following it with his bolter cocked. The massive vehicle cut into the deck below it, and Jurgen walked off to one side, his feet slipping in the broken material. The Land Raider accelerated and Jurgen picked up his pace to a ground eating jog that he could easily keep up for hours.

 

The avenue opened up further into a hall with five high storeys on either side. High up to their left, rubble fell and Jurgen slid to a halt, bringing the bolter up to his shoulder. A flash of red and white stopped and he saw a hand wave on an overhanging balcony. Jurgen screwed up his eyes and saw it was Constantine. The Marine jumped leaving his wings folded, the cloak flared and he landed on heap of debris, scattering it everywhere.

 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said smiling. Shouting up at the tank he gestured towards the far side of the hall. “Brother-Captain Corinne, there’s an access up there that will take the weight of the Land Raider. Brother Jurgen and Brother Lofgren, you’re both with me. Up here.”

[BlueWaterDragon]

Update!!

 

 

The ships erupted from the Warp and formed up into a standard alignment. The first thing that Fharin saw was the immense space station drifting calmly above the pearlescent cloak of the atmosphere, lights twinkling in the darkness of the night side. The system traffic did not seem to be excessively perturbed by the abrupt appearance of a heavily armed Battlefleet in orbit, although a couple of smaller ships, not much bigger than Valkyries, peeled off and wandered over to investigate. The sleek little vessels darted in amongst the fleet, and apparently satisfied, returned to their positions. A larger ship, the size of a corvette, pulled out from its berth and powered towards the daylight side of the planet.

 

Fharin pulled a close-up image of the ship onto a screen and studied it carefully. She was brilliant shades of red and blue, accented with gold that flashed into fire as she crossed the penumbra; Fharin dispatched two of his own ships from the battle group on a pursuit course. He watched on the screen as they followed it around the planet, into the brilliant light of the systems only star, a lively yellow mid-sequence body. The radiation was so bright that the screen blacked out for a moment and when the picture returned, Fharin was stunned. The ships reminded him of a flotilla of fishing boats from his homeworld. Golden sails billowed in the stellar wind, little flashes of light pinpointing the stabilisation jets, firing to keep the ships from being blown off course.

 

“Fleet, this is Captain Archimedes,” he shouted into his vox. “Engines all ahead full, and move to the daylight region of the planet, engage any ships you find on the other side.”

 

Around the cruiser the ships moved out, the formation collapsing as those that were faster pulled away from their escort positions. As they passed from obscurity into radiance Fharin felt the ship shudder as the forward batteries fired. It was not calculated to actually hit the opposition; they were well out of range for that, it was more a show of strength, proving a point. The other fleet’s reaction startled Fharin as he watched them split into two halves to avoid the incoming projectiles, their manoeuvre following a standard Imperial pattern.

 

So, he thought, they know Imperial tactics. Out loud he said, “All ships, fire when you’re in range. I want those ships blown out of space.”

 

The fleet reported back in one by one. The escorts had apparently come within range of light weaponry and they started to fire. Their opposite numbers in the other fleet scurried out of the way without even powering up their weapons. The larger ships stayed put, calmly raising their void shields and slowly pulling in their solar sails.

 

In his room, Brother Raldrin screamed, hammering on the locked door in desperation. To his amazement it opened, and he stepped through. Blearily he saw the outline of another man, the flickering torchlight not aiding his already poor sight. Listening carefully he could hear the susurrus of velvet, an occasional glitter giving him the barest clue of rich golden embroidery. Ares focussed his power and a full image appeared before his mind’s eye, it was a Marine seated in a backless chair, dark blue robes pooling around his feet.

 

“What is your name, Brother?” the Marine demanded peremptorily, his light blue eyes assessing everything about the newcomer.

 

“I am Codicer Ares Raldrin, why…?” Ares was cut short by the Marine raising his hand.

 

“What Chapter are you?” he continued, resting his chin on his knuckles.

 

“My Brothers and I are the Knights Aeternus,” Ares drew himself up as renewed strength flowed through his mind. “And you are?”

 

The Marine smiled warmly, “I am the Chief Librarian of the Sons of Plunder, faithful servants of the Divine Emperor of Humanity.” The Psyker’s voice was calm. “How did you find this place?”

 

Ares shivered, remembering the voice that had guided his hands to draw the map on the walls in his own blood.

 

“I…” he paused. Who was this Librarian to demand such sensitive information from him? He closed his mouth with a snap.

 

“I understand,” the Marine said leaning forward in the chair. “Maybe Brother Jurgen von Spachkhemmar will be able to shed some light on the subject. In the meantime,” he slapped his hands down on the arms of the chair and stood up towering over the young Marine by over an arms length. “I would sincerely appreciate it if your ships would cease firing on us. Our pilots are becoming sorely vexed by having to dodge bullets, and I’m certain you know what an irate Space Wolf is capable of?”

 

 

In the belly of the Craftworld Jurgen was undergoing a practical demonstration. The halls they passed through were infested with ceramic monstrosities and Lofgren, having become bored with sneaking around the things, had launched himself at the next group they came across. There were not many of them, but the wet clay made a spectacular mess when spread across several metres of corridor.

 

“Very nice,” Constantine said sardonically, wiping mud from his face with the corner of his cloak. “A rather regressionist post-modern piece to judge by the look of it. That head impaled on the pipe over there,” he gestured behind the Wolf. “Was that intentional or merely a by-product of your unique creative process?”

 

The only response he received was a low growl.

 

Jurgen did not know how to judge the two Marines. They appeared to be so different from each other, but they held onto the bond of Brotherhood with a grip stronger than magnetism. Maybe, if Indarin was a gift, that was part of what he was, a being sent to re-unite the disparate forces, and bring the Space Marines back under the double-headed banner of the Imperium. Jurgen was still unsure, however he was willing to wait and see what would happen.

 

They emerged into gloom. The darkness surrounding them like thick cloth embroidered with the twinkling gems of distant fires. As his vision adjusted, he could see that some of these conflagrations had been burning for decades, leaving ugly black scars on the structures they consumed. Jurgen put his hand on the broken rail surrounding the high causeway on which they stood. The building they had come from was itself smouldering, the sickly sweet smoke wreathing the surrounding edifices. The three Marines stood side by side, each one taking in the devastation around them.

 

“Ok, Tannie,” Lofgren rumbled. “Where are they?”

 

“Over there,” he pointed downwards towards the base of one of the towers. “They made camp to wait for us. Captain Corrine’s Land Raider should be having little difficulty getting through. It’s wide and fairly stable down there.”

 

“Which begs the next question,” Jurgen said without turning to face them. “How do we get down there?” he cast a sideward glance at Constantine. “We being Lofgren and I, you of course, have other options Brother.”

 

Lofgren looked over the rail; there was a thirty foot sheer drop below them down to another catwalk. He grinned broadly and vaulted the rail in an easy movement. Impacting on the deck, he rolled and stood up. Rolling his eyes and shrugging Constantine gestured at Jurgen and the Librarian leapt after the Wolf. This second blow to already weakened plating caused it to give way, tipping Jurgen out into empty air. Lofgren caught his hand and held him suspended.

 

“Ready to drop again?” the Wolf asked. Jurgen nodded, and Lofgren swung him slightly, letting go as the Librarian hit the upswing. The side of the tower had fallen in, leaving a heap of rubble that cushioned Jurgen. He rolled down it for nearly two hundred feet, smashing against boulders and large debris, coming to rest against a shattered beam. Breathing hard, he assessed the damage to both himself and his armour. The damage to his armour was critical, and some parts of it were crippled. However it was himself that he was more concerned with and that was something he was not looking forward to.

 

Debris showered around him in a miniature landside and Lofgren’s concerned face appeared beside him.

 

“I’m so sorry Brother, I didn’t realise you would fall like this. But it was either this or a direct fall from the tower.” He pointed at where they had been and Jurgen followed his finger. The Wolf was right, if he hadn’t thrown him he would have fallen two hundred and fifty feet straight down, even a Space Marine would stand little chance of surviving such a plunge. Jurgen patted him on the arm and tried to sit up, managing it on his fourth attempt, his armour not cooperating, as he got upright, he found out why. Pieces of the back-pack were strewn down the slope and Jurgen activated the back-up systems on his armour allowing him to move more freely. Both men stared at the central section of the back-pack as it sat and hissed. Both of them knew what that meant and they slid down the rest of the slope and took cover as the generator detonated in a flash of light, glassing the surrounding rubble.

 

They helped each other up and Jurgen looked around for Constantine. He found the Marine had punched a hole through a wall and was lying in a heap. He had obviously been caught in the explosion, the edges of his wings were blackened and his face bloodied. Breathing heavily he opened his eyes.

 

“A little bit of warning would have been appreciated, Brother Jurgen.” Constantine said, accepting Jurgen’s hand. The Librarian pulled him out, saying.

 

“I’m truly sorry; I had no way of stopping it.”

 

“I will heal,” he replied, examining his left wing hanging limply by his side. “Lofgren, would you kindly help me?”

 

“Wait a moment,” Pulling off both of his damaged gauntlets Jurgen put his hands on the wing, feeling the strange texture of the feathers, both stiff and yet soft at the same time. Burying his fingers in the marginal converts on the leading edge, he used his perception to sense the joints beneath the feathers. The joint at the Marine’s shoulder was damaged beyond the Librarian’s capacity for healing, but he returned the feathers to their pristine condition. With it dislocated, Constantine would not be able to fly for a while without the attentions of an Apothecary. For some odd reason his skin was extremely pale, as though, impossibly, he was in pain.

 

After an hour of walking, they reached the small camp and Constantine collapsed gratefully into a heap beside the small fire. Jurgen followed him to the ground, worn out by the weight of his barely functional armour, but even on top of his mental exertions he should not be so tired. All of the Space Marines looked done in, Indarin’s aquiline features were haggard and he could barely move. Two of the Wolves were attempting to guard the perimeter and the third was flat on his back fast asleep, snoring with his mouth open. Jurgen stripped off the rest of his armour and felt no better, he was sweating profusely, but the temperature seemed to be below freezing.

 

“Indarin,” he touched the Marine making him start. “What’s happening here?”

 

“I was about to ask you the same question, Jurgen.” Indarin gestured to the rubble beside him. “And just out of curiosity, why is the commander of my Assault Marines bound up like a sick budgerigar?”

 

“Budgerigar?” the prone Marine raised one hand, the index finger outstretched. “Pigeon I could tolerate, are you implying that I am some kind of caged songbird, Brother?”

 

He shook the hand emphatically, not able to muster the strength to lift his face from the dirt.

 

Lofgren was on his stomach, as curled up as he could manage in the bulky power armour, resting on one of the pauldrons he had shucked off just before he buckled onto the ground. His power plant slid down the side of his back as he released the magnetic clamps.

 

“As to what’s happening,” Indarin continued, running his fingers over the eagle at his chest. “I have no idea.”

[BlueWaterDragon]

Edited to the best of my ability!

[Dark Apostle Thirst]

1) You seriously doubleposted there. Might want to edit that :)

 

2) It's good, but... who is Callope? I don't think I missed anything earlier in the story :teehee:

[BlueWaterDragon]

1) You seriously doubleposted there. Might want to edit that ;)

Done ^_^, had a foul up with my browser. The Machine Spirit hates me!

 

2) It's good, but... who is Callope? I don't think I missed anything earlier in the story :D

Back in the scene where Jurgen is talking to the Harlequin,

 

"It had explained about Calliope, and told him how to find it. She was, according to the heretic Xeno, a goddess in her own right. Jurgen had taken this rather well, as far as he could tell, discovering in the process that he could indeed harm the image, should he choose to. The creature’s polite, if strangled request to be put down had been upheld and when it’s feet were once more on the ground it had continued..."

 

Somewhere near the beginning of the story. :)

[Dark Apostle Thirst]

2) It's good, but... who is Callope? I don't think I missed anything earlier in the story :)

Back in the scene where Jurgen is talking to the Harlequin,

 

"It had explained about Calliope, and told him how to find it. She was, according to the heretic Xeno, a goddess in her own right. Jurgen had taken this rather well, as far as he could tell, discovering in the process that he could indeed harm the image, should he choose to. The creature’s polite, if strangled request to be put down had been upheld and when it’s feet were once more on the ground it had continued..."

 

Somewhere near the beginning of the story. :)

Ah, cool :P