Traditions

[Mantras]

Traditions

 

 

The screams of dying men echoed round the field of battle as Rycio’s long sword bisected the man, shoulder to groin, and he smiled within his winged helmet, calmly holstering his ornate plasma pistol. All around him, his kindred warriors put to the sword the last of this group of scum, and his heart sang to see the unity of brotherhood in the destruction of their foes. All around, the sight was repeated, his green armoured brethren of the Adeptus Astartes finishing off their respective enemies, dispatching them with the ease in which gene-enhanced warriors defeat mortal men. Thick, cordite rich fog enveloped them, where Rycio and his kin had counter attacked after the Imperial Guards exposed artillery had been set upon by enemy commandos, catching them off guard as they had continued to shell their distant enemies. Whilst many of the White Jacketed 113th Jagans lay in mangled piles, their uniforms decorated with the blood of their comrades, enough still lived to man the guns, and continue the punishing bombardment of the enemies positions.

“Come brothers” Rycio voxed to his squad, “this battle is won, but not yet the war”

A series of affirmative clicks in his helmet confirmed their task was complete, and he saw his brethren relax themselves after the rigours of the combat. The enemy had indeed been numerous, and possessed of a blood lust and depravity that had sickened Rycio. Brother Zarrax cradled his ruined arm as a testament to the ferocity of the skirmish, but his squad was unharmed apart from that. Whilst the Space Marines had sustained very little damage, the same could not be said for those they came to the aid of. Whilst the battle had lasted only a handful of minutes, of the fifteen artillery pieces that had been firing only an hour ago, only 7 now remained functional. Whilst this was but a fraction of the fighting that ravaged Verga IX, Rycio and his battle brothers had responded swiftly to the general distress call for Astartes support, by immediately deploying via drop pod onto the location of the beacon. Even now, he could see the blackened hull of the Invictus, which would need to be recovered when Rycio and his squad mates were extracted in the coming minutes, ready to be redeployed to another locale in the battle against the heretics. His squad had already activated their beacon, and awaited the familiar form of a Thunderhawk gunship that would wash away the smoke and carry them to another battle location.

 

 

 

Suddenly, Rycio saw his battle-brothers tense up, raising their weapons in unison, and craned his neck round to see an enormous, lumbering figure emerge from a gap between the smog. Target locks and warning runes immediately flashed along his vision, confirming what his eyes had already told him, only serving to categorize the utter lethality of this being. The figure carried a razor sharp doubled headed axe in his left hand, which he idly toyed with, and crushed the skull of a man between the fingers of his enormous right hand, as if it had been nothing more than a flower. He leaned down as he strode forward, decapitating a Jagan who had lost both his legs and most of his vital fluids, with the merest flick of his blade. A double barrelled bolter was attached to his belt, and Rycio bristled as he took in the appearance of this newcomer. He wore no helm, and his thick, fiery beard was matted and ragged, saturated with human blood. His hulking terminator armour was also similarly covered in blood, fresh and wet from recent slaughter. Around his neck, a necklace made of the bestial teeth jangled in the wind, and draped around his shoulders was the hide of what Rycio could only guess was the remains of some craven off-world apex predator. Heathen iconography adorned his terminator armour, the colour of which could just be made out as white or blue, but which was obscured underneath the gore and muck. He was festooned with trinkets, gory trophies and a host of other ritualistic embellishments that offended Rycio’s refined, ordered taste. He was flanked by four others, who were similarly savage and vicious in their appearance, in stark contrast to the tabard wearing, distinguished Dark Angels that opposed him. He grinned a feral grin, displaying teeth that looked as though they had been filed down to a point, and levelled his axe directly at Rycio. A tentacle depiction of some mighty beast occupied this brute’s right shoulder guard, as well as a series of dangling totemic fetishes that rattled together as his fingers singled Rycio out.

“You” His voice boomed, even without a helmet “It is time for you, Angel.”

Rycio looked round, seeing his brothers at his back, feeling the unexpected burden falling upon him to fight, and win, this battle. His shield, decorated with the visage of a roaring Lion, felt heavier in his hands, and he became acutely aware of the gleaming power sword that he held in his right hand.

“I do not fear you, brute. Come, taste my blade”

The wet, grating growl that emanated from the savage caused Rycio to grit his teeth. Whilst he was the youngest sergeant in the company he had fought for over six decades, but despite his years of training and confidence in his prowess, something about his blood thirsty opponents visage shook him.

“Aye, I almost believe you, little Angel”

Spittle flecked on the giants lips, and his eyes looked to be on the verge of mania. He was idly twirling his axe, and a corona of energy played around his power fist. Rycio crushed his apprehension with a thought, abhorred by the notion that he, one of the Emperors Space Marines, feared an opponent. The bestial giants accomplices began to cackle and bray, their weapons tracking Rycios brethren, even as they themselves faced his squads 9 bolters. To think, they had once claimed to be the Emperors most dangerous weapons, the vicious killers masquerading as once noble defenders of humanity.

“We outnumber you two to one, curr” Rycio boomed the statement from his helm, causing his squad to noticeably stiffen with pride.

“And yet it is you alone who will stand against me. Enough of this talk, let us cross blades.”

Rycio smirked, the arrogance and confidence which had earned him his command so early returning to him and imbuing him with strength. Here was another chance to show he was a true son of the Lion, worthy of carrying the name of the First across the stars, as they had done for over ten millennia. He raised the hood of his robe, and energised his power sword, opening his hand of his shield arm to his opponent, and bade him to come, in what Rycio calculated would best insult this beast.

 

 

Almost faster than his eyes could follow, the brute leapt at Rycio, heathen curses on his lips, his axe raised high in a killing arc. Rycio parried with his long sword, before striking out with the edge of his shield. His opponent took the blow to the side of his unarmoured head, and wheeled about drunkenly. Spitting blood, his wild eyes spoke of nothing but rage and anger, and he hawked a gobbet of blood at Rycio, staining his pristine white robe. He came at the Dark Angel again, his strikes hard and fast, in a berserk manner that kept Rycio off balance, the chaotic nature of his attacks in stark contrast to the ordered finesse with which Rycio was so familiar with. Blow after blow rained down, and it took all his concentration to block each one, the world narrowing to just him and his opponent. Glorious purpose burdened him, and slowly, he began to get within the brutes guard, with a series of deep gouges telling the tale of his power weapons strength against the resilience of terminator armour. As the brute redirected the tip of Rycios blade from taking him arm off at the elbow, it screeched up and along his armour, cutting various pendants and skulls, and removing the draping head and front leg of whatever rotting predatory beast was draped across his shoulders. He barely had a second to enjoy the rage that coloured his opponents face before the retort of his power fist smashed into Rycio’s shield, jarring his arm. Another hit drove him to his knees, and was following by armoured fingers ripping it from his grip, discarding the snarling Lions Head as if it had been a minor annoyance. Rycio was already up, and now able to use his sword two handed, backed away, in order to use his superior reach.

 

 

 

The frothing monster in armour came at him again, but Rycio was able to deftly parry and block all of his foes strikes. Soon, he was able to force the blood streaked giant back, perfectly executing the lessons taught to him, from blade masters and chapter champions renowned . He continued to force him back, a smile forming on his lips as he dodged the lumbering terminators clumsy axe swing. He could tell that the madman was becoming frustrated, his blunt, berserk brawling style failing to win this fight. Redoubling his efforts, Rycio scored more and more glancing hits, that would have been fatal had it not been for a combination of his opponents armour, skill and fortitude. As the savage stumbled back, the gap he needed to exploit presented itself, and he drove his blade forwards towards his foe. His triumph was short lived, as the brute caught his blade with his power fist. He wrenched, and it came out of Rycio’s grip, despite bending all his strength towards it. As the smile broke across his opponents abhorrent face, Rycio drew his plasma pistol by instinct, and brought it up to finish this bout once and for all. A backhanded slap sent it tumbling and was followed up by a driving uppercut that he only managed to avoid by rolling free. He picked up his fallen sword as he sped away and held it in front on him, pointed directly at his foe. The brute panted and roared in rage. Rycio too, was breathing hard, and could see a rictus grin forming on the cracked lips of the monster that told of a new found confidence in the outcome of this fight. This would be over soon and a startling realisation came to him in a flash. I cannot kill him Rycio thought but I have to try to.

 

 

 

Again, they began to trade blows, Rycio’s long reach no longer being of use as the monster consistently got closer, his humming armour lending strength to his blows that began to take their toll. Rycio was tiring, the exertions of the last few minutes wearing him down. On, the brute came, swinging his bloody axe in a blow designed to rip out his throat. At the last moment, his enemy released his axe, and instead used his free hand to grip Rycio by his white tabard, using to pull him close, before delivering a thunderous blow with his power fist to his head, plunging his world into darkness.

 

-------------

 

 

A savage kick to his head woke him, and a second kick knocked his helmet free. Above him, he could hear his opponent laughing, along with his fellows, a horrid growling noise that assaulted his ears. His could tell he was badly concussed, but alive. It mattered not. He may as well have been killed.

“Not a bad fight, lad.” The giant rumbled “But it takes more than a dress wearing quim like yourself to beat Harald Krakenhand in a duel.”

He leaned down and offered a hand to his beaten opponent. Shapes began to appear in Rycio’s peripheral vision, and he began to make out the forms of his Dark Angel brothers, their green armour and white tabards in stark contrast to the four warriors who now clapped the brute on his back and howled in delight. Taking hold of the hand that had just rendered him unconscious, Rycio could make out the inscription, Krakenhand,

“I’m not called Krakenhand for nothing, boy” the giant laughed, a throaty guttural sound, that Rycio found most unpleasant.

He leant down, and picked up the winged angelic helmet.

“This will make an excellent drinking tankard, for when we are done with these honourless traitor whoresons” he chuckled.

As he got to his feet and retrieved his war gear that had been strewn around, Rycio shook his head to clear the fug, and was addressed again.

“That settles the duel this time, Angel. We also heard the beacon from orbit, and being the only Wolves in this sector of space, thought we had best show you how it was done”.

Rycio titled his head, in humiliation. It was his first honour duel he had ever had with a Wolf, and one he would carry the shame of for the rest of his days….

[Brother Anders]

Loved it, though I'm not sure it was fair since the DA had just been in a fight. You had me thinking he was fighting Chaos or something.

[Raven Angel]

War is not fair and taking on a Wolf Lord is never an easy task. I know this from experiance. Thoughs Frost Blades are a beeotch :angry: Great work on the store man.

[Arthanor]

Cool story, nice twist at the end :angry: The "blue or white" armor convinced me it was a World Eater in pre-heresy colors!

 

A fight scene that is interesting to read is a rare thing. Well done!

[Mantras]

Heh, thanks guys. I tried to make it so that you would fill in the blanks the first time you read it, then when it is revealed, kinda go "Oh, yea, of course"

 

Any criticisms? I'd love to hear it...

[Brother-Chaplain Nemiel]

Was a very good read!

 

But i think you should have made it clear before the fight that this was a honour duel...was a bit weird that they appear as a hostile to them and then have a talk just some sublime hints that they are wolves with those totems...would be more fun if the DAs were about to finish of their objective, and the SWs teleporting in stealing the win-kill and then the DA would challenge him or the other way around :o

 

Had some games with SWs vs Chaos and we always chose a Sgt each and simulate a duel with CC until one is down :)

[Brother Anders]

I saw a few spelling errors, but I couldn't find it again. Great otherwise. My only question is why does a sergeant have a combat shield and a power sword? Maybe Say he's the youngest Champion his company has had, or is the youngest champion in the chapter? I may be interpreting it wrong but I just found it odd.

[Brother-Chaplain Nemiel]

Why not? Just because a Sgt cant get a shield in the codex doesnt mean storytellers are bound to that!

 

But Sgts with shield would be awesome ingame! :o

[Brother Anders]

Yes they would! :o well technically Sergeants are vets, who can carry that wargear. They other Dark Angels were wearing robes too. Nevermind then :)

[MadDoc]

I find the Space Wolf's remark about dress wearing jarring and it makes things read abit like a slightly sad fanfic battle report. Its a childish jibe made about DA by some players and not something you would ever expect to hear even so much as alluded to in-universe (not least, because far more people in-universe wear robes than just the DA, including some members of the various SW Priesthoods).

 

It makes the Wolf seem like a childish ass. I would also put something as low as dishonouring an opponent with that kind of petty and juvenile remark beneath the Sons of Fenris.

 

IMHO

 

Had some games with SWs vs Chaos and we always chose a Sgt each and simulate a duel with CC until one is down :)

Given that the background tells us that its normally the respective Champions that fight the duel (Company Champion in the case of DA and a Wolf Lords most favoured warrior in the case of SW) and not the Commanders (Sorry we can't fight today our Leader foolishly committed himself to a knockdown drag out duel and is now unfit for combat as result :P) who have more important things to worry about like overseeing a Campaign/Assault/Deployment, that makes sense.

[Mantras]

Thanks, for the crit, I waslooking for some of that really. I mentioned earlier he had a Plasma Pistol, the shield was just a flourish that seemed appropriate.

 

The "dress" comment was designed to be an insult, something that would be seen as petulent and childish, because, at the heart of it, thats how I see the whole Space Wolves vs DA duel thing to be.

 

But if thats your biggest problem with the story, that bodes well :)

[Phoebus]

I'd like to point out that, in draft material that Aaron Dembski-Bowden released (and subsequently decided to delete) for his upcoming "Prince of Crows" Heresy story, Sevatar announces to his fleet:

 

"This is Sevatar to the fleet. Let me be clear, brothers and sisters. I am not losing to these pious, honour-fuelled, frock-wearing whoresons twice in the same month."

 

Now, A-D-B also mentioned said statement wouldn't make it past editing, and that it's not serious enough for that scene. That having been said, though... in defense of the OP, what he wrote was very similar to what a paid (and rather popular) author for Black Library "deleted with a heavy heart". I'm not saying that makes for a license for praise by any means, but I would offer (within the constraints of respecting the opinions of others) that it might not deserve to be dismissed as "sad fan-fic", either. :)

[Mantras]

Looking back, I would change the wording to "Gown wearing", so that it was less childish but still sufficently insulting. Bear in mind the way Rycio looks at the Space Wolf, the language isn't that out of place.

 

And Phoebus, that is an excellent point, aspiring to standards like that is what it is all about, though.

[MadDoc]

Looking back, I would change the wording to "Gown wearing", so that it was less childish but still sufficently insulting. Bear in mind the way Rycio looks at the Space Wolf, the language isn't that out of place.

I would think calling him a quim would be enough of an insult, maybe a beardless quim, or perhaps a toothless quim, or maybe even a cowering quim, with the added bonus that none of those have the petty/juvenile feel of calling him a dress wearer.

 

The Space Wolves may well (rightly) be known as braggarts but to me that sort of petty/childish remark should be beneath even them.

 

And Phoebus, that is an excellent point, aspiring to standards like that is what it is all about, though.

And yet even Aaron thought that sort of remark wasn't appropriate either. Lets face it, nothing against Aaron (I love the guy, his writing is fantastic and he seems like a genuinely awesome guy), but his sense of humour does have a tendency to lean towards the less mature side of things and even he didn't think it was appropriate (even if it was "deleted with a heavy heart"). Edit - Not that I'm saying that sort of humour is a bad thing, but it has its place, and for me thats not in good 40K/Heresy fiction (official or otherwise).

[Mantras]

Beardless quim is an excellent suggestion, I would use that instead. Thanks Mad Doc for the comments. Other than that, did you enjoy it, I am interested to see if the twist caught people off guard.