The Misadventures of Brother Nemiel

[Brother Nemiel]

Greetings all!

 

I do not claim to be a writer, and I do not claim to be good at writing. For some weird reason the following story just had to be written. The idea is that additional part are going to be written. When, I do not know. This post will be an index of chapters of sorts. I will be updating this post with new chapter, whenever (if ever), they become available.

 

In advance, thank you.

 

Dramatis Personae:

 

Brother Nemiel - Protagonist of the story. Company Veteran of the third company.

Interrogator-Chaplain Castiel - Member of the third company. Thorn in Brother Nemiels side.

Interrogator-Chaplain Uzziel - Member of the Inner Circle. Mentor and former teacher of Castiel.

Ork Warlord - Antagonist of Interrogator Chaplain Castiel

Theodocius Tiberius Justinian - 23rd Governor-King of Amalraea

Mauritius Konstantin Justinian - Crown Prince of Amalraea

 

Parts published on B&C:

 

1. Prologue, or when Interrogator-Chaplain Castiel realized that something was wrong.

2. First encounter

[Brother Nemiel]

Part 1 - Prologue, or when Interrogator-Chaplain Castiel realized that something was wrong

 

Interrogator-Chaplain Castiel had never expected to die. At least not on Geron, the seventh planet to be conquered of the Crusade of St. Varinius. The Filthy xenos breed known as orks had infested several planets in the systems of St. Varinius Trail. The 3rd Company of the emperors first legion, the heralded Dark Angels, answered in their benevolence the imperial plea for assistance. This surprised the Imperial Lord Commander in charge, Konstantinos Aurorus, since he was not aware of the chapters vicinity to the crusade. Contingents of the 3rd company along with a few squads of the 10th, had been fighting the xenos for almost 3 months now. The Dark Angels, befitting their status, only participated in the opening parts of each planetary invasion. The imperial guard were left to pick up the pieces and the eradicate what was left of the ork forces. Such was beneath the emperors angels of death.

 

Castiel lay sprawled on the ground on his back. Heavy rain hammered on his armor. The grey clouds forming indistinct patterns in the dull and dirty sky above. For a moment, a tiniest short moment, he almost gave up. For the first time, in as long as Castiel could remember, he was at peace. He didn't feel any pain. He could not hear anything except the rain striking his helmet. The patterns the clouds formed were mesmerizing, layers of grey dappled with speckled silver and something resembling white dancing a slow dance, of unfathomable pattern, far up above. Castiel didn't even register the aircraft streaking past his field of vision forming new patterns with belching of their black exhausts. Slowly the noise returned: Heavy explosions, the staccato of gunfire, racing engines of machines of destruction and death, in other words: the sounds of war. The pain also returned, even though his armor was pumping great amounts of pain suppressing chemicals into his bloodstream. Slowly the rest came back. He was in the capital, Geron Prime. This was the Atrium of the silent Martyrs, near the planetary governor's palace just south of the great river which bisected the city. Statues of hooded martyrs stood in silent vigil in dark alcoves around him. They all judgingly gazed at him from behind the shadows of their hoods. Some held out their hands pleading, some as if they were displaying the gruesome stigmata which afflicted them, some just stood there watching arms crossed in silence. Castiel could almost feel the contempt of their silent stares damning his helpless inaction.

 

Damned orks...

 

He was unsure if he only thought it or if he actually said it out aloud. To be sure, he said it again, or tried to. Blood welled up in his mouth and he spat it out inside his helmet. From somewhere deep within a burning rage boiled up. This time, he screamed it.

 

Filthy Emperor damned orks!

 

It felt like his intestines were on fire. Slowly, inch by inch, he hoisted up his torso. In front of him, Castiel could see his broken legs and crushed lower torso. The thick ceramite plates of the ancient and ornate armor cracked and broken. Thick blood oozed through the cracks, seemingly to be reluctantly washed away by the rain. Loose teeth, rattled inside of his helmet as he slowly, in much pain, turned his head. The badge of his office, the crozius arcanum, lay just a few feet to the right. The emperor be damned if he would die without the weapon in his hands.

In the name of the emperor!

 

With a supreme effort of will he commanded his hand to grasp the honored weapon. The arm disobeyed. Failing again to grasp the crozius he howled in impotent fury. The ground started shaking in rhythmic thumps. Castiel raised his eyes and tried to focus. A huge ork crashed through the eastern wall. A warlord, clad primitive but massive piston powered armor painted in garish, bright colors. The huge beast walked slowly towards the chaplain as he laid there. The thick adamantium armored feet cracking the floor where he advanced. The heavily armored the ork towered over Castiel. He had spotted the ork outside the atrium. Remembering the old catechism "cut of the head and the serpent will die" Castiel had challenged the mighty xenos to a duel. So far it had not gone well. The beasts superior strength and toughness besting Castiel to his shame. The yellow beady eyes focused on him as he lay on the cracked mosaic floor in the atrium. The Ork lifted a huge axe, pointed it towards Castiel, and bellowed triumphantly showering him with vile spittle. All of a sudden, it felt like a small sun had appeared in the atrium. Even though the machine spirit of his armor dimmed his eye lenses, it still took him a moment to see what exactly had happened. The warlord stood staring at his left arm, or what was left of it. His axe lay on the ground still grasped by his clawed hand. His arm seared of above the elbow leaving a smoldering stump of charred flesh. A rapidly growing shrill whine echoed in the atrium. An incandescent bluish light flashed again and the Ork warlords other arm was seared off. The Monstrous alien just stood there, slack-jawed, his small brain trying to comprehend what had happened, lifting up one arm after the other staring at the smoking stumps. The shrill whine began anew. For just a moment Castiel though he heard humming. The blue light flashed again vaporizing the ork warlords head, leaving a stump of steaming mushy pulp in its place. Now he could hear it again, someone was definitely humming. A rather poor version of "The hymn of the glorified saint Estebal". A robed Battle brother walked into view. By the markings of the armor Castiel guessed it was Nemiel, the rather quaint veteran of the company veteran squad. Nemiel walked up to the still standing form of the huge ork, it's armor must have powered down at the moment of its inhabitants death, leaving it standing there like a gory statue. After standing there in front of it for a short while, still humming, Nemiel plunged his plasma pistol down what was left of the warlords neck. Tugging at the gun, jamming it in good, he finally looked approvingly at his handiwork. Nodding, he pressed the trigger. A huge pillar of vaporized ork showered Nemiel from head to toe, coloring his cream colored robes to some dark, vile and slimy. Afterwards he pulled his pistol out of what was left of the ork and something else that he found in the corpse. The melody he hummed actually skipped a beat or two while doing whatever he was doing. Not that it mattered, it hardly followed tune anyway.

 

What are you doing, Nemiel?

 

After tinkering with something for a while, Nemiel stood up. He struck a pose, his right arm holding his plasma pistol pointed at one of the less impressive statues and his left holding his bolt pistol pointed up while bending his left elbow 90 degrees. He reversed his pose to his melody, without skipping a beat. He turned around, holstered his pistols, and approached the prone Chaplain, kneeling in front of him. He pulled back the hood and removed his helmet with a hiss of decompressed air from the environmental seal of his armor. There had always been something haunted in Nemiels blue-grey eyes the chaplain had thought. Something cold and wrong. Though never in neither deed or word had the company veteran caused doubt as to his allegiance, so far. Although Castiel would never admit it, he had always regarded Nemiel with reluctance. If because no other reason, he made Castiel uncomfortable and that was saying something. In his seven decades of being an Interrogator-Chaplain of the emperors first legion he had never encountered someone like him. It was all in his calm manner and his dead haunted eyes. Nemiel would have made an excellent interrogator. He stared at Castiel, glanced at his legs and lower torso.

 

- "Brother-Chaplain, you appear to have lost your duel. I'll alert the apothecary". He spoke the words softly. It's was the kind of voice which could silence an entire room without the need of raising it. Soft, melodious and eerily penetrating. A ghost of a smile touched his lips but never his eyes.

 

He stood up as to take leave but bent back down to Castiel as if he remembered something. Placing a small item on Castiels chest, he said:

 

-"I almost forgot this, Brother-Chaplain. This is for you. To remember this moment by..."

 

As Nemiel stood up and left, Castiel looked down on his chest and saw a piece of ork tusk, a couple of inches long, standing on his chest. On the tip of the tusk someone had painted a small smiley face. Castiel was so bewildered by this that he actually missed when Nemiel left the atrium, turning his head to the direction seeing that he was alone again.

 

Pain flash-stabbed through his abdomen and Interrogator-Chaplain Castiel of the third company passed out from blood loss. Darkness claimed him.

 

Edit: Layout and stuff

[Azekai]

lolwut did I just read? :D

[Brother Nemiel]

lolwut did I just read? :P

 

The start of the (hopefully) amazing tale of the somewhat unconventional company veteran named Nemiel from the emperors first legion. :)

 

Hope you liked it!

[Dark Apostle Thirst]

I did like it, but looking for more so get cracking :)

[Olis]

Well, that was a little odd. I do hope this tale lives up to the surreal expectations I'm having.

[Vazzy]

I... What...

[Messor]

Looks like a good time. Subscribed.

[Ilbram_Harker]

I wonder, will you put in some of the jokes we make about the other armies. For example, standard gear for an Imperial Guardsman: flashlight, t-shirt, and a horse-drawn cart to carry his testicles in. :)

[Brother Nemiel]

Part 2 - First Encounter

 

An Astartes of the his divine holiness, the Emperor of mankind, is a magnificent creation. He is a genetically enhanced masterpiece. An apex predator of the arch enemy and their ilk. The body of an astartes can sustain incredible injuries and severe trauma, and still keep functioning . Even so, sometimes the damage is too great even for their wondrous physique and their bodies require time to heal. Interrogator-Chaplain Castiel lay motionless in a chamber of the Apothecariat at the heart of "Fury of Caliban", a strike cruiser of the Dark Angels chapter. Apothecary Alaunus and the chirurgeons had spent hours repairing and mending his mangled and tattered body. Now it was just a question of letting his body do the rest. Inwardly, Castiel raged against his helplessness. He had been told he would heal complete, it would just take time. Time wasted. Time he could have spent bringing the imperial light to the darkness in the heart of heretics. Still, no price was too high to pay in the service of the Emperor. He would wait...

 

Closing his eyes he concentrated on his breathing, slowing it down. The beating of his double hearts slowed down. He almost entered a comatose state, a state of semi-waking dreams. Conjuring up the events of his duel with the ork warlord, he started to analyze his every move. It would serve him to become better, to learn from his mistakes. Regardless of how much he tried his memories always returned to the small piece of ork tusk on his chestplate, staring at him. The face both mocking and ignorantly smiling at him at the same time. The dreamscapes shifted and invariable they took Castiel to Amalraea where he first had met Nemiel over ninety standard years ago. He tried to force his mind back to the duel, but with ever increasing difficulty he failed. Finally, the chaplain surrendered to his mind, and let it take him back in time.

 

Amalraea had been a simple world. Rich in mineral deposits, but not rich enough to attract the attention of the Mechanicus at a larger scale. Still, even though an obscure planet in the segmentum, it was an important enough to it's sector. The mostly feudal world thrived in its service to the Imperium. The planet had been marked by fate as an unwilling victim by a passing section of a much larger hive fleet of the insidious xenos known as Tyranids. At first, the hallowed first legion of the emperor, the Dark Angels, had tried to eliminate the xenos infestation at certain key points. The infestation proved, however, to be much more widespread than initially believed and the entire surface of the planet was declared as a battlefield.

 

Castiel, not yet an Interrogator-Chaplain but a Chaplain, had travelled down to the surface, to the governor-kings palace. He had been called to accompany his old mentor, Interrogator-Chaplain Uzziel, to his surprise. It had been many years since he had seen his old teacher. Uzziel had constantly questioned him during the journey, questions both practical and esoterical. No matter how much he had changed, become more experienced, during his time with the chapter, his old teacher always managed to make him feel like an inadequate initiate. This time was no different. The palace was grandiose and pompous, befitting the monarch that resided there. Theodocius Tiberius Justinian, 23rd Governor-King of Amalraea, suitably supplicant but it was obvious to Castiel that the man was not used to not being in control. He sat in his throne, clad in the most raucous and gaudy robes Castiel ever had seen, expensive cloth draped over expensive cloth, vermillion and crimson, all decorated with gold and silver thread. Huge pieces of jewelry accented his preposterous wealth. His stubby heavily ringed fingers strokes absentmindedly his jowls as he introduces his entire family and courtiers to the astartes. Four wives, twelve children and an assortment of relatives and blood kin. Castiel was certain the man actually outweighed him despite his modified astartes physiology. The throne room was as tasteless as the man who presided over it. The walls covered in murals depicting former Governor-Kings in their resplendent glory, towering over beaten enemies, cowering and defeated beasts and monsters and so forth. Tapestries with praises to military victories and imperial glory competed in their splendor with the murals.

 

Why are we here in the palace? Castiel asked himself. What purpose was there to this? His old teacher had stood immobile as a statue through the entire proceedings just staring out through the enormous windows, as if admiring the view. The view was certainly magnificent enough. He knew that the Governor-King was to be evacuated of the surface, but this was not their mission. He walked over to stand beside his mentor, gazing over the view and blink-clicked over to a private secure channel and asked:

 

- "Lord Uzziel, why have we come here? Surely not because of the transport of the Governor-King and not because of the view beautiful as it may be..."

 

- "Patience Castiel", came the reply. Uzziels ancient voice like dry dust in the wind. "Patience. It was once a virtue, you know?"

 

Castiel fell into silence and chastised himself silently for breaking the silence ahead of time. Just when he was going to switch off the channel Uzziel continued.

 

- "I wanted to have a talk with you before you next assignment and your promotion, and unless you noticed, I've been quizzing you during our journey. I have always had high hopes of you, you know. Do not disappoint me."

 

Never had he spoken to him like this, nor had he ever expected it. Humbled Castiel bowed his head, not knowing what to say. A promotion? Could it be that he had been deemed worthy of being elevated to the rank of Interrogator-Chaplain? As he prepared his reply the doors into room burst open. A single robed Dark angel strode in to the room. The built in vox-amplifiers caused his voice to boom and reverb in the throne room silencing everyone else.

 

- "I am Nemiel, battle-brother of the Dark Angels, His divine Emperors first legion, servant of His will and bane of His enemies! I have come to escort the Governor-King of the planet for his safety.", He pulled back his hood, removed his helmet and asked: "Where is he?"

 

The Governor-King fell silent, his mouth opening and closing in shock of being interrupted in such manner. The entire room fell into a hushed silence.

 

Castiel eyed Nemiel studying him for secret clues to as what and who he was: The Grigorian knot in his belt signified that he knew about the fallen, The subtle pattern made with silver thread on his hem that he had once belonged to the second company also known as Ravenwing, The Nephilae pendant on his shoulder pad that he reported only to Company Master Ramiel or higher, The Baraqiellian fetishes that he was well versed scholar of the legends of terra and a couple more that Castiel could distinguish but, to his chagrin, not interpret. Every Battle-Brother wore these signs, subtle signs of knowledge, that indicated how much knowledge had been passed on to a brother. It could also indicate the status of a brother within the secret circles that permeated the chapter. Nemiels face was a mixture of noble chiseled looks and a boyish innocence. His head was clean shaven, his nose might have been broken once, no visible scars but what really stood out was his eyes. Castiel had never seen eyes so cold, colder than the barren void of space. Beside himself, Castiel actually felt a cold shiver pass up his spine as Nemiel met his gaze briefly.

 

The Lord Steward cleared his throat and was promptly silenced my Nemiels stare before he could begin. The Governor-King himself answered:

 

- "It is I who am him!", He announced, far more weaker and shriller that he would have wished. "And I fully expect you to escort my entire household to safety. These oafs here", He gestured disrespectfully at two present Chaplains "Claim that only I will be taken to safety. Preposterous! I am the Governor-King, The Governor-King, and this is my family and court. You will protect my entire blood line!", The members of the court started talking at the same time, protesting the unheard of behavior.

 

- "My orders are regarding the Governor-King only", Nemiels voice, menacingly soft, silenced him and pierced the din in the room. Theodocius Tiberius Justinian's face grew first pale, then red. No one had ever talked to him this disrespectfully or refused him anything. Suddenly he blurted out introductions to his family as if that mattered:

 

-"Here is my eldest son, Mauritius Konstantin Justinian, Crown Prince of Amalraea, apparent heir to the throne! This is my second eldest son, Anastacios Leonidas ..."

 

Nemiel held up his hand and said, interrupting him:

 

- "Crown prince? As in next in line to the throne?"

 

- "Why, yes? Off course that's what I mean!"

 

With thundereous crack Nemiels armored fist backhanded the eldest prince across the room. He slid unconscious to rest against the wall. In shock, nobody said or did anything. The room silent as a crypt. Nemiel drew his weapons, a bolt pistol and a plasma pistol of ancient design. His face underlit by the blue light from the coils of his archaic weapon. Within heartbeats, Nemiels had gunned down the entire royal family. Their broken bodies lay in smoking and twisted ruins in the floor.

 

- "The King is dead. Long live the king.", He muttered whilst he walked over to the prince, picked him up and swung him over one of his shoulders.

 

Uzziel regarded Nemiel with an impassive stare and met his eyes when Nemiel turned around to leave. He paused, shrugged his shoulders, an awkward movement in powered armor.

 

- "What? This one's much easier to carry...", Stated Nemiel completely deadpan and left the throne room which now more resembled a charnel house.

 

Castiel couldn't believe his eyes. Though in light of his previous outburst, he did not wish to be the one breaking the silence.

 

"Nemiel, Nemiel, Nemiel...", Uzziel chuckled whilst shaking his head, "Always finding the odd way of interpreting orders..." He turned and left for the transports without waiting for Castiel.

 

Castiel remained in the throne room for a moment. His eyes wondered across the mangled remains of the former Governor-King and his family. His recited a quick and appropriate litany for wayward souls returning to the emperors light and followed his mentor to the awaiting transports, wondering about his new assignment and promotion.

 

Edit: Spelling, layout & stuff

[Brother Nemiel]

Thank you all for your kind words! I'll try and make it as good as I can. I'm having some difficulties with the english language, but with enough proof reading it does not seem to shine through all too much.

 

Regarding jokes on other armies? Well, I'm not against it. I have an idea of how I want the story to progress, also in what style. If the jokes flow in there they will be added. Otherwise not. Hard to say in advance. But rest assured, I will try.

 

Thanks in advance!

[Leonaides]

sell soul to chaos, earn Warp-time ability, write more... This is your new career path.

 

(I liked it, almost has a hint of Flashman about it)

[Messor]

Awesome continuation! I second Leonaides' sentiment!

[Brother Nemiel]

Leonaides & Messor: Thank you very much! Your comments are good for my writers ego ;) I don't know when it will be finished but the next part is on the way...

[Wulfkry]

correct me if im wrong but nemiel seems to be the Deadpool version of a Dark angel no?

[Brother Nemiel]

@Wulfkry: Never actually thought of it that way, now that I do, I suppose there are quite many similarities. If I had to name fictional characters I thought fitted well with my original idea, I would have chosen a homicidal mixture of Hellboy (a comicbook hero by Mike Mignola), Elim Garak (a character from Star Trek Deep Space 9) and a small dash of Gul Dukat (also from Star Trek DS9).

[Wulfkry]

Hmm so a mix of a the last descendant of king arthur from mordred, a super spy/tailor and a maniacal grade A @$$hole, who still loves his daughter... nice i get it. Still feels more deadpool to me though =p