Praise the Eternal Sun [Templar Fanfic]

[teblin]

Hey all, I plan on writing up battle reports for you all to ogle, but in
a different format; in the style of a fanfic (or fan fiction). In
other words, dramatizing the battle as if it were one of
Black Library's books or something similar. I'll stick to actual
units and events within the battle, but crank up the drama dial and
try and make it exciting to read.

 

 

My first Episode will be a game with my Templars vs the Tau Empire.

 

 

 

 

 

+++MESSAGE RECEIVED, SOUTHEASTERN QUADRANT, SEGMENTUM AETERNA+++

 

 

 

++FROM: CASTELLAN LAERTES++

 

 

 

++TO: MARSHAL HYPERION++

 

 

 

MESSAGE IS AS FOLLOWS:

 

 

 

ENGAGED TAU STRIKE FORCE ON PLANET OF AETERNUS SECUNDUS, SOME BATTLE-BROTHERS
LOST, ULTIMATELY XENOS DEFEATED AND ROUTED. WILL PROVIDE FULL DETAILS
UPON DOCKING WITH THE SWORD OF MIGHT.

 

 

 

++COMMUNICATION TERMINATED++

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

The Thunderhawk engines screamed, blue sheets of flame scorching the
ground beneath as the immense ship touched down. A black cross set
against a white panel clearly marked this ship as one belonging to
one of Dorn's noble Chapters, the Universe's greatest Crusaders, the
Black Templars. Its jet black sides absorbing the light of a distant
Sun, hatches swiftly swung open, its occupants rushing to become
combat-ready as soon as possible; for Astartes it didn't take long.
The large main hatch opened at the rear, and loud, reverberating
footsteeps echoed through the interior as an immense Dreadnought
marched from inside, closely followed by five Sword Brethren clad in
impressive Terminator armour.

 

 

Two of the Sword Brethren had incredibly large launchers, Cyclones,

attached to their armour, making their already impressive height even 

more imposing. The Dreadnought and Sword Brethren took large,

purposeful steps to where the rest of the men were gathering.

It was a small force, no larger than 20 individuals, but these were

Space Marines, and even a single Astartes was a sight to behold.

The Templars knelt before their current leader, Castellan Laertes,

a veteran of more than half a dozen crusades and with more than

four centuries of combat experience.

 

 

 

“Stand, brothers, you are pure in the eyes of the Emperor, blessed be his
soul.” The Initiates eagerly raised their full height to attention,
the seasoned Brethren rising more slowly, their Tactical Dreadnought
suits bulky in comparison to regular power armour.

 

 

 

“Brother-Castellan,” boomed the Dreadnought in an impossibly low, bass-enriched voice,
“can you now reveal the nature of our mission, and the reason for
our excursion to this desolate world?” The younger Initiates turned
and scanned the horizon, this planet was indeed desolate. As far as
the eye could see, nothing but sand, rocks and, in the distance,
mountains.

 

“Indeed I can, my friend.” He smiled as he glance over the sarcophagus of
his long-time companion, brother Pestor, who once walked in the open
air as the Castellan still did, but was struck down by a squadron of
Tau Battle suits 140 years earlier. White-hot plasma severed his legs
and missiles cracked his chest plate, pulverising his torso, and on
the verge of death he was forever sealed inside the fighting machine
Laertes now saw before him. 140 years ago... it felt as though it
were yesterday.

 

 

 

“There have been mounting reports of xenos activity in this quadrant, and
Aeternus Secundus is the centre of the zone in question. We are to
investigate these reports, and if we find any foes if the Imperium,
we shall smite them.”

 

 

 

“What kind of xenos are we facing?” Asked an Initiate, his bolter clasped
against his chest. “Beyond reasonable doubt, we are facing lead
elements of an excursion into the galactic South-East by the Tau
Empire. “TAU!” spat the Dreadnought. Despite being sealed away
from the outside world for more than a century his hatred of the T'au
had not diminished, he would never forget what they reduced him to,
his replacement body a forever-present reminder of the day he fell in
battle, his last day of freedom. He had never felt more alive the
moment before the end came, but now...

 

 

 

“Your time will come, sons of Dorn. We will scour the northern hemisphere
of Aeternus Secundus, and if we locate enemy forces we can request
reinforcements. Marshal Hyperion's Crusade is standing by less than
20,000 miles away. It is vital that we remain in control of this area
of space. We are not far from the Eastern Fringe, the Imperium is
already spread thin there and a Tau offensive from behind their
defences could spell disaster.” Silence descended as the small
group of Battle-brothers took in the gravity of the situation.

 

 

Behind them, a Techmarine was wetting the rim of one of the Thunderhawk's

engine cowls with holy ointment while chanting blessings to the
Omnissiah, ensuring a safe voyage back to the fleet. He heard a
distant high-pitched whine, and turned. In the distance he saw a
shape, a ship? It was hovering a few metres above the shifting sands.
He adjusted the lenses in his helmet and zoomed in on the strange
object.

 

At 12x magnification he finally saw it was a skimmer, but not
an Imperial vehicle. It had a broad, sweeping glacis and atop its
eloquent frame sat what appeared to be a large, flat, box-shaped...
his thoughts cleared as he saw a dim blue glow materialise in what he
now saw was the barrel of a massive weapon. Despite the vehicle being
at least three kilometres away, the wining grew louder still, until
Castellan Laertes and his men turned to see what the source of the
noise was. Even without zooming his lenses in the direction of the
glow, which was now almost as bright as the Sun of the system they
were in, he knew it was bad news. The whine became too high-pitched
even for the Astartes' enhanced hearing, and silence enveloped them
once more, save for the howl of the eternal wind. Time slowed as the
glow dulled, and masses of energy were sucked in all directions to
the end of the barrel. A beam of pure energy stabbed forward, and a
hyper-velocity projectile was propelled at unimaginable speeds from
the weapon to the Thunderhawk, covering each kilometre as if it were
less than a centimetre.

 

 

 

Before anyone could react, the energy made contact with the hull of the
Thunderhawk with a blinding flash. Laertes thought he heard the
angelic voice of the Astronomican in the impossible silence just as
the beam struck. The silence lasted the tiniest moment before a
colossal explosion shook the ground, sending most of the Templars to
their feet. A blinding flash and a wave of heat emanated from the
blast, and brother Pestor felt a faint sensation that he had once
called “warmth”. The incredible heat had reached his wasted flesh
inside the sarcophagus and he felt something upon his skin for the
first time in 140 years. It was incredibly faint, he barely noticed
it, but to him it was a moment he'd never forget. For the briefest of
moments, he felt alive once more.

 

 

 

A series of catastrophic explosions tore the Thunderhawk apart, the
storage for the lascannon battery packs had been struck and the
immense release of trapped energy went off like a massive bomb,
wreaking terrible havoc and slaying all within.

 

 

 

The Templar Techmarine that had been applying ointment to the engine cowl
was caught in the blast and blown 20 feet through the air, striking
the ground with a crack as his spine snapped; he had landed head
first. He was too weak to move, and despite being a Space Marine this
terrible injury was too much to recover from. The Castellan moved
quickly towards him and put his hand behind his head. “You will be
avenged, brother.”

 

“My Lord... you honour me. I am ashamed to fall in your presence.”

 

“You have no reason to be ashamed, brother. You have made the ultimate
sacrifice and the Emperor will remember your service. What is your
life, Templar?”

 

The Marine's eyes blazed beneath his helmet as the Castellan spoke the
rites of Initiation. With his last vestiges of strength, he slowly
spoke.

 

“My honour is my life.”

 

The Castellan realised the Techmarine would slip away before the entire
rites could be spoken, so he chose a single rite to end the
Techmarine's service.

 

“What is your reward?”

 

“Salvation is my reward. And my pledge is eternal... service...” darkness
covered his eyes as his spirit departed. The Castellan was alone. He
set down the Techmarine's head and made the sign of the Templars'
cross upon his chest plate, the gleaming Aquila shining through the
wisps of sand.

 

“You are with the Emperor now, my brother.”

 

 

He turned to see the skimmer responsible for the Thunderhawk's
destruction moving gracefully forward, it was now less than a
kilometre away. He turned to the Sword Brethren, who had been
observing it for a short while.

 

 

“Brethren!” the Castellan gestured toward the Hammerhead. “The Tau are upon us!
We will pledge to avenge our fallen, for Dorn, for the Emperor, show
no mercy!” The two Terminators with Cyclone Missile Launchers
kneeled and locked on to the Hammerhead with their targeting sensors.
With a thought, they replaced the frag missiles with krak warheads,
the missiles switching places in an instant. They let loose with a
thundering barrage as one, more than a dozen Krak missiles screaming
toward the Hammerhead. They exploded en masse, ravaging the gravity
repulsion generators and the gunnery targeting systems. The
Hammerhead lazily lost altitude and crashed into the dust. The Tau,
known for their cautiousness, quickly bailed out to ensure their
safety. Vehicles were easier to replace than crews.

 

 

From behind bluffs and rocky outcrops, figures emerged. The Templars saw

they were the Tau foot troops, Fire Warriors. A large, bulky shape,
similar to a Terminator in size but far more swift, soared above
them, white-blue jets of light notifying the Space Marines it was
using a jet pack of some kind. The pulse rifles of the Tau Warriors
has impressive range and accuracy, and before long a fusillade of
fire was being directed towards the Templars. “Cover! Get out of
the open!” barked the Castellan as the Marines sprinted for
boulders, depressions and hillocks. An initiate was caught by a beam
from one of the pulse rifles, puncturing his armour above his hip and
instantly cauterising the wound.

 

[More to be added]