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Sword Bearers and the Unforgiven (Updated 1/07/23: Angels Redeemed)

Spaced Hulk

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Spaced Hulk Battle-Brother

Spaced Hulk

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Thanks for the feed back brother. Just to clarify, Malachi is still a Techmarine - he still maintains weapons, repairs armour (mainly terminator armour now obviously) etc. However, he is no longer a part of the Machine Cult, the Religion of Mars. I suppose it all depends on how you view the Mechanicus, but to me, they're both engineers and priests. It's the priest bit that Malachi has rejected.

 

My thinking is that there has to be a practical reason why Techmarines are excluded from the Inner Circle, and to me, the logical explanation is that where the Mechanicus are concerned, the Circle can't control the flow of information. I imagine that servants of the AM are all linked by their own 40k version of the Internet (or noospheres as the heresy books describe it) allowing for data to be easily transfered whenever two or more tech priests communicate. So if a Techmarine becomes aware of the Fallen, it becomes a major risk - unless they then either delete their own memories or distance themselves from their fellows to stop the potential spread of information.

 

To use a Matrix reference, Malachi is 'unplugged', so to speak :-)

 

I agree that breaking his oath raises lots of questions, but ultimately I'm looking at it as Mal sacrificing his honour for the good of the Legion. It may not be rational in some ways, but then again, these are the DA - their rationality quite often jumps out the airlock where the Fallen are concerned :-)

 

It just seemed like quite an interesting subject to try to explore (not necessarily very well) and I'm also quite enjoying writing about a really angry Tech marine :-)

 

Thanks again mate! :-)

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I agree that breaking his oath raises lots of questions, but ultimately I'm looking at it as Mal sacrificing his honour for the good of the Legion. It may not be rational in some ways, but then again, these are the DA - their rationality quite often jumps out the airlock where the Fallen are concerned :-)

Sure but over all secret is all that matters.

 

To me it appears that SAYING he renounced to his vow is like directly sending an email to Mars and =][= saying : "hellooooooo, there's something really odd happening here, and it smells heresy"

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Spaced Hulk Battle-Brother

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Perhaps, but how is that any different from the entire DA chapter pulling out of a warzone and abandoning their allies - without giving a reason - and thereby potentially provoking an Inquisitorial enquiry? Or attacking a fellow loyal (and very powerful) chapter like the Black Templars to retrieve a prisoner? Quite often the DAs actions look very suspicious, but, as you said, the overall secret is what matters. And in this particular case, it's not the entire chapter that broken it's oaths, it's a single Techmarine who is claiming to have lost his faith in the Machine Cult.

 

Actually, from a logical point of view, as soon as Malachi learnt of 'the BIG Secret', the best course of action for the Inner Circle would be to either mind-wipe him or have him 'disappear'. However, my thinking is that the Sword Bearers Council might have found a use for an Astartes 'agent' with technical abilities...

 

Appreciate the feedback (and the analysis :-) ) mate, but I really like the idea of an outcast Techmarine so I'm going to leave it as currently written for now. Will keep thinking about it though. Thanks again :-)

 

@ deathspectresrg7: Cheers brother :-) Have you started painting your Librarians yet? I'm trying to decide how to paint Erekose at the moment. I'm currently thinking of a variation on the standard Sword Bearers scheme, so steel coloured legs and torso, with a blue helm, arms and power pack.

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Spaced Hulk Battle-Brother

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@ deathspectresrg7: I've seen the weather you're getting at the moment on the news brother. Makes me feel guilty for moaning about the British climate! :smile.:

 

@ darkangel1030: Cheers mate :smile.: Here's the next part:

Desperate Allies

Part Two

 

The market was five miles long, and occupied the highest peak of Hive Primus. Originally the exclusive domain of the Viridian Aristocracy, the ruling elite of the Vega farming clans would no longer recognise their former home. The luxurious halls, apartments and banqueting suites of the Spire Palace had become a tangled warren of ramshackle stalls and shops, each selling their own particular brand of iniquity. Weapons, narcotics, slaves, bio-implants, illegal tech – seemingly every vice, decadence and malefaction known to the Imperium were traded within a palace once renowned for it's regal magnificence. It was, Erekose mused, fate's final insult to a civilisation plagued by misfortune,.
 
The two Sword Bearers were only half way across the market hall. The labyrinthine layout, combined with the bustling crowds, had slowed their progress dramatically. Unfortunately their destination lay at the southernmost corner of the Spire, directly opposite the landing platforms. There was no other option but to force their way through the mob. 
 
Around them, the Hive walls were constructed from transparent plasteel, providing the inhabitants with unrestricted views over the surrounding area. From his research, the Knight knew that acres of orchards, vineyards and formal gardens had once covered the landscape in every direction, a rare oasis of peace and serenity amongst the turbid horrors of the galaxy.
 
The view from the Spire was now very different. A sea of blinding white sand extended from horizon to horizon, an endless desert devoid of both life and the moisture required to sustain it. Little wonder the original colonists had abandoned their world. The changing environment had transformed Vega in every way imaginable. Centuries had passed since the initial disaster, but the planet's surface remained in a state of constant turmoil. Monstrous dunes surged across the land, mountains of sand raised impossibly high by the howling, solar charged winds. Like ocean waves they crashed continually against the lower levels of the Hive, rendering large areas of the structure uninhabitable. The base of the city was already deeply buried. If he were to return to this world in another hundred years, Erekose wondered if any part of Hive Primus would still be standing.
 
“Your mind is wandering again.” The Techmarine's grinding, mechanical voice suddenly woke the Knight from his reverie. He hadn't realised just how distracted he had become.
 
“I may not share your particular talents, brother” Malachi added, as caustically as ever, “but even I can detect your lack of focus. If we cannot perform our duty and cleanse this place, we must still be mindful of our surroundings.” The tri-optic lenses of the Techmarine's battle-helm glared accusingly into Erekose's bare face.
 
He nodded in agreement and apology, but didn't try to explain his preoccupation. The inherent tragedy of this place would be lost on his grim companion, as it would be to almost all members of the Chapter. Even his fellow brothers of the Librarius did not share the same, contemplative mindset. It was a rare characteristic amongst the Astartes, and even now, after two centuries, he was unsure if it was a blessing or a curse.
 
“For example,” Malachi continued, ignoring his companion's silence, “if you had been fully alert you may have noticed something is amiss with these...vermin.” 
 
They were passing through a group of malformed abhumans, stumbling half-reptilian abominations who nervously cleared a path for the power armoured giants in their midst. It took Erekose several seconds to understand his companion's meaning. Under his breath, he cursed his loss of concentration. The Techmarine was right, his introspection was becoming a liability. In this instance, it had blinded him to something very curious, and potentially very troubling.
 
The mutants, whilst apprehensive in their presence, were simply not fearful enough. Even out here, in the lawless hinterlands of the Eastern Fringe, the sight of one of the Emperor's chosen warriors should have had a far more dramatic effect. Two Space Marines, heavily armed and in full war plate, should have caused much more consternation amongst the local population. There was only one logical explanation.
 
“We're not the first Astartes they've seen,” Erekose said quickly, his thoughts now racing, “Others have been here before us.”
 
“That was also my assessment, and, as this city still exists...” Malachi replied, somehow injecting disgust through his mechanical voice box, “I think we can safely assume they weren't here to deliver Imperial judgement either.”
 
“My apologies brother, your rebuke was well earned.” The Knight was visually scanning the crowd around them as he spoke. Wherever he looked, eyes were staring in curiosity, but there were no signs of panic or alarm. These people had seen Space Marines before, and recently. “Are any of the original Spire systems still functioning? Surveillance logs? Security databases?”
 
“The Spire's primary noosphere is offline, and has been for over three hundred years. However, when the Hive's life support was reactivated, approximately a century ago, the Machine Spirit also roused several dormant secondary systems. Including the landing pad sensor array. Six minutes ago I remote-accessed the security database and began a search for all relevant images and information. It's compiling as we speak, however, the process would be quicker if we could find a functioning command terminal.” 
 
“Good work brother.” Erekose was genuinely impressed. Despite his belligerence, his companion was proving surprisingly adept. Perhaps the Council had been right about Malachi's usefulness after all. “We don't have time to find a hard-line connection. Continue as you are, but keep looking.”
 
And this time, the Knight thought to himself, so will I.
 
He closed his eyes, and opened his mind.
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Spaced Hulk Battle-Brother

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Desperate Allies

Part Three

 

His name was Roland Erekose, and he was two hundred and three years old. For a hundred and ninety of those years, he had served the Adeptus Astartes brotherhood known as the Sword Bearers. During that time, the Chapter had bestowed many gifts upon him: strength, speed, resilience, long life. All the physiological perfection of an Imperial Space Marine.

 

However, his greatest gift had always been his, and his alone.

 

Erekose was a telepath. Possibly the finest telepath Mire had ever produced. Even as child, his abilities had been both wondrously and terrifyingly manifest. He was well aware that if his life had taken another course, one without the training and guidance such a gift so desperately required, he would have inevitably become a terrible threat to everyone around him. 

 

Like all telepaths, he could sense the thoughts of others, but from an early age, his powers had been exceptionally advanced. Following his induction into the Chapter, Erekose's skills had been recognised instantly and his tutelage transferred to the Librarius. The psychic warriors of the Sword Bearers had been astounded at his seemingly innate command of his gift. Even without training, he could implant ideas and suggestions into another mind, altering their perception and memories as he saw fit. Under the guidance of his fellow Librarians, he had harnessed this ability even further, until he could, if he wished, temporarily control someone's thoughts and body completely.

 

There was a price to be paid, of course. Telepaths were always the most feared and resented of all psykers. Their gifts were the most intrusive, their powers the most threatening to a conscious mind. Even amongst the demi-gods of the Astartes, such abilities were inherently loathed, and perhaps with good reason. And so, as he had swiftly progressed through the hierarchy of the Librarius, from Lexicanum to Codicier to Epistolary, he had found himself more and more isolated from his brothers. Even the other Librarians began to resent his presence, perhaps wondering if their thoughts were indeed their own. As his isolation grew, so too did his introspection.

 

Fortunately the Sword Bearers, like all the Unforgiven Chapters, had a particular use for such characteristics. The search for the Legion's ancient foes required more than mere warriors. Investigators were needed, individuals whose minds were as sharp as their blades. All Space Marines were highly intelligent of course. The gene-seed which so dramatically modified their bodies similarly increased their intellect. However, in most Astartes, training and indoctrination focussed this enhanced mental acuity into a single, overriding pursuit – perfection in the arts of war. After all, this was the reason for their very creation. But for a few, rare individuals, the conditioning process served only to boost their intelligence ever further. For such warriors, the growth of their mental powers was effectively limitless.

 

In other Chapters, such gifted individuals naturally found themselves in positions of command, often rising rapidly through the ranks. For the Sword Bearers, like their Dark Angel forbears, there was another option available.

 

They were known simply as the Knights Errant. Operating either alone, or in conjunction with the Veteran Pathfinders of Tenth Company, they were dispatched from the Chapter with but a single remit – to search relentlessly for the Fallen Angels. It was a task as vast as the galaxy itself. A Knights Errant was honour bound to scrutinise every piece of evidence, to follow every trail, no matter how slight. They were the eyes and ears of the entire First Legion, the hunters in the dark, the seekers of redemption.

 

The path of the Errant was a lonely one, but Erekose had embraced it willingly. His telepathic and mental gifts made him the perfect candidate for such duties. And, as he often said, he had always been alone anyway.

 

***

 

The moment he dropped his psychic defences, the mental wash hit him like a tidal wave. So many minds, all crammed into such a small area, created a cacophony of thoughts that was almost unbearable.

 

For a telepath as talented as Erekose, reading minds had never been a problem. Shutting them out had always been far more difficult. As a child, he had often fled into the swamps and fens of his home world whenever the mental barrage became too great. Over time, he had developed various techniques for coping with the continual bombardment of other peoples thoughts, eventually culminating in what he described, rather flippantly, as 'The Wall'. It was literally a mental barrier, formed by his own inner voice, that simply blocked the psychic noise that would otherwise assail him. Introspection had many uses, he had to admit.

 

Trying to gather meaningful information from such a raucous din was impossible, he would need to narrow his search. Erekose began to slowly probe the trains of thought closest to him. Xenos minds he generally avoided. Although a non-human consciousness was decipherable, the alien nature of such creatures meant that errors in translation were inevitable. A human trader would be ideal, but even then, it would be pure luck whether the individual had witnessed anything of relevance.  

 

He settled on a mind belonging to a mutant working on a nearby weapons stall. A cursory glance into the being's self image revealed a tall, wiry creature with excessive hair growth completely covering it's body. However, beneath such a primeval, mutated appearance, Erekose recognised a fairly standard, Homo Sapien intelligence. Partially raising the Wall again to block the surrounding din, the telepath began to work, boring gently into the layers of consciousness, worming his way slowly into the mutant's mind.

 

As always, the first thing he noticed was just how sluggish the creatures thoughts actually were. Compared to an Astartes intelligence, the average human mind seemed to operate at an absurdly slow pace. It almost seemed impossible that his own intellect had evolved from such primitive beginnings. Even so, the Knight knew better than to try to search through the creature's memories himself. In terms that Malachi would understand, a human memory was unfathomably vast, despite the limitations of it's hardware. There were also no maps or directions to allow easy navigation. To look for answers in such a labyrinth could take an eternity. 

 

Fortunately there was a far easier way to acquire information. With a little stimulus, the creature himself would reveal the answers he sought.

 

All it took was a question, dropped carefully into a train of thought. Ask the right questions, and you could find out anything. Be careful enough, and the host would never even know he'd been questioned. It was a subtle but effective process, and far less detrimental than the ministrations of the Interrogators.

 

The mutant was currently trying to sell a brace of battered looking auto-pistols to a faceless, heavily armoured Demiurg miner, unsurprisingly without much success. As he watched the squat alien figure wander away though the trader's own eyes, Erekose gently inserted an idea into his host's now rather dejected mind, shaping it to sound like the creature's own thoughts.

 

“When did I last see a Space Marine?”

 

***

 

...The memory surfaced immediately, indicating it had probably been recently experienced. Five power armoured warriors, each clad in bone white, Mark VII plate, bolters holstered or mag-locked to their sides. They strode purposefully through the market hall, creating genuine panic as the Spire's inhabitants frantically moved out of their path. Watching the scene unfold in the mutant's mind, Erekose recognised a pattern to the Space Marine's movements through the tangled maze of trading stalls. It was a standard suppression sweep, designed to visually cover every angle and corner of the area in a single pass. They were searching for someone, scanning every face and then moving on. But whoever they were looking for, it appeared they were unsuccessful. As the bone plated warriors travelled deeper into the market, the crowd slowly seemed to realise that they weren't in danger, and panic changed into curiosity...

 

With a mental sigh, Erekose realised he'd seen enough.

 

*** 

 

“They were last here four months ago.” Malachi's voice broke though the clinging haze of the mutant's memories. The transition between minds was never instantaneous, even when returning to your own. Erekose slowly opened his eyes as the Techmarine continued.

 

“Surveillance records their arrival and departure on two previous occasions as well. Roughly six monthly intervals, and always by an unmarked Thunderhawk. Database integrity is degrading almost constantly though, so there may well have been other visitations.”

 

“Whoever they're looking for, they're certainly persistent” The Knight's throat felt as dry as the desert itself, making it difficult to speak. It was a common side-effect of utilising his gift.

 

Before he answered, the Techmarine turned, watching the crowd milling around them. “Always white power armour. The Khan's Sons perhaps? Tracking a quarry?”

 

Like us, Erekose smiled to himself even as he shook his head. The huntsmen of Mundus Planus were infamous amongst the Adeptus Astartes, but they weren't the warriors he'd seen inside the mutant's mind.

 

“No brother, it's not the White Scars.” The Knight stared for a moment at one of the nearby traders, a tall, gangly creature covered in thick brown hair. “One of the locals witnessed their last visit and clearly saw their heraldry. Two skulls, encased in a black hour glass.”

 

For a second, Malachi was silent, presumably as he searched his own memory files for information. When he spoke again there was the slightest hint of confusion. How he managed to exude any sort of emotion from an automated vox implant remained a mystery to his companion.

 

“The Phantoms? What would they be doing out here? This is a long way from Badab.”

 

“Indeed. And considering the losses they suffered in acquiring their new home, I would have assumed they'd be far too busy rebuilding to undertake seemingly random operations on the Eastern Fringe.”

 

“Could they be here for the same reason as us brother?” Again the mechanical voice had the same flicker of uncertainty.

 

And that, Erekose thought to himself, was the right question. Sadly, it was also the one to which he didn't have an answer.

  

“To my knowledge, the Pale Warriors remain unaware of their ancestry. Nor has any Supreme Grand Master ever acknowledged their place amongst us.” Which actually made the answer to that last question potentially even more troubling. He paused for a second, musing over various possibilities before making his decision.  

 

“Whatever they were searching for, it is not currently our concern” he continued, “There is no sign of the ancient foe, which means our original mission takes precedence once more.”

 

That, at least, was somewhat reassuring. But at the same time, it highlighted an unfortunate characteristic that haunted every member of the Inner Circle. Any sign of Astartes activity had to be investigated. Any sighting of an unknown Space Marine automatically raised their suspicions. Even though the vast majority of cases proved to be completely innocuous, their first instinct was always to assume the worst. It was a necessary reaction, but it remained their greatest flaw.

 

It was, he truly believed, the greatest curse of the Unforgiven. Their search for redemption dominated every moment of their existence, and such a desperate fixation could lead only to obsession and paranoia.

 

“Brother.” The Techmarine's stern, disapproving voice once again broke through the Knight's contemplation.

 

Erekose sighed, then started walking. Malachi was right. He thought too much.

 

And they did have an appointment to keep.

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Spaced Hulk Battle-Brother

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Desperate Allies

Episode Four

 

They had reached their destination. A small hab complex, separated from the rest of the market hall by a fully enclosed, dust covered bio-dome. A long time ago, these had been the private chambers of the planet's Imperial Governor. Now, like all aspects of Hive Primus, they had been reclaimed for a far less distinguished purpose.

 

Known as Hell's Kitchen, it served as both a cantina and casino for Vega's new inhabitants. Infamous amongst the Eastern Fringe's criminal fraternity, it was also a vicious den of thieves, smugglers and pirates, a meeting place for the region's dark, decadent underworld.

 

For the first time since their arrival, the Knight sensed a feeling of threat. His prescience, although less finely attuned than his telepathic skills, was acute enough to detect imminent danger, almost like an early warning system for his mind. For one so frequently lost within either his own thoughts or those of others, it was a valuable tool, and one that had saved his life on several occasions.

 

There was only a single gateway into the dome. Before they entered, the two warriors quickly re-checked their weapons and armour. Erekose loosened his force blade in it's scabbard, while Malachi used his servo arm to adjust the ammunition feed of the massive bolt cannon he wielded. The multi-bolter was a large, experimental weapon that combined mobility with a ferocious rate of fire. Theoretically, the nature of their mission didn't require such fire-power, but in such a lawless place, it was better to be overly cautious.

 

“I have a bad feeling about this” The Techmarine grunted, as the servo arm retracted against his power pack.

 

Erekose nodded, slipping a vox-bead back in place behind his ear. His war helm would have afforded more efficient and private communication between them, but he found that it limited both the range and effectiveness of his gift. He'd long since decided that maintaining his full psychic potential was worth the reduced protection.

 

“Watch your step brother,” the Knight said as he began walking towards the gate, “By all accounts, this place can be a little rough.”

 

***

 

The sound hit them the moment they passed through the doors. A repetitive, inharmonious dirge, blasting out at incredible volume. In the centre of the bar, Erekose saw a group of bulbous headed, salmon skinned aliens, each one clutching a bizarre collection of interlinked pipes and tubes. Almost immediately, he sensed the change in his companion, the sudden increase in adrenaline and aggression.

 

“Sonic weaponry...” Malachi growled as he hefted the bolt cannon, an ammunition belt of large calibre rounds draped across his arm. “Engaging. Multiple targets.”

 

“Hold your fire!” Erekose interposed himself between the Techmarine and the strange xenos creatures. Not for the first time, he realised just how unworldly his comrade actually was. At least in some ways.“They're not a threat” he added, placing a cobalt gauntlet on the barrel of the multi-bolter.    

 

The concept itself was as alien to most Astartes as the creatures themselves. The Knight didn't know how to even begin explaining it. “It's just the band” he sighed.

 

*** 

 

As they moved deeper into the bar, Erekose began visually scanning the occupants, searching for their contact. Like the rest of Hive Primus, the cantina was a crowded melting pot of humans, mutants and Xenos species. However, Hell's Kitchen seemed to have one obvious difference. Here, everybody seemed to be heavily armed. Although weapons had certainly been visible in their passage through the market hall, the bar's patrons seemed to make it a point of pride to out-gun one another.

 

A Kroot war-band occupied an entire quarter of the cantina: tall, wiry aliens armed with long, multi-bladed hunting rifles. Many of the creatures were sitting awkwardly at tables originally designed for human patrons, voraciously consuming large platefuls of what appeared to be raw meat. A large number of snarling, canine sized quadrupeds prowled amongst them, fighting amongst themselves for whatever scraps their owners discarded.

 

Standing nearby, watching the gorging aliens with looks of combined disgust and disdain, were a small group of cybernetically modified humans. Bionic exoskeletons had been grafted onto their limbs and torso's, providing both enhanced strength and a protective armoured carapace. In addition to their cybernetic implants, each warrior was festooned with military grade weapons: hellguns, plasma pistols, bolt carbines and  other, more esoteric firearms. Rival mercenaries, Erekose could easily sense the tension between the brooding cyborgs and their Xenos counterparts. The Knight had heard rumours of rogue Mechanicus, Skitari deserters operating as soldiers of fortune throughout the Ultima Segmentum. As they passed, he glanced at his companion, expecting to either see or sense a reaction, but the Techmarine appeared curiously indifferent.

 

A robed Eldar ranger sat alone in a darkened booth, twin shuriken pistols laying within easy reach on the table before him. A hood covered the creatures eldritch features, but a suit of finely wrought mesh armour was visible beneath a gossamer thin cameleoline cloak. Unlike the cantina's other patrons, Erekose could detect nothing from the alien, even a direct psychic scan didn't reveal any sort of presence. Mental defences even stronger than my own, the Knight mused. As if conscious of the examination, the Eldar suddenly appeared to fade into the darkness, the cameleoline changing colour to blend into the surroundings.

 

Another Eldar stood beside the main bar, but this creature made no attempt to shield it's thoughts. Clad in a baroque suit of plated armour, with wicked looking blades fused into the vambraces, the alien's pale, thin skin appeared almost translucent, it's facial features almost skull like in the poor light. A thick chain leash was grasped tightly in one hand, the other end wrapped around the throat of a huge, hulking brute that lurked impatiently beside the dark warrior. An ape-like monstrosity of muscle and fur, each over-sized arm terminated in long, vicious claws that were flexing constantly, whilst the beast's many eyes frantically scanned the room in search of potential prey. Even a cursory psychic sweep of these two disparate Xenos revealed a strange similarity: a terrible, ever present hunger that dominated their thoughts and which, Erekose somehow knew, could never be sated.

 

In the far corner of the cantina, the Knight noticed shadows moving. Almost immediately he sensed a foul, but familiar alien presence. For a hundred and seventy five years he had nurtured an enduring hatred of the vile scavengers known as the Hrud, and their psychic spoor was now to easy to detect. He had lost his right eye to them during the Hothe Migrations, and the bionic implant that replaced it was a constant reminder of the horrors and losses that the Chapter had experienced during that conflict.  

 

“I loathe this place.” Malachi's voice murmured through the vox-bead. 

 

“As do I, brother, as do I” Erekose replied truthfully. Like the Techmarine, his own instincts, forged by centuries of training, indoctrination and near constant warfare, were demanding he take violent action. Glancing down he realised his fists were clenched, an unconscious reaction to the heresy and abominations surrounding them. “But remember, this is a diplomatic mission. We're here to negotiate, nothing more.”

 

“Negotiate!” Anger, pure and undiluted, was welling within Malachi now. Emotions the morose warrior only barely controlled were being released in a furious tidal wave. “We should be exterminating this filth, not allying ourselves with them!”

 

“I agree, brother, but that is not our mission!” Erekose snapped, feeling his own patience and self control at breaking point. “The beast has what we need, and this is the price we must pay! I detest this just as much as you, but this is what redemption requires. If necessary, we must sacrifice both our lives and our honour to do what duty demands. You, more than any of us, should understand that!”

 

For a moment, the Techmarine was silent. When he spoke again, there was both resignation and bitterness in his voice. “Where is the beast?”

 

“I don't know,” Erekose snapped again, his own anger still burning brightly within him,“but I'll find out. Stay here, and try not to kill anything.”

 

***

 

The cantina's owner was working on the main bar, busily pouring drinks for a pair of already inebriated Tarrelions. He was a short human male in grubby white overalls, with a pair of sawn off combat shotguns strapped to his back. His age was almost impossible to discern. Failed rejuvanet treatments had left his face as lined and as wrinkled as a thousand year old corpse.

 

With practised ease, the Knight infiltrated the owner's consciousness, finding a dull mind that spoke only with crude profanity. His host was called Goram Sai, and despite his vulgarity and painfully slow thought patterns, he knew every aspect of the cantina's business with miserly accuracy.

 

Erekose waited for the right moment, then placed the subliminal question within the man's sluggish trains of thought.

 

“Where is the Glutton?”

 

***

 

He led them through the backrooms of the cantina, past gamblers and gaming tables. The bar's patrons were obviously aware of the Sword Bearer's presence, but made no move to either confront or avoid them. Erekose was unsure whether their reaction was born of misplaced confidence or a worrying familiarity, but at this point, he couldn't care. All his thoughts were focused on the task at hand.

 

A doorway at the far end of the cantina led into a dimly lit antechamber. Two armed guards stood either side of the entrance: a heavily scarred human in battered Imperial Guard carapace armour, the other a winged, avian Carachochian, but neither made any attempt to communicate or block their passage. Ignoring them, the Knight stepped purposefully into the room, with Malachi following closely behind.

 

At the head of a long, rectangular table sat the largest Orkoid he had ever seen. It's gnarled, green skin was so dark that it was practically black. As big as a Centurian combat suit, the creatures massive bulk was only barely contained by an immense metal throne. Steel plates had been brutally embedded into the Ork's shoulders, seemingly in mimicry of a Space Marine's armoured pauldrens. Huge, yellow tusks protruded from a jaw as wide as Erekose himself. A crude but brutal looking autocannon lay on the table in front of the beast, surrounded by plate after plate of strange, repulsive alien foodstuffs.

 

The moment they entered the chamber, the brute began to shake, it's monstrous form convulsing while the throne creaked and groaned under it's bulk. As he watched in disgust, it began to grunt and gasp, emitting a deep, barking sound almost like the roar of a chainsword. Suddenly Erekose realised that the foul creature was laughing.

 

Gradually the laughter stopped and the brute wiped a thick string of spittle from it's jaw with a massive, clawed hand. In crude but still recognisable Low Gothic, the Ork pirate known only as the Glutton welcomed them to his lair.

 

 “We wud be honred for yu to join uz.” 
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Spaced Hulk Battle-Brother

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@ deathspectresrg7 & Augustus: Thank you brothers, glad you like it :thumbsup:

 

Well, it's taken me a bit longer than I'd hoped, due to computer problems and real life distractions, but here's the fifth and penultimate installment. Just one more episode after this.

 

Desperate Allies

Episode Five

 

“ Well....beakie, duz yu av da payment?” The Ork freebooter chuckled again, this time through a mouthful of semi masticated squig. Gloopy saliva and flecks of bloody meat sprayed across the table between them.
 
The beast never stopped eating. A host of grumbling Gretchin servants and multi-armed, chitinous Thraxians attended the corpulent creature, constantly bringing fresh plates of strange, vile smelling foodstuffs from the cantina's kitchens.  As the Sword Bearers watched, each dish was rapidly consumed. The Ork's moniker was well earned, the Knight thought to himself. This close, it was readily apparent that the alien's great size was as much due to obesity as to muscle mass.  
 
Of course, there was another reason for the name. Perhaps uniquely amongst it's kind, the Ork did not solely crave war and violence. The beast was also a collector, a hoarder of materials, technology and wealth. Renowned across the entire Eastern Fringe, the Glutton was the sordid, avaricious heart of an immense, black market network, specialising in tech smuggling, arms-dealing and void piracy. 
 
Unfortunately, this made the creature an incredibly useful contact. Especially if you were looking for something, and wanted that search to remain hidden from other Imperial organisations.
 
“As I said....Ork” Erekose didn't attempt to hide the repulsion in his voice, “First show me the merchandise.” He sat at the table directly opposite the pirate, in what appeared to be a salvaged command throne from a star freighter. Malachi was standing silently behind him, keeping the multi-bolter aimed unwaveringly at the monstrous creature. The Techmarine's thoughts were literally seething with murderous hostility. However, the alien simply continued to gorge itself, seemingly unconcerned by the obvious threat.
 
“Az yu wish.” Emitting both a bored sigh and a loud, repugnant belch, the Glutton snapped his large, clawed fingers. With a hiss of ancient pneumatics, a blast door at the rear of the chamber slowly slid open.
 
A pair of dilapidated, barely functional Imperial Servitors were waiting on the other side. A study in contrast, their appearance clearly indicated their industrial backgrounds. The taller of the two was a burly, bipedal figure completely covered in a hardened metallic carapace. A void-worker, it's biological components had been encased in a protective carbonite epidermis, allowing it to survive and function in the deathly cold vacuum of real-space. In contrast, the second construct stood at only half the height of it's partner. Both legs had been amputated at the hip, forcing the cyborg to 'walk' with it's steroid bloated arms. Clusters of mechadendrites and a miniature servo-harness had been embedded into the blue-grey flesh of it's torso. A maintenance servitor, it's dramatic modifications were designed to allow it to work more efficiently in the cramped crawl spaces that honeycombed a starship's hull.
 
Despite their differences, both Servitors shared a single similarity: they were filthy and dust encrusted, showing signs of severe battle damage. Dark crimson blood, mixed with oil and hydraulic fluids, leaked from a variety of wounds and ruptures in their mutilated, bio-mechanical forms.
 
And there they are, the Knight thought with bitter amusement. The reason we're here, on this Emperor forsaken rock. The reason why we are forced to tarnish our honour, negotiating with Xenos filth.
 
Looking at the pair of ruined cybernetic creatures through the blast door, he sincerely hoped that they were worth it.
 
***
 
“Now, yu giv me da payment!” The Glutton snarled, the earlier pretence of indifference abandoned. Throwing aside a large chunk of raw, rotting flesh, the alien deliberately placed a taloned hand on the crude autocannon laying before it.
 
++ Now can we kill it, brother? ++ Malachi voxed silently to the Librarian.
 
++ Not yet. The beast may still prove to be useful ++ Even as he replied, telepathically implanting the words in the Techmarine's mind, Erekose could sense the furious impatience in his companion.
 
Reaching into his equipment belt, the Knight pulled out a large leather pouch, and tossed it dismissively across the table.  With an eager grunt, the Glutton grabbed it immediately, emptying it's contents into a massive claw. A dozen ivory teeth fell into the creature's huge palm, each one serrated and razor sharp, as long as a normal human hand.
 
Fenrisian wolf fangs. They had not been easy to acquire, Erekose remembered grimly.
 
++ Check the Servitors brother. Let us hope Crom was correct in his divinations.++ He watched as the Techmarine reluctantly lowered the multi-bolter, and moved cautiously towards the blast doors. Despite the apparent lack of danger, they were both aware they were being watched.
 
“Well...Ork, I believe that concludes our business.” 
 
“P'raps beakie. P'raps not” The Ork was chuckling again, it's beady eyes still focussed greedily on the brilliant white fangs. “I is curius, why the Servs so important?”
 
“That is not your concern.” In truth, it was not the Servitors themselves that the Inner Circle sought, but the data stored inside them. If Chief Librarian Crom was right, these particular constructs were the sole surviving witnesses to events dark, terrible and yet potentially illuminating. If he was right, the information contained within their perfunctory machine memories could open promising new avenues of investigation. The quest for redemption was truly a long and labyrinthine path, a journey both tangled and tortuous.
 
“I knows beakies” The Glutton continued, finally lifting it's gaze to stare maliciously at the Knight. “You iz like us Orks. Like Ork, you live only for fight. For war. So, I is curius. Why you want to talk? Why you want to trade? It make me curius. And da Tyrant iz curius also. Mighty Jagga himself wantz to no why you iz ere.” 
 
The last sentence raised the Knight's interest. The Great Tyrant of Jagga. An Ork Warboss who was slowly but surely building an empire amidst the chaos of the Eastern Fringe. Fifteen entire Sectors had already fallen to the Tyrant's massive armies. Unlike the freebooter scum before him, such a powerful warlord presented a particularly dangerous threat to the Imperium. Neither he, or the Inner Circle, had realised there was any sort of connection between the two, apparently disparate Xenos.
 
“I iz thinkin also” The beast spoke slowly, it's piggish eyes cruel and unblinking, “If you iz willing to pay for dese Servs, p'raps otherz wud also be willing. P'raps otherz wud be willing to pay more...”
 
“Alternatively, perhaps we should just kill you now, and take whatever we want.” The Knight's gauntleted hand was resting on the pistol holstered at his side. 
 
“Ur overconfidence iz ur weakness, beakie” The Ork sneered, vile drool dripping from it's immense jaw and pooling on the table below. It's long, clawed fingers were lightly scratching the stock of the autocannon. 
 
“Your faith in your guards is yours.” Erekose retorted.
 
He had detected them the moment he had entered the room. Even a cursory psychic scan had been enough to reveal their presence.  There were four of them, all hidden within firing slits in the chamber's walls. Two were Ork Stormboyz, smaller brutes than their gargantuan employer but still broad, hulking beasts. A third was a insectoid Vespid, crystalline wings folded tightly to allow it to fit within the cramped wall space. The fourth, depressingly, was another human, clad in the same Imperial issue carapace plate as the guard at the chamber's entrance. That such men were in service to a Xenos was a sad testament to the inherent weaknesses of the human psyche.
 
All four were armed with primitive but no doubt effective rocket launchers. It was an impressive arsenal of weaponry, particularly in such a small, cramped chamber. Even power armour would struggle to repel fire-power of that magnitude. The Glutton was obviously taking no chances.
 
Momentarily closing his eyes, Erekose slipped effortlessly into the Freebooter's consciousness once more. Since entering the chamber, he had been routinely scanning the pirate's thoughts, unfortunately with little success. Unlike other Xenos creatures, Ork minds were relatively simple to understand. Their emotions and mental processes were primitive and uncomplicated. As before, he could easily sense the great undercurrent of mindless brutality, the barely controlled desire for violence and bloodshed that consumed all rational thought. However, with such overwhelming aggression dominating the alien's mind, it was exceedingly difficult to access memories or retrieve information. If anything, the beast's fury seemed to be steadily rising. The Glutton's greed and avarice may have set it apart from it's fellows, but it still shared the same basic genetics. Curiosity had so far stayed it's hand, but that would not last much longer.
 
The Knight opened his eyes, and made a decision. 
 
He fired first.
Edited by spacedhulk
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Cactus Venerable Brother

Cactus

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Great work spaced hulk

 

I can't wait for part 6! Will the filthy Ork get what he deserves. And what memory do the servitors have?

Probably a memory of some chick saying something that includes "you are my only hope".

 

Now that you mention it, the description of the short servitor does sound like a grimdark R2 unit.

 

Spaced Hulk, once again you add another layer of intrigue to the Hunt. :tu: I wish the author(s) of the Cypher dataslate had your imagination.

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Spaced Hulk Battle-Brother

Spaced Hulk

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@ deathspectresrg7, recon0321 & darkangel1030: Thanks brothers :thumbsup: As always, I really appreciate your support and encouragement. Helps keep me motivated.

 

 

@ Heru Talon:

 

Probably a memory of some chick saying something that includes "you are my only hope".

Cheers mate :thumbsup:  Wondered who'd be the first to comment on the 'theme' of the story. However, this is still 40k. So there is no hope amongst the stars, there is only....:wink:  

 

 

@ Cactus:

 

Now that you mention it, the description of the short servitor does sound like a grimdark R2 unit.

 

Spaced Hulk, once again you add another layer of intrigue to the Hunt. :thumbsup: I wish the author(s) of the Cypher dataslate had your imagination.

Thank you mate, appreciate the compliment :smile.:

 

Funny you should mention Cypher though. I wrote an alternative version of Episode Five where Cypher shows up, cuts off Erekose's hand with his C'tan phase knife and then reveals he is actually his father......

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

....Just kidding :wink:

 

Thanks again guys. Should hopefully have the last part finished in a couple of days.

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