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

[deathspectersgt7]

Once again . As for the Revenants sinister like it.

[Balthamal]

What a read. This is like some sort of interstellar mystery thriller being drip fed to us, the waiting masses. I sir demand more!

[facmanpob]

Yep, I'm very much enjoying this......and I want more Revenants!

[Spaced Hulk]

 

One of the most notable, and worrying aspects of the Iris Secession was the considerable military power the Dominion had managed to gather together in relatively short period of time. In addition to the vast number of planatery defense forces that fought under the rebel banner, Imperial Guard elements and Adeptus Mechanicus forces from within the Sector had also defected to the Secessionist cause.

 

Extract from 'Battlefields of the Astartes', Author Unknown, 835.M41

 

It had seemed like a good plan.

 

Infiltrate close to the gun batteries, using the dense terrain of the grave fields as cover. Silently eliminate any sentries or patrols. Assault the position from multiple directions, exterminate all opposition.

 

It was standard Astartes tactical doctrine, Codex approved and used for the best part of ten thousand years.

 

It fell apart the moment they encountered the first ogryn sentry.

 

***

 

Another of the abhumans had found them. Although this one was less heavily augmented than the others, the beast's entire head was encased in a control helm. But it still had both hands, and armed with a pair of shoulder mounted heavy bolters, it was systematically demolishing every tomb and crypt nearby. Sooner rather than later, they were going to run out of places to hide.

 

Hagan and the Jester were crouched behind a massive stone monument, a tribute no doubt to one of the wealthier families of the Iris sector. Even heavy bolt rounds would take a little time to punch through such a solid block of marble, but eventually it would crumble, leaving them totally exposed.

 

"Ready?" Aaron had switched the combi-bolter to full auto.

 

Hagan nodded silently and raised his ancient boltgun. They moved in unison, leaning around the opposing sides of the monument and opening fire. The roar of Aaron's combi-weapon, an early version of the storm bolter so commonly used by terminators, easily drowned out the staccato bark of the lighter gun.

 

At that range, and with such an imposing target, it was near impossible to miss. Unfortunately they just weren't doing enough damage. The beast's chest exploded in a shower of blood and meat and muscle, but still it remained standing, blasting away with it's shoulder guns as though impervious to the physical damage they were inflicting.

 

With a dry click, Hagan's boltgun jammed. Cursing he ducked back into cover. He was armed with a very rare pattern of bolter, longer barrelled and belt fed, a relic dating back to the First Legion's earliest days in the Great Crusade. It was longer ranged than more modern weapons, with a higher rate of fire, but the belt feed was exceptionally prone to jamming.

 

"I don't know why you perservere with that antique". Aaron was also back behind the monument, loading a fresh magazine into his weapon. "This isn't working anyway. You could fire a demolisher cannon at that thing and it wouldn't notice."

 

"Any. Better. Ideas" Hagan had cleared the jam now and looked across at his fellow veteran. The conical face plate of his corvus helm was blackened by a near miss.

 

"Actually, yes." Aaron passed over the combi-bolter, and unslung his secondary weapon. "Give me some covering fire." Keeping low, the specialist disappered into the rows of tomb stones surrounding them.

 

The combi-bolter had a folding stock which attached to an armour's vambrace, allowing the weapon to be fired one handed. Hagan locked it into place, then picked up his own bolter with his other hand. Stepping out into the open once more, he began firing with both guns. He was less accurate now, but sheer weight of fire meant he didn't need to be. Fresh craters appeared in the ogryn's ruined torso, but again with no visible effect. He saw a single shot richochet from the pacificer helm, as the beast ponderously turned it's own guns towards him.

 

Suddenly a plume of blood erupted from the beast's chest, a crimson geiser that splattered across Hagan's armour despite the distance between them. It didn't stop, and soon fragments of bone and flesh were raining down on him as well. A hole appeared in the brutes torso, and even as he watched, it widened, becoming a massive, gaping tunnel straight through the stricken creature. A foul smell of burning meat filled the air.

 

All firing stopped. Incredibly, the ogyrn was still on it's feet despite the colossal wound. Hagan realised he could see straight through it's chest. Behind the beast, staring right back at him through the hole, was Aaron. The meltagun in his hand was still smoking, and he jovially gave a thumbs up sign to his fellow veteran.

 

As the creature finally collapsed into a steaming heap, Hagan glanced down at his blood sodden tunic and armour. "Very. Funny." he growled.

 

 

***

Balian ran across the row of crypts, leaping from monument to monument in a succession of perfectly timed jumps. Five metres below him, another ogryn was slowly shuffling amongst the tombs. This one walked on all fours, reminding him of the large primates native to the hills and moorland of Mire. Some sort of heavy autocannon was strapped to it's back, turning the beast into a living artillery piece.

 

He took two more jumps to get into the perfect position, then grasping his sword with both hands, dropped to the ground alongside the creature. As he fell he swung out with his blade, decapitating the ogryn with a single stroke.

 

The sound of gunfire was very close now. Sheathing the sword across his back, he drew his bolter and started running once more.

 

***

Mathius and Viktor had managed to get the closest before being discovered. The artillery they had been sent to silence was visible on the hillside above them. Unfortunately they'd run straight into a pair of the hulking abhuman sentries, and a firefight had ensued. One of the beasts was down, a lucky krak grenade had blown it apart below the waist. It was still alive, but armed with only close combat implants it was a negligable threat at the moment.

 

The other ogryn had them pinned down in a shallow drainage ditch. This particular beast was almost completely covered by armour plates, turning it into a ridiculous, monstrous parody of a Space Marine. It's right arm had been amputated at the elbow and replaced with a six barrelled heavy stubber, while a flamer was gripped tightly in it's gnarled left hand. Bizarrely it carried a rider. A human sized figure was mounted in a saddle between the brute's shoulder blades. Clad in the red robes of a Tech Priest, it's mechanical, needle like fingers were buried up to their knuckles inside the ogryn's skull.

 

Another long burst of stubber fire raked the ditch, forcing them to duck down even lower. Their bolters had so far been completely ineffective against the beast's crude armour.

 

"Just about had enough of this." Mathius snarled as a volley of shots ripped into his shoulder pad, the edge of the pauldron splintering under the impacts. Raising his bolter once again, he sighted down the sniper scope.

 

"That may not be a good idea." Viktor said quickly, realising his brother's intent. "We don't know what.." The bark of the boltgun interrupted him.

 

The Tech Priest's head exploded in a shower of gore. Almost immediately the ogryn went beserk, shooting wildly in all directions. The stubber was firing continously, blasting the nearby tomb stones into fragments of stone and marble. A jet of intense flame washed over a nearby section of the ditch, sending up a cloud of steam as the trickling drain water vapourised.

 

"You may have been right" Mathius grudgingly said. The youngster always found it hard to admit his mistakes. "What do we do now?"

 

Viktor said nothing as he waited for the stream of stubber fire to pass over them once more. Choosing his moment, he quickly stood and pulled back his arm, launching his power lance like a javalin. It was a risky throw at such long range.

 

The lance speared into the creature's throat, penetrating the armoured gorget and the body beneath with ease. It would have passed straight through the Tech Priest's skull as well, if it had still been there. Dead instantly, the ogryn stopped firing and dropped to it's knees. A second later the weapon's energy field caused the flesh to ignite, smoke rising in thin streamers from the beast's bisected head.

 

"Now, we retrieve my lance." He grinned at the youngster as they began to walk towards the still twitching corpse.

 

"That was incredible" Mathius began, "I've never seen anything..." He never finished the sentence. A shock maul almost as large as he was crashed into his back, sending him flying into a bullet riddled tomb stone.

 

The other ogryn. Crawling on the stumps of it's shredded lower limbs, it had somehow got behind them. Viktor reached for his boltgun but before he could draw it from the holster, the beast had grabbed his ankle and pulled him to the ground beside it.

 

He grabbed it's arm as it tried to bring the shock maul down in a killing blow. Even without the electrified field, the sheer weight of the weapon would instantly pulverise his skull, helmet included. The beast's face was mere inches from his own. He stared into a single huge, blood shot eye that sat forlornly next to mechanical implants. He could smell it's rancid, stinking breath through his faceplate, while goblets of saliva drooled foully onto his visor.

 

It was a contest he could not win. Despite all his gene forged strength, the beast was far stronger than he was. With his free hand he beat ineffectually at the control helm.

 

A single shot rang out and a neat hole appeared in the ogryn's forehead. The bolt detonated inside it's skull, the blast completely obliterating the back of it's head. Viktor had been using bolt weapons for nearly sixty five years, but he had never seen their effects at such close range before.

 

The corpse collapsed on top of him. Looking around, he saw Hagan and Aaron helping Mathius to stand and checking his armour. There was a huge dent in the youngster's power plant, but it seemed to still be functioning.

 

Balian lowered his boltgun and walked over to where Viktor lay trapped. With effort, the two of them rolled the ogryn's immense body away.

 

"Come on brother" the sergeant helped his team mate to his feet. "There's still work to be done."

 

On the hillside above them, the guns began to fire, one by one.

Edited September 1, 2014 by spacedhulk

[deathspectersgt7]

once again a good read. best part was between Aaron and Hagan got a good chuckle out of it . 

[Spaced Hulk]

Thanks once again guys for the positive comments. Obviously, this short story has expanded a bit more than I initially planned. I think the next part will be the last, although I do have a few more ideas about the Iris campaign that I might try exploring in the future.

 

I've never written an action story before, so any feedback on this particular section would be great.

 

Thanks again!

Edited September 1, 2014 by spacedhulk

[deathspectersgt7]

Well for one thing you did great . I'm an avid reader and when I  like abook I don't like to put it down and this story fits in that catagory . will be sorry to see it end brother.

[WatchCaptainAzrael]

Now I wish Space Marine had Ogryn heretics to take down. Thanks Spaced Hulk, I don't ponder enough on the may-have-beens lately. :P

Edited March 23, 2013 by WatchCaptainAzrael

[Spaced Hulk]

 

Towards the end of the Iris Campaign, when casualty rates were mounting swiftly, the Seditionist's employed large numbers of mercenary forces to bolster their armies. Of particular concern to the Imperium were the Renegade Space Marines that began to be encountered within the rebel ranks. Even to this day, the reasons for their involvement are unknown.

 

Extract from 'Battlefields of the Astartes', Author Unknown, 835.M41

 

The rebels were led by three Space Marines. Their armour was bare ceramite, stripped of all paint and insignia, excised of anything that might indicate their former allegiance. They were warriors with loyalty only to themselves. Mercenaries. Renegades.

 

They had organised the rebel troops into staggered firing lines across the hillside. Small arms and heavy weapons began to fire in co-ordinated volleys. The majority of the Secessionist infantry were unaugmented humans, their array of different uniforms attesting to their backgrounds in the Imperial Guard. Groups of Skitarii combat servitors were scattered amongst them, the tell tale scarlet robes of their Mechanicum overseers marking the locations where resistance would be heaviest.

 

It was all irrelevant, Balian thought to himself. They were traitors, one and all. And he would remove the stain of their existence with blade and bolter, or die in the attempt.

 

***

 

They were pinned down behind the remains of a Basilisk. Krak grenades had rendered the gun inoperable, and now the team used it's wreckage as cover, trading fire with the rebels ensconced higher on the hill. They had captured and destroyed five of the artillery pieces so far, but progress was slow.

 

“You know,” Aaron grumbled, firing a short burst almost like punctuation, “some backup would be welcome any time now.”

 

Balian didn't answer. To be fair, the Jester was right. It had been over an hour since they had begun the assault on the hillside, and so far there had been no sign, or word, from Orbec and his squad.

 

They were heavily outnumbered, by entrenched and well armed opposition. The terrain was not in their favour. Ammunition was beginning to run low. It was not an ideal situation.

 

For the first time ever, Balian realised he would be glad to see the Revenants.

 

***

It was the Skitarii that launched the counter attack. For some time they had been visibly massing on the hill above them, safely outside of boltgun range. It was obvious that an assault was forthcoming, and it was equally obvious who would lead it. It seemed that all the Mechanicum forces would be committed. A single, devastating strike to crush the invaders.

 

Mortar fire preceded the attack, the fragmentation rounds bursting around the Basilisk in blooms of fire and steel. Ducking down, the team sheltered from the blasts as best as they could, shrapnel pattering harmlessly against their armour. The barrage had barely stopped when the Skitarii were upon them, the mechanised warriors moving far faster than Balian had given them credit for.

 

It was intense, brutal combat. The Mechanicum infantry were strong, quick and well armoured. They could withstand a significant amount of punishment, even severe head trauma wasn't a guaranteed kill. Their weapons were powerful enough to penetrate power armour. It was a battle of equals.

 

***

Balian rammed his blade through the torso of one of the machine warriors, leaving it embedded there. Sensing more movement behind him, he dodged as a power claw punched the air where his head had been. He spun around and emptied his bolter into the combat servitor, blasting it into bloody chunks of flesh and metal. Turning back, he ripped his sword free in a fountain of oil and intestines. A chain halberd swung at him from the right. He couldn't parry quickly enough and it struck his shoulder guard, adamantium teeth chewing into the ceramite. Cursing, he kicked the Skitarii backwards, then swung his great sword down vertically, slicing the warrior in two.

 

To his right, Mathius stood with his damaged power plant against the wrecked shell of the Basilisk, steadily executing the enemy one by  one with head shots. Aaron and Hagan were also fighting nearby, eliminating any Skitarii that slipped past the youngster's aim. Out of ammunition, the Jester had finally discarded his combi-bolter and was using his meltagun to incinerate anything within range. Once again, Hagan's bolter had jammed and he was fighting hand to hand, a combat knife in each hand, dispatching his opponents with efficiently lethal strikes.

 

Viktor fought alone, as was his preference. His bolter was holstered, and he wielded his power lance with both hands. Whirling the spear in lethal arcs, he used the reach of the weapon to full effect, beheading or gutting any Skitarii that came near. He was the epicentre of the carnage, every movement was perfect, every strike a killing blow.

 

***

The Jester was the first to die. Rushed by six combat servitors at once, even the meltagun couldn't kill them quickly enough. Hagan, locked in combat with another Skitarii, could do nothing but watch as they literally ripped his friend to pieces, their servo arms pulling his body apart with irresistible force.

 

On Balian's helmet display, Aaron's life signs went to amber, and then, perhaps not swiftly enough, to red.

 

The sergeant had four krak grenades left. Quickly priming one, he threw the entire grenade belt into the mob of servitors that were still systematically dismembering his brother's body. The blast simply obliterated them, leaving nothing but charred flesh and twisted metal.

 

As the smoke cleared, Balian noticed movement on the slope above them.

 

The rebel guardsman had formed into a firing line, three ranks deep. Bi-pod mounted lascannons and heavy bolters had been set up in front, while the middle rank bristled with las-rifles and autoguns. At the rear, missile launcher teams prepared their weapons. The Renegade Space Marines had also advanced, their dull metallic armour towering over the sea of uniforms around them. Even as Balian watched, one of the traitors seemed to issue a command.

As one, the guardsman began to fire.

***

They were all going to die. Balian had accepted that now. The rebels, indifferent to the few surviving Skitarii, were simply going to scour the hillside of life.

 

There was nowhere to hide. The fire-storm was so intense that taking cover was futile. Balian fell to his knees on the barren hillside, las beams and heavy bolter rounds utterly destroying the armoured plates surrounding him. He watched as a lascannon beam speared a Skitarii next to him, boiling it's flesh and fusing it's mechanical components into a twisted mass of metal. He watched as a missile hit Viktor dead centre, the explosion throwing what was left of his body back to the bottom of the hill.

 

He did not fear death. He was Astartes, fear was an alien concept to him. To die honourably in the service of the Emperor was the only fate any of them could ever expect. But even as he accepted what was about to happen, a sudden chill flooded his body. An overwhelming sense of doom and despair pressed down upon him, beating him into the dirt more effectively than all the fire-power that was ravaging the hillside. Fear gripped his soul, and it would not let go.

 

Somehow, above the explosions and the gunfire, Balian could hear the shriek of jump packs.

 

***

The Revenants had arrived. Through his shattered visor, Balian watched as the black armoured warriors went to work.

 

Unsurprisingly, the Shadow did most of the damage. Even before the jump team had landed, the rebels were screaming. Some of them simply dropped their guns and fled, scattering in all directions. The rest fell to the ground, sobbing and writhing in their terror. The four Revenants dropped right in the middle of this chaos, crushing bodies beneath their armoured bulk. Then the butchery began.

 

The two plasma gunners raised their weapons and opened fire, each blast of energy searing through an entire line of infantry, their carapace armour offering no protection at all. Further up the hillside, the close combat specialist aimed his gauntlet mounted grenade launcher, launching a frag round into a group of fleeing guardsmen. The blast knocked the entire squad to the ground, and before they could rise again, the Revenant was amongst them. With a click, lightning claws extended from both gauntlets, and he began to methodically slice them to pieces.

 

Balian watched as the Shadowcaster strode impassively through the rebel ranks, his very presence forcing them to weep and cower even more. Raising the flamer built into his left vambrace, he began to incinerate them.

 

The Renegade Astartes were struggling to fight the effects of the Shadow. Despite their treachery and dishonour, they were still Space Marines, and like the Sword Bearers themselves, they had been created purely for battle. One of them raised a boltgun, trying desperately to aim at the psyker that was terrorising his senses. Together, the Revenant gunners turned and fired, streams of plasma converging on the Renegade's armoured torso. His body simply exploded, even power armour ineffective against the energy of a star.

 

Drawing a chainsword, the second Renegade charged towards the Shadowcaster, somehow managing to ignore the effects of the psychic aura. Turning to face the traitor, the Second Company Librarian calmly raised his force staff. As Balian watched, time itself ground to a halt. The Renegade seemed to be in slow motion, moving slower and slower until finally he stood unmoving before the psyker. For a second he was simply frozen there, staring into the gleaming skull helm. Then in one swift movement, the Shadowcaster drew his ebon blade from it's scabbard and thrust it through the Renegade's throat. Time instantly snapped back to normal, and the traitor collapsed, blood gurgling from the fatal wound.

 

The last Renegade was finally moving, lifting a discarded missile launcher and aiming it at the black armoured figures. At such close range, the blast would probably kill the traitor himself, but there was no hesitation in his movements. However, his resolve was not allowed to be tested. Before he could fire, a gleaming axe blade clove his head in two. As he sunk to the ground, body twitching, a silver armoured figure stepped from behind, wrenching his power axe from the traitor's skull.

 

The battlefield was silent at last. Ivan Orbec, Captain of the Sword Bearers Third Battle Company, walked slowly through the sea of bodies, solemnly surveying the carnage spread across the hillside.

 

***

Incredibly, three of them still lived.

 

Balian and Mathius were both relatively in one piece, despite the damage inflicted by the rebel's guns. Their armour was almost completely destroyed, and the Sergeant personally doubted that either suit would be salvageable, but against all odds, they had each survived with only minor wounds.

 

Hagan had not been so lucky. A lascannon beam had sheared off both legs below the knee. Bionics were available of course, but even so, it would be many months before he could possibly be fit for action. The veteran was tenacious though, and Balian had no doubts he would live to fight again.

 

There was very little left of either Aaron or Viktor. It was a double tragedy for the Chapter and Third Company. Not only had two of their most experienced veterans been slain, but the gene seed of neither warrior had been recovered. Such was war, Balian knew, but that thought did not ease the sadness at the loss of his brothers, or the sour taste that lingered in the wake of the operation.

 

He knew that they had been used. That the Revenants had waited until the Skitarii had been eliminated before committing to battle. And he knew why. It was blatantly obvious. The Shadow would have been totally ineffective against the mechanised warriors, and so Balian and his team had been dispatched to remove that particular threat. It was a logical, clinical decision, and he understood the tactical reasoning behind it. He was still angry though, and like the Shadow itself, that feeling would not fade quickly.

 

While they had waited for the Thunderhawk to extract them from the battle site, Balian had watched Orbec for a long time. For some reason, he had seemed more interested in the dead renegades than the fallen members of his own Company. The bodies of the traitors had even been loaded into the gunship's storage bay, for transport back to the fleet.

 

Balian did not know what was going on. But he intended to find out.

 

Edited September 1, 2014 by spacedhulk

[Brother Immolator]

Woooooohooooo! Fallen for dissection :P

[Spaced Hulk]

Woooooohooooo! Fallen for dissection

 

Possibly

 

Well, that was the final part of that Sword Bearers story. I've really enjoyed writing them so hopefully they've been a good read. There is still loads of stuff to come, and I haven't forgotten my promise for more photos (and painted models!), This will be my last update for a couple of weeks though. In my defense, I've got a pretty good excuse (I'm getting married on thursday!  ). When things have calmed down a bit I'll be continuing the blog. As I've said previously, this is definately a long term project. 

 

See you guys in a couple of weeks.

 

 Spaced

Edited March 23, 2013 by spacedhulk

[deathspectersgt7]

On a far and distant planet of terra the great bell tolls each note for afallen hero of the imperium.but if one would listen to aslight rythem change for a lone brother about to get hitched. And congrates .

[Brother Immolator]

Well: Heart filled wishes on your wedding; hoping the best for you two today and forever; happy married life.

[Spaced Hulk]

Thanks guys!

[WatchCaptainAzrael]

Damn it man! Stop doing silly things like marrying and getting on with life, we need moar stories! (nonetheless, have my wishes of lots of chapter relics and little initiates for the both of ya)

[Spaced Hulk]

Cheers mate! Don't worry, already got some ideas for the next story when I get back

[facmanpob]

It'll be marriage now, kids soon, then all of your spare time will be sucked into the warp! I know, I'm in the middle of a child-driven warp storm at the moment.

 

Congratulations on your forthcoming nuptials, hopefully the honeymoon will take you somewhere warm!

 

Oh, and great finale to the story too!

[Rizara]

I can totally attest to that child-driven warpstorm.   Gaming for me has nearly stopped due to that and its hard enough to find time just to get a game in, yet alone paint the miniatures.  My only hope is that I can overcome this chaos and convert the spawns into loyal marines willing to enjoy the hobby with me. 

 

Great stories, and awesome army, best of luck on your marriage and life theirafter. 

[WatchCaptainAzrael]

The raising of initiates is its own reward. ;)

[Spaced Hulk]

Thanks guys! Getting a bit excited/nervous now

 

It'll be marriage now, kids soon, then all of your spare time will be sucked into the warp! I know, I'm in the middle of a child-driven warp storm at the moment.

Congratulations on your forthcoming nuptials, hopefully the honeymoon will take you somewhere warm!

Oh, and great finale to the story too!

 

We're getting married in Wales, then staying over for a few nights, so the chances of it being warm are unfortunately rather slim. Somehow we've managed to set our wedding date in the coldest UK Easter for decades! Have actually packed some thermals to wear under my suit if necessary

 

Will definately be a white wedding anyway (snowing again here now )

[recon0321]

What's are the bitz used for the marines in the last two pictures on the 1st page

[Brother Immolator]

Grey Knights. The head must be from the terminators If I reckon.

Edited March 29, 2013 by Brother Immolator

[Spaced Hulk]

Well, I'm back (briefly), I'm married , and I've got a bit of an update.

First of all, some clearer pics of one of the very first Sword Bearers I modelled. Took these before I went away but didn't have time to upload them.

He's currently an unnamed Company Veteran, one of the few survivors of the Fenspire disaster. Parts are a mixture of various kits (head is actually from the Grey Knights power armour squad). Obviously a few mould lines still need cleaning up (why do they show up so well in photo's compared to real life? ) His left shoulder pad shows the Chapter symbol (basically I'm cheating and using the single sword pads from the DA veteran kit without any alteration ).

Have also written the start of the next short story which I'll hopefully post later today.

Thanks once again for all your kind words and congratulations

Edited April 2, 2013 by spacedhulk

[Spaced Hulk]

They were hunting the survivors.

 

The ash desert stretched as far as the eye could see. A sea of fine grey dust, shaped into an undulating landscape of constantly shifting dunes by the howling wind.

 

Dust particles filled the air, coating their armour, clogging visors and respirators. Phormia Prime was technically a Terran class world, it's environment and atmosphere within acceptable parameters for human existence. But within the Ashlands, no human, or even post-human, could survive for long without adequate protection and breathing equipment.

 

Such wastelands were common throughout the Imperium. Even the fact that the Ashlands were entirely man-made was not particularly unusual. The toiling factoriums of the Mechanicus created similarly ruined landscapes all across the galaxy, mass pollution and contaminants always the inevitable side effects of Imperial industry.

 

However, this desert was not some industrial bi-product. What made the Ashlands unique was the composition of the dust itself. Phormia Prime was a cemetery world, a planet that for thousands of years had been dedicated to housing the mortal remains of the entire Iris Sector. But while the wealthiest of it's citizens were interred within the great walls of the Necropolis and it's surrounding grave fields, the poorer members of society could expect a far less ostentatious fate.

 

Cremated en mass upon their widely separated home worlds, their ashes were brought to Phormia Prime from across the Sector, massive cargo ships constantly transporting their combined remains to this one, centralised location. Brought to the surface in trains of shuttle craft, the huge quantities of ash were then unceremoniously dumped onto the extensive plains that ringed the northern hemisphere.

 

The Ashlands were literally a desert of the dead, a dust bowl created from the mortal remains of billions of former Imperial citizens.

 

In the aftermath of the Sword Bearer's initial, devastating drop pod assault, the remnants of the main rebel army had scattered into this foul, desolate wasteland. Without life support equipment, many had perished already, their lungs choked with the ashes of their ancestors.

 

The bulk of the Chapter were now besieging the Necropolis itself, the seat of the Secessionist government and the heart of the rebellion. Alongside the rest of Tenth Company, Aldous and his squad had been dispatched to the Ashlands to search for any remaining survivors. And to exterminate them.

Edited September 1, 2014 by spacedhulk

[Spaced Hulk]

In contrast to the Neophytes under his command, Mentor Sergeant Aldous was well protected from the harsh conditions of the wastelands. His Mark Eight plate was completely enclosed and self sustaining, unlike the carapace armour worn by his charges. Although each young recruit was equipped with a breathing mask and protective goggles, the rest of their body was exposed to the shrieking wind and all pervasive dust storm that swirled constantly around them. Most had cowls drawn over their heads, but even the toughened fabric of their camouflage cloaks was an inadequate defence. Without full power armour, the dust was simply unavoidable, and knowing it's origin made it's invasiveness even more loathsome.

 

Adversity was good for them, he reminded himself. Watching the Neophytes around him scowl and grimace, their skin grey with the clinging dust, he doubted they thought the same. Even with eidetic memory, it seemed an eternity since he'd been one of them. Over four hundred years had passed since he'd worn the white tunic of a Neophyte. Four centuries of battle, of blood shed, of harsh decisions and  terrible truths. Still, he remembered his earliest days within the Chapter well enough that he could feel a measure of empathy with those he now commanded.

 

In a way he envied them, he realised. Despite the conditions they currently endured, none of them bore the burden that weighed upon him. A constant, oppressive weight, a millstone of responsibility that strained his mind and his spirit. To be free of that burden, to return to the innocent simplicity of youth was now an impossibility. He knew too much for that.

 

It had been twenty years since he had left the ranks of the Penitents, passing his suit of silvered terminator plate on to another incumbent. Aldous knew that for some Unforgiven, the armour of the First Company was, once earned, a permanent possession, kept until death as a symbol of the secrets it's wearer helped preserve. Amongst the Sword Bearers, this was simply not possible. With so few suits surviving in the Chapter armoury, each of the sixty that remained functional was too tactically valuable to be hoarded by any individual. Thus, whenever a warrior left the First Company, their terminator armour was always passed onto another, worthy successor, keeping the Penitents constantly at full strength.

 

Of course, most Penitents fell in combat, their armour repaired and bequeathed after their death. But for those that survived long enough, two options lay open to them. Some were promoted, taking command of a Battle Company and joining the Chapter's ruling elite. The leaders of the Sword Bearers exchanged their terminator plate for ancient, master crafted weapons and finely crafted suits of artificer armour, but usually retained the bare metallic livery that signified their membership of the First Company.

 

For others, the choice was far more humble but no less important. They returned to their very beginnings, rejoining the Scouts and Neophytes of the Tenth Company, instructing the new recruits and moulding them into the battle brothers and veterans of tomorrow. It was both ironic and satisfying, Aldous thought. To have progressed so far in the Chapter’s hierarchy and then to return to the training Company, to stand once more at the start of a path begun so long ago, it gave him a sense of a journey coming full circle. Known officially as the Mentors, their role was essential but unglorified, their honour unspoken but never questioned.

 

There were good reasons why their achievements remained unsung. Each Mentor also bore other duties and titles, honorifics known only to the highest ranking members of the Chapter Council.

 

Pathfinders. Seekers of Redemption.

 

Fallen Hunters.

Edited April 2, 2013 by spacedhulk