Primes Deathwatch Stories.

[Adeptus-Alaska]

this is going to be a space holder for a bit. this thread is for my deathwatch participants to blow off steam!

[BassWave]

Godfried stood vigil before armory 762. The entrance's doors, while archaic, were well maintained. They had to be, for the day might come that the weapons within would need to be requisitioned. And what a terrible and tragic day it would have to be to require such devastating weapons. Some of these weapons date back to even before the near mythical Crusade era. Godfried had felt within their machine spirits that spark of hope, that could only come from a brighter age, when he would give them the rite of maintenance. It was a pity that they would only ever be used out of sheer desperation now. The spirits deserved better.

 

Godfried prayed fervently to the Omnissiah each day of his vigil. He prayed that the day when the weapons would be needed would never come. Not because of the implications, but because he didn't want that bastard Brakesh and his gaggle of swine to sully these noble creations with their mere presence. Godfried had witnessed what the watch Captain had had done to his armor on the vid feeds. He could hear the spirit scream as it was desecrated by its master. It took all of Godfried's willpower, along with several of the other Keepers, to stop him from going to the Captain's quarters and slay him where he stood. As he had explained to the Watch Master, such mistreatment is heretical. The Master simply chuckled, and reassured Godfried that despite his "quirks", the Captain is fiercly loyal to the Emperor. Godfried had locked his gaze with the Master and vowed that if Brakesh or any of his men ever try to requisition any item from Armory 762, Godfried would rip out their spines and dump the rest of their useless flesh into the Master's quarters. As Godfried stormed out, he struck out at the wall with his reic power fist. The hole remains in the Watch Master's office, proof of the Gore Hand's oath.

[Adeptus-Alaska]

that was incredible man! I have a feeling Brakesh will be the man we love to hate!

[BassWave]

Thanks prime! And yes, while Brakesh and his "brawlers" are high on Godfried's hate list, they aren't the only ones. I've been reading some of the other entries trying to figure out how Godfried would interact with them. Looks like he's not going to get along with many of his watch brothers :p

[Adeptus-Alaska]

well Hopefully there will be hope in the 2nd element. we need a "noble" captain for that one! any suggestions?

[BassWave]

Ooh, I'll come up with something. How does a Black Dragon sound?

[Adeptus-Alaska]

I was thinking like a marines exemplar or a (dare i say it) Guardian of Celeres somethiing on the noble/regal side without relying on Ultra or imperial fist. something diamterically opposed to Brakesh in every way A true "night in shining armour" guy.

[jeremy1391]

Here's a little something for you Prime

 

 

Brother Gabriel Baros of the Consecrators stepped off the Ordo Xenos transport ship into the watch fortress. His tenure in the deathwatch was only just beginning, as most members of the unforgiven his interaction with astartes outside his gene line was limited to merely a handful of occasions. The hall he strode down was as deserted as a tomb world....

 

+scratch...scratch.... Skitter... Hiss+

 

Baros's auto senses sprung to life targeting information crossing his heads up display... Gene stealers.

 

"How are such monsters in this place" he thought.

 

Within seconds they would be upon him. Baros unslung his bolter and chain axe.

 

From down the hall eight of the beasts were coming at him. He flicked his selector switch to full auto gunning down the first three in their tracks. This caused the others to scatter and approach by spreading out and climbing the walls.

 

Baros fired again before the distance was completely closed add two to his tally. In an instant they were upon him scoring great slashes across his armor. He responded in kind by bisecting one with his axe and decapitating another. Baros stood defiantly...

"That's only seven where did the big one go?" As the thought completed in his mind a great weight landed on his back razor sharp claws slamming into his back drawing blood and a grunt of pain from the consecrator Baros slammed back into the wall to dislodge his attacker. The creature shrieked as hundreds of kilograms of ceramite and genetic perfection smashed it into the wall, this was the moment Gabriel needed he spun slashing into the beasts mid section doubling the beast over with his axe dropping his bolter he reached for the krak grenades at his belt. In one fluid motion he jammed the grenade in the beasts hissing maw with a kick to its lower jaw the beast flew back a second later the grenade detonated spraying ichor and carapace fragments about the hall.

 

Above him a previously unseen observation room lit up. Gabriel looked upon this room inside was a disheveled looking captain wearing the livery of the Marines Malevolent and a pristine looking apothecary of the Imperial Fists. The captain spoke

"What is your name brother?"

 

"I am Gabriel Baros of the Consecrtators chapter." He said

 

"Well met brother Baros, welcome to the Brawlers! Apothecary Silas will attend to your injuries, then report to the armory to repair your armor and replenish your munitions. You've passed the interview."

 

"Captain what would have happened if I failed?" Gabriel inquired.

 

"You would have died and been ejected from the airlock, I require the best, I can't remember how many aspiring astartes they have tried to send to my command squad that have had their bodies committed to the void." The captain stated as a matter of fact.

 

Gabriel reflected in this. This bastard would have let me die to prove a point... I think I'm going to like it here...

 

 

Hope you like it!

[Monstra Sumus]

The scrape of wire brush on steel filled the dark spaces of the reclusium, the noise out of place in such a proposed place of worship. The hulking form of Veteran-Prefect Quintis Serenar was perched upon one of the reinforced pews facing the stained arma-glass effigy of the Emperor. Serenar's black clad fingers pushed the wire brush heavily across his disassembled bolter, its fronds filling the oily black darkness of the weapons chamber. He was aware of the armoured portal sliding back on its hinges with a hiss, the sensors in his corvus pattern helm blinking and chirping the presence of another. The Malevolent didn't break his routine, his fingers kept on working at a patch of discolouration at the joint of the guns chamber and housing. The dark grey eyes regarded the read-out offered to him by his suits spirit and with a crackling sigh he placed his bolter down upon his plated lap, half turning to regard this new comer. His mouth pursed in a tight line as he noted the slight indigo tint to the black of the Marines armour and the hooded veil that shrouded the others helm. Serenar would have spat in disgust but with his helm on, the gesture was futile. He discarded his attention of his brother marine and returned to his weapon. 

 

"You do know the armouriums are better places for that, Quintis? This is, after-all, a house of worship." 

 

The sibilant tones of Lexicanium Mosig washed over the brooding Malevolent like cold water, the very words he spoke tainted with his warp-stink. Serenar knew it was an attempt a humour on his brother-marines part but it would have been better to extract blood from stone. Quintis response was to momentarily stop his ministrations. He cast his eyes up through the black visor of his helm to regard the mechanical cherubs buzzing about the arches of the roof, he noted the glimmering glass frame and the holo-field surrounding the bones of some long-forgotten martyr. A grunt escaped his lips before he went back to tending his gun. He heard the exasperated sigh escape Mosig's lips, crackling through his vox grille. The Librarian dropped to a knee, made the sign of the Aquila and then eased into the pew in front of Serenar. 

 

"What is it, Serenar? Why do you resist your brothers so? Even in this house of the God-Emperor?" 

 

That was the crux of the matter, on many levels. Serenar lifted the remains of his weapon and quickly assembled the Umbra-pattern gun, then resting it upon his blackened knees. The growl that rumbled from his helm was a kin to mixing thunder with a yowl of a tiger. 

 

"It's you." 

 

He angled his thigh, mag locking his gun into a safe position before standing abruptly. He stalked forward away from the other marine and stood before the towering image of their master. He lifted a finger and jabbed it upwards.

 

"It's Him on Earth. He is not a God. I honour him by tending my weapon in his presence. It serves him better than sniveling prayer and pointless supplication. You would do well to not speak of his beneficence in my presence. He is not beneficent, he is magnificent and that is the difference between you and I." 

 

Quintis felt the pressure of a hand upon his pauldron and a shiver rolled down through his body, it stuck him like knives, it boiled his skin, it burst insects inside his very atoms. It was a xenophobic shiver, one born of nonacceptance and utter ignorance. He jerked away violently, spinning on his heel to fling his brother-marine bodily away from him, hand straying to the stubby pistol at his hip. 

 

"Never touch me again, witch. I do not wish to be your friend, I am your ally and that is enough. More than enough. You are mutant. You are witch. You should be cast in shackles and mind scrubbed, used as nothing but a tool. Your very presence is an insult to the Emperors own words. You are not an exemplar in his image like the rest of us, you are nothing more than ticking bomb." 

 

His snarl distorted as he stalked away from the stunned Librarian. Serenar's skin was flush and his suit bleeped his rising blood pressure at him. Froth built up around his stark white teeth and he turned in the doorway, staring back at his fellow Deathwatch brother. 

 

"I suffer your presence for your service to Him and to the cause. I just hope it's me that puts a bolt round through your skull when you turn." 

 

Then he was gone, leaving the portal to the reclusium wide and yawning, an artificial wind fluttering the electro-candles in the chamber. Mogis had tasted the bitterness inherent in the Marines Malevolent, he'd tasted their capacity for hate.

[jeremy1391]

Wow tyrax! That's an awesome short!

[Monstra Sumus]

Thanks, Jeremy! 

 

I just hope Jareddm is okay with my casual abuse of his character! :p

[Jareddm]

What makes this story even better for me is if Quintis knew even half of the secrets of the Abyssal Jaws, of their feeding frenzy interpretation on their Blood Angel Red Thirst flaw, or their extreme cannibalistic tendencies regarding their enemies, he would've shot him on the spot!

[Monstra Sumus]

What makes this story even better for me is if Quintis knew even half of the secrets of the Abyssal Jaws, of their feeding frenzy interpretation on their Blood Angel Red Thirst flaw, or their extreme cannibalistic tendencies regarding their enemies, he would've shot him on the spot!

 

Oh Lord!

[Adeptus-Alaska]

wow, you guys are taking my army in directions i would never dream of. well done. this is by far the coolest member-driven project I have ever done. you guys make me glad I did this!

[Aqui]

Hope you don't mind, but here's a little something (well, I say small...) about Pochutec's (Prism) finest. It kinda ties into "Bringing light into dark places", and something I'm working on that explains that blasted picture (and addresses that issue )

He had spent over thirty years in the Deathwatch, a mainstay of his squad. Someone who kept to himself in the rare times they were not doing their duty. He was cordial with the others, but not so much that he revealed anything of himself. All that was known about him was his name and that of his Chapter. Hushed rumours of the reason why he was seconded to the Deathwatch, none that was spoken in his presence, but he knew them all the same. He was not a Blackshield, his Chapter was still extant; some had posited that he had been a trouble maker within his Chapter. Most scoffed at this, his reputation of being level headed, every decision measured renowned across the entire Watch.

Eventually everyone accepted that he was there, he had their backs and that was all that they needed to know.

Brother Vermilion of the Rainbow Warriors had returned with his squad from supporting an Imperial Governor in breaking the back of a revolt on Selentias Prime, a small little world that offered little to the working machine that was the Imperium, except man power for the local Imperial Guard regiments. Meat for the grinder. There his squad had lent support to other organisations to bring down this affront to the God-Emperor. It was short lived, the traitorous Guard regiment had been poorly equipped to begin with and starving them of rations and las gun packs was more than enough to drive the final nail in their coffin. But it was on that planet that Brother Vermilion had finally been able to begin his true mission.

It had been at the very end of the revolt, his squad had escorted the Inquisitor to the rebel headquarters to pronounce final judgement upon the ring leaders. And he saw them. He had spied their insignia first, emblazoned on a HQ Rhino. After thirty years, he could scarcely believe it, but it was not a symbol that he could mistake for another. Anticipation, almost excitement forced his hearts to briefly beat faster, but he quelled the feeling. He was far too professional to allow such feelings get in the way of his mission. He felt the hatred, the raw burning hatred the symbol engendered within himself, but with the rising bile, he forced himself to swallow it. He was close. It would not do to ruin this chance. The best chance in so long. So he waited on the fringe, not drawing attention to himself. It was quite a talent, a seven foot Marine in armour and was able to be so unnoticeable as to be forgettable. But it was one he had used to full effect on many ocassions.

The Inquisitor had just taken the life of the leader, the back hand he had given him nearly took his head off. He could see the true subject of his attention watching the events, their fawning. It made him sick. Absolutely no mistake.

It was them. The Order of the Dauntless Spirit. Forcing himself out of his reverie, he activated the Cogitator and composed a simple message.

+++Sighting confirmed. Orders?+++

It would be some time before he got a reply and he knew exactly what those orders would be, but diligence was his trademark. He, like his true Battle Brothers, were patient. Thirty years he had been patient, in fact.

He could wait a little longer...

[Adeptus-Alaska]

[Machine God]

Godfried stood vigil before armory 762. The entrance's doors, while archaic, were well maintained. They had to be, for the day might come that the weapons within would need to be requisitioned. And what a terrible and tragic day it would have to be to require such devastating weapons. Some of these weapons date back to even before the near mythical Crusade era. Godfried had felt within their machine spirits that spark of hope, that could only come from a brighter age, when he would give them the rite of maintenance. It was a pity that they would only ever be used out of sheer desperation now. The spirits deserved better.

 

Godfried prayed fervently to the Omnissiah each day of his vigil. He prayed that the day when the weapons would be needed would never come. Not because of the implications, but because he didn't want that bastard Brakesh and his gaggle of swine to sully these noble creations with their mere presence. Godfried had witnessed what the watch Captain had had done to his armor on the vid feeds. He could hear the spirit scream as it was desecrated by its master. It took all of Godfried's willpower, along with several of the other Keepers, to stop him from going to the Captain's quarters and slay him where he stood. As he had explained to the Watch Master, such mistreatment is heretical. The Master simply chuckled, and reassured Godfried that despite his "quirks", the Captain is fiercly loyal to the Emperor. Godfried had locked his gaze with the Master and vowed that if Brakesh or any of his men ever try to requisition any item from Armory 762, Godfried would rip out their spines and dump the rest of their useless flesh into the Master's quarters. As Godfried stormed out, he struck out at the wall with his relic power fist. The hole remains in the Watch Master's office, proof of the Gore Hand's oath.

 

Revered Ancient Godolkin was Proud!

 

Such reverence for the Machine would be rewarded! 

 

Such Hate!

 

Such Absence of Weakness!

 

DESTROY ALL FLESH!

 

Rant:

 

"Indeed Revered Ancient Godolkin!

 

From him and our creations we shall rule the univ, the galaxy!"

 

Honour Guard Da'Vros strode away, although he thought of certain Kaled's and Pikes!

 

Anyone apart from get the references speak up!

[Machine God]

Here's a little something for you Prime

 

 

Brother Gabriel Baros of the Consecrators stepped off the Ordo Xenos transport ship into the watch fortress. His tenure in the deathwatch was only just beginning, as most members of the unforgiven his interaction with astartes outside his gene line was limited to merely a handful of occasions. The hall he strode down was as deserted as a tomb world....

 

+scratch...scratch.... Skitter... Hiss+

 

Baros's auto senses sprung to life targeting information crossing his heads up display... Gene stealers.

 

"How are such monsters in this place" he thought.

 

Within seconds they would be upon him. Baros unslung his bolter and chain axe.

 

From down the hall eight of the beasts were coming at him. He flicked his selector switch to full auto gunning down the first three in their tracks. This caused the others to scatter and approach by spreading out and climbing the walls.

 

Baros fired again before the distance was completely closed add two to his tally. In an instant they were upon him scoring great slashes across his armor. He responded in kind by bisecting one with his axe and decapitating another. Baros stood defiantly...

"That's only seven where did the big one go?" As the thought completed in his mind a great weight landed on his back razor sharp claws slamming into his back drawing blood and a grunt of pain from the consecrator Baros slammed back into the wall to dislodge his attacker. The creature shrieked as hundreds of kilograms of ceramite and genetic perfection smashed it into the wall, this was the moment Gabriel needed he spun slashing into the beasts mid section doubling the beast over with his axe dropping his bolter he reached for the krak grenades at his belt. In one fluid motion he jammed the grenade in the beasts hissing maw with a kick to its lower jaw the beast flew back a second later the grenade detonated spraying ichor and carapace fragments about the hall.

 

Above him a previously unseen observation room lit up. Gabriel looked upon this room inside was a disheveled looking captain wearing the livery of the Marines Malevolent and a pristine looking apothecary of the Imperial Fists. The captain spoke

"What is your name brother?"

 

"I am Gabriel Baros of the Consecrtators chapter." He said

 

"Well met brother Baros, welcome to the Brawlers! Apothecary Silas will attend to your injuries, then report to the armory to repair your armor and replenish your munitions. You've passed the interview."

 

"Captain what would have happened if I failed?" Gabriel inquired.

 

"You would have died and He would have you!" The captain stated as a matter of fact pointing to a hulking presence at his right hand.

 

"And then I would have Eaten you and your Gene-Seed Whelp!

 

MOVE IT, MOVE IT!!!"

 

Hak Leaf-Biter Champion Brakesh's Brawlers.

[Jareddm]

Brother Vlaadus walked the halls of the strike cruiser in thought.  Out of the corner of his eye he caught Brother Fionnel standing perfectly still, gazing out an observation panel at empty space.  The Emperor's Nightmare was new to the Watch Fortress, though not to the Deathwatch, and Vlaadus knew he must be waiting for his second vigil to officially begin.  Yet he stood completely motionless, continuing to stare out at nothing.  Vlaadus entered the room and calmly stood next to the marine.

 

"You are quiet,"  Vlaadus asked calmly.

 

"I am counting the stars that pass by this window,"

 

Vlaadus raised an eyebrow, "And how many have passed?"

 

"Ninety million, six hundred and forty-one thousand, two hundred and ninety-one,"

 

"Sanguine's Blood, Fionnel!  How long have you been standing here!?"

 

"Fourteen hours,"  Fionnel's gaze never left the window as he spoke, his eyes never blinking as he continued to count.

 

"Why would you do such a thing?"

 

"It is a tool of focus.  It gives me and my brothers a single-mindedness to help stave off..."  Fionnel went silent as he turned to face the Blood Angel, his face one of permanent tiredness and creased lines.  "It is why I am here, to replace my brother."  Vlaadus gave a nod as he recalled the other Emperor's Nightmare, "Techmarine Hadrianus.  He was only with us briefly.  I'm afraid to say I never had a chance to speak to him."  Fionnel nodded, touching the dreamcatcher hanging from his wrist absentmindedly as he spoke,

 

"It was a mistake to send Hadrianus.  It had already been two years since his last sleep cycle when he first began his vigil and there were concerns that should symptoms arise, they would not be caught soon enough.  It was as we feared..."

 

Brother Vlaadus placed his hand in Fionnel's as a sign of strength, "Our chaplains and apothecaries have since been trained to seek out such signs.  It will not occur again,"  Vlaadus said, though with an inflection that implied worry towards Fionnel.

 

"Do not fear, brother.  My last sleep cycle ended only three months ago.  It will be some time before I will need to attend to the apothecaries to be checked,"  Fionnel flashed a smile that failed to bend the tired-looking muscles of his face, forming a visage seen more often on a corpse than on the living.

 

"I trust in all of the Emperor's sons."  Vlaadus responded.  He looked down at the other marine's hands.  The dreamcatcher was a most curious item to carry.  The wires through it's middle were of an extreme complexity, with various tokens and items woven in between the wire.  At the question, Fionnel let out a soft chuckle,

 

"While I am not privy to all of the secrets of the blessed dreamwalkers, we believe that the Emperor's strength can be felt most strongly when we sleep, his power harnessed when we dream.  Even the vile beasts of the warp may be fought...and bested...in our dreams."

 

Vlaadus gave a nod, not quite understanding the strange traditions and beliefs of this foreign chapter.  Instead, both marines turned back towards the observation window, stood motionless, and counted.

[Machine God]

"Look how Veteran Godfried The Gorechild preens himself in front of Armourium 762!

 

I'm sure he's leaking oil instead of tears of pride!

 

Well he can have that store of relics! As a Veteran he is entitled to them and the rest of the Honour Guard, also Brakesh!

 

Nothing there for us though, nothing pointy enough!

 

Oh for the sheer joy of looting that store, lashing them all together and attaching a combat blade to it! For The Killing Joy!

 

Now where's that Grog?"

[Nakuth]

Just a little something I came up with to introduce Graav to one his fellow sons of Dorn:

 

 

 

+++WARNING: AMMUNITION LEVEL CRITICAL+++

 

+++ROUND COUNT: 8+++

 

The weapon feed in Graav’s helmet told him what he had already determined through the change in pitch of his weapons roar, and the subtle, yet obvious to one of his specialty, reduction in the weight kicking against his solid grip. With another wave of orks rushing towards him, and several hours worth of acids building in his muscles, there was no time to change magazines, even if he had a spare.

 

Things had just become interesting.

+++ROUND COUNT: 7+++

 

Headshot. The beast closest to him is trampled under the feet of its own kind. Its head explored in a rain of black gore & skull fragments.

+++ROUND COUNT: 4+++

Three more of the foul beasts felled. The big brute goading the pack on took two rounds to the chest and still kept coming, but a third shell impacting just above the chin put paid to the biggest threat. The fourth shell was somewhat fortunate: Blowing a leg out from one of the pack, causing it to be rammed by the beast behind it. The first greenskin retaliated, and the pair were now too busy fighting each other to bother Graav. Four of the foul beasts remained.

 

+++ROUND COUNT: 3+++

 

+++ROUND COUNT: 2+++

 

+++ROUND COUNT: 1+++

 

+++ATTENTION: AMMUNITION DEPLETED. PLEASE RELOAD+++

Three of the last orks were felled with consecutive headshots. This did little to distract the remaining greenskin, who was mere strides away from swinging its over-sized axe at the Subjugator.

Graav had called on the legendary stubbornness of Dorn’s bloodline to hold his position in the face of extreme odds, and it was only now, when face with one final foe, that he moved. Dropping his beloved heavy bolter, Graav detached the mace from his belt in less time than it had taken for his main weapon top hit the ground. Bounding forward, Graav swung the weapon back behind his head, and stepped inside the massive swing of his foe’s axe, before completing his own swing. The kinetic mace was not a standard Astartes weapon, even less so for one of the Devastator speciality. Perhaps its most unusual quality, though, was that it had no disrupter field, no power source, to make it effective. It did not need any of this. Powered with all of the force that its wielders mighty Astartes physique could muster, the mace hit the greenskins skull with a similar effect to the heavy bolter shells that had despatched its kin. There was never any doubt what the outcome would be.

 

*          *          *

Graav had finished the last of the orks with his bolt pistol and mace side arms before leaving the training chamber. Removing his helm upon his exit, Graav turned his graven features towards the one figure who had observed his training.

“The greenskin is a stubborn breed, brother, but the stubbornness of our bloodline is the cliff upon which their wave shall break.”

 

The Fire Lord stared at his fellow son of Dorn. “I notice that it sometimes helps if the cliff fights back.”

Not one given to laughter, a grin none the less formed on Graav’s face. “Indeed. I am Graav, of The Subjugators.”

“Tochan, of the Fire Lords.”

 

The two Astartes gripped wrists, in a traditional warrior greeting.
 

“Well met, brother Tochan. Welcome to the vigil.”

 

 

 

[Adeptus-Alaska]

Brother Vlaadus walked the halls of the strike cruiser in thought.  Out of the corner of his eye he caught Brother Fionnel standing perfectly still, gazing out an observation panel at empty space.  The Emperor's Nightmare was new to the Watch Fortress, though not to the Deathwatch, and Vlaadus knew he must be waiting for his second vigil to officially begin.  Yet he stood completely motionless, continuing to stare out at nothing.  Vlaadus entered the room and calmly stood next to the marine.

 

"You are quiet,"  Vlaadus asked calmly.

 

"I am counting the stars that pass by this window,"

 

Vlaadus raised an eyebrow, "And how many have passed?"

 

"Ninety million, six hundred and forty-one thousand, two hundred and ninety-one,"

 

"Sanguine's Blood, Fionnel!  How long have you been standing here!?"

 

"Fourteen hours,"  Fionnel's gaze never left the window as he spoke, his eyes never blinking as he continued to count.

 

"Why would you do such a thing?"

 

"It is a tool of focus.  It gives me and my brothers a single-mindedness to help stave off..."  Fionnel went silent as he turned to face the Blood Angel, his face one of permanent tiredness and creased lines.  "It is why I am here, to replace my brother."  Vlaadus gave a nod as he recalled the other Emperor's Nightmare, "Techmarine Hadrianus.  He was only with us briefly.  I'm afraid to say I never had a chance to speak to him."  Fionnel nodded, touching the dreamcatcher hanging from his wrist absentmindedly as he spoke,

 

"It was a mistake to send Hadrianus.  It had already been two years since his last sleep cycle when he first began his vigil and there were concerns that should symptoms arise, they would not be caught soon enough.  It was as we feared..."

 

Brother Vlaadus placed his hand in Fionnel's as a sign of strength, "Our chaplains and apothecaries have since been trained to seek out such signs.  It will not occur again,"  Vlaadus said, though with an inflection that implied worry towards Fionnel.

 

"Do not fear, brother.  My last sleep cycle ended only three months ago.  It will be some time before I will need to attend to the apothecaries to be checked,"  Fionnel flashed a smile that failed to bend the tired-looking muscles of his face, forming a visage seen more often on a corpse than on the living.

 

"I trust in all of the Emperor's sons."  Vlaadus responded.  He looked down at the other marine's hands.  The dreamcatcher was a most curious item to carry.  The wires through it's middle were of an extreme complexity, with various tokens and items woven in between the wire.  At the question, Fionnel let out a soft chuckle,

 

"While I am not privy to all of the secrets of the blessed dreamwalkers, we believe that the Emperor's strength can be felt most strongly when we sleep, his power harnessed when we dream.  Even the vile beasts of the warp may be fought...and bested...in our dreams."

 

Vlaadus gave a nod, not quite understanding the strange traditions and beliefs of this foreign chapter.  Instead, both marines turned back towards the observation window, stood motionless, and counted.

wow, thanks for that! it's nice to get a glimpse of the "nighmare" personality. i like him!

 

 

Just a little something I came up with to introduce Graav to one his fellow sons of Dorn:

 

 

 

+++WARNING: AMMUNITION LEVEL CRITICAL+++

 

+++ROUND COUNT: 8+++

 

The weapon feed in Graav’s helmet told him what he had already determined through the change in pitch of his weapons roar, and the subtle, yet obvious to one of his specialty, reduction in the weight kicking against his solid grip. With another wave of orks rushing towards him, and several hours worth of acids building in his muscles, there was no time to change magazines, even if he had a spare.

 

Things had just become interesting.

 

+++ROUND COUNT: 7+++

 

Headshot. The beast closest to him is trampled under the feet of its own kind. Its head explored in a rain of black gore & skull fragments.

 

+++ROUND COUNT: 4+++

 

Three more of the foul beasts felled. The big brute goading the pack on took two rounds to the chest and still kept coming, but a third shell impacting just above the chin put paid to the biggest threat. The fourth shell was somewhat fortunate: Blowing a leg out from one of the pack, causing it to be rammed by the beast behind it. The first greenskin retaliated, and the pair were now too busy fighting each other to bother Graav. Four of the foul beasts remained.

 

+++ROUND COUNT: 3+++

 

 

+++ROUND COUNT: 2+++

 

 

+++ROUND COUNT: 1+++

 

 

+++ATTENTION: AMMUNITION DEPLETED. PLEASE RELOAD+++

 

Three of the last orks were felled with consecutive headshots. This did little to distract the remaining greenskin, who was mere strides away from swinging its over-sized axe at the Subjugator.

 

Graav had called on the legendary stubbornness of Dorn’s bloodline to hold his position in the face of extreme odds, and it was only now, when face with one final foe, that he moved. Dropping his beloved heavy bolter, Graav detached the mace from his belt in less time than it had taken for his main weapon top hit the ground. Bounding forward, Graav swung the weapon back behind his head, and stepped inside the massive swing of his foe’s axe, before completing his own swing. The kinetic mace was not a standard Astartes weapon, even less so for one of the Devastator speciality. Perhaps its most unusual quality, though, was that it had no disrupter field, no power source, to make it effective. It did not need any of this. Powered with all of the force that its wielders mighty Astartes physique could muster, the mace hit the greenskins skull with a similar effect to the heavy bolter shells that had despatched its kin. There was never any doubt what the outcome would be.

 

*          *          *

 

Graav had finished the last of the orks with his bolt pistol and mace side arms before leaving the training chamber. Removing his helm upon his exit, Graav turned his graven features towards the one figure who had observed his training.

 

“The greenskin is a stubborn breed, brother, but the stubbornness of our bloodline is the cliff upon which their wave shall break.”

 

The Fire Lord stared at his fellow son of Dorn. “I notice that it sometimes helps if the cliff fights back.”

 

Not one given to laughter, a grin none the less formed on Graav’s face. “Indeed. I am Graav, of The Subjugators.”

 

“Tochan, of the Fire Lords.”

 

The two Astartes gripped wrists, in a traditional warrior greeting.

 

“Well met, brother Tochan. Welcome to the vigil.”

 

 

AAAAWWW YEEAAHH! I have just the Mace head for that bad mutha =][=Imperial censor=][= it is not an elegent weapon! and I think an older mark bolt pistol!

[Jareddm]

wow, thanks for that! it's nice to get a glimpse of the "nighmare" personality. i like him!

Thanks! I figured a Blood Angel would understand the reasons behind a technique to stave off some form of madness. The Sleeplessness isn't really like the Black Rage, but superficially the two chapters treat them similarly.

 

Stay tuned for the follow-up where Fionnel confronts Hadrianus's former commanding officier, Master Godolkin, to find out what happened.