[DW] Blackthorn/Swordhand: Episode III - The Sundered House

[Slips]

++It is as Brother-Librarian Montessa explains, Lord Captain. We were able to uproot the beginnings of a Genestealer cult and execute its Patriarch, hunt down Lictors that were sent in advance of the Hive Ship and finally destroy the abomination itself once it had made its way in-system.++

 

 

++Has anything transpired that would require your personal intervention alongside non-Watch assets, my Lord?++ The Sanguinary Priest questioned back. He stood at attention but otherwise made no moves for his weapons, knowing that if their Watch-Captain had wanted it to be so, they would all already have been dead.

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad said nothing, the Iazu had spoken reasonably.

 

They just had to wait.

 

MR.

[Commissar Molotov]

The air in the docking bay is thick with tension. You can all hear the barely audible clicks as the Star Phantoms converse on intra-vox channels. No doubt they are in a situation much as you - sizing up potential opponents, weighing potential attack patterns. Each of you has forged a bloody path balanced upon one inviolable truth - that you are the strongest, and that the strongest survives. The Star Phantoms, whilst brothers in name, are an unknown quantity. Threat, threat, threat, indeed. Your warplate responds to the quickening of your twin heart-beats, readying to push stimms into your bloodstreams.

Watch-Captain Diocles, for his part, listens to the reports from Montesa and Solastion.

"You have served well, Brothers," the Captain says, looking at you all in turn; making an effort to ensure each of you feel the warmth of praise. "These are deeds of tremendous weight. By your actions, the people of this world - and who knows how many others - live. The fallen among you will be accorded the greatest honours we can bestow. Their gene-seed will be returned to their Chapters, and new warriors shall rise in turn to defend our Imperium. I will hear more of this campaign on our return to the Watch-Station."

Some of you were only on Azurea for a few days before being formed into Blackthorn; others of you have spent a longer period with him. He has always struck you as a forthright, disciplined commander of men. Some rumoured and gossiped that he was once Master of his Chapter - the so-called Servants of the Throne - before giving himself up to the Watch. Whatever the truth, the blood-line of Guilliman runs as strong through his veins as any of the Warrior-Kings of Macragge. He is an honourable man, devoted to the Watch, its brothers and their sacred purpose. You have never once sensed that he has dissembled or lied to you.

But he lies now.

"The Clepsydra arrived at Azurea bearing the astropathic message sent by Blackthorn upon their discovery of the Genestealer Cult. They were able to intercept it before the Shadow in the Warp descended upon Syndalla. Their Commander was gracious enough to convey me to this world that we might reinforce you should you have succeeded in your task, or avenge you should you have fallen."

Perhaps not a lie. But certainly not the whole of the truth.

 

Edited February 6, 2021 by Commissar Molotov

[apologist]

This was the polar opposite of the joy of the parade – a reunion soured by suspicion.

 

Get. Closer.

 

The machine-spirit of his armour urged; and Yeng obeyed, man and armour in unity. Instinct, and decades of survival, demanded it. There was aggression in the plate – could there be otherwise, in its plough-faced, slab-fronted form? – but the man softened it, as though with a hand on reins. The stride became an easy walk, the shoulder roll of preparation smoothly turned into a slow opening of arms. 

 

For a moment, the rank of Star Phantoms must have thought the apothecary was advancing to embrace the Captain. 

 

Let them.

 

As the two-headed Prince Horiman said: Confusion and mystification are fine weapons indeed. He who wishes to see a foe will see a foe; and he who wishes to see a friend, a friend. If you cannot intuit or ascertain a potential foe's intent, then do not feign friendship – such a ploy is an obvious ruse. Instead, seek to wrongfoot and confuse. Play the fool if you must.

 

Get closer, and make your own decision. Seize the action.

 

Keeping his head up, and roving across the figures before him, Yeng slowly reached down to his waist as he continued to advance. Not five metres from the Captain, he unclipped the geneseed canisters at his waist, curls of condensing air wreathing his gauntlet like a censer. 

 

"They will be remembered," he intoned. It was part of the Death of the Warrior; a catechism familiar to any reader of the Codex Astartes, and present also in The Tenets of the Divine Princes. A response was expected; but the tension made the rote query into an interrogation of sorts – a veiled shibboleth. The hestitation in response confirmed Yeng's suspicions.

 

"My thanks for your efforts, Brother-Apothecary," Diocles says. "I know you carry a heavy burden." 

 

Close enough now, he spotted one of the Star Phantoms subtly favouring a particular direction. The Gatebreaker's eyes narrowed. Turning his moritary salute into an oddly graceful sidestep, the Gatebreaker took two slow paces backwards, placing the bulk of his Iron-armoured frame between the ghost-armoured warrior and his Astral Claw ally.

Edited February 8, 2021 by apologist

[Commissar Molotov]

As the Gatebreaker lifts the stasis casks, you see several of the Star Phantoms move their helms to follow the movement. The sight of the progenoids - the raw stuff from which to make more Astartes, the genetic legacy of the Primarchs and the Emperor made manifest - is enough to move all of you. Wars have been fought to reclaim the gene-organs from fallen Astartes. 

 

"My thanks for your efforts, Brother-Apothecary," Diocles says. "I know you carry a heavy burden." 

 

 

GM: Yeng makes a Challenging (+0) Perception Test on PER43: 13 (PASS, 3DoS)

 

It is clear to you that these Star Phantoms are not merely an honorific escort for a Captain of the Deathwatch; you can see it in their carefully-studied nonchalance, and they way in which their artfully evasive gaze seems to avoid looking directly at any one of you, whilst staring at all of you. The sight of a Deathwatch Kill-Team is disorienting to an Astartes warrior - a riot of disparate cultures, a collision of different ways of waging war. You are different, and therefore a threat that must be carefully monitored. 

 

For you, it is akin to a hunter, waiting for their prey to burst forth, to give some sign of its location. It is merely a matter of patience, persistence and insight. Waiting for them to give themselves away. 

 

And then you see it - one of the white-armoured ghosts seems to glance at Akkad, the Astral Claw.

Edited February 6, 2021 by Commissar Molotov

[Steel Company]

Tyber did a quick count as they spread out speaking to himself as he did so, “Taking cover in pairs, weapons slung, but at the ready, this is wrong.”

 

Activating the squad vox he spoke to Montesa, +Brother Montesa, something is wrong. I can understand a small honor guard, but thirty battle-ready astartes is excessive. Can you see if you can pry any information out of the captain?+

Edited February 7, 2021 by Steel Company

[Reyner]

++Enough of this charade Captain, thirty Space Marines to greet the handful of us as well as a Battle Barge? Granted these are Star Phantoms so they may need three squads to take us on. Surely Azurea received our transmission before they came out of the darkness yet you sent no aid?++

 

Vorr stomps forward making no effort to hide that he was reaching for his shotgun and pistol.

[Commissar Molotov]

At the Red Talon's overtly aggressive actions, you see the Star Phantoms behind Diocles harden, shedding their insouciance as gauntleted fingers harden on bolters and chainswords. The moment stretches on, too long. It is hard-edged and crystalline. All of your killing instincts are heightened, waiting for the fighting to start.

 

The Watch-Captain's expression is pained as he steps forward, interposing himself between the two opposing forces.

 

"Brother Vorr, consider your actions here carefully."

 

Before you can answer, before Diocles can press his case further, you hear a low, sustained growl issuing from the Thunderhawk’s open mouth; it resounds across the docking bay, and for the briefest of moments, it brings to mind a wild animal emerging from its cave. You hear a rhythmic thud-thud-clank, thud-thud-clank as another passenger disembarks from the gunship. And as they step into the light, you are confronted with a sight of overwhelming force and terrible majesty.

 

One of the Astartes, yes - but to call him such is akin to equating a tame hound to a snarling wolf. He wears a hulking suit of armour, reinforced and adorned through thousands of hours of toil by countless master craftsmen. It enhances the warrior within to monstrous proportions and underscores his every movement with growling, servo-assisted snarls. Indomitus!, the word forces its way to your forebrain unbidden, and well it bears that name - for none of you can help but be intimidated by its stark, naked power.

 

This suit of Terminator armour is not the stark white of the other Phantoms, but Codex-approved cerulean blue. Ornate chains and tabards drape across its bulk, interspersed with honour badges of red wax seals and papyrus strips, each a retelling of this warrior’s deeds in miniscule runes. One shoulder pauldron is given over to the hourglass symbol of his chapter, rendered in dark marble; the other displays the Crux Terminatus, overlaid with a leering horned skull. He wears a yellow tabard marked with lightning-bolts, indicating his rank within the Star Phantoms.

 

One impossibly heavy gauntlet grips a staff inlaid with swirling golden runes and arcane wards that hurt your eyes. It terminates in a representation of the double-headed Imperial aquila, an open tome in its outstretched claw. His other gauntlet is empty, clenched into a fist, crackling with resonant power.

 

The snouted helm of Tactical Dreadnought armour is missing; instead, framed by the crystalline lattice of a psychic hood, you see the warrior’s raggedly proud face. His piercing eyes are brilliantly, distressingly blue, and crackling with power and fury. They roam across all of you, and there is condemnation in their gaze. Finally, however, he fixes upon Akkad. Upon his Chapter’s lion heraldry, shining silver in the docking bay’s light.

 

“Astral Claw,” he says, his voice heavy. “Lay down your weapons, and come with us.”

Edited February 6, 2021 by Commissar Molotov

[Steel Company]

The slow heavy gate of the monster in blue drew Tyber’s attention off of the captain and a chill went down Tyber’s spine, as he said to himself, “Tactical Dreadnaught Armour.”

 

He had been keeping his readiness as subtle as he could, till this beast arrived. As soon as those heavy boots touched down he knew something was wrong, lies and half-truths had been spoken, made clearer when the Librarian spoke. “Astral Claw lay down your weapons, and come with us.”

 

Out of instinct of training in the ways of his host, Tyber’s left hand gripped Harvest, his left thumb hovering just above the activation rune for the power field. His right hand went across his body to grip his arming sword, presenting his chapter symbol towards the new arrival; he knew that this was the real threat. His mind started to measure the distance, planning the timing of when he would need to draw and strike in one fluid motion. Taking a breath to center himself he started planning his movements to keep the monster between him and the thirty in white, “Isolate fights, I can best him in single combat, then move to the next isolated target.” He told himself as his legs tensed, making ready for the next leap into combat.

Edited February 7, 2021 by Steel Company

[Mazer Rackham]

The Gatebreaker’s odd pace was deceptive; his colourful quarter-work pauldron presented to the outsiders, even as his left, Deathwatch one paraded to his allies.

 

Oto Yeng would distract with tales of his  Divine Princes , ensnaring whoever listened - and the Captain wanted to, as did the Star Phantoms.  Who would not?  A dutiful Apothecary telling of the heavy burden paid by fellow Space Marines?  What brother, regardless of his heraldry would not know sacrifice?  The life of an Astartes was sacrifice, the surrender of humanity to protect humanity.  His duty done, he retreated, the canny eyes searching, and as he found, it was as good a signal to Akkad as a signal banner hauled aloft.

 

The glance.  Even anonymous behind the warplate helm, the gesture had betrayed the intent of the Star Phantom.  Yeng ceased his odd gait, partially screening Blackthorn's Devastator specialist.  With Tyber to Akkad's right, and the stout, yet heavily armoured bulwark of Yeng to his left, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was in a game of Regicide, protected by a Cavalier and Ecclesiarch.

 

The life of an Astartes is sacrifice.  He hoped he wasn’t to be an Armsman.

 

In contrast to Yeng's quiet subterfuge, Brakan Vorr was as brilliant, yet doubly blunt.  His sharp step and intolerance of the implied outrage brought the matter to a head swiftly, curtailing the agonising wait. Anyone who thought the Red Talon a fool for his manner deserved the beating they would no doubt receive if they voiced it.  Even so, given Diocles' warning, it ramped up the inevitable tension, as thirty Marines just doing a dirty job suddenly shifted into battle-readiness.

 

But why?

 

Akkad remembered all his guilt over the deaths of Syndalla, pored over them to find something that constituted anything other than the necessity of survival - of victory.  For humanity to live, humans must die.  Exposure to Syndalla changed that somewhat.  Burying the worthy General Wrex had changed that.  The Deathwatch and his kin, the Ahu, all played their part in proving him some way wrong.  Astartes died so that humanity might live.

 

Was the price of this revelation to be censure?

 

A monster of ceramite and metal stomped from within the Thunderhawk gunship, a pale steed bringing the threat of death.  The warrior bellowed and snorted like an enraged bull.

 

“Astral Claw,” he says, his voice heavy. “Lay down your weapons, and come with us.”

 

In a flash, Akkad was reminded of Gadatus, once his friend and brother.  Stood on the command deck of the Incandescent, the demi-squad leader punched Akkad in the gut, then jaw, tossing him to the deck for his refusal to obey Huron’s order to burn the Tithe Fleet wholesale.  He realised it was the raw disdain contained within the Librarian’s demand, but the voice was from the past.

 

"The Imperium has no business in our homelands.  You know the will of the Tyrant.  The message is simple."

The message was simple.  Akkad was summoned and censured, sent to the Deathwatch to die, a relic of the old ways.  He just didn’t expect lightning to strike twice.

 

As Tyber reached for his swords, still unsure, but ready to hurl forward and start killing, Daon put his hands onto the shoulders of his friends and gently pushed past them, to avoid a slaughter.

 

The summons, given with the force and security of one who is used to obedience, is edged with psychic resonance.  The threat looms not only in the Librarian’s unyielding gaze but his arms and harness.  Still, Akkad slowly pulls himself upright, smoothly reaching for the clasps of his helm.  No sudden movements, he clasps the helm under his arm, pushing his hands away from his weapons.

 

When the gloom and enhanced reality of his visor departed, and the harsh light of the docking bay lights struck his face, Akkad was ready.  Once more, he donned the mantle of austere princeling and matched the Star Phantom’s tone and pace, his tongue beginning the dance of politics.

 

“I know you not, lord. I obey my Watch-Captain,” he nods to Diocles, “or my Master.  You are neither. I am a servant of the Deathwatch, and a son of the Astral Claws, a sovereign Astartes Chapter.”

 

MR.

[Commissar Molotov]

“You are nothing,” the Librarian grates, his voice cold and hard as adamantine. “Do not address me, nor any of these faithful servants of the Emperor. You are tainted by blackest heresy and you will be detained until an appropriate fate can be determined.”

 

“Your Astral Claws are no more. In your arrogance you openly defied the High Lords of Terra. Worse still, your heresies infested three other Chapters. Countless millions are dead as a result of your words and deeds, your homeworld reduced to slag. I myself have stood on what little remains of your world and crushed the embers of your banners underfoot.”

 

He leans forward, the power lurking in his eyes snapping and sparking as he delivers the final blow. The grinding plates and servos of his Terminator armour lend a guttural, mechanical edge to his words.

 

“Your Master, who once proclaimed himself the Tyrant of Badab lies dead, in the rubble of his palace. This is the cost of your hubris.”

Edited February 6, 2021 by Commissar Molotov

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad paled, taken aback.  The memory of Syndalla crushed and burned to molten slurry sprang unbidden to his mind.  The graves he dug, the scent of charred flesh and throats thick with curses and bitter, acrid ash.  His enhanced memory betrayed him, strangling the instant reproof his soul wishes to utter, but the images collided, the hanging gardens ravaged by balefire, the great ivory towers of the purple isthmus cast down and defiled by the hands of outsiders.

 

The soil of Badab, so sweet and fragrant with live-giving loam, now gone?

 

In the end, it is not reality, it is not the truth Akkad listens to.  Ingrained duty to the place he loved - loves - and served for two centuries forces the words out of his mouth, but even so, part of Akkad knew the truth of it - the hated worm of told-you-so, the kanker gnawing at his heart that brought him into conflict with Huron in the first place.

 

He knew the end from the beginning, when Rovik Blake fell, and atop his corpse, the tyrant crawled and a Throne of Thorns grew, to ensnare them all in wicked barbs.  Akkad said it anyway, realising it was what they were expecting.  The life of an Astartes is sacrifice.

 

Realising it was all he could say.

 

“You not only exaggerate, Librarian, but you blaspheme!  The Warders defend against the evil of the Maelstrom, it is by their strength the gates of Hell are kept shut.  It was the will of the High Lords we were put there!  My Captain - decry this nonsense!”

 

MR.

[Commissar Molotov]

Diocles gives a single stern shake of his head. His expression is grim.

 

“What Brother-Librarian Parmenion says is true. The Astral Claws of Badab declared their secession from the Imperium. The situation devolved into total war. By the end of the conflict, at least seventeen Chapters were involved in the fighting.”

Edited February 6, 2021 by Commissar Molotov

[Xin Ceithan]

Placeholder

 

Sabaan stands ready to act. Inwardly he has musing on the great betrayal and running the very non charming Calculus of the Killteam vs the new arrivals.... until he learns of the accusations against Akkad and the Astral Claws... he’ll probably blow a mental fuse and start calculating i and how he  can kill the the entire deck of scheming turncoat meat bags by then....expect to see the words “Never trust” a lot...

[Steel Company]

The monster in blue had spoken, leveling charges and challenge at his brother by choice. Tyber’s eyes narrowed behind his helm. At least it made sense now, why thirty astartes bore the mark of the Dreadwing, the thing that swallowed the Host of Bone when the Lion came. The Host of Bone had been evil, but an honorable evil. A tool when total annihilation had been needed, what the Lion did to them, he made them into something different, lesser to a degree of what it had been.

 

His eyes fixed on the mark of that cursed thing, his mind taking him back to a time before.

 

++++

 

“Tyber! Pay attention.” Adavan called as he slammed his palm down on the wooden table before the youth that was Tyber, barely fourteen summers old by this point.

 

“Sorry!” Tyber said, his cheeks heating in embarrassment, his mind had been on the scarlet haired servant girl he had snuck off with last night after lights out.

 

Adavan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily before pointing to the board, the symbols of the Hexagrammaton on it and he continued, “These were what became of our Hosts after the Lion seized us from the Emperor, claiming us as his birthright, only to discard us when those of his world were ready to join the ranks of the Legion.”

 

He paused before adding, “Careful in trusting the words of those that bear these marks. They will never tell you the whole truth, nor should you tell them the whole truth.”

 

++++

 

Clearing his mind, he spoke over open vox, +Captain, how did you learn of this? How can you take the word of one Astartes you do not know over your own subordinates?+

 

The Dreadwing, those that are used to destroy empires, leaving nothing by radioactive slag in their wake, why are they here, it cannot be this simple, can it? Tyber thought to himself

Edited February 7, 2021 by Steel Company

[Reyner]

Vorr spun around facing the Killteam staring into the eyes of Akkad, he tore his helmet off probably damaging some of the seals. The red electoo across his forehead flashed a brilliant red. The symbol of his chapter had been implanted into his skin not by ink but intricate circuitry that pulsed with a life of its own. He had fought traitors to the Emperor for his entire life as a Space Marine, endlessly fighting the hated traitor legions around the eye of terror. He had seen his entire squad cut down by Iron Warriors during his last battle with his Chapter how had he missed a traitor within their midst, he had fought side by side with him this entire time and had no idea. His bolt pistol was up pointed between the eyes of the Astral Claw, his finger was on the trigger.

 

"TRAITOR! Your Chapter fell to the very powers you swore to destroy!"

 

His breathing became ragged through clenched teeth yet he did not fire as much as his body screamed at him to do so. He had fought beside the Astral Claw he had bled with him, they had saved each other several times, they were the immovable objects, they were Devastators holding the line and destroying threats others could not. The traitor had to die but he had been here the entire time how long had the Astral Claws been traitors to the Imperium? Did Akkad know?

Edited February 6, 2021 by Reyner

[A.T.]

Secession? The accusation was earnest but illogical, the very word was to compare those accused to the followers of Horus - to be named a traitor not against the Imperium or the Astartes, but against the Emperor himself.

 

Diocles spoke of events that had passed, of a great conflict ended decisively. No matter what the charge a battle barge would not be sent for one man in the midst of an insurrection. It was perhaps not his place to speak but even if rebuffed a question of reason rather than accusation might give pause before it was too late.

 

Stepping forwards, "Brother Captain, I would speak. We have been here scant months yet you speak of a conflict ended. How has the Deathwatch come to learn of such things only now?"

[Commissar Molotov]

The Watch-Captain pauses as the Brothers who have spent two months fighting alongside Akkad question this most unwelcome news.

 

His tone is gentle - in part because of the painful nature of the message he must convey, and in part due to Vorr's unwavering bolt pistol, pointed directly at the Astral Claw.

 

"It is the nature of the galaxy we seek to dominate. We are told that this Maelstrom War lasted for twelve years, but it is only now that the unsettled currents of the warp have eased to allow unfettered astropathic communication with this space. When Brother-Librarian Parmenion and the Clepsydra arrived at Azurea, we sought and received confirmation of this news from other Deathwatch outposts. It is without doubt. And, Brother Atratus," he fixes the young assault marine with his gaze, "one of the missives we received was from Master Issodon of the Raptors, who fought against Huron's forces."

 

Many of you have heard of strange disturbances in the currents of the warp - of psychic distress calls received centuries after they were sent, or even months before, of crusading forces losing months or years when compared to those in the material world. But this seems like a cruel jest.

 

GM: Montesa would be able to speak to the particularly unsettled nature of the warp (which could in itself be a reflection of the turmoil in the physical world.) Any of you with extensive experience among your Chapters' void-fleets would also know about the temporal dislocation that warp travel and warp communication regularly engenders.

Edited February 7, 2021 by Commissar Molotov

[Noctus Cornix]

His first thought was to chastise his brother. The Dragon of Caliban was young, but what possessed the young warrior to callously ask something of him like that? Without his helm on, the Librarian had no means of speaking to them over the vox without being heard. Instead, he calmly looked over his shoulder, catching a glance of young Tyber so he could reach out briefly with his psychic mind. 

 

== No, brother Tyber. I will not invade the mind of our Captain. Clearly, must learn respect and trust for your new Masters. ==

 

But even that was an effort enough just to speak, leaving the words to whisper into the Assault Marine's mind as he dealt with the sudden headache that was beginning to form in the back of his skull... He winced in annoyance, the pain throbbing slowly as another, far more powerful psychic presence bearing down upon him. 

 

And then that very force presented itself, wreathed in witch-lightning and the most ancient of Astartes relics. While he knew not the Librarian's true rank, nor the unique symbols that etched his tabard, Montesa could tell with utmost immediacy that this was a warrior of power and undoubtedly a member of the Chapter's Command Echelon. 

 

Respect for those of similar office and courtesy demanded he bow respectful at the Terminator's approach, saying nothing but allowing the moment to pass in silence.

 

It was when the Star Phantom spoke that insanity began. 

 

"Vorr, brother! Lower your weapon!" But Vorr wasn't listening. 

 

It was his immediate reaction, but the thought hadn't fully set in. 

 

Treachery. Betrayal. 

 

Yet another Chapter of Astartes who have fallen from the Emperor's grace.

 

In truth, the Crimson Fists had taken part in such actions before, a grim honour on their history of the Chapter in participating with the purgation of such treacherous kindred. Still, they have always worn that honour with reluctance, knowing the tragedy of full a thousand warriors lost from the Emperor's grace. Yet these... 'Star Phantoms' wore the bearing of savage pride to their work. 

 

He immediately disliked them. 

Edited February 9, 2021 by Noctus Cornix

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad turned to face the threat of the bolt pistol from the Kill-Team's third Devastator Specialist.  It was held firmly, but the savage electoo and knitted brows were suffused with different humours to those in his eyes, the look, the glint of self-doubt.

 

He ignored the bolt pistol, caring as if the weapon were not there.  He slowly stepped towards the Red Talon, one foot in front of the other, the gentle persuasion of Diocles falling to the deck as cut leaves from a dying tree in autumn.

 

"Brakan Vorr, Hero of Raikan, Red Talon.  Has the word in my mouth ever been turned against you?"

 

Twenty paces.

 

He opened his free hand, palm outwards, caring not for the summons of the Librarian, or the thirty Star Phantoms.  If what they said was true, and deep in his knotted innards, he could feel it was so, then he was a dead man already.  The home he cared for so deeply, a ruin, the Chapter he'd sacrificed so much for, even shot down and killed fellow nobles for during the suppression of those rioting against the rule of the Astral Claws.  His beautiful world and whoever still held to the old ways - destroyed.

 

He kept going, willing the Red Talon to shoot, to drive the feeling from his chest as it burned with acrid fire, the smoke of failure and sorrow clawing at his soul with lion's talons.  His Brethren defiled.  "Devastator Marine, wrath of Swordhand, has this hand ever held a knife to your spine?"

 

Ten paces.

 

"Has not the flesh of your comrades been borne by my shoulders?"

 

Five.

 

He would not accede to the Star Phantoms, who obviously despoiled his homeland, for right or wrong.  If the terrible ache was to be silenced, then let him die a man, to a Brother he trusted.  He wondered if he would have been able to approach the Ahu.  He dared not look at the young Marine, for the shame he would no doubt see.

 

One.

 

His feet stopped, the barrel of Vorr's bolt pistol aimed at his jaw.  Slowly, he pushed the muzzle, a gaping maw of loaded violence up to his head.  His voice, when it came was dangerously soft.

 

"If you name me coward and traitor in your heart, then take your vengeance against me, because your faith and the honour of the Kill Team are all I have left.  The Astral Claws were always Astartes trying to do the right thing and beset on all sides.  I wonder, Red Talon, cousin of the Iron Tenth, how your forebears behaved when the Imperium ignored them?  Now all is gone," he didn't know if he meant himself or the warriors of old.  "All is dust."

 

His hearts beat like thunder as he kept eye contact, the pistol and the waiting shell inside would release him from the anguish.  He could smell Brakan's breath, the tang of combat stims and the spike of sharp, Astartes adrenaline.  They stood there, looking at one another, with no-one else in the universe.

 

MR.

[Slips]

++Stand down Brothers. I will not have all we have toiled for here be rendered to ash and tainted by fratricide.++ Solastion spoke with a hardened edge the Kill-Team have yet to hear come from him as he came to stand near both marines.

 

++The Lord Captain speaks true, I can personally attest to the vagaries of the Warp having been stranded upon a Space Hulk for a time prior to my Secondment to the Watch.++

 

++If Brother Akkad is to be shown as steadfastly Loyal and untainted as we all know him to be - despite what his Liege-Lord and Gene-Brothers may have committed against the Imperium we protect - then we must allow Brother-Epistolary I assume he's an Epistolary because of his Terminator Armor Parmenion and the Lord-Captain to conduct their investigation.++ 

 

In a lower voice he spoke in a manner that meant it was more for Akkads benefits than the rest of those gathered despite knowing their augmented hearing would make it so that nothing of what he said was lost ++You may always take the Black should it be offered, Akkad, do not let the transgressions of others cut your legend short for you have yet much to give in service to Him.++ he said placing a hand upon his silvered pauldron.

[Reyner]

Why couldn't he do it, Akkad had moved towards him he should have fired the Astral Claws are traitors to the Imperium. But he felt like he knew this man and couldn't believe he was also a traitor like his kin. He'd never seen Akkad do anything to suggest he was a heretic he was a hero of the defence of Beregar. He had been instrumental in organising the defences in training the PDF to be competent soldiers he had commanded them in battle. There, had Akkad overstepped the tenets of the Codex? A space marine had no authority to command mortals in battle it was forbidden. Did he deserve to die for that? Censure most definitely but death?

 

Akkads words snapped him out of his tortured mind. The barrel of the bolt pistol was pointing right into his forehead now but not quite touching the skin. His finger tightened on the trigger only the tiniest bit of pressure left to fire.

 

"Renounce your fealty to the Astral Claws. Damn the name of your Chapter Master. Remove your pauldron that bears their heretic sigil and cast it aside. Do it brother or I will have to put you down."

 

He was weak there should have been no hesitation he should have fired the instant he had levelled his weapon. But he wasn't one of the Iron Hands why waste good flesh instead of guiding it with fury to earn the right of machinery.

[Nineswords]

IT WAS UNCONSCIONABLE. The long war against brothers lost to the Entropic Chorus was nothing new, yet Greysight crushed an unwelcome flicker of shame as he recalled the hidden histories of his own gene-line. Not even Jaghatai's sons were exempt from its touch, and the curse of the sagyar mazan stained the Fifth’s honour. The news from Badab was troubling–this latest rebellion, from Astartes Chapters no less if we were to take it at face value–raised more questions than it answered. Who were the belligerents? Is the Imperium secure? Badab was but one system in a chain that encircled that rancid stain of the Maelstrom. If Badab fell, it boded ill-tidings across the segmentum.

 

Greysight considered Daon Akkad. A warrior possessed of an easy, genial manner and a sense of humour, uncommon for our kind. Perhaps, the Storm Son surmised, he may be the most human of us all, a vivid reminder of our birth species in a hostile universe.

 

Vorr's ham-fisted reaction put a poor taste in Greysight's mouth. Unless some powerful glamour was at work, he very much doubted the Astral Claw was an agent of the damned. However, Daon Akkad now probably occupied an unenviable position experienced by a small handful of Astartes in recorded history: the last loyal son, a renegade exiled from renegades.

 

Answers would be forthcoming, and soon, he hoped.

Edited February 8, 2021 by Nineswords

[ApostleRP]

Lycus Artemios stood unaddressed and unassuming among his Battle-Brothers, stood in his current position as Brother-Sergeant of his squad.

 

He watched the dramatics unfold among the Deathwatch kill-team before him. He need not direct his squad verbally, as they had drilled and rehearsed every foreseeable reaction to the revelation of the Astral Claws' treason against the Imperium. Using what information had been made available to them they had trained in conjunction with the other two squads present, the most effective way to disable the Astartes if they became aggressive. 

 

Permanently, if necessary, and without reservation. 

 

Lycus had seen the visible discomfort across the physicality of the Kill-team, the thinly veiled aggressive stance of himself and his brothers not escaping their attentions. As he observed them in their interactions with their Watch-Captain, Lycus could not resist to lock his eyes on their quarry, the Astral Claw Akkad. He could feel his grip on his weapon tighten as he took note of the heraldry of the new disgraced chapter. 

 

The urge to gun him down then and there, under the righteous hail of Bolter fire of himself and his brother, was palpable. He had spent no short length 0f time engaged in a gruelling conflict  with those who wore the same colours as he, and had seen far too many a brother fall to those same traitors. Yet, he was ordered to resist.

 

For a moment he thought the Red Talon would save him the effort of exercising his trigger finger. Alas, the Talon clearly lacked the inner iron of his Founding Legion, as he hesitated, giving this traitor some form of leniency. 

 

"How deep has this stray cub wormed corruption into this squad" Lycus thought to himself. He prayed quietly to the Imperator Mortifex that he tries to resist, let the Phantoms finish their holy task and put what little remains of this Chapter to the flame.

 

For the time, however, he is forced to wait. Wait, observed, and confirm his safety is off...

[Mazer Rackham]

The words came from a different throat, but the flint in them was unmistakeable - and now the Iazu was involved as well.

 

Solastion, the Crimson Knight was maddeningly sanguine.  He spoke with measured reason and confidence, the edge in his voice a blade, cutting through the grief and anger with a sincere incision.  He was well suited to his role as Apothecary.  To Daon, the sounds came from outside a glass cloche, beyond the colliding universe of two Astartes desperately trying to find reasons to avoid their ingrained instinct and simply be brothers on common ground.

 

Vorr uttered his ultimatum moments before the Priest's wisdom, exercising gentle restraint.  The Red Talon's eyes flicked away from Akkad's own.

 

It gave Akkad time to breathe, to think.  "The Chapter Master I serve is Rovik Blake.  I loved him as a good soldier should love his general, as a son craves a father.  The Tyrant, Huron was a snake, who slithered into the throne at a time of great turmoil.  The Lion on my shoulder stands for the old ways, worn in defiance of a usurper who banished me for it.  Huron was strong, and the Maelstrom was dangerous.  Badab was the jewel in a crown of thorns," Akkad continued softly, but his gaze was past Vorr now, somewhere in the distance, millions of leagues away.  "And we were ready to do anything to defend it."

 

As he spoke he realised the decision was made.  This grief and posturing was not helping.  He had one last card to play.

 

The life of a Space Marine is sacrifice.

 

"And I will defend you now, Brakan.  Besides, a man must face his accusers," the tiniest smile played a cross his lips before vanishing.

 

Akkad allowed his weapons and belt pouches containing all his possessions to clang onto the deck at his feet, before slowly donning his helm, sealing it. He pivoted away from Vorr and returned Solastion's reassuring gesture, laying a hand to the Crimson Knight's pauldron.  He parted from the two Astartes and stepped forward to Captain Diocles, offering a bow of obeisance, a warrior before his Lord, fist to breast.

 

"My Lord Captain, I go as you will.  Stay your hand against my Kin, for the shame is mine.  I will answer these...accusations."

 

He canted his helm up at the Librarian, his stare through the cold emerald lenses hard.

 

MR.