The Ultansir Endeavour

[Valdr Fell-fist]

Hail, all.

 

This is the begining of what may be some ongoing fiction. Originally intended to be a short, dry introduction for the army im currently building-an Ordo Xenos taskforce- i find myself enjoying writing this more than i expected, it having been a number of years since my last piece of fiction.

Possibly a little simplistic in places as i intend for it to be read by my non-hobby friends as well as those as deeply in love with the setting myself. 

 

Anyway, have a read, let me know what you think!

 

 

Dramatis Personae (In Progress)

 

Inquisition

Mikael Korin                                                                                                                           Inquisitor, Ordo Xenos                                                                 Samniel Vult                                                                                                          Inquisitor Korin’s Master of Guard

Joran Corr                                                                                                                 Inquisitor Korin’s Seneschal

 

Adeptus Mechanicus-Stygies VIII

Theta Phi Upsilon                                                                                                                        Magos Reductor

Zero-Zero-Zero-Nine-Five-Three ‘Nine’                                                                                     Skitarii Tribune

 

Deathwatch-Keep Extremis

Castillo                                                                                                                                Sergeant, Crimson Fists                                                                Barakiel                                                                                                                            Hellblaster, Dark Angels

Zazriel                                                                                                                            Hellblaster, Flesh Tearers

Orronar                                                                                                                              Hellblaster, Iron Hands

Einarr                                                                                                                            Hellblaster, Space Wolves

Hofniel                                                                                                                                 Inceptor, Blood Angels

Themistokles                                                                                                                        Intercessor, Minotaurs

Focalor                                                                                                                                  Intercessor, Exorcists

Cadeyrn                                                                                                                Intercessor, Wardens Tempestus

Raam                                                                                                                             Intercessor, Brazen Claws

Hecular                                                                                                 Primaris Watchmaster, Wardens Tempestus

Adelmaer                                                                                                    Primaris Watch Captain, Blades Vigilant

Hakkon                                                                                                                   Primaris Epistolary, Executioners

 

Anathema Psykana

Seriah Illith                                                                                                                                          Witchseeker

 

Adeptus Custodes

Shield-Captain Hektor                                                                                                           Aquilan Shield Host

 

Aeldari

------------                                                                                                 Autarch, Representative of Ultansir

------------                                                                                                 Warlock, -----------‘s Advisor

------------                                                                                                  Exarch, Dire Avenger

 

 

 

 

                                                                                                                         Mikael

 

          It had been far too long since he had entered the armoury, decided Mikael Korin, too much keeping him from taking up the blunter tools of his trade. Now, after almost seventy years stationed on Terra, he had finally found an excuse to get back out in the field.

          Not that his time on Holy Terra had been ill spent, of course. Twice he had sat upon the Senatorum Imperialis as the Inquisitorial Representative, once having been crucial in deciding upon the High Lord’s response to the encroachment of Hive Fleet Leviathan, but the latest incursion of the foul xenos the Imperium knew as ‘Tyranids’.

The rest of the time he had acted as the most senior member of the Ordo Xenos on Terra, that branch of the Inquisition founded to act against the alien menace, the length and breadth of the Imperium. He had established a good working relationship with his counterpart in the Ordo Malleus, Kleopatra Arx for whom he had a great deal of respect. The same could not be said for his colleague from the Ordo Hereticus. Nathaniel Vortan was an entirely frustrating man, one whom his captain of guards frequently referred to as ‘that arrogant whoreson.’

          The thought of Samniel’s reaction to Mikael’s latest excursion brought a smile to his face. His guardsman had been none too subtle with exactly what he thought of Mikael’s ‘flight of fancy’.

Chuckling to himself, Mikael moved past the racks of arms and armour belonging to his guardsmen, reaching the rows where his own gear was stored. He stroked his left hand lovingly over the plates of his old armour, a battered but serviceable suit of Adeptus Arbites design. The icons and rank pins had been removed of course, as they had been over three centuries ago when he first left the Arbites behind to join the ranks of the Inquisition.

          Detecting their master, a trio of armoury servitors awoke, the half machine, half men moving forwards to assist him in cladding himself for war.

          He waved them away. After so long, he felt it only right to gear himself up with his own two hands.

          Piece by piece, he assembled his armour. Over his grey bodyglove went a further layer of reinforced leather, thicker at the knees and elbows. Then boots, chest and back plates of black armaplas, followed by thick shoulder pads of the same.

          To his belt he attached his helmet, a stern half-helm of black adamantium which left only his mouth and jaw exposed. Standing straight, almost to attention, he reviewed himself in the full length mirror next to his armour rack.

An imposing, uncompromising visage looked back at him. Thick auburn hair, cropped short in military style, topped his chiselled features, an aquiline nose and eyes of a deep blue that spoke of intelligence as much they did of an ingrained lack of sleep. A thick scar began above his right eye and slid diagonally through his brow, ending beneath his left eye, the legacy of a glancing blow from an Ork Warboss’s Choppa from his youth.

          ‘You don’t look a day above three hundred, Mikael.’ He thought to himself.

          In truth, he had seen almost four centuries, most of them spent working his way up through the ranks of the Inquisition. He’d always reacted well to rejuvenant treatments. He knew colleagues less than half his age who were less fortunate, taking on an artificial, bleached appearance after even their first treatment. Instead, he looked like a man in his prime, his late thirties, or a well preserved mid-forties.

          With an exhalation of pleasure, he reached for his favoured weapons. To the rear of his belt he fitted a small holster, containing a hot-shot laspistol, his back-up piece. On his left hip went a larger, but still compact holster with his bolt carbine, one he had modified himself to provide a surprising turn of firepower for close engagements.

And across his back plate he fitted Justice, his power maul. Once the very same shock maul he had carried as an Arbitrator, the former crowd control weapon had been improved upon by the Tech-Priest attached to his former master- the late, great Inquisitor Miriah Helmschrot- and presented to him the day he had been given his own rosette and graduated from his rank of Interrogator to become a full-fledged inquisitor in his own right. He still remembered the look of pride on the old woman’s face, and the surprising embrace she had given him, before she spoke the words that summoned him from his knees to stand before her, the ancient ritual words granting him all the rank, privileges and responsibilities of a member of the Ordos.

          He turned, fully clad, to find Samniel leaning casually against a rack, cleaning his finger nails with the deactivated blade of his power knife.

          “Mind you don’t slip and turn that on, Sam, I’d hate to have to pick up your fingers from wherever they roll to. And to hate to hold your hand when you cry as Doc Maran reattaches them, of course.” He grinned at his captain of guards to hide his unease at, once again, finding him feet away without noting his approach. He told himself it was down to the man’s superlative stealth, rather than any failing on his part. He was an Inquisitor. He didn’t fail.

          Samniel threw him a wink, replacing the weapon back in its sheath.

          “Don’t worry, boss. I wouldn’t put you through that. Anyway, Corr wanted you, up at the gate. Said something about visitors. He was…gibbering. Said it was nothing bad, but he’d been ordered not to say anything until you got there. Tried asking him who’s got the stones to order MY men about, but he was having none of it. Now you finished admiring that ever so pretty mug of yours, think we could go see what’s happening?”

          Mikael chuckled. “One of these days, Samniel, you’re going to speak to me with a modicum of respect. That same day, I expect to hear word of Blessed Vulkan’s return. Lead on.”

 

          The two men had walked almost two miles by the time they reached the gatehouse of Inquisitor Korin’s residence. Conversing with the familiarity of old comrades, they passed trophy rooms where the taxidermies of various alien species took pride of place, Orks vying for space with Aeldari, a fully functional suit of T’au XV88 armour next to the corpse of a Hrud warrior, standing upright in a time sealed void lock.

          They entered the gatehouse, where a squad of Inquisition Storm Troopers stood at attention all day round, replaced every three hours. Five of them stood either side of the main doors, facing inwards across a luxurious carpet of such fine weave that it would have taken the output of an entire Hive City a full months labour to afford it’s equal, the walls covered in equally priceless artwork, the largest being Von Hyber’s seminal work The Primarchs, depicting the Holy Nine sons of the Emperor himself gathered around the table of the High Lords of Terra.

          Mikael took great amusement in the fact that, behind the very area he himself had sat at when he had been a member of that august body, was the Primarch of the Ninth, Blessed Sanguinius himself. Angelic in his beauty, Sanguinius was perhaps the most revered of all the Emperor’s sons.

          Unusually, the doors themselves were open, Corr stood in the doorway conversing with someone out of sight. In contrast to the utilitarian appearance of the troopers either side of him, seneschal Corr was clad in voluminous robes of sky blue, chased through with thread of purest gold and a talisman in the shape of the Inquisitorial icon around his neck on a chain of platinum.

          Corr bowed to the person on the other side of the door and stepped back into the house, clearing the entryway. As he did so, a god entered the room.

          Mikael swallowed and corrected himself. Not a god, but a guardian of the one true God-Emperor of Mankind. A member of the Adeptus Custodes stood before him. He had been on Terra for almost a century, much of that time spent in the Imperial Palace. He had, of course, seen Custodians before, but always from a distance. This one, however, was close enough to touch. Or, more likely, close enough for him to collapse on when his knees gave way, as they seemed likely to do any moment.

         The Custodian was clad in Allarus pattern terminator armour, of golden Auramite. Across every surface of his wargear were embossed icons of the Imperial Cult. Aquilas, Crux Terminatii, thunderbolts and more. Over a dozen jewels were embedded in his armour and just from a glance, Mikael knew that his entire residence, and the property within, were at most equal in value to perhaps one of those jewels. His left shoulder pad matched the robes and cloak that covered a small portion of his vast form, a deep purple that drew the eye. And then the Custodian removed his helm.

Mikael was the possessor of a certain rugged handsomeness. Equally, Samniel had never struggled with issues of attractiveness.

          But the Custodian…he could have been the basis for any number of sculptures depicting the ancient Grekan Gods. His features were flawless. A strong jawline swept up to a face that could reduce the weak willed to tears of admiration. His age was indeterminate. He could have been anywhere between twenty and a thousand, such was the strength and beauty of his visage.

          The only clue to his age was subtle, so much so that most men would have missed it entirely. Across his armour plates, between the iconography, were miniscule etchings of individual words. They began at his left wrist, atop which was mounted an in-built Ballistarius grenade launcher and flowed the length of his arm and down the left side of his torso, circled his waist before rising on the other side and continuing down his right arm, stopping two thirds of the way down his forearm.

          Deed-names. Each awarded for the performance of some feat of heroism. Mikael counted roughly three hundred and fifty. That likely corresponded to a warrior in his middling years, perhaps some eight centuries in age.

          One final feature, the most striking of all, completed the Custodian. So clad, he stood just shy of nine feet in height.

          The green eyes of the Custodian had not stopped moving. He took in the details of the gatehouse, from its sweeping columns and the cover thus provided, to the position and weaponry carried by the troopers, Corr, Samniel and Inquisitor Korin himself, clearly analysing any threat they amounted to, and dismissing them as irrelevant. There were barely a dozen of them. Trained and equipped to the highest standards the Inquisition had to offer, they offered him no threat.

          He did this in less than a second before his gaze settled once more on Mikael.

          “Lord Inquisitor Mikael Korin. I stand before you as a representative of the Aquilan Shield Host. We shall be joining you on your mission, to act as the Eyes of the Emperor, and your own Shield.” His voice was unimaginably deep, at a far lower pitch than possible for a mortal man.

          Mikael gulped before responding. He had faced down Hive Tyrants of the Tyranids, duelled warrior-priests of the Craftworld Aeldari and once even partaken in a drink contest with a member of the Deathwatch, formerly of the Space Wolves. Not once had he ever felt so helpless, so…mortal.

          “..I would be honoured by your presence, Lord Custodes. Might I enquire as to your numbers?”

          The Custodian nodded once, a head almost half again the size of Mikael’s own giving the impression of some golem bowing its head.

          “My warrior chamber all accompany me, as do some few more. In total, I pledge some twenty seven of my brothers, and myself, to your cause.”

          Twenty eight Custodians. Mikael’s mind reeled. Worlds had been conquered with less, these transhuman warriors stood as far above the warriors of the Space Marine Chapters as they stood above mortal men.

          “That is…truly generous, Lord Custodes. You have my thanks. If I might know your name?”

Again, the Custodian inclined his head.

          “I am Shield-Captain Hyd Malaachi Caem Fith Torres Papatis Volkur…”

          ‘He’s going to recite his ENTIRE name,’ thought Mikael, ‘I need to stop him.’

          “Lord Custodes, with the greatest of respect…I was hoping for a more…succinct…name. In the interest of precision, might I address you by the deed-name of which you are most proud?”

          A flash of disapproval, the first emotion he had displayed since removing his helm, crossed the Custodian’s features.

          “Pride…is a sin. A weakness before the Emperor. We do not know pride, Lord Inquisitor.”

          ‘Frak, I’ve insulted him. Need to fix this,’ Mikael determined.

          “My apologies, Lord. In that case, and to ensure the correct and succinct use of nomenclature, might I enquire as to which of your deed-names you feel was the most…hard earned?”

          The Custodian stared back for a moment, stretched until Mikael began to think he would be expecting to recite hundreds of names each time he addressed his new bodyguard, then he nodded once more.

          “Hektor. You may refer to me as Shield-Captain Hektor.”

          Mikael extended a hand.

          “Then, Shield-Captain Hektor, I welcome you and your brethren to the Ultansir Endeavour.”

          Hektor gripped Mikael’s hand, swamping it in his own voluminous gauntlet.

 

 

Thanks in advance.

[Tarvek Val]

I enjoyed reading this piece. 

 

You integrated an impressive amount of detail and description into the excerpt, without it feeling forced or overwhelming. I especially enjoyed the scenes where the Inquisitor is arming himself and when his party first meets the Custodian Guard. 

 

I would love to see expansions upon this, particularly when the forces of the Ordo Xenos finally set eyes upon their hated xenos foes!

[Valdr Fell-fist]

Thanks for the kind words, Tarvek!

 

I’ll be adding to this in parts over the next few weeks. I’m thrashing out a rough plan, wherein Mikael will be meeting and assembling the various forces he’ll be leading on the Ultansir Endeavour, before they advance to meet with the Xenos.

[Brother Lunkhead]

A excellent read As Brother Tarvek said, an impressive amount of detail and description without feeling forced or overwhelming. Definitely looking forward to more,

[Valdr Fell-fist]

Thank you, Brother Lunkhead!

 

Working on the next section now!

[The Vanquisher]

A most impeccable stuff for reading Valdr Fell-fist, keep it up! May your inspiration in making the new chapters keep coming.....

[Mazer Rackham]

Agreed.  Tumbled on this by accident and glad I did - very nice style of writing, paced well, detailed enough, but not too much.

 

When your Inquisitor was equipping himself all I could hear was:

 

"Only one thing fighting for order in the chaos...the men and women of the Hall of Justice...juries...executioners...Judges."  

 

More!

 

MR.

[Valdr Fell-fist]

Hello again.

 

Ive finished up the next section to be posted here, and will also be editing my first post to include a Dramatis Personae (incomplete as yet)

 

                                                                                                                      Cadeyrn

 

     “Well, someone has got a high opinion of themselves…” Cadeyrn and Zazriel both found themselves chuckling at Einarr’s muttered comment.

     Cadeyrn was forced to agree. Watch Company Septimus of Keep Extremis, a Deathwatch Watch Fortress in Segmentum Obscurus, had been assembled in one of the primary hangar bays. For almost a full hour they had been stood to attention, fully armed and armoured, awaiting a visitor of some sort. That in itself was unusual.

Whoever it was, they weren’t a new recruit for the Watch, that much was certain. Barring those brothers who had arrived following Regent Guilliman’s Ultimaris decree-Cadeyrn and the rest of Kill-Team Castillo amongst them- new members tended to arrive individually, with little pomp or ceremony. Certainly not an assemblage of forty brothers, with several command level figures at their head.

     Each brother had activated the mag-locks in their boots and ensured their armour was fully sealed as the great hangar bay doors had opened, so that the only indication of sudden vacuum was the warning signals they all cancelled from their armour’s systems.

     The Space Wolf continued. “Just look at that. All the trimmings on that, it has to be someone important. I’m going to say…Lord Militant General. At the least. I’ll wager two armour maintenance cycles, any takers?”

     Einarr’s brothers had quickly got used to his constant need for wagers, or contests, or boasts. Just as he had got used to each of their eccentricities. Twenty years as a Kill-Team, as well as almost a century as Unnumbered Sons before that, working, fighting and dying alongside brothers descended from other Primarchs would do that.

     As always, Barakiel was the first to bite. A son of the Lion, he and Einarr had defied expectations of what had been seen as an inevitable rivalry, instead their mutual respect had grown into true brotherhood, the pair of Hellblasters supporting each other flawlessly in all things.

     “Einarr…look at it. Don’t just sniff at it, your damned nose can’t help you in vacuum."

     Entering the hangar bay was an Aquila Lander. It was magnificent, backswept wings detailed to appear to have golden, aquiline feathers. A great many void pennants flew from it, declaring the importance of whoever it was that the lander carried.

     “Important or not, a Lord Militant General? Use your brain, brother. Such a man would never be allowed to set foot in a Watch Fortress, not without being mind-scrubbed afterwards. Too much sensitivity here. No, I’ll take that wager. Inquisitor. And a senior one at that.”

     “Quiet, the pair of you.” Watch Sergeant Castillo enunciated clearly over the squad-level vox, his authority enough to ensure compliance. The leader of the kill team, Castillo had been in command since the first days of the Indomitus Crusade, when their armour had all been proudly displaying full Chapter colours. Now, like the rest of them, only his right pauldron declared his allegiance to his Chapter of origin, the Crimson Fists.

     The Aquila set down at the same moment as the hangar doors slammed closed behind it, and atmosphere began to return to the hangar. Three figures detatched themselves from the ranks of the Watch, walking towards the slowly lowering passenger compartment of the lander.

     Alone amongst the other brothers of the Watch, Primaris Epistolary Hakkon, formerly of the Executioners, was not clad in ebony armour. Though he shared the silvered left armour and shoulder pad with his brethren, the rest of his armour was a deep blue that indicated his position in the Librarium as much as the ornate tracery of the psychic hood built into his armour.

     Watch Captain Adalmaer, once a Captain of the Blades Vigilant, wore his customised suit of Gravis pattern armour, the bulky jump pack temporarily replaced with a standard power generator, and the boot plates retracted to allow him to walk normally. He carried his favoured weapon casually, the enormous thunder hammer lent against his right pauldron. He was the named commander of Watch Company Septimus, leading the four kill teams gathered in the bay in times of war. A genial warrior and a fierce officer, he led from the front, hammer swinging and pulping lesser foes. And to him, all foes were lesser.

     The last figure, Watch Master Hecular, lord and master of Keep Extremis, marched boldly towards the lander. Like Caderyn, Hecular was a member of the Wardens Tempestus. Unlike Caderyn, who expected to rotate out of the Deathwatch back to his chapter brother’s, Hecular had declared an Oath Eternal to the watch, never to leave their ranks. And with good reason. He was an alien hunter without peer. It was rumoured that his kill tally was in excess of that of an entire Watch Company and his undoubted martial prowess was second only to his formidable skills as both a tactician and a warleader.

     The compartment reached the deck of the hangar bay, and the interior hatch of the lander opened. The brothers of the Deathwatch, whilst remaining at attention, strained to see who would be revealed from within.

 

     Four men emerged first, identically equipped in black carapace armour with red fatigues and full face helms. Hot-shot lasguns held at the ready, though not aimed so as to cause offence, they quickly observed the gathered figures before one- clearly the leader from the other’s body language- tilted his head to the left in the manner of someone speaking over a personal vox. All took position on the left side of the hatch, eyes forwards, perfectly to attention.

     Another figure emerged. This one wore black armour resembling that wore by the Arbites, over a reinforced bodyglove and covered by an extravagant red leather storm coat. He went unhelmed, intelligent eyes flicking all over the hangar as he took in every detail before removing his hand from the holster on his hip. At his breast was pinned a large rosette, the symbol of the Inquisition clear to see.

     Einarr cursed over the squad vox, and every brother-even Sergeant Callisto- chuckled at the Wolf’s misfortune.

     The Inquisitor drew level with the Deathwatch officers, Hakkon and Aldemaer both offering bows whilst Hecular remained upright and gave only a nod of respect which the Inquisitor returned.

     They were all too far away to be heard, even with the advanced aural pickups provided by the Primaris’ Mark X power armour, but it was clear from the expressions on the Inquisitor’s face, and his extravagant, emphatic gestures, that it was an important conversation.

     There seemed to be a disagreement ongoing, with Adelmaer and Hakkon on opposite sides. Caderyn studied the two closely. Both were helmed, and at an angle where he would have been hard pressed to see their faces in any case. Hakkon’s body language was calm, reassuring, and he had reoriented himself so that he stood closer to the Inquisitor than he had at the beginning of the conversation, in a manner of a man providing support to another. Adelmaer, in contrast, was clearly full of rage, his manner aggressive, both at the Inquisitor and his brother officer. Chopping gestures, pointing fingers and a slowly widening stance pointed to a warrior who was almost ready to come to blows.

     “What in Terra’s name is happening over there?” Themistokles wondered aloud. “Are we going to have to break up a brawl?” The Minotaur seemed almost eager at the prospect.

     “Hjolda, yes. It’s been far too long since I’ve had a decent brawl.” Breathed Einarr.

     Raam laughed at that, the Brazen Claw struggling to stop his amusement showing in his determination to remain at attention.

     “I seem to recall, Einarr, the last time that you started a brawl, it was with Brother Zazriel…remind me how that ended?”

The Flesh Tearer himself responded.

     “It ended with his nose broken, and held in a headlock by myself, Raam.”

     “That’s what I thought. Next time you want a brawl, my Fenrisian brother, try taking on something more your own speed. One of the serfs, perhaps? Maybe a young one, I wouldn’t want it to tax you too much.”

     “Skitja, you talk too much, brother. Besides, Zazriel cheated. I had already won the brawl when he traitorously threw that punch.”

     “Will you all be quiet? Some of us are still trying to work out what’s going on with the Captain?”

     “Orranar, be careful, brother. That was almost an emotion, I’d hate for you to burst a cog or a wire. You Iron Hands, so flimsy. No wonder you’re half machine. Why don’t you take the lead from Focalor? When was the last time you spoke aloud, Exorcist? In days?”

     Two pulses came over the squad-level vox, as if the vox icon had been triggered twice.

     “Two days. Hjolda, I don’t know how you do it, Focalor. Still, brother, I have words enough for the both of us.”

     “For half the Company, more like, braggart.” Caderyn whispered, but still sent it over the vox, to the amusement of his squad, Einarr especially. “But Orranar’s right. Watch.”

     Adelmaer was still gesturing furiously, but Hecular turned to face him and clearly gave an order. Adelmaer came to attention and saluted, his right vambrace clashed against his plastron, before marching away and coming to stand less in front of his four squads. His voice came over the vox.

     “Brothers. In a moment, an…ally…of Inquisitor Korin will emerge from the ship. You will NOT react in any manner. Show your discipline, Watch Company Septimus. Do not shame me. There is enough shame here today already.”

     Every brother saluted once, forty arms crossing their chests, a single, sharp clash.

     One last figure appeared at the hatch. As one, each brother had to restrain himself from aiming his weapon at him.

     He was lithe, incredibly slim when compared to the gene-bulked mass of the Primaris Space Marines in the chamber, clad in form fitting armour of dark blue, exotic in appearance. It looked to have been grown rather than built, an example of organics rather than machinery. A tall, plumed helm was eclipsed by a pair of grandly sweeping wings that appeared from a power pack worn on the figure’s back, feathers of gold covering both wings. A white cloak, embroidered with alien runes, completed his ensemble. Provoking further fury, he was visibly armed, a holster for a pistol on his right hip and the bejewelled hilt of a sword emerging from a scabbard upon his left. Both of the alien’s hands were upon his weapon in a gesture of defiance.

     The figure was an Eldar.

[Tarvek Val]

I am very impressed. The story is coming along beautifully, your character descriptions and prose are excellent! You really nailed the Deathwatch Marines, and I cannot wait for the next segment!

 

Additionally, the Dramatis Personae is certainly a nice touch. 

 

Well done!

[Mazer Rackham]

You have set a high standard for yourself Valdr!

 

Coming along very nicely, great interplay between the characters, great detail of stances and posture.  Very easy to read and see in my mind's eye, despite not being an astropath :)

 

Very good stuff, looking forward to the next bit!

 

MR.

[Valdr Fell-fist]

Thank you both!

 

Got a long working weekend now, so I’ll likely add to this in the early part of next week.