To Plunder The Stars Themselves, Episode III

[Xin Ceithan]

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- Bored of your old Combi Plasma Rifle ?

There is a ( potentially unsafe ) app for that!

[Necronaut]

Vesalius made his way to the Avarice, briefly stopping by his make-shift laboratory on the way. He retrieved the ogryn skull, tying it to his belt with a leather thong, recovered the breaching shears, and continued on his way to Varn's flagship. He left the disposal of the loxatl carcass to the imaginations of the inhabitants of Elysium; he doubted he would return here for some time.

 

When he arrived at Avarice's armorium, his silent footfalls went unnoticed amidst the din of the enclosed space. Armoring serfs and servitors alike scurried about hauling ammunition crates, weaponry and other bits of equipment. Few paid him much heed as he weaved his way through the hustle and bustle. The apothecary eventually came to the weapon racks and was greeted by row after row of various implements of death and destruction. He browsed the racks idly, nothing taking his fancy, until he passed a rack of boltguns. Sorted amongst the others was a bolter with an extended barrel and a small electronic sight attached to the upper rail. It looked like some time had passed since it had last been requisitioned, as it had accreted a fair amount of dust and cobwebs. Vesalius carefully extracted the weapon from the rack and made his way to the quartermaster. There was a word etched onto the housing of the boltgun that could be barely made out. He wiped away the accumulated dust and grime to get a better look: it read, "TRYPANON," in High Gothic script. He could only smile at the macabre sense of humor of the one who had forged the firearm. Perfect.

 

+Quartermaster, this will do for my purposes. I wish it to be restored to combat readiness. I will further require a magazine of special-issue ammunition for this weapon.+

 

The quartermaster looked down at the stalker pattern bolter, quizzically arched an eyebrow at the Apothecary and shrugged, "Yes, m'lord."

 

+I am also returning these. They served me well.+ Vesalius placed the bulkhead shears adjacent to the boltgun on the quartermaster's countertop. The human looked at Vesalius curiously and slowly pulled the bulkhead shears back inside of the equipment cage, stowing them under his desk.

 

"As you say, m'lord." The man gave Vesalius one last look and took the boltgun to a workbench inside of the cage, assigning a tech-priest to see to its maintenance. The apothecary drummed his fingers on the countertop a few times and left to find a place to work while he waited, grabbing a whetstone and a vial of sharpening oil. He pulled his combat knife from its sheath and tested its edge before smearing a few drops of oil onto the whetstone. Pass after pass he made, stopping every few to examine the razor edge he was honing. Once satisfied he performed a few test cuts on a strip of parchment, sheathed the blade again, and waited for the tech-adept to bring his new implement.

Edited September 13, 2021 by Necronaut

[Black Cohort]

Decimus seems surprised at Draak's skintone.

 

"We were all on edge when we came to Iron Gods, trust was thin, for what did any of us have left to trust in?  But as all astartes know, the fires of battle forge new bonds, once you complete a mission or two I am sure things will seem somewhat normal."

 

He pauses for a second.

 

"Is the skin a relic of your homeworld, or the geneseed?"

[A.T.]

Each to their own, seeking position amongst the ranks, confident or dismissive of challenge. The astartes filed through the armoury seeking tools of death uncaring of who they would choose or be chosen to face.

 

Odysseus passed his flamer to a servitor. It functioned well enough but the act gave him excuse to seek a replacement without drawing question while the others dispersed. The armoury here was as akin to trophy room in some ways with weapons that spanned the millennia and the breadth of the Imperium and of chapters both great and long lost to time, and his eyes were drawn to a skeletal-looking weapon akin to a meltagun stripped of its shielding.

 

For its size it was light weighing less than a pistol but unwieldy in its size. He had seen devices of this nature before on an Imperial world close to the outer reaches of the astronomican, positioned about a governors building they burnt like fire without heat or flame, and were it not for the weapons obvious age he would have guessed it some form of tech heresy. It would suffice.

 

 

Free now of further eyes he turned to approach the quartermaster, a dour fellow of far fewer words than Ghoran. "This was found amongst Von Cearyds collection in no small quantity", holding forward a shard of the blackstone, "I see in it worth if it can be shaped and forged to purpose."

[Machine God]

"Is the skin a relic of your homeworld, or the geneseed?" Decimus asked.

 

Draak raised his left bionic hand which he turned over, bunched into a fist and then spread his fingers. "This is a relic of tradition and to fealty. The skin has nothing to do with geneseed, but perhaps hubris."

 

Draak took a deep breath, pointing to his face he continued "if a hand can be replaced then so can the flesh. The Ancients of my chapter acquired a relic from the Dark Age of Technology, this skin is stronger than normal skin, it is woven through with armour and the blood has autosanguine properties. The skin tone changed over centuries."

 

Draak took another few breaths to calm himself down "forgive me Decimus, we just prefer not to talk about it."

 

 

 

Edited December 16, 2022 by Machine God
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[Mazer Rackham]

"Lord?"

 

The servitor would call him lord whether Orphiel wanted it to or not.  He simply reached out for Argo as it was presented, draped with a red velvet ribbon of blessing.  It smelled of sacred unguents and oils, and he grasped the weapon, now complete with it's shot selector by both of the fitted pistol grips, although reverently.

 

+My thanks to the Mechanicum,+ he intoned.

 

The servitor blinked it's augmetic crimson eyes, for the other was just a withered socket, and trundled away.

 

Orphiel regarded the stars, and the rolling bulk of Elysium from one of Averice's observation bunkers.  He handled the storm bolter, clipping it back up to the thick leather strap around his body.  He refrained from loading the weapon.  That could be done later.  The fact the firearm lay safely braced across his chest was reward enough for now.  Leaving the squad behind preparing for the next mission, he wondered where he would be best placed.

 

The Traveller would be going one way, and taking S'ynek with him.  Decimus too, and whilst Orphiel respected the Devastator's self-control, murdering agents of the Inquisition wasn't subtle, nor was it free of repercussion.  Those bastards flocked to corpses of their kin, the brawlers keen for the excuse to swarm over everything showing off the Rosette.  The other kind were more dangerous.

Subtle, quiet, watchful.

 

Describing yourself?  Speaking from...experience, maybe?  He let a wry grin twist his lips.  Oh, he could only wish it were so.

 

It did give him an idea, however.  If the Traveller and his squad caused enough mayhem and embarrassment, he might not need to intercede in this fantasy with the Pride of Kings.  The Inquisition, an adversary of his Kith and Kin, would do it for him.  They loved fantasies just as much.

 

Why burn innocent men and women at the stake if not?

[Machine God]

"If you will excuse me Decimus, I need to zero Grendel and to think" Draak replaced his helmet, then stood up and left for the range.

 

------

 

After Draak had completed his testing of Grendel's new war gear on the range and against some servitors in the arming cages, he compiled an after use appraisal. Draak liked the chain-axe bayonet, however the baffling didn't really give him the edge that he was looking for.

 

Draak stripped, cleaned, oiled and assembled Grendel. He set aside the recoil baffling and the chain-axe bayonet, which he had also cleaned and oiled. Draak decided to head back to the armoury and swap out the component parts for something else.

 

When Draak got to the armoury he filled out two return forms and another requisition form which he gave to the Iron Gods' Armourer "I am returning the recoil baffling, whilst it performed excellently it just wasn't what I was looking for. I believe that this requisition of the suppression stabiliser would be more to my appreciation."

 

"That's understandable it is after all only a cheaper version of a suspensor" said the Armourer "if you..." Draak had already lit a votive candle and was field-stripping his weapon "Just wait over there, an arms-man will be despatched to collect your item!"

 

Shortly afterwards the Armourer came over to Draak "thank you for bringing back the recoil baffling and the bayonet in good condition, here is the suppression stabiliser that you wanted. Have you got your eyes on anything else?"

 

"The chain-axe bayonet made Grendel too hungry, I thought it wise to take the new teeth away. I would like to requisition a mono-blade bayonet instead" said Draak.

 

Draak meditated whilst he waited for the new blade. When it arrived he performed the rites of re-assembly on Grendel.

 

(Edit: Updated post)

Edited December 27, 2021 by Machine God

[Lysimachus]

Perhaps you feel a sense of deja vu as the Dagger Thrust powers away under the watchful eye of the master of the Iron Gods.

 

The Sword-class Frigate has been repainted while docked along one of Elysium's long maintenance spars, replacing the grey and crimson of the Iron Gods with the similar but distinct white and scarlet of the Battlefleets of the Segmentum Obscurus. While the job has been done quickly and therefore imperfectly, it will be more than sufficient for the vast distances at which even the closest observer will see it with the naked eye. Likewise the ship's transponder has been altered, now proclaiming that it is the long-range courier St. Agabus out of Cypra Mundi.

 

But otherwise the vessel is the same. The long, wide cargo hold that previously served as Cutlass' training ground is also unchanged, except that four more of the large storage lockers along the rear bulkhead have been 'refitted' as berths.

 

But Captain Achard seems to have developed a greater level of respect for your team, as he meets you personally in the hold and appears to have done what he can to improve the quality of your accommodations. He explains that it will take nearly a week at warp to head south, deeper into the Kharidys Sector and the Imperium, and arrive at the Viorda system.

 

Mister Holger also arrives, offering his own apologies for the true nature of his earlier interactions with the unit. He even seems semi-sincere, although clearly he still views his master's orders as having been perfectly reasonable. He also passes along several data-slates provided by Varn that collate other information you will need, in particular the rest of the interrogation of Arian Von Caeryd. After some encouragement, the prisoner finally revealed that the name of the original seller on Viorda Prime was a 'First Lieutenant Gunther Lang'. Apparently Lang was left behind when his ship absconded suddenly from orbit, fleeing a Naval inspection. As you heard, the ship was lost in the warp soon after and the Lieutenant has since been dwelling on one of the mid-levels of the world's Hive Tertius, living off the proceeds from selling the small items he had claimed to have brought from the Pride.

 

Varn has also included on these slates further information about his former 'ally' on Viorda Secundus.

 

***

 

As you must spend time travelling again, your choices of how you will spend it are obviously limited by your surroundings. What will you do?

 

How do you feel about your new mission? Have you any thoughts about how you will divide your forces to handle its dual aspects? Perhaps you have questions you wish to put to Achard or Holger?

 

You also have new - and old - teammates to get to know, and learn how to fight beside them. Perhaps the Traveller will take the opportunity to put you through drills and training exercises? (That said, are you all still happy with command remaining with the present incumbent? Does anyone want to challenge for the role or call for a new vote?)

[Trokair]

Back aboard the Dagger, not home, but certainly familiar and in its way comforting as only a ship under thrust can be to one of his linage. The previous assigned cells where still theirs and Brynjarr stored his gear for the journey, even in haste a ship had to weather the demand of tide and time in the Immaterium.

 

As the Dagger got up to speed towards the transition point Brynjarr sought out the observation deck he had previously discovered, some meditation and prayer while still in the real and under starlight would be restorative.

 

Later as the Klaxon warned of the impending transition and blast shields closed headed back to train alongside the other, comrades old ad maybe new.

 

Thus the days passed, training, maintenance, preparation for the mission and slowly getting to know the new commoners so that by the time the briefing was called Brynjarr might even know a least a little of them.

Edited October 15, 2021 by Trokair

[Commissar Molotov]

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The Traveller focuses his attention on Agnatha Ferrina, studying the Iron Gods' records of the Order of the Unbroken Crown and their holdings on Viorda Secundus.

[A.T.]

The sound of gunfire greest Draak as he returns to the firing ranges, but not that of Astartes weapons. Odysseus the witch-brother had not spoken to him earlier not joined the rest in the cages and the sight of his swordsmanship was unimpressive at best.

 

But the results left no doubt as to his nature - standing amongst dozens of servitors he moved slowly and purposefully isolating and felling each in turn. Around him the air flickered and twisted as shells and las-bolts were sheared apart as they drew close.

 

The psyker stopped and turned as the presence of a witness paying no heed to the continued onslaught around him. After a moment Odysseus lowered his sword and then raised both hands to his sides unleashing a terrible witchfire that burnt those servitors that had stepped close down to little more than cinders and scorched augmetics.

 

"The room is yours", shealthing his sword he walked from the chamber as the remaining servitors lowed their weapons and began the maintenance cycle of repair and recovery for the next fire exercise.

[Beren]

Svelk leaves the armoury pondering the outcome of the fight he witnessed. Both had been skilled combatants, better at bladework than himself. Perhaps the years of culling mortals and hacking into abhuman flesh had not sufficiently prepared him for facing others of the gene-lineage. That might be something that had to be corrected for. The Iron Gods would not go unnoticed forever, especially not if Talek Varn's plans came to fruition.

 

In the meantime though...

 

It is sometome before the assault marine finds the right time to ask, stopping the Apothecarion Vesalius as they entered the hold.

 

+++Your skill with chemicals and... reactive substances. Does it extend beyond purely medicinal purposes?+++

[Machine God]

'Weapons come in many forms, the blade, the bolter and the brain' Draak's Scout Sergeant had told him when he was a new Initiate to his Chapter.

 

Draak was impressed by Odysseus' abilities but he wasn't scared, he admired the mastery of the weapon. Whilst he waited for the range to re-assemble Draak thought about his past. Of the book that he had found and returned to the chapter Librarium. He also remembered the texts that he had read when he was trialled to be a techmarine.

 

How he was found to have aptitude, but he was passed over. He was a weapon forged of many parts, he excelled in the application of enforced firepower. He was a Devastator!

 

Draak knew that psychic power was a weapon. Powerful weapons needed much control to master. He remembered from the various texts or was it from that book? He remembered reading that in ages past that the Ancients had wrought arcane science to create the gene codes that became the Astropaths, the Navigators and the Psychic!

 

Odysseus was the product of an ancient STC that was tempered into a weapon.

 

"Ha, ha, ha!" thought Draak as the range reset. He then initiated his firing and test of the suppression stabiliser. Draak found it to be much to his liking! So much so that he began to sing a humorous bawdy song.

 

"An Enginseer told me before he died, I have no reason to believe he lied"

[Commissar Molotov]

Once the other Astartes appeared to have concluded their business with one another, the Traveller stands before them.

 

In each hand, he holds a data-slate.

 

"Talek Varn asks that we divide ourselves between two objectives," he says. "I will not demand that any of you follow me. You are free, for better or for worse, to make your own choice and listen to your own hearts."

[Machine God]

"I will accompany you to Viorda Secundus, to find out what has happened to Talek Varn's supplies" said Draak.

[Black Cohort]

Decimus is happy to see that their training flashlights lasguns were still in their births.  Even with their new space fortress, the Iron gods weren't exactly spoiled for wargear.  Hopefully this mission wasn't a chameleon-grox hunt, the folly of kings could change the fortunes of the Iron gods forever.

 

He felt the tug that a lack of true sleep was causing on his brain as he completed drills and firing routines with the lasgun.  He could only hold off for so long, but he dreaded what would happen when it hit.

[Ancient_Sobek]

S’ynek ruminates on his duel with the hooded one, Orphiel. Despite his casual confidence in his ability, Radago hated to admit that he had been a more cunning and skilled opponent than he had first thought. He would have to watch him closely he may make a beneficial asset, or a possible threat. If it proved the latter the upcoming mission would provide plenty of opportunities to eliminate the other marine without raising suspicion. This was a dangerous business, and accidents do happen...

 

S’ynek found him self in a secluded section of the ship, this area appears to have been neglected for sometime. Understandable, finding crew was not always easy in this line if work. 
 

He knelt on the floor before a small window. His gaze lingered on the swirling colors of the nebula they traveled through. Like a bruise across the stars. Looking at the floor before him he brushed aside the dust as best he could before reaching into a pouch upon his belt and removing a rolled cloth bundle. He undid the knot and rolled the silken fabric flat upon the floor. Next he produced a small bronze cup, its surface inscribed with bizarre glyphs and serpentine figures. He paced this in the center of the cloth.

 

Reaching into another pouch he produced a stoppered vial. Removing the top, he poured a small amount of the viscose liquid into the cup. The venom was precious and rare so far from his home. He loathed to use it, but he needed guidance on the path before him. He capped the vial and secreted it away before drawing a blade from his harness. He drew the blade across his palm and let five drops spatter into the cup.

 

His hand already healing as he removed the rebreather he wore. He lifted the cup to his pale lips and drank the caustic brew. It burned his throat going down the searing pain excruciating, and yet welcome. A stark reminder of the world he would never see again.

 

“Zhoteg” he rasped “show me your will. What is path?”

 

He closed his eyes and began a low hissing chant. The droning sound filling the small space as the venom infused his body and the visions began. The world drifted away as his consciousness filled the void. Dark shapes moved there, Sinuous and cold. Ancient and unknowable. A great serpentine eye opened before his its gaze pierced his soul as the eons roiled in its black depths. 
 

He swayed before collapsing onto his hands. He fought the urge to vomit as the sweat dripped from his clammy skin. He lifted his gaze and regarded again the uncaring stars before him.

 

”By your will, I serve.”

 

++++++++

 

Radago had rejoined the others as they gathered to discuss the missions they had been given. He sat at the edge of the room, brooding in the shadows as he contemplated the visions he had seen. He had sought answers, but the answer you receive was not necessarily the one you wanted.

"Talek Varn asks that we divide ourselves between two objectives," the one they called The Traveller said to the assembled renegades. "I will not demand that any of you follow me. You are free, for better or for worse, to make your own choice and listen to your own hearts."

 

S’ynek lifted his gaze to regard the grizzled veteran. It pained him to speak the words, but the vision had answered.

 

+ I shall go to Viorda Prime, though it pains me to miss out on bringing ruin to the pathetic corpse worshippers + he his mechanically from his vox + A subtle blade is needed for the work ahead, Do me a favor and make sure the Soritas suffer. It is the least they deserve.

 

S’ynek leaned back into the shadows, a cold dark voice whispered deep in his heart, the sibilant words echoing as he listened to the discussion of the others.

 

... I serve

Edited September 14, 2021 by Ancient_Sobek

[Machine God]

Having answered the Traveller with his intention, Draak approached Vesalius.

"Caduceus" he intoned "sorry, Vesalius. Honoured apothecary I am Draak if you will need to administer to me some things you should know. Apart from the left hand I also have a bionic respiratory system and my secondary heart is bionic too. Also because of the increased internal bionics my second set of progenoid glands were harvested. Prior to the mission I will Sus-An."

Draak then retired to his allocated berth, he sat down and mag locked his boots to the floor. He then conducted a systems check and talked to Eisen.
~Whilst I am meditating I am only to be disturbed by the orders of the Tactical known as the Traveller and Vesalius the Apothecary, other than that I will meditate for five days!' Draak whilst sitting brought Grendel up into an alert position 'Eisen is that understood?~

 

A mechanical voice issued from Draak's helmet "By your command!"

Draak initiated Sus-An meditation.

 

 

Edited December 16, 2022 by Machine God
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[Mazer Rackham]

He watched Draak stomp away, then fix into a rigid posture, unmoving for several minutes whilst the other Iron Gods presented their preferences to the Traveller.

 

Resting was not a bad idea.

 

Orphiel shrugged, the movement subtle, but evidenced and exacerbated by the folds of his robe.  +I am for Viorda Prime.+

 

He bowed his head in farewell to the 'comrades' about him, before returning to his cell and checking his equipment with quiet industry.  He unloaded the magazines to ease the springs, before physically inspecting each round, wiping down any grit or grime from them before slipping them back into their serried ranks and restoring them to his ammunition pouches.

 

Satisfied, he broke from the necessary work to indulge in his well-thumbed tomes for a few minutes.  Soon, he too would rest properly, but only for the period allotted by the Codex.  Tomorrow, once the teams were formed, he could start training with them.

 

If anyone wants to engage with Orphiel, he will be reading for the next half hour.  After that, resting for four.

[Necronaut]

His wait for the weapon was not long. A red-robed tech-adept bore the boltgun to him and presented it with a bow. The boltgun's jet black casing had been polished and a fresh purity seal had been attached, the cog of the mechanicus pressed firmly into the wax. Vesalius accepted Trypanon with a nod of his head, and inspected the stalker pattern boltgun from barrel to stock.

 

"The machine spirit has lain dormant for some time," the crimson-robed priest intoned, "but now that it has been roused from its slumber, it hungers for the skulls of infidels!" Vesalius turned the weapon over in his hands and was amused to find 13 notches carved into the bolter's casing. It took little imagination to guess at their meaning.

 

He found the Mechanicus to be vexing at times: they were the custodians of mankind's dwindling technological accumen, yet they were little better than witch-doctors and mystics for all of their apparent knowledge. Still… +You have my thanks, priest. I shall see to it that Trypanon lives up to its namesake.+ He turned and left the Avarice, making his way to the Dagger Thrust where the rest of the Kill-Team awaited.

 

+++

 

Kill-Team Cutlass, members familiar and new alike, was waiting in the hold of Dagger Thrust, where they had made a make-shift home on their first mission for the Tyrant. He nodded to them and moved to join the rest of his motley allies where they loitered. As he walked across the chamber, he was approached by Svelk, the gruff, voidborn assault marine.

 

+++Your skill with chemicals and... reactive substances. Does it extend beyond purely medicinal purposes?+++

 

Vesalius was momentarily taken aback by the warrior's question, but then smiled to himself as realization dawned. +Why, Svelk, do you have something requiring alchemical destruction? Yes, I possess knowledge of chymistry, and the methods by which one might synthesize various compounds. Come find me after the mission briefing, and I will bend my mastery to your query.+ He nodded to the void-warrior and joined the rest of the Astartes. Brothers the Tyrant had deigned to call them; Vesalius's true brothers were as dead to him as he was to them, and he had no illusions as to what the Iron Gods represented.

 

+++

 

The Traveller, not one known for his loquaciousness, had kept their mission briefing short, seemingly uncaring as to whether anyone accompanied him to Viorda Secundus. Vesalius weighed his options carefully, genuinely torn as to his preference. On the one hand, an infiltration was well within his bailiwick, and would be his raison d'etre under ordinary circumstances. However, the task set before them on Viorda Secundus would be no mean feat, and would undoubtedly require the unique skills of an apothecary in some capacity.

 

Decisions, decisions.

 

Though it pained him, he sensed the Traveller's assault team would need him far more than the infiltrators, as there was no telling how negotiations might proceed with a fellow force of heavily armed renegades, albeit one comprised of humans. The apothecary could not escape the cold logic of the situation they faced.

 

He sighed and said, +Traveller, while I would prefer to accompany Orphiel, I suspect you may have a greater need of an apothecary on Viorda Secundus. There is no telling what trouble a convent of bolter-wielding zealots can cause.+

 

+++

 

As they started to disperse, the oddly violent devastator, who went by the name of Draak, approached Vesalius and informed him of his myriad augmentations. He addressed Vesalius with the term "Caduceus," an interesting clue into his chapter of origin, perhaps. He was truly an odd marine, equal parts boisterous and brutish. The apothecary was surprised by how forthcoming Draak was with information regarding his cybernetic enhancements, but merely shrugged and filed the information away for later, should the devastator cause any difficulties.

Edited September 18, 2021 by Necronaut

[Lysimachus]

You have divided along the following lines: the Traveller will lead Squad Alpha - Odysseus, Vesalius, Ithan, Decimus, Draak and Svelk - to Viorda Secundus to investigate the sudden silence from Varn's trading partner. Squad Beta - deliberately much more compact and consisting only of Orphiel, Brynjarr, and Radago, aided by Holger - will infiltrate Viorda Prime to search for First Lieutenant Gunther Lang and the location of the Pride of Kings.

 

But it will still take almost a week to arrive in the Viorda system. Long hours and days at relatively close quarters with those who are, if not enemies, still hardly friends is not an ideal situation for battle-ready Astartes. Therefore the Traveller, professional as ever, orders a series of gruelling drills, sparring sessions and squad training exercises intended to help the two - or perhaps ten? - disparate elements of the Kill-Team learn to fight together as a unit. Only time will tell how successful such efforts at integration will be.

 

***

 

Posting to finalise the discussion regarding split of teams from the OOC thread. I'll pause for several days now, so if anyone wants to add greater detail regarding the above training program (whether narrative or actually rolling some dice, your choice!) or anything else your characters are doing during their time at warp, please feel free?

 

Then, once we get to the weekend, I'll update us forward to actually reaching the Viorda system.

[Black Cohort]

Decimus had pushed his Catalapsean node to the brink but even a space marine could only ignore true sleep for so long.  But it was still so fresh, so raw that he struggled to sleep and control the emotions that it unleashed.  Eventually it caught up to him.

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A space marine chapter was not given to gossip, rumour or idle chat, but even among such a stoic brotherhood this news could not be contained.  The chapter master had declared that effectively the entire chapter, less a single squad to protect the homeworld, along with the youngest of recruits, and the sergeants and specialists required for their training and to maintain the chapter fortress.  More than 1000 adeptus astartes would set forth to defend a world from the fell ork menace.

Such a momentous event rarely happened in the history of even the most ancient chapters, both due to how active chapters were with task forces spread across sectors in hotspots.  But also due to the risk to a chapter in concentrating all their numbers in one battlespace.  Lastly it was generally overkill to all but the most dire of threats.  

Yes he had fought with some of the veterans of the first company, as most strike forces had at least a 5 man squad.  But this time he would be fighting alongside heroes of legend, including those that really stepped onto a battlefield anymore.  It was said that it would take a servitor a year to recount all the deeds of the chapter champion worthy of recording in the official chapter records.  The Ancient held a banner that had flown on Terra! and been born across scores of worlds, all fierce battlegrounds.  The tales of the specific deeds that caused each of the honour guard to receive that accolade.

Even the youngest and least trained recruits, even those who did not yet have most of the implants that progressed them from human to post-human super-soldier.  None wanted to miss this most historic and legendary moment.  Allegedly one sergeant in the tenth company had demanded to join the host, even if it meant being busted down to a line brother.

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It was a glorious view of over 900 space marines deploying for battle, resplendent in freshly maintained power armour.  The sight might have blinded a mortal with the reflections from so many.  Every vehicle and weapon available to the chapter was deployed en masse, including the awakening of all the chapter’s dreadnoughts.  A few squads and commanders had remained with the fleet but seven entire companies and the majority of two others were arrayed.  Pic captures of this moment would make the rounds of imperial propaganda for centuries, an entire chapter deploying to defend a hive city.

It filled Decimus’s heart with awe, over there the chapter master conferred with the first captain, the chief librarian and the master of sanctity.  Perhaps a handful of paces past them an entire squad of librarians had assembled, their mostly blue armour standing out as they prepared the most powerful of their abilities which could only be manifested by combining the strength of several librarians and the proper time to prepare.  Chaplains and other senior members of each company walked among the ranks, ensuring all were ready.  This first blow would not be struck from behind fortress walls, though Decimus had heard that several tech marines oversaw the preparation of trench works and other fortifications further back towards the hive city by servitors and unaugmented humans.  Space marines were violence given flesh, and were most effective on the attack, forcing the enemy onto the back foot and responding to the actions of the astartes.  Normally a space marine force was a scalpel, driving into key parts of the foe and breaking their ability to fight cohesively; this was something entirely different it was annihilation given physical form.

It was likely to be the most glorious moment of Decimus life, as company banners were unfurled and the lead elements of the chapter headed out, land speeders scout bikers seeking the lead elements of the ork Waaagh.  The rest of the chapter advancing both on foot and mounted within the hulls of rhinos, razorbacks and land raiders.

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In a galaxy of endless war, annihilation given form was more common than one would think, and ultimately for all their power, an astartes chapter was only ~1000 warriors.  Their intel had to be wrong, an error somewhere in the many human links in the chain that led to their deployment.  The orks were beyond counting, surely in the millions; and while they had slain many times their number it seemed for every ork they killed, another 2 entered the fight.  The chapter was a loadstone drawing all to it; for the orks loved nothing more than a massive fight.  Marines had fired bolt rounds until their barrels glowed, drained the power from chainswords and yet the oks still came.  Only the emperor knew half the heroic actions that day as all who witnessed them perished eventually.  Despite the horrific casualties the orks had taken they just kept coming.  Eventually it had been clear to his superiors that they would only break free at great sacrifice.  The most badly beaten battle company had been pulled from the line, digging in on a ridgeline that had been cleared of orks hours before.  Once they were set, the rest of the chapter fell back, trusting that their brothers would hold long enough for them to break free.  It was the coldest, most logic based order Decimus had ever been given, and it was day 1 of the war.

 

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Decimus woke from the dream covered in cold sweat.  How long could he go this time before he had to sleep again.

[Ancient_Sobek]

Placeholder 

[Mazer Rackham]

The training area fell silent, for after eight hours of bolter drills, squad integration and formation development, there was little left to learn.

 

And silence is the absence of information, which is the fluid of success.  Akin to capillary action, the quiet draws a rich wealth of understanding to fill it.  Live fire exercises left their scorch-marks and scuffs on the soot-stained walls of the practice room, the others recounting cuts and parries, the annoyance of a trigger pulled too soon or too late.  With a small nod to the Traveller, Orphiel excused himself, enjoying the solitude of his own company, would do so in fact, were he surrounded by a thousand warriors - even those he would call kin.

 

Against the backdrop of the humming ship, A Dagger Thrust, his robe gently swished and slapped his slate-grey ceramite in time with his steps.  A metronome, cleansing his mind of the past hours of combat.  A mind without purpose was want to wander in dark places, and no place was darker than in a renegade ship, the corridors choked with shadow, arteries and veins of greed thickened by the excitement of the Pride of Kings.

 

The pregnant secret a silence, a capillary for those with a vivid enough imagination or ambition to dream of loot beyond imagining, wealth beyond measure.

 

A farce.

 

He could feel the electricity in the air, that tangible taint when a subject went from denial to pleading, daring his interrogator to believe him.  The careless whisper of bondsmen and serfs alike, thinking the prize would liberate them to do as they please, and what was that?

 

The squandering of baubles?

 

Oh, the Maximus armour and plasma pistol were impressive, but did he not wear such relics against his own flesh anyway?

 

He dismissed the rhetorical cycles from his mind as he entered the place he sought, the font of all power, the ship's Librarium.  He positioned himself on a bench, well worn and padded with thick, red leather.  It had been many hours since it was polished b y the serfs, the hide treated not through reverence, as would be the case on an Imperial ship, but because it meant the lash if not.

 

The silence of the place was relative, but it was good enough.

 

+Cogitator: Initiate.+

 

Emerald light spilled across his visor, and this too would suffice.  He would not noospherically interlink - he had no idea what augurs or parasitic protocols might exist on a vessel in Varn's company of dregs.

 

+Select Media: Audio.  Subject: Viorda Primus, +

 

++ STAND BY ++

++ READY ++

 

He took a breath.  Better make it hard for the uninitiated to understand.  They would hear only the language of the Imperium.  How amusing.

 

+Responsorus Gothica Princeps. Incipe.+

 

+ Obsequium.  Incipiens +

 

And the information flowed.

 

Just to clarify, Orphiel is just getting clued in to conditions on Viorda Prime, PDF/Arbites/Nobles, even weather patterns and what the chief exports are (on Audible - M40 Edition)...

Edited September 17, 2021 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

At Captain Achard's request, the Kill-Team have gathered on the bridge as you near your destination. The Dagger Thrust shudders as it slices its way back into realspace. Immediately on translation, data feeds and pict-displays come to life, beginning to process reams upon reams of technical information. The system is full of the signs of Imperial occupation. Two inhabited planets, orbital stations, far outposts, defence monitors. Ship idents, dozens of them. Thousands of pulses of binharic chatter bouncing from point to point between all of the above. Achard looks over his crew with a careful eye, making sure that all are properly handling their tasks.

 

"Good. Good. That's it, maintain a steady course. Remember, we belong here..." 

 

"Captain!" One of the augury officers suddenly yells fearfully, interrupting his commander. "Contact! Ahead bearing 013, sixteen thousand kilometres and closing!"

 

Achard spins to look at the main hololith, that has focused in the direction indicated. Four, no, five ships are shown, moving steadily towards the Dagger. Imperial Navy ships. 

 

"Classification?" the Captain asks softly. The officer swallows and responds nervously.

 

"Dictator-class Cruiser; Spear of Bakka. Endeavour-class Light Cruiser; Leobardis. Cobra-class Destroyers; Spiteful, Naja and Void Hunter." 

 

Oddly, Achard relaxes, allowing himself a tight smile of relief. He looks around at the gathered Kill-Team.

 

"Looks like a standard Naval Patrol Group. Probably on their way out to the Mandeville Point. I suggest if we hold our nerve and maintain our course, they will pass us by?"

 

***