Deathwatch: Murderers in Black (IC Thread)

[Machine God]

Asterius:

 

He fell. Cut down by the Xenos blades yet he had extracted first blood from Leader.

 

Beaten the Sergeant to the foe!

 

 

He dreamt on....

[Lysimachus]

Dendinius nods affably back when Azadth speaks. He does not seem to notice the distaste of others among his new squadmates… though, of course, he does. The Librarian is undoubtedly no stranger to prejudice. He moves off to one side with a questioning look at Skaayn. The Watch-Captain joins him and for a few moments they stand together silently, communicating in some form of battle language of rapid hand signals and gestures that are unfamiliar to any of you. Finally Skaayn turns back to Lucifer.

 

“We have less than a week left before departure. Let's make the most of it Our Apothecary will be busy with the Blackshield for some time, but if you have any minor injuries that need treatment, have the Medicae Watch Serfs take a look. Get your gear checked over at the Armoury, too, if necessary. If you will handle that please Brother Zidemi? Once that's done, we'll meet back in the training hall, see if we can get our new team members… integrated.”

 

Edited April 28 by Lysimachus

[Mike Zulu]

Zidemi:

 

Zidemi reset his Servo-Arm, releasing the innards of the Ork which laid lifelessly before him. His could feel his primary and secondary hearts racing. He had not slain such a massive creature in close combat since the chapter trials on Nocturne.

 

Feeling a comraderie over their shared triumph, Zidemi made a jest to Gerhardt, but he did not acknowledge it. In that instant, Zidemi wondered if he had slighted the Black Templar by taking his kill. Or perhaps he was thinking of Asterius, whose rashness resulted in both Gerhardt and Zidemi breaking formation. No doubt the squad leader would need to explain this to the Watch Captain.

 

As Gerhardt walked away, Zidemi turned his attention back to the Ork. He used his Servo-Arm to tear off the panel with the Ork runes for closer inspection. As he could not deciper them he shared it with Ulfurbur, who had been recording the area with her picter. She translated it to "Grub Gob Warp Zag": the Warboss' name.

 

Unimpressed, Zidemi tossed the panel on the corpse, startling Vafri as he claimed his trophies. It can burn on the pyre with the rest of it.

 

+++

 

Upon returning to the Bulwark, two more Astartes presented themselves to the Kill Team: Breacher Bekkar Haalec and Codicier Dendinius. Zidemi and the others welcomed their new Battle-Brothers. Gerhardt did not display the same affection, though his reaction was not surprising given his chapter's doctrine regarding Librarians. Hopefully this would not cause friction between the Astartes.

 

Zidemi had acknowledged Dendinius’s instruction with a respectful nod.  “Acknowledged, Codicier," he replied humbly. "We shall do our utmost.”

 

+++

 

Later that day, Zidemi had presented himself to the Chapel. As previously arranged, the serfs were ready to conduct the branding in honour of a successful mission - the first of many, Vulkan willing. Though their craftsmanship was still lacking it was an improvement on the first session. As Zidemi thanked the serfs for their deed, he inquired about his former battle-brother Ki'shar. In response, they directed Zidemi to the quarters for his inspection.

 

Within the late Salamander’s quarters, Zidemi found a common metalwork set. It was not unusual: all Salamanders were artisans and metallurgists, and Ki’shar had continued the traditions of his chapter in his solitude. Among the set was an unfinished trinket, similarly styled to one that Moridyn had presented to him in the Forge days ago. Zidemi wondered if he had been gifting his work to the other Kill-Team members during his tenure with the Deathwatch.

 

Zidemi collected Ki’shar’s effects and departed for the Forge.

 

+++

 

"Boechner, report to Operatus,”  Zidemi annouced via the Forge's loud hailers upon his return from Ki'shar's quarters. As he waited, he stared at the incomplete trinket on the workbench before him. He had since determined it was the chapter symbol of the Celebrants chapter and that one of its members, Cassius, had indeed served beside Ki'shar.

 

Zidemi was unsure on how to proceed. He did not know the circumstance for gifting these trinkets to other Kill-Team members, and he did not know Ki'shar personally. He was a Devastator Marine of the 4th Company before Zidemi left the chapter for Mars, and had not seen him since. Furthermore, Zidemi was also questioning his own ability to complete the trinket to a satisfactory level. Since committing himself to the cult of Mars much of his artistic flair had dulled, replaced by the knowledge of the machine. A clumsy attempt to finish it may be more insulting than honorary. Perhaps Asterius could illuminate this further, once he recovered from his Sus-an state.

 

Two minutes later the artificer emerged, once again donning his grease-stained overalls. Zidemi turned to the artificer and asked, “How did the Forge fare in my absence?”

 

“Splendidly, my lord," Boechner replied, with an expression that could only be described as a grin.

 

Zidemi nodded at hearing this. “Excellent.”

 

“My lord, the bikes were returned in poor condition. Their spirits are distressed and their frames bear fractures. What did your team do with them?”

 

Zidemi left that unanswered, though he recalled the antics of Vafri and Azadth as an explanation. He was familiar with this kind of attitude from artificers within his own chapter. The bonds between the Nocturneans, the serfdom and the Salamanders were strong enough to tolerate such informality.

 

The Salamander replied with a soft smile. “Do what you can to appease them. I have new work orders for the Forge. We need to be ready for our next mission to Dorghra.”

[Mazer Rackham]

Azadth:

 

Unharnessed for the armourers to fine-tune the warplate, Azadth made his way through the bastion, drawn to the training halls. Dressed in fatigues provided by the Deathwatch the cool air of the muted passgeways passed across his exposed skin. He opened his hand, feeling the breath of history caress his calloused, oversized palm.  Threads of destiny, even now whispering to the hearts of the open. So much history, the lives of a world, sometimes peaceful and lonely, other times heated and warlike.

 

He could only hope the spoor of the Ork-kine wouldn't take root here.

 

Feet so guided, he heard the grunt and chop of the driven blade.

 

The door to the chamber was open, empty. In a blink he had filled it.

 

Gerhardt recovered from a cut against one of the training servitors. An ingenious clade of the mechanised lobotmites, these were as deadly as they were agressive, and even Azadth would be hard pressed to defend himself against one. The Templar half-sworded, a pommel strike to an opportune opening put the drone off balance long enough for the reverse cut at gut-height. A slew of oil-slicked, rigor-necrosis hardened flesh slapped onto the steel deck.

 

Azadth continued to observe, Gerhardt wearing boots and training breeks showed his back. Many exit wounds, the rough flesh of implanted sockets for interfacing with power armour, but no blade or shell had struck his spine - he always faced the enemy, dared their wrath with his own.

 

'You consider yourself usurped by the Seer.' Azadth called, blunt. It was not a question.

 

It was the way of the Glimmering Shoals. Genteel greetings were fine, but directness was expected, valued, amongst brothers. The deserts and jungles bred the tongue and courtly manner of the barbarian, indeed lest a face get smashed, but lies were a different province. In the sand, amongst the green, on a mountain, lies were shunned. They led to mistakes.

 

To death.

Edited April 28 by Mazer Rackham

[Necronaut]

Gerhardt

 

Gerhardt stiffened and turned, half-startled by the Mantis Warrior's silent approach. At Azadth’s words he scowled and spat in disgust.

 

“Usurped?! By that abomination?! The fact that heretic is permitted to live– the fact that I am oath-sworn to… to…”

 

A vein stood proud at his temple, throbbing angrily while his right eye twitched and spasmed. He leveled his blade at the son of the Great Khan and snarled, “As you and I are now oath-brothers and have both shared in the sacrament of battle, I will not gut you where you stand. Sparring cage. Now. First blood. I demand satisfaction.”

[Mazer Rackham]

Azadth:

 

At the outburst, his eyes crinkled with a smile which didn't quite meet his lips, letting the anger wash over him.

 

'Then you shall have it.'

 

Azadth paced through the training room to the cage as though he owned it, with all the time in creation. Stripping off his fatigue jacket inside, he revealed the few scars he possessed. Mostly from the megafauna of the Glimmering Shoals. Each scar belonged to him, even if the garments he now wore, the armour he would be encased in, or the weapons he would use did not. Everything belonged to the Chapter or the Deathwatch, but his scars, the Khukurai at his hip, and this moment - they were all his.

 

He went in first with only momentary, fleeting hesitation. There was no need for wariness, since the Knight would never strike him in the back, or by surprise. He went to the far end of the cage, and watched impassively as the fuming Templar got it, and dogged the latches with a grim finality. One by one, Azadth tensed his muscles, let them relax. Blood stirred, he waited still, until his opponent made formal salute, and offered a deep bow. His palm found the hilt of his blade by rote, the air whispering as the razor-sharp plasteel and adamantium blade was drawn from the throat of the scabbard.

 

Azadth dropped into the spaced, low stance for an opponent with reach.

 

The Templar would have satisfaction.

 

Edited April 29 by Mazer Rackham
Pared the rubbish out. Leaner now.

[A.T.]

Omoc

 

"I will bear witness". As was custom and was written within the codex for such a challenge, and for his own personal assuance that it would not be sullied by the workings of the witch.

 

Such matters would need to be settled before the new oath was sworn and they had wasted enough time here. Already his mind had turned to the study of the Deathwatchs' records that they would not fall blindly into whatever trap befell the first to make planetfall but neither the reports nor first briefing made any suggestion of warpcraft... why then a librarian, had the Inquisitor suspicions he did not share?

[Machine God]

Asterius:

 

Asterius' battered body had been returned to the Medicae chamber, to be healed by Brother Amaras the Apothecary. His war-gear and armour had been sent to the Armorium for repair. 

 

He'd had to be strapped down to the operating table, as even in his Sus-an state his body moved about at times. He'd fallen off the table several times prior to the restraints.

 

His face and body were covered in wound-scar and evidence of laser burns from where the Inquisition had burned away his chapter tattoo's, as part of the edict of obliteration.

 

 

In the depths of his Sus-an Asterius dreamt, the deep sleep afforded him the chance to remember his training, his memories of his Chapter, what had happened to him.

 

Yet he was still bound by the Inquisitional Hypno-Conditioning and the pain-shocks from the transgression. He'd remember things and then would be shocked, a vicious cycle.

 

Proudly he slept, the berserker dream.

 

 

 

 

 

Edited May 1 by Machine God
Clean up

[Necronaut]

Gerhardt

 

Gerhardt grunted and nodded in acknowledgement of the Red Scorpion, who had also seemingly seen fit to descend into the training arena. He may as well make a good show of it.

 

The Mantis Warrior waited patiently at the far end of the cage, reminding the Templar of some predatory beast eyeing its quarry. He rolled his shoulders and sized up his opposition, a scowl still firmly fixed upon his grim features. His hatred of the psyker had clouded mind, making it impossible to think, and the mechanical act of rote violence meted out against the watch-fortress’ murder-servitor training constructs had done little to alleviate his condition. The Mantis Warrior’s brazen challenge, while welcome, only further stoked the flames of madness burning in his skull. How he yearned to rend the flesh of the Black Guard psyker for the sin of existence.

 

Gerhardt offered Azadth a formal martial salute, blade raised vertically before his face, and the gesture was returned in kind with a curt bow before his opponent adopted a low ready-stance, his broad-bladed knife held loosely in one hand. He adopted a low-medium guard of his own and circled in towards the lithe Mantis Warrior.

 

They exchanged a flurry of blows faster than the human eye could possibly follow. Thrust, parry, counter-thrust. The Mantis Warrior was thrillingly fast – too fast, perhaps – and his footwork was impeccable. Nearly every cut and thrust was turned aside by an open handed strike or the flat of his broad-bladed knife, the rest he simply avoided and punished Gerhardt with brutally precise punches and pokes to his joints and soft tissue. More than once, the huge forward-raked knife came within a hair's width of splitting him open as his opponent inexplicably found his way inside of the Templar’s guard, only to be rebuffed by a rap from Drachenhauer’s pommel.

 

Gerhardt was the first to break off the attack, a few stinging red weals rising up from his forearm and chest. He ignored the pain and continued to circle around his squad-mate, wondering how he would draw a bead on this mysterious warrior. He found himself grinning in spite of his ire; all thoughts of the newly arrived librarian had been forgotten and all of his focus was upon the duel.

 

“Is that all you've got?!" 

Edited May 1 by Necronaut

[Mazer Rackham]

Azadth:

 

The first bout had been a great teacher. As expected, the Templar had great mastery of all forms of his blade, demonstrating not only experience, but enough flair to step outside rote. It was not a form of perfection such as to be found in showy displays, but mechanisms of victory.

 

The Sergeant-Hetman was chosen well by time, by place.

 

Launching with a piercing cry, harsh enough to make the metal of the cage ring, Azadth closed the gap of brief reprieve swiftly, down to the Second Sphere of Defence where he was most dangerous to an opponent with mastery of the Third. A flurry of cuts and blows delivered, each was accompanied by the angular, guttural strikes of his voice. All was assault; all was attack, for whilst Gerhardt’s blade was an extension of the Knight’s body, Azadth’s whole being became violence, the harsh law of the jungle.

 

The example of the Khagan. To think is to act, to act is to be.

 

Nothing fancy, just a keening, shrieking onslaught almost out of nowhere, an eruption of the wilderness within. The gleaming Khukurai spinning at the wrist threatening to usurp parries at all angles, steel shivering upon steel, one lashing cut leering dangerously over the well-placed guard of Gerhardt's blade in both hands above his head, the edge within a whisker of breaking skin, the abnormally sharp edge vibrating with a pleasing hum as the metal blades rang in the harmony of the Falling Leaves.

 

A brutal shove from the Knight, and Azadth was pushed away. The other Space Maine was bigger, stronger, could win any bind or maul, so Azadth bothered with neither, dodging out of the way of the backswing follow-up.

 

Once more the Khan-son pressed home, spinning cuts, deft punches to wrist, elbow and a kick to the opposite knee, which stirred the molten wrath of the Knight to cut himself free of the relentless bombardment. With almost wild, space-making swings, he bought room, and converted his final blow into a powerful, two-handed lunge coming for Azadth's chest.

 

Dropping the Khukurai to impale the metal decking below by at least a centimetre under the weight alone, Azadth slapped both hands to the blade tip, wrenched it up, diverting the force as the heels of his hands clamped into the fuller, the edge slicing an inch of red as it crossed his left clavicle towards the shoulder.

 

He stood up, slowly releasing the blade and showing the blood it had drawn from the desperate deflection.

 

'No, Brother,' Azadth replied to Gerhardt's challenge, breathing elevated from the rapid exertions. He looked at the slight wound, wryly. 'But that it is all you will get today.'

 

He gave the Templar a genuine smile, and pressed his hand to the superficial cut, forcing his genhanced body to seal it up, pain already a fleeting memory. He stooped to yank the blade free, flicking it into the air. Catching it, he twisted, twirled and spun it with a flourish, finally offering the Warrior Salute and the respectful, deep bow of the bested.

 

Edited May 1 by Mazer Rackham

[Mike Zulu]

Zidemi: 

 

Zidemi awoke from the induced Sus-An, blinded by the bright lumens above him. He was lying on a steel plinth in a sterile observation room, wearing only a set of braies. By his side, a pair of serfs were busy coiling up cables and intravenous tubing. Looking down at his charcoal-skinned body, he saw the stitched incision running down his fused breastbone. He could feel the weight and the pulsing of his new primary heart, as it pumped warm blood through his body. Evidently, the surgery was a success.

 

The sensation of the new heart was invigorating, and filled him with renewed conviction. The call of the Omnissiah brought him to the Apothecarion, to make a sacrifice of fallible flesh for the surety of steel. Now he wondered if it was in fact Vulkan’s calling, preparing him for the great trials ahead. It was clear to Zidemi they had both gifted him with the tools and the skills to defeat the pirate Warboss, and it was no doubt the first of many xenos to be slain by himself and his new Kill-Team.

 

As Zidemi gained his bearings, Amaras entered the observation room and dismissed the serfs. The Apothecary asked a variety of typical medicae questions, and then gave instructions for post-procedure care. In particular, he directed Zidemi to refrain from any branding and training exercises for the next four days, lest he "unbalance his humours" and "break his sternal wiring". Zidemi heeded these warnings and thanked the Apothecary for undertaking the procedure. He changed back into a set of Deathwatch fatigues and made his leave.

 

On his way out, Zidemi came past another observation area similar to the one he just left, and saw Asterius. His scarred body was strapped down to a surgical plinth, and despite his Sus-An state he was still moving. Unconscious, yet squirmish and twitchy, as if suffering a mortal’s nightmare. One of his legs ended at the knee, wrapped in blood-soaked dressings. An unremarkable bionic leg was propped on the bench behind him, waiting to be installed. Asterius' torment was clearly not over yet.

 

Unable to watch his battle-brother’s agony, Zidemi departed from the Apothecarion. His questions would have to wait for another time.

 

Edited May 1 by Mike Zulu
Formatting

[Necronaut]

Gerhardt

 

Gerhardt’s rumbling laughter filled the room at Azadth’s rejoinder, the last traces of madness melting away at last, for a time.

 

"Well said, Azadth of the Mantis Warriors. You are a credit to your chapter and you do your Primarch proud. And you can count me glad that we do not face each other on the field of battle as enemies, but rather as oath-brothers!”

 

He wiped the tip of Drachenhauer clean and saluted the Mantis Warrior again.

 

“Let this be the first of many."

[Urauloth]

Váfri

 

Once the battle was over, he had seen to a few rituals before leaving with the others. Firstly there was the blood: When his armour had been repainted in the black of the Vigil, many years' worth of old blood-marks had been erased. It was regrettable, but it couldn't be helped. He would simply have to start marking his armour anew, and this victory was the first opportunity. Dipping two fingers into the still-warm blood of an Ork his sword had cut down, he annointed his single silver vambrace.

The second thing was to take a trophy from the hunt. It wasn't required, but this was his first battle under a new oath, and besides, the weapon he had just proven was still lamentably unadorned. Restricting himself to the foes that had died by his hand, he took several of the largest fangs on offer. Not as good as wolf teeth, but servicable.

That settled, he joined Gerhardt in mounting Ork heads on spikes. The son of Dorn had done well leading the hunt, he thought. If he'd had reservations when they set out, the other warrior's conduct has set them to rest. It was unfortunate that the Blackshield had fallen, but he'd gone down fighting the largest foe - it seemed as though he would survive his wounds, but if he didn't, it would not be a bad death.

 

***

 

Watching the lighter drop to the Bulwark's landing pad, Váfri was reminded of his own descent to the surface in a similar vessel. The new arrivals clearly weren't here to be sworn in as he had been, though, as their armour already bore the heraldry of the Watch. He didn't recognise either warrior's chapter insignia, though the horned skull device of a psyker was familiar to him, and it set him ill at ease. He had worked with psykers before, of course, but he doubted he would ever be comfortable with them.

 

The fact that the Templar spat on the deck made him recall that their order was said to possess a singular hatred of witchcraft. That was commendable in a way, but he wondered if it might lead to friction. The Kill-team might well need this Codicier; as distasteful as his arts might be, Xenos sorceries were unfathomably worse. That understanding allowed Váfri to master his instinctual mistrust and offer cordiality.

 

"Well met," he told the newcomers simply.

 

The Breacher seemed more to his liking. A sturdy warrior with a stout shield was a welcome addition to any war party. He had never heard of the Imperial Stars, and he thought once again of his idea that in his time with the Watch he might yet be the first son of Fenris to meet some of the galaxy's far-flung Astartes. Was this new arrival just such a figure? He would try to converse with him at some point if the opportunity presented itself, and find out what manner of warrior these Stars were.

 

His next task would be to head to the armoury. His armour needed a few minor repairs - he would have to be very clear with his instructions to leave the blood on the left arm where it was so that his efforts weren't undone by overzealous cleaning and repainting - and he had a further request he would need to speak to the Salamander about.

Edited May 2 by Urauloth

[Lord_Ikka]

Moridyn

 

In the aftermath of the battle with the orks, Moridyn stayed quiet and watched. He performed his chapter's after-battle rituals, washing the ashes from his face with pure water and thanking brother Bellephon for his guidance. A successful battle gave the dead warrior his final peace and sent him to the Emperor's light. 

 

Passing by the new members of the team as he went to the armory, Moridyn greeted them with a simple nod. He knew of neither the Imperial Stars nor the Black Guard, but welcomed the additional warriors that would bring the kill-team up to full strength. He noted the Black Templar's lack of respect towards the Librarian- Moridyn had heard the fanatical crusaders disdained psykers, but he himself had no such issues. Many were the traps of the enemy, and those blessed with psychic gifts were potent counters to various mind-benders and curse-wielders. He would keep an eye on Gerhardt, make sure that the Templar did not seek to "lose" an unwanted team-member through enemy action.

 

Arriving at the armory, Moridyn began to strip down and clean his weaponry. The bolter was Deathwatch-issue, and while a potent and respected weapon he was not personally attached to it. His shotgun however, was his own and had travelled with him from the Star Phantom's homeworld. He knew every inch of the gun and its chainblade; they had saved his life plenty of times already and he could guarantee they would again. He performed the rites of repair and rearmament, cleansing and oiling the guns and blades to make them function perfectly. All the while, he reviewed the battle in his mind to seek out his personal failings and points of improvement. Moridyn did not believe in self-delusion; he had made mistakes and would seek to address them in future fights.

 

One thing was certain- the kill-team would need to do better. Against the disorganized mob of orks they had faired adequately, though the Black-shield had taken severe wounds. If they had fought the same way against a more tactically-minded foe, they all may have perished. More coordination, and more firepower, were needed...

[Mazer Rackham]

Azadth:

 

The play had entered another act. The brush was a pleasant swirl as he took what was essentially used to repaint walls and tank hulls and mixed them to the colours he required. The greens of lianas and thick allapa fronds with their resting silkmoth-grubs stood in dark relief against the shafts of light cutting down through primary canopy. Ha. It was no masterpiece. He held off recalling the beginning of this adventure as he prepared the tea ritual. All challenges must be followed with cleansing.

 

No rancour, no grudges, doubts erased. Only honour, accomplishment, understanding of limits. Balance. Balance in all humours, lest some small seed, a tiny kernel of recrimination take root and grow like scarlet choke-weed across the soul.

A small survival stove brought by one of the serfs boiled water scooped from the snows without. The crushed leaves awaiting in a goblet taken from the refectory. The water spoke it was ready, and he applied it after the immediate boil, as the Master instructed, to retain the flavour without scalding. The first sip would tell of success. The smell promised his homeland, and lips took the brew eagerly.

 

He sighed deeply. One hundred years since he had left the Master's lodge, and he still couldn't capture the taste perfectly. Perhaps, as it should be. He opened himself to this lesson, even as his mind went back, retreating through the gloomy fug of history. He took the knife up next, to clean, whet, and oil it. Between each swish and press of the meteoric stone, the edge returned to shape. As he whetted, he rested his mind with a rotation of the strange biology awarded him upon ascension.

 

+++++

 

The black silk descended, wrapping his mind, his senses stretching out along gossamer too thin to support the weight of even a lotus arachasae. Adazth Kaedyr could hear it all, the flicker and snap of olyphant grass caught in the wind stirring from the North. The buzz of 1,249 variant insect genus, all looking to feed on each other, in turn being consumed by greater beasts. Hecate IV, an outlying planet of the cluster was being used as a strategic base for the human renegades. Cruel and murderous, they traded in alien pain-givers to ensnare, enslave and subdue the peoples of the Endymion Cluster.

 

A twig snapped, and his eyes opened.

 

Slowly creeping through the long grass and secondary jungle beside him was a small, juvenile Komonos. A lizard-beast that hunted through the smell of it's dying enemy, the long, serpentine tongue flickered out, softly probing the hard ceramite of his armour. It tested his skin with teeth dripping saliva filled with virulent diseases which were the main cause of prey-kill, but obviously unimpressed, it slowly moved away, treading a path through stems into the soft floor. He hadn't moved.

 

Voices first, then odour. That's what carried best. The rolling chirps of birds, the calling and hooting of excited Cong-khi. The jungle was always full of noise, a rushing sea of verdant green and acid yellow. Pockets of silence grew at the intrusion of something different – something from outside.

 

The human voices came through the trees.

 

'It was your fault the girl escaped!’ a man complained. Flesh slapped flesh, something squished. 'These bloody insects!'

 

Ungainly tread told Azadth one was silent, but all were ship-borne. He eschewed his firearms, drew his real weapon - the Leaf-blade. He picked up a stone, flicked it to clatter in amongst the thickly rooted bole of a tree, cloaked in vines and moss. Something within quivered, hidden in the dark and damp, agitated by the sudden stone.

 

The bravest crashed towards it through the thick foliage, ignoring the lack of any growth or spoor in front of the hole. 'Alright you little harpy...game’s ove-'

 

He didn't finish the sentence, as something green and all teeth erupted from the hiding spot, clamped around his head and torso, muffling his screams as it bit down with six inches of serrated, carnivorous mandible. His comrades opened fire, the shotgun and autogun tearing big wads from the stout tree hiding the Carthusian Bole-vore, spraying stinking, sticky sap from both plants everywhere, before it yanked the victim through the roots and reeds, the sickening snap of joints and spine a mercy in the uproar as it dragged the pirate below with a belch.

 

Silence. Horrifying, deafening silence defying the terrible violence that preceded it.

 

The men stood there, stunned. Something moved at the foot of a survivor – a harmless lizard, stirring him and his comrade to scream in panic, shooting wildly, in all directions, until weapons jammed or emptied. In that fatal moment, Azadth launched up from his concealment in the reeking moss and lichen of the shallow stink-pond, and his blade killed them in four cuts. The jungle would feed well on their ruddy ruin.

 

Grisly work finished, he called up to the girl hiding safely in the tree, stuffing her face with koulaberries.

 

+You will be sick if you eat too many of those,+ he warned her.

 

Scolded and vaguely indignant, she dropped the last few.

 

He beckoned and she stepped off the branch, falling down into his arms. He carried her safely to the hamlet, passing the bodies of the other corsairs, neatly shot or cut by his brothers. He nodded to Sergeant-Hetman Kaveh, his emerald green armour cut and broken with black and brown camouflage stripes, aping the Panthera Tigris of the Tranquillity III Tropical lowlands.

 

+Azadth Kaedyr, Son of Aresh, Brother of my House. The Moment of Truth is revealed. The Deathwatch calls. Do you answer?+

 

The Squad surrounded him as he shed all his gear, all but the bloodied knife.

 

He took a breath. +Agha Kaveh. I am ready.+

 

+++++

Azadth opened his eyes, realised he had painted the scene. He smiled, put down the cup and picked up the brush.

 

Now. To the next chapter...

 

Edited May 2 by Mazer Rackham
Clean up, streamlining.

[Machine God]

Asterius:

 

All was pain as he remembered [Redacted]. Pain which fuelled his berserk dream and memories [Redacted]

 

Pain. He dreamt further back...

 

He was accepted. Trained, mutilated, enhanced with new strengths.

 

All was pain, his form writhed upon the table within his restraints. It would have screamed and roared but for the Sus-an!

 

 

 

The embrace of the joys and the pain, shaped him, moulded his psyche and brought catharsis.

 

He was able to become aware of himself within the Sus-an.

 

He would endure the surgery in a conscious state. The blessed incisions of the lancet and scalpel. The addition of the new flesh of the bionic leg.

 

He would do all this in a calm state and not let on that he was aware.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Edited May 3 by Machine God
Clean up

[Lysimachus]

Scene 9: The Quiet

 

For the next day and a half, you return to the normal training timetable of the Deathwatch. This daily routine, that varies little from what is laid out in Guilliman's Codex, might feel comfortable in its familiarity, but the atmosphere is full of tension.

 

When the time for the midday meal arrives on the second day, Skaayn calls a halt to your exercises and gathers all of Lucifer (except, of course, for the still recuperating Blackshield) in one of the training caverns deep beneath the Bulwark. All of the mortals are sent away, with the sole exception of the liaison Alda, whose selfless bravery has endeared her to you all.

 

Aarval sits frowning as he chews on a piece of tough meat. He seems to be gearing himself up to say something, though such reticence seems odd when you consider his typical bluntness. The Watch-Captain finally speaks in his usual low tone, but you can likely detect the tightness in his voice.

 

“I am… concerned. I think you all agree that some of Lord Inquisitor Kine's recent decisions have been a little… erratic…?”

 

Then he snorts, just for a moment letting go of the facade and showing the frustration beneath.

 

“No, damn it,” he growls softly, “here among my brethren I will speak my mind plainly! Something is wrong with the man!”

 

Controlled coolness returns.

 

“The Inquisitor seems obsessed with Dorghra VII. From the little we know, I can see that there is a potential cause for concern, and it must be investigated, but I do not see how we have enough information to conclude it is as urgent as he insists?”

 

“I am also concerned by his choices with regard to this Kill-Team. When my brother Argo and his men were killed, Kine chose which Chapters would be asked to replace them. It… I offer no offence to any of your Chapters… but it feels like he was bloody trying to make it as hard as possible to build a unit that could actually work together? Traditionalists and puritans with… others less so? A Blackshield? A Wolf and the closest thing to a Dark Angel as he could find? A Templar, and now my kinsman who is a psyker arrives? Frankly, I'm surprised Lucifer has done as well as it has!”

 

Skaayn pauses, then mutters ruefully.

 

“In fairness, there were perhaps better choices available to serve as your Watch-Captain, too. I'm no leader.”

 

He halts again, then shrugs.

 

“Other things trouble me. What is the connection between the Ordo… or Kine himself…? and Warpzagga and his fleet? Why was the Blackshield the only one to survive at Dorghra? Coincidence? I know he nearly caused some trouble for you against the Orks, too? I mean to find answers to all those questions. I hope that I will have your support, that you can find a way to overcome your differences and work together?”

 

“I have asked Adept Ulfurbur to assist us. Her actions suggest she is loyal to the Watch. More importantly, she is like us, a newcomer to Alucar. So, if Kine has been engaging in some kind of treachery, I think it unlikely for her to be involved. I also think that she can ask questions where we Astartes cannot.”

 

Another silent moment, then finally he nods decisively.

 

“If Kine is a traitor, then the Compact between the Watch and the Ordo be damned, I intend to have his bloody head.”

 

 

[Necronaut]

Gerhardt

 

There was little love lost between the Inquisition and the Black Templars, one of the few chapters who stubbornly flouted Guilliman’s Codex and the proscriptions against amassing too large of a force of Astartes under one roof. But even they knew when to toe the line and maintain pleasantries with the Emperor's Inquisitors. The reach of the Inquisition was disturbingly long, and when slighted they were the sort of people who might plot their revenge over the course of decades and centuries, and then reveal it all at once.

 

Gerhardt being a man of honour, and generally one to avoid conspiracies, cast his gaze about the cavern uneasily. He had the sudden sensation of being isolated and exposed, naked. If the tales were to be believed, the Inquisitor Lord had eyes and ears everywhere. Could the mortal, Adept Ulfurbur, truly be trusted? Could any of the rest of the assembled astartes here at the Bulwark?

 

“You speak of Heresy, Watch-Captain. This is not an accusation to be bandied about lightly with the Inquisition just out of ear-shot, particularly if it involves the Lord Inquisitor.”

 

He paused, fingering the hilt of his sword where it hung sheathed at his hip, measuring his next words, as they amounted to treason in this remote sector of the Imperium.

 

“What do you propose, Watch-Captain? Do we arrest and interrogate the Lord Inquisitor? And do we truly need proof of his crimes? I believe your word as a man of honour and standing should more than suffice, and the Inquisitor’s behaviour does seem suspicious. If we are to move against him, we should act decisively and strike while the iron is hot. The longer this rot festers, the more precarious our position becomes, and I do not intend to die under the thumb of a mortal on a power trip.”

Edited May 3 by Necronaut

[Lysimachus]

Gerhardt: Skaayn smiles, then shakes his head.

 

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, lad, but I am hardly known in these parts as a man of honour. The ‘Shadowhand’. A cold killer, a manipulator and a practiced liar. All true, of course, when necessary… but it makes me a hard man to trust? Whereas Lord Inquisitor Kine is a respected member of the local Conclave, with a reputation as a man of powerful intellect, good judgement, and loyalty to the Throne. In fact, everything I heard of him before I arrived on Alucar was much the opposite of what I have since found in person! As such, yes, I need proof of his crimes before we can act. At this point, any misgivings I feel about his decisions could be wrong. Hell, it could even be that Kine is totally correct about the threat posed by Dorghra VII! Maybe he's seen something deeper than any of us have realised, and is simply playing his cards close? The bloody Inquisition has a habit of doing that!”

 

Skaayn grimaces.

 

“At this point, I believe our only course is to remain obedient to our oaths… but keep our eyes open. We will go to Dorghra and investigate. Perhaps more will be revealed there? Beyond that, we watch, we gather information. What is really happening here? When did Kine's nature become so different from what his reputation suggests? Where, how and why?”

 

You can see the Raptors’ preferred methodology in the Watch-Captain's words, an axiom long-favoured by his pragmatic Chapter; 'Knowledge is power'. The Raptor has one other practical point to make, and his black eyes stare at the Templar as he makes it.

 

“Finally, we must learn to work together as a team, so that if we discover that we do need to act, we can do so effectively.”

 

 

 

[A.T.]

Omoc

 

The challenge of leadership had ended more swiftly that would have one of his own chapter, but then the Templar had demanded nothing but first blood. For all their reputation their history held as many swordsmen driven by cold purpose as it did righteous fury, but laughter was not expected. A curious one to send as champion or outcast to the Deathwatch.

 

A day passed as training settled into routine and what time outside the cages was spend studying the archives to reinforce the hypno-indoctrination of the deathwatch with whatever knowledge might provide some insight where it had eluded the first squad to make contact. But it seemed that there would be no order in this place as first the newcomers and now Aarval himself brought disruption.

 

That the Inquisition held its own council was understood, that he was suspected was expected. "You bring empty suspicions before us. If you have cause to confront him then do so, if not then you speak too soon. His actions have been unsound but a man is either a traitor or he is not and there can be no uncertainty in that."

 

"You hesitate."

 

Vigilance was ever required but this was close to fear.

[Lysimachus]

Omoc: Now Skaayn frowns.

 

“All black and white, eh Scorpion? You'd have preferred it if I had given you no information at all, just because I don't have the proof one way or the other yet? That must be your faith at work. Me, I'd rather be told everything, even if that includes a little 'empty suspicion' to start with, rather than walking in blind.”

 

 

Edited May 3 by Lysimachus

[A.T.]

Omoc

 

"You have said nothing of the Inquisitors actions that is not already known to us, only that you have usurped his authority over the adept."

 

Suspicion without action was futile, "As Watch-Captain it is your prerogative to pursue this action but no truth will come of half measures."

[Mazer Rackham]

Azadth:

 

He peered at Ulfurbur, not entirely sure the Inquisition was entirely out of earshot. The bravery of the human was redoubtable, but loyalty was a different shade of that fruit altogether. He kept his counsel, watching the reactions of the others, listening to the Red Scorpion verbally duel with the Watch-Kahn.

 

Azadth didn't particularly like being down here, but the dim gloom of this hovel lent a certain gravitas to the coven of Ravens forming. A conspiracy led by the so-called Shadowhand. The suggestion that the Mantis Warriors had been chosen by the mortal schemer Kine, and imposed upon the Captain as some type of...incompetent filler, stung. His Chapter had offered many brethren to the Deathwatch over the centuries, and - Throne willing - would continue to do so.

 

His emerald eyes traversed the darkness, rested on the Black Guard.

 

'Ahga Skaayn tests us,' Azadth said, finding the sharp gap in the exchange.

[Lord_Ikka]

Moridyn

 

Squabbling, mistrust, argument... politics. 

Just what Moridyn had been warned about from his chapter concerning the Inquisition and service in the Deathwatch. It was not to his taste, but something that had to be endured for the sake of his oaths and honor.

 

"Heresy will be punished if it is found. Our duty is to identify and destroy xenos, not investigate the thorny path that is the mind of an Inquisitor. Unless evidence is presented of the Inquisitor's potential, this discussion is futile. We watch, we wait, then we act if needed." Moridyn kept any distaste of the talk out of his quiet tone. 

 

"What is the plan for Dorghra VII?"

[Mike Zulu]

Zidemi: 

 

Zidemi found this congregation distasteful, and had considered walking out in protest. With the many individuals on Alucar hailing from different Chapters and adepts, he had sought to be as diplomatic and honourable as possible to build cohesion in a short time. Yet, they were gathered here, conspiring to apprehend the Inquisitor.

 

Skaayn seemed to have concluded that Kine’s obsessions amounted to heresy, which Zidemi found fallacious. Other Astartes were similarly sceptical, and had taken the Watch-Captain to task on his accusation. Zidemi chose not to add to that vector of attack, satisfied with the rebukes of the other Astartes. There was another point that Zidemi felt needed to be made.

 

“You also speak of teamwork, my lord. I must remind you that the “Blackshield”, whom you refer to with such affection…” Zidemi could not help but smirk at his own sarcasm. ”He is a member of this team. Though you were not explicit you have cast your suspicion over him as well, conveniently while he is incapacitated. We are a Kill-team divided if we are having these discussions in Asterius’ absence.”