The dank vault was silent and cold, water dripped endlessly onto the flagstones, carving out patterns in the wrought granite. The empty echoing spaces were filled with looming arches and hidden niches within which anything could avoid detection. The only source of light was a pair of candles on a rough stone altar to the Emperor, before which a single figure knelt in prayer. The threadbare tabard he wore poorly concealed his massive physique and every muscle spoke of endless years of physical training. His shaven head was cris-crossed with scars, honours won in many victories and three silver service studs glittered from his brow. The biting cold and whispering silence would have driven any other man to distraction but the aspirant was unperturbed, he had fought for centuries across countless worlds and a mere thirteen hour vigil barely registered.
Though he looked calm and restful in his head his thought churned with anticipation, his attempt to meditate were soured by his pride and excitement. For three hundred and seventeen years he had served the Chapter and now his valour was to be recognised. He was to join the elite, the best of the best, he was to be inducted into the 1st Company: the Deathwing of the Dark Angels Chapter.
He wondered what trials awaited him, none who had been inducted before would speak of their trials but their eyes hid a horror that implied an ordeal to test even a Space Marine. He thought back to his early years in the Scout Company, where he took his first steps to glory. The physical augmentations alone broke all but a handful of men, but they were nothing compared the tests of skill, endurance, character and fortitude that followed. Since then his every footstep had been a trial, a test to prove his worth to his Emperor, his brothers and himself. And now at last his prowess was to be recognised.
He dreamed of donning the white Terminator Armour, being greeted by Chapter Master Azreal, bowing before the Master Chaplain and being saluted by a hundred Space Marines in the same Armour. Perhaps this would lead to even greater glory, a Captaincy, perhaps even the position of Chapter Master itself! One day perhaps a thousand Dark Angels would call out his name in celebration upon a field of victory. Yes indeed… his greatest glories had yet to be won!
He was startled out of his reverie by the sound of heavy breathing mere inches from his exposed neck. His combat training demanded that he react and strike out at the interloper, but he held his position of prayer. He had been warned that violence of any kind was not permitted in this hallowed ground and would be a fatal mistake. He held perfectly still as a massive figure silently came into his vision and then stood before him. The power-armoured figure dwarfed even his own build and he found himself wondering how the interloper had moved so silently. He risked a glance upward and nearly started to his feet: it was Ezekiel, Grand Master of the Librarians, Guardian of the Keys, Holder of the Book of Salvation.
Ezekiel stood before him and his penetrating eyes bored into the kneeling Space Marine, powerful physic probes touched his mind and tested his character. For long seconds Ezekiel's mind bored through the soul of his brother, then as if satisfied by what he saw he stepped back and broke contact. He turned to the altar and silently pressed a specific point, a secret compartment whispered open, shining with the fading light of a stasis field. From the compartment Ezekiel remove an ancient scroll, cracked and yellowed with age, which he reverently unrolled and passed to the kneeling Marine. The Marine accepted it with suspicion even as he wondered where was the Chapter Master, the Chaplains, was this his trial?
He stared at Ezekiel for a moment then his eyes fell upon the parchment, and in a heartbeat was enthralled. Here was a secret so hidden and guarded that even a service veteran like himself had never gleaned anything but the most fleeting aspect of it. He had yearned for such knowledge all his life and devoured it like a starving man. However all was not as it seemed, as he read on his hunger was replaced with horror, his beliefs with dread, his pride with shame. With every word that passed his soul withered, and his eyes seemed to beg to change what was laid out before them, but they could only continue to the bitter end. By the time he finished his dreams of glory were ground into the dust, his pride tasted like ashes in his mouth and his martial zeal with a lethargy he had not known for four hundred years. He wished he had never accepted the scroll, never entered the vault, never been accepted into the Deathwing…
OriginsAncient days they were when the infant Primarch, he who would become known as Lion El' Jonson, fell upon on the blighted world of Caliban. A dark and heavily forested world, Caliban hung perilously close to the edge of the Eye of Terror and as such the weight of corruption and mutation hung heavily upon the inhabitants. Children would be born with hideous disfigurements and cattle would give birth to monsters and serpents, the shadowy forests were filled with unnatural movement and the not so distant howls of things that would give men mad to look upon. The night sky was filled with the seeping corruption of the Eye and the people quickly learned to never look up or risk madness. Leathery winged beasts would soar above the villagers and disgusting insects would crawl from the earth wherever a furrow was ploughed. The arrival of the Primarch went completely unnoticed, his fiery descent unremarked upon even when it crashed into the deepest, most shunned part of the forest. By all rights the infant Primarch should have died within minutes of his arrival, devoured by the unnatural beasts that stalk among the mossy boughs. How he managed to survive is a mystery.
For years the Primarch survived in the dark shadows of the forest, hunting the monstrous beasts even as they stalked him: a deadly dance of predator and prey. He learned to use the shadows to his advantage, providing him with safety and security, and so he grew. The Primarch learned many things, the ways of the hunter, the thrill of the kill, the utter patience necessary to survive. He must have travelled far and wide through the forest and he became intimate with its secret ways. Indeed the cries of the monsters were more familiar to him than the sound of a mother's comfort. He lived and thrived in the dark places, allowing their silence into his soul, becoming a part of them.
And then came the fateful day that he heard a sound totally unlike any other on that blighted planet: the sound of human laughter. On the edge of the forest the Primarch stumbled upon a band of human nobles, brightly clad in shining metal armour they raced and jousted just beyond the reach of the shadows: children ran under the bright sun and women danced to the clear notes of harmonious music. Never had the Primarch witnessed such a fete, the sun burned his eyes, the music was dissonant to him, the calls and cries of the revellers meaningless to him, the wide open fields anathema to his nature. And yet a part of his soul responded to the bizarre scene and he yearned to dwell among them.
In the centre of the festival was a young proud prince, riding a great stallion, feted by his fellow knights and eager women. The Primarch felt a strange kinship with this man, and in his bewilderment made a mistake. It was the young prince who saw him lurking among the boughs of the forest, and thinking it was some mutated beast charged forth with his knights. The Primarch ran from his pursuers, he could have easily disappeared but a part of him yearned to face them, and in his confusion he was surrounded. The tall knights astride their steeds thought to hack him down but the young prince intervened and spared him. He dismounted and called out the Primarch, naming himself Luther and asking the Primarch his intent. The words were meaningless to the Primarch but the tone and stance of Luther called to him and he surrendered.
Luther took the Primarch back to his mighty stone keep and named him Lion El' Jonson, which in the language of Caliban meant 'The Son of the Forest'. Few accepted him at first but his prowess and deadly skill soon won the respect of the knights El' Jonson soaked up the way of humanity with startling speed and within a year he towered among the nobles in the intellectual as well as physical sense. His skills were astounding in every field of endeavour and none could best him in combat, but he remained a dour and surly figure. His closest companion was Luther, whose airy and charismatic manner complemented El' Jonson's skills perfectly. Together the pair became the leaders of their keep's knights and led the army against the inhabitants of the forests in a series of stunning victories.
Soon tales of El' Jonson's and Luther 's exploits spread to all the keeps in the lands of Caliban. Countless knight and lords travelled far to meet the pair, and all were amazed by the silent nobility and deadly skill of El' Jonson. But it was Luther who united them, using his charisma and oratory to bind them together into a single warrior band, called the 'Order'. The Order launched a sweeping campaign to liberate Caliban from the grip of the monsters in the forests, in countess engagements Luther's charisma inspired the men to feats of valour while El' Jonson's strategic genius carried all before him. Within a decade the entire world was rid of the mutated monsters and the light of the sun reached everywhere on the surface.
Finally free of fear and shadow Caliban flourished as never before and El' Jonson was proclaimed Supreme Grand Master of the Order. It is also whispered that although openly he was proud of El' Jonson's achievement, Luther felt the first stirrings of jealousy.
As El' Jonson and Luther were battling on Caliban the Emperor was conquering the galaxy at the head of the Legionnaires Astartes. When the Emperor reached Caliban it is said the bond between him and El' Jonson was immediately recognised by all. According to the Speculum Historical El' Jonson was given command of the 1st Legion and Caliban was declared the home world of the now renamed Dark Angels Legion. The knights of the Order clamoured to join their ranks and soon the entire Order had become Space Marines.
El' Jonson was eager to join the Great Crusade, but knew Caliban hung dangerously close to the Eye of Terror. Thus when he left he appointed Luther governor of Caliban and gave him a full third of the Legion with orders to guard the new Imperium against the threat of the Eye.
His final gift was a mighty sword inscribed with the words:
To LutherFriend and comrade
At arms
Let your Faith
Be your shield
Lion
El' JonsonIt is a terrible tragedy that Luther did not heed the message.
The FallThe Great Crusade swept across the galaxy and carried all before it. Lion El' Jonson swiftly proved himself to be the greatest strategic genius in the fledgling Imperium and his tally of victories was second only to the War-Master himself. Countless worlds thought impregnable fell to his Legion and none could best him in matters of strategic warfare, and few in physical combat either. Tales of his valour spread throughout all the worlds conquered by man and most especially they were regaled on Caliban. Luther heard the tales of his brother's glory and the embers of jealousy and envy were stoked into a raging inferno. His role as warden of some forgotten planet grew in his mind to become a vile stain upon his honour and the noble knight Luther had been was lost in bitterness and spite. For a hundred years he brooded upon his envy and every report from the front was as an insult to him.
When the Horus Heresy erupted Lion El' Jonson was fighting alongside Primarch Leman Russ on the far side of the galaxy. Together they fought their way across the galaxy, determined to stand with the Emperor against Horus, but the journey was long and arduous and they found that they had arrived too late. They arrived to find the ultimate tragedy: the Ruins of Terra.
Together the two Primarchs ousted the besieging rebels but it was already too late, the Emperor was on the verge of death and only the arcane mechanisms of the Golden Throne now sustained him. Lion El' Jonson was stricken with grief and it was in sorrow that he returned to Caliban for the first time in many years.
As the Dark Angel's ships moved into orbit over their home a withering salvo of fire blasted from the surface, sending crippled ships burning into the atmosphere. The fleet pulled away from the planet in confusion and El' Jonson attempted to discover a reason for the attack. From a captured scout ship attempting to run their blockade, the Dark Angels were to discover a horrifying tale of corruption and betrayal.
Over the course of many years Luther had corrupted the Space Marines in his charge, projecting his bitterness and spite into their souls. His powerful oratory had twisted them with an all-consuming hatred of those who had stolen their glory and abandoned them to be little more than caretakers. Luther had declared allegiance to Horus, and the cause of the Ruinous powers. His pride and hubris all they needed to make him theirs. Their brethren had fallen to Chaos: the Astartes of the Dark Angels Legion were now Traitor Marines!
Lion El' Jonson's thoughts cannot be imagined for centuries he had hunted and burned away the corruption of Chaos, only to loose his own father and half his brothers to the Ruinous Powers. And now his own sons had turned upon him and followed his oldest friend into damnation. The Imperium was now filled with vengeful loyalists, hunting out any trace of corruption. The very fact that any Dark Angels could fall to Chaos would be damning evidence against all the Space Marines of the 1st Legion: it would spell their doom.
Lion El' Jonson declared that this was a heresy beyond forgiveness, the souls of their brothers had fallen into sin, they must be made to repent of their wickedness by any means necessary! Lion El' Jonson's fury was terrible to behold, his entire fleet moved in to assault the planet, ruthlessly bombarding the surface. The forests burned and the ground shook with the fury of battle as the ships and defence silos smote each other with the power of suns. The mighty keeps collapsed to the ground and the villages were atomised in the inferno. Little by little the defences were shattered, until El' Jonson finally ordered the invasion and personally led the assault against the bastion in which Luther sheltered.
The Primarch swept through the Fallen Dark Angels with the power of hurricane and broke through to Luther's twisted throne room with ease. As the Fallen and the True Angels battled in furious storm of butchery Lion El' Jonson and Luther faced off in a circle of silence. Neither spoke for there was nothing to be said, the betrayal stood between them and their was no possible recompense. The Primarch was a power beyond the ken of mortal man but Luther had been elevated by sorcery and the energies of the warp. The two met blade to blade in a test of skill and power that shocked even hardened Space Marines. In the midst of frenzied carnage they had eyes only for each other, and while the corpses of Space Marines piled up high the fleet continued it's furious bombardment. The surface of Caliban began to crack and heave under the strain, volcanoes erupting and earthquakes triggering all over the world. The fury of the Dark Angels blinding them to the devastation they wrought.
In the crumbling keep Luther and El' Jonson fought on, their brethren slaughtered they battled alone, yet neither would yield. They fought with superhuman strength, equally matched in all but purpose, but then Luther stumbled over the corpse of one of his fallen brethren and exposed his neck to the Lion's blade. As Luther fell the Lion raised his blade high, but even in his fury he found he could not bring himself to end his beloved friend's life. Luther had no such reservations and as El' Jonson hesitated he unleashed a sorcerous attack that struck him terribly. The Lion was thrown across the room, writhing in agony as tendrils of corruption flew from Luther's hands to invade his body. Luther towered over the Lion his arrogant sneer revealing the joy he felt in his friend's torment. The Primarch struggled to stand and Luther redoubled his attack burning the Primarch with a torrent of pure Warp energy. Terrible agonies wracked the Primarch from within but even in searing pain Lion El' Jonson would not yield. A tidal wave of power broke against El' Jonson's mind and body but he would not yield and still he strove to stand, the two forces were perfectly balanced, the irresistible force against the immoveable object. Luther threw his every last ounce of might into the attack and tears of blood wept from his eyes, but the Lion still would not yield. In desperation he abandoned all his defences against the pain as he surged to his feet. For a moment the stoic mask he always wore fell, for one instant the nobility and valour of the Lion was revealed without distortion.
The veil fell from Luther's eyes and the full horror of his betrayal was revealed to him. In an instant he clearly saw that it was not the Lion who was the betrayer it was him! His treason was three fold: against his friend, against his Legion and against the own nobility within himself. He had thrown away everything dear to him in the name of bitterness and the empty promises of the Dark Gods. Luther cast his weapon away and collapsed before Lion El' Jonson, weeping tears of grief at the enormity of his own actions.
Around Caliban the Eye of Terror convulsed as the Dark Gods realised that they had once again been thwarted. Their rage tore at the fabric of reality and the Eye of Terror surged forth. A swirling vortex of warp energy swept through the system, scattering the fleet and hitting Caliban with its unholy fury. The surface bucked like a startled horse, and great chunks of land were sent spinning into the depths of space. The relentless bombardment of the Dark Angels had already weakened the planet and to their horror it broke apart. The few remaining Dark Angels aboard their ships were forced to watch in disbelief as Caliban broke apart and was sucked into the maelstrom of the warp. All that remained was a drifting asteroid belt and the ruins of the great keep.
The Dark Angels descend to the Rock they discovered Luther, sealed in his power amour to keep him protected from the vacuum, curled in a foetal ball endlessly repeating the same phrase. Over and over he told the Dark Angels that the Watchers in the Dark had taken the Primarch and one day they would return him to forgive Luther his sins. Not knowing what else to do they sealed him in stasis to await the day of his judgement. The Space Marines scoured the Rock but could find no traces of their Primarch.
In the aftermath of the fall of Caliban the senior members of the Legion gathered together and decreed that knowledge of the fall should remain forever with them. No one, not even the newly inducted members, could be allowed to learn what had happen lest the Legion be destroyed and any chance of expunging the stain to their honour be lost.
The Fallen Angels had been scattered across time and space, the Ruinous Powers carrying them through the warp to distant places and millennia yet to come. The Dark Angels swore to hunt down each and every one of them, no matter where or when they may lurk and purge them of their wickedness. Only by making every Fallen repent could the Dark Angels expunge the vile stain on their honour and until that day the secret burden of shame must remain with those chosen to bear it: the Deathwing. So long as even one Fallen Angel remained alive and unrepentant the Dark Angels would be Unforgiven, cursed by their ancestors to eternally atone for the sins of the past.
+++Inner Circle+++
The kneeling Marine looked up at Ezekiel, not knowing if he could find the strength to take another breath. He carefully rolled the scroll, his hands quivering with barely contained fury.
Ezekiel watched impassively, and then accepted the scroll back reverently before breaking the silence by saying gravely, "This is our shame, our sin. You must now carry the weight of grief to the end of your days… We alone can bear this burden: this is what it means to be Deathwing."
The kneeling Marine bowed his head and said, "I understand"
"Do you? How can you understand what is necessary? How can you possibly know what must be done to perserve any hope of regaining our honour?" barked Ezekiel
"We must hunt down every Fallen Angel and make them repent at any cost!" the Marine snarled.
"And what of those who seek out what is not theirs to know?" Ezekiel whispered, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
"I… I don't understand" forwarded the Marine less certainly, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
Ezekiel did not reply but from the shadowy alcove stumbled a shambolic figure, dressed in the ragged remains of an Imperial Navy uniform. His hand and feet were bound with manacles and his mouth was gagged, but he wept tears of fear and his eyes pleaded for mercy. Ezekiel watched him approach without reaction, as he stumbled and dragged his heels like he was not in control of his own feet. He stopped between the pair and turned to face the kneeling Marine. Ezekiel towered over him and growled, "We caught this spy in our Library the last time our Fortress-Monastery received supplies. He tried to resist but we know his masters lurk within the Inquisition. If he had escaped…"
The kneeling Marine looked at the pitiful figure before rising to his feet, and calmly clamped both hands on his shoulders. The man struggled to break away, shaking his head, soiling his uniform in his terror and desperation, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. The Marine leant forwards, looked deep into his pleading eyes and whispered, "I will release you… of your burden" and then in one swift movement twisted the man's head 180 degrees.
A mercy killing.
Ezekiel watched impassively as the corpse fell to the ground, and the Marine stood silently staring back at him: daring Ezekiel to judge him. Ezekiel regarded him for long seconds and then he turned to walk away saying,
"Now you are Deathwing"