Loyalty Begets Faith
"Captain, we have an unidentified warp exiting vehicle, at minus forty two
Degrees, abeam too Port. Range…. Thirteen hundred K." The calm voice of the ancient Navigator, just a mere husk of a human, caged in its iron maiden-like capsule; was something akin too the crackling of parchment. Captain Delire could almost see the dust coming out of the Vox speakers on either side of the command chair.
He crushed several buttons on the control arm, bringing the ship's siren to bear, and retracting the vast slabs of adamantium and iron that covered the heavy weapons portholes along the port side. "Pilot Servitor, ignite engines Five and Eight too seventy four percent power. Turn us into our broadside." Delire glanced down at the small control panel on his chair, watching as the Master at Arms of Port Batteries signaled weapon readiness one by one.
Initiate Hellius shouted over the growing din that filled the bridge of the Emperor's Shield. "Two more signatures, larger than the first. They are already at attack speed!" The haste of his voice was not fear or nerves, but the excitement that everyone except the servitors, felt thundering through their veins. Battle. Ode to what glorious release, thought the Captain.
"Scratch that sir, they are bearing down on the first craft. Its transponder code is coming over now." Hellius, now in his fourth decade of the nomadically crusading Black Templars, initiated the recognition logic-engines. "Transponder is receiving as…Emperor's eyes, it's a Ordos Hereticus ship! A light scout bird… Sir, the system is telling me that its…"
"I know. Its not a Warp worthy craft." Delire finished his third in command's statement. He was sitting forward in his chair, staring at the green holo image displayed on the front view port. He zoomed in on the small three person craft, noting its already damaged exterior. "Any word from the-"
"Attention Black Templar warship, this system is as of now, under the Jurisdiction of Inquisitor Feylong. You are to remove yourselves immediately from the system."
The captain's hackles rose, and anger swelled in him. "Initiate, is the authorization code correct?" Delire glanced over too his officer, who nodded. The look on his face confirmed that he felt the same way that the captain did.
Delire punished a button on his control arm, almost shattering the small aluminum nub. "Inquisitor Feylong, you are in the direct path of our patrol." A lie, to be sure, "We can not deviate, lest one of those Ork Roks that you will find on your scanners at Neg-92 Zenith, slip past us." There we no Roks that anyone knew of, but there was enough debris in that area that it might be true. This was Ork territory after all.
"Captain, you will not, I repeat, Will not interfere with our task. Cut your engines, and lower your blast shields. Now!" The Captain was seriously tempted to rip the Vox speakers off his chair all together.
No sooner had the small conflict within himself settle itself, did two servitors along the starboard wall begin whirring with quite a frenzy. They were attached directly into the private communications package that all Templar ships were equipped with.
"Captain, this is Battle Sister Rosetta Vertas of the Order of Angelesis Maxima. I am aboard the Scout ship, and bearing a Black Oath. Please protect me from my aggressors." The woman's voice, eerily emitting from one of the suspended servitors, sounded haggard but firm.
"Hellius, bring it up the signal on the holo." The captain rubbed the Aquilla on the front of his armor, troubled thoughts at war through his ordered mind. The image that appeared on the screen would have been shocking, had not everything else been unbelievable. On the unit shoulder pad of the Battle Sister's armor, rode the iron cross of the Black Templars. The other side was a set of pearly wings on a field of blue. Delire just starred incredulously at the woman for a few moments. Unashamedly, she stared back, deep brown eyes hard like nuclear glass.
"What is this blasphemy, woman? How dare you bear our cross!" Outrage had won over the dark humor that the Templars are known for.
Rosetta did not even blink, but did activate some sort of secondary system after a cascade of sparks blurred the holo image.
"I do not have enough time to explain good Captain, but none the less, I am the holder of a Black Oath. I am sending over the sanctity codes as we speak. I can not outrun the Witch Hunters for very much longer, I suggest you make your deci-"
Both communication servitors spasmmed, and with an ozone pop-flash, died on their racks. The Navigator hissed in his tomb, "The Witch hunters are using a repentant witch. She is young…. But I am holding. There will be no more interruptions." He sounded like his mouth was full, but that was of little concern to the Captain at the moment.
"Captain, the codes are correct. They are from a Templar marine, umm.. Sergeant Agustus Magnatus. It's a real Black Oath." There was a hint of awe in the younger man's voice, and indeed the Captain felt somewhat the same way. He had heard of a Black Oath, but never seen one enacted. It usually bound the bearer to eternal revenge, or the accomplishment of some task too monumental to undertake. Every Black Templar was supposed to assist in the Oath, should the bearer called upon them. But unless they did, no one was allowed to interfere with the bearer. Lest a chaplain be very, Very mad at them.
"Pilot, bring us about. Fire all starboard attitude thrusters, clear and depressurize fighter bays One through Five. Cut all main engines. Port Master of Arms!" Delire keyed the ship intervox.
"Ho sir! Twenty seconds to firing range. Targets Two and Three already plotted." The grizzled, vacuum pitted face of the Master at Arms grinned back up through the blurry green holo screen. The captain smiled slightly and shook his head. The Masters at arms were notorious for listening to the bridge com system.
"Hellius, get that Inquisitor back on the line." Hellius grunted a response to the captain's request, and obeyed.
"Ordos Ships, " Delire looked down at the identification plate, where lay the transponders for the three ships. "Faithful Wrath and Desirus Solitudo, this is a Templar matter now. Your pet witch has attacked our ship, and is continuing to damage our Navigator. We will brook no such disturbance. Leave the area this instant, or be fired upon. The scout ship is our property now, by Black Oath. Priority Alpha, Alpha, Delta, Alpha."
As the solution readiness lights blinked green on the overhead control portion of the Captains chair, Hellius grimaced and looked up from his screens. The soft blue under-lighting made his face paler than normal. "Their not turning sir. Both ships just lit all three of their main burners, and they will be able to get to the scout ship faster than we can swing over it." The Initiate's eyes contained just a hint of unease when they locked gazes with the Captain's own. But he held his tongue as was proper.
At that very moment, the Emperor's Shield was in a non ballistic course towards the beleaguered scout craft. Leading with its long Port broadside, the explosive decompression of the fighter bays on the starboard Axi greatly increased its Port-ward momentum.
The Pilot Servitor initiated several sustained bursts from the craft's attitude thrusters, keeping them from rolling and killing their prow-ward momentum. The bridge, and indeed the rest of the ship shuddered and vibrated in protest at the unconventional punishment of its ancient bones.
Captain Delire had taken this old lady by her bootstraps many times, and knew her limits. He had acquired the Black Pearl Chevron with just this sort of risky maneuver, only three years before in the Wuirsters System. He had single handedly run to ground a Hell Hound class cruiser, and under withering return fire, sidled the Emperor's Shield right up along its belly like a sword slash. That had been a good day.
The Hereticus ships were fast and new. Both were half the size of the Emperor's Shield, and of an unidentified type of craft. Probably light cruisers or fast attack frigates. They were prow forward and running hot, straight at the Shield's prepared broadside guns. Delire gave them a nod for their bravery. "Fire, all Port batteries." Calm voice belied the swift beating of his hearts.
The Emperor's Shield was a very ancient Linebacker class medium ballistic support cruiser. That class's major success had spawned the much used Avenger class Grand Cruiser, a ship many times the size of the Linebacker class vessels. She had been home to more than a thousand captains, and taken down countless amounts of enemies. There was not a buttress, flank gargoyle, or arching tower that did not have some sort of battle scar on her. The crew often joked that there was nothing actually left of the original ship that once had been named the Emperor's Shield. She had been built right after the Black Templars had left on their personal Crusade, and would be part of several engagements in Segmentum Obscurus and Pacificus, before being found mothballed and forgotten by a Templar Battle group that was in need, many years later. Mothball and rear line service had found her much abused and used, though there was still something of worth in her Machine Spirit.
Though Delire wished he had fighters, indeed they were currently being used in the next system over towards galactic North, in the campaign against the Ork Waaagh that was currently underway. But by the Emperor, the old lady could still sing.
The Desirus Solitudo came apart almost immediately, its void shield shattered with a head on collision with a Titus shell, which was a very old semi ballistic nuclear projectile, roughly about the size of a inter system cargo lifter. The Emperor's Shield didn't have Anti ship lasers, like most of the modern ships of it's size, but she did have a few throwbacks from the glorious past of the Imperium.
Its lower decks vaporized by the penetrating Titus round, the Ordos ship rolled in the night; spewing air, crew, and life from its belly.
The Shield shuddered again, this time from the blindingly bright lance of white light that slammed into her Void shield. The second Hereticus ship had come into range, and apparently had more punch than their size would lead to believe.
"Captain, Void shields cut too 65. That Lance weapon is hideously strong." Hellius was shouting over the din of incoming calls, outgoing orders, and the hissing mutterings of working Servitors.
"Gunnery, all sights on the Faithful Wrath. Port Flak guns, make a barrier between the Scout and the Hereticus cruiser." The Captain watched as the anti-fighter and missile batteries turned the blackness into flashes of red and green, the small shrapnel filled shells making an effective gauntlet to protect the limping scout ship.
For a moment, it looked as if the Faithful Wrath's void shield had surrendered under the incredible amount of ballistic fire from the Shield's Port cannons, but with a blue flash, a secondary shield slid smoothly into place. It had took a few glancing hits and was leaking air from a small rip in her starboard flank, but nothing too serious.
Delire cursed, and keyed the Master of Arms.
"Mathew, why isn't our Titus cannon firing?" In the sickly green image, he could see the Master at Arms was directing the next titanic shell into place. It took six cranes and more than a hundred work Servitors to load the damn thing.
"The second shell wasn't up to snuff sir, we aren't making them like we used too. Give me thirty seconds!"
Delire was forced to grab onto the control arm with both hands to keep from being thrown to the deck. The deadly lance of energy from the Ordos cruiser scored a boiling line along the port fighter decks, more than likely welding their doors into solid plates.
"Void shield is down sir. Recharging setting…Now. Novid reactors coming online." Hellius put in a bit late, but had been in good timing with warming up the old reactors.
"If we had five of those ships, we could route those Orks from space. What's the range till we pass in between the scout and the assailant?" The captain watched calmly as a flight of missiles made a wreck of his favorite observation buttress, crumbling the castle like structure in a pillar of flame.
"45 seconds sir. 59 seconds till they are in starboard firing range." Hellius didn't even look up from his screens, his fingers tapping out a symphony on his control pad.
"Engine Room, " Delire made some quick calculations in his head, using variables that weren't exactly direct from the Codex. "Light burner number three to…25." He hit the starboard com button. "Felix, is the Titus loaded?"
It took a moment for the Master at Arms to appear at the screen, but the relatively young Marine nodded. "Yes sir. Ready to fire. Its one of the old shells sir, should be quite a bang."
The captain nodded. "Be ready to fire on my mark." Delire looked up to the Pilot servitor, suspended from its booth in the ceiling. "Pilot, initiate a 30 roll too port along the bow center Axi, …Now."
The artificial gravity fluxed and rippled as the stars begun to spin to the left, and the port batteries fell silent as they lost their angle on the swiftly incoming cruiser.
Delire studied the visual layout of the Hereticus light cruiser for a moment, then reached down beneath his chair. "Hellius, helmets on."
The re-breather clicked on, hermetically sealing the Captain into his marine armor. His and any of the other Master Sergeant and above suits had special links with the ship's systems, allowing them to do their job even in the lack of atmosphere.
Just as the Faithful Wrath rushed over the Shield, from port to starboard, it ignited its laser, searing a deep wound down into the tough armor just aft of the bridge, ripping a hole several decks deep. The forward view ports shattered, even though it was more than a foot thick. Air, bits of metal, the glass itself, and one of destroyed communication servitors rushed out into the nothingness, but the Captain and Initiate were prepared for it, and stayed in their places.
Green lights lit up across the board, as the starboard flank rolled up into the underbelly of the light cruiser.
"Mark!"
Delire and Hellius watched as the massive Titus shell exited the Shield's three hundred foot cannon, propelled by an only slightly smaller nuclear explosion than what the shell itself made on impact.
Traveling somewhere in the neighborhood of .4c, or 40 of light speed, the cylindrical round the size of a building struck the Faithful Wrath's Void shield just below and aft of the engine cluster going at full burn.
At the .01 seconds of impact, the nuclear blast trumpeted out of the magnetically focused front, collapsing the void shield just enough to let the round through. It landed on the slightly convex hump of the number three engine.
Round, crew, and ship, vanished in a ball of light so incredibly bright, the optical sensors on the starboard side of the Emperor's Shield would have be replaced. Sixty two servitors and four marines were flame washed from the unprotected gun decks, their only remains but mere shadows cast upon the wall.
"Alright Hellius, lets get that damn bitch aboard, and find out why we just vaporized two Inquisitorial ships." The captain unbuckled himself from the command chair, and went to see if the bridge exit door still worked. Half of it did.
"Oh and Initiate, destroy the transponders. I don't want any of this coming back onto us."
Hellius nodded in silent, grim agreement.
Record File Beta 843A+
Last Accessed, M41.794+
History of Chaplain Ramiel and the Apheleion Sector Crusade.
Originally sent to recover a piece of the Standard Majoris from the lost forge world of Meshen Delta (far past the rim of the now known Pacificus Segmentum), but events quickly escalated to a drastic degree.
The defunct dock yard facility above the planet contained several ancient mothball locations, containing many venerable ships. Including the Emperor's Shield, a Linebacker Pattern cruiser, several strike cruiser class ships (beyond repair), and a host of fast attack ships the likes of which have not been seen since before the Heresy.
One of the jewels of that particular crusade was the discovery of a mostly complete Grand Cruiser sized ship, named the Hand of Meshen.
For four years after its discovery, a detachment of Tech Marines of the Templars and several from Mars itself, continued to complete the great ship along its original designs. If it had not been for the plans that were still on data crystal, liberated by a Sword Brother named Delire Demerox, the powerful subsystems would have been completely unintelligible in their complexity. Even as of 887.M41, there is still a large expedition of Mars occupying several areas of the ship.
Built originally by the Arch Lord Angeton of Meshen just before the Loxattal invasion around M34 or so. Designed as a mobile service for the local sector's Adeptus Arbites fleets, four sister ships like it had been constructed. But none had survived the Xenos genocidal invasion.
The Loxattal clans had moved through the area with relative ease until being forever broken by a large force of Ordos Xenos and Deathwatch. Due to their distaste and hatred for the Imperium, few clans chose anything but a pirate's life after their resounding mass defeat in M34.739. Apparently the Deathwatch had more on the plate's at the time than to chase down all of the straggling clans, which resulted in the Loxattal being used too this day as mercenaries in many engagements all across the Segmentum Pacificus.
Navigating the rings of debris and still very active mines, Chaplain Ramiel led an expedition of Templars down into the somewhat abandoned Hives of Meshen, escorting a mystically shrouded Lord of Mars and his attendants.
While beating back the roaming groups of feral Loxattal, the Chaplain and the Brothers in Chains of the Black Templars, were able too find the access-logi engines for both the Emperor's Shield and the Hand of Meshen. Under the guidance of the Crusade's head Tech Marine, the Machine Spirit of the Emperor's Shield laboriously awoke. The venerable cruiser was able to clear the hideously old and effective minefield, allowing safe direction and passage between the surface of Meshen Delta and space. Thus was the first of many major successes due to the Emperor's Shield in this Crusade.
Shortly after this clearing of passage, Marshal Constantine moved his command post to the Emperor's Shield, and gave direct Captaincy too one Delire Demerox. Delire had been instrumental in bringing the Shield online, and in clearing the naval grade mines that had proved to be as much as a trap to the inhabitants of Meshen Delta, as a guard against foes.
Three years of purging left all but three of the Old Hives still standing. From either bombardment from the Shield's glorious Titus cannon, or from instigated pile melt-down, only three of the titanic hives were declared as sacrosanct by the Adeptus of Mars. Why, they would never share, though throughout the rest of the Crusade, the Martian activity would increase twenty fold in that same area.
Marshal Constantine was killed in an ambush only weeks before the planet Meshen Delta was announced as 'Cleansed'. The rumored fragment of the Standard was not to be found. Evidence of several newer hulks drifting in the minefield suggests privateer activity within the past century.
Chaplain Ramiel presided over the remains of the Crusade, which now numbered only some 48 Black Templar Marines. His actions throughout the campaign would forever forge the bonds between himself and the Brother's in Chain, becoming irrevocably strong.
For the next decade the Crusade, now almost completely self sustaining through the massive repair and construction bays of the Hand of Meshen, Chaplain Ramiel cleansed over six worlds of the Loxattal taint. Most were feral in origin, and due for some quite precise orbit-to-surface bombardments.
Though vastly understaffed and dangerously ancient, the Emperor's Shield spoke vibrantly in the several naval engagements that were undertaken within that ten Imperial Year span. She hardly required the assistance of the two Gladius class frigates that had originally been assigned to the Apheleion Crusade.
Through brilliant leadership and a seemingly innate understanding of naval tactical maneuvers, Captain Delire was able to destroy almost five comparable Loxattal birth ships in three engagements.
At year seven of their crusade, eight and a half years after the re-awakening of the Emperor's Shield, Captain Delire's fleet dropped out of warp in the Yelegon system. Immediately setting his fleet to alert status, they approached the most likely to be inhabited world. Yelegon IIV was once an agri-wold, but had been found to contain high traces of a very pure promethium. Sub sequentially it had been annexed by the industrial conglomerate of the local day.
Though I would like to mention here, none of the Hives that we found in the Apheleion sector could be even termed as such be today's standards, the single hive we found on Yelegon IIV itself was massive.
More than likely, though I am sure many will research into the Hive Alephos as it was once called, that massive complex worked out for its inhabitance more than anything else.
Captain Delire, along with Chaplain Ramiel, the Brothers in Chain, and some 20 other Black Templar marines were set upon in their initial investigation of the old Hive City. They had entered in through a curiously unshielded drain valley, and had found little to no evidence of combat.
It wasn't until they reached several miles in that they saw the first hints of foul play. Plasma scores, dripping metal, the shiny divots of shells scouring metal from the walls they bounce from, began to surround the adventuring marines.
Makeshift barricades littered the passageways that branched off from the aqua-treatment plant that the marines found. There was evidence of constant, unrelenting, and determined resistance against the presumed Loxattal invaders. Even the stalwart Chaplain commented on the evidence of ruptured booby traps and deadly pitfalls used by the defending forces.
It wasn't until several levels and hours later that the expeditionary force was set upon in ambush by the resident Loxattal forces. Feral beyond usual bounds, it was only their massed numbers and sheer strength of their Xenos breed that finally wore down the Marines too where many confirmed their last stand, drawing out their last firing positions with white chalk and prayers.
Finally, when they last rush came, there was to be no prisoners and definitely no survivors.
For an hour and a half the Marines of the Black Templars held back the rushing tide of bursting bodies and hate filled multi-faceted eyes. If it had not been for Hellius and his band, there would have been no Marine left to tell this tale.
As long as the Xenos had been on this planet, there had also been the sons of Terra. Unbowed, uncowed, undefeated. Tribes of them, living in the highest towers of the Hive had survived miraculously on the ancient technology that refused to die when exposed to many millennia of neglect.
These tribal humans fell out of the very ceiling vents, panels and trap doors at first unapparent to the normal and even augmented, eye. With the spear, the sword, and the axe, they slaughtered from behind and above; the Loxattal that had been in battle with the Marines, and both advanced with the advantages of both.
Over the next few months, all of the human tribes had driven the Loxattal from their precious Hive, something that uncountable forefathers had been unable too do.
It was great pride, that Hellius and several others of the more experienced warriors from the tribes still left alive, were inducted into the Black Templars as Neophytes. Such a deserving group of man had ever been so worthy, and few will contest that in the presence of a Templar.
Almost the entire population, due to lack of wish to stay and the Hive's infertile environment, is probably still housed within the Emperor's Shield and the Hand of Meshen. They make up the internal workings, and now after several generations, are apparently very adept at their job. I would not wish to see a boarding party attempt to take their new home from them.
Since that crusade's absolvement, Captain Delire has been noted in several engagements, breaking enemy picket lines almost single handedly. Wuirsters System, just sixty seven light years from the Armageddon, Captain Delire's small fleet intercepted several chaos ships feeding off he carnage in the nearby contested system. Complete route ensues, and the destruction of several noteworthy chaos Cruisers as a result.
Many actions against the local ork forces and line actions against Tyranid splinter groups has kept the crew of the Emperor's Shield on its toes. The ship never travels vary far from the Hand of Meshen, now renamed the Emperor Provider, which is under the command of Chaplain Ramiel and the Brothers in Chain. They have only a slightly more autonomous role than the normal Black Templar crusades, able to chose the theater of their involvement. As of M41.991 they have refused the invitations to help secure the evident threat of the 13th Black Crusade, instead the small battle group has been jumping from point too point in search of the Necron menace, said to be at the fringes, resulting in several alarming loss of communications.
End of File+
Edit? Y/N+
Thusly, this brings us back too Delire's last known location, patrolling and enacting the ritual checkup of the Chapter Fortress on Khreak.
Her shattered right arm and part of her face would heal, said the marine Apothecary.
"What's that, Brother Gestus?" Captain Delire pointed at the sealed stasis pod, about the size of a small air to surface torpedo.
The grizzled Apothecary Gestus inclined his head towards it as he spoke. "We had to pry her off it actually sir. I figured we should bring it here as it is, since there is a life signature within." He moved over to the cylindrical pod, touching the small control panel on its side. "Its coded to her genes and a pass code. What ever it is, the system is very complex. I am not surprised that it is from the Ordos Hereticus. But, she should wake up soon." Gestus moved off into his large office and workshop that was attached to the trauma center.
Delire picked up the now separated shoulder pad with the Templar cross on it. He could faintly see the other markings that were just underneath the paint. Actually, it wasn't paint per say. It seemed to be some sort of vegetable compound. But he didn't care enough to run it under one of the examination servitors that rested, deactivated, in nooks beside each bed.
Restraining chains rustled, a chill note that every Templar knows by heart, pulling Delire out of thoughts about battle damage and dock time. The Battle Sister moaned slightly in her wavering sleep, her one eyebrow wrinkled in a frown that her lips lacked the ability to recreate.
"Agust…"
Delire felt a cold wind rush through, and felt it through his armor. He, like her, frowned. He left the Trauma deck, calling for a meeting of the Staff sergeants in control of the damaged sections. He had better things to do than to nurse made a blaspheming sister of the Ministorium.
It was only a tiny little voice that whispered to him otherwise. And the vertical scar on her abdomen. Too much like his mother's, some hundred and forty years ago.
Several days, ninety seven staples, fourteen pins, and the amputation of three fingers off her left hand, Rosetta awoke to two very grim looking faces studying her from what seemed like an orbital distance. It took a few moments for everything to come into their proper distance or color, but when it finally did, she recognized one of the faces.
"Captain Delire…" Such a small voice for a very tall woman. It was raspy, probably from the steam burn on her throat. It was covered with an adheso patch.
"Tell me why I shouldn't set you out an airlock. I have quite the mind too." There was seriousness of a definite proportion in the captain's voice. He would not say however, that he had been beside her bed regularly, taking devotions in the otherwise empty trauma center. This had calmed his heated soul, balmed by the guidance of the Emperor. He now felt that, what with the little evidence to be had on the wrecked scout ship, that her story was of some how great import.
Rosetta's drugged eyes cleared for a moment, the mist laying open for the sun, revealing the landscape below. Pain, sorrow, and deep currents of resentment spoke out through those limpid brown pools. But laughter bubbled up from the almost alive woman before them, when she caught a glimpse of the pod on an engineering cart beside her bed.
"Thank the Emperor." And that was all she said.
For the next week, besides soft sleep mutterings, she woke only long enough to scream. Once.
The Emperor's Tarot had been increasingly poignant this last week for the Captain, and truth be told, for the rest of the crew who put stock in such things. The damage patrols and work crews had been finding miraculous things. Where previous damage sensors had told the crew that there was a problem, there was little too none. The great grasping holes in her hull were patched with an ease that would put the most experienced Marine spacer crew to shame. Every supply part, replacement buckle, piece of tubing, was just where it was supposed to be, in exactly the amount that was needed.
By the fourth day, some of the more elderly servitors had become almost spry, even in their mindless state. They stopped leaking eldritch fluids, their lenses became bright, and were if nothing else, much more efficient.
Only a few of the crew besides the captain noticed Hellius and Gestus to name two, but something was definitely changing the ship. Up until now, there had been no real physical evidence of praetor-natural tampering. But Gestus, who spends a ridiculous amount of time in his workshop, had come to see this more acutely than others. Even measuring their progress, denoting the analytical mind of the Marine surgeon. The more than ancient frescoes, mural work, even the etchings that had been long worn off, were showing themselves. Like worms digging up from the ground, likened Hellius, who was worried of chaos taint. Strike that Marine, the captain said, I would like to find the warp beast that can quote verbatim from the Emperorus Liberium, and not be singed by its holy words. They had been studying the etchings in the bulkhead around the bridge door. They had been long since rubbed away before Delire's time, but it was like looking at something that you had always known was there. But never noticed.
No, more like the old girl is getting herself back into shape. Like a girl with a new lover, or a unit with a new officer. They left the conversation at that, as business was at hand.
The captain would later look back on those words, and find them interestingly direct.
"Thank you Ramiel for coming so quickly. I have a small…situation." Captain Delire inclined his head in respect for his former Sword Brother. The wizened beast of a man, bent but never bowed under the weight of knowledge no man should own, nodded back. Delire often wondered how such a powerful man show old wounds as such, but the solid steel in Ramiel's gaze would give even the most stalwart Khornite pause.
"How could I refuse you Delire, were we not in the fires together?" The man, not much older than Delire himself, smiled slightly. Chilling really, above the slight glow from his Rosarius, something that he wore unceasingly these past few years. "The Shield is looking quite good eh, but been in a little action as of late I would surmise. Burner number five on the blink again?"
It was true, Delire knew, but true to their age old game he replied, "Must be your eyes old man, she is running as true as ever. Why don't you come aboard, Honored Chaplain, it would be our pleasure of your company."
True too form, Ramiel arrived with a fully loaded Thunderhawk, complete with honor guard and retainers. Not that it was necessary, but he did have a sense of style. The two old friends met on the flight deck of Bay two, clasping hands in the traditional way. But the looks that passed between them relived old days, that of fire and blood, and the Emperor's will having been done.
It warmed their hearts to be in trusted company, because though one may be separated from a Sword Brother, one never actually leaves them.
Hellius escorted the Chaplain out of the bay, along with the retainers that stayed always at the Marine's side. The Brothers in Chain.
These are not normal Black Templars.
These are the Brothers in Chain. Irrevocable, unstoppable, such a force of nature that they had become personal attendants for the great Chaplain himself over the course of just one Crusade.
Mernas and Junda, linked at bolter, power pack, and hip by great ship-worthy chains melted too their armor. Their devotion, twins founded from the Vinculus crusade. A rarity among themselves. Their concert of fire and bolter shells were one of the true aspirations among most Initiates that had the fear of meeting them. Perfect cohesion, perfect timing. A prayer to the Emperor could be harder to say, than the death oaths they offered to their enemies.
Theodor. Hand of Death, so they speak of him, entrenched in gore and old memories. Signature weapons his, won and made by his own hand in the second War of Armageddon. A vibro blade, something of his old hive world nature, attached to a extended length of chain. Backed by his custom made chainsword, this almost always silent marine was the epitome of cold and pure close quarters combat. Many show deep respect just to his very presence.
Then there is Zelnus. Lord of Pistolas, a dueler of ancient days. Few see his face anymore, and rumors of where he originated from could only be traced back to perhaps the High Marshal's records. The bark of his twin bolt pistols and the life claiming ring of his sword have become synonymous with the Chaplain Ramiel as his personal bodyguard. Many a scar Zelnus owns, that was meant for the Chaplain himself.
Now, however, the servitors that follow Ramiel; I can not speak of. Emperor protect me, but I don't wish to see them again.
"She is looking quite fine Delire, I don't think I have ever noticed this inscription before. Is it recent? I can almost see the shavings about the floor." The two brothers had been moving towards the trauma center, when they passed a brass and gold gilded bulkhead.
The dark look that passed over the Captains face signaled to Ramiel the importance of his visit. "No my friend, no it isn't. Infact just yesterday, there was no brass to be found upon this arch. I passed it here myself several times, throughout my ship-day. Here, come look at this." Delire guided Ramiel too a beautifully depicted mural, made up of very tiny ceramite tiles. It showed a vast space battle between six marine Battle Barge class ships, two of which flew defunct Space Marine sigils.
"This is not that uncommon Delire, though the detail is absolutely exquisite. I have not seen its like." Ramiel arched a scraggly brow in Delire's direction.
The tall Space Marine captain nodded, but pointed to the date and artists name.
"By the Light." Was all Ramiel could respond. "I have passed these halls many times over our tour on this old beauty. But this, nor any of this, have I seen." Already wrinkly forehead, multiplied enforce, a chill breeze again rushing down the collar of Delire's armor.
The Chaplain swayed slightly, but Delire made no move to steady him. Only catch him if he fell, a Templar's honor would have no other way. After a moment, he croaked, "My spirit speaks of no ripples in the warp, no daemons lurking at the wings. Were it any other way, I would know." Ramiel held up a small glass vial to Delire's attention. "Saint Johnathan's bones. They always react too chaos. Has not failed me yet!" The Chaplain gestured towards the fresco. "Truly this is a remade vessel Delire, it's as if the blessings and etchings were brand new!" Brilliant eyes, backlit with some focus of will that the captain would never completely understand, locked and held his own. "By the Emperor, what has happened?"
"Well…old friend, its this woman you see…"
One of Ramiel's hearts stopped at that comment, never to beat again. The one set of words that no Marine should ever utter, or even need to utter.
The incense clouded the Trauma bay, making it look more like a battlefield than home. Two brass dipped ship-servitors were saying prayers out of ancient books, at the cardinal ends of the center itself. None the less, the Chaplain took many precautions, laying purity seals and wards on and about every outward bound surface. Ever door was covered and hatch sealed. The entire ship had been notified of battle status, but awaiting further orders. The eight marines in the room besides the Chaplain himself stood at attentive ease, tensed for Emperor knew what.
"Ignus Dominae Imperium."
"Auspicio Imperetor." Intoned the eight Marines, following the words of the Chaplain's Litany.
The four, Delire, Hellius, Gestus, and the ships Chaplain, Herior, had weapons ready and prayers laying their lips. Ramiel had said to be ready for anything, as he planned to absolve the Black Oath that the Sister had taken, and thusly open the stasis tube. Finally, the day had come. However, the other four marines, the ones part of the very abnormal normal retainer squad of the Chaplain, looked almost bored. But the tension in the grip of their weapon's belied their watchfulness. The Brothers in Chain were no fools.
"Awaken, Daughter of the Emperor!" Blue sparks spewed from one of the overhead lights as Ramiel spoke the last sentence, scarring the deck in their power. Probably a coincidence.
Without a second's delay, the Battle Sister sat bolt upright on the observation table. She had only the rough cotton garments most injured would wear, should they be served at a Marine ship. Rosetta gasped and took deep breaths, eyes wide, emotions too mixed to show.
"I call upon your Oath. Name it, as is Law." The Chaplain spoke, passing his chain and skull studded Crozius over the stricken Battle Sister. The deck plates railed and tossed against their confining screws.
"Rosetta Vertas, of the Order of Angelesis Maxima." The tall woman seemed to be in shock, eyes looking about in a panic, but seeing nothing at all.
"I am charged with the return of the Chalice of Heynon, and the geneseed of Agustus Magnatus, to its rightful place with the Space Marine Chapter, Black Templar. I am charged with the use of all and every available resource to complete my sworn task." Her words were tumbling, halting, as her conscious mind attempted to put order to the Chaplain's command.
Herior caught the captain's eye for a moment. They both knew, one more than the other, about the Chalice. Truly this was auspicious, despite the circumstances surrounding the issue.
Like a coughing almost-drown victim, Rosetta coughed and spit as a spasm gripped her. Blood ran from her nose and dripped from her chin, such was the power of the Chaplain's force of will.
With a sibilant hiss, and the sound of a key turning in a rusty lock, the Chaplain removed his hallowed Rosarius. His worn face sniffed the air, running shaking hands over the ship's walls, the wracked patient, and the life preserver itself.
"There is no chaos here." When Ramiel turned back to Delire and spoke, the captain noticed that small beads of blood shown upon the Chaplain's brow, as were they sweat from a work routine. "We hear her story."
Delire could only nod.
"To be honest with you now, sir, it was a spawn damned small table. But as strange as it seemed, we all fit. Stars above us through the ruined and dipping floors above us, we held our little council of war.
We were all reminiscent of the losses we had suffered, still angry at the pain we had endured. Agustus had broken a chair over the scout's back earlier in the day, but that was just to get some vindication over the shattered nose the slight but sturdy Blood Raven devotee had given him. Black Templars weren't known for their suffering of grudges. But that seemed to bring a slight peace between them, for as long as it lasted.
Maltus was sleeping then, the flow of blood staunched from his stomach for the moment, but he did look to be happy on that pile of rags. It didn't bother me overly much at the time, though now…I will morn him. Now that its all over.
Agustus, his armor nicked and pitted from the day's earlier combat, grunted at the gruel Calisto and I had scraped together. Well some of us had to eat. His dark eyes were troubled, but cool. Like a dark lake, disturbed only by what's underneath it's surface. That was probably the reason I dragged him back from the killing grounds when the drop pods fell afoul of the arcing AA fire. I remember seeing those eyes, staring up at the sky…
I didn't have much to say at the time, our little committee seemed fruitless. The ever faithful Templar urged us to make a last rush attempt at the chaos citadel, simply stating "When the head dies, so does the body."
But in the end, with soft voice and deadly intention, Calisto convinced us otherwise. His haggard face proved if nothing else, that he had experience. The studs over his eye, were more than obvious. It is few, if any, that turn down becoming a fully fledged marine. He chose to be a scout, and was a silent death because of it.
He counseled us to use the shadows, to strike swiftly and quietly. To build fear in the rebelling aspects of Ferdon IV. There were many factions that warred for control, but none the less, the corrupt Nurgle marine Demeros-Hosk stayed in charge. Over the next several days, he taught me how to firmly silence my bolter, how to pad the grips of my boots, and how to use the shadows as a blanket instead of a hindrance.
It wasn't soon after when he let me start going out by myself, that I came back to two bloodied figures wrestling one-sidedly across the first floor of the ruined housing building we called home base.
Oh how Agustus railed against the poor Blood Raven scout, calling him an affront to the way of the Emperor, blessed be his light. The scout was fast and knowledgeable, but the marine was young and incredibly strong. They both called each other traitor and coward, but for different reasons. They each hated the way the other went about things, their ideals and codes clashing just as steel and silk.
I did not try to break this up, but instead, stalked the perimeter, keeping any unwanted spawn from our little domestic dispute.
It was not until later that I heard, separately from each, that it was Maltus that finished their argument. His simple words were as thus.
The Emperor is here with you. He knows, and sees what you believe.
But he has charged both of you with the same cause.
To destroy your enemies, to succeed where others will not.
You both are knowledgeable. Accord yourselves such, and realize the
Emperors' will. Be not afraid. Have faith..
Those were his words sir, I swear it. That was to be the last time he spoke, until his last day.
The Cup. The Chalice of Heynon. The White Vessel. Until a few years ago, I would have thought it was just idle gossip and poetic license of the youth of the orders of the Adeptus Sororitus. But it was real. The unearthing of the artifact caused a ripple through the warp of which only two of our psyker astropaths survived the concussive wave.
Our mission was stationed on Lepsus Alpha, so we were but a jump from the Ferdon system. Our Canoness organized the launch of our small force but brief hours from the warp storm. Likewise, a small Crusade ship from the Black Templars, as you well know; was struck with the same shockwave. They alerted the Ministorium of the disturbance, but as Calisto told us later, the Blood Raven patrol ship Corax Vulnerum intercepted the call.
By the time we all arrived, roughly within hours of each other, the planet was already in revolt. We were too late, by far. The cursed forces of Nurgle had been waiting, just off the warp shadow of the system. I can only assume they already knew of the un-earthing of the artifact, or that it was to come to pass within a short amount of time. Their warp trail started dangerously close to the native gas giant in-system.
…I am sorry sir. It is hard to speak of those black days, the days of buffeted drop pods, exploding astro-charges, sweaty palms. We landed in the main Hexus landing platform under false praise and welcome. Only a few of the sisters made it out from the original landing point, and we were whittled down by a hostile city throughout the days to come.
It was simply by luck I was near where the ailing Templar drop pod landed, in an explosion of brick and permacrete. And it was only Agustus that seemed even savable, which I and my brother priest maneuvered to a small safe place we had managed to hold.
Another piece of luck, was that the Blood Raven scout found us. He just dropped into our building several days later, calm as marble. We sorted things out, and he knew the ways to incite the machine spirits of the Templar's armor. So this is where we started Sir… with our table. Table of War.
Only a few days after the fight between the two Chapter holders, that Maltus awoke for this most lucent, and only time. His speech, was almost serene in its quality, his vocabulary much more eloquent than I had ever heard from this man. But he was a Priest after all. There were only three things he requested from us, his chain sword, the copy of the Librum Empirum, and his golden Exterminatus cross. I regret to this day, that I never asked where he came by such a specific piece of equipment, and I regret even more that I will never know what meant to him.
Bloody footstep by bloody footstep, he ascended the stairs of the main palace bridge. Las fire whizzed and klinked off of the stone hand rail. The traitor Polico had really organized once they had detected his presence, assaulting the Palace itself as it were. Their chaos banners made us all dry retch, even at our distant and elevated view point.
With a cry of enjoyment? Maltus raised his Librum high once he reached the elevated bridge to the palace itself. The Emperor is great, and mighty. I have never seen as such, but a las bolt ripped through the lock of the great book. It tumbled into pages, whirling about the dying priest, in a frenzy of wind. I expected it to abate, but it did not. It gained power with each step of the faith filled Maltus.
All of our jaws were open then, as flying pages beheaded the guilty, chased the traitorous down stair wells, played in gouts of blood from the heretical. It was the most incredible display I have ever seen. I die fulfilled, from simply that day.
Only when the Deamon Lord pussed and slithered its way onto the bridge, just before the gates, did true battle take place. Bowels leaking from his stomach, Maltus took the fight too the abomination, goring huge swaths of pustule ridden flesh from the daemon. He screamed the prayers of the Emperor as he was swallowed, the bridge left quiet of all retort, empty of defenders but the daemon itself.
Later, when we returned to base camp, we did not speak for three days. It was quiet reverence, though I think that it was more than just sand in our eyes to account for the tears we all felt upon our faces.
There would be a reckoning, and we had a blessing.
For one year and a day, we slew the traitors. We struck from the shadows, bringing in to play the ever present hatreds between the chaos followers. They warred above us, spilling the blood of thousands in their thirst for miss-begotten revenge for crimes their adversaries did not commit.
We were the shadow hands of the Emperor, his will done with two or three that could not be done by ten or thirty. We eradicated leaders, destroyed cashes, immobilized whole armor units. Surely the gift of the Will was upon us, our every mission was a success. There was no enemy, no daemon, no heretic, no mutant, that could stand in our way. Blessed by the Emperor were our weapons, our lives.
The last day was the most blessed. Finally we had cleared and created a way into the almost impenetrable fortress that loomed above us. Uncounted hours had been spend pouring over the plans and schematics that the Blood Raven scout had found. It was but a matter of time, when we found the way in.
Now that I look back, I don't see any way out. I don't think that it even occurred to us to find a way of retreat.
It was slow going at first, great bales of trash and refuse blocked our way, clogged effluence from humans in uncountable numbers. Eventually the tunnels were cleared, and the final stretch secured. The main Imperial cult auditorium had been remade into a shrine too Nurgle, feeding off of the poor conditions of a hive city without proper systems. Truly there was evidence of their plagues everywhere, even upon the impermeable permacrete.
We found the worship-gala, but at the time there was near to no worshipers of the foul daemon. Agustus bade us to find out places among the many tiered auditorium, picking our places with care. This was the last act in which he over-rode the much honored Blood Raven veteran Scout.
Four hours and many stenches later, the Auditorium had filled with the pustule filled worshipers of the foul Nurgle Prince that had taken up residence on this world. Desperately, this daemon wished for devotion and worship, forcing his supplicants to greater and greater displays of faith and ignorance.
Finally, once the great Daemon revealed himself, Calisto set off the signal. Ten Ministorium bells from across the city, carelessly left in the moorings, exploded into sound. The arcane ringing of the old instruments shattered the great paned windows above the gathered plague congregation.
Though not the intended effect, hundreds of polluted humans were shredded that day. Literally, shreds of flesh remained after the cascade of holy glass that fell upon the unrepentant worshipers of false gods.
Despite the turn of events, we executed out parts. Agustus and Calisto leaped from the lowest balcony, ripping into the shrieking throng like lightning bolts. The heavy bolter we had liberated, now to sit in my hands, jumped and bucked at its eagerness to spray shells at the unbelievers below.
While the Daemon shrieked and gurgled in rage, we cut down it's adoring crowd like so much smoke before the wind. It wasn't until we realized the enormous doors to the chapel itself had been opened, did anything slow out penitent slaying.
"Agustus, finish this. I can not best the daemon, Emperor take me." Over the close-set Vox net, it sounded blurry, but true. Calisto stood as a man realizing his purpose, the truth in life. I wept to his enjoyment, for truly tears rolled from his eyes as he tore down the main isle, heading for the doors.
Dual vibro-blades brandished in the most experienced fashion, the scout leapt with a scream upon enemies I could not see from my vantage point.
Agustus Magnatus moving through blood, gore, regurgitated innards, and skeletally exposed corpses, roared his defiance upon the Daemon next to the corrupted Imperial altar.
I brought a hail of the heavy bolter fire down upon the monstrosity, but only one in twenty shells got through what ever field it was projecting. Even then I knew it was useless, so I took my power sword and spear, sliding and climbing down one of the banners on the side of the altar I was closest too.
Agustus went to battle, calling out the most Holy of scriptures. The power flail he wielded struck pounds of flesh with each blow from the Daemon. Though chunks of the hideous flesh squirmed and quivered as they were ejected from the Foul being's body, Agustus was failing in his strength. Boils and barnacles had begun to form on his armor as contagions and toxic fluids washed over him. Valiant was his assault, but by the time I reached the floor of the worship center, Agustus was reeling from more blows than I ever saw land.
Pulling up a torch of antiquity from a chamber column, I rushed the daemon, shouting my faith in the Emperor's light. For mere moments it shied from my presence, but at the last second, it struck me from its space with an incredible blow. I thought my life as finished, as the air took me, soon to contact a solid wall with the most irrevocable force.
The Emperor keep me, in the retelling of what happened there after.
As I awoke, adrenal glands jolting me back into reality, I saw the most glorious sights. Calisto, the dire scout, was standing above the body of Agustus. He sliced and cut at the massive dripping arms that attempted to encircle the two. The gaping wound in the daemons chest seemed to overflow with green and yellow puss, dripping down onto the wet flagstones beneath our feet.
But as brilliant as Calisto was defending the maybe still alive Marine, they were both failing. Calisto's less protected body held many a grievous wound, and the growing spider webs of cancerous veins.
I had only one Emperor card to play, my spear. Previously I had spent a day making a spear from a section of water piping. The jagged end as the head had three frag grenades stuffed down into it, the arming studs pressed at a slant against the interior.
It was all I had, for my sword was nowhere to be seen. Rising too my feet, I leapt over several wrecked pews, heading for the momentarily distracted daemon.
Calisto's strength finally gave out as he was hurled headlong one of the stone support pillars, landing with a definite crunch. The beast of Nurgle spewed toxins and gurgled in triumph as it turn its attention too the prone Templar.
My spear, fulfilling its martial destiny dug deep into the monstrosity's side, in between plate like ribs. If indeed they were ribs, I never went back to find out.
I awoke with many scoring wounds, having been blown backwards by the shockwave, even though I had leapt away. My, memory, is sketchy here about those first few minutes, but I remember the big doors were once again shut and someone on the other side was not happy about it. My first and foremost thought was to reach the altar, the center stage of the plagued church middle. The reliquary would not at first give to my forceful ministrations, but eventually yielded. Though the exterior was riddled with the evidence of the Disease Lord that now owned this hall, the interior was still pure smooth gold. And beckoning, upon a yellow and purple aged pillow sat the Chalice. Forgive me for such callous handling, but I quickly stuffed the great Cup into my storage pack. My attention re-awakened with my deepest desires fulfilled, I turned my attention upon my much injured compatriots.
Calisto was dead, most of the top of his head occupying the bottom. But Agustus was not. He was gripped in a violent seizure when I came to him. My strength was not enough to restrain a Space Marine, so I checked on the barricaded door. The Scout must have been the one to do it, fore there was a much mutilated corpse shoved in between the man high tarnished brass pull bars. The thunderous banging had stopped, and I feared that the cultists had found another way in.
The great daemon lay in a deep pile, flesh and fluids unmoving. It had been mostly turned inside out by the concussion wave. But as I came back to where Agustus lay, he had calmed from his spasm.
"Rosetta…" His weak voice was filled with… fear.
I almost balked as I knelt next to him, running a hand over his brow.
"The Geneseed. You have to extract it, before it is infected." Part relief, part worry, I shook my head. I did not what it was, how to remove it, or store it. I told him thus.
He gripped my hand with failing strength and drew me close. For the next few minutes, till we both heard boot falls upon the adjoining access stairs to the auditorium, he schooled me on code rituals and certain parts of his own anatomy.
With his own knife I carved the glistening Progenoids from his neck. But with blood spraying from his clenched teeth he told me simply to run. The corrupted figures I saw spilling from the auxiliary entrances spurned me on my way. The barking of Agustuses' bolter heralded my exit from the defunct worship center.
In the blood of the two heretics that attempted to stop my exit from the structure, I swore the Black Oath, that Agustus had introduced me too in the past few days. I had no idea that it would lead me here.
As the Battle Sister lay back, still taking deep breaths in calming her excited and battle damaged nerves, Ramiel took Delire aside.
"From what she tells us, that was over five years ago. Her planet of mention was virus bombed from orbit by the Ordos Hereticus three Imperial years ago." The now ancient eyes of the Chaplain bored into Delire's own, searching for their inner feelings.
"So is it to be believed?" Delire questioned, but Ramiel nodded with a certain firmness.
"It can not be a lie. First, there is no chaos here, else I would have found it out. Second, there is no deceit, or else a Black Oath could never be enacted. You know as much, from the Old Text."
Delire frowned, looking down at the prostrate Sister. "Yes, I remember. But none the less, this is all hard for me to…digest." Delire nodded to Hellius and Gestus, bidding them exit the room. They did, though it was obvious that Hellius was much irritated and shamed by the request.
When the room was cleared of all of the superfluous personnel, Delire never having then the slightest idea of asking the Brothers to leave, Ramiel turned too the Sister.
"Lady Rosetta, we need you to open the stasis pod. I will not ask of how you came here past your ordeal, but know that we are heavily invested in this undertaking. We have no choice now." The fallen heretic skulls that adorned Ramiel's Crozius brushed the floor, bound to him by eldritch chains.
She did so with halting grace, telling of her wounds. The room was at its seat point, a hushed breath held in each throat.
Mist spilled out of the sides of the pod, as it cracked open, its smooth corners and operation a mystery to most. At last when the hood did rise, at long last revealing the child within.
Clasped to his white cloaked breast was the Chalice, gripped with the ease of long familiarity. Already there was a small scar upon the boy's face, a crescent just beneath the left eye.
When Delire moved to the child, no more than four or five years of age, it opened its eyes and spoke.
"Ave Imperetor."
And its eyes shown as of the Iron Cross of the Templars, the pupils formed too the very crest that Delire held upon his armored shoulder.
And no one could have predicted the days that followed.