Chapter 2
Flavus June sighed heavily as he and his squad crested the high mountain-top that overlooked the valley below. The valley, nestled under the shadow of the great, towering mountain peak called The Needle, whose peak extended well over 10 kilometers above the surface of the planet. Within this valley, the Grey Brothers had established a fortress monastery of sorts, a home in exile.
Home.
Flavus looked out over the encampment, letting the sensation of returning to familiarity and safety wash over him. For a brief moment, he felt happy.
This isn't home.
The Needle was the highest, most secluded, and most defensible point on the planet. The fortress within the valley below it had originally been a ruined Imperial Guard outpost, inhabited on the Grey Brother's arrival by sheep herders and vagabonds, using the old outposts as a place to hide from the xenos menace. Since the arrival, the fortress had been constantly improved and rebuilt, fortified by the Adeptus Mechanicus techpriests and the indentured servitude of the valley's erstwhile inhabitants. Forges had been set up deep underground, powered by the heat of the planet itself. Steel had been produced, and the planet's resources had been abused and pushed to their limits to power the chapter's war effort.
All things said and done, the fortress was strong enough to withstand the invasions and raids of rampaging Greenskin warbands (as, indeed, it had done over the last few years). The defences have held, the defenders entrenched in a position of strength. Yet, it gave one the impression of a base constructed of scrap, thrown together in a fit of desperation. Outwardly strong, yet inherently weak.
Just like the Imperium
"Let's move."
The order was given by Toras Brune, the small squad's commanding officer. Recently promoted after the death of the last officer a few months back, he led the squad with a grim determination. He was a good Marine, a great bull of a man with a voice like thunder. He used to be loud, boisterous, and zealous in his duty to the Emperor in a way that few others in his chapter were, and yet the struggles since the Calamity had ruined him, and he had aged more in the last five years than most Space Marines do in a hundred. His eyes were hollowed and grim, his mouth set in a hard line almost constantly.
Destroyed inside, as are we all. The Emperor is dead. We can all feel it.