Memory and Fate
Prologue: Discovery amid Ruin
"They may strive to forge their own future, but they will never be free from their past. Condemned to repeat it? That is another question"- Abramus, Ordo Hereticus
-x-
Prologue Part 1: The Champion's Mission
The crude ax comes down in a chaotic arc towards the combat shield, unrefined, primitive. The energy field splinters the blade first and then the arm behind it. The wielder's head has already joined the fragmented metal on the blood-stained soil.
The grassland Agri-world of Verdas is awash in the sounds of battle, gunfire, and the guttural howling of the Orkish tide as a cacophony of war rips through the air. A once peaceful rift valley is now overflowing in the blood and battlecry of Humans and Orks alike as the warrior's mortal counterparts charge forward in an immense armored wave. They flank the Emperor's Angels of Death and pay for every inch of ground they reclaim.
But they do not hesitate, not anymore
4th Company Champion Judah of the Ashen Heralds is not concerned with grand stratagem, only singling out the next largest foe, he moves with grace practiced over four and a half centuries of relentless war towards the next snarling Ork mob. He is secure in his war-plate, ancient Maximus-Artificer pattern. The venerable suit itself is painted in the chapter shades of midnight black, sterling silver and blazing gold. The Aquila is worn proudly on his broad chest plate. On his masterwork pauldrons lay the chapter symbol, a smoking torch superimposed over squared lines of silver scripture.
His pauldrons and chest plate are inlaid with stained glass depicting miniature scenes from chapter history. Silver etched scripture denoting the history of his plate and the deeds performed by its bearers run across every inch of his armor's surface in a flowing river of calligraphic mastery. Atop his fusion power plant backpack rests a blazing torch icon whose markings exalt both his company and chapter. Rich tapestries and purity seals forming a sort of tabard and open, bound scrolls adorn his armor in such a fashion that one could think of him as a moving shrine.
A moving shrine which has now decapitated six more Orks in the next two breaths. A veil is over his eyes behind the helmet, laser focused on nothing but the enemies before him. At nothing but the final encampment his brothers advance upon.
Judah falls into a sustained trance as he carves through the onrushing greenskins. He works himself into a simple rhythm. The sword comes up, Orks die, the sword comes down and more Orks die. His combat shield's power field as adept at crushing skulls and pulping torsos as it is parrying Orkish weaponry.
"OY!"
Judah's trance pauses for the briefest of moments as he beholds a much larger Ork barreling towards him. It is clearly a Nob, a great green mass of muscle and iron that easily matches the Astartes in height and mass, even in his full war-plate. The Nob raises a great growling chainaxe over its head and the teeth spring to life.
"Stop killin' all me best boyz!" the Nob swings the axe wildly, Judah deftly sidestepping the slash as the Nob readies another strike. "I need em good and whole to stomp dat poncy git over-
*SHHHINK*
He jams the blade into the talkative Nob's open mouth. The tip emerges from the back of the beast's skull in a spray of brackish blood. The sound the Nob makes no longer resembles talking. It's choking. It's choking on a meter and a half of master-crafted adamantium that has suddenly displaced all the brain matter in its head. Judah pays as much attention to his most recent kill as one would while crushing a fly.
The Champion pivots on his feet. The power sword is a blur in his hands. He carves another Nob from shoulder to groin and lops the arms off another. Another one jumps at him, power klaw crackling madly. Judah smashes his sword fist into the creature's mouth. Broken teeth sprinkle down like rain as Judah's boot pulverizes its already fractured skull.
A standard Astartes can process information at breakneck pace. They can make target selections, gauge distances, and judge threat priorities at a time span measured in between mortal human heartbeats. To them, everything is framed in perfect clarity, testament to a mind working at transhuman speeds.
Judah surpassed even that limit in his second century. The Champion vaults over meter-high corpse piles. He shoulders his way through lesser Orks. His legs pound into the floor in a continuous blur. Even at such ludicrous speeds he hacks and slices his way toward the center of the encampment.
It is as if the Orks are moving underwater to him, great lumbering oafs that while physically strong seem to lack the mind to utilize that raw power. A more armored variant of the Nobs leaps into his way, wielding a stubber-like weapon whose bullets ping off his shield. It believes the metal plates dotting its body will be sufficient to protect it. Judah bashes the gun away and spears his sword deep into its chest before moving up, splitting its head in half. Blood squirts out like oil pouring from a reservoir, as well as actual oil.
More snarling Orks charge at him, far too many and far too heavily armed for even him to fight all at once. Luckily for the Champion, Judah's charges are far from helpless. A great upwelling of ozone signals the attack milliseconds before it is unleashed. Arcing eldritch tendrils of warp-powered lightning scream forth. Like ravenous predators they twist and curl through rubble and over mounds of Orkish dead to find their victims.
Many smaller Orks simply explode under the sheer power, while others are reduced to cinders and blackened bone. A great swathe of ground before him is swept clean of Orks as the lightning arcs back and forth among the horde.
Turning for the briefest second, stoic green lenses meet swirling blue eyes, baleful lightning still arcing from the twin portals. Then he is back in the fight, boots crushing the charred remains. To his side an Apothecary lays down fire with a bolter while attending to a wounded brother, shrapnel perforating the knee joint of his war-plate. The sight of the company's great banner held high signifies that the standard bearer's duty is being upheld. Master-crafted bolt rounds from the loyal protector of the sacred relic sing out towards the Orks.
Far to the flanks, armored forms of Leman Russ tanks roll alongside several of the ancient vehicles fielded in number by the Chapter. Shells, missiles, and even bursts of plasma scream and crash into the battered encampment and accompanying horde.
The battle-trance remains unbroken, only gathering in pitch as Judah nears his objective. Already the largest of the snarling Nobs sallies forth to meet him. The Ashen Herald swings his blade up to answer their challenge. He cleaves heads from shoulders and chops hands from wrists. He severs legs in thick spurts of arterial spray and tears out organs with great disemboweling strokes. He smashes aside return blows with his sword and shield, lashing out with his own blistering ripostes.
He kills the Orks like vermin. He slaughters them as they come. He takes them apart limb from limb until they are squirming corpses at his feet. He leaves a trail of mutilated bodies on the valley floor like ink splotches on his tapestries. The fighting around him reaches a fevered zenith.
At the center of the maelstrom, the eye of the storm parts to reveal a truly menacing site. It looms a full head and shoulders over its lesser kin, towering over them the same way an Astartes towers over mortal men.
Every inch of its body is covered in either brutally complex plated armor or corded muscle so thick it may as well be. Its right hand is covered with a massive armored pincer stuffed with sparking coils and buzzing diodes. Another hand wields a long-curved saber hammered from the wreck of a mighty war machine. Cybernetic parts trace bulging paths throughout the body of the massive Ork, most noticeably replacing half of its face and lower jaw.
The look in its singular organic eye is what sets it apart from the brutes under its command. While there is certainly a great amount of bloodlust present the true mark of its superiority is the knowing malice in them. A malevolent pool of deep red with a sickly yellow pupil belies a tale of years of pillage and slaughter. Upon sighting the approaching champion, the massive half-Dreadnought sized Meganob seizes what's left of its face into a simulacrum of a sick grin.
All of this is secondary in Judah's mind however, for his eyes are drawn to the creature's enormous back. Totems bearing Orkish sigils and other indecipherable runes make up the majority.
A few trophies are nailed or spitted onto the numerous spikes; many are the heads of PDF officers if the prevalence of high peaked caps is to be believed. But one singular bauble adorning the rack has drawn the Champion's laser focus. It is the helmet of one of his company's brothers.
With blood still dripping down the pole
Judah is dimly aware of the Librarian behind him tearing an approaching Nob in half with a telekinetic heave. Nor is he much concerned with anything else as a cold shroud darkens his mind until all that is left is the two warriors. Interlopers trickle in but many even on the Orkish side know that to get in between this fight is a death sentence.
The Meganob speaks after the briefest of moments, his voice as corrugated and rusty as the metal replacing his jaw. He gestures to the helmet
"Dis one a friend a' yours?
Judah takes off like a boltshell, sword and combat shield primed. Like a graceful wisp of smoke, the Champion dances under and through the guard of the Meganob. Judah dodges under a hurried yet brutal saber slash at the last moment, the edge passing inches over his helmet. The Meganob is taken aback as his malicious yellow pupil ever so slightly dilates, normal Astartes are fast but not this fast in full war-plate.
Judah is no ordinary Astartes
He thrusts his power sword towards the neck. Any other xenos-breed and this would have been a killing blow beyond a shadow of a doubt. But this Ork's seemingly crude armor and cybernetics are sturdier than it appears. This theory is cemented further when his foe tries to bisect him without a hint of being inconvenienced by the sword rammed into its neck.
Judah disengages and parries quickly with the shield, power field flaring to life to counter the mad claw as he backpedals to get outside the reach of the raging behemoth. Sloppy, overeager, reckless, these chastisements worm into the Champion's head as the cold battle-lust fades back into the trance of war. How dare he let this Ork bait him so? The title of Champion confers more responsibility than mere swordplay.
This is no ordinary Ork
The Ork cracks its neck with the whirring of crude servos, blood and oil leaking from the nearly-cauterized wound. Its expression darkens and the hand clenching the saber strains with barely-controlled strength.
"Almost got me dere."
The Meganob sweeps his saber in a wide series of arcing slashes that the Champion ducks with less and less ease as the Meganob works itself into a parody of true Astartes focus. Its strength is such that Judah chooses to redirect the blade away rather than take the full brunt of the impact. Gliding the edges of his sword and shield against the whirling saber the two exchanges a bevy of blows. An opening presents itself for the barest of moments but that is all the Champion needs. Intending to disarm the sword hand Judah ripostes the blade to the side but is forced back when the crackling pincer lunges towards his midsection.
*KZZZRRT-THOOOM*
To the surprise of both combatants the limb never reaches its target, mainly due to the psychic thunderbolt blowing most of it apart in a shower of sparking fury. The diodes and coils turn to charred slag and metal melts into the Meganob's skin, eliciting a cry of raging agony from the cyber-Ork as it tears off the outer shell of his molten klaw. Judah concedes that survivability may be preferable than singular honor against a greenskin. Silently thanking the battle-psyker he pushes forward when the enraged beast charges at him. Out massing the marine almost half over it takes a considerable portion of his strength to stay on his feet. It bellows in a voice of straining gears and burning promethium.
"DAT ZOGGIN 'URT YA ZOGGIN PIECE A-GRRRRAAHHHH!"
Leveraging its prodigious weight forward the semi-organic, semi-cybernetic, and now semi-molten hand grasps the combat shield even with the power field slowly destroying the ruined appendage. The saber crashes against the power sword even as it pushes the Champion back further. Wild swings born of pain and blind rage are narrowly blocked or deflected before the Meganob pushes its' luck too far. The ancient power sword swings toward the base of the saber, finding purchase in a minute crack that it exploits to the fullest when the length of the blade goes flying.
The loss of its sword does not even faze the blood-mad Meganob as the now free hand quickly grabs the Champion right below the sword hand, handle acting as an impromptu shield to counter the power sword. The nearly ruined right hand is slowly losing its ability to function as the shield inches up closer to the Meganob's head. As his armor and muscles strain, Judah comes face to face with the Ork.
"I'M GEARSMASHA THE DED 'ARD YA BLOODY ZOGGIN SPACE MARINE, WHAT'RE YOU!?"
"The Victor"
The voice commands finality
The Meganob makes to scoff before a steadily rising whine of fulminous energy catches its ear. It looks to the right and down near the charred metal skeleton that used to be an arm.
There is a plasma gun mounted on the inside of the combat shield.
Gearsmasha allows himself a moment of pause before his face is impacted with a miniature sun. The involuntary jerk of his head at the last second ensures his death will not be clean.
In microseconds the outer layer of skin is simply rendered into vapor. The soft tissue layers underneath quickly follow suit as the blazing bolt of pure energy tears its way in a diagonal line up the Ork's face. The cybernetics turns molten, causing an even greater amount of excruciating pain and damage. Gearsmasha staggers back and slowly topples to his back in an unceremonious pile.
Stalking up towards the felled beast, Judah beholds the extent of the damage.
All but a quarter of the face is gone, revealing yellowish and charred bone. Its cybernetics pool in veins of charred muscle as sparking wires fuse to the tissue. Yet as a testament to Orkish survivability the singular red eye moves about rapidly and what muscles are left in the face attempt to force the seared meat to respond. Judah meets the oculus, beholding a suitably muted yet powerful expression of such hatred and indignant rage that were it capable of doing so it would have torn him limb from limb.
"Gearsmasha" His voice is that of quizzically disinterested judgment "You…I deem you unworthy of remembrance."
If the crippled Meganob had deigned to look at the blade of the rapidly descending power sword, he would have seen the miniature names enshrined across nearly half of its onyx length.
There were hundreds
-x-
Prologue Part 2: The Lorekeeper's Callings
Epistolary Solomon Arrikain looked on upon the fallen Meganob and gore-spattered champion with quizzical yet uneasy eyes, glancing back at the path of violence he had cut through Orkish lines into the now burning camp.
With the death of their leader and most other high-ranking Nobs the Orks either fought amongst themselves for dominance or fled. Either route ended only in their extermination at the hands of the Ashen Heralds. Apothecary Methus left to tend to the wounded while the Ancient Silas stood stoically nearby. All that was left were mop-up operations left to numerous kill-teams and the vengeful PDF remnants.
This WAAAGH had hit the planet hard; casualties for the PDF had been significant. The Verdan PDFs front-line forces suffered ~80% casualties in the opening days of the Rok bombardment, forcing the planet to resort to the deployment of rear-line troops and conscripted civilian militia against the remaining Ork presence - which was still gargantuan despite all the damage that had been inflicted upon it by Imperial Navy pickets. Orkish walkers and other vehicles pillaged across the fertile plains and besieged the final stronghold of the capital. Things looked hopeless.
Then elements of the Ashen Herald's chapter fleet arrived in-system
The 4th and 3rd companies made planetfall within hours and relieved the planetary capital's beleaguered defenders. Like a tidal wave of dark vengeance, the armored forms of Astartes thoroughly cleansed the capital and surrounding farmland. Then the Orks met real armor on the plains.
In a great clash of metal and fire the Captains of both companies had engaged the Warboss on the back of a mighty battlewagon. It took ten blows from a thunder hammer and several dozen bolt rounds to finally bring down the beast. Orks scattered before them in a disorganized route
The 4th moved out to the collapsed frontline, reinforcing the PDF and pushing back the greenskin horde while the 3rd cleansed the major urban centers. With the roars of bolter and chainsword, the greenskins were cut down, and their largest war machines were reduced to wrecks by the heavily armored spearhead of the Chapter's venerable vehicle bay.
After hours of intensive battle, the Ork horde was totally broken and the imperial forces finally had the WAAAGH on its back foot. This Meganob had retreated to this valley, an earlier battlefield littered with destroyed Imperium armor to construct more war machines.
The Heralds never gave it the chance, now they would pursue the remaining xenos down to the last
Solomon softly walked on towards the Champion who now tore strips of fabric from a nearby tent, force axe still sparking slightly as his residual power faded. As was the Chapter's custom his armor was just as much if not more decorated with history.
Venerable artificer plate of undetermined pattern covered him, horned skulls and a deep cerulean complementing the already beautiful war-plate. A master crafted psychic hood adorned a pale face that seemed both aged and yet held a sense of overwhelming power.
A robe embossed and inscribed with breathtaking detail covered him like an Ecclesiarch monk, composed of rich shades of color depicting the Chapter's history in a pseudo-bas relief. Silver-embossed cylindrical trinkets hung on great chains wrapped around the Librarian's neck. Sheathing his force axe the psyker paused in his steps to behold the champion reverently remove the severed helmeted head of Brother Armoni, placing it on the swathe of cloth before wrapping it.
"While noble, recklessly facing the Meganob while we were engaged with its guard was uncalled for." His voice was like the calm just after a storm. "I doubt Armoni would have agreed vengeance overrode duty"
The Champion paused, still looking at the wrapped head "He deserves a proper burial."
A moment of uneasy silence ticked by
Solomon sighed knowingly, his voice smoother "I understand your personal sentiments on the matter, but my point still stands."
Judah nodded slightly "I was…overambitious to say the least." He gathers the head in both hands, clipping the fabric to his belt, "I saw him fall defending his squad and be defiled in the distance and could not contain myself, I apologize."
"No apologies necessary Judah, we can give the head back to Stoneskin squad if you so desire." The Librarian smiles "Now let us inspect the final situation on the ground with them before we move out."
"Thank you, Solomon." Sheathing his sword yet keeping the plasma gun primed they move out into the camp.
The camp itself had been hastily constructed (even by Orkish standards) in the middle of a relatively recent battlefield. Half-stripped Leman Russ tanks, Chimeras and other vehicles littered the ground as well as the decomposing bodies of half-trained PDF troopers. Situated near the mouth of the valley the armored chokepoint had been woefully unprepared for the green tide that had surged through the valley entrance.
Forging on and out of the central area and the now blazing corpse of the Meganob, they behold the mortals who remain of the PDF. Greenhorn conscripts and officers only slightly more experienced pile the shattered corpses of Orks high before flamer armed troops set the piles alight to reduce the inevitable spores they would release. The relatively few remaining marines are treated with the honored reverence that is to be expected of mortals, their saviors. A nearly full tactical squad moves in between tents and rusty scrap piles burning any corpses found.
Approaching the squad, the Champion zeroes in on one brother, the silver-helmeted Sergeant in command
"Lysippus"
The brother in question turns around, war-plate much less decorated but still venerable Maximus pattern. Marching up, he greets the Champion with a clasped fist against his chest plate.
"Champion Judah-", he goes still for a moment when he sees the slightly reddened cloth held at the ornamented warrior's side. Judah presents the wrapped head to the battle brother with the practiced reverence one would associate with the Chaplaincy. Accepting the offering the brother nods in solemn respect.
"I and my squad thank you deeply for retrieving him and for bringing vengeance upon that accursed greenskin."
Judah inclines his head "May brother Armoni's deeds rest in our memory and in his wargear."
"To the ashes we go-"
"-and may we rise once again"
They clasp arms briefly before pulling back. "How fares the situation on the ground?"
Solomon listens to the detailed report given by the brother and feels a sense of relief. The Orks have scattered to the four winds and are already being hunted down from the air and land by gunships and biker squads dispatched by 3rd Captain Malchus. Without the firepower and protection of battlewagons and other such contraptions the open plains became vast killing fields.
come
Solomon pauses for the briefest of moments as a subtle chime enters his perception. He swivels his eyes and focuses his superhuman hearing. The sweeping breeze and smoke from grassfires are all that greet his senses.
A drop of water on a calm surface is how he describes it later
*COME*
A tingling chime forcefully pierces the storm of activity around him, a beckoning voice and at the same time not. It is as the soft tinkling of wind-chimes.
Turning his head in a wide survey of the camp still yields nothing except confusing the Librarian's companions.
"Are you well, Lorekeeper?"
Solomon glances at the two before listening once more, focusing his psychic abilities on the chime. It rang louder this time. Which meant it was of the warp as Solomon surmised.
"There is something calling to me…calling to me as a psyker." Solomon replied, eyes narrowing
Judah's muscles stiffened under his armor "How so?"
"I cannot put it into words, but it feels very…very calm, unlike the Warp I am used to grappling with." Solomon turns towards the distant valley edge, the chime growing ever-so-slightly. "Intriguing to say the least."
"I would advise caution." Lysippus peers ahead of the Librarian "This could be of…sinister origins."
"And you think I wouldn't know this?"
The Sergeant is taken aback for a moment before noticing a wry grin "Brother-Sergeant Lysippus I have witnessed the powers some of our more-" Solomon pauses, expression darkening "-sinister adversaries and do not believe this to be their work, and if it is to be very sloppy in my own opinion."
"What course of action would you have us take now?" Lysippus intones "A phenomenon such as this should be investigated."
Solomon raises a hand to his chin in thought, his eyes steadily wandering towards the burning camp "You came here on a Rhino, no?"
A stone wall looms in front of Solomon and the rest of his brothers. The Librarian presses his hand against the weathered stone as his mind reaches out. His expression is of the utmost serenity and certainty.
Solomon closes his eyes and reaches out
"It is here."
The marines and Champion behind him are by contrast puzzled. But before any could query what the Librarian meant, Solomon's power springs to life. With an exertion of psychic effort, a great rectangular slab of stone is outlined by numerous spider web cracks forming in the rock.
A simple tug and the slab plummets to earth. On the other side of the slab is a thick sheet of metal gears and wiring, revealing the false door for what it was. Not even bothering to wait for the dust to settle, Solomon presses on.
"Come, this has been the second most interesting thing I have seen all day." Pausing to look back at the false door and the momentarily stunned Champion.
"What was the first"?
"Witnessing Captain Immanuel knock the head off the Warboss like the cork from a bottle."
He smiles at the puzzled personal vox clicks of the Tactical Marines and forges onward as the telltale stomping of boots on ancient steel follows his own.
The large corridor was surprisingly pristine given its apparent age. Well-shaped metal lined the passage in unadorned simplicity that stretched onward into a black portal. Dust lay piled in corners near sturdy struts reaching up to the hewn rock. It was more than wide enough to fit three Astartes shoulder-to-shoulder with a floor strong enough to not buckle under the weight of their armor. Autosenses and psychic prowess led the Astartes deeper into the darkened corridor. All the while the chime grew in intensity.
And then stopped
Solomon jerked back in surprise even as he probed out for the psychic beacon. Three such sweeps in as many breaths confirmed his fears, face darkening.
"It is gone."
The Marines behind him cease their advance and go as still as the rocks. The Axe mag-locked to his belt comes undone in a shower of arcing energy.
"Prepare your weapons."
The sounds of bolters primed, flamers ignited, and plasma weapons humming to life filled the corridor. The advance's previous light-heartedness promptly evaporated, the Astartes now moving with calculated purpose behind it. Eventually coming to an archway, the corridor blossomed out into a great chamber. Roving lights danced across ancient dust-laden air.
The true scope of the gargantuan chamber was laid bare by the meticulous teams. Grey forms rose from the floor in layered circles marked by railings. Cogitator terminals lined many sides of these raised platforms that were obviously meant to be staffed by dozens of people. Machines of indeterminate function and great tables coated in dust obscured any sense of what this place had once been. Tracing a line around the outer perimeter the teams move in as one.
"It appears my fears were unfounded, fortunately enough" Solomon lit a fulminous torch in his gauntlet to illuminate the byzantine equipment encircling them. "Perhaps a more thorough search will- "
*HERE*
Solomon's eyes become pinpricks in milliseconds
The chime, now more a keening bell toll blares forth from a singular point among the dust, such is its power that the debris is thrown up in a grey torrent. Nearly a dozen heads snap to attention in surprise towards the small cloud. Solomon pays them no heed.
Flowing past all of them he comes to the singular point that the psychic beacon seared into his mind with such force to manifest in realspace. Eyes searching frantically focused on a single point among the detritus. Seizing an object between his armored fingers he cradles it in his palms. Eyes wide and expression bordering on reverence Solomon turns towards his companions.
"Lorekeeper, by the Emperor!" Judah is taken aback at the frenetic nature of the Librarian "What have you found?!"
Cradling his newfound treasure in one gauntlet Solomon proffers it to the Champion, eyes still wide in rapturous discovery.
"A watch!"
…
"What?"
-x-
He pulls himself from the writhing sea
It is done
He is truly at rest for the first time in a long time
He has expended a great deal of his true power, of which he has precious little
But that does not worry him, for the man is content
He has engineered his world's final victory
No matter the cost, no matter what may come, the darkness festering shall be felled one day soon enough.
Remnant will be free
Ozpin sighs in his chair as his presence on this world fully returns to him. Reassuming the persona of Headmaster, he looks over the files present on the clockwork desk. The teams for this semester, and potential candidates for…his inner circle. One file stands out among the forms, flagged because of three of its four members'…quirks.
STRQ
Hello All!
If you are reading this then you have stumbled upon my very first story. I like Warhammer 40k and RWBY… in case you haven't guessed. Since I'm new I may tend to make mistakes or let my enthusiasm override my common sense. As such I would like some constructive criticism about my writing structure, formatting, or any other errors you see. Some things in here I have left intentionally open ended and will not spoil but if others are unclear please feel free to ask.