Nothing grew on Chondax for it was a wasteland of endless white salt plains, unbroken and featureless. No cities or outposts defiled the horizon and the swirling salt-sands soon buried any structure not constantly watched. Under the burning gaze of three suns the wind howled a mocking lament making a farce of any attempt to build permanent homes. It was a strange fate that on such a worthless world the fate of millions would be decided. Dropping through the stratosphere was a golden Thunderhawk; burning a contrail across the sky it bore the livery of the VIIth Legion, the Imperial Fists. Inside the jostling transport the roomy troop compartment was mostly empty; the racks unfilled save for two very different figures. The first cut a regal figure in his mark IV power armour, the clean lines and shining commendations of his golden plate the very embodiment of the Fists majesty. His face was youthful and proud, as yet unscarred by the savagery of war and his epaulets bore the marks of a Sergeants badge, so new it still shone. His name was Durhan and his hearts were filled to bursting with pride and duty at his new rank and his first independent mission. The other figure was as different as night is from day, a shadow cut loose and let free to walk the stars. His armour was a bastardised mix of models and scavenged parts, scarred and torn in some places and in others plates were held together with crude rivets. Every surface was black and unadorned save for his legion's badge, itself dulled and non-reflective, the white raven of the XIXth Legion. The Raven Guard bore the uniquely pale skin and black eyes of Corax's children and his face was a mess of scars and old wounds, however this did not obscure the sly, cocky grin across his lips. Yet the eeriest thing about him was the silence in which he moved. Every other legion, regardless of which mark plate they bore, moved in an almost subliminal hum of whirring fibre-bundles and buzzing fuel cells, but the XIXth had mastered some arcane and closely guarded secret that rendered this mute. His name was Shran and his hearts were a bizarre mix of insolence, humour and pain.
The two Astartes stood silently strapped into their support webbing amongst the jostling and lurching compartment, the only movement came from Shran as he flexed his lightning claws shooting the blades in and out, in and out. Finally Durhan turned his head and said in an irritated tone, "Do you have to do that?" Shran grinned his most ingratiating smile replying, "It helps me think". Durhan couldn't help himself saying, "Well it distracts me from thinking". Shran raised an eyebrow and said, "What's this? An Imperial Fist letting someone get under his skin, shame on you young one." Durhan snorted and said "We are on an important diplomatic mission to the Vth Legion; you should be focussed on the perfect execution of your duties not poking your superior officers." Shran only response was to shoot his claws out again; he frowned and said, "See that, third blade on the left, definitely out of synch. Yes, yes it's almost a full two milliseconds behind the rest". He retracted his blades and pulled out a tool kit from his belt, prizing off the covering on his left gauntlet he set to work one-handed with a set of micro-lathes and Nano-fibres. The infinitely delicate work should have been impossible in a lurching, bucking aircraft but Shran seemed completely oblivious as he carried out the work. Durhan bit down on a retort at the insolent marine, but frankly he couldn't help being a bit impressed at the care and skill his kinsman showed. In fact it was hard not to be in awe of the Raven Guard; though Durhan was technically the superior officer on this mission he was painfully aware of his own youth and inexperience. His own career was brilliant but short, in normal times he would have had another half-century of tempering before being considered for promotion but these were hardly normal times and it would be an insult to send anything less than a sergeant on this mission. Shran's file however was littered with commendations and notable compliances: Deliverance, Tormeda, Jorgall, Valhalla, the Heliopolis Arc and Istvaan V. It was that last one that stood out and Durhan had heard all the dark barracks rumours, the campaign by seven legions to cut down the arch-traitor Horus and his allies only for the first wave to be betrayed by their supposed brothers in arms: the Word Bearers, Iron Warriors, Night Lords and the Alpha Legion. The Raven Guard had lost seventy five thousand marines in the horror of the drop-site massacres followed by ninety-eight days on the run with all eight traitor legions on their heels and the final stand against Angron's World Eaters. It was said Shran's company had been on the front line against the blood crazed berserkers, right in the thick of the fighting, only the miraculous intervention of Corax's reserve fleets had saved the XIXth Legion and let a scare few thousand escape. Still Shran had been mutilated by some World Eater Captain before his brothers dragged his body onto a Thunderhawk and he slipped into a sus-an-membrane coma on the trip back to Terra. When Corax set sail once more to seek vengeance he was forced to leave his most critically wounded in the care of Terra's apothecaries in the slim hope they would recover. Months later Shran had awoken to find his brothers and Primarch gone and had marched right up to Rogal Dorn himself to demand a mission, any mission. Durhan had been in awe to be assigned alongside so honoured a veteran but on the voyage to Chondax had barely seen the Raven Guard and now they were finally stuck together was finding him rather irritating.
He was shaken out of his musings as the Thunderhawk hit a bad patch of turbulence, bouncing the aircraft several hundred feet up and down. The fuselage seemed to squeal as the serf-crew fought for control and eventually got it to settle down, Shran was still bent over his gauntlet his only response to mutter, "Rogal couldn't have spared us a Stormbird eh?" Durhan frowned, "Primarch Dorn has precious few resources as it is and assigns them to priority missions. Beside the Thunderhawk is a perfectly serviceable pattern and has been tested and certified for the Legions." Shran actually smiled at that one and said, "Ha, that's a joke, I've seen sturdier ration cans, a babe-in-arms could kick a hole straight through this hull. Now the Stormbird there's a plane with some weight to it, some heft, I could fly one through a wall of flak and not feel a thing." Durhan grimaced and said shortly, "Well you better get used to it, with Mars still in insurrection production has ground to a halt. Soon we all may well have to make do with whatever we can scrounge." His reference to Shran's patchwork armour was not lost and neither of them had been surprised when the adeptus terra (with the typical bureaucrat's ability to solve any problem by ignoring it) had simply glossed over the multitude of haphazard variants as 'Mark V' armour. It was Shran's turn to grimace as he said, "Light of Terra, I pity any company that has nothing but these ramshackle crates to get them dirtside." His remark was overwritten though as his claws suddenly popped out, his frown was covered over by a smile as he said, "Ah there you see perfect alignment, now let's see where we are shall we?" Durhan nodded and punched the controls to activate the hololith; the composite image generated from the external cameras showed an endless desert in all directions. "Thrones sake" muttered Shran, "What a forsaken place to spend five years". For once Durhan was in complete agreement, "The Vth was sent here to mop up the Orks fleeing from the triumph on Ullanor. A simple little cleansing operation that they somehow turned into a gruelling five year chase round and round the planet. I can't understand how the Vth messed this up so badly, do we even need these sorts of barbarians on our side? Their almost as primitive as Leman Russ' VIth or Vulkan's XVIIIth". Shran fixed the Fist with a steel gaze and said gravely, "Do not disparage the Salamanders in front of me, you didn't see them struggling against insanity in the Urgall Depression, even in the jaws of utter defeat not a single one of them gave up while he had breath left in his body: not a single one." Durhan somehow managed not to look shame faced as his companion continued, "Anyway we haven't heard anything from the VIth since they were dispatched to Prospero, they might still be fighting out there somewhere". Durhan shook his head sadly, "I don't doubt the Space Wolves are fighting but the question is who for? You mark my words those savages will throw in their lot with the Traitors at the first opportunity; they'll be in like-minded company with the Night Lords and the World Eaters. As will the Vth if we don't succeed in our mission." Shran looked up at the bulkhead above him and mused under his breath, "I'm not so sure, I've got a feeling there's been a lot more happening down on Chondax than the official reports tell". Suddenly Durhan pointed to a grey smudge on the hololith and cried "See there!" It swiftly resolved as the Thunderhawk bore down on it, "There it is the camp of the Primarch Jaghatai Khan and his White Scars Legion" Durhan yelled gleefully. Shran began checking his ammunition pouches were full and replied, "Just don't let them catch you calling them that, they hate people talking behind their back in Terran Gothic."
Within a few minutes the Thunderhawk had acquired landing clearance and settled onto an assigned pad. The two Space Marines gathered their possessions and marched down the landing ramp to be greeted by a squad of white-clad Astartes. The pair saluted their hosts with the sign of the Aquila and were met by the pre-unity salute of a clenched fist over the heart. Durhan addressed the opposing sergeant, a scarred and pitted veteran with his black hair bound in a traditional topknot, "Well met brothers, I am Sergeant Durhan of the VIIth and this is Shran of the XIXth, glorious salutations to your Legion and…" He was rudely cut off as the sergeant snarled in the curious accent of Chogoris "Skip the pleasantries, what do you want?" Durhan was brought up short by the rudeness of the response but thankfully Shran quickly stepped in saying, "We carry the seals of Terra upon missives of great importance." The sergeant silently held out a hand but Shran said, "They are for the eyes of your Khan alone, not lesser men". The sergeant grunted once then nodded to the right and set off with his squad. The pair of Astartes were left to follow in their wake and as they walked Durhan whispered, "What was that?" Shran explained "To the tribesmen of Chogoris false smiles and long winded speeches are for the weak and the deceitful. A warrior speaks his intent plainly and boldly and does not waste words on flattery or sycophancy." The two lapsed into silence and as they walked were able to observe the vast camp, long trains of munitions and fuel bowsers were everywhere and frantic activity filled the air with noise. Both of them felt keenly the difference to their own legions, this was a far cry from the disciplined order of the Imperial Fists or the silent reflections of the Raven Guard. Bike squadrons raced to and fro and packs of warriors in full plate laughed and drank in open friendship, bets were made in front of superiors whose only response was to cheer and egg on their men's frivolity. In one narrow alleyway two Astartes brawled in the mud only to pick themselves up and walk off together roaring with laughter, their cause of enmity utterly forgotten. Truly these marines deserved their nickname the 'Laughing Killers'. The buildings themselves were curiously thin and impermanent, metal framed workshops and barracks made as flimsy as possible. As if any second they might just pick up and move to another continent for no other reason than the sheer hell of it. Finally the group came up to a massive building large enough to house a warhound Titan and marked with curious icons, two guards in Tactical Dreadnought armour stood at the door and crossed oversized tulwar blades before the group. The Chogoris sergeant said, "Couple more", the guards uncrossed their blades and said in an even more mangled accent, "Bit late, they've already started". Durhan and Shran were perplexed by the exchange but before they could enquire their escort simply about turned and walked off without a word. The two expected to have their weapons confiscated and be thoroughly searched but the guards just stood there and finally the two realised they were expected to show themselves in.
They marched into the dark echoing space and were surprised by the interior, what on the outside had seemed a massive fortress now seemed like some chieftains long house. Free standing mahogany wall panels divided the area into discrete chambers and thick rugs filled the floors. As they proceeded down a corridor towards the sound of voices they smelt curious incense burning nearby saw tapestries of spear carrying warriors next to heavily laden bookcases and framed antique weapons. Obsolete flintlocks hung next to curious Xeno guns and meson beamers and explosive tipped long-lances and some twisted relics the pair couldn't name. They marched in pace until they turned a corner and finally came upon the heart of this place. In a large chamber stood a group of captains in the old mark II pattern plate, each marked with the traditional pale scars upon their cheeks, but above them all towered the awe-inspiring visage of the Primarch. Sitting in a hand carved throne of wood he was a figure to steal the breath away, his master crafted armour as white as mother of pearl and the curved Tulwar blade at his side sharp as the razors kiss. His lean face and leathery skin spoke of days in the saddle and his aquiline nose and sweeping moustache gave him a noble air but his glittering eyes hinted at a deep intelligence and sharp insight. His form radiated power and vitality, every fibre proclaiming his grace and majesty for here was general born to lead men up to the gates of hell itself and beyond. It seemed wrong for him to be just sitting still as if such a demi-god should always be in motion, always racing towards the horizon. Even seated and unspeaking he dominated the room for he was majestic, austere and relentless, he was the desert wind made flesh, the beskar eagle on the hunt.
To their credit the pair of visitors recovered quickly and bowed deeply to the Primarch when everybody just stared at them they realised they were expected to speak first. Mindful of what happened at the landing pad Durhan spoke up swiftly, "Greetings mighty Khan, I bring missives from your brother in arms Rogal Dorn, he seeks your aid in this hour of darkness and calls upon you to bring your Legion to Terra to fight in the name of the Emperor beloved by all". The Primarch did not speak but gestured to his left where a Marine stood with the marks of an equerry, he spoke with a deep and rich voice and said, "Welcome son of Dorn, welcome son of Corax you are our honoured guests in this place, I am Targutai Yesugei and I speak for the Kahn. Know that the laws of hospitality be upon all who come before the Kahn and no harm shall come upon you nor shall you be permitted to harm those under the same aegis". The pair were taken aback by this most curious greeting and seeing their confusion Yesugei continued, "With that in mind I present our other honoured guests: Captain Gorgeth of the Son of Horus Legion and Apostle Jahrut of the Word Bearers Legion and their escort". At that the gathered White Scars captains parted like a tide to reveal a group of Astartes standing proud in the despised heraldry of the Traitor Legions, all hovering at the right hand of the Primarch and grinning with the flush of a victory already won.
CHAPTER 2: Coming soon.