A calm silence filled the cozy chamber which served as the personal quarters of Amman-Zhar of the Aquila Veritas. The chamber itself was not very large for it was a simple, austere cell where he would retire to when he needed to sleep or to meditate in private. Tendrils of white smoke rose from the mouth of the fiery brazier to his left where five incense sticks burned, each of the burning sticks were made from a mixture of exotic plants which were grown in special greenhouses maintained by the Chapter Serfs and as the vapours filled his lungs, it partially calmed the turmoil within his mind.
Like many Astartes, Amman-Zhar was a giant of a man even without his power armour and on his own; he could easily crush the skull of a normal un-augmented human with his bare hands. His true strength though lay not from his enhanced physical body but in the power of his mind for Amman-Zhar was a psyker and more specifically, he was the Chief Librarian of the Chapter. With his thoughts alone, he could lay waste to squadrons of enemy soldiers, he could dominate the minds of the weak and he could bolster the already considerable might of his battle brothers.
Amman-Zhar currently wore plain robes of white cloth and he sat on a sturdy wooden chair made from local trees found on Aaru which proved surprisingly tough to the point that it took industrial grade chain-blades to cut them down. His forehead rested upon his interlocked hands while his elbows were placed on the surface of a wooden writing desk made from the same material and the object which him vexed him so much, was less than an arm's reach away.
Months earlier, the Chief Librarian had taken part in one of the regular raids which his Chapter conducted for due to their current status as renegades, they were cut off from all conventional and legal supply sources. Out of necessity to keep their ships running, to keep themselves (as well as the serfs and the people they liberated) fed and to maintain their wargear, the Space Marines of the Aquila Veritas, once champions of the Imperium had been reduced to piracy. It was during the boarding of one ship which had belonged to some Rogue Trader owned company that the Librarian had found… it.
The object was nothing more than an ornate metal puzzle box that was roughly about as large as the fist of power armour gauntlets. The box itself was made from some, unknown material which proved highly resistant to psychic manipulation yet within it, he could feel that there was something of power. What was inside, he could not say for sure as he had been attempting to open the puzzle box but to no avail.
There was something about what was inside the puzzle box which often occupied his mind and he knew that it had to be psychic in nature for whenever he slept; he heard something, calling to him from within it. Were it a trapped daemon or some other, malignant warp entity, he would have known for the Librarian had fought many battles against the followers of Chaos and he had become intimately familiar with their insidious ways. He was confident that it was something else, something different, possibly even xeno in origin.
Whatever was inside of the puzzle box, he had to know! He had to find out, yet all of his attempts to open it had been in vain. Taking another deep lungful of the soothing incense, he mentally prepared himself for yet another attempt at trying to open the object. He did not bother to get his hopes for as the old adage went "Hope was the first step on the road to disappointment".
The endless, starlit void of space was displayed in front of Devon Laques who stood upon the Command Bridge of the Chillwind. He was a bald, clean-shaven man of average build with pale skin that was etched with many scars and if one would look closely, they could see the small bionic tubes which connected from the back of his skull to the area of the spine between the shoulder blades. He wore a heavy great flak coat which was useful for carrying many concealed weapons objects and he also wore a pair of black goggles which protected his sensitive eyes.
Devon silently watched as the ship passed by the asteroids, ships and habs which made up Footfall and at the corner of his goggle covered eyes, he saw the statue of the Emperor which served as the center for the entire settlement. It was ironic really that despite the great statue which should have served as a constant reminder of the authority of his Imperial Majesty, the inhabitants of Footfall engaged in some of the darkest of businesses across the galaxy. Take for example the aliens who openly sold their services or wares in the port or the chaos cults which secretly conducted their own foul operations.
It was a place of secrets, lies, half-truths and contraband of the darkest sorts where for the right price, anything could be bought. In the period of time which they had spent there, Devon had learned a great many of interesting things which would no doubt be of value to the right buyer.
'Considering on taking a swim into the void?' came a casually masculine voice that from behind him and Devon remained silent for a moment before speaking.
'If I did so, I would insist that you go first and without a Voidsuit' quietly replied the bald headed man towards another member of their warband who gave the bald man a slight nod.
In another life, Devon Laques and the man named Vandal Saaris would have been sworn enemies for on the world of their birth, they would have thought nothing about killing one another in the endless cycles of gangland warfare. That had all changed after a fateful Arbites Cull which resulted in both of them being sent to a Penal Colony where legions of cannon fodder were trained for the Imperial Guard. Now both men, along with many others from among their warband, probably would at least give it some thought before deciding on whether they should murder each other or not.
Vandal Saaris was a tall, strongly built man with a thick beard and short hair that was always well groomed while. The man almost always wore an advanced, tight-fitting armoured bodysuit which was capable of sustaining life for long periods and was also effective in warning about environmental hazards. He was a very professional and a very orderly man whose immediate followers were much more like a professional regiment of Guardsmen rather than the usual rabid animal which made up most of their warband.
'Has the Captain sent for you?' asked Devon towards Vandal.
'No, he is busy with "entertaining" himself' replied Saaris rather grimly for everyone aboard the ship knew exactly what their Captain did on his own free time.
'I see, you have questions then?' confidently guessed Devon for he was someone who always had ways in finding out what secrets the others carried.
'Aye and I am sure you already know the answer to that' spoke Vandal who pulled up a small packet of lho-sticks and he offered one to Devon who politely declined.
'Of course' nodded the Laques who found Vandal Saaris to be a terribly predictable man. 'Our esteemed Captain' explained Devon 'has just accepted a contract and judging by the fact that he has called upon some of our… "acquaintances" it is most likely to be a difficult task'.
'Considering the kind of hardware we just received, I am betting that it more than just the usual kind of hit' said Saaris who used a small metal lighter to ignite the lho-stick placed between his lips.
'It is safe to assume so' shrugged Devon who then added 'sadly that is all I know so far but I suppose that we can at least trust the Captain in knowing that we will not be sent on some suicide mission.'
'I will make sure my squads are prepped and ready for meeting our guests' spoke Vandal Saaris who gave one last nod towards Laques before heading off towards the exit of the bridge.
The ship then began to power up its xeno-made Gellar Field and Dereven's heart started to pound more heavily as the Warp Drives were also fired up. Looking back to the glass screen which separated him and the dozens of thralls from the emptiness of the void, he saw the storms of eldritch energy that began to appear ahead of them. Great metal shutters soon sealed the every viewport across the ship and the Chillwind left the material universe and into the dread realm of the Immaterium.
Travel through the Sea of Souls was never a pleasant experience, especially for one of the Eldar species whose own souls were especially considered as a delicacy to the entities that resided within it. There had been many times when Naranair had thought of installing into the Chillwind, the necessary systems needed to bring a ship into the Webway but such a sight would not be welcomed by his kin. Indeed, the act of bringing a crude human ship (especially one that had been altered by those grubby little Stryxis) within the webway would be akin to painting a large target on the broadside and just asking every Craftworld, Kabal and Troupe to just blast the ship into oblivion.
It was one of the many things which he stoically endured, an unavoidable result really after he had decided to strike out on his own, without a crew of other Eldar. Fortunately at the least, the protective field constructed by the four eyed little bastards had proven to be fairly reliable during transit and it was always a top priority of his to make sure that it was well maintained before and after jumps. When it came to navigating through the Sea of Souls itself, the Dark Eldar Captain had gone through considerable lengths to "acquire" the services of alien psykers who could accomplish such an esoteric task.
Pushing these thoughts to the back of his mind, he then redirected his attention to the matter at hand. The Captain was currently located in his own private quarter which was a lavishly decorated chamber that was fit for an Archon. He had a comfortable bed that was big enough to fit a Cronos (if such a thing still even had need for comfort), shelves filled with various tomes or slates of literature or entertainment both of Eldar and alien sources, an adjoining chamber for bathing and being rid of bodily wastes, a brightly glowing pylon-like Soul Cage which as the name says is for storage purposes and most importantly, there was a section with great chains attached to the ceiling which ended in barbed hooks which could securely hold a prisoner for him to torture at his leisure.
At the moment, there was a rather brawny and heavily sedated human male who dangled from the chains which hooked into the back of the man's flesh. Ritual scars and runic tattoos dedicated to the Blood God were placed all over the well muscled form of the human who was also missing his right leg from the knee which was now just a blackened stump. If there was one thing the Dark Eldar Captain hated more than the Styrxis, it was the followers of the Dark Gods of whom he took a great deal of pleasure in either killing quickly or slowly.
A slight grin came upon his face as he remembered the circumstances which this follower of the Blood God had been captured. His warband had recently been hunting close to the Screaming Vortex where Chaos activity has been increasing and after destroying more than a few ships, he had ordered for the Chillwind to return to Footfall for repairs. It was quite likely that some of the other Chaos worshippers who remained hidden in the port had taken umbrage at his activities and they had sought recompense while he was taking the time to relax at the Vale.
Sufficed to say, it ended in a amusingly one sided massacre for his warband always carried a large variety of deadly guns wherever they went. The surviving cultists of the Gods of Plague and Sorcery were immediately burned for good measure while the rest were locked up in holding cells. Reaching for one of his flensing knives, he wondered where on the human he should start with once the sedatives wore off and immediately he had an amusing idea.
Since the followers of the Blood God loved taking skulls so much then perhaps he should start at the scalp before working his way down…
Braziers of fire blazed around the Obsidian Shrine where a gathering of hooded figures paid their respects to the Burning God. Each of those in attendance wore robes of deep black which was decorated with fiery patterns of dark crimson and from their lips came promises of murder and blood. Those who had gathered around the shrine called themselves, the Ordo Ignis and their leader was a man who called himself, The Pyrophant.
'All life is sin' intoned the Pyrophant towards his disciples; his voice was deep and muffled by the fully enclosed, black helmet rose which high like those worn by the Heralds and the crimson eye lenses further enhanced its intimidation factor. 'Man is born into sin and in life, commits only greater acts of sin' continued The Pyrophant 'and when the twilight time comes, all Men face damnation for such is the reward of sin.'
'All Men face damnation for such is the reward of sin' repeated the gathered disciples.
'Yet all is not lost, my children' said the Pyrophant with much gravitas. 'For Men can find salvation, in fire'.
'In fire is sin purged' chanted the crowd who slowly began to cast off their robes to reveal bare flesh that was covered in ritual burns. Iron brands were passed among the devoted who slowly converged around the braziers and they began to stick the pieces of metal into the flames.
'And so, in the name of the Burning God do we cleanse ourselves, of sin!' spoke The Pyrophant who raised his hands and in the air, he formed the sign of the flame.
The air was soon filled with the smell of roasting pork as the devotees of the Burning God began to stick the glowing brands upon the flesh of their backs or chest. Some screamed in pain while others grunted yet some, those who were closer to the Burning God, simply remained silent. Through this act of self mortification by flame which was also as much one done of faith, the gathering cleansed themselves of sin.
Once in another life, the man who had been The Pyrophant had been a blind and devout follower of the False Emperor. Once, the man had been a Deacon among the Crusade of Redemption where the man had brought judgment to others by the flame. It mattered not whether the man and the ones he had once called brothers had burned men, women, children, the sick, the elderly, the mutant and those who claimed innocence for all within the Crusade knew that there was no such thing as innocence, only varying degrees of guilt.
The man had believed that he was doing righteous work, that in the deeds of the Crusade, they were saving the souls of those cleansed. On more than a dozen worlds, the man had brought redemption to thousands whose whether unknowingly or not, lived in sin. Those were the days when the man had been so blinded by his ignorance for he had known so little of the universe until that fateful campaign on Mhyrsa.
Mhyrsa was a green world filled with great farms dedicated to growing vegetables, grain, fruit and the raising of livestock, its people were simple, backwards folk whose isolation eventually gave way to strange, superstitious beliefs. It was on that world that the Crusade of Redemption and the Daughters of the Emperor had banded together in preparation for a great campaign towards a nearby star system whose worlds grew benighted. As they were finally about to start the great campaign, a mighty host of the Heralds had arrived to do battle with the combined army.
Despite being armed with the holy trinity of Bolters, Flamers and Melta weapons, the forces of the Adepta Sororitas the Redemption Crusade and even the Frateris Militia had been at a great disadvantage on Mhrysa's open plains. The Heralds had used throughout the conflict, many red and white painted, fast moving vehicles which became blurry mirages whenever one looked at them and the weapons they wielded outranged most of what the combined army had brought. Out on the open terrain which dominated the planet's landscape, the aliens had picked off many of their war machines before committing their ground troops and it was there, that the Pyrophant had seen the true face of a god.
He remembered how on that last great battle, the Daughters of the Emperor stood defiant to the very end, unwilling to withdraw for such would have been considered as heresy in the eyes of the False Emperor. They stood defiant, even when the Burning God, the one who was known to the aliens as Khaela Mensha Khaine, strode forth with burning axe and bloody fist. The Burning God laughed at their use of Flamers and Melta weapons who in turn, sent forth great gouts of flame which reduced all of them, including the Daughters of the Emperor into ashes.
The man had at first, no idea how he had survived that day for he had felt the touch of the Burning God's wrath. By the time he had awoken, all he found was the mounds of charred skeletons which had once been the Sisters and his brothers. His faith in the Emperor had been shaken for how was it possible that the even with the Daughters of the Emperor who could perform their great Acts of Faith could be laid low by the alien?
It was then that he had an epiphany, a realization that changed his life. He had been marked, he had been chosen by the Burning God to spread the fires of salvation throughout the universe! It was on that day, that the man had become The Pyrophant and he began to spread the word of the Burning God across the Imperium.
Of course the Imperial authorities who were still blinded in their belief towards the False Emperor would brand him as a madman and a heretic and sent him to that Penal Colony where they claimed that he would find redemption on the field of battle. The Pyrophant had persevered in his faith towards the Burning God and he had later been rewarded by bringing the flames of redemption to the believers of the False Emperor. He remembered that glorious day when the bomb collars had failed to activate and the first thing he did was grab a heavy flamer and cleanse the commissar of his sins.
The rest was history for soon afterwards, they had been captured by the Heralds and their current lord who took them under his wing. Now here he was, at the head of a new flock who followed the word of the Burning God. Although their lord had insisted that they travel with those who were less than sincere in their faith to the Burning God, the Pyrophant trusted the wisdom of their lord for they had brought salvation to many beings, whether it be man, mutant, alien and even daemon.
The hours long procession of ritual self-mortification eventually halted for a moment as the unnatural feeling of being in the Warp faded and it was then that the Pyrophant knew that they had safely returned to the material universe.
'The Burning God has seen fit to reward our devotion with safe passage!' announced the Pyrophant.
'Praise to the Burning God!' cheered the congregation of the Ordo Ignis who continued with their holy rites.
Drinking in the exquisite taste of raw agony, Naranair felt invigorated by the suffering of his latest plaything. Dressed now in just a well stitched leather kilt made from tanned ork-hide, the Dark Eldar Captain's bare chest, stomach and arms were coated in fresh, warm, human gore. Blood dripped from the toes of the struggling Khornate cultist who's peeled off flesh cooled on the metallic floor and if one could listen closely, the human's heart still pulsed.
It was a glorious sight really to see all of the exposed meat and musculature for Naranair had been thoroughly careful in his flaying for there was simply no fun in it when the victim died too quickly. The cultist moaned in pain, unable to form coherent words for the Captain had cut off the man's tongue for saying too many vile expletives. It was hardly polite to say such foul things and a lesson in manners was in order.
Now what should he do next he wondered as blood continued to dripped from the slab of meat which dangled before him. It would be improper to bother the medical staff aboard the ship to keep this one alive (and waste precious medicines), yet he couldn't just go and kill the thing, for that would be unsporting. Perhaps he should pour himself a glass of wine and mull it over, he thought before a distinct pattern knocks was heard from the metallic doors which sealed his quarters.
Walking towards the metallic doorway with his bare feet softly slapping upon the floor, he quickly pressed a button on the console to the side of the door and it slid open towards the sides. Patiently waiting outside of his door was one of the Ghostmen, a powerful sub-faction among the mercenaries aboard the Chillwind led by Devon Laques who all dressed in large flak coats, wore dark goggles, kept their heads shaved and were rather competent as silent assassins. The Dark Eldar Captain found them useful in keeping an ear out for mutiny among either the members of the warband or among the many thralls aboard the ship.
'Multiple ships detected my lord' reported the Ghostman whose name Naranair was not quite sure of for most of their members not only dressed the same, but they all talked alike and adopted postures or body language which made them all seem too similar.
'And are they hostile?' asked the Dark Eldar Captain with some suspicion for there was always the chance that they might encounter pirates or fleets of alien warships in any given part of the Great Wheel.
'No my lord' replied the Ghostman 'the ships have hailed us and are asking for your presence.'
'I will be at the bridge right away' nodded the Captain who then dismissed the human before closing the door.
Turning his attention back to the still dangling lump of living meat within his quarters, he quickly decided to finish the thing off with a small but deadly dose of poison.
Underneath the bright sun of Aaru, Scout Sergeant Andros Maithen watched the day's training with great pride as his arms were folded in front of his chest. At the edge of a one town which had been constructed by liberated press-gang slaves; a firing range had been constructed where a group of militia forces practicing their marksmanship. The air was filled with the staccato of fire as las and auto weapons were unloaded upon wooden dummies which had been painted green and carved with crude and comically poor, ork faces.
Despite having served his Chapter for more than a century and training dozens of Scouts who have gone on to become fully fledged Battle Brothers, he had to admit that there was a sense of satisfaction in seeing these militiamen grow. It was not long ago that the men and women who were now firing at the dummies could hardly even hit the broadside of a parked Land Raider, yet now he was confident that they could put down a charging greenskin with reasonable accuracy. It was a necessity really that these people learn how to fight for galaxy was a place that is dark and full of terror.
Were the planet invaded by an enemy force, the people would prove to be easy prey if they did not know how to properly fend for themselves. On many occasions during his time as a Space Marine, he had seen local militias or Planetary Defense Forces on other worlds use tactics and methods which were woefully backwards or were simply just wrong when used against an alien foe. If only the PDF forces across the Imperium had taken their training more seriously, then perhaps there would not be the constant need for the various Chapters of Astartes or the Regiments of the Imperial Guard to travel across the galaxy to defend worlds.
It was also important for the Chapter that these people learn how to fight for ever since the campaign on Dolgran, they had yet to fully recover from their losses. It was by order of the Chapter Master that regiments of auxiliary troops, composed entirely of volunteers, would be trained by the Battle Brothers. It was not something which Andros entirely agreed with, but it orders were orders and he, along with many other Astartes could now be found overseeing the training of the militia companies.
As the training progressed with a fairly consistent rate of satisfactory performance, he raised his right hand and made a series of hand gestures. The militia who saw him immediately ceased their firing and he was satisfied that they remembered the hand gestures which he had also been teaching. The trainees then began to remove the ammunition clips or power cells of their guns, the latter of which would be laid out in the sun so that it could recharge.
The soft patter of feet stepping upon grass was heard from behind the Scout Sergeant and he glanced back to see a young lad holding a ceramic jar. The boy was freckle faced, sandy haired youth dressed in a fur tunic made from the hide of local wildlife which both the Space Marines themselves and former slaves hunted. The boy was part of a fresh generation of children who had never known what life was truly like within the Imperium for all they knew were stories which their parents had told them.
'Hello Brann' greeted the Scout Sergeant with a slight smile and a friendly tone.
'Hey sarge' replied the boy who pressed the jar tightly to his chest with one hand while giving an exaggerated military salute.
'What is that you have there?' asked the Scout Sergeant who looked towards the jar.
'My ma made this, she wanted you to have it' replied the boy with a smile as he offered the jar to the Sergeant.
'Tell her I said thanks' nodded the Scout Sergeant who gently took the container and he quickly noted that there was something inside, most likely some preserved food items.
'Someday when I grow up, I will be a Space Marine too!' announced the lad and the Scout Sergeant could not help but grin.
'And I will be sure to train you into becoming the best one there is' replied Andros Maithen.
'Promise?' asked the lad with big, hopeful eyes as he then held his little right hand with the little finger.
'Aye, promise' grinned the Scout Sergeant in amusement as he sealed the childish pact with his own left hand little finger.
Having taken a quick shower and putting on his xeno-hide clothing again, Naranair now stood upon the Command Bridge of the Chillwind where several holo-screens crackled to life. From the viewports at the front of the Bridge, he could see dozens of ships which had gathered, each one he knew quite well were crewed by ruthless killers, pirates and mercenaries who sold their services to the highest bidder. With the army that was gathered here, they could take over a small system if they wanted to (and actually have in the past).
'Communications link established' announced one of the mercenaries and the Dark Eldar Captain gave a slight nod to the human.
Upon the holo-screens, the faces of five beings came into view and the Dark Eldar Captain gave cruel smile in greeting. One face belonged to that of a red haired human female who wore one of those hats so favoured by human pirates, complete with the skull and crossed bones while a red lens mechanical monocle was placed over her right eye. Then there was the massive, brutish, dark skinned face of an Ork Freebooter who also dressed in a similar manner as the first one.
Of the last three faces, one could not be seen due to a dark hood worn over the being's and Naranair knew well enough that what lay beneath was something far more dangerous than a mere Mon'keigh. The fourth figure was a grinning, pale skinned human female with an elaborate hairstyle which looked like one giant white bun. Like the hooded one, Naranair was deeply aware that this woman was also not human, but a being who simply masqueraded as one for the sake of convenience.
The last figure wore an ivory mask which was somewhat similar to the ones worn by the Harlequin but was of a crude, human make. Burning witch lights could be seen behind the eye-holes of the mask and among the entire gathering, this was one being of whom even Naranair would be wise to be careful around.
'I am so glad that you can all make it, and I applaud your punctuality' theatrically announced the Dark Eldar Captain 'now then, lets get down to business...'