Dumbledore is Gay: Heh heh… I'm glad to see you enjoy this story so much!
Overdrive1: Avarian's history will be revealed in later chapters, so you can judge whether his character is equal to that of Gabriel Angelos! As for a Sister of Battle appearing, well, the last 40k character will not go on a purging spree in Azeroth.
Xeno Major: I am actually quite satisfied with the overall pacing of this story. If I try to describe every last little event that takes place, we will never see an end! So, whilst there are some minor jumping around, here and there, that is because I do not want to go into detail describing every little thing that would take a whole chapter, or even more, to do.
Chris Adair: Thank you!
Speaker4thesilent: A lot of people have been asking about Avarian's self control, and in reality, I don't see why it is that surprising. Astartes, while utilizing their hate as a weapon, also know that to rely solely on hate would be a path to damnation. Hell, did not the traitor legions fall to Chaos for the very same reason? Indeed, Space Marines, while being taught to abhor the alien, the mutant, and the heretic by their chaplains, must also be taught the meaning of restraint and self-discipline. Of course, this is not standard for all chapters. In regards to your question about the Eldar, well, Avarian has already seen the machinations of Chaos within Blackfathom Deeps. He has seen the daemon portal they were attempting to construct, as well as the chaos spawn in the form of Aku'mai. He has also fought the demons of the Burning Legion, who he thinks are all daemons of Chaos. This is more than evidence enough to convince him that the Eldar's words do contain some modicum of truth.
Sarge51: Here's more! :P
GovernorDerekthe2nd: Your suspense will be alleviated in this chapter!
Gideon020: Thanks!
Lunatic Pandora1: Well, Avarian already has a plasma gun. As for a power sword, we'll see.
RokkitzBoyz: There will be one last character that appears from the 40k universe, and he will side with Avarian, though our hero will have some doubts about him.
Night Hunter MGS: I agree with you on all accounts in regards to the Scarlet Crusade. They are indeed zealots beyond compare. The question is though, will our Space Marine agree with their actions, or see them as heretics?
JagerPanzer: Avarian will show some of the traits his organs have given him to the denizens of Azeroth. However, some Azerothians will learn about all of his enhancements. That however, will be in later chapters, and will prove quite pivotal to the plot.
Solvdrage: Thank you!
ArcherReborn2: Thanks!
Peanuckle: Requests are, to me at least, a slippery slope. I cannot guarantee them because I would have trouble fitting them into the already set (mostly) plotline. That does not mean I do not consider requests. Yours, for example, is actually quite feasible. It is not impossible to imagine a greater daemon of some sorts fighting Kil'Jaeden for dominance of the Outland. After all, Chaos loves infighting! However, I can not assure you such an event will take place. I can only say I will reflect on it.
Dakaath: Believe it or not, thinking up the dialogue between Sylvanas and Thrall as well as the Dark Lady's thoughts was the hardest thing to do in that whole chapter! :P
Thekillinglord: You are right in saying that the Astartes will serve no one. I have attempted to display this during the whole affair in Darnassus, though whether it was successful is up to you to judge. However, this does not mean he will spurn the opportunity to aid others if he deems such aid will further the mission at hand.
Mephisteron: They are indeed my friend, they are indeed! :P
Malcho1234: Thanks!
Emperor chronicler: I promise you one more elf before I start adding in new characters from different races! Meh, I wouldn't say Avarian will go cleansing Scholomance. He would probably go on cleansing the Eastern and Western Plaguelands as well!
Soulless reader: In "Angels of Darkness", Terrorsight is actually a product of the main character's helm. He has to subvocalize commands into his battle helm before his visor allows the X-ray sight to appear. Raven Guard Space Marines, and by extension those Astartes who receive their geneseed, do not possess the mucanroid and the Betcher's gland. If you search for "plague zombies" in Lexicanum, you'll find a short article that details what they are and how they are created. The Curse of Unbelief is the plague that turns them into rotting, disease-filled undead.
Mattrocks and Zanji: Here is more!
Weapon-VII: The funny thing about instance bosses, is that lore-wise, they are all considered alive. In this case, everyone in the Scarlet Monastery, except for Renault Mograine (who is dead in the lore), will be fine and dandy.
Ranger24: They are the Scarlet Crusade, not the Onslaught.
Timewatch: Well… you should be! XD
ChairForce1987: Arcanist Doan, as described in this chapter.
Chapter 21
They know of Astartes! They know of the Space Marines!
These revelations fill my conscience as I follow these red armored warriors. Renewed faith courses throughout my twin hearts, strengthening my resolve and driving away the doubt that moments ago, plagued my mind. This has to be a sign from the Emperor Himself, a divine omen endowed upon me for my faithful service! There can be no other explanation. How else could I have chanced upon these loyal servants of the Imperium in this tainted forest? How else could I have stumbled upon them when my conviction was at its lowest? Behind my battle helm, my features turn upwards into a grim smile of satisfaction.
However, a faint tinge of uncertainty still lingers in the back of my mind.
The long eared xeno, Keina, did not recognize the Imperium of Man when I first mentioned it. Nor did she realize the significance of my power armor, a sight both feared and respected throughout the galaxy. If these scarlet clad soldiers know of me, surely the elves should to? Of course, the answer is clear to me now! She has been lying to me! Damn these purple aliens! They knew of my existence as the Emperor's Finest, but pretended not to in order to use me for their own fanciful whims! My cleansing of that long underground cavern, my victory over the daemons in their pitiful little town, these were all exploits I did for them, and now they dare show the true face of their treachery? Blasphemous heathens! All of them! I long to bathe them all and their oversized tree dwelling in a blazing conflagration of burning promethium from my flamer.
But if these xenos acted in such a deceitful manner, surely there was no need for the other humans to? Neither the diplomats in Darnassus nor the ruler of Theramore recognized my legendary bearing. Surely, they, above anyone else, should know that I am a Space Marine?
The obvious conclusion is that they are heretics and traitors, having turned their back to the Emperor's benevolent gaze… Except that if they were turncoats to the Imperium, they would have been struck numb with terror at my appearance. Astartes fleets have a reputation for emerging from the Warp to punish traitors on worlds deemed all but impossible to reach. Heretics shiver in fright beneath the dark dank of their hiding holes, for each second they continue their wretched existence is a second their skies might fill with the fiery descending forms of Space Marine drop pods, each filled with superhuman warriors eager to dole out death and retribution. Indeed, the enemies of the Emperor fear many things; they fear discovery, defeat, despair and death. Yet there is one thing they fear above all others. They fear the wrath of the Space Marines.
If Jaina and the other humans are what I think them to be, they would have fled at the mere mention of an Astartes on their world. But, they did not. Instead, they viewed me with can only be described as a mild form of curiosity mixed in with awe and caution. This does not strike me as the craven and spineless nature of a traitor.
My earlier enthusiasm is replaced with perplexed uncertainty. A fierce war is waged in the recesses of my mind as blind faith battles logical pragmatism. I find myself wanting desperately to fall in with these crimson clad warriors, for they are the first ones that know of my station, and in extension of the Imperium. However, I have not seen any indication that this planet is under Imperial authority, nor have I seen any worship of the Emperor.
Something is awry, and I need to find out what.
I push these conflicts from my head as the unmistakable sight of a stone keep looms into view. Built on a rising hill, the mighty bastion commands an imposing view of the surrounding area. I nod grimly, satisfied. Whoever constructed this castle had at least some rudimentary degree of knowledge on the construction of fortified places, though such cognition would be useless against an assault by Astartes.
"Oh Great Iron Angel! We are here!" the lead warrior proclaims.
Iron Angel? This is the second time I have heard this phrase used to describe me. I shrug mentally. There are near a thousand chapters of Space Marines forever guarding mankind, so it is not without reason that these scarlet soldiers have encountered Astartes bearing the color of metal.
The rest turn to me in anticipation as their commander continues, gesturing grandiosely towards the stone fortress.
"Welcome to the Scarlet Monastery!"
"Damn it! I was so close! Thrall's head was nearly mine!"
Varian Wrynn paced irately to and fro within the white stone walls of Stormwind Palace. Red hot anger threatened to overflow from his seething form, scorching all who dared to stand before his fury. All except one.
Jaina Proudmoore, Lady of Theramore, stood unflinching before her king's wrathful glare.
"If it wasn't for your machinations Jaina, the Undercity would have returned to the rightful hands of the Alliance!" Varian spat.
"My machinations, my king? My so-called machinations have just saved us from a three-front war," the mage replied calmly.
"A war we can win! A war we WILL win!" snarled the king of Stormwind, hands balled into tight fists.
"And how will we do that, my king? Our soldiers in Northrend constantly vie to push back the hordes of the Lich King, while in the Outland; we are in a stalemate in the war against the Burning Legion! If we are to renew our hostility to the Horde, how will we fight? How will we recruit enough soldiers from an already strained population? How will we obtain the funds for a third war when already our people barely manage to meet the current tax? How will we produce the weapons? The armor? The training?"
The Lady of Theramore's words were like a pail of icy water poured on the king's blistering rage. Varian scowled in response, but the anger in his features softened.
"Not only are our forces stretched to a near breaking point," Jaina continued, "constantly we are assailed by new threats. In Northrend, rumors float from the exploration party led by Brann Bronzebeard of some terrible creature from the depths of Storm Peaks. In the Outland, our forces are assaulted daily by demons of the Burning Legion in larger and larger magnitudes. Even within the domains of our realms, we are not safe. Recently, Tyrande Whisperwind has informed me of the horrendous attack on Astranaar as well a dire threat from Blackfathom Deeps. We can thank the giant for quelling these two perils."
Varian stopped pacing as the last statement reached his ears.
"The giant? You mean that traitor whoreson who blocked my strike?" he glowered.
Jaina sighed.
"Yes. Him. The very one, that through his courageous act, kept us from another costly war."
"Courageous? You call preventing me from slaying that greenskin pig courageous?"
The mage gazed defiantly back at him.
"I do."
The fury that had so recently cooled, lit back up like a raging bonfire. The king of Stormwind took an enraged step towards his advisor.
"How can you say that Jaina? The Horde are all unadulterated scum! The destruction they have wrought upon this world! Beyond listing! The innocents they have slaughtered in their disgusting bloodlust! Beyond counting! The suffering they have caused to our people! Beyond remembering! They all deserve nothing more than a painful death!"
The ruler of Theramore refused to buckle under her liege's livid tirade. She remained unruffled, her neutral stare affixed to his heaving frame.
"Would you condemn a man to die for a murder committed by his father?" the mage countered.
"I cannot see what your metaphor has to do with anything."
"Everything, my king. How many citizens of the Horde were actually there during these atrocities? How many actually participated? You would be willing to sentence these guiltless people to their deaths? Even if they were to die, what good will it do? Will the blood spilled bring back our lost ones?"
"But it will bring vengeance! It will bring rightful retribution on their heads!" Varian roared.
"And will that solve anything? You would offset bloodshed with more bloodshed? The Horde and the Alliance are both entrenched on Azeroth. If we were to go to war over past history, how many of us will remain standing in the end? No doubt, there will be a faction that emerges triumphant, but at what cost?" the Lady of Theramore reasoned.
"No cost is too great in ridding this world of the greenskin menace!"
"Is that what you really believe in my lord? Is this the path you will willingly tread? Will you ignore the true enemies of our people, the Scourge and the Burning Legion, just to satiate your lust for revenge?"
The king slumped into his throne, defeated.
"Then what will you have me do, Jaina? I cannot simply let these monsters have free reign on Azeroth!"
"You must, my lord! It is only through a combined strength of arms that our enemies can be defeated! We must unite with the Horde!"
"NEVER!!!" Varian leapt from his seated position, fresh wrath etched on his face, "I WOULD RATHER BE THROWN INTO THE DARKEST PITS OF HELL THAN ALLY MYSELF WITH HORDE SCUM!!!"
"My king---" the mage rose her hands up in a placating manner.
"Away with you! I will not heed any more of your words today," the lord of Stormwind growled darkly, his armored body tense and trembling with resentment "you are dismissed. I will call upon you when I am in need of further advice."
Jaina nodded faintly and bowed; a mask of disappointment on her countenance. The reagent of Theramore strode resignedly towards the gated doorway, the hem of her dress lightly touching the ground. Suddenly, she halted and turned.
"Varian. I know what the orcs did to you was… beyond forgivable. But you must remember you are a leader now. You must put aside your prejudices for the sake of our people."
The mage bowed once more before continuing her leave. Varian glowered at her retreating form.
He knew what was good for his own people, damn it! The Horde could not be, nor ever be trusted! Too much blood stained their hands for any form of reconciliation. Murderous orcs, cannibalistic trolls, beastmen tauren, corrupted undead. These were the denizens of the Horde. Treacherous and vile filth! Jaina was a fool to place her trust in them, just because one particular orc struck her fancy. How could she lecture him on his duties when she was so willing to place the Horde on such an undeserved pedestal? How could she not understand what he wanted to do, would irrevocably benefit the Alliance?
"She does not understand because she chooses not to my lord," a sonorous voice leeched into his mind, dripping with honeyed syllables, "She fears the power you wield, the might you bear. But, rest assured my lord Wrynn, I understand your hardships. I understand them very well…"
Out of the frying pan, into the fire could barely describe her situation. Almost eaten alive by ghouls, only to be saved by a mysterious giant and then handed over to the Scarlet Crusade? If it wasn't for the fact she was accompanied on both sides by two very intimidating Scarlet Champions, Instructor Malicia would be laughing at her own ironic misfortune. Who knew what these red clad fanatics would do to her once they found our her past affiliations?
Such a fate, however horrific, held no sway over the high elf. She had resigned herself to death, whether at the hands of the Scourge or their enemies. She deserved nothing less. The acts of cruelty she had wrought under the Lich King's sway could not be forgiven or forgotten. Her soul was wracked with pain as each and every memory drifted in a haze over her suffering conscience. Such spiritual agony could only be uplifted with the transcendence into death. Indeed, as she fled from the underground lair of Scholomance, the thought of ending her own life flared intermittently into her mind more than once.
But suicide was for the weak. And she was anything but weak. The fierce fire of redemption burned brightly in her. She wanted to make amends, somehow, someway, for her errors. She wanted to destroy the very evil that had once taken hold of her. She wanted to ensure the same evil would never again stalk the lands of Azeroth. If not for her own thirst for revenge, then for those she had so unwittingly betrayed.
Such a hope had all but died when the ghouls surrounded her. Now, with her rescue, it blazed like the fury of a thousand suns.
Her savior was three steps in front of her, his massive bulk radiating an aura of confidence that the former Scourge underling found to be strangely comforting. His steps were quick and concise, beating a constant drumbeat against the stone tiled floor. His shoulders, encased in two massive pauldrons, were straight and resolute, emanating an air of fierce pride and regal bearing. She could not see the face that dreadful helm hid, and it irked her to no end. She wanted to know what he looked like, for he had saved the faint flame of her life that was so close to being extinguished.
She was not the only one to take notice of this strange, yet powerful being.
Scarlet Crusaders visibly quaked as the giant strode past. Men and women, who had seen the terrors of the Scourge unleashed, opened their mouths to gape in silent wonder at his gargantuan frame. Warriors who had known the horrors of war in all its entirety, stopped to gawk at the sight of his black armor. Soldiers who had spent their entire lives battling the undead hordes of Arthas, dropped their weapons from suddenly nerveless fingers, their eyes widening in awe as the Iron Angel tread past.
Some knelt immediately to pray, Malicia's sensitive hearing picking out words such as 'salvation' and 'deliverance' from their fervent mumblings. Others cheered boisterously, punching mailed fists into the air as though if Anduin Lothar himself had risen from the grave. Most flocked around him, reaching out with eager hands to touch the black plate clad on his body.
Malicia rose one inquisitive eyebrow.
If such a being was this revered by the Scarlet Crusade, how come she had not heard of him? She was ranked high among the many ranks of Scholomance, and such news would be the first to reach her attention. Was he some secret weapon, unleashed by these religious madmen? The quel'dorei doubted it. She saw the slight bemusement in his stance. He was just as confounded by this as her.
The same Scarlet commander who had led them here beamed upwards at the giant.
"O' Great One! Arcanist Doan had told us you and your kind would once again descend from the heavens to deliver us from the darkness! It is an honor for me, as for all of us to be in your presence!"
A chorus of shouted assents assailed her ears. She shuddered at the zealotry behind the cacophony of voices.
"Arcanist… Doan?" the giant's own tone was a rumbling, rasping sound that sounded more machine than human.
"Yes, lord! He is our valued guardian of the arcane. It was he who first discovered your kind's magnanimous presence!"
"Take me to this… Doan," the Iron Angel ordered.
"At once sire!"
Like a parting wave, the crowd of Scaret Crusaders moved aside to let the giant and his impromptu guide pass. Malicia made to follow, but an armored gauntlet suddenly seized her limb and pulled, jerking the high elf from her feet. She landed heavily on her rump. The quel'dorei looked up to see both of her self-appointed guards glaring at her with obvious distaste.
"What makes you think you're faithful enough to follow the Iron Angel?" one of the red clad warriors hefted a sizable warhammer, tracing the weapon's blunt edge with unmistakable intent.
"Filthy she-elf! Killing you would be doing my duty to the Light!" the other, the one who had dragged her down, unsheathed his sword, and displayed the gleaming blade in front of her face.
Her survival instinct screamed at her to do something. She couldn't die! At least not yet! Not until she had redeemed herself! She would not allow herself to have suffered so much only to meet such an ignominious end at the hands of these two fanatics.
In the throes of panic, her lips parted to say the first words that came into her mind.
"You can't! I-I am his servant!" the high elf declared in what she hoped was a haughty manner, desperately trying to keep the fear from her voice.
Instructor Malicia was suddenly keenly aware of the multitude of glares shot towards her direction, each betraying anger, hatred, and… jealousy? The quel'dorei wondered briefly about her own sanity before she was jostled towards the giant's retreating form, pushed rudely from the back by the same two men who seconds ago, had been so willing to execute her.
Arcanist Doan is younger than I thought one of his station would be. A fierce orange sideburn sprouts from his face, undimmed by the trials of age. His scalp is bald, whether shaved for fashion or devoid of hair due to stress, I know not. An embroidered robe hangs comfortably from his frame, etched in red like his cohorts. A long staff with some sort of emerald crystal for a head is clenched in one hand.
Said staff drops unceremoniously to the floor as this Doan spots my advancing form, along with the crowd of scarlet clad humans tagging along behind my gait.
The arcanist hurries forward, dropping to his knees to kneel in supplication.
"My lord! You have returned to us! I believed! I believed with all my heart! And now my faith is rewarded! Oh thank you Iron Angel!"
Behind my faceplate, my features scowl slightly at these words. Astartes are seen by the people of the Imperium as the Emperor's own flesh and mould, and rightfully so. However, we do not seek to be worshipped. Though compared to regular men, we are almost god-like in contrast, we know that even our prodigious strengths cannot match the Immortal Emperor's. I have seen the adulation in the eyes of these scarlet warriors, and I do not like it one bit. Their faith should be exclusively reserved for the Father of Mankind.
"Do not debase yourself before me, arcanist," I grunt, trying to be amicable, "I do not deserve such devotion. Save it for He who is greater than I."
"Oh, but you do lord! You are an Iron Angel, and you have come back to us once more to lead us to salvation."
"That is the Emperor's work. To compare me with Him would be a grave sacrilege," I admonish him lightly.
Doan's eyebrows knit together in confusion.
"Emperor? I'm afraid I don't understand my lord. Who is the Emperor? Is he one of the Iron Angels as well?"
My power armored form jolts as cold shock courses through my veins.
"The Emperor! He who protects Mankind! He who forever sits atop the Golden Throne! He who guards our souls from the terrors of the Old Night! You know not of him?" I hiss.
The arcanist takes a step back at my sudden vehemence.
"I-I do not my lord."
A wave of disappointment washes over me, filling me with its repugnance. My hopes are being dashed apart as we speak.
"Then the Imperium! Surely you know of the Imperium! A mighty empire spanning the entire galaxy, encompassing a billion worlds!" my voice has grown frantic, desperate to salvage the situation.
"I do not know of that either."
My twin hearts cry out in frustration.
"Then how… How do you know of me? Of Astartes?" my tone has turned into a threatening snarl.
"That is a question I can answer, Iron Angel!"
Doan searches the depths of his robe and produces a thin, rectangular object. I reach out with a gauntleted hand and take the offered item. I bring it close to my visor and study it intently. It is a vid-slate. And a very old one at that. Common from hive worlds to agri-planets, such devices are used for a variety of reasons ranging from entertainment to communication. I do not see how such a gadget could possibly foretell of my coming to these feudal people. That is, until I flip it around and see the symbol of the aquilla engraved on its back along with three blocks of lettering:
"55th Expeditionary Fleet"
The Great Crusade…