-The Chalice Crusade-
This is a fiction of pure fantasy, based on a crusade campaign between a few friends.
Material is shamelessly borrowed by Games Workshop that naturally owns all licences to anything tying onto the world and work of Warhammer 40k.
The author is a middle aged father with a serious case of goldfish syndrome (Some may call it ADHD but that was not invented when I was a kid) where my attention focuses on something for a few days and then just dies down since it's boring. Then finally once the circle is complete I burn for the same interest once more.
Dramatis Personae: 3
Intro 6
First Contact 9
Living the dream 13
Salvation needed 18
The Saint 29
and the Giant. 35
A simple man 37
He has forsaken us. 41
Dramatis Personae:
Forces of the God-Emperor:
Lucidia - Canoness Mother of the Martyrs Tear
Saviel - Dogmata
Gazi - Sister Superior
Forces of the Ruinous Powers:
Lord Ghoron - Commander
Logrin - Obliterator
D'Hrak The Herald - Dark Apostle
Sgt. Dhrobek - Leader of the
Sgt Hrend - Leader of the
Zu'Kesh - Demon
Ref. Inq/9424-54-GDS5/WRFND
Author: Inquisitor Uther
Subject: Order of the Martyrs Tear
Sector: OBSCURUS
Access Grade: Epsilon Gamma - Inquisitorial
This is a short transcript about the formation of the Order of the Martyrs Tear which will as you no doubt realise, demand a close eye from the Inquisition no matter how devout they may appear it's history is formed in darkness.
994.M41 - The Moon of Secventus IV
Rogosh the Everchoosen, a sorcerer of the ruinous powers, sought to awaken an entity of the dark forces to power the machina of the Iron warriors. The toll it demanded was the blood of millions and the Iron warriors slaughtered the inhabitants of the agri world Secventus IV. The only bastion of the God-Emperor that stood stout heartedly was the convent of Mother Fyria of the Ebon Chalice.
Rogosh turned his evil eye towards the moon, seeking a worthier sacrifice for the dark gods and called upon the powers of the warp.
All members of the convent began to weep their life blood, as they stood on the bastions against the Iron warriors.
In the end after two months of bitter fighting, the Grey Knights arrived to lift the siege and together with the Adeptus Sororitas they managed to thwart the ritual and end the life of Rogosh and his Iron Warriors.
They few surviving members of the convent, had gathered the blood of their weeping sisters in a chalice -The Chalice of the Martyrs tears- an item imbued by the God-Emperor as it no matter how much blood of the righteous that was placed in it, never seemed to fill up.
It was decreed that the surviving members would forever protect the chalice and keep it from being used in the machinations of the ruinous powers.
The sisters formed the Order of the Martyrs Tears and went into seclusion, no further records exist of their continued presence.
Attention
The tarot cards indicate a conflict will arise, which will include a chalice. I request further assistance in the near future to seek out the meaning of this.
Inquisitor Ferran
Intro
He had held a name once, he had served with Perturabo during the heresy millenia ago, and had broken palaces and fortresses on more worlds then he could remember. Millions had died by his hands. Yet his name was now lost in time, for he had been elevated to the rank of Vex Machinator and he commanded the Heart of Iron and the warband 'Iron Adamant'
Sitting in the command bridge of the Heart of Iron, he studied the four Lords of the warband.
"We've found them."
Lord Ghoron tapped on the strategic board between him and the Lord of the ship, the map shifted, a new sector appeared.
"The warp can bring us in close, they will not know what hit them."
The other three Lords studied in silence, they all knew that Ghoron had supremacy, it was his pet sorcerer that had found their prize and he would get the first taste of blood.
"Prepare your troops, we go to war. Iron within, Iron Without."
In unison, the lords saluted the Vex Machinator and then proceeded out of the command bridge to bolster their troops, unsanctify and impure their weapons.
He could sense the demon engines beneath him in the cargo holds of the barge, could almost imagine hearing their claws clattering on the metal floor.
Yes it would be glorious, he would see the world burn, all opposition would be ground to dust and nothing of the false god emperor would remain once he was done.
He tapped his fingers against the arm of his throne, and then issued the command to enter the warp, it was time to revisit the world of man once again.
Location: The Moon of Tandosh / Ultima Segmentum / Sector Dori
Tandosh was a near barren rock, in another other place it would yield little to no profit for the Imperium of man. The little agri-farming that took place barely sustained the population of the moon. Yet it produced enough to ensure Dori III could produce it's quota of fragrance decium to the Sector Ecclesiarchy
The sector had no Regional Governor, a minimum of Adeptus Mechanicus presence and it's militia was barely enough to protect the main planet of Dori III.
Yet Tandosh none of the farmers or miners lived in fear, they knew they were protected by the God-Emperor for they housed and fed the Order of the Martyrs Tears monastery.
Sitting in the Jandifar mountain reach, stretching for nearly a quarter of the moon's equatorial line it was the most dominating presence in the sector.
The Adeptus Sororitas was the de facto ruler of the sector.
In the year of the God-Emperor 110.M42 darkness descended upon the sector as the battle barge -Heart of Iron- lost in the warp for over a millenia was spat out from the Warp without prior warning.
First Contact
D'hrak watched the sand, mixed with the rust of the ruined village before him. In the distance he could see the mountain range where the convent was located. His orders were clear, he was to scout the perimeters of the region. See if an outpost could be established closer to the main arena where Lord Ghoron wished to establish the artillery.
The two disciples scurried in his wake, carrying his book of profanity and the symbols of Chaos who's word he preached to the soldiers of the warband.
He had been given two units of marines, battle ready brothers of Perturabo's Iron Warriors. The Steel Hammer and the Iron Pick, and he felt confident he would bring good news to Ghoron.
Upon entering the village, the sergeant of the Steel hammers first noticed movement within the buildings deeper in the settlement.
As soon as he reported in movement, the Iron Pick began a dash in controlled forms, to flank the designated targets.
He knew he had the upper hand, he knew the tactics and he called upon the powers of the Gods, invoking warp sight onto the Steel Hammer, allowing them to see through walls as if they were not there. Normally cover was not something the Iron Warriors ever allowed their enemies to benefit from, no one knew how to tear down a defensive position as well as the Iron warriors, yet now his prayers improved even the enhanced warriors of Perturabo to higher levels.
Bolters opened up, ripping apart the building and it was with delight that D'Hrak saw the blood tarnished remains of a servant of the False Emperor fall out of the building, it's body clattering to the street.
A grim smile played over his lips as bolsters in the hands of the weak God-Emperors soldiers returned fire, yet to their dismay no bolter would ever fell an Iron Warrior.
Iron Pick continued their flanking maneuver, as the Steel Hammer spewed out another volley at extreme range, yet not a single soul perished.
For a moment D'Hrak was horrified, for he saw his brother's aim was true, he saw how the explosive rounds tore into the enemy, yet they seemed to shrug it off.
As if pain was nothing to them, they seemed to; no not revel in it like the Thousand sons but take it as payment for their sins.
Another strike against the forces of Chaos came as he saw the heat rising up from a melta gun on the roof across the street. A white hot beam tore into the building where the Steel Hammers were positioned and before his eyes a marine was evaporated, nothing existed save a smouldering patch of soot on the concrete.
Before his dismay had died down, the promethium from a heavy flamer coated the same building. Hastor and Charubel, brothers of the Iron Warriors, fell under the heat of the flames.
Again, D'Hrak prayed for guidance of the dark gods to whom he had sworn his life, and he felt gratitude as he knew the warp sight once more was blessing the Steel Hammers who with a roar opened up with their bolters as they ran across the street.
Iron Pick laid down covering fire, to assist their brothers charge, but once more promethium coated the entire street before a single soldier of the Steel Hammers reached the enemy.
D'Hrak watched in horror as he realised that he had lost the initiative, that a whole unit of Marines had died in the flames of the servants of the False Emperor. Not even the creed of Iron within Iron without could withstand such heat and fury.
He was so fixated with planning his next move, that he did not realise that the dark disciples by his side had perished from a bolster fusilade.
Over his coms he heard the Sergeant of the Iron Pick, calling out new targets, and it seemed the servants of the False Emperor had even if later, at least followed suit and flanked the Iron Warriors.
Yet, he knew nothing could withstand what was to come, the Iron Pick had established a bridge head. They had secured a building in the flank of the enemy, and on a given command they unleashed a malicious volley of bolter rounds into the already weakened enemies in the building.
A whole section of the building came down, yet as the dust cleared it was evident that a single sister had fallen.
D'Hrak stood there in unbelief, time was running out and his plan was falling apart. Now his mind began to race, how would he explain this to Ghoron.
Shoots rang against his armor, some tore through the exoskeleton mesh he had been granted by his Vex Machinator and he felt his knees buckle beneath the barrage.
The Iron Pick seeing their Dark Apostle sink to his knees, called out to chaos, spitting death to the false emperor and charged the cannones that had stepped out of a building just in front of them.
They ran, bolters and flame coating their power armor.
Yet D'Hrak knew the game was up, it was time for a tactical withdrawal and he voxed all living servants of Chaos to pull back.
Canoness Mother Lucidia stood in the street of the settlement, she had her sisters gather the dead and counted a saddening three in numbers.
The God-Emperor truly had protected them this day, assuring Mother Lucidia that their aim was true, the chalice was secure and chaos would rue the day they set foot on any soil protected by the Order of the Martyrs Tear.
Living the dream
Location: The battle Barge Heart-of-Iron
Time passed differently on the ship than on Tandosh, each day began with pain and ended with pain. Days turned into what seemed like weeks and weeks into months and each day the pain grew less, and she almost began to crave it.
She had arrived as one of twenty, brought in to bolster the ranks tending to their masters.
The first week, her eyes ran and her stomach churned as she saw the symbols on the tapestries within the ship, yet by now she had succumbed and she could hear the honeyed whispering voices in her head.
She knew there was something better than this, so she was promised by the voices. She was a serf to the Iron Warriors, yet she had not seen more than two or three in her time here.
Her duties was to polish and clean armor, fetch meals and provide sport for the cultists aboard the ship. Sport was a variable term, as she dimly recalled sports from her homeworld, no sport there was fighting to the death or being violated by one or more of the stronger cultists.
She had heard names whispered such as Duchess of pain, Lord of Skulls, Bird of Secrets and Duke of Decay and by now she knew them all. Her heart longed for the blessings of the Lord of Skulls as he promised he would assist her if she ever sought vengeance against anyone that did her wrong, but it was the Duchess that allowed her to embrace the pain, that loving delightful pain.
Once or twice she had served a wish from either whisper, she had murdered Ythril the Foul, a leader of one of the coven of Cultists on the ship, after she had taken her time with her on more than one occasion. The Lord of Skulls had helped her, as she plunged a homemade knife eight times into the chest of her tormentor to dedicate the kill as by the wishes of the whisper.
She had sent a fellow Serf into despair by consistently foiling his tendings, making his master grow impatient. In the end Hastor had taken his own life in despair, fearing the wrath of his master and the Duke of Decay had been pleased.
The Duchess of pain, embraced her each night as she fell asleep having been flogged and beaten into submission by her masters and that whisper soothed her to sleep every time, longing for the next evenings flogging.
Yet it was the single whisper from the Bird of Secrets that promised her a better place, and also urged her to heed some of the whispers by the other voices.
She knew she was seen as something of a worm, a useful worm, but a worm nonetheless by her masters.
Her stature of 5'7" which often was lower as she tended to walk with her head lowered, made her seem insignificant compared to the near eight feet tall masters she served. As a serf she had access to parts of the ship that not even cultists were allowed, yet her quarters were nothing but spartan. She slept in shift with ten others in a small room with bunk beds along the sides of the room, which was barely large enough to house the beds themselves. The interior of the ship was dimly lit, each corridor compartmentalised and wound like a maze to make it near impossible to find the same path twice.
She had been told by one of the other serf's that it was a military genius that had formed the pathways of the ship, the Iron Warriors were legendary even among their own kind for siege warfare.
She scurried along the corridor, having memorized parts of the way but mostly went by the whisper in her head.
Dressed in a silver hued tunic, without sleeves, she soon found herself in one of the rooms where no master would ever tread.
The Serfs washroom, she quickly looked around and made sure she was alone. Having done that, she then climbed into one of the stalls and crouched down upon the seat there.
As she waited she began to think, think about the life she had had before she had been caught. Most of it was dim, pain had eroded her mind and memories of her past; these days it was just life here on the Heart of Iron.
A face often came to mind, someone that must have meant something to her so long ago, yet she could not phantom who or what ever could have meant anything save her servitude to her masters and the whispers in her head.
She blinked a few times, and reached a hand up to her face. A single tear har fallen and she was amazed, she scooped it up and brought it to her lips.
The salty liquid brought a shudder of pleasure that rippled through her very being, but she could not figure out what had brought tears to her eyes, without her master's whip or fist involvement.
A sound outside of her stall, caught her attention, heavy footsteps on the plasteel floor.
'It is time, strike now, strike hard'
The voice inside her head was like honey dripping and she was the bee drawn to it.
She reached inside her robe, brought up her homemade knife, the same knife she had anointed by killing Ythril so long ago and licked the blade.
The sharp edge, cut a clean cut across her tongue and she savoured the sensation as she stepped down on the floor, hunkered down and crawled out under the stall door.
She looked up, from her position on the floor and saw the backside of Sister Urha who was washing her hands. Slowly she rose to a crouched position, levelled her blade in her hand, feeling every ounce of it's weight in her grasp and then struck.
The first stab tore through the lower vertebrae of her victim, she muffled any screams by placing her hand over her mouth as she struck.
Her knees collapsed and she assisted her descent to the floor, and continued to stab her.
Third stab shattered her intestines and the fourth pierced her heart and silenced her forever.
She felt pride in her handiwork, knowing she had pleased not one but two voices in her head by her actions.
Salvation needed
Two weeks had passed with various skirmishes as the Iron Warriors had established a beachhead. All the while the Mother superior of the Martyrs Tears convent had almost flogged the Imperial astropaths to get word through the blockade. It was urgent to get assistance yet the forces of Chaos were fighting vigorously to try and keep the blockade.
Yet the Astronomicon shines like a beacon, giving the warmth and love of the God-Emperor and Heart-of-Iron was only one ship.
Lord Ghoron studied the holomap before him within the strategicum, his most trusted sergeants and D'Hrak his apostle stood there and waited.
"The Imperials have managed to get word out, our presence is now known."
His voice rasped, eons of warfare and the fumes within the Heart of Iron had made his voice a rasping echo of his previous commanding and inspiring tone.
"Yet, the Gods be praised, for the Arch Lord Vex Machinator's pet Zu'kesh has caught wind of an emergency delivery to the weakling Imperials."
His dark eyes turned towards D'Hrak and he pointed one of the claws of his powerfist towards the Apostle.
"You failed, yet I'm giving you one more chance to redeem yourself. If the Imperials get their hands on the package we may lose this beachhead."
D'Hrak opened his mouth as if to speak, but once again Lord Ghoron spoke up and silenced any complains or attempts to seek forgiveness on D'Hraks part.
"I'm assigning Logrin to your warband, D'Hrak. Count this blessing and I expect nothing but victory."
D'Hrak thanked his blessings, that his helmet covered his face, as it hid the wince of disgust.
Logrin, once an esteemed Tech-Marine of the Legion, had succumbed to the techno-virus and fused with his armor and his weapons.
Madness had long ago gripped the soul of Logrin, yet he and his Obliterator brothers had remained loyal to the Legion unlike so many others of their kind.
As if on cue, the doors to the strategicum opened up and Ghoron dismissed them all.
D'Hrak nodded his head towards brother Hrend and brother Drobekh and the three of them exited the room.
The former mining facility most likely had a name long time ago, yet abandoned due to unknown reasons it stood as a ghost of times past in the middle of the desert moon.
D'Hrak studied the Jandifar mountains reaching for the sky at the horizon and recalled his latest debacle. He would not step into the nuns trap this time.
Brother Hrend of the Steel Hammers came up to him and showed him a dataslate, a remnant of the 30th century.
It's black screen showed the green outlines of the landscape before him, and upon it three possible impact sites were shown.
The power of Zu'kesh made the tracking of the payload harder for the Imperials, sadly it did the same for D'Hraks warband as well.
"Gods giveth, gods taketh." D'Hrak muttered for himself as he nodded his head slowly.
The mining compound was eerily silent, even through his visors he could not detect anything living or moving.
"Drobekh, west flank, secure that location. Hrend your with me, secure that building." D'Hrak paused for a moment as an 'order received' icon appeared next to their names in his display.
"Logrin, I need you too.."
A static blarp came over the comms, as the towering Obliterator began to lumber forth, towards the center of the compound.
Well that was a go command if anything, figured D'Hrak and sent the command to his sergeants to commence operations.
The Iron Pick swiftly covered the grounds, and the Apostle thought for himself that perhaps instead of Logrin he should have requested heavy weapons for his marines instead.
Steel Hammers secured the building as he himself sought cover behind a large container left to wither with time.
Still there was silence, D'Hrak studied the dataslate, pleased he had secured two out of three possible sites for the impact, of the supply drop, when suddenly he saw Logrin morph before his very eyes.
The Obliterator had stopped not too far from his position, and from it's shoulder a fused version of a heavy bolter firing melta shoots appeared. It glowed with demonic fused powers as it shot out a spray of rounds.
D'Hrak was about to openly curse the Obliterator, but quickly held back as he heard the screams of dying women.
Logrin did not wait, he continued forth and the weapons morphed back into his body and formed his hands into power claws instead, with green glistening lightning surrounding the long admanthium fused fingers.
"Contact." The voice was calm and controlled as always when Drobekh spoke.
"Eleven, no make that nine servants of the Emperor. your location, north about 0.2 clicks."
D'Hrak saw an affirmation from Hrend as the icons of where the Sororitas were located appeared on his visor and he grinned.
He summoned blessings of the gods, granting the power of Warp Sight towards Logrin who apparently was already firing and giving away his location to the Imperials.
"Let's give the beast an edge." D'Hrak whispered to himself.
It soon became clear that the Imperials were not oblivious to the lumbering demonic beast, they opened up with bolters which rang against the ceramic plates fused into his body.
D'Hrak was curious as to why he saw no fear within the sisters as he peered out from behind the container.
Then the answer came as given. The clouds in the sky parted and in a shimmer of light a unit of Zephrim sisters armed with bolt pistols descended down behind the Obliterator, as they spat out bolts against him.
Logrin did not turn, he did not seem to bother with the fact that at least one of the bolts found it's way through the ceramic. The beast was dead set on his prey, he had gotten the scent of blood and continued forth, yet his body shifted once more and power claws became an auto cannon.
"For Chaos"
The Zephrim had barely touched ground, all ready to leap into the air once more to jump upon the beast when they realised this time they had jumped into a trap.
Five marines, the Iron Pick, had positioned themselves in a building just north of the Zephrim and now as they focused on the Obliterator they found themselves on the receiving end of the wrath of the Iron Pick.
Two sisters never made the second jump as their bodies were torn to shreds as the malicious volley of the Iron Pick became too much even for the most devout sister.
Logrin fired once more, again the screams of another dying under the demonic firing of the beast yet this time a third squad of sisters had snuck up in cover and fired a meltagun and a heavy bolter at the lumbering beast.
Ceramic plates melted, knees buckled and the towering Logrin stumbled and remained still for a moment before the world shifted around him and all that was left was the scent of ozone and a patch of burnt soil where he had lain.
It was time.
The Steel Hammers moved up in cover of the buildings, accompanied by D'Hrak and his disciples and they could see the Mother in charge of the Sororitas yelling commands, urging her soldier onwards, on the other side of a building.
Just as the Steel Hammers charged her, the remnant of the Zephrim squad leaped into the fray with the Iron Pick.
Where the last battle had been a shooting contest, which D'Hrak had lost, today would be a grand melee worthy of any Khorne servant.
Dhrobek saw the remaining Seraphim leap up into the air, carried across the field by their jump packs towards him as he ordered his men, the loyal brothers of the Iron Pick squad, to rain hell upon the approaching enemies.
A few salvos were unleashed before the enemies were upon them.
Chainswords roared, bolters spat out round after round as they wrestled over the utterly pointless piece of sand within the compound.
He saw grim determination through the eye slits of the warrior nuns, and his own display flowed with blessed words of the ruinous powers.
The sister, armed with a single bolt pistol and a chainsword zeroed in on him and cursed out something about the God-Emperor.
Rage filled him as he returned her words with a calm and controlled retort
"Death to the false Emperor"
He reached out, grabbed her by the throat and amusingly found it all too easy to lift her off her feet as he pressed his bolt pistol into her stomach and squeezed the trigger.
Her body fell effortlessly to the ground, as he registered through his display that one of his brothers had fallen.
Commands were issued, through as much mental as ocular methods as he surveyed the fields of battle.
"Apostle, the site is secured, enemies destroyed. All praise Perturabo, all praise the gods."
Across the field of battle, D'Hrak fought with a feverish frenzy surrounded by the cultist disciples that constantly scurried around him.
He saw one after another of the Steel Hammers forced to the ground by the onslaught of the sisters.
"Secure the payload, I've got this heretic"
Surprised, much as confidence filled him as he heard the words of the Canoness, he registered how near a full squad of sisters that had fought the Steel Hammers nod their head and hurried away from the melee.
He focused once more, upon the Canoness and saw she only had two of her private guards with her.
Fingers tightened around the handle of the accursed cruzium which sported the eight sided star of Chaos as a head.
The disciples fought against the honor guard, and had they been worthier he might have commended them for their zeal if they survived as he continued to trade blows with the Canoness.
He felt the powers of the gods flow through him, he felt the blessing of Khorne as he finally brought her down to her knees.
"For Chaos"
The two remaining sisters of her honor guard froze, which cost them their lives as the disciples around him swarmed them and feverishly beat them both to a pulp as they screamed obscenities in hopes the dark gods would hear them.
He smiled behind his helmet, raised his crozius and then snarled in anger as the scent of ozone caught in his nose, and before his weapon connected with the beaten Canoness she vanished in plain sight, saved by the tech of the false emperor.
D'hrak assisted Hrend and his remaining battle brothers up to their feet, and then turned his head over towards the area where the Iron pick were holding the drop site.
Rocketing through the sky, came a small drop pod sporting the golden cogged skull of the mechanicus.
Dhrobek ordered his men to secure the drop site, as he saw a near full squad of battle sisters, armed with multi meltas and other heavy weapons dash towards him and his men.
Calmly, he gestured in their direction and his squad in controlled and measured order, levelled their bolters in their direction and opened fire.
Memories flooded his mind, he recalled the herding of the Ivoren III.
He had been a battle brother back then, during the dark crusade and seen militia troops charge his position with a panicked craze.
Now as then, the enemies fell in droves under the fuselage of the Iron Warriors.
As the smoke cleared, the drop pod landed just a few yards behind them and he gave the order to secure the payload, when he registered movement from the pile of bodies.
"The Emperor protects."
His sensors caught the whisper as he turned to see a bloodied battle sister raise her multi melta in a final defiance.
The blinding light blacked out his sensors.
Sister Yrsa had suffered, she had flogged herself as so many of her sisters to learn that pain is a part of the God-Emperor's divine love.
Yet now she was in pain, her intestines were ruptured, her bones blown to shreds as she lay there among the bodies of her sisters.
She saw the towering iron painted heretic astartes stand behind a pipeline just feet away from her and she ground her teeth, the taste of blood near overwhelming.
She knew she was dying, yet she would repent her errors of not delivering the punishment of heresy. She mustered her strength and raised her weapon, that sanctified and thrice blessed, multi melta she was ordained.
"The Emperor Protects"
She whispered in prayer as she squeezed the trigger and felt the warm wash of heat as the beam of energy struck the traitor Marine that stood there with his chainsword before her.
Joy filled her, she had avenged herself, she had rectified her mistakes.
"Iron within, Iron without."
Horror filled her mind, as the light died down she saw the charcoal coloured marine still standing, it's glowing red eyes staring at her as it raised it's bolt pistol towards her.
"Does he now?."
A final thought rushed through her head, alongside the bolt that pierced her helmet.
"I failed"
The Saint
Location: Village 42Z-Y/The Moon of Tandosh / Segmentumr: Obscura / Sector Dori
Gasul was a rather decent man, at least he thought soo himself. He toiled each day with the labour provided to him by the Administorum.
He wore his ochre coloured robes, with that tell tale apron of dark beige where he carried his tools, showing for each and all his station within society.
He lived in a moderate flat, the same kind of flat as all fellow members of his caste lived in. Naturally he had some luxuries not afforded by all, mostly due to his partner who worked two echelon above him due to the fact she was part of the Adeptus Biologious and tended one of the few farms in the region.
He loved her truly, and he could recall the small dimples on her face as she smiled and how her green eyes seemed to sparkle each time she laughed. True she was a redhead, and that marked her as a foreigner to the rest of the population, contrary to the green apron she wore due to her station.
Only on Dori III did such a flamboyant color of hair exist, no on Tandosh all people had white hair, something todo with the minerals some claimed. He thought it was a blessing as it showed dedication to the God-Emperor, for did not his most beloved protectors all have white hair?
Tandosh provided a rather strange composition, it was a near barren rock unlike the mother planet of Dori III. Yet on Tandosh, within it's fields was a material that allowed Dori III to be a major player in the Imperium of man. Tandosh had a massive amount of fragrance decium and perhaps that is what had made the Tears of the Martyr Coven honor the people of Tandosh by establishing their monastery here on this moon.
Today was Saint Judith's day, and to her honor Gasul and all others on the moon had the day off. Together with his wife Reeza, they made their way towards the village center to partake in the festivities. Any other day the main road would be barren, the grey fragrance decium square buildings that formed the habitats of the workers stood like boxes upon boxes, forming a predetermined pattern of streets and intersections.
The village was a prefab creation, the same village stood in hundreds of places across the southern hemisphere of the moon, all protected by the monastery that took up most of the equatorial mountain ridge. But today was not just any day, it was that one day where the Adeptus ministorum allowed the workers a day off and the population took heed of just that.
Each building had tapestries rolled out to cover the walls, tapestries of thousand different colours all sporting different signs and pictures of the Daughters of the Emperor.
Each year the convent sent envoys to each village, to commemorate the devotion to the God-Emperor and service to Saint Judith. It had been ten years since true daughters had visited his village, normally a priest or a confessor had come but rumour had it that this year two daughters would visit the village.
Gasul could see the white hair of the two daughters standing in the center square, as they stood above the ochre clad crowd gathered in front of them to receive their blessings.
A childish eagerness overtook him, and he started to pull his wife faster through the crowded streets. A blessing from the Daughters would surely bring luck to their little family and grant them a child, yet Reeza struggled.
"Hold on Gasul, something is amiss at the farm. I need to go."
"What! But the sisters, the blessing we've been waiting for?"
Gasul saw the sad smile spread over her lips and tears forming in her eyes.
"I love you Gasul, I'm sure I'll make it back in time, get in cue and if not. Make sure to mention my name, I'm sure it'll work out. We are devoted servants and good workers."
Gasul knew he would not win this fight, Reeza was stubborn and she was a foreman at one of the farms. She was correct, and she was good at her job and most surely would make it back in time.
"Go with the Emperor's blessing, the wind of the Seraphims and hurry back my love."
Gasul saw happiness and pride return to her smile as she nodded her head and then darted back the way they had come.
The moment lost, his focus once more returned with an even brighter enthusiasm over receiving the blessings of the Daughters and he began to work his way through the crowd towards the center.
The center of the village was packed, and as he worked his way through the crowd he had to raise his scarf to shield his mouth and nose as breathing became hard. The amount of people here made the fragrance dust from the ground rise like fog over the center of the village, yet the Daughters seemed to have no troubles with it.
Of the hundreds of people here, Gasul registered only a dozen or soo other colors of the aprons then the dark beige. Two green from the biologus and three black which marked them as overseers, there were naturally other colors too but the one that stood out was the red which marked it as a governmental position.
Saint Judiths day truly was a day for each and all, as he neared the center of the square yard by yard getting closer to the Daughters he was struck by the notion that his wife was working.
A morose feeling had overcome Gasul as he finally was second in line of the cue to receive the blessing of the daughters. The man before him rose, leaving the space before the left hand Daughter and Gasul took that final step, sank to his knees and looked up.
She truly was majestic, her pristine white hair cut short framing her ageless features. A single tear tattooed on her left hand cheek in the form of 'De lys' which was the symbol of the Daughters.
Her white armor was free from the fragrance dust, her red cloak billowing gently in the air and she looked worried.
A Daughter worried, made Gasul feel an emotion he never had felt before, sheer fear.
He opened his mouth, but no words came out, his throat dry and he widened his eyes.
The Daughter before him lifted a hand up to her right ear.
"Understood mother, with all haste."
Gasul was pushed to the side, violently and he tumbled to the ground two yards further off to the left as the two Daughters in unison began to wade through the crowd.
Cheers and jubilations rose from the crowd, mixed with shouts and cries in pain.
The vox casters positioned on the sides of the building around the center, that normally rang out for various events such as day shifts beginning, noon prayers, day shift end suddenly began to buzz and then a soothing, commanding voice spoke out.
The volume loud enough to be heard throughout the village.
"All praise the God-Emperor, all hail the Daughters of the Emperor. This is a code black, report to your consul for mandatory prayers, your souls are at risk. Trust in the love of the Emperor"
Gasul slowly rose to his feet, a single thought occupied his mind. 'Did the touch from the Daughter as she shoved him to the side, count as a blessing or not?'
Dazed and still clinging to that thought, he followed the crowd towards the mandatory prayers.
and the Giant.
The farm looked alright at first sight, the dome revealed no signs of tears or leakage which were the normal problems. Two trucks were positioned outside and Reeza was slightly worried by now.
Two trucks normally indicated that twenty workers were on site, that was the normal quota of any shift, but it was the only day off and there shouldn't be any shift working today.
She parked her own two wheeled transportation outside, adjusted her apron and opened up the door into the domed farm leading into the control room.
Within she saw by a quick head count, nineteen workers all with light green colors to their aprons, indicating them as farm workers unlike her dark green which made her a crew chief.
Anger flared inside her, as she saw them gathered around the dinner table in the lounge.
Standing at the short end of the table, was her best friend Aadra who looked like she had been caught red handed.
"I don't care what, I missed the daughter's blessings and now."
Reeza trailed off as she realised what the workers were looking at, upon the table lie the twentieth worker.
Her mind raced, as she took in the sight before her.
The body on the table was naked, covered in symbols painted in blood that made her eyes hurt by just looking at them. The workers around the table looked as if in trance, and had painted symbols on their aprons as well, smeared upon their sacred aprons was something akin to an eight sided star. The mere sight of it made whispers try to reach into Reeza's mind, her stomach turned and she threw up.
"Ohh Reeza, had I known we tripped the alarm. You should not have."
This time it was Aadras time to trail off, well not as much trail as cut short as something crushed her head like Reeza would crush an egg.
Materialized behind Aadra stood a hulking giant of a man, in silver hued armor and a horned helmet.
It had appeared from nowhere, the room around it seemed to shimmer with a purple hue and there was a scent of burnt ozone in the air.
"Failure is not accepted, you will take her place."
The monster unclenched it's hand, it's fingers dripping with the remains of what had once been fair Aadra's head and the body of her friend slumped to the ground.
Fear frooze Reeza where she stood, yet she realised that the other workers looked most like worshipping, not even caring about the fact that the thing had just killed Aadra as if swatting a fly.
It was about now that Reeza realised that the beast was pointing towards her, and she tried to turn and run but her body would not heed her commands.
She could at least pride herself that she stood tall, even if it was not of her choice, when she was clubbed down by her once former co-workers.
The world turned to darkness, in more ways than she would ever dream.
A simple man
Location: The wilderness/Dori III / Ultima Segmentum / Sector Dori
The day began just as the twin suns rose over the horizon, and Londar found himself looking at his aging features in the mirror.
His life had been anything but kind, having been born on a distant planet, raised by the Adeptus Ministorum.
The church had offered him two choices, priest or servitude as a guard for the Cardinal, and he had chosen neither.
He had joined the 22nd Serenity Guard regiment instead, as a private in the rank and files, and done so at the age of fifteen.
Years of service, countless wars had brought his regiment down in size, in the end only he and a handful of troops were alive and mustered into the 52nd Serenity Guard regiment as it was founded. Due to their veteranship, he and the other survivors of the 22nd were pressed into forming an elite unit, called the 22nd Alphas or just short 'The Alphas'.
Londar had been given the rank of Major and earned the leadership of the Alphas, and fought through two new campaigns, serving in the great crusade. Years had flown by, battles now a distant memory but he had earned his farm, along with four others of his remaining founding Alphas.
A small patch of land on the planet of Dori III had been theirs and the five of them had settled down.
Castor, Haldur, Baston and Hodd all had founded families of their own, yet Londar had gotten into trouble for his loud mouth and mannerisms and found himself on the bad side of the Cardinal.
Londar shrugged as he stood there and stroked his greying beard, and only the growling of Freke, his trusting wolfhound stirred him out of reminiscing about the past.
"Wanna go for a walk boy?"
He picked up his vibro axe, placed it over his shoulder and then nodded his head towards his dog as he went outside.
He took a deep breath as he inhaled the scents of the forest, the crisp air with a slight touch of the decium fragrance most of the planet's devotees used, to honor the God-Emperor.
With Freke at his side, he ventured out to get some blood into his muscles.
After a two hours walk, he returned to the house having caught two Dorian horned rodents in his traps, to have for dinner, and began to chop some wood to stir the flames for the coming stew.
Freke lay on the porch of the house, having taken up his favourite position next to the rocking chair half asleep as the rythmic thumping that came from Londar's axe cleaving each piece of wood with ease against the chopping block.
Suddenly, Freke's ears twitched and the hound gave out a low growling growl as he slowly rose up into a sitting position.
'Company' Londar thought for himself as he looked over at the spartan house, and his trusted Mark IV Gastu rifle that stood leaning against the house by the rocking chair.
He never had put much faith into the lasrifles, instead he favoured the solid projectiles and especially this one. A special made one, gifted to him by the regimental commander of the Serenity Guard, with enough power to stop almost anything with a single shot.
Londar let out a deep sigh, placed the axe over his bare shoulders and reached for the cloth attached to his belt to wipe his face. Moments later an armoured limousine, pristine white, with the ecclesiarchy symbol in gold emblazoned upon its hood approached. Small banners on each of it's back fins told it was a cardinal emissary.
The car stopped just inside the driveway to his house and two white carapace armoured stormtroopers stepped out of the vehicle, each armed with an inferno rifle. They studied Londar, then the surroundings before they gave the all clear and a woman dressed in white made her way out of the car.
She was stunning, even dressed in the livery of the Cardinal and she was also gut wrenching to be near.
Londar knew that feeling, and steeled himself, as it was not the first time he was near a pariah, null, warp anthem or whatever the local ecchlecsiarcy named them.
"Major Londar, I hope I am not interrupting."
Londar just studied the woman before him, savouring the sight and fighting to keep his demeanor straight as his instincts told him to run away, as was so common with her kind.
"The Cardinal, has need of your services or really. I do, through the Cardinal. Perhaps we can go inside and talk?"
It took Londar a moment to process what had been said and then he nodded his head.
"I'll drink my morning kaff on the porch if that is suitable."
"Quite lovely, I'll take mine black as the dark templars. I think you'll like what I have to offer, Major."
Forsaken, in the dust
What had begun as mere skirmishes on the moon of Tandosh had grown, grown into a being hard to define.
D'har was assured it was proof enough that the gods were with them, and that his words as an apostle of the dark gods were ringing truer than ever before.
No Imperial reinforcements had come through the warp, and the sisters were growing desperately bold.
He stepped upon the charred remains of a dead body and heard the satisfying crunch as it was crushed under his ceramic boots.
He had not worn a helmet in combat for over a century, yet his vision was keener then most augments ever could, he had the warp sight, granted him by the Dark Prince and with it he could see all through the remaining walls of what had once been a bio processing center.
A smile crept upon his lips as he saw the torn remains of a dozen sisters lying on the ground, their white armour patterned with their own blood and entrails.
He recalled vividly the events of the prior night, and heard the echoing call of their leader screaming the name of the False Emperor even to her dying breath.
"Again!"
Sister Saviel, the Dogmata of the Martyrs Tears slammed her hand into the desk before her.
"Tell me again, what happened!"
Sister Superior Gazi looked at the Dogmate before her, and felt the weight of her gaze pressing her further down into the spartan rock hard chair she was forced to be seated in.
She felt the cold iron of the chair almost burning into her naked flesh.
"I swear, we must have been betrayed, they knew we were coming."
Gazi felt shame as she heard the little hint of whimpering in her voice, yet she fixed her cold blue eyes upon the Dogmata before her.
"The plan was solid, the intelligence credible. Operation WildFlower should have been a success."
Saviel studied the stoic sister before her, she knew Gazi was in pain if not only by the obvious signs of burn damage, or the fact she was sitting in a near sub zero metalic chair with nothing but skin to shield her. But the pain was most visible in her eye, her soul was injured. Yet it was Saviel's duty to judge if she was a sinner or not.
"Operation Wildflower, to strike at the supply lines of the Iron Warriors, to retake the artifice shield of the Iron Rivet and deal a strike so hard it would make them think twice about coming to Tandosh again."
Saviels tone was cold, colder than the chair her fellow occupant in the room was sitting on.
Gazi sighed softly, her nose was itching and she fought the urge to reach up and scratch it. Her white bangs hung heavily down over her sunkissed features and she felt, somewhere in the back of her mind, the sensation of pain from her wounds.
Even through the coldness of the metal chair, she could feel something wet slowly forming just underneath her left thigh, and she realised a second too late that she had moved her fingers over to run over the axe wound that had pierced into her flesh there.
"Palatine Hera, led two full squads of battle sisters accompanied by two retributors."
Gazi paused for a moment.
"Two Anchorites were tasked to accompany us as well."
Saviel wrinkled her nose,
"Too soon those sinners saw a release for their transgressions, at least they did not flee -again-"
Gazi did not reply to the statement, she knew she may very well end up as a Repentia if she did not heed the words of the Dogmata, for something had gone wrong, terribly wrong.
"We approached the bio processing plant, where we knew they had established a supply route through