Storm Heralds Reading List

Book1 Maledicti Venator, Serrati Stellas, Tenebris Resurget.

Tenebris Resurget

950.M41

From high on the mountainside one could see for hundreds of miles, the endless plains sweeping away until they hazed to nothing. Dotted over that plain were soaring cathedrals and minarets, all gilded in gold and boasting pointed spires or outlandish statues. Sacellum was a shrine world, an entire planet set aside for the worship of the Emperor, its every resource poured into glorifying Him on Terra while the huddled masses starved in shanty towns around the foundations of the Basilicas and Templums.

Standing high on the mountainside was a giant in power armour, basking in the sharp morning sun. He carried a chainsword and bolt pistol and bore Sergeant's markings, his name was Toran of the Ninth Company of the Storm Heralds Chapter. He stood surveying the world below, comparing it to his own Chapters' practices of Emperor deification and not liking the similarities he was seeing. In disgust he turned and looked around behind him but the sight was hardly better.

Before him were the bloody remains of a battlefield, stretching from the forested foothills all the way up the slopes to the craggy cliff faces of the mountain. Covering the field were thousands of mutant corpses, sprinkled with power armoured bodies. Some were in the blue and grey of his Chapter but others bore a far darker hue adorned with jagged lightning bolts, flayed skin and polished skulls. Scattered among the corpses were the burnt out wrecks of Rhinos and Predators, Land Speeders and even the limping form of a Dreadnought, its amniotic coffin burst and leaking as it staggered into the hold of a Thunderhawk Transporter. For this had been the last battleground of the invasion of Sacellum, where the Imperium had finally crushed the forces of the pirate Night Lord Vorshaan, who had plagued this sector since before Toran was born.

Moving through the battlefield were hundreds of grey-clad Chapter Serfs, combing the ground meticulously, searching for the bodies of honoured Battle-Brothers and lost Chapter artefacts. Most of them were young boys, failed aspirants and sons of older Serfs but a few were grey-haired. These were branded with the Chapter symbol to indicate their status as Overseers. Toran saw more than a few boys pocketing spent bolt shell casings, trying to garner luck or simply to be closer to their Transhuman Masters. A prohibited practice but one absolutely nobody could be bothered to enforce. They all sang work songs as they laboured, ancient chanties whose words had lost all meaning over the millennia but whose spirit endured.

Toran walked through the wasteland, stepping over mutant bodies and respectfully avoiding the honoured fallen. He passed by Apothecary Memnos who was kneeling to perform his sacred duty of harvesting the gene-seed of the dead, it went without saying the Traitors own progenoids would be burned. Toran saw his squad patrolling the site, guarding the serfs and the Chapter's legacy then he approached two of his brothers, who were walking together in deep discussion. One of them was Novak, a young and inexperienced Marine but a prodigy with a blade in his hand. The other was Halis Paur who had only been with them a few days. He had been part of a squad in Seventh Company but had seen them all wiped out in an ambush and been left for dead himself. So severe were his injuries he had been confined to the Apothecarion for almost a whole week and then after taking spiritual council had been reassigned to IXth squad. Toran wasn't sure what to make of his new subordinate, for he was intelligent but also bitter and cynical, however given what Halis had lost that was understandable.

Toran marched up to the pair and said, "Halis, Novak, you two seem distracted. Exactly what pressing concern takes up your attention?"

Novak didn't catch the subtle admonishment and replied candidly, "I was just wondering what IXth squad did to earn this assignment? I mean we barely saw a hint of glory in the battle, my blade tasted nothing but mutant blood and now we are stuck here guarding the clean-up crews."

Halis let out a derisive snort and said, "Ha child, if you wanted glory you should have joined a Battle company, we are a Reserve Company. We get all the crap assignments."

There was a sound from behind them and suddenly a deep baritone voice barked, "I trust you are not disparaging the recovery of the Chapter's sacred relics and noble steeds as 'crap'."

They turned and saw a Red-Clad Techmarine standing behind them, his servo harness bearing plasma cutters and hydraulic arms. His name was Hevostan and he was an old acquaintance of Toran's.

Hevostan had only recently completed his training on Mars and had returned a changed man. Everything from his enhanced armour, servo harness and cold, detached demeanour was different. If it had not been for his baritone voice and habit of cussing under his breath he would have been unrecognisable. Toran had tried to talk to him in passing but the Techmarine seemed distant and uninterested in reminiscing.

Toran faced his old friend and deflected, "Of course not Honoured Techmarine, we are merely contemplating our duty to the Emperor."

Hevostan replied coldly, "Strange for it sounds as if your squad does not appreciate the contribution of the Omnissiah to this victory. Many sacred machine spirits were sacrificed to the Traitors guns."

Toran cocked an eyebrow and remarked, "If you are concerned by the amount of veneration the Machine Spirits receive I suggest you attend to those serfs over there."

Hevostan turned and saw a crowd of serfs gathered around a burnt out Predator, there was a throaty roar followed by cheers as they coaxed its engine back into life. Furiously Hevostan raced off muttering under his breath, "Shunt, Error, Abort, those fools awaken a wounded steed without first offering sacred unguents or the litanies of appeasement! Did the Overseers take them for servitors and lobotomise them by mistake?"

Toran watched him go and sighed at the lost friendship, then he looked over the battlefield as something caught his eye. Working among the serfs was a towering figure, gene bulked and densely packed with muscle. He wore a serfs' plain tabard but there was no disguising he was an Astartes by nature.

Toran paused in curiosity and said to Novak "Who is that?"

Novak glanced over and replied, "Him? That is Bylan, he was a younger Aspirant when I was still in the Scout-Novices."

Bemused Toran inquired, "He was a failed aspirant? That is unusual, most who make it that far into the gene seed implantation either succeed or die. I have never heard of someone going so far and then failing. Were his skills inadequate or perhaps his purity was found wanting during the rite of the Emperor's Storm?"

"Perhaps it would have been easier if it was so," replied Novak, "Tragically he made it all the way into the Scouts but then there were some issues with gene-seed compatibility, I am no apothecary but I recall barracks talk about his Multi-lung not taking. The last time I saw him the Chaplains were taking him away to the Serf's quarter where he could still make some contribution to the Chapter."

"A shame," said Toran eyeing the youth, "But then it is not for lesser men to understand the mysteries of the Emperor's gene-craft."

They walked on and surveyed the battlefield, watching the serfs as they worked. Novak sighed and with the whine of youth said "This is dull."

Toran retorted, "This is a great triumph the end of a threat that has plagued the Imperium for ten thousand years. Songs will be sung of what occurred here, you should be honoured to be present."

"Yes but Vorshaan the Dusk Prince is dead, his head mounted on a pole and his pirate fleet scattered to the nine vectors. So why are we still here?" whined Novak.

Halis rolled his eyes and snapped, "This is an important duty; the Chapter could not long survive if we failed to harvest the gene-seed or just left every fallen bolter and vehicle where they lay."

"You want to know what it is I don't understand?" said Novak ignoring the admonishment.

"No I don't," sighed Halis, "But I am sure you are going to tell us anyway."

Novak kicked headless red armoured corpse and said, "We were supposed to be fighting Night Lords but according to my hypno-indoctrination these are the colours of the Khorne Berserkers, over there is a Noise Marine, that's Alpha Legion and that one... I don't even know whose colours that is."

Halis snorted in derision, "Ha, You are mistaken to think these traitors have any more loyalty to their Legions, or each other, than they do to Terra. They care for nothing but themselves and the spoils of war. In a Chaos warband one fights alongside whomever suits at the moment, even their fealty to the Dark Powers comes from expectation of reward not brotherhood."

Toran was surprised by the bitterness his Halis' voice but after what he had suffered perhaps it was understandable. He was about to join in but was interrupted by a new voice piping up.

"My lord" the voice came, deep and resonant as only the Transhuman could be. Yet there was a breathlessness present, a weak quiver that Toran had never heard in any brother before. He turned and saw the serf Bylan, standing before him with his head bowed in respect, his youthful stubble a contrast to his tonsured scalp.

Toran eyed the nervous serf and said, "Do not keep us waiting boy, what is it you want?"

Bylan did not dare look up as he said, "Master we regret to report we have lost contact with one of our worker parties scouring the highlands, all attempts to raise them have failed. Overseer Gregor humbly requests permission to send out a search party."

Toran flexed his arms and put one hand on the hilt of his chainsword and said, "I can do better than that, I will go myself."

"My lord?" asked Bylan with a youthful quiver of hesitation.

"Relax," said Toran, "This will be an easy task and I could use the exercise. Halis, Novak care to join me for a stroll?"

The two brothers grinned and hefted their weapons at the prospect of relief from this dull duty. Toran turned to the serf and said, "Boy, ask Overseer Gregor to provide us with a guide."

"With respect Master," replied the boy, "I was in the highlands yesterday morning, I know the route well."

"Very well" replied Toran, then he keyed his vox, "Brother Furion, some lost serfs need to be ushered back. You're in charge until I get back."

And with that they blithely they set off, with little idea what horrors awaited them.