The Sanctum of Contemplation was cold, even to the gene enhanced body of Astorian. Icy mist drifted from him with every breath, wrestling his shaven head in a seemingly endless cloud. The thin black robe that he wore did little to protect him from the chill, though he did not desire it to. He took in lungfuls of the freezing air, letting it fill his entire chest before exhaling in slow, controlled breaths.
"It is in the image of the Angel that you were created."
The words drifted through the chamber, echoing despite the barely audible whisper in which they were spoken. Despite himself, Astorian lifted his head, golden eyes staring up at the only other being in the Sanctum. Clad in a pure white robe, the short, lithe woman glared at the astartes. Green eyes beneath shoulder length blonde hair seemed to burn with a fury unmatched by all but a few in this galaxy.
She began to stalk towards him, though his eyes did not linger on her for long. As he often did, he took in the Sanctum of Contemplation around him. Five meters across and that again tall, the Sanctum was a richly decorated chamber. Four marble pillars were situated at the corners of the room, richly designed in the form of winged warriors of ancient terran legend. On the walls, beneath a layer of ice, murals of warriors in red and black armor fought across a dozen different battlefields. Behind the woman approaching Astorian, an altar was placed. Skeletal hands reached up from the ground, gripping the base of a goblet. Just behind the goblet, the inverted wings and crossed talons of his lineage were visible.
In a blinding flash, the woman brought her gloved hand across Astorian's face, the blow booming in the silence. "Focus!" Her words were sharp, crisp. The anger and…the thirst that Astorian felt began to well up within him. His fingers flexed slowly, his eyes narrowing. The woman stood unwavering before the astartes, the fury in her eye unbreakable. Slowly, Astorian reasserted his control, and lowered his head. The woman nodded, heading back to her position before the altar.
"By the hand of the Emperor, your ancestors were forged into the weapons of mankind. The Revenant Legion, the dark past those of the Blood tried to bury, still exists within you. It is the hunger that seeks to rise to the surface. The death of the Angel, the moment that the legion of old was shattered, seeks to break you, and awaken a rage unchallenged." Turning, the woman grabbed the goblet from the skeletal hands. It was massive in her gloved hands, though she did not waver as she turned with the golden goblet.
"This darkness is your legacy, but your destiny is that of a warrior. The Angel gifted you not just a curse, but a blessing. His nobility courses through your veins, fighting an eternal war against the darkness. His strength, his purity, and his will are within you." She drew a knife from the folds of her robe, and in a single practiced cut, opened a cut along her scarred arm. A stream of blood poured out into the goblet.
"The darkness calls for the blood of the innocent, but you must resist it. Take this offering, and shackle the darkness as the Angel shackled the darkness within the legion." She extended the goblet out, and Astorian took it with practiced grace. He brought it towards his lips, and the warm, intoxicating aroma of the liquid within drowned out his senses. He drank deeply, reveling in the blood as it entered his body. It took him moments to finish it, far too short a time.
Raising his head, his eyes locked on the still bleeding arm of the woman before him. The hunger that had barely been sated called out for more, fresh from the source and overwhelming in quantity. It was so close; he could take it if he simply moved forward. For the briefest of moments, he felt the hunger pushing at him, urging him to leap forward and drain the woman of all she had…
And then it was gone.
The hunger still lingered, but the control and discipline Astorian had within him, refreshed by the offering, drew up the walls that kept it in. It was harder than usual this time, but Astorian emerged the victor in this personal battle. For one more day at least, the war for his soul would continue to be fought.
When he finally spoke, his voice boomed in the Sanctum. "By the Blood, I stand in service for the Emperor and Sanguinius."
With those simple words, the dim lighting in the Sanctum of Contemplation suddenly became blindingly bright. Astorian's eyes took a second to adjust to the sudden change, but the woman took several more. She was still blinking away her blindness as Astorian rose to his feet, placing the goblet in the woman's outstretched hand.
"You were distracted today, Astorian. It is not often that I must strike you during your Contemplation." The woman spoke with a warmth that was entirely absent just moments before, and a smile lit her youthful features. Nodding his head, Astorian turned and shed the black robe he wore, and quickly donned a red robe handed to him by the woman. "I had much on my mind today, Hemran."
The smile on Hemran's face became sad for a moment as she took the goblet and turned away. She placed it back in the altar, before reaching into her robes to retrieve a bandage which she quickly wrapped around her arm. "Is it about your new position again, Commander? We have discussed this in great detail already. Unless there are other matters you are keeping from your Speaker of the Blood?" She turned to face the astartes, barely coming up to his chest in height, but in the silent stare that followed, he was the first to look away.
The Speakers of the Blood were a unique rank held by servants within Astorian's Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes, the Crimson Hawks. Chosen at a young age on the Chapters homeworld of Venrol, the Speakers of the Blood were trained to be able to know the mind of an astartes, and be able to help them face the doubts within their minds. The Speakers were each assigned to a single astartes upon the completion of their training, and it was said that the Speakers knew the mind of the demigods better than even they themselves did.
Shaking his head, Astorian turned away from Hemran, his arms folded across his chest. "My thoughts on the matter remain unchanged, Speaker. But on this day, hours before I am to lead my brothers to battle as a Commander, my mind fills with doubts." Hemran nodded her head, thinking for a few moments before speaking. "You think yourself not worthy of the position. You are too young; there are others better suited; you shall lead your brothers to death and defeat."
Astorian's silence was testament enough to know she spoke correctly. She took a few steps towards the towering warrior before her, gesturing towards one of the murals on the wall. On this mural, ancient Crimson Hawk warriors stood against a tide of Orks, unending in their number. Crimson helmets and chest armor, black arms and legs stood on a mountain of the dead, their faces a mixture of serene beauty and cold rage. Standing above them all, bearing the inverted wings and crossed talon banner of the chapter, was Commander Bacara.
"Commander Bacara was the youngest Commander ever elevated to the position. Barely a century of service had seen him rise through the ranks to this august post." She pointed to the distant outline of an Imperial city, wreathed in smoke." In his first and last campaign as Commander of the Third Cohort, he held the line against a tide of greenskins for two months. He commanded only fifty two astartes, and yet held against a tide of fifty thousand orks, buying time for Imperial citizens on the threatened world to escape."
She turned to the next mural. This one showed Crimson Hawk warships in the void, broadsides roaring with life against the angular, winged hulls of Eldar vessels. "Commander Galios, the Void Hand. The greatest void tactician the Chapter has ever seen. He commanded our fleet during the fourth Black Crusade while his brothers fought on the surface below. Outnumbered four to one, his brilliant actions and command saw the Chaotic fleets wrent apart. He would go on to become the next Lord Commander."
Finally, Hemran turned to the last mural in the Sanctum. It was this mural that Astorian most dreaded to look upon, but forced himself to gaze on it. Hemran could sense his reserve, and lowered the intensity of her voice. "Commander Nemros. As just a Captain, he led the successful assault against the rebellious world of Iacors. As a Commander, he fought against a Greater Daemon of Khorne, Slaanesh and Nurgle in a single day. He won, but was crippled beyond hope of aid. He was entombed with a Dreadnought, and serves the Chapter to this day."
Turning to look up at Astorian, Hemran cast her arms out to either side, encompassing each of the murals as she spoke. "In the presence of such hallowed legacies, it is understandable to feel inadequate. These are heroes of legend; warriors of unequal ability and skill in their day, but their day is done. Seek guidance from the past, Commander Astorian, but do not hold yourself accountable to it. You are the Commander of the Fifth Cohort, leader of the Ninth and Ten Companies. It is to you the warriors under your command will look to. If you only look to the past, rather than the future, you will always find yourself coming up short."
Several hours later, Hemran's words still rang in Astorian's head as he made his way towards the deployment deck. Clad in his war plate, black arms and legs with crimson chest and helmet, he passed through the rushing crowds of Chapter serfs and servitors filling the corridors of the Helios Ascendant. The battle-barge of the Fifth Cohort, internally, was colored a deep gray in color. The symbol of the Chapter, and the Imperial Aquila were located at each intersection, though were largely bare beyond that.
Despite the rushing flood of mankind, Astorian had no issue marching through the corridors. Designed to be double the width of standard corridors, Astorian occupied the entire right side while the crew of the Helios rushed along the left side. Most were crewmen, wearing the uniforms of the vessel, though a few Speakers of the Blood were also present. Unlike the serfs and crewmen who bowed their heads to Astorian, the Speakers went on their path without even glancing his way.
The Speakers were assigned to a single astartes, and by tradition, they would not speak to or even acknowledge those who were not their master. The only exception to this rule was when a Speaker had to bring their concerns to the Sanguinary Priests and Chaplains of the Chapter. Should a Speaker see the signs that their master was slipping in their control of the twin curses of the bloodline of Sanguinius, they would break their silence. Sometimes, not even then.
It was rare, but not unheard of for Speakers of the Blood to never return from one of the Sanctum of Contemplation.
Rounding the end of the corridor, Astorian approached the massive door, sealing the primary hangar off from the rest of the battle-barge. A three meter wide Imperial Aquila sat at the center of the door. A servitor, built into the very wall of the corridor itself, turned to face Astorian. It only had a torso; its sternum being connected to a series of wires and panels that dominated one side of the door. Its photo-receptor eyes scanned Astorian for several moments, but a great echoing chame rang out in the corridor.
With a release of steam that slammed into Astorian, the doors to the primary hangar began to slide open, vanishing into the floor and ceiling. He stepped through the opening, and entered a realm preparing itself for war.
The hangar itself was massive in scale, easily able to hold the eight thunderhawks spread out across its dark gray floor. Massive columns, twelve on each side of the hangar, seemed to hold up a roof that was covered in a constantly replenishing layer of fog. At the far end of the hangar, massive hangar doors bearing the symbol of the Crimson Hawks stood waiting, eager to open and deploy those gathered within the hangar to war.
Each of the thunderhawks stood as the center of a sea of activity. Tech-priests oversaw dozens of servitors in the process of arming and fueling the mighty vessels. Massive loader carts bearing missiles, bolster rounds and other essentials were wheeled aboard or onto the waiting craft. The lead tech-priest in each group walked along the length of the vessel, coaxing it and the machine spirit back to full wakefulness. Nearby, the Chapter serf pilot's, wearing bright crimson flight uniforms, were receiving the final pre-deployment briefing from the deck officer.
At the center of it all, over one hundred astartes in the black and red of the Crimson Hawks were preparing themselves for the coming battle. Chainswords were checked for missing teeth, bolters were blessed with sacred oil, and armor systems were checked for full functionality. All of these things and more had been done hours before, but a good warrior would always take personal care to ensure all his equipment was ready.
Two of the astartes in the gathering detached themselves from their brothers and made their way towards Astorian. Captains Zarador and Quintus, the men directly below Astorian in rank within the Fifth Cohort. Zarador had a youthful appearance to him, and the casual smile he wore on his face seemingly at all times gave way to jokes and speculation at his true age. The battle scars he wore proudly kept the worst of these jokes and speculation at bay. In contrast, Quintus was a seasoned astartes in every sense of the word. Battle scars mixed with the first signs of wrinkles around his temples and eyes. Like Astorian, Quintus was bald, while Zarador sported short cut blonde hair with a single red stripe just above his left eye.
Astorian nodded to the two men, a gesture they returned before Quintus spoke. "Commander, all squads have reported their readiness. Once the tech-priests finish their final preparations, the Cohort will be ready." Nodding, Astorian turned to Zarador, the corner of the Commander's mouth rising slightly. "Who won the toss?"
Zarador rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, though the smile never left his face. "You can see for yourself Commander. The ninth company will get the honor of shooting themselves at the planet feet first. My tenth company here gets the privilege of riding down to the surface in the second wave." Quintus nodded his head at the younger captain's words, seeming to ignore the tone of his peer.
"Is it not an honor for your company to soar into battle along with their commander, Zarador?" Astorian's words lit up the captain's face, his eyes narrowing briefly. 'I meant no disrespect, commander. We shall follow you eagerly into the empty battlefield the ninth company will leave for us." Quintus looked ready to respond before Astorian waved for his silence. "He means nothing by it, Quintus, you know how he is."
Turning, Astorian was confronted by the assembled warriors of the ninth company, most wearing their helmets, though a few faces were still visible. Either shaven or with short cut blonde hair, helmeted or not, the warriors of the ninth company, fifth cohort looked at their officers expectantly. Taking a step forward, Astorian raised his voice to his astartes.
"You all know the mission. Traitors have risen up against the Imperium of Man on the world we now orbit. The last loyal defenders have called out for aid, and the Crimson Hawks shall answer." He drew the power sword from the sheath he had across his back, the weapon roaring to life in a shower of blue light and electricity running along its length.
"For the Emperor and the Angel! Death to the traitors!" The words were repeated by every gathered astartes in the hangar; their roar echoing against the walls. The sons of the Angel were going to war.
Hello everyone reading this! I hope people are reading this story anywho, as it is something I have been wanting to put to paper and get out of my head for a long time. This is my first official attempt at writing a warhammer based story, and I do hope you have enjoyed this little intro! I would love it if you could leave a review of what you thought, and perhaps any questions you might have! I cannot guarantee a steady posting schedule as my muse seems to come and go at will, but I do promise more chapters are coming!
