Armorum Fidei Chapter 7

A day and a night passed without incident and then dawn broke over the base. As was the Storm Herald's way the Initiates gathered to greet the rising sun. Lined up in squads the Space Marines knelt, weapons held upright and heads bowed in reverence. The Firstborn settled into their ancient routines with comfortable grace, the Primaris complied uncertainly, trying to match their older brethren's posture and reciting the words with slight but perceptible hesitation.

Standing before the gathered Companies Chaplain Furion stared unblinking into the rising sun then he spoke the words of an ancient ritual, "For what will you give your lives?"

The squads responded as tradition dictated, "We give our lives for honour."

Again Furion uttered, "What is your honour?"

"Our honour is our duty," came the reply.

"What is your duty?" the litany continued.

"To serve the Emperor's will," they intoned.

"What is the Emperor's will?" the ancient words rang out.

"That we be the champions and defenders of mankind," they proclaimed.

"How will you defend mankind?" Furion barked.

"With our lives!" the massed squads roared.

"Thus the circle is complete, as inevitable as the setting and rising of the sun," Furion proclaimed, "For Him on Terra!"

The ancient ritual concluded the squads stood up and took their leave, some satisfied all was as it should be, others just glad it was over. In small knots they departed, heading to their next training cycle or to tend to their vehicles. Captain Toran made his way over to Furion and they engaged in a close discussion, debating possible strategies for the next set of exercises. The noise faded as the open space vacated and yet one soul remained behind. Chaplain Polarus, who glared at the backs of the departing Firstborn and let a small sneer creep over his lip.

Polarus had merely observed the ritual as a bystander, as a Chaplain he had that right, but internally he found the entire affair contemptible. Ceremonies, sacraments, liturgies and holy Masses, such things were an offence to his eye and that such dogmatic idiocy had taken root among the Adeptus Astartes was an outrage. It wouldn't have been tolerated at the dawn of the Imperium, Polarus knew it to be true and it was a sign to him that his chosen course was even more correct.

He eyed the departing back of Furion and found everything that was wrong with the Firstborn embodied in the Marine. Haughty, self-satisfied and blinkered in vision. Even his armour was debased, marked with macabre icons and fetishes, a stark contrast to Polarus' functional black, a skull-helm sufficing to mark his role in memorialising the dead. Furion's Crozius was the worst example, an elaborate and overblown weapon with a spread-winged eagle. Polarus' Crozius was far more efficient, forged at the dawn of the Imperium it was elegant and practical yet powerful. Veritatias it was daubed and it more than sufficed to smite the enemies of Mankind, without making a gaudy show.

Suddenly Polarus turned and marched away, his armoured boots striking dust from the razed earth that the base stood upon. He ignored passing serfs and squads of Storm Heralds, his rank giving him the authority to ignore their stares. Swiftly he made his way to a particular billet and opened the door without knocking. Inside he found Sixth Captain Raynek sitting behind a desk, armour stripped from his body and set upon a frame. Without his plate the Captain was revealed to be a pale figure, with the blanched skin of one born to the sunless caverns of Calth. His face bore few scars, making him look deceptively young, and his hands were oddly slight.

Raynek was reading a dataslate with a frown but looked up to enquire, "How was the Rite?"

"You didn't miss anything important," Polarus muttered, "Rituals and liturgies abound."

Raynek set down his slate and leaned back in his chair asking, "You haven't changed your opinion then?"

"If anything my derision was too shallow. There is not a tower tall enough on Terra from which to spit my contempt for these Storm Heralds and their ways."

"Sadly we are all Storm Heralds now, by the Lord Commander's order," Raynek sighed as he stood up. Polarus watched as the Captain made his way across the billet to a beautifully furnished cabinet, it was unusually decorative for an Astartes' quarters, quite at odds with the functional desk, cot and workbench common to all quarters. Raynek opened the cabinet and revealed a collection of crystal decanters and glasses, a collection of rare wines from worlds the Crusade had liberated. An odd habit but rank had its privileges and it wasn't like a Space Marine could get drunk on duty, Raynek merely professed to enjoy the tastes. He selected a fluted stem of Dammassine and poured two amber measures into glasses then offered one to Polarus.

Polarus merely stared at it for a moment and his genhanced senses filled with the scent of almonds. Then took off his helm, revealing a stern and bitter visage. His bald scalp was oiled to a gleam while his dark skin was pitted by frostbite, childhood scars that would never fade. His nose was pointed and a metal plate was riveted to the left side of his brow but fire burned in his eyes, a drive to succeed that rivalled any zealot's faith.

Polarus took the glass in his gauntlet and held it delicately as he lamented, "How did it come to this?"

"I don't follow," Raynek sniffed as he rolled his glass under his nose, inhaling the herbal smell.

"How did the Firstborn become so diffident and wayward? Ten millennia of degeneracy, ten thousand years of weakness. When we went into stasis we expected to emerge into a new golden age, finding the Imperium strong and rational with Chaos and aliens ground underfoot, as it should be. Instead we find Chaos has ripped the galaxy in half, Xeno enclaves are tolerated to squat on the borders and mad religiosity grips the hearts of men in a vice of ignorance and fear. Progress and invention have become dirty words. And the Ecclesiarchy…"

"Careful," Raynek warned lifting a single finger from his glass, "The Lord Regent is clear, we are not to antagonise them."

"It is an open secret in the Crusade what he says of them behind closed doors, you know the contempt he holds for the Imperial Church."

"And yet we need them, to hold the cowering masses together. With the galaxy in flames a conflict between Astartes and Ecclesiarchy would end the Imperium. The Primarch says to ignore them for now, he will deal with this matter after the galaxy is saved, one war at a time."

"That mankind chose to kneel to priests is contemptible," Raynek sneered, "Did not the Emperor proclaim humanity would only be free when the last priest was dead?"

Raynek sighed, "Don't pretend we didn't see it coming, even during the Scouring the tide of zealotry was surging. One only has to look at the histories to see the universe has got worse since. Galactic calamities, Daemonic uprisings, civil wars, warp storms and vast alien incursions. The Imperium has been fighting tooth and nail to survive; reason and progress were more casualties in an ocean of loss."

"And the Firstborn themselves," Polarus growled, "Corrupted by wayward dogma and rituals."

Raynek took a sip of Dammassine and countered, "Perhaps we're making too much of that, the various Chapters all have their odd habits. The Storm Herald's quirks of weather rituals and diurnal observances are hardly the strangest things I've seen since I was decanted from a stasis-tube. The Howling Griffons are obsessed with oaths, the Mortifactors are plain weird about their dead, the Doom Eagles act like they are at an endless funeral and the Novamarines ink every inch of their skin."

Polarus winced at the mention of that last Chapter and Raynek frowned but before he could press the issue the Chaplain asked, "Did you uncover what I asked you to?"

Raynek sniffed, "It was hardly hidden, they left it right there in the Cogitators for anyone to read. It seems about the time of the Noctis Aeterna the Storm Heralds had themselves their very own little civil war. 'Primarch's Own' against 'True Believers'. One side wanted to rule over a theocratic empire, the other cleaved to the Codex and Guilliman's decrees separating civil and military authorities. That Chaplain Wrethan you mentioned was listed among the losing side; he and the rest of the survivors were sent on a penitent crusade. Surprisingly lenient, id have killed them all."

Polarus sneered, "They don't even hide their shame."

But Raynek stated, "I asked a few of my Tactical Sergeants and they were genuinely proud of their role in the war. Claimed they fought to put an end to the True Believer's Emperor-deification and return the Chapter to purely martial pursuits. Seems Toran was a big deal in the conflict, practically led the resistance and charted a course to victory. Scuttlebutt has it he was offered the post of Chapter Master but turned it down, said there was too much blood on his hands and no kinslayer could lead. Frak, the Firstborn love him even more for turning it down than if he'd taken the rank instead of Phalros."

"Phalros the Pure," Polarus growled, "A self-aggrandising title, for a blind fool."

Raynek frowned as he countered, "I've not been a Captain long but Phalros seems a dedicated officer, he seems committed to the cause and shows no hint of seditious intent."

"Yet he failed to cleanse his Chapter of their wayward practices. They boast of defeating Emperor-worshippers in their ranks, but their rituals are so steeped in dogma it's impossible to tell the difference. They haven't changed, not in the least."

Raynek finished his Dammassine and remarked, "I heard other rumours. Apparently the Chaplains and Apothecaries were shattered in the civil war. The Apothecary order is still disgraced but the Chaplaincy was razed to the ground. That Furion was elevated afterwards and rebuilt the order single-handed, all the Brethren admire him as the senior Chaplain."

"Not good enough, I must deal with this matter myself."

Raynek lifted an eyebrow and asked, "Then you intend to present your case for the Master of Sanctity?"

"I must."

"The Firstborn won't like that."

"I don't need their approval, Jemiel is First Captain and he understands what needs to be done. With his backing, and the Lord Regent's nod, I shall assume the post and set the Storm Heralds straight. The Indomitus Crusade departs in three months and we shall be left behind, but I will make this Chapter a shining beacon of rational purity, if it is the death of me."

Raynek set his glass down and commented, "You seem to be taking this very personally."

"Captain or not, your familiar tone is unwelcome," Polarus growled.

"Don't try to intimidate me," Raynek snorted, "I have faced Daemons and Traitors in the field. If you want my support then tell me why this matters so much."

Polarus glared, but for all his effete manner Raynek was no spineless cur. The captain held his gaze steadily and without faltering, leaving no option but the truth. Polarus looked down into his glass, then slugged it back in one shot before admitting, "It is my blood-brother."

"A brother, I didn't know you have a brother."

"I don't, not anymore. You were inducted into the XIIIth Legion on Calth, yes? Taken into the Primaris program soon after. Well, I was born in the highlands of Macragge itself, on the icy mountains far from the cities. My family had already given one son to the Legion and were honoured to have a second make the mark. Vuqil was a few years older than me and joined just before the breaking of the Legions into Chapters, he was shunted into the Novamarines. I came later and got taken by Cawl's agents, swept into the Primaris Program, then shoved into stasis. I never saw Vuqil again."

"I see," Raynek sniffed, "But such is life. Everyone we knew is ten millennia gone, we'll never find out what became of them."

"But I do," Polarus confessed, "I looked into the records, scant as they are, and I found Vuqil's name. So much is lost but the Novamarines preserved the names of their Chapter Masters, Vuqil was the third to bear the title."

"Chapter Master," Raynek hummed, "Very impressive, your brother must have excelled."

"That he did. I know not what battles he fought, what foes he vanquished or how he died. Nothing but his name and title were preserved but I know he was mighty and proud. He set a measure for my bloodline, a bar I must live up to. My family may be gone but our honour remains. I must equal my brother's achievement, or be shamed."

"Master of Sanctity," Raynek mused, "A title to rival a Chapter Master. Your family would be proud."

Polarus retorted, "I do not do this out of pride, or for self-glorification. This is a test I must pass, a measure to live up to. My goal is clear and defined, and the task necessary. Ridding the Storm Heralds of their deviant ways will require the authority of a High Chaplain and in doing so my brother's shade will know our family honour is satisfied. They are one and the same goal."

"Well you certainly have a task ahead of you," Raynek sniffed, "You can count on my support, when the time comes."

"Good," Polarus affirmed, "It won't be easy though. These Firstborn will cling to their dogma. We must break their will, rend their pride down to swarf, before we can rebuild. But doubt not that we will succeed. For the past and the future, the Imperium that was and will be again, we shall take this Chapter in hand and show them the way. And my bloodline's honour will be satisfied."