Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 126
12th B'ak'tun, year 200, season of Q'umarkaj
The Ravenspire felt cold to one born in jungle heat, its drab walls scant protection from the heat of space. An austere tower rising over Deliverance, its grim bastions facing the uncaring stars. Once a guardhouse for a vast prison its interior was winding as the adder's tail, every turn devious and designed to confound an attacker. Far vaster than the needs of a Chapter, for it had once housed a Legion, its halls were heavy with the weight of silence, those Serviles who moved through its depths whispering as if in a great Cathedrum. For all its harshness the Ravenspire was the epicentre of history, where once a Primarch-son dwelt and dictated the fate of worlds. Here had many chapters been born, among them the Smoke Jaguars. Damchak felt the majesty of the Raven's home oozing from every stone, the sheer wonder of it humbling his soul.
"Cheer up old chap, you'd think you were headed for a funeral!" Crovin laughed.
"The weight of the moment must be experienced with awe," Damchak retorted.
"This is a joyous day!" Crovin chortled, "Crack a smile!"
Adept Zim butted in, "The XIXth bloodline of Astartes has never been noted for its levity."
Crovin groaned aloud, "Can I just say that I have not missed this!"
"The truth points to itself," Damchak quipped with a wry grin.
The passing decades had been good to the Stranger. His belly had long since turned to fat and the fineness of his robes would have made a Cardinal green with envy. As the warp storms isolating the Boscage dissipated his trade monopoly had only become more lucrative. His coffers overflowed, as did his loins. Scores of kings, Governors now they were called, had wed their daughters to the Stranger, and he'd not been shy about buying concubines. His previous adventures with sword and sail had become adventures in the bedroom and his offspring dizzied even Damchak with their number. So many sons, all vying for their father's wealth and status. Damchak sincerely expected a night of long knives and spilled blood when the fat old sot had the good grace to die. Adept Zim would surely chronicle the tale, his explorations of the Boscage's cultures had become basic primers for Imperial Legates despatched to the area.
The Shadow-chieftain turned from his old comrade, seeing the Smoke Jaguars awaiting their progenitor's pleasure. Ten Prowls had come to attend this conclave, their Firsts proud to stand in the Ravenlord's home. Umbral Flame Prowl deserved the prime place for their many deeds, but Bone Gnawer, Ghost Cry, and Night Caller Prowls had earned a prestigious place as well. Envenomed Prowl, Faith Keeper, Black Judges, the War Forged, Frost Eagles and They Who Thunder were in attendance too. Each a legend across the worlds of Imperium, unleashed thanks to treaties with Navigator Houses and Astropaths.
Greatest of all were Q'umarkaj himself, and Aapo the Eldest. One the Shadelord who must be obeyed, the other the most esteemed of the Living-Dead. The pair had been at the forefront when the summons came, eager to bind their pact with the blood of Corax. A hundred years of courage and sacrifice, Smoke Jaguars fighting alongside the Serviles of the Sun-Emperor and the many cousins they had found. A hundred years had Damchak ever been at the front, hunting the heathen, the Devil-sons and the Xenos. Now they were to be recognised, the Smoke Jaguars had at last been sanctioned by the High Lords and were to join the listings of the Adeptus Astartes proper.
"Cease fidgeting," Aapo grumbled.
"The Shadelord never fidgets!" Q'umarkaj protested.
"A million fire ants dance less than thou," Aapo snorted.
"Words on the wind have less weight than a bolter in the fist!"
"Your Eruth feathers are out of true," Aapo retorted.
"You lie!"
"Then why does thy hand brush them repeatedly?"
Damchak leaned over, "The Shadelord is magnificent as the dawning bird in his apparel."
Q'umarkaj's stern face glared as he spat, "Does the Umbral Flame name me a peacock?!"
"I am too afeared to mock the First of First," Damchak grinned.
"Remember that," Q'umarkaj growled, "Lest I challenge thee to a Chase."
Their conversation was cut short as a large door in the ante-chamber began to open. The Smoke Jaguars stiffened and raised their bolters upright. Damchak checked his Prowl was in perfect alignment, their placing equal and uniform. How different they were, changed by the last decades. A hundred years of fighting alongside Imperials had rubbed off on their character, not greatly, but it had had some effect.
"Look how we march in straight lines," his old comrade Nizca muttered, a rookie no-longer.
"Times change and we change with them," Damchak retorted.
"Once we would have scorned such rigid displays."
"If I have learned anything, then it is marching in straight lines is not always bad."
Q'umarkaj led them forth, into a broad hall. The sons of Corax were not given to ostentation, so the chamber would have seemed bleak to other Chapters. No magnificent banners hanging from the rafters, no gold chasing on the walls. Stark stone and small plaques, denoting great deeds of past heroes, this sufficed for the Raven Guard. Yet far more magnificent to the Smoke Jaguars were the worthies gathered to welcome them, Raven Guard Captains and Chaplains, along with envoys of their Successors. Black Guard, Revilers, Raptors, Knights of the Raven, Storm Wings, Raven's Watch, Dark Tusks, Void Hounds, Black Skulls, Marines whose esteem was worth more than all Crovin's wealth.
Damchak scanned the faces as they marched between the waiting lines. Faces brave and bold, bitter and sullen, some heroes, others brute killers, but all sworn to the Sun-Emperor's service. Here at last the Smoke Jaguars found kinship, the quiet brotherhoods who claimed Corax as their gene-father. A bond that surpassed the borders of homeworlds and heraldry. Nemkir was amongst them, the Jade Foot as he had ever been, aside from a few extra scars. A century since Damchak had seen him, too vast a span, their troth had lapsed longer than either intended. Damchak swore it would not be another century until they met again.
At the end they found the master of Ravens, Chapter Master Sharrow, his lean face inscrutable as he welcomed, "The Lord of Jaguars honours us with his presence."
Q'umarkaj came to a halt and hailed, "Light of the Dawn be upon you, Raven-father."
Sharrow replied, "For many years we have heard of the Smoke Jaguar's deeds. Your coming at the darkest times is seen as a Herald of woe by some, and yet none can deny you leave worlds stronger after your departure than when you arrived. The Imperium owes you a great debt."
Q'umarkaj stated, "To serve the Sun-Emperor is its own reward."
Sharrow addressed the gathering, "The offspring of the XIXth Legion have ever been few in number, yet our courage and valour are unrivalled. Across the galaxy the children of Corax bring hope to the hopeless and terror unto the enemies of Man. Men from the Halo Zone to the Galactic Maw can rest easy, knowing we vigilant sentinels stand to their defence. Cunning in attack, tenacious in withdrawal and boundless in courage, thus are we known! Today we add to that proud legacy, by welcoming back a lost Chapter into the fold. The Smoke Jaguars, separated for so long come to pledge anew their fealty to the Emperor and our Primarch."
Q'umarkaj turned to address the proud brethren, "Kinsmen, Brothers of my heart, I stand before thee as Shadelord of the Smoke Jaguars. Long have we fought alone, against Orruk and others, yet now we dwell in the company of giants! The wonders of Imperium have strengthened us, with Terminator, Jump Pack and Strike Cruiser, yet I count these boons cheap compared to the esteem I find in your eyes! I troth to be worthy of your comradeship, no matter the darkness that assails us call when the shadows are longest and we shall answer. I pledge anew our leal spirits to the Sun-Emperor on his Throne of Gold and the blood of Corax, no matter in what veiled lands his spirit abides, the Smoke Jaguars will be your Battle-Brothers eternal!"
Grim smiles and shallow nods were all the applause they needed, the quiet brotherhood of Chapters accepting the oath without further exposition. Sharrow gestured and Nemkir stepped forward, with nine Chaplains in tow. In their hands were relics of Deliverance, held in trust for four millennia. Damchak's mouth dried at the sight of the slim black pinions, in their casements of crystal-steel. The feathers of Corax, torn from the Primarch's Jump Pack. A touchstone of the Primarch, given to the Smoke Jaguars. The enormity of this gift was not lost on any of them, a symbol of their union. The Raven Guard entrusted these precious relics to Copan XII, a symbol of unity unequalled.
Damchak's hearts quivered as the heavy icon was placed in the palm of his claw and Aapo rumbled, "We are not worthy of such pure echoes of Corvus Corax, not worthy in the slightest."
But Sharrow refuted, "They are earned by merit, for your valorous deeds."
Nemkir bowed shallowly, "Accept these gifts, Umbral Flame and be counted as our equals."
"A thousand B'ak'tun shall we treasure these, a million times a million," Damchak breathed as he admired the Pinion.
"I doubt it not," Nemkir replied, "The stars shall lay their heads down to sleep and the galaxy cease to dance before our brotherhood shall be sundered."
Damchak lifted an eyebrow and murmured, "Has the Jade Foot been practising his poetry?"
"Just a little," Nemkir whispered sotto voice.
The gathering came together in quiet approval, closing ranks in trust and brotherhood. Damchak had never been prouder and he trusted the spirit of Abizil would watch in approval. Truly the Smoke Jaguars had never flown higher, and he could only dream of the legends yet to come. Q'umarkaj crowned the moment by lifting the Pinion in his hands high and crying, "Victorium Verandi!"
Afterword
The Smoke Jaguars will return for the Fall of Nova Terra