Strategos - Chapter Master
Kentarch - Captain
Straoutatoi - Battle Brother
"Strategos, we are ready for insertion."
Strategos Hieron switched vox frequencies.
"Brother Kentarch Tyrannus, await my signal. Once it is given, you will be inserted behind the horde. Once there, seek out targets of opportunity and leave them leaderless. The rest of the companies will mop up whatever rabble is left."
"By our efforts," the Kentarch began.
"May His subjects prosper," The Strategos finished, cutting the connection, turning to the hololith table projecting his chosen battleground.
The hive city of Getupet, the planetary capital of Nestutunis Prime, an agri world, in the Haxan sector of Segmentum Tempestus, was under siege by the Greenskin menace, a minor WAAAGH! that had grown to apocalyptic levels due to underestimation of size, strength, and speed that had destroyed multiple Imperial Navy battle groups and Astra Militarum regiments sent to crush it. It had now assailed this sector of space, under the protection of the Iron Kings, and by the Emperor's will, they will not live to see the morrow.
The valley leading towards the hive city was marked with trap after trap: spiked ditches, minefields, hundreds of meters of razor wire and false trenches, palisades topped with razor wire, all were waiting for the tides of green, screaming xenos. A kilometer of trenches reaching the hive city walls was the last line of defense: autocannons, heavy bolter teams, six Leman Russ tanks in hull down positions, all manned by the PDF and whatever remnants of Imperial Guard remained after the failed attempts to crush the greenskins, an amalgamation of five regiments of varying origins; all united under the cause of survival.
Over one hundred thousand guardsmen and PDF soldiers grimly awaited their fate, the hope of victory had all but left their mind, attempt after attempt to defeat the xenos tide foiled by sheer weight of numbers had reduced their morale to pitiful levels, and now they desired to bleed the alien as much as possible before the inevitable came to pass. Then, the entirety of the Iron Kings chapter made planetfall. The efforts of the Emperor's Angels of Death had turned the tide, culling smaller warbands that broke off from the main body with extreme prejudice and efficiency, slowly whittling their numbers into more manageable portions, but only just, for the enemy was vast in number and capability, and had to be treated with all the caution and merciless tactical efficiency warranted by the Arch Enemy.
As Strategos Hieron watched on, the hololith displayed a red mass upon the map, slowly inching its way towards the hive city, reaching the entrance of the valley. Nearby, two blue dots started to move, as he had planned, in patterns reminiscent of ancient horse archers of old Terra, drawing the horde ever onward towards the killing fields at the hive city's fore while killing those within reach. These were the 6th and 8th reserve companies, equipped with war bikes, acting as bait to lure the horde into the Strategos' trap, tempting targets too valuable, and too easy, to not give chase. The blue dots soon broke for the city's walls, weaving throughout the near literal field of death with ease, passing by trap after trap, following a path unseen by all except for the astartes, for it had been designed this way. The horde of xenos, buoyed by the promise of battle and easy kills, chased after them, charging headlong into the valley, triggering trap after trap, sections of their horde disappearing into red mist, far flung body parts and viscera, yet the mass of greenskins pressed onwards, undaunted by the deaths of their comrades. If anything, it only seemed to heighten their bloodlust and fury, their single minded goal only made more valuable as the violence increased.
Over half the horde had entered the valley, with the majority charging headlong into the traps, chasing after the reserve companies. A smaller section lingered at the entrance, seemingly hesitant to commit themselves. This bothered the Strategos, who had expected such simplistic xenos to fling themselves into battle with abandon, as their previous engagements had shown, and yet this particular group hung back, as if observing, waiting for something. He turned back towards the main group, noting with some trepidation that it passed the halfway point, and now those in the trenches could engage. Heavy bolters, autocannons, the armaments of the six Leman Russ tanks and the two reserve companies of astartes unleashed their firepower into the mass of xenos, rank after rank of ork being mowed down by the concentrated volleys of munitions, but the aliens continued their charge, undaunted, unflinching as their kin died around them in the hundreds.
It would be time to deploy the battle companies and the remainder of the reserve companies, hidden on either side of the valley, just waiting for the order to attack. But it didn't sit right with him that the entirety of the horde didn't commit, with the small section still lingering at the valley entrance. He glanced at the ever encroaching horde, knowing that mere PDF and guardsmen couldn't face the orks in hand to hand, and that there were too few astartes in the trenches to blunt the xeno charge, so decided, against his instincts, to give the order.
"Brother Kentarch Tyrannus, begin insertion."
"By your will, Strategos!"
At the rear of the xenos horde, a single dot appeared on the map. This was the First Company, one hundred of the most elite astartes the Iron Kings Chapter could muster, all equipped with terminator plate and a mixture of lightning claws, combi-bolters, power swords and assault cannons. Those lesser xenos who noticed the hulking astartes at their rear only had a second to process their appearance before they were slaughtered, the terminators ripping into the rear of the xenos horde with skill and focused fury. Those with lightning claws and power swords tore through the xenos ranks, carving their way into the hulking mass of aliens, seeking enemy champions to topple, reaping a heavy toll, tearing those who stood in their way into ribbons. The terminators with assault cannons and combi-bolters let loose a massive fusilade into the enemy ranks, hundreds of xenos reduced to a bloody pulp and sprays of blood in seconds, making sure to avoid their melee oriented comrades. Strategos Hieron ordered the rest of the companies to engage, six more blue dots appeared, three on each side of the valley, and attacked the horde, laying into them with cold, calculated efficiency, their pin-point accurate fire reducing the once mighty horde to mangled corpses and pools of xeno blood.
The xeno horde, being attacked on all sides, tried to address each new threat all at once. Sections of the horde charged the astartes on their flanks, hoping to close the gap and rip them to shreds in melee combat, but each charge was torn to pieces under the near unending volleys of highly accurate bolter fire, forcing the remaining xenos back into the roiling mass of impotent rage. The nobs who tried to establish a pecking order and actually attack the Iron Kings were slaughtered where they stood by the terminators, who were slowly making their way to the center of the horde, their focus solely on the massive xeno, bedecked in thick scrap metal plates colored in a menagerie of muted colors, that was their Warboss, who was barking orders and smacking his nobs, screaming at them to actually do something instead of stand around and die.
Death came for the orks from all sides, and yet they did not despair. Battlecries of pure, unadulterated joy, fury, and bloodlust echoed throughout the valley despite the field of battle being littered with the corpses of their comrades. The terminators crushed the bodies of the fallen xenos underfoot with each step, the ground long since been buried under the green tide, some tearing apart the xenos with their bare hands. The carnage was immense, every single terminator had blood and viscera coating their armor, the ground long since turned dark with blood soaking the soil. Strategos Hieron could only imagine what the PDF and guardsmen were seeing. He imagined that some would hold onto this memory for the rest of their lives. He returned his attention to the First Company, noting that the company was nearing the center, where the warboss most likely was, and eagerly awaited the results.
Kentarch Tyrannus only had eyes for the Warboss, a massive xeno, bulging muscle and thick scrap metal plating covering his frame. Its face was one of scars and fangs, its eyes holding nothing but rage and fury as they darted from nob to nob, trying in vain to get the horde back under control from the berserk state they've fallen into. It was intelligent, Tyrannus noted. It understood the need for cohesion, or at the very least it understood that it could kill things better and faster if they worked together beyond a simple massed charge. It also understood the dire situation that it, and the rest of its kin, were in. If they didn't respond as a whole, instead of individuals, they would die, and Tyrannus would ensure this fate. As he moved closer and closer to the hulking xeno, his bodyguard keeping pace, slaughtering xeno after xeno that tried to slay him, he voxed the rest of the company, telling them to form up on him. They were taking down the Warboss.
The entirety of the First Company formed around their captain, and at his command, began to march towards their target, a rolling tide of ceramite and plasteel that crushed all who stood in its way with blade and bolter. The Warboss, as if sensing its own demise in the form of trans-human warriors, turned toward the formation of astartes and roared a challenge, hefting a massive, crudely constructed war axe in each hand, beckoning them to try and engage in melee combat. Tyrannus wasn't so foolhardy and prideful as to accept the challenge, especially from a xeno no less, and he ordered for those terminators with ranged weaponry to move to the fore. Both combi-bolters and assault cannons soon spat forth a wall of bolt rounds, streaking towards the foe with deadly intent and accuracy. Xeno flesh not covered by metal plates was ruptured, torn asunder by the destructive force the First Company wielded, and even the metal plates suffered under the withering hail of fire, small sections of metal torn away with each bolt round that landed, tearing away entire plates, leaving the flesh underneath easy pickings for the astartes.
The Warboss, not one to die in such a manner, charged the First Company, its massive bulk moving at speeds that shouldn't be possible for such a massive creature, sections of its frame blown away by fusillades of fire, but it couldn't be stopped. With the xeno forcing him to act, Tyrannus ordered the rest of the company to back away, and began to counter charge. A horizontal swing made him lean back, the blade scratching the ceramite of his plastron, and he retaliated, lightning claws flashing, slashing at the exposed flesh of the xenos' arm, thick muscle parting to the blades as if it was a mere human, and not a massive alien beast made for slaughter.
He moved back, avoiding yet another strike, for he knew that while his armor was powerful and strong, the size and strength of this Warboss would overpower it if any of its blows made contact in a meaningful way, and would tear through the plating as if it were merely parchment. He and the Warboss circled each other, looking for any signs of weakness, openings to exploit to the fullest that they could be. As they circled each other, Tyrannus noted with a disconcerting degree of frustration that the ork offered none, its stance fully covering whatever weaknesses it may have had, while enhancing its strengths. While he was skilled, he wasn't the Strategos, who could slay warbosses as easily as simply breathing, and needed a distraction, something to draw its attention away from him for just a moment in order to make the kill. A string of bolt rounds slammed into the side of the Warboss, chunks of flesh and sprays of blood coating the floor of corpses beneath them, which drew its attention to a squad of terminators with assault cannons. It was the distraction that he needed and he rushed forward, as fast as his suit would allow him, and slashed at its exposed skin, cutting through ligaments and arteries that sprayed its foul blood onto his armor. He slashed at the beast's legs, leaving deep gashes on its left, and outright mangling its right, forcing it to kneel, leaving its throat vulnerable.
As he reared back to finish the xeno off, he was suddenly grabbed and slammed into the ground, his armor mashing ork corpses into a green, bloody paste. The massive hand of the ork held him down, preventing him from rising, as its sheer strength outweighed his own, even assisted by his armor's systems. The Warboss, hefting his crude war axe in the other hand, reared back, intent on burying the axe head into the astartes' chest. The First Captain slashed at the hand holding him down with his lightning claws, deep rents and gouges colored the ork's flesh, but it wasn't enough. For the first time in his long history of service, Kentarch Tyrannus thought that he was going to die.
Before the death blow could fall, the ork jerked, as if being struck, and let out a pained roar, quickly turning his attention to two terminators armed with lightning claws and power swords, their blades coated with the xeno's blood. The Warboss hunched over, using its free hand to feel where they had struck, its hand coming back coated in its own blood. The sight of its own blood, being struck from the rear, and being interrupted during its duel, enraged the xeno. It made to charge the terminators, but noted its mangled leg, which only enraged it further. The terminators made sure to stay out of range, knowing that they did their part, and turned their attention back to the xeno horde, laying into them with ferocity and skill. With all other targets of his ire out of range, and having no way to reach them without being turned to a twitching mass of pulped meat and blood, the Warboss turned his attention back to his former quarry, only to feel the razor sharp lightning claws of the Kentarch of the First Company tear into his throat, his lifeblood spilling onto the ground in torrents. It made to roar a final challenge, but all that came out was a wet gurgle, spraying yet even more blood onto Tyrannus' armor, who stood there with contempt.
"Draw your last breath, xeno, for your campaign of slaughter ends here," said Tyrannus, before lobbing off the massive head of the Warboss.
As he picked up the head with some revulsion, he noted that the horde was thinning out to some degree, but still held considerable numbers. He scoffed, knowing that once he displayed the head of the warboss, whatever counted as their leadership would immediately jockey for the position of warboss, damning them to inglorious deaths. He climbed onto the corpse of the warboss, the closest thing to a raised platform on the flat ground of the valley's center, and displayed the severed head of the warboss. The effect, as he had known from the moment he killed the massive xeno, was near instant. Nobs, who moments before worked together to fight the astartes, immediately turned on one another, bashing in their comrade's head in a bid to establish dominance to the rest of their kin, which only doomed them. The reduced number of nobs made the task of the terminators easier, and soon, the horde was leaderless, a writhing mass of bodies being cut down with ease.
Strategos Hieron noted with some satisfaction that the horde was beginning to thin, the combined efforts of the terminators and the rest of the chapter producing undeniable results. His orders were a combination of tactical decision, beheading the snake and watching the body wriggle and die was more strategically sound than fully engaging the chapter in melee combat, something that they were not specialists in, and test, a test for his First Company Kentarch, not that he would ever know, and so far, he had passed. He turned his attention to the entrance of the valley, noting with concern that the section of the horde that lingered there were simply gone.
"Kentarch Dorios, pursue the xenos that lingered at the entrance of the valley. Report their movements and disposition every three hours," he voxed.
"Yes Strategos, your will be done!" the Kentarch of the Scout Company responded before cutting the connection.
Satisfied, the Strategos turned towards a figure who had watched the hololith with equal amounts of horror and hope, now dabbed at the lines of sweat trailing down his slightly pudgy face. He wore an outfit akin to those of noble blood. A dark green frock coat, fitted for a frame a size or two smaller than the figure wearing it, met his gaze, with a double breasted vest with a notched collar, matched with a pair of light brown trousers. A tall top hat, dark in color, slightly wobbled as the man dabbed at his face with a white handkerchief, complete with an impressive mustache, immaculately maintained, resting on his face.
"Your planet is secure, Governor Meredeth. The Greenskin menace has been utterly crushed, and my forces are tracking whatever mewling remnants escaped the slaughter."
The man, Governor Terry Meredeth, sighed with relief, putting away the handkerchief.
"I thank you, Lord, for your timely intervention. If you hadn't, I shan't think of what horrors we would have undergone under the horrid xeno," the man said, his voice one of highborn upbringing, the accent of posh society heavy upon his voice.
"I understand that the transfer is to occur soon after?" the Strategos asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Yes, Lord, your tribute, ten percent of our world's output, will be transferred to your vessel shortly."
He nodded and turned to the other figures in the room, his heavy Cataphractii terminator plate making his steps loud and powerful.
"How do your chapters fare?"
The first astartes, colored in a mixture of silver and gold, a Fleur de Lis with abutting lighting bolts upon his left pauldron, uncrossed his arms when addressed by the Strategos, and bowed before speaking.
"The Noble Crusaders are purging what remains of the WAAAGH! in the system. Our boarding action with our First Company upon their flagship was successful in killing the Warlord. Their fleets are in disarray, leaderless and fighting one another for dominance. Easy pickings for our boarding parties and warships, with minimal losses."
The second astartes, colored grey and blue with crossed chain axes on their left pauldron, bowed.
"The Nova Rampagers are gaining a tally of kills unheard of in our chapter's history. A glorious day. We've sustained some losses, but their deaths were honorable. Our defense of the outlying systems from the xenos filth, along with hunting down smaller warbands and fleeing remnants have blooded our new warriors thoroughly. Our Chapter Master is pleased with your plan."
Hieron was pleased with this news. When the other two chapters of the sector conferred overall command to him, to say he was shocked would be an understatement, but he bore the responsibility with stoic resolve and pride, vowing to ensure total victory over the WAAAGH! that threatened their worlds and charges. He had the Noble Crusaders perform hit-and-run operations on the WAAAGH! as it entered the system, whittling down the fleet, forcing them into the waiting arms of the Nova Rampagers, who were eager to blood their weapons on xenos, having sworn an oath of vengeance upon the Greenskins for the destruction of their first chapter recruitment fief. The defense of key strategic worlds in the outer reaches of the system had forced the WAAAGH! on a collision course with Nestutunis Prime, right where the Iron Kings had wanted them. He despaired at the lackluster number of Astra Militarum regiments at his disposal, but made due with what he had, and his efforts had produced a victory to be remembered long after he was gone.
"With your permission, Chapter Master," the envoy of the Noble Crusaders began. Frowning at the usage of the Codex rank instead of the rank given to him by his chapter behind his helm, Hieron nonetheless nodded his permission. "Our Chapter Master has asked me to relay to you his desire to restart the War Games. He has already selected a champion, and wishes to know if you have as well."
The envoy from the Nova Rampagers looked towards the Iron King Strategos, his stance conveying excitement and curiosity, showing to Hieron that this had been thought of at length by the Nova Rampager's Chapter Master as well. The War Games was an ancient tradition held by the three chapters, long before any of the current chapter masters assumed the role. It held its origins in 645 M.36, when the chapters chose to operate in this sector. It was an event to forge bonds of brotherhood among the chapters, to ensure cohesion and unity of purpose and action among the battle brothers and higher echelons of chapter command. It was also, unofficially, an event to prove a chapter's mettle against their cousins of the other chapters. It was a point of pride to have an astartes of a specific chapter win the games. It proved you had the best warriors, and that your chapter was something to aspire to.
It fell out of favor when relations between the chapters began to deteriorate amidst a massive Greenskin invasion in 233 M.37. The entire 3rd Company of the Noble Crusaders was nearly slaughtered defending their recruitment fief, with the Iron Kings arriving too late to save the majority of the company, but just quick enough to draw the horde away, allowing thirty of the 3rd Company to escape with their lives. The existing leadership of the Noble Crusaders blamed the Iron Kings for such horrifying losses and accused them of not answering their call for aid fast enough, citing their loss of the previous War Games to a member of the 3rd company as the reason. The Iron Kings disputed this, citing that they were containing an offshoot of the horde, preventing it from razing fifteen imperial worlds and two forgeworlds of vital importance to the sector, which delayed them answering the call for aid. Neither side backed down from their claims, and soon an enmity began to brew, with both chapters going out of their way to slight the other in campaigns and purgation operations. The Nova Rampagers, not wanting to get involved with chapter politics, removed themselves from the two disputing chapters, isolating themselves to their fief, refusing all contact from either chapter, which proved to be the doom for their recruitment fief as a particularly powerful warlord slammed an attack moon into its surface, destroying the planet, along with the 8th and 9th companies of the Nova Rampagers, with neither chapter knowing of the Greenskin invasion nor of the planet's destruction until Imperial Navy transmissions asking for aid had informed them. This tragedy had shaken the two embittered chapters out of their feud, and both offered aid to the wounded chapter, but both still eyed each other with wariness.
Now, in 991 M.40, relations have improved to such a degree that the past dispute seemed like an old memory, a thing of a bygone era left to the histories. New leadership, wanting to mend the broken bonds of ages past, began to cooperate with one another, leading to astounding victories over threats once considered to be insurmountable, now becoming mere blips on the radar. The sector of space became the safest it had been since the chapters first claimed their dominions, and the dominion of the Emperor grew as the three chapters reclaimed worlds long thought lost to xeno or arch enemy actions. It was a time of growth, peace, and victory, and Hieron would be remiss if he were to deny such a thing.
After all, it would only increase the bonds already forged by the three chapters, and foster healthy competition amongst them to produce the best warrior, leading to an overall increase in quality among the astartes of the chapters. The greatest champions in the chapter's history were forged during the War Games. He found few reasons to not reinstate it, but the reasons he did find prevented him from going forward with the motion. There was the lingering thought that they would become lax in their duties, and that the old feuds would reignite, creating tension where there should be none, and leading to an overall downward trend in effectiveness. It was one of the few things preventing him from fully endorsing the reinstatement. He would need to speak to his fellow Chapter Masters in person to discuss such issues before he could give his approval, to see where they stood on the issue, besides the obvious approval they both shared.
"Relay to your lieges that I would wish to discuss this with them in person before I make a decision," he began, noting the near imperceptible disappointment shared between the astartes. If only to ensure that the chapter masters came, he added, "But I do have a candidate in mind for a champion, and he is a mighty warrior indeed."
The change was instant, as both astartes perked up in excitement, and rushed to relay the news to their commanders. Hieron inwardly smiled, and idly wondered how his envoys to the other chapters were faring, as they were different in demeanor and doctrine to the Iron Kings to a degree that you couldn't confuse an Iron Kings astartes for a Nova Rampager or a Noble Crusader, even if they wore the same colors and heraldry. He had grown to accept the quirks and mannerisms of his cousins with all the grace and dignity of one in command. His fellow astartes, however, were loath to deviate from chapter doctrine and disliked the aloof disregard for their methods that their kin displayed, though they tempered such feelings when in the presence of their cousins.
Soon the lost section of the greenskin horde was found and excised with no loss to the chapter. The chapter returned to their vessels in orbit and made way for their chapter homeworld, the civilized world known as Ialantium in the Helosse sub-sector. It was a verdant world orbiting a bright yellow star, rich with flora and fauna, with sprawling cities dotting its surface, sparse in number but great in their expanse. The greatest structure was the chapter keep Knossidaea, a veritable fortress, with battlements and defenses of such quality and effectiveness that only a few chapters could equal or surpass them. The chapter's flagship, the battle barge Iron Vigil, hung in low orbit, manned by chapter serfs trained in handling such a vessel, surrounded by the rest of the Iron Kings fleet containing the chapter in its entirety. It disgorged a flurry of thunderhawks, carrying the entirety of the astartes that dwelled on the battle barge planet side, the rest of the chapter followed suit. The thunderhawks landed upon a series of fortified landing pads, dozens of anti-aircraft guns guarded the airspace above and around the keep, and a small group of chapter serfs that managed the keep in the absence of any astartes, along with a group of important individuals and officials, met the lead thunderhawk.
Strategos Hieron, along with a small bodyguard and the two envoys, exited the transport, his armor making him slightly duck as he exited the craft, followed by a squad of terminators, their charge towering over them. To the serfs and officials who awaited them, he was a giant, more so than an astartes already was, a obelisk of strength and charisma that seemed impossible to interact with, much less feel anything else other than fear, fealty and the dread that came with gazing upon such a creation of the Emperor. Yet they felt reassured, comforted by his presence, for he had personally saved their lives countless times over, and they owed him a debt that could never be repaid. Their service to him was merely fulfilling the obligation that saving their lives warranted, and he accepted their pledges and oaths of fealty with pride.
He advanced, stopping before the serfs, removing his helm to better connect with his charges, who bowed at his approach. He bid them to rise, and gestured for their reports.
The first, a middle aged man of average build and stature by the name of Clonius, gained his attention. He had saved this mortal from a rogue greenskin horde three years ago, and had become the leading figure among the group, taking the position of Planetary Governor in his lord's stead while the Chapter was away on campaign. His administration was second only to the astartes he served, and the task of managing the day to day tasks of running an astartes homeworld was delegated to him if the Strategos wasn't around, or if he had more important matters to attend to.
"My lord, Ialantium has prospered while you were away. The PDF has expanded from five regiments to thirteen, all fully equipped and ready for battle. The population has increased by five percent since your voyage, and overall productivity has skyrocketed. Your tithe of recruits has grown from two hundred to four hundred, all scions of proud, martial dynasties, and eagerly await the trials, if you should wish it, my lord. Two new colonies have been established on the eastern continents, and all report steady growth and fortuitous prospects, as all have discovered rich mineral deposits and vast, fertile fields and plains. I will update you on their progress, should you wish it. I look forward to their success," the man reported, bowing as he finished.
The second to gain his attention was a woman, bearing a fair, unblemished complexion, wearing Cadian standard flak armor and uniform, with their fiery red hair tied into a functional bun under an officer's pointed cap. Piercing green eyes stared at Hieron's own deep ocean blues, trying in vain to meet his commanding gaze, before darting away to stare at his plastron in defeat. Commander Atalante always tried to meet his gaze in an unspoken contest, yet always conceded defeat. She managed, trained, and led the planet's PDF regiments into battle if the world was to be assaulted by the enemies of the Imperium. She was new to the role, a mere guardswoman saved by the chapter master's actions during a Dark Aeldari raid a decade ago, now promoted to the rank of Commander due to her breaking a siege of orks upon the planet's manufacturing center and counter attacking the rear of the xeno host, leading to the enemy forces routing in short order, mopping up the remnants with quick, decisive action.
"My lord, the new PDF regiments all have been trained according to your standard, and as my colleague has stated, have increased their number to thirteen in total. New outposts have been set up to monitor the area around the new colonies, and the construction of proto-bastions and permanent PDF garrisons in the new colonies has begun, and a pool of new recruits from these colonies show great promise. End of report, my lord," she ended, bowing as well.
The third official, an eccentric man dressed in finery, was named Poleimon, and his role was to oversee all void traffic coming to and from the world. He had been saved by the chapter when his vessel was boarded by rogue Imperial Navy elements. The boarding actions of the Iron Kings had saved the lives of his crew and himself. A trader was his vocation, and he operated a relatively small shipping company. Now, since he had pledged his service to the Strategos, his company had grown in size, and now operates fleets of vessels in his name, shipping cargo to and from planets within the sector. He himself no longer operates in the void, content to watch and scan the traffic of vessels, making sure everything checked out. Essentially, he was a customs official, but he insisted that since he now served an astartes chapter, his role was much more important. They, and the Strategos, indulged him, for his skill and efficiency allowed such.
"My lord, shipments from the local forgeworlds have arrived, delivering their cargo of munitions, weapons, and ten new suits of armor, along with replacement suits and shipments of flak armor, lasguns and Leman Russ tanks for the PDF. The tech adept in charge of the armor shipment has told me to inform you that the mark of armor you require is taxing on their resources, but they will continue to honor their vow. They remember those who protect their own," he finished with a flourishing bow.
As expected, the Strategos thought. The three forgeworlds under his purview had sworn pacts to supply him and his fellow chapters after he had helped them repel numerous ork invasions and recidivist incursions that nearly tore the worlds in two, along with finding an STC pattern fragment of a model of lasgun that was slightly more power efficient than the standard model, earning him much favor with the forgemasters of each forgeworld. However, his requests had earned some ire from the local Magi. One of the three forgeworlds, Forgeworld Delphias, had in its ancient records the template for an earlier mark of power armor, one steeped in such rich history and created so long ago that it is a relic of extreme value to many astartes chapters. It was deemed impractical for modern astartes warfare, as the Mark 7 plate was more than sufficient to combat the threats of the current millennium, and was due to be completely removed from record, but the Strategos had asked for the older mark, and despite protests of refitting and retooling entire production lines just for this mark of armor, they relented, and he now, after 700 years of trial and error, received the first suits of this ancient model. He had to see it for himself.
After hearing the reports from the serfs in charge of the chapter keep, how the supplies were, any news worthy of reaching his ears, after all that was done and after he dismissed them, he moved towards the keep, eager to lay his eyes upon the relics fresh from the production lines. He almost laughed to himself at the oxymoron. He dismissed his honor guard, allowing them to return to their duties when not guarding their charge, and soon entered the armory, noting immediately the older suits of power armor, standing out from the modern suits of armor next to them. Rounded hoops of ceramite greeted him, contrasting the ceramite casings of the Mark 7 next to it, overlapping plates and studded pauldrons untouched by any heraldry or battle honors gleamed in the light of the armory. The mono-visor stared at him with a cold, unyielding gaze, the helm reminiscent of the armor of ancient warriors partaking in a holy crusade, so unlike the compact, snub nosed features of the Mark 7. Fitting for the Emperor's Angels of Death, partaking in the unending crusade to conquer the galaxy in his name, to unite humanity under its rightful ruler and bring security, peace, and prosperity to all of his subjects.
"These are the older suits you requested, my Strategos?"
He turned to the voice, a small smile greeting his Kentarch. Tyrannus entered the armory, his Tartaros terminator plate not as unwieldy or slow as his Chapter Master's, allowing him to move more akin to regular astartes battle plate, but only partially. The Kentarch of the First Company gazed upon the relic suits with a reverence unseen by the Strategos before, and he could hardly blame him. These suits of armor represented ideals long since forgotten and abandoned by the wider Imperium, and are to be cherished with expert care and attention, given to those worthy of bearing such ideals into battle.
"Yes, Brother Kentarch Tyrannus. They have just arrived. It is a glorious day, a victory bereft of loss and the acquisition of such hallowed relics. It warms my heart to see such artifice," Hieron said.
"We shall be the envy of our fellow chapters once they lay eyes upon treasures such as these. I imagine that many will try to curry favor with you to obtain one," the Kentarch remarks.
Hearing such words brings the War Games to the front of Hieron's mind, and his remark about choosing a champion, and he turns his attention from the relic suits to his Kentarch.
"Brother Kentarch Tyrannus, what do you know of the War Games?"
The Kentarch turned from the suits to his Strategos, a confused look upon his face. He had heard of the War Games, learned about them while perusing the chapter's history, seeking to learn from champions that had come before him. It was a practice that he longed to see in person, for so many of the chapter's champions and legends had been born from the War Games. It intrigued him that such an event could produce astartes of that caliber, their deeds long remembered by the chapter's chaplains and scribes, their victories holding lessons taught to all neophytes.
"I know they have produced some of our chapter's greatest champions, who led our warriors to astounding victories over innumerable foes. I know that it was a hallowed tradition to those before us, but it fell out of favor some millennia ago. Why do you ask, my Strategos?"
A moment's pause.
"I have been pondering whether to reinstate the War Games. Our cousins wish for this, but I am still uncertain."
"What causes you to give pause, my liege?"
"It is the thought that the old hatreds, bitter rivalries and all that comes with such returning in force at a time where it is not needed. The sector in which we operate is experiencing a level of peace and prosperity not seen since our forebears arrived and began to operate in the area, and it is only due to our closeness with our cousins, our unity of purpose and action. I am troubled, for if my concerns come to light, the sector will return to a time of desperate acts of survival and our actions will take on a defensive, inward focusing light where His subjects would be forced to merely survive, rather than thrive due to enmities driving our chapters apart. I do not wish for this to happen, but if I were to go forward with the reinstatement, this may be a likely possibility."
The Kentarch pondered the query, his trans-human mind going through every possible scenario and outcome in the time it takes a normal human to blink, and slightly frowned. It was a troubling thought, and it certainly warranted such careful consideration.
"My Strategos, it is wise to consider such things, for they are valid concerns and can become reality if allowed. However, the benefits of a closer bond with our brother chapters upon partaking in the War Games are too great of an opportunity to miss. It will allow our fellow chapters to see how well our doctrines are, and will allow our brothers to better understand our cousins, and appreciate them more so than they already do. It will bring glory to the Iron Kings, and allow those with the potential to become something more than a mere straoutatoi of the line. Many of our chapter's greatest champions were forged in these games, and many more may yet come with its reinstatement," the Kentarch finished.
With such a compelling argument, it was hard not to reinstate the War Games, but there was one thing he needed to see to before he made his decision. As he moved to commend his Kentarch for such wisdom, he received a hail on the vox from one of the line Kentarchs.
"My Strategos, the Nova Rampagers and the Noble Crusaders have arrived."