Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 175
While the great and the good debated strategy the Smoke Jaguars were busy setting up their basecamp. Serviles hastened to unload supplies, while the last desperate deliveries of munitions were dropped from Thunderhawk Transporters. Like the Storm Heralds they had instantly identified that the western portion of the city was far more defensible than the east, but unlike them they did not need so ponderous a logistics hub. A few small armouries, a Machine Shrine for the Techwrights and a modest Apothecarion for the lone Genewright attached to the hunt. Prowls were stubbornly independent, finding their own ways to further a Prowlmaster's strategy, trusted to find objectives of their own in the field. Not for them Strongholds and specialised command tanks, like Damocles Rhinos and Land Raiders Excelsiors, so long as they had supplies they could fight.
With the base being set up Vitcos took Blazing Shadow to survey the land. The sun was hot and the sounds of the city echoed loud. The smells were of sea, river water and exhaust fumes mixed with the raw stank of human flesh unbathed and sewers overloaded by generations of urban growth. A busy city, filled with stories great and small, lives begun and lives ended. Tens of millions called this urban jungle home, few by the standards of Imperium, but enough to present challenges to feed and defend. Already the granaries were under heavy guard, food would soon be more precious than jewels or rich robes.
Across the Gilded Bridge Blazing Shadow stalked, pacing past trundling Cargo-8's and marching Guardsmen. Vitcos enjoyed the mixed looks of horror and awe his feral appearance struck into the mortals. The Smoke Jaguar's were obviously Space Marines, but not at all like the pompous statues that graced Shrines across the Imperium. That the children of Copan XII were different was plain and to the Serviles of Terra to be different was to be Heretical and suspect, yet a Space Marine was kin to the Sun-Emperor, to be respected by all. Vitcos enjoyed the confusion his passing left, like wakes in the water made by a passing Crotalid.
Ilquitio's complaint emerged from his helm in the poetic cadence of Copan,"Stare into the Stair Abyssal too long and madness follows blindness!"
Sechura walked unhelmed as he smirked,"Fear is the sweetest nectar, its taste sublime."
"Fear is a brittle fetter!"Ilquitio snapped,"The alloys of hope bind the heart eternal!"
"Arkqas saw much, but not all is revealed to the eye that does not blink,"Vitcos snorted.
"Il-Tzak hunts the scent of discord, feed not the hungry Ursal!"Ilquitio retorted archly.
That wiped the smile off Vitcos' face, reminding him that the Headsman was peering over his shoulder. Not literally, Tachna couldn't sneak up on them unobserved. Partly because of his Terminator plate and partly because the Shadow-path sometimes threw up strange mutations. Tachna's gifts were unique, but then oddity abounded in this Chapter. Sechura's love of bloodshed and slaughter would have seen him rise far in Deathmaker Prowl and Ilquitio had a deformity of the eye that made it painful for him to walk in daylight unhelmed. The Genewrights said it was not a matter to dwell upon, emphatically so, and those who communed with the mysteries of life and death were not to be questioned.
Vitcos turned his mind from these matters as he inspected his surroundings. The Gilded Bridge was the southernmost crossing of the Silver River, aptly named too, a glorious rendition of art and engineering combined. It allowed a commanding view of the River Gate, that bleak bastion of towering crenelations and Macrocannon emplacements, and fifty metres below the broad expanse of waters flowed smoothly, untroubled by war as yet. That would change. Sappers were drilling demolition charges into the stonework, Plasteel columns were being fitted under the Gate's expanse and armies marshalled to stand upon the broad wall. Soon this city would be under siege but Vitcos did not trust those walls were nearly thick or high enough to withstand Orkamemnon.
The Smoke Jaguars were compelled to stand with the Storm Heralds in battle, Shade-Lord Teotihuacan willed it so. The Seers prophesied an age of woe if this world fell, two of their number stood ready to fight, though Vitcos made it a point to avoid them. Two Chapters united in cause perhaps, but not Kinship. The Smoke Jaguars had set up their basecamp well away from the Storm Herald's base, and had their own ways of waging war. Codex and Testimony, this war would prove which was superior, not that Vitcos paid much heed to either.
"My eyes behold marvels!" Ilquitio called aloud in gothic.
"Tis' only a Knight Engine," Sechura scoffed.
"You speak as one jaded, and yet you have not seen Knight or Titan with your own eye!"
Sechura sniffed dismissively, "Sedaxus required not such brazen displays of might to defeat the Orruk. The seed of the Ravenlord is greater than piston or gear."
"I would agree," Vitcos mused, "If not for the size of the metal-beast's claws."
Standing at the far end of the bridge was a towering Knight Engine, taller than houses, clad in purple and with the icon of a rearing Manticore upon its heraldic shield. Indoctrinated knowledge unfolded in Vitcos' mind, Knight Gallant, a close combat monster, swift of foot and bloody of hand. His mind's eye could scare encompass the devastation such a machine could bring to bear, and a Knight was counted small amongst true Titans.
The Knight was making its way north, to move up Bridgeway, but its path was blocked by a line of blue. A squad of Storm Heralds, standing proudly in its way, though it was clear the Knight could simply step over them. Vitcos measured his counterparts with a curious eye. Their colours were bright and bold, glistening in the hot sun. Gold bedecked their plates in the form of badges and votive icons and purity seals of arterial red, parchments hanging limply in the breezeless air. Pride, that was Vitcos' first impression, they treated pride like it was a virtue. For the Smoke Jaguars that was an empty boast without the merit to back it up.
"Preening fools call down thunder from the heavens," Ilquitio snorted.
"They make fine targets, the Orruk's bullets will be drawn like flies to a rotting corpse," Sechura agreed.
"They make Gaze Catcher seem drab and unassuming," Vitcos snorted.
"Only a fool stands against the incoming tide," Ilquitio remarked.
"They seek to outmatch Damchak's Folly," Vitcos agreed.
Blazing Shadow strolled nearer in loose formation, not quite shifting their bolters in an aggressive manner, but neither securing them. Vitcos saw the line of Storm Heralds arguing with a gaggle of mortals in tunics the hue of the Knight's heraldry. Sacristans, his hypno-indoctrination supplied the word, Serviles of Orhlacc.
"Stand aside!" the leading mortal spat.
"I don't take orders from mutants!" the Sergeant snarled.
"You impede the progress of Ser Fresen, his presence is required at Victory Gate!"
"And you impede our rendezvous at the wall! Stand aside!"
"The Questor Imperialis does not take orders from Space Marines!"
"The Storm Heralds are the appointed senior unit; we have the authority!"
"They argue over points of decorum, like Kings of the Boscage," Sechura snorted.
"Empty minds make for empty words," Ilquitio agreed.
"The weight of all that gold has softened their spines."
"And yet they draw many an eye," Vitcos grumbled.
All around Guardsmen and civilians had paused to watch the argument, Astartes and Knight Engine's servants squabbling like children. Proud Ceramite reduced to bickering in the street, as the shadow of the Gallant moved slowly as the sun crossed the sky. The clash of pride was making fools of both sides. The Storm Herald Sergeant had a sun-tanned face and few scars, but the Serviles of Orhlacc were stranger. Pale-skinned, thin fingers and bald to a man, their ears were unusually large and their teeth pointed. House Orhlacc were an Abhuman breed, his Hypno-indoctrination supplied, ancient before the coming of the Great Crusade and gene-wrought to thrive among the fungal forests of their homeworld. Mutant certainly, but sanctioned, their writ penned by Primarchs and Emperor's hands, so that none may question it.
"Light of the Dawn be upon you!" Vitcos called aloud as he alighted the bridge.
"What do you want?!" the Sergeant growled.
"I am being Vitcos, First of Blazing Shadow, scion of Smoke Jaguars, and you?"
"Sergeant Grer, 2nd Company, Storm Heralds," came the reply.
"Adept Yusail, House Orhlacc," the mortal added.
"And what has brought you such ruffled plumage?" Vitcos asked wryly of his Astartes counterpart.
Ilquitio bit down on a snort of amusement under his helm as Sechura hid a grin. These outsiders had no way of knowing it but Vitcos had just made a dirty pun. In the tongue of Copan the phrase 'ruffled feather' was a mother's curse for an unsleeping child, except plumage was a slang term for a man's member. Vitcos had simultaneously insinuated these pair were fussy children and that they mated with their mothers. The fact they had no idea they'd been insulted just made it funnier.
Grer glared at the stooped mortal, "The colours of the Adeptus Astartes do not run!"
"The honour of a Knight gives way to none!" Yusail retorted.
"Filthy mutant scum!" Grer spat.
"Test my master at your convenience, good sir!"
Vitcos shook his head, "The Sun-Emperor covers his face at such intemperance. You paw the ground like an enraged Grox! For shame, you both bring dishonour upon your Kinsmen!"
Grer's face darkened, "I will not be questioned by you! The Storm Heralds are senior in this theatre."
"Senior in bombast, senior in strutting. You cover yourselves in glory unearned, and call yourself mighty!"
Grer bristled as his squad's hands tightened on bolter stocks, "If we were not under oath to fight beside you, I would cut you down, you savage Heretic!"
Vitcos' words dropped into a fierce growl, "You would have us fight as one?! You who have no history to call your own, save the falsehoods you clothe yourselves in. These chains of gold proclaim your weakness, not strength. You have no knowing of what the Sons of Sedaxus have accomplished, of the countless enemies we have slain since the days Corvus Corax made war under his father's flag. You are a newborn cub, weak of limb and blind of eye. The Smoke Jaguars hold the Truth of this war, we are the Firsts among equals, not thou."
Grer's hand fell to his chainsword as he growled, "Cousins or not, I cannot allow such an insult to pass unchallenged!"
"You will fight for hollow pride?" Vitcos asked.
"I fight for the honour and glory of my Chapter!"
"Nay, you fight for Self-Aggrandisement!"
"I..." Grer blinked in confusion, "What?!"
Vitcos smirked coldly as he recited, "They shall be pure of heart and strong of body, untainted by doubt and free of self-aggrandisement. They will be bright stars in the firmament of battle. Angels of Death whose shining wings bring swift death to the enemy of man. So shall it be for a thousand times a thousand years, unto the very end of eternity and the extinction of mortal flesh!"
Grer swallowed as his face drained of blood, "Codex Astartes: Vol I, Chapter I, Verse I."
"So wrote your gene-father," Vitcos concurred, "Would he smile upon your deeds this day?"
"I..." Grer gulped as the realisation of how stupid he had been stole over him.
"My gene-father and your's handclasped as Brothers true, you shame them both with this pettiness. Look about and see these mortal crowds watching as the sons Guilliman make a mockery of his noble vision. The pride and dignity of the Eagle of the East cast into the mud!"
"You shame me," Grer whispered.
"You shame yourself," Vitcos hissed, "Now stand aside."
Grer lowered his eyes as he waved his squad to move aside. His shame was great, he'd sullied the good name of his Chapter with his coarse boorishness. Vitcos understood all too well the value of esteem, these Storm Heralds considered themselves the Emperor's Finest, in soul as well as deed. Grer had brought them low with his churlish display, in front of mortals no less, and surely word of his shameful bearing would reach his master's ears. His penance would be long and arduous. Vitcos was amused by imagining the many hours of self-flagellation that awaited the Sergeant.
The Knight finally took stride, shaking the ground under its tread. Blazing Shadow took off in another direction, leaving the dejected Storm Heralds behind. Vitcos hid his glee well but was elated by this victory, a battle of words as vicious as knives. The sun felt warm on his face and the stinking city somewhat less pungent. The triumph of his tongue sweet indeed.
"You learned the ways of the Codex Astartes?" Ilquitio asked.
"Parts," Vitcos sniffed, "A page-turner it was not."
"The ruffled plume deserves a deed-name," Sechura chortled.
"Five minutes late the stroke of genius appears!" Vitcos exclaimed, "When next we meet I will entitle him Ta'-K'uk'mel!"
"Grer would not forget such an insult," Ilquitio warned.
Vitcos however laughed, "His tears will be sweet wine when I best him again. These Storm Heralds are but hollow jugs, they echo loudly but their spirits are parched. The Orruk will break them as a vase cast upon the cobbled street. The Smoke Jaguars alone possess the wine of passion to withstand Orkamemnon. It will be we who tip the scales of war; heed me, the hunt-kill will be ours alone!"