# Abtn3



## unxpekted22

(ooc: opening post, thus lengthy. I will say that Cleomenes's part is extremely specific to him, and him alone.)

Niko, Kain, Spurius, Vermaas, Raxan, Raziel, Zeiran, Hexor, Izrael:

Your vision becomes washed in red. You watch your brothers sitting all around you finish sealing on their own helmets. The Thunderhawk warning lights flash, letting you know it is disengaging from the docking systems. Black, yellow, and gold appearing only as flashes of 'darker' and 'lighter' sections of the armor your brothers wear. You all feel it... the dryness of your throat, the sinking feeling in your stomach. 

The chapter's last remaining thunderhawk slides effortlessly out of _The Heart'_s side port. The change in gravity outside of the ship isn't what makes your insides crawl. The transport's grav seats, your power armor's stabilization systems, years of intense training and advanced physiology all help make that ignorable. 

However, years of training does nothing to help any of you feel comfortable now. Moments ago, every remaining Scythe of the Emperor aboard _The Heart_ stood in silence on the bridge. There it was, Sotha, all of you seeing it in its lifeless state for the first time. Though still dead it, oddly enough, isn't quiet. The planet which now appears as a giant asteroid, rocks being all that was left behind by Kraken, currently has a fairly beautiful looking space battle playing out beside it.

Cleomenes had in fact arrived... perhaps a surprise to many. His Rogue trader's ships now fight off a ragged fleet of thieves with ease, which was now in full retreat since noticing the heavy approach of the Scythe's battle barge. Though willing to stand their ground against an established Rogue Trader, none of them would stand in the path of the Astartes for even a second; the scavenger fleet simply leaving behind those still on the surface.

Likely uninformed about the retreat of their fellows, and already in a fight for their lives they cannot quit, the scavengers on the surface fight outside the abandoned fortress monastery's remaining walls with the rogue trader's personal crewmen, Cleomenes surely with them. Lord Sotha, now the norm for him, refused to send more than a handful of his marines to the surface, despite nearly all of them wanting to walk the corpse of their homeworld. 

Most of you are in the group of marines in what is left of the chapter's one and only 'Battle Company' that seems to have become Lord Sotha's preferred group to send out, the seven of you seeing the most time planet-side while searching for new recruits in various systems. 

"Brother Sergeant Kain, Brother Apothecary Niko, and Battle Brothers Raxan, Vermaas, Raziel, and Spurius. You six, with the support of Solaki will deploy to the surface and retrieve Cleomenes...and of course, slaughter the unholy vermin that are attempting to pillage the grave of our home. Anything they have found belongs to us." This is what your Lord delegated.

But three more are among you in the darkness of the Thunderhawk as it drifts toward the surface of the planet, three who ignored this delegation. Whether or not they would normally disobey an order, this time they simply could not stop themselves. None of the rest of you were much in the mood to stop them from doing so, either. 

One of them is Brother Izrael. His long blonde hair draped upon his chest armor to both the left and right of his helm, as well as falling between his back and power-pack. Normally you know him to have his hair tied, showing he was in haste to board the transport. He is known amongst you and your brothers to have a death wish, of sorts.

Another you all recognize due to his size and MKIII helmet design is brother Hexor who, similar to Izrael, seems to ahve the inability to help himself from getting into the fray.

The third, is brother Zeiran who... well, not known for anything brash like the other two apparently couldn't help himself this day either.

You all find yourselves expecting the atmospheric disturbance that will never come as the Thunderhawk continues its descent. None of you have seen _true_ battle in over 15 years now. You find your muscles and adrenaline aching in unison with your gut.

So, for your first posts there is a great deal for your character to have thought about seeing their lifeless home world for the first time, and also what they are thinking now while in the thunderhawk. Please go over these thoughts and any words your character may wish to speak. Feel free to engage in any kind of conversation with one another. If the first post is nice an detailed I wont mind if a second one is simply a dialogue reply to someone. 

Solaki:

All of the above applies to you as well, _except_ that you are alone on the lower deck below your brothers. You saw Izrael, Zeiran, and Hexor board behind the others so you know they are above you as well. You alos were standing alongside the rest of the chapter in the bridge when the dead world of Sotha came into view. Like the rest of your squad, you have not seen any real action since Ferim. For you it will be even more of a change. This will likely be the first time you actually need to use the power of your new body.

Cleomenes:
_
(Several hours before the arrival of the Scythes of the Emperor battle barge)_ 

You are the largest form upon the fancily decorated bridge of Tybaar's leading vessel. Other humans, cybernetic beings, and alien hybrids populate the bridge as well. While the Trader's fleet has been travelling through the warp, you and Tybaar have been sharing many pleasurable toxins of various sorts that he has collected over many years of work. You having to take twice the amount or more of most of these substances to feel on par with your old friend. The normal behavioral doctrine expected of an Astartes has never applied to you since serving under Tybaar's command, and you act especially in such a manner now, knowing you will have to obey Astartes standards once again very soon.

The two of you are laughing from retelling memories of your time together, as well as from the abused substances. When the navigator announces the fleet will be entering Sothan space in mere minutes. Tybaar laughs as loud as you, gaining great joy himself from witnessing your own. You have been a large factor in his success in the past few decades, but even on a personal level he will miss you dearly. 

The fleet enters real-space in a flash. You are in your full power armor, helmet hanging at the side, prepared to formally rejoin your chapter. Your armored arm hangs lightly around the mortal Trader's shoulders while the smile from your face slowly disappears, and your brows become more and more furrowed.

You remove your arm from Tybaar's form. He is as frozen in not knowing what to think as you are while your eyes flick right, left, right, left, scanning over the light-brown rock of a planet in front of you.

Everyone on the bridge is already double checking coordinates, not needing to be asked. All come back with the same answer. This is Sotha.

A small fleet of mismatched ships comes into view beside the giant asteroid. Tybaar immediately straightens up in his throne, all effects from the toxins seeming to be gone entirely, other than his head still leaning sideways and his speech not the finely tuned machine it normally was. Slow, purposeful breathing indicates he is trying hard to concentrate. He attempts to communicate with the fleet, but no reply is given.

It takes almost two hours to get close enough for you to demand to be taken to the surface, not willing to wait around for the unknown ships to respond.

_(Once you land the Scythe's barge will have just entered the system, but this is unknown to you.)_

Start your post here: Tybaar along with a motley crew of his most preferred personnel accompany you down to the surface, landing on a broken concrete slab that was probably used to station tanks or other armored vehicles of the chapter. He and the group will have the inten of course, of trying to figure out what the hell has happened. But instead you will see before you a massive pillaging operation. It becomes clear, the fleet in orbit is a scavenger pirate fleet, here to steal whatever useful supplies remain in the Monastery. Though likely a costly decision for him, Tybaar will gladly accept doing you a favor by giving his own fleet the order to attack when you ask him to. You cannot see exactly who these scavengers are at this point but you will end your post by beginning to move towards them.


----------



## Deus Mortis

Solaki’s mind stirred groggily from his hypnotherapies and psychosomatic-controlling sleep. His internal clock told him that it was three days since he had last woken. Usually, dreadnoughts slept for much longer than this, but for the past fifteen years he had woken at least once a week. It was strange, this new body of his. His limbs moved with a similar dexterity to his body of flesh, but it moved in new and obscure ways. One of his first wake ups, he had sent two servitors flying across the room by moving more abruptly or in a way he hadn’t expected. Laikus hadn’t scolded him. The two had grown much closer. Laikus had worked on him, made him into something the chapter could hold onto, could hope in. He had forged him into a symbol of what the chapter would be. Solaki’s only concern was that he was no great hero. He had made many mistakes and had been guided by many of his brothers on Ferim. How could he be looked up to, when he himself knew so little and was still so fallible? 

A large portion of his time had been sent in acclimatising to his new body, his new role, his new weapons. Over fifteen years, he had grown into his new self. Very few people had come to see him in his new form. Belial had appeared occasionally, but Solaki guessed it was more to visit Laikus than himself. Sotha had appeared once, recently. For a few moments no one had spoken, Sotha just looked him up and down. He had half-smiled finally, clearly pleased with the chapter’s new weapon and beacon. Solaki could not help but notice that his brother’s proportions appeared almost comical due to his size. Still, Solaki still honoured his liege lord. “We are returning to Sotha” his lord had told him. His adimantium shell protected him from the most heavy arms fire, but is did not protect him from those words. The words had resounded through his empty shell and clanged inside his head. He was going home.

He had quickly made his way up to the bridge. For a few moments, he stood alone up there, besides the bridge staff and Lord Sotha obviously. Gradually more and more marines filtered in. They stood beside his bulky form, like he was one of them. He was one of them, and yet, he was something more. Solaki noticed Kain and Niko, both of whom had become something more than they were when he knew them first. Slowly the now barren rock drifted into view. Their home had been cold and dead for so long, but now that they looked at it, it was strangely alive. Not with fauna and life, but with metal and fire. There was a battle raging above their home. One vessel was the Rogue Trader’s ship; that much was obvious. Although, the fact that it was here was impressive in itself. Cleomenes had been on loan to the Rogue Trader since before Sotha’s fall. For a brief instant, Solaki wondered if he knew beforehand that his home was gone.

The other vessels were thieves, scavengers, pirates. Solaki burned against them, and his anger was further amplified by his true and terrible form. But now was not the time to use it. He had been taught many things in things by Laikus and the hypnotherapies, one of which was that in such a powerful body, you had to be careful of yourself. Uncontrolled anger and emotions could lead to havoc. He needed to be the symbol the Chapter needed, and flying of the handle was not how to do that. He didn’t know what would make him into that, be he knew what wouldn’t. So he controlled it. He was going to the surface, and he would have his moment to exact revenge. But for now, his eyes glazed past the battle and the now fleeing heathen, and onto the solitary rock that had once been his home.

_"Brother Sergeant Kain, Brother Apothecary Niko, and Battle Brothers Raxan, Vermaas, Raziel, and Spurius. You six, with the support of Solaki will deploy to the surface and retrieve Cleomenes...and of course, slaughter the unholy vermin that are attempting to pillage the grave of our home. Anything they have found belongs to us."_ Those were Lord Sotha’s instructions as they departed the bridge toward the landing bay where the last remaining Thunderhawk of the chapter sat, waiting to ferry its solemn but deadly cargo. Laikus was running a few last minutes checks on the bird as Solaki approached. “Well brother techmarine…” Solaki’s metallic voice rasped. It was strange hearing himself speak, even now. “…it seems it is time to test your handiwork and my mettle.”
_“It would appear so”_ Laikus was not one for many words. Solaki silently wondered if he was up for the task. This was his first real combat since Ferim, over a decade and a half ago. He had learnt so much, and yet so little he felt, in that time. A small part of him felt fear that he would fail his chapter. That was another emotion he had been taught to control and use as a weapon, like everything else. But he still felt it, and it would not go away. He dare not voice it; it would not do for other marines to see that their chapter’s only relic felt a modicum of fear. Laikus anticipated this. _“You are ready, Brother Solaki. Now show those vermin whose home they are defiling. Bring Cleomenes back, and make this chapter proud.”_ 

Solaki watched the rest of his squad enter the thunnderhawk. Well, it wasn’t a true squad. With the numbers of the chapter being as low as they were, Sotha would only send certain, hand-picked members to go on missions. Lately, it seemed that he had become rather fond of those he had sent today. Clearly he trusted them. Mostly it had just been recruitment from several worlds, and the Scythes now had several would-be scouts attached to them. After Astelan though, Niko and Alexander had not let anyone be implanted with gene-seed. They gene-seed was too valuable to risk, and they would not lose more brothers to treachery. They would certainly not lose any more gene-seed to it. Niko and Kain both boarded the thunderhawk and acknowledged him. Solaki did think it was slightly risky committing one of the chapter’s only two apothecaries to a battle. But, they were only pirates down there. They probably didn’t even had weapons which should worry them, and so Niko was not truly in danger. Still, in future, Solaki thought Sotha should be more careful with committing too many of the Chapter’s resources at one time. 

Solaki also clocked three other marines entering the thunderhawk. Marines who shouldn’t have been there. Izreal. Hexor. Both reckless and he was not surprised with their ignoring Sotha’s orders. But then, he knew that every marine on board wanted to set foot on their home, but few had the gall to defy their lord so blatantly. Zeiran was the one which surprised him. However, Solaki said nothing. Had he not been in his current form, and had he not been assigned, he may well have done the same. And so, Solaki stepped onto the thunderhawk, but could not be with his brothers. He instead stood alone in the lower deck, alone. He was alone with his thoughts and at this moment his mind fixated on the irony that his first taste of combat as a dreadnought one his home-world. It had been so long since he was last here. Solaki was anxious to use his new body, and anxious to see his home again. Even in this state. Even after everything that had happened to him. He was coming home…


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## Scythes

Brother Hexor sits in the back of the Thunderhawk looking around at his brothers trying his best to smile and lighten the dark mood in the ship, though it doesn't seem to working well at all. He thinks back to the moment they arrived in system and saw their former homeworld for the first time since it was abandoned to the xenos. He remembers a red haze coming over his eyes and an ache to be covered in the blood of the hated tyranids. Hexor managed, through strength of will alone, to push aside his thoughts of revenge and listened intently to the reports coming in of the lifeless planet, the pirate fleet around it, and the rogue traders ship taking fire while trying to repel the vile invaders. 

Upon hearing of the mission to the planets surface and the small team going down to pick up Brother Cleomenes and destroy those ignorant enough to defile the graves of his Brothers his mind was made up. He immediately went to his quarters and geared up knowing he would be on thunderhawk one way or another. He was already wearing his power armour so he grabbed his bolt psitol and slapped it to his right thigh, mag-locking it into place. Picking up the sheath for his combat blade he strapped it to his left calf, making sure the buckles were latched tight and then slid the knife into it clicking the strap over the hilt. He took up his favorite weapon; his, for the moment, immaculate chainsword and hooked it to his left hip, drawing it a couple times to makes sure it was in just the right spot should he need it. He then picked up his blessed bolter and left his quarters with it in his hands. He stopped by the ships chapel and gave a short prayer to the Almighty Emperor of Man before making his way to the hangar bay. It took a little work to get aboard without being seen, but he'd been a Battle Brother long enough to know when and how to use stealth. 

Now, sitting in the rear of the thunderhawks passenger bay, turns to Brother-Sergeant Kain, "Order's Brother-Sergeant? I realise I wasn't assigned to be on this mission but I'm here so tactically it would make sense to make use of me. I understand the consequences of my actions in this pursuit and will atone upon returning to the ship. But for the moment I am yours to use as you see fit, sir." 

He then turns to Brother Izrael, "I've seen your sword work Brother, it would be my honour to challenge you in the practice rooms upon our return to the ship, should we not be secluded to our quarters for disobedience in coming on this mission."


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## BlackGuard

He looked at it as he stood upon the observation deck of _The Heart. _It was a barren rock, devoid life and luster the only thing upon its surface the broken remains of his chapter's pride and the confusion which he tried to leave upon its surface. The last time Brother Vermaas had tread upon that plighted rock he had been waging an unwinnable war against the Tyranid scoruge as they fell like rain from the very skies. His mind was troubled in those days, where even the purity of warfare had not been enough to earse the doubts and fears he had supressed. He doubted his chapter's purity, its faith, and his own faith in the Emperor, for whom they had sacrificed their humanity to serve. Such confusion was maddening for him and the turmoil of such a bloody and impossible war had left his mind numb since then. 

He could hear, even now, the echo of gunfire in his mind's ear and see the muzzle flashes of hundreds of Astartes guns as his chapter defied the Great Devourer. He could smell the burning of xeno flesh, their vile blood as it spilled from them in great gushes, and he could smell his own desperation. The squad he eventually tagged onto was ad-hoc at best, a scattering of survivers that had happened upon one another and quickly, as only Astartes did best, formed up into a cohesive unit. They had been pushed back into an old rockcrete pillbox-style bunker where they were cut off from the main defensive force and required to hold their position. They never stopped firing it seemed, and when their ammunition finally let up the Tyranids did not stop they broke open the pillboxes meter thick adamantium door and attempted to claw and gnash their way inside. They had been stopped with chainsword and combat knife and Astartes muscle. He felt a certain level of relief as he remembered how this memory ended with them literally bashing their way out of the pillbox, their chainsword siezed up in coagulated xeno blood -- their limbs beyond the point of exhaustion even for an Astartes but their hatred fueled them into just one more punch, one more pull, one more crushing grip. 

He had survived, the Scythes had survived albeit a little to his surprise. A release of pleasure filled his body as he remembered standing triumphant over a thousand Tyranid corpses before they were ordered to move out. He'd look back at the pillbox longing in those days as he stepped away, its rockcrete survive was litterally shredded with long strands of reinforcing steel hanging from it. Had they not broke out when they did it was very likely that the xenos would have brought the ceiling down on them and murdered them as they laid trapped in the rubble. This wave of pleasure halted as his mind instinctively moved onto the face of Astelan. He stopped himself in mid-thought and shoved it to the back of his mind ... he was not ready to confront that horror.

The orders had come down that he would be apart of a relief force sent to Sotha. He had made his way, per his orders, to the Thunderhawk and strapped himself in without saying a word. He looked around at his squad-mates with a sense of pride at seeing them. They were the handful that remained since the beginning of all this madness on, ironically, Sotha so many years ago. He knew their faces and knew of some of their deeds and wished, fervently, that he had grown closer to each of them -- but for so long the flames of war had not forged their brotherhood any closer. He could taste bitterness upon his tongue and pushed the feeling back with a quiet litany to the God-Emperor. He would not allow the same corruption that brought down Astelan to bring him down as well. 

He lowered his head and closed his eyes as he solemly began to pray aloud, althouh not too long as to interrupt the conversations of his brothers or to displease his commanders,

'God-Emperor of Mankind, blessed saviour of humanity. We go now to do your bloody work upon yet another world, and this one all the more bitter to us for its loss. We ask you, as Astartes, as your gene-children, for your guidance and blessings in the missions to come. May our bolters be true, may our chainswords ever rend the enemy, may our might never yield.

May you walk with us in the dark places of the galaxy -- for we bring the burning righteousness of your light, of your wrath. For we are your mailed fist made manifest! We our your anger given form. Place your motlen fist of purgation upon own shoulders and may you guide us to more glorious battlefields for we walk in the shadow of a terrible galaxy who does not know your light or the supremecy of Mankind. 

Ever guide us to burn the heretic, kill the mutant, and purge the unclean! May your light never go out and may mankind endure until the end of time and the sundering of flesh!

Ahmen.'


----------



## Midge913

Walking towards the bridge of _The Heart,_ his feet felt as if they had been infused with lead. It was a difficult task that he was set upon and Raxan was unsure that he was ready to face it. Sotha, his beloved homeworld, had come into view and as he walked it was obvious that, despite an other tasks that they had been engaged in, each of the surviving marines of the Scythes now quietly made their way to the bridge. Trepidation, anger, and grief clearly etched on each face. It had been a long time since he had seen his home, but in the intervening time his childhood memories and his memories of his life with his chapter before the fall had all become tarnished, washed over in the blood of that dying world. Soured by the carnage that had been wrought upon it. Slowly, painstakingly, he made his way to the bridge. Hollow grief filling his heart and mind as he swam in images of the past, in memories of the fallen. 

The quiet hiss of the door opening onto the bridge did little to tear him from his introspection, but he did scan the bridge looking for the form of Kain. It appeared that he had not yet arrived, so Raxan walked to a quiet corner, near the massive form of Solaki. At the time of his internment Raxan had not been keen on the youth being chosen. He was too young, too unexperienced. But many things had changed. The loss of one marine was desastrous to the chapter. Ways of old could not be followed if the Chapter was to survive and he was going to have to trust Lord Sotha to make the decisions that would be best. The sight of the massive dreadnought, the first time that Raxan had seen it since the boy was placed into it, was not one of joy that a relic of the chapter had been brought back to them by the youth's sacrifice. It brought too many memories to the surface. Heroes and friends that had fallen and again recollections of old pulled at him. It was as if his subconcious mind was doing everything it could too keep him from looking at the barren rock that lay ahead of them. Raxan forced himself to look, to confront the ghosts of the past, too feel the rage and fury and saddness that its lifeless surface evoked. 

His ire deepened as he watched the battle that came into view as the battle barge entered orbit. Thieves, wretched pillagers, and vultures, their vessels now engaged in a firefight with what appeared to be a Rogue Trader's vessel. It was then that he remembered that Cleomenes was to meet them there. The entire purpose for returning home had been to rendezvous with their long gone brother. Raxan had fond memories of the man. Many times they had fought together in the Fourth. It would be good to have him home, another seasoned marine, another steady bolter. Another man who would remember and work to replace what they once had despite his long absence. But these thoughts were pushed to the side as his rage boiled over at the audacity of the heretics that now looted precious relics from the graves of his brethren. His left hand flexed, the crushing grip of his bionic arm causing the very metal it was made of to creak and strain. He watched as the vessels turned tail and ran in the face of _The Heart_, cowards to frightened to face the Astartes wrath, too eager to leave to care about their comrades left on the surface. Those left on the surface would taste retribution, Lord Sotha would make sure of it.

A presence to his left made Raxan look up and found, unsurprisingly that Brother-Sergeant Kain had joined him on the bridge. In the 15 years since Ferim, Raxan and Kain had become good friends, inseperable some said. His blood oath to the man aside, Raxan found that he quite liked the younger man. Though the promotion after the events of Ferim had caught him by surprise, Kain had grown into the position nicely. Assuming command of his squad with ease and confidence. He had a manner that inspired trust amongst those he lead. Stealing a glance at his friends face, Raxan found that Kain was even more unreadable than usual. The organic side of his face mimicing the metallic. Cold and emotionless despite the fact that Raxan knew Kain to being feeling much the same thing as he was.

"Brother Sergeant Kain," Lord Sotha's voice cut through the quiet like a thunderclap,"Brother Apothecary Niko, and Battle Brothers Razan, Raziel, and Spurius. You six, with the support of Solaki, will deploy to the surface and retrieve Cleomenes..... and of course, slaughter the unholy vermin that are attempting to pillage the grave of our home. Anything they have found belongs to us." Sotha was calm on the surface, but Raxan could feel his ire. Felt it and shared it. He was unsurprised that he and Kain and the others had been chosen for this mission. A half a dozen times in the last 15 years Sotha had dedicated a scarce few marines to offship actions and it was always the same few. All of those times had been on recruiting missions, this time was to be different. This time they went to fight. It was as if Raxan's body flared to life at the prospect for it had been too long. 

"Come old friend," He said to Kain," Let's see if you still remember how to fire a bolter?" he said with a smile. Despite his attempt at mirth his smile refused to touch is eyes, too clouded in sorrrow they were to feel the light of laughter. 

"My skill with a bolter is undiminished brother," Kain said shooting a level look at Raxan with his human eye, "Though this time try and make sure I don't have to drag your unconcious form to the thunderhawk, you have put on weight since Sotha fell, it would be cumbersome." Raxan allowed a small chuckle to escape his lips. "That would be a problem in truth, we would need Raziel to guide you along to keep you from bumping into things. Your vision is not what it once was." Kain raised his hands in mock defeat, a small smile pulling his face into a rictus grin, as the two left the bridge and headed toward the launch bay.

The trek across _the Heart_ to the Thunderhawk bay was made in relative silence, as lost in thoought as each of them were. As he stepped aboard the Thunderhawk, for the first time in over a decade fully outfitted for war, a sense of home came upon him. In these moments before battle, no matter how small and affair it may be, he felt as if things had not changed. That the memories of loss did not touch him here, his sense of purpose and belonging drowning out even the torrent of sorrow that seeing his home had brought upon him. He nodded to Solaki as the mighty dreadnought took his place on the lower deck of the chapters lone thunderhawk and made his way to the back of the craft, his seat next to Kain's as it had been for so many years. As he felt the engines rumble to life, the heavy vibrations of the deck and heard the peal of warning claxons in the deck beyond. 

As the interior lights dimmed as the Thunderhawk left the battle barge, effortlessly gliding into space and down towards the lifeless planet. Raxan donned his helm, turning the world around him into a spectrum of black and red, his HUD feeding him information about the marines seated along side him. Raxan felt a fleeting moment of indignation as he gazed upon the three battle brothers that had tagged along on the ride despite not being given orders to do so. He understood that they wanted to set foot on their homeworld and wanted to teach the intruders a lesson, but to go against orders to do so? That was unacceptable. Should one of them fall, however unlikely, it would be a blow to the chapter that could have been avoided. They should not be here. Period. A look from Kain told him to leave it be, but Raxan could not, especially once young Hexor made such a show of himself. Feigning penance while simulataneously revelling in his excitement at being aboard the Thunderhawk. 

"Damn straight you weren't assigned to this mission Hexor," Raxan said with a growl, "What makes you think that you can do whatever you want whenever you please? If I had my way you wouldn't set foot off the Thunderhawk."


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## Serpion5

*Zeiran*

The sight had been one he would never forget. Sotha, his home and his past was gone. Zeiran had always been devoted to his duty, and his duty had required him to stay in orbit. But to stay in orbit would be to force him to endure the sight even more. He remembered in those minutes the early days he had spent there as an astartes aspirant. He remembered his time as a scout and the pride he had felt upon being initiated. 

Behind those memories were vague recollections of his childhood. Hazy images of his parents' faces, his friends left behind and his old home. 

He was only partially aware of his actions on board _The Heart_, though in truth he would no more have tried to stop himself even if it had occurred to him that he was violating an order. The master of the chapter was sending a group of astartes down to the planet and Zeiran would be damned if he did not go with them. He armoured himself and prepped his weapons without a second thought, he marched himself to the docking bay without remorse and he boarded the thunderhawk without a word. Clearly he was not alone in his mindset, as Brothers Izrael and Hexor had followed his way of thinking. 

Then again, those two acting this way was not a surprise. In his entire relatively short career as an astartes however, Zeiran had not often seen fit to disobey orders. This would be a first for him and in light of the circumstances, he hoped the master would see it as a forgiveable sin. 

Hexor foolishly made a spectacle of his disobedience, drawing the ire of Brother Raxan. Zeiran looked back at Raxan with an impassive stare but said nothing. 

_I wonder how you'd have reacted if you were ordered to stay behind... _ 

After trying vainly to think of what had caused him to do this, he realized it didn't matter. He was here now, and Zeiran would do what he could to ensure the squad's success. 

'It doesn't matter Brother.' Zeiran said to Raxan at last. 'Not now.'


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## William Siegfried

Like many of his other Brothers Spurius had been called to the Bridge, for what reason? Most likely to go support the ship under heavy fire from pirates and looters who most likely had forces on the ground trying to rob the Chapters honoured dead and their beloved people of their once valued treasures. Just the thought of such a foul deed made Spurius' blood boil with anger, however he was quick to dismiss the emotion to keep himself calm and cool, he was in the presence of two of his former squad mates and survivors who looked now at their homeworld with eyes full of pain and sorrow. A feeling Spurius knew all too well when he looked down at his homeworld. He wasn't even a veteran Marine of 100 yet and yet many now looked at him as if he were a 300 year old veteran Marine who'd been in thousands of battles. The feeling didn't sit to well with him however, not after all he had seen and was forced to witness along with the death of his people and battle-brothers. Just the thought enough made his usual smile vanish and be replaced by a sober and neutral one. 

Turning his head slightly he looked down the hall towards the bridge and gently made his way to join the others. Once inside he looked around and could see a number of familiar faces, many were considered hero's in the Chapter already for their past deeds. The thought of fighting alongside them brought his smile back to his face which was hidden by his helm. After looking at his battle-brothers he quickly and quietly listened to their Chapter master who gave them their orders, and sure enough it was as he guessed, but it was more of a surprise knowing one of their Honoured Veteran's was aboard the rouge trader ship being attacked. It only made him want to purge the pirates and looters more, but like before he dismissed his emotions of hate and anger for the battle ahead. So without a second thought or hesitation he made his way to the hanger where he boarded the Thunderhawk along with the others. 

He kept his mouth shut as he watched the fight in progress. He had to admit even he himself felt a bit of unease towards the two coming aboard and joining them on their mission. _"Hmm... Seems like we're going to have more trouble for us to deal with other than just the Pirates and Looters if we have them."_ Spurius mumbled softly, his voice muffled by his scared helm. He wished to sit closer to the thunderhawks ramp so he could be first out but knew that honour went to the hero's, whom Spurius had known closely as everyone should after how many missions the group had undergone together; However he thought it best to keep in the shadows of the thunderhawk this time to say his prayers and make his peace with his fallen brothers on their homeworld.


----------



## Scythes

_About to give a heated retort to Brother Raxan, Brother Zeiran's words stayed his tongue. He merely frowned behind his helm at Raxan silently and waited, somewhat impatiently, for the Thunderhawk to set down on the planet. Brother Hexor had never before, and would never, think about striking down another loyal Astartes, but Raxan was quickly getting on his last nerve._


----------



## Lord Ramo

Kain moved quickly towards the Bridge of the Heart of Sotha. He had been summoned by Lord Sotha along with several of the few Scythes that remained. Kain was one of the few marines that Lord Sotha allowed to travel off ship, though he hadn't seen combat in years he had travelled alongside the apothecary as they recruited new candidates to start the slow and painful process of rebuilding the chapter. One thought that plagued the mind of Kain was that even though they had recruits they had no chaplains to watch over them.

The fact that they had no chaplains weighed on Kain heavily. He wished for atonement, for the guidance of a chaplain. However there were none to be found to watch over him and his brothers. He entered the bridge, spotting his friend Raxan at one corner of the room, standing near to the huge dreadnought that Kain once called brother Solaki. It was Kain's fault that he was interred in dreadnought armour and not standing amongst his brothers still, and Kain knew it. He moved quickly, saluting the dreadnought before moving next to Raxan.

Kain clapped his friend on the shoulder who was watching the battle in orbit ensure, the cowards of pillagers who sought the chapters icons fleeing at the sight of the mighty battle barge. Kain looked sorrowfully on his homeworld, so many brothers had been lost there, too many. It was a ghost of a world now, one scarred by the tyranids that had almost destroyed the chapter. Kain turned as Lord Sotha's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Brother Sergeant Kain, Brother Apothecary Niko, and Battle Brothers Raxan, Vermaas, Raziel, and Spurius. You six, with the support of Solaki will deploy to the surface and retrieve Cleomenes...and of course, slaughter the unholy vermin that are attempting to pillage the grave of our home. Anything they have found belongs to us."

*"As my Lord commands it."* Kain replied simply, feeling his ire rise at the thought about stepping foot on his homeworld once more. He was desperate to see it, as would be every single marine left on the Heart of Sotha, and the chance to put the invaders and pillagers to bolt and blade was a comforting one that Kain looked forward to almost as much as he looked forward to stepping on Sotha once more.

He turned back to Raxan who spoke quickly._ "Come old friend,"_ He said to Kain,_" Let's see if you still remember how to fire a bolter?"_

Kain flashed a smile at him before returning the jibe quickly,* "My skill with a bolter is undiminished brother,"* Kain said shooting a level look at Raxan with his human eye, *"Though this time try and make sure I don't have to drag your unconcious form to the thunderhawk, you have put on weight since Sotha fell, it would be cumbersome."*

Raxan let out a chuckle at his words, Kain and Raxan growing into close friends after he had saved his life on Sotha and the events on Ferim. He was one of the few brothers that Kain could interact with nowadays. "_That would be a problem in truth, we would need Raziel to guide you along to keep you from bumping into things. Your vision is not what it once was." _

Kain held up his hands in mock defeat, though what Raxan said was true. The fight with the Hive Tyrant on Ferim had ruined his face, now metal plates covered his face, and he was forced to see out of a biotic eye, having lost that as well to the tyrant. Kain after 15 years still hadn't gotten used to seeing a shade of red with his eye, nor the metal plates that covered his face. The weirdest part were his metallic teeth, his tongue hitting the metal and he knew he would never get used to the feeling.

He clapped his brother on the shoulder as the two left the bridge, heading to the last Thunderhawk that would ferry them down to meet their brother Cleomenes and kill those trespassers on the surface. Whilst Kain had not met the man Cleomenes himself Raxan had, and Kain knew of Cleomenes reputation himself. It would be a good thing to get another brother back into the chapters fold.

Kain took his seat near the rear of the thunderhawk, Raxan sitting next to him like he always did. The rest of the group filed in and took their seats before he felt the engines roar into life and they were off, hurtling towards the planet below. Kain kept his helm off for the journey, though he would don it before they went into battle as his eyes sweeped the interior of the thunderhawk. These were all astartes that he had served with before, he knew all of them well. He nodded at Niko when their eyes made contact before his thoughts were interrupted. 

He had taken note of the three marines who had not been assigned to the mission but had come aboard anyway, and one of them spoke up asking for orders. Before he could answer Raxan snarled his response, Kain feeling the annoyance that the others had done what they had wished instead of what their Lord commanded of them. 

Kain rose from his grav throne, taking hold of a drop handle in front of him before he spoke. *"Peace Raxan. I have no orders for you brother, our Lords instructions were clear. Bring our brother Cleomenes back to the Heart of Sotha and kill all of those who dare desecrate our homeworld. Whilst you three have not been assigned to the mission we will make use of you but know this. When we get back aboard the Heart you will personally tell our Lord why you decided to ignore his commands and join us, and you will beg for his forgiveness. I do not see how you can atone properly for what you have done until we have a Chaplain in our fold once more."*

He turned to regard all of his brothers, *"Brothers let us purge those that desecrate the world that was once our own. For the Fallen!"*


----------



## Jackinator

Sotha, dead, lifeless. It wasn't the first, and it wouldn't be the last. Yet somehow the sight was a shock, almost a physical blow. Planets lived and planets died, the Imperium was responsible for it's fair share of destruction, entire worlds lived and died at the word of the Inquisition. Not a Chapter world, not this world. It had been taken. Cruelly perhaps, but it was neccessary.

I looked around at the Brothers with which I shared the Thunderhawk, the interior was suddenly bathed in red light, a red tinge covering every surface inside the ancient machine. They were all helmeted and in the dim light were only visible by the contrasting colours of their armour picking them out in the shadows. We were going back, I hadn't visited Sopha for over a century, and now never would again. And they dared to desecrate it's sacred ground.

I thought back to the events on the bridge. Lord Sotha had been brief, assigning the squad, and Brother Solaki to travel down to the planet and rendezvous with Cleomenes. The trespassers would simply be another obstacle, and unlikely to be a difficult one at that. The mewling, pathetic mortals would die quickly before the wrath of the Emperor's finest.

I was dragged away before I could sink further into my fury by Kain's speech. He reprimanded the three 'stowaways', before turning to his squad. "Brothers let us purge those that desecrate the world that was once our own. For the Fallen!"

"For the Fallen."

I chorused in agreement, but it was half-hearted, I'd not been present at the fall of Sotha, and I'd never meshed particularly well with my remaining Brothers, particularly Kain. He was too young, too inexperienced to be a Sergeant, though I had to admit he had proved a good leader thus far, even if he had yet to prove himself to me. To my pride.


----------



## deathbringer

He was embedded in the void his mind a blank husk devoid of compassion or emotion, logic and reason cast out to leave only the cloying darkness. A distant galaxy away he could feel the steady thump of his heart, the slightest hiss of exhalation, the tiniest star on the skyline of his mind. It was an open canvas, waiting to be filled.

He embraced the blackness, savoured the emptiness, the pure bliss of his calm, held onto it, clung to it, like a drowning man to the driftwood tossing in the surf. He felt his fingers slipping, his grip loosening as his muscles burned...

A thought tore like a shooting star across the blackness, a streak mass of fiery emotions, slashing across the blankness of his mind. Words written in blood, rewritten and rewritten, the primary essence of his ethos, the unfulfilled oath of moment he had sworn. It tore bright ribbons of rage across his vision and he forced the thought away, fists clenching as he strained. Like a supernova it exploded, hatred and anger mingling with the deepest depths of self loathing and his hands reached up, nails scraping at the walls, anguish twisting his noble handsome features. 


The flare died, even as he regained control, yet another star was born upon the horizon, a dead husk of pain and regret of desire and duty. The oath he had sworn that was destined to go unfulfilled to haunt him til the day he was bested and broken, the agony that only death could end. It throbbed at him, even as sweat rolled down his furrowed brow, gradually painstakingly, the rivets smoothed, his hands dropped to his sides though the marks remained, a mass of small grooves, a testament to his anguish.

He has not left the room in two weeks, had handed his application for suspension from duties to a sergeant, whether he had delivered it, or it had ever been granted he did not know. He had locked himself in the room, a serf givem a key with instructions to leave food and not disturb him. Perhaps some had knocked, brothers concerned for his physical welfare, he did not remember.... it was unimportant.

His mental welfare was, the treachery of Astelan, a deep chasm in his heart. Such a horrific stain upon the chapter, a veteran no less, a trusted advisor of the Lord himself, twisted by the evil whims of foul Gods. It was a revelation, every single brother suddenly under question, though it had been dealt with in house, Mortifactors knew of their shame, of the canker that had bit at their chapter. 

Who knew how deep the rot had set, were others twisted, other veterans so caught up in the chapters fall they would turn to anything. So many questions, Astelan, such a dear friend of Lord Sotha himself, what did that say of Sotha? The chapter as a whole was falling, no chaplains to hold ritual in the morning, brothers made sergeants or given patchwork armour before their time, by necessity not right. His own ascension had been called into question by many, the words reckless and wild bandied by the elders, elders that seemed immune to the failure of their chapter able to forget their own failures.

He could not forget, he could not forgive.

He did not understand how any could, nobody with honor could forgive such a loss, such a bitter defeat.

Someone was speaking, inside the room somebody was shouting his name, the emptiness slipping away as consciousness returned, his eyes snapping open to find a man standing before him, tremulously reaching out an arm for his shoulder. 

He wanted to react, knock the arm aside yet the blow upon such fragile bones would ruin the limb, shatter the bones, and what use was a one arm serf. He controlled the action, arm flipping out to pinch the frail wrist between finger and thumb and the serf recoiled in terror, the movement snake like, barely visible to the naked eye.

"The reason for this disturbance had better be impossibly good, Calcus" muttered Izrael even as he slid to his feet, the serf's face breaking from pure terror into a small smile, a half bow twisting his wizened frame.

His breath was wheezing, his heart rate gradually slowing, even as he stuttered to speech. Izrael could understand the terror, a giant with a predilection for cruelty lashing out. He was not considered a kind master, in the days before Vilius's death he would have shattered the arm and snapped his neck into the bargain. He had mellowed slightly since the old mans death, begun to understand the importance of his role as the future, that service and duty was more honourable than death even if the agony was greater.

Nobody had noticed, he was still considered reckless and impetuous.

Speech had come to the old man.

"We are currently in orbit around Sotha my Lord, they are sending down a strike team to fetch Lord Cleomantes. I thought you would want to know."

Izrael felt his whole body stiffen, half way between standing and sitting he was paralysed, eyes wide he let out half words, gently he clasped the serfs shoulder, before sweeping from the room.

"Fetch another serf to help me into my armour Calcus"

"but my Lord, Lord Sotha said only...."

"My armour Calcus, my orders come from Brother Alark Krin"

The serf hesitated yet finally hurried from the room.

In three strides Izrael had reached his armour, reaching out to run his finger across a dishevelled piece of paper, stained by blood and various form of ichor, the words still burned bright, constantly restored after years of fighting, unfufilled the oath he had worn upon his armor the day Sotha died. 

His voice broke as he whispered to the empty room 

"Perhaps today... perhaps"
__________________________________________________

He was sitting next to the giant brother Hexor tucked in a cornor of the thunderhawk, his eyes fixed upon the wall opposite, fingers tracing the frayed parchment upon his shoulder.

A recently promoted sergeant the mangled Kain, staring round, even as his tongue traced along the unfamiliar ridges of sparkling teeth. They said the hive tyrant of Ferim had given him a beating and hence he was promoted to sergeant. An odd reward yet one that ,in general, seemed well received

Another recently raised sat near him, silent and solemn, Nilo bore the white of the apothecarion, the chapters respect seeming universal for the sage. He knew him as well as any, there batch the same, but he felt no comradery for him. They said he had cleft the traitor and twain and that had to be respected.

Others he knew by reputation if not by name sat in the thunderhawk by right as ,according to Calcus, part of Sotha's chosen squad. Raxan, Kain's attack dog, a battered veteran who had apparently had an unfortunate run in with a carnifex and Vermaas a fervent individual who even as they began their descent hissed hushed prayers to the god emperor.

Helms on he could not see their faces but he felt the weight of judgement in their eyes, disobedience, typical impetuous youth to ignore his Lords wishes. Fuck them all, he had a reason to be their as much as any of them, better than most, and he would have fought the hive tyrant and the traitor alone with his bare hands to get a chance to return. He sat silent, listening to the hum of the engine, ignoring the burning judgement pressing upon his shoulders.

Indeed it seemed to become too much for brother Hexor, the giant marine, easing his discomfort by speaking to the sergeant, searching for validation and Izrael was surprised to find him turning to him, praising his sword work and asking for a spar. A single eyebrow raised beneath his helm yet he held his peace, eyes flitting over the tremendous size and great blade resting against his leg with a practiced and arrogant air. Strength was obviously Hexor's forte but he would take mobility over power, the great blade designed to hack and slash at a multitude of horded enemies, not to combat a single more agile warrior. That being said it depended how strong Hexor truly was, an interesting fight no doubt.

He was interrupted by the terse snarl of Raxan

"Damn straight you weren't assigned to this mission Hexor," the grizzled marine grunted eyes taking in all three of them

"What makes you think that you can do whatever you want whenever you please? If I had my way you wouldn't set foot off the Thunderhawk."

The words bit at Izrael and he give a little snort of derision yet it was drowned by the quiet resigned words of another Brother that had stolen aboard the thunderhawk

'It doesn't matter Brother.' 

He paused and Izrael opened his mouth to snap

'Not now.'

The sergeant spoke up next and Izrael felt his skin crawl, so fawning, a desperate attempt to ingratiate himself whilst remaining in control. They would be punished whether the sergeant ordered it or not, Izrael would not beg, he hadn't begged when chaplains punished him, he wouldn't beg for trying to fufill his oath whether Sotha liked it or not.

Hexor seemed to rise next to him, stiffening at the elders words yet he bit his tongue, Izrael by contrast could not keep his temper quiet, the biting tone and judging eyes getting the better of him, none of them thought of the privilege they had to be on this mission, to be the ones to get to walk the world once more

"Forgive Brother Raxan, Hexor, he must be a little cranky after his..." he let the words dwindle with sardonic bile

"nap"

He bored into brother Raxan's visor a little growl coming as he turned to Kain

"You can leash your pet poodle Brother Sergeant" he let the word linger, the silence tinged with skepticism

"Kain, I am sure each of us has thought of the consequences both to our lord and to our honor of stealing aboard this thunderhawk. Yet have you thought about the privilege you are being offered to be here?"

"Almost every brother on that barge has sowed the earth of sotha with their blood, has watched their brethren die to defend it, had to flee it with only their shame and nightmares. What makes you so special as to deserve to walk it again?"

He snarled meeting the brother sergeants gaze, his face beneath his helm contorted with purest venom 

"Save your judgement for your own soul, I will tell you now I would walk this ramp again without hesitation and I will tell my Lord of my deed and accept my penance without your hollow words."

His fingers still carressed the parchment with bitter hatred

"Any penance would be worth the price"


----------



## Lord Ramo

Kain only spoke out of neccesity, he could not afford for whatever brothers that joined him on the surface below to be divided by arguments and insults. He was about to take his seat once more when the insolent and fiery youth Izrael spoke up. He turned to Raxan first, insulting him before moving onto Kain, speaking as if he knew what he was on about. He was a young cur, nothing more.

Kain moved from where he was until he was right in front of Izrael before he spoke, fire and anger in his voice. *"I know what a privilege it is to step upon the homeworld Izrael. I am aware that every single brother left in the chapter has a right to step upon the surface of our world once more. In fact I can think of over a dozen marines that deserve to step on our homeworld more than me, and even more who deserve the honor than you."*

Kain paused, Izrael needed to be tempered, but that was not his place. Lord Sotha would do it until they had a chaplain to once again look after their spirits.
He moved in close so only he and Izrael could hear what he had said. 

*"I lost more brothers on Sotha than you did young one, friends who I had fought with for decades I watched die in front of me, fighting the horde. Maybe I was raised to sergeant ahead of my time, just as you have obviously been raised to a full battle brother before yours. Even the few chaplains we had at the Giants Coffin could barely keep you in line. If one of them had lived and we did not have need for more marines do you truly think you would have been raised?"* 

He moved away and raised his voice so the whole squad could hear him once more, the anger in his voice gone now. Perhaps he should not have said what he did to Izrael, the youth would never learn without the proper tutelage. 

*"I do not know why Lord Sotha has honoured me so, but I know one thing. He is our LORD our master. He chooses the best course for the future of the chapter and we obey. My words are not hollow brother, if anything it is you who speaks the hollow words. Proper penance cannot be observed till we have a chaplain once again in our mist, one that is sorely needed, if you think otherwise then you are a fool."*

Kain turned to regard the rest of the squad. *"This matter is closed now brothers, I will not have anymore words on the matter that is an order. Anyone who disobeys so will face me in the sparring cages once we return to the heart."*

He moved to the front of the thunderhawk before turning back, *"Brother Izrael, if you wish you can try and leash brother Raxan in the sparring cages on the Heart. Though I would wager that if anything you would leave the cage in defeat."*


----------



## dark angel

‘We will arrive in the vicinity of Sotha within,’ The navigator; a crooked, treble-eyed witch, purred nonchalantly, addressing no-one in particular. ‘An hour and fifteen minutes.’

‘Thank you, Scamander,’ Tybarr Nymeros, God-King of the Sorrowsong, said with a polite smile. His facial muscles were not articulated to smiling, making the gesture seem completely inhuman, when coupled with Tybarr’s extraordinary beauty; almost effeminate, with sharp-cutting cheekbones and long, silver-white hair. ‘Keep me informed.’

Scamander bowed deeply; the thread-of-gold hem of his deep, abyssal hood touching the marbled floor, and hobbled off, leaning reliantly on a knobbed staff. 

The bridge of the Sorrowsong was a cavernous expanse, the ceiling lost in an artificial cloud-layer; the walls sheer and cliff-like, draped in banners and portraits. To the fore of the chamber; four immense shutters were sealed, protecting the command staff from the predations of the warp. Holographic displays flickered here and there, colouring the crew in reds, greens, blues and yellows.

‘I am..’ A voice said, a deep, thunderous grumble. ‘Apprehensive.’

Tybarr wheeled, sipping on a bulb of glittering liquid that hissed and spat when it met his lips, scouring the flesh. ‘Cleomenes, Polemarch of the Scythes of the Emperor, is anxious? Emperor Help Us.’

The Space Marine sniggered, idly caressing the faceplate of his cross-crested helm affectionately; like a mother would her child, running fingers over every familiar contour. His empurpled lips were pursed contemplatively; his vision directed floor-wards.

In every aspect, Cleomenes was formed as flawlessly as a god. From his long, forked beard to his scintillating, passionate eyes; he was remarkably handsome. His beauty had not diminished with age - But rather, it was said - Emboldened. His hair was twisted into a pair of wild ram-horns at the temples, pinioned in place by slivers of amethyst. 

Even without his armour, Cleomenes was massive. When he wore the powered plate, he was even larger - A colossus of myth, his chest glittering with a pair of hateful lions, his shoulders draped in a silken cloak. No-one on the bridge, not even the gene-bred servitors, came close to matching his stature. He was a God-amongst-men, a statue given life.

‘The hour goes slow,’ Tybarr said, sipping from a crystalline bulb. ‘Do tell a tale, Cleo, or I may die of boredom,’ He grinned, lips peeling back effortlessly. ‘And that would be a most unfortunate event. I do like life.’ 

Cleomenes gave a shallow nod, and began with a recitation of the Illiminar; the ancestral birth-poem of the Scythes of the Emperor - Voice deepening and heightening, twirling his hands theatrically, - All for effect. A warrior-king foremost, Cleomenes harboured a particular soft-spot for acting. And he did it without effort, drawing Tybarr into the ancient tale.

When he was done, Tybarr tilted his head and let out a sigh. ‘Is that all?’

Cleomenes shrugged apologetically, a half-smile contorting his face. ‘It is. We Scythes are not ones to sit around and write,’ The post-human let out a bestial snort, like a warhorse awaiting the crush of combat. ‘I am not a Ultramarine, old friend.’

Next, a superb narration of The Life and Death of Ephialtes arose on the bridge, silencing all save for the gentle click-clacking of consoles and brain-dead Servitors. By this time, both Cleomenes and Tybarr were severely intoxicated - Their gums scoured with highly efficient alcohol, their teeth pink beneath their lips.

The deck of the Sorrowsong was trembling, as preparations aboard the gargantuan vessel were initiated to exit the Warp. Cleomenes did not pay this heed, memorized paragraphs rolling off of his tongue effortlessly; flowing out over the bridge-crew, like some impious prayer. 

The Sorrowsong and her attendant fleet were spat from the Warp with a kaleidoscope of colour; space rippling and tearing, each of the momentous vessels framed against silver-white and oily-black. 

One huge gauntlet clenched Tybarr’s shoulder, applying enough pressure to comfort; though, with a tense of the internal false-muscles, Cleomenes could snap the rogue trader’s bone with ease. From the wry smile on Tybarr’s face, he was well aware of that fact..

Protective shutters towards the fore of the bridge ground upwards, the light of Sotha’s distant sun flooding onto the bridge. Cleomenes had stopped his tale, fingering the leopard-hide hilt of his Chainsword, staring onwards into the flare of the sun. The window tinted, turning the fluorescent glow to a faded mustard. 

Something was wrong. The navigation officers were double-checking their coordinates, slim fingers dancing across consoles, data streaming before their eyes.

Sotha was a mud-coloured rock, gone were the greens, blues and whites that had once inhabited the surface. 

‘Recheck coordinates.’ Cleomenes commanded, his voice a crash of syllables. ‘Scan for communications, vessels, my Chapter. Show me something, anything.’

‘Sire,’ Scamander hobbled near, leaning heavily on his staff. ‘I have rerun the coordinates a multitude of times. This world,’ He indicated the planet with a dismissive sweep of his hand. ‘Is Sotha.’

‘It cannot be,’ Cleomenes growled, gripping a handrail. It squealed beneath his gauntlet, distorting under the pressure. ‘Where are my brothers?’

‘It is apparent that something most,’ The navigator licked his scabbed lips, teeth-like-splinters showing beneath. ‘Regretful, has occurred.’

‘This is not Sotha.’

‘Cleo..’ Tybarr said, his voice heavy with pity. ‘The coordinates are correct. Scamander is right. Something has happened. I am sorry.’

‘Vessel signatures in orbit of the planetoid,’ One of the crewmen called. Cleomenes eyes glittered for a moment, hoping for something. For anything. ‘None are registered in the memory banks, lord.’

Tybarr straightened, sobriety returning. ‘Vox-link, mister Saar.’ 

The communications chief bade his master a nod, indicating it had been achieved. 

‘Unidentified ships - I, Tybarr Nymeros of House Nymeros, - Demand an immediate cessation of all activities in orbit of Sotha. This planet is now under my jurisdiction, until further investigation on the whereabouts of the Scythes of the Emperor can be conducted.’

When no response came, Tybarr glanced towards his Space Marine lifeguard. 

‘Show. Me.’ He grunted, every breath coming out in ragged gasps. 

Cameras towards the prow of the Sorrowsong swiveled, bringing the fleet into view. Each of the ships were tiny at this distance; slithers of glittering metal. Evidently, they were not of Imperial origins. And this only served to invigorate Cleomenes. 

‘Magnify.’ The command was simple. The Polemarch wanted a closer view at these strangers. ‘I will not ask again.’

‘Impossible. They are out of range.’ Tybarr said morosely, locking eyes with the Astartes. ‘I am sorry, Cleomenes. I was not expecting this.’

‘And I was?’ Cleomenes said, striking the nearest wall with a sonorous clang. ‘I will be on the embarkation deck. When we are in range, I want to see what happened for myself. 

***

Two hours passed. Two hours of bewilderment, blistering rage and sadness. 

Cleomenes prowled back and forth, twirling his Chainsword angrily. It was exquisitely weighted, perfect in his grip, crafted for the hand of Othello millennia before. 

Cleomenes poured a libation of hippocras and goat's blood over his armour and weapons, speaking a hushed prayer to the God-Emperor; seeking his answers. 'Bless me,' He grunted. 'And I will be your instrument.'

Tybarr appeared on the deck, wearing a bejeweled void-suit; a crowned helm held in the curve of his left arm, his right hand clenched on the hilt of a gilded power-sword.

Behind him marched his three satraps; each men of importance, appareled magnificently and armed with beautiful falcata and compressed bolt-guns. Foremost was Artaphernes, his beard dyed purple. Next came Mardonius, a relative youth amongst the three, tallest and handsomest. Finally was Ctesias, dark and brooding, huffing and puffing with each step.

‘What are you doing?’ Cleomenes said, with narrowed eyes. 

‘I am coming with you. You’ll not be stopping me, Cleo. I owe you this.’ Tybarr shot back. He was not going to back down.

‘Hm,’ Cleomenes said, nodding his leonine head. ‘Very well.’

Behind them, an archaic vessel; long, sleek and turreted, was powering up. 

Cleomenes lowered his cross-crested helm over his head, bathing his vision in darkness for an instant. He locked his Chainsword to his back, hilt poking over his left pauldron for an easy draw. His Boltpistol clanged to his thigh, and he was in the hold of the ship, the quartet of men following closely behind him.

‘Get in my way,’ Cleomenes said, his tone severe. ‘And I will not be held responsible.’

‘Aren’t we all entitled to glory, Space Marine?’ Mardonius chirped, eyes flashing mischievously. 

‘Glory is earned,’ Cleomenes said, turning his helm towards the gregarious youth. ‘Death is given.’

‘Death is so.. Mundane, though.’ 

The Space Marine snorted.

‘It matters not. Every life is different,’ His finger hovered over the trigger of his mag-locked sidearm. ‘Mortals all die the same; pitifully, messily, screaming for their matrons. Do not debate with me, boy. This is my world. This is my vengeance. Your boldness will only earn you an early death. Stay behind me, and you shall see the next dawn.’

Mardonius slumped. Tybarr chuckled wetly. 

This would be a long day.


----------



## William Siegfried

Spurius just sat in his place within the thunder hawk as his brothers continued to argue and bicker over the three fools. Spurius smirked and shook his head gently as he gently folded his hands together. He had already said his words about the three he did not have to say anymore, nor did he need to join his brothers in the argument that continued. To much pride was a curse, and the death of their homeworld was proof of that. He knew it all to well, more so as the faces of his fallen brothers still haunted his memories and dreams. Spurius slowly sat up and looked once more towards his arguing brothers before tracing his right hand to his blade that remained at his side. He gripped the hilt of the blade, and smiled gently. _"Hmm... its going to feel good slaying the xeno's and pirates that plague my home."_ Spurius mumbled softly as he returned his hand once again to his his other. Shortly after he heard Kain bark the orders to drop the argument. Spurius looked at him for a moment his smile still across his face which was hidden by his black helm. "I agree.. Right now we should be focusing our rage and hate towards those who plague our world rather than upon each other. No?" Spurius said aloud as he relaxed some in his place. 

He was not sure how his brother's would reply to his words, but at the same time he did not care, he was more focused on slaying pirates and Xeno's rather than bickering with his Battle-Brothers.


----------



## unxpekted22

Niko, Kain, Spurius, Vermaas, Raxan, Raziel, Zeiran, Hexor, Izrael, Solaki:

Any further comments wished to be made are interrupted or cut off by the numbing rumble of the thunderhawk's assault canons bursting to life outside the hull. Techmarine Laikus's handiwork surely doing well in clearing a landing zone.

All of you instinctively make sure your suits of power armor are fully sealed, due to the fact the planet no longer has an atmosphere. You all feel the Thunderhawk leveling itself, floating just above the ground preparing to drop off its lethal cargo. The ramp bursts to life, a bright slit letting the light shine through the interior, kindly reflecting off your brothers' eye lenses as everyone stares out eager to see their homeworld... and exactly what kind of thieves now crawl upon it.

The edge of the ramp touches down, releasing a meager cloud of dirt from the ground. Sergeant Kain rises from the back to exit first, the cold stone mountain that is Brother Raxan falling in beside him. The eager Spurius sitting at the fore exits next, Raziel beside him; the insignia of the Deathwatch upon his shoulder pauldron catching the sunlight and gleaming in a dull, somber manner.

The rest of you follow suit, Izrael and Hexor being the final two to exit. Despite no atmosphere, your power armor's boots keep you stable upon the ground. You can all walk as normal, not having to think twice about it.

You feel a thunderous vibration in your feet as Solaki is dropped off next.

You all stare into a wasteland, the broken walls of the Fortress Monastery rising high, but no longer proud, only a short distance away. To no one's surprise, the Tyranids hadn't been too interested in the rock and metal bones of the structure. You seem to be on the old landing fields, where the scavengers' half-full cargo ships still sit in waiting. Metal crates and barrels litter the area, along with all sorts of machinery. Tracks, equipment and lines of cables trail all the way back to the broken sections and main entrance of the fortress monastery revealing the scavengers have likely been here working on this for quite some time. 

Several of the metal containers lay open, many of which reveal large shells you are familiar enough with to recognize as various bolter rounds right away. Most likely, this means the scavengers have located the Monastery's underground armory. What may infuriate you even more, is spotting several pieces from sacred relics and pieces of chapter history still intact enough for the scavengers to sell.

Bodies...float in front of you, all in dull white space suits with small red and yellow markings on the chest and shoulders. On the next landing platform over, the elegantly armored form of a warrior bearing the colors of your chapter fights alongside four smaller allies. Flashes of weapon fire blink in and out, but no sound can be heard through the voided air. 

Vermaas reaches out with a free hand, his black gauntlet gripping onto the ruffled suit of the closest corpse and pulling it near, Zeiran seeing this does the same. Space helms are ripped away and reveal one to be a tau, and the other a human. Rifles float near them, las-guns, auto-guns, pulse rifles and pule carbines. Rogue humans and tau working together as grave robbers..._disgusting_.

All of you almost flinch, snapping your heads ahead of you as a huge beam of light flashes over your heads and crashes into a group of the enemy firing at Cleomenes' squad behind their machinery. You see a cloudy mist dance upon your armor covering it in a wet, speckled film....las-cannon coolant.

Whether Solaki's shot was intentional or not, it seems to have made a solid hit and catches the eyes of Cleomenes' and his group. 

You make haste to join Cleomenes, fighting fierce in his beautiful suit of ambassador styled power armor. When you join him, you join him in slaying these tau and human pirates. Mainly they will be firing from cover. There are many of them but they are poorly trained and using the weapons described above which dont work so well at breaking Astartes power-armor. Kill them from range, or close the gap, break their cover and slay them hand to hand, your choice. You may _each_ kill about a dozen thieves, but it doesn't _have_ to be that many. What will make them a bit more difficult than normal is that they will be using the lack of gravity to their advantage (leaping bounds instead of running, and jumping high) not too mention you all might be a little rusty... All of these things apply to you as well Solaki. Overall though, these are easy targets and I dont really expect anyone to get hurt too badly, yet. I will let you know if I want you to change something, of course. 

You do not all have to talk to Cleomenes, but which of you do? It is up to you and it is up to you what you say to him. Do you describe what has happened for him or decide it should wait for when you return to the battle barge? Remember which of you I said have met him before and which of you have not.

Cleomenes:

Read the update for everyone else. Then, describe things from your point of view. You will of course have started killing these fools before your fellow Scythes arrive, so explain this and how your comrades fight alongside you. You will see a great blast of energy kill a group of the Scavengers firing from cover. You will look to the next landing pad over and see a Thunderhawk among the pirate cargo ships, a versatile-looking group of nine Scythes of the Emperor marines moving in to join you, and a dreadnought walker towering behind them. When they get to you, do you talk first, or do they? Which do you recognize? This of course will be affected by who posts when.




And with this update, you all have another two weeks to get your posts in.


----------



## BlackGuard

The thundering of the Thunderhawk's autocannons stirred Vermaas from his silent prayers as he knew that war was coming yet again, like a decree from the God-Emperor himself there was yet another chance to wash the doubt and impurity from the minds of him and his brothers. Only the cruelty of battle and cleanliness of combat could achieve these things, he knew them to be absolutely true. He scanned his eyes across the interior of the bird of war and took in the sight of his brothers once again. His chest stirred with pride again for he knew he stood in the company of purity, of Astartes with certain purpose. Some of them were loose cannons of sorts but considering his chapter's harsh past if all they maintained was a few loose cannons after Astelan's treason than they'd be fine.

Vermaas began to run through a series of checks and double-checks on a number of systems in his armor, though his seals were of the most constant concern. If they were not properly maintained then the moment he was exposed to the void of Sotha he would perish. He went ahead and checked his armor oxygen recycle units, his power-pack on his back's status, and the power armor's other vital systems. All of them checked in the green and he was pleased. The Thunderhawk set down with little in the way of turmoil and even as the hissing sounds of exposure to void came rushing in, Vermaas tightened his grip on his bolter. A flashback of claws and needle-filled mouths the screaming of a thousand thousand filthy xeno as they craved for his flesh came rushing back into his mind. His mind's eye replayed the scenario a dozen time over in his mind as the drop-ships ramp lowered to the ground and Sergeant Kain began to exit. 

He wasn't the second one out, nor the last one, in fact he was right after Brother Raziel. As he filed out behind his brother his eyes flickered over the Deathwatch pauldron which he wore and a tight smile formed across his face. Raziel had obviously seen things far worse than that of the vile Tyranid -- he took confort in that knowledge that he had yet to see every dreadful terror the galaxy could manifest. His power-assisted boots struck the ground of his homeworld yet again the first time in so many, many moons. Last time though it was not this barren nor this unkind. His eyes scanned across the fate of Sotha and if he could feel sorrow he was sure he would feel it now. In the distance he saw the iron-skeleton of the former Chapter Monastery looming oh so much like a tombstone just waiting for the final words of his chapter's fate to be scribbed across there -- to stand as testament of the failure of the Emperor's chosen and the cruelty of the galaxy until the end of all things.

He cleared his mind of such nonsense as soon as he realised how deeply he was considering them. He repated the Catchism of the Xeno to himself over and over to calm himself and focus his mind. There were far more pressing concerns than the fate of his chapter at the moment nor was it his place to contemplate the fate of anything -- his was to serve and serve he would. He barley registered the fighting in the distance as he saw the floating forms in crude white atmospheric gear floating in front of him. Their red and yellow insignia was unknown to him and his curiosity was qued by it. He reached out a massive gaunlet and grabbed the first body pulling it closer to him, he mag-locked his bolter for a moment before using his free hand to rip off the helm. 

He recoiled in disgust and pushed the floating corpse away ... its green skin and utterly alien features were disgusting beyond mention. The words rolled off his tongue over the squad vox, the hatred dripping from every sylable, 

'Xenos ...'

His eyes flickered over to Brother Zeiran who appears to have pulled the helm off another corpse to find that it is human. The revolusion in his stomach grows all the more as he realizes it is a human. Brother Vermaa's eyes trail over for a moment as he realizes to his embarassment that there is a large number of equipment and supplies scattered about the area and he realizes the majority of it was taken from the underground armory. Before his rage can kick in he sees a number of banners laying inside of stasis containers -- banners of glory and achievements long since put to rest in the chapters halls and vaults of relics. These humans were helping the Tau xenos steal relics from what amounted as their greatest champions. His eyes flickered over to the human corpse Brother Zeiran had grabbed and his rage turned to fury.

'We stand between them an annihilation!,' he growled, not realizing he was speaking over the vox, 'This is their appreciation for our sacrifices? To plunder the depths of what amounts as our tomb? With the help of the wretched Tau no less? Emperor-damn these heretics!'

He next words are caught off as everything goes bright for a second his helm's auto-darkening reflect sparring him from the vast majority of the light. Las-cannon coolant plays across his armor like the mist of an incoming rain-storm but it does nothing to quench the fire burning within his breast. As the rest of the squad moves towards Cleomenes he falls in behind them his mind racing with what to do about this injustice. The Scythes move with all due haste as the battle ahead only grows in intensity. As he approaches the fire-fight is rage overtakes him.

'Brothers, this cannot stand,' he says over the vox coldly, 'Kill the alien! Burn the unclean!'

With that, as soon as the squads reaches Cleomenes he doesn't even speak to the warrior in ambassador-styled armor -- he charges directly towards the enemy clearing the distance between he and they relatively quickly. Las-bolts peppered his armor but they are as useless as primitive slug-throwers while pulse carbines occasionally wash across his pauldrons or breastplate scratching the paint. Some of the xenos begin to move back -- like the Tau he thought as his implanted psycho-indoctrination training told him that they perferred ranged combat. Their human cohorts were not necessarily as driven to fall back so much as reel in terror.

He was upon them in a moment. His chainsword swinging out in a vicious ark killing two thieves in less then a second. He reached out with his gauntlet to grab the next one only watch as he jumped backwards using Soth'a lack of gravity to make his retreat all the easier. A pulse-round splashed across his left pauldron before he could react, following by what amounted to a volley from a handful of thieves in front of him. He stumbled back for just a moment. 

He regained his composure and rapidly pulled out his bolt pistol, 'Your petty heretical arcane-techno will not save your xeno-tainted souls mortals.' He snapped off two rounds completely shredding the thief to his left with the pulse rifle, he dashed forward using his gene-forged speed to again close the distance with the foes in front of him. One of them died instantly to decapitation while the other managed to get a single shot off, it had little effect, before he too died from a vicious slash across his chest. The other foes scrammbled away, although one was unfortunately slow then the others. It attempted to jump away before Vermaas reached out like a lightening bolt and grabbed it by the neck.

He was no expert on the Tau phycial condition by any stretch of the imagination -- but he had sure held more than his fair share of mortal necks in his life and he knew without a doubt that his armored finger wrapped around the neck of one of these filthy abominations. His sense picked up that he had no since been joined by his brothers whom were killing and rending in the Emperor's name. His attention though, in the maelstrom of combat was fixated upon the xeno whom he held absolutely despite its attempts to get away. The xeno tried to raise its pulse rifle only for Vermaas' chainsword to knock it from is hands. 

'Haven't your cousins done enough?' he roared, though he knew the xeno could not hear him. His mind raced between cruelty and efficient killing -- he could crack the tinest hole in the xeno's visor and allow the void to slowly strangle him as was befitting of his kind. The thoughts waged a small war in his mind before he finger tightened and the xenos spine turned to splinters. He tossed the alien away and did not watch as it floated with the rest of its dead.


----------



## Serpion5

*Zeiran*

With the argument thankfully quelled for the time being, Zeiran reached up to ensure all of the seals on his armour were secure. The roar of the guns rocking the vessel had seen that all of them made ready to fight, and even now they were preparing to leave the thunderhawk and face whatever awaited them. 

Zeiran exited alongside the others without a word, not wishing to provoke further tension so soon after he had essentially told Raxan to shut up. He kept alert and within easy visual range as the group of astartes fanned out. The lack of atmosphere and disrupted magnetic fields of the dead world made for an eerily silent landscape before them. A rumble in the ground told Zeiran that the dreadnought Solaki was dropped off nearby. 

He followed the others as they turned to where the empty husk of the Fortress Monastery still stood. If he were to judge, they were on the old landing field, and the vessels being utilized by the scavengers they had come to eliminate were still visible a short distance ahead. Several corpses floated by in the depreciated gravity of the dead planet and Vermaas reached out to ensnare one in his gauntleted fist. The suit was alien in design and as his brother removed the helmet of the suit, its wearer was revealed to be one of the alien tau. 

*'Xenos...'* Vermaas spat.

Zeiran likewise pulled one of these corpses closer to himself and removed its helmet as well. To his shock however, this suit was not worn by tau, it was worn by a human... 

*'We stand between them an annihilation!'* Vermaas snarled at the sight. *'This is their appreciation for our sacrifices? To plunder the depths of what amounts as our tomb? With the help of the wretched Tau no less? Emperor-damn these heretics!'*

'I could not agree more.' Zeiran replied, throwing the corpse to the ground where the exposed head impacted heavily before the atmospheric pressure within the suit gave out and the head exploded soundlessly. Stepping through the spreading puddle of gore and bone fragments, Zeiran followed a sudden flash of light to where their objective could now be seen. 

The squad fell into formation and began to advance. Cleomenes was pinned down by a group of the foe, tau and traitor human alike seeking to plunder what was in essence the relics of a chapter on the edge of death. 

Zeiran was rarely given to bouts of pure anger, but what he felt now was something he could describe no other way. It washed any regret he may have had clear from his mind. No longer did he care for his supposed disobedience, all that mattered now was the elimination of these wretches and their cursed xenos employers. They fired upon Cleomenes and the newly arrived astartes from cover, their puny weapons doing little to seriously threaten the Scythes and their allies. Throughout it all there was no sound, the lack of atmosphere making everything silent but for the cries of his Battle Brothers over the vox. 

Despite his anger, he was not compelled to join them in their roars of hate. Instead he simply positioned himself shortly before where Cleomenes stood, where he could offer slightly more protection to the ambassador if need be. From here he stood resolute and opened fire on the enemy without remorse or reserve. It mattered nothing to him that he fired upon humans, they had cast aside their duty to the Empeor and as such were no better than their new xenos enslavers. He picked them off one by one with precise fire as they emerged from cover to take their own shots. 

Only after three successive shots had missed the same target did Zeiran's temper finally get the better of him. He clicked his bolter onto full auto and emptied the remainder of the clip into the ruined section of rockcrete the enemy was sheltered behind. When the dust from the barrage cleared only a bloody crater remained. Small arms fire pattered from his armour, leaving superficial scorch marks as he reloaded a fresh magazine and took aim again. 

Only now did he feel it necessary to break his silence again. 

'Disobedience is one thing, but I will not shame our fallen brothers further by my failure.'


----------



## Deus Mortis

The ground underneath Solaki shook as dropped from the thunderhawk. A small cloud of asteroid dust puffed up around his feet and hung there for a moment. For a moment nobody moved. Everybody was held in suspense, like the cloud around his feet. Solaki saw a ghostly after image, like a flash of light in his retina. The image of Sotha as it once had been was superimposed on the true image. The tattered spires that were once the fortress monastery still stood proud and noble as they had been. The ground was still covered with pavement and scattered patches of fauna. The atmosphere above was still a glistening oceanic blue. Everything was as it was, and in some forgotten recess of his mind, Solaki heard the wind blow and people laughing.

But no more. Now these filthy grave-robbers were defiling his home, or what had been his home. All around him lay containers. Some were open, some weren’t. Those that were made Solaki anger flare even brighter still. Bolter rounds from what remained of the underground armoury. The armoury he had defended what felt like eons ago. He had stalled the tyranids advance, and yet these heathen had defiled it. Their bodies floated in front of them and Vermaas and Zeiran grabbed them. They tore off the face plates, and a word rang through the vox. It was laced with venom. _“Xenos”_ Solaki noticed it to. These humans were even more despicable. His anger had cooled and solidified into something more, but also less. These humans were unworthy of his hate and so could not keep it running as a molten river. Instead, he would annihilate them and would feel nothing for doing it. No release, no satisfaction. It would be simply an act and it would mean nothing at all.

Solaki’s internal targeting system showed something to him. There were mussel flares and laser pulses from the distance. Solaki zoomed in, and saw that it was Cleomenes and several humans under-fire from these disgusting xeno-human amalgamations. There was a squad moving up to flank the noble marine and his cohort. Solaki adjusted the aim of his weapon slightly. Then, an electrical impulse that originated Solaki’s brain, travelled down his spine, through the MIU and left the barrel of the lascannon bolted to his shoulder with the force of a thousand sons. The beam of high energy photons tore through empty space at the speed of light and crashed into the approaching squad. The twin lances speared two men, and vapourised another’s arm. The group saw the shot as their armour misted over with coolant vapour. Cleomenes noticed it too as Squad Kain moved to reach their brother.

As they moved, Solaki’s arm spat death at those who remained from his first volley. One evaporated from a direct hit from the lascannon. The second took three bolt rounds that formed a diagonal line from his hip to his shoulder. Six other bolts went wide, but Solaki’s aim was largely helped by the targeting system built into his new body. There was another squad moving towards them and had taken cover behind a fallen rockrete barrier. There were eight of them, and from the slight variations in height, he guessed three were xenos and the rest were humans, although he no longer counted them among the species he defended from the growing darkness. Solaki marched forward, every step sending a shudder through the earth. His lascannon tore a hole in the middle and sent hair-line fractures spiralling out from the hole. A thief stood up to take a shot, before noticing his impending doom. As he tried to duck back down to the relative safety of cover, storm bolter shells tore through his chest and sent bits of him flying into space and his squad-mates.

Solaki’s pace was slow and his arms unleashed salvos of death against his foes. Rockrete flew in large splinters from where bolts impacted against the barrier, and the lascannon bored great holes in it. At least once, the beam of burning energy had torn through a heretic, and Solaki suspected another was incapacitated. Occasionally the thieves would take pot-shot’s against him, but his thick adimantium hide shielded him from any harm. No weapons these bastards possessed could even dent his armour. Pulses and high calibre weaponry merely marred the paint-word of his body. Still Solaki grew closer and his foes would soon meet their end. Another stood up to take a shot. Solaki pondered as he blew him apart with another laser beam; what did he hope to accomplish? He must have seen his comrades die, and knew that there was no way his single shot could make a difference. What would possibly lead him to believe that his action could stall their impending doom? Perhaps it was simply the air of Sotha. Something infused within the planet itself that made those who fought on it prone to bouts of heroism, futile or otherwise. Perhaps, but this one’s sacrifice was not noble as his brother’s had been. His was for xenos lives and the twisted ideals of weak men, not for the good of the Imperium.

Finally, Solaki was upon them. He had lowered their number to five, and it was about to decrease further still. As he stepped over the barrier, his foot ground a tau warrior to dust underneath his weight. His fist swung out in a gangly motion, but with the force of a hammer-blow from the gods. It hit another warrior in the chest and tore him in half without even slowing. It continued until it met the rockrete barrier and shattered it into fist sized shards. Several flew toward a third warrior. He tried to jump away but two pierced his suit; one around his groin and the other in his lower left leg. The blood from the wounds was sucked out into space, and he started to suffocate. Solaki spared him the long agonising death by grabbing him out of the air and crushing him with a display of brute force. He then hurled the remains at the two remaining warriors to his right. The first jumped and missed the gory projectile, but the second one’s legs were caught by it as he jumped leading to him simply spiralling upwards with no real direction at all. The first only realised his mistake in jumping after he had done it; he was now in open space with nothing to push off from and an easy target for the metal behemoth in front of him. He stared into the black abyss of the lascannon barrels even as they powered up and, a fraction of a second later, disintegrated his flesh. The last still spiralling was killed with a curt bolt round. 

All the while, Solaki felt nothing, just as he had expected. Their bodies being torn apart gave him no satisfaction; their silent screams were no longer music to him. These were weak foes, not worthy of him enjoying killing. After the fierce fighting on Ferim, where there had been so much blood and emotions mingling, this battle seemed hollow, empty. Just like the remnants of the world it was being fought on. Solaki realised he hoped this was over quickly. He didn’t like shedding yet more blood on Sotha. She had already seen too much and the pathetic worms were not worth tarnishing his lasting memory of the beautiful Sotha he had known. So Solaki stepped back over the crumpled barrier and turned his attention back to the remaining maggots his brothers were dealing swift vengeance to. If they hadn’t already…


----------



## dark angel

The stealth-ship was silent. Cleomenes stood, impassively, at one of the few viewports - Staring out into the silky void; empurpled lips pulled back into a contemplative grimace. Beneath his helm, he was an automaton; lifeless and unmoving, towering over his four companions, who stroked trinkets, lubricated breaches and swirled blades. Tybarr sat with his eyes sealed, breathing heavily, mouth opening and closing in a wordless prayer.

Two of the rogue trader’s cruisers, the Sword Dance and Iron Duchess, were angling towards the distant fleet, engines flaring wildly - Their crews sent into maddening, depraved blood-lust on the prospect of combat - Massive, city-smashing turrets turning towards the orbiting vessels.

The brown-grey curve of Sotha was growing inexorably; slowly enveloping the ships, until all that remained was a stretching, lonely landscape. Even from orbit, Sotha was terribly scarred - Monstrous craters, gouges and abysses dotting the surface, as though she had been gored by a boar. 

‘This is not my world,’ Cleomenes snarled inwardly, remembering the verdant forests, expansive fields and shining oceans. ‘This is not Sotha.’

Gauntlets, huge and unbreakable, balled into fists. Ctesias coughed respectively, behind him, drawing the Space Marine’s head around in a regretful glance.

‘My world, Medea,’ Said the satrap, fingering his beard, head tilted to the side. ‘Died, also. Burned. My wife and children, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles - All ashes, now.’ A faint, sad smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘And I was not there, it hurts, eh? A kaleidoscope of emotions are running through you at the moment - Hate, anger, guilt, perhaps even a pinch of awe, - Master them, before they devour you, Space Marine. Or else you’ll turn into an old, grumpy bastard like myself; and that’s not a pleasurable living. Hah!’

Artaphernes guffawed. ‘As much as it pains me to admit it, Ctesias is correct.’ He leaned back, soot-dark eyebrows coming together in a frown, and sighed. 

Despite himself, Cleomenes smirked at the camaraderie. He gave a nod of his consecrated helm, no words escaping his mouth-grille, his fists unravelling into hands. The Space Marine placed a hand on Ctesias’ shoulder, squeezed gently, and moved off towards the access hatch. 

The stealth-ship was angling further down, hyper-reflective hull-plates and heating pads activating to mask the ship’s signature. She would arrive unopposed, gifting the five companions an opportunity to observe and learn. 

‘Helms on.’ Cleomenes said, flatly. Crowned, shining helmets went down onto armoured necks - Their eyes becoming darkened, hateful pits. In their gilded void-suits, the four were lifeless, faceless automatons. Had Cleomenes been a mortal, he mused with a thin smile, he would piss himself at the sight.

The Space Marine flicked a hand over the hatch release, and with a pop, it lowered. There was a rush of displaced air, rippling the cloaks of the rogue trader’s entourage as it was sucked from the hold, before it stilled. Sotha was unnaturally flat - The mountains gone, the horizon a heat-blanketed blur; featureless and barren.

Cleomenes was trudging down the ramp before the ship had landed. The engines kicked up a layer of silver-speckled dust, twinkling prettily in the light, enshrouding the God-man for a moment. 

A stab of hope filled his twinned-hearts, when he noticed a structure nearby. It rose from the ground, towers twisted like broken fingers, walks leaning heavily on one-another. Windows had been shattered inwards; the stained glass coating the ground for miles around, poking here and there, erratically. Large transports were landed, suspended from the ground by huge, taloned feet. Figures worked in the shadows - Bringing crates marked with the crossed scythe’s of Cleomenes chapter from the ruined fortress-monastery; loading them onto the ships. 

The Space Marine started towards them instantly, lips peeled back in a rumbling, sonorous growl. 

‘Where are you going?’ Mardonius demanded impetuously, stroking the gem-encrusted hilt of his falcata. 

‘Rules of war, boy. I shall give them my terms.’

‘Terms? You offer these brigands terms?’ Mardonius spat, his voice bubbling over the vox. 

‘Of course,’ Cleomenes returned, humorously, drawing nearer to the closest of the workers. ‘I am willing to give them the chance to die quickly.’

One of the scavengers turned towards the encroaching group, and instinctively, reached for a snub-nosed sidearm. Ctesias was upon him instantly; a dagger flashing in the star-light, and both went down in a tangle of limbs. He stabbed, once, twice, thrice; blood erupting from the ruptured void-suit. Despite his girth and ill-humour, Ctesias was an expert killer.

The other mortals each chose a target; hacking and slashing, splitting throats and impaling hearts. 

‘Cleomenes,’ Tybarr said, his hands flecked with gore. ‘Look,’ He held one of the scavengers in his hand, face-plated caved inwards. One of the man’s eyes were gone, the cheek deflated lifelessly, lips swollen. It was Xenos - Tau. Cleomenes had butchered them before, on a dozen worlds, wrestling with their battle-suits and avian allies, the Kroot. ‘These are not organized. Pirates. I hate pirates.’

The Scythe of the Emperor chuckled at that, a deep, happy sound from within his chest. ‘I will not sully my blade on these dregs,’ He announced, clapping his gauntlets together. ‘They are undeserving of Othello’s wrath.’

They stalked through the corridors of cases and scrap quietly; Cleomenes leading the way, killing fastidiously - Snapping necks, yanking limbs free of their sockets, pulverizing organs with well-aimed punches - Moving with a dexterous grace, feline-like, despite his bulk. 

Ahead, the corridors abated; opening up into a circular area.

Standing in the clearing, towering over even the over-man Cleomenes, was a sentinel. Manipulator talons, huge and potent, opened and closed in the Space Marine’s direction. Beneath a canopy of ocean-blue plexi-glass, the rider grinned toothlessly. 

‘The poultry wants to dance,’ Cleomenes declared sardonically, advancing on the machine, which pivoted left, claws snapping impatiently. ‘I shall bless it.’

‘You will die.’ Mardonius chirped, ever the cynic, watching the Space Marine as he broke into a run.

‘Doubtful.’ Was the simple reply, matter-of-factly, as he dove. He rolled, beneath the pincers; one leg spearing out, connecting with one of the sentinel’s ankles. Pistons snapped, fluid spurting from ruptured fuel lines, and it stumbled. 

A claw swung towards him; and Cleomenes launched upwards, landing on the arm, before leaping away once more. He landed on the chassis, pulling back a hand; and punched. There was a vibration, but nonetheless, the armoured glass held. The Space Marine dangled, fingers clinging onto their handholds, helm locked on the figure within.

The rider grinned once again, and beneath his reflective goggles, eyes shone triumphantly. And then, they faded, as he noticed his naivety - A spider-web of cracks slowly spreading across the sentinel’s front; his mouth falling open. The canopy exploded outwards, tearing the man free of his restraints, choking on his own blood as he drifted away.

It keeled over, and Cleomenes was enshrouded.

Tybarr and his satraps darted forwards; concern writ on their faces.

‘I told ‘im so,’ Mardonius sneered, shaking his crowned helmet. ‘I told him!’

A huge, sky-blue hand grasped the satrap’s shoulder. From the curtain of dust, Cleomenes emerged.

‘I shall know no defeat.’ 

***

Rounds streaked over head, scintillating blue or sparkling crimson, a mixture of human and alien weaponry. 

Ctesias was down in the dust, snarling, winded by a punch. Mardonius and Artaphernes stood over him; dropping opponents with brilliantly-aimed shots, while Tybarr and Cleomenes stood apart - Unleashing the odd spurt of fire, the Space Marine on his knees, singing an ancient lament. 

‘Sally forth, and we can crush them.’ Tybarr was urging, desperate to get from this Emperor-forsaken world. ‘Cleo, your brothers are gone. Whatever happened here..’

A huge, crushing fist gripped the back of Tybarr’s neck and brought him in close.

‘You are welcome to leave,’ Cleomenes’ voice was a harsh, rasping whisper. ‘Let them taste their victory - Death is a far more bitter wine.’

He stood, releasing his companion.

‘I meant no disresp-’ Tybarr offered, though Cleomenes cut him off with a wave of his palm. 

‘I know. Never apologise, Tybarr. Merely say it louder the next time.’ You could hear the smile, as he plucked one of the Tau from his feet - Head and chest disintegrating with a muted explosion. 

And then, with a flash of beautiful light, a group of the piratical curs were rendered into slag. Cleomenes helm snapped sidewards, and his mouth hung loose for a moment.

Regaled poorly; scratches, burns and abrasions marked out clearly on their armour, were a group of Space Marines. Amidst their group, towering over them, was a monolithic Dreadnought, a las-cannon glowing on one arm.

‘Othello..’ He whispered, tears brimming on his lids, before shaking his head clear. ‘No, not Othello. Someone else.’

He recognised one of the figure’s stances, Raxan he believed, a distant memory- But he was not going to call out and find himself mistaken. The Marines flooded around him, opening fire; butchering Tau and human alike, with careless abandon.

‘Scythes of the Emperor,’ Cleomenes growled, slumping back onto his knees. He used his Chapter's name callously, unsure of what to make of these rag-tag Space Marines. ‘Identify yourselves.’

And after a moment, his voice issued stronger over the vox - ‘_Now_.’


----------



## Midge913

Raxan smiled beneath his helm and shook his head in resignation. These young pups, barely off their mother's teat, bandied insults and claimed that they deserved glory and honor. The did not see that their disobediance, their failure to pay heed to their lords commands, robbed them of any of either that they should find on Sotha's dead surface. Kain's words were short and to the point, ordering the assembled squad to silence on the subject. Raxan had no desire or reason to disobey his friend and sergeant's command. He had said his piece regarding the younglings presence and their attempts to get a rise out of him fruitless. He felt little sting from their barbs. His weight of experience, his knowledge of youth, and the dead surface of his beloved home were more than enough to still his thoughts and focus his mind. All that said he did smile once more as Kain silently dressed Brother Izrael down, all his words but the last drowned out by the steady roar of the thunderhawk's engines. 

As the craft's assault cannons barked to life, it seemed as each brother aboard put their squabble behind them. The sound of weaponfire reminding them why they approached Sotha, the sound of the guns bringing their duty to the fore. Instinctively Raxan manually checked the seals on his armor, confirming what his HUD told him. Swaying with the movement of the Thunderhawk, Raxan stood, moving his way to the back, his Bolter held ready. With a nod from Kain he activated the ramp lever, the hiss of atmosphere rushing out around them as the interior of the thunderhawk was exposed to the vacuum of space. Raxan followed Kain, stepping off the ramp with a quiet thud. Falling instictively to Kain's right side, a slight step behind him he moved forward with the squad, Bolter up and ready, eyes scanning the surrounding terrain for threats. 

As his gaze took in the scarred surface of his homeworld, the broken walls of the great Fortress Monastary that had served the chapter for centuries, his breath caught in his throat. Nothing remained. The twisted steel skeleton of the Monastary all that stood as a testament to the Chapter's noble history. His blood began to boil as he took in the crates and machinery, all bearing the mark of the Scythes, that had been removed from his blessed home. The fact that these heretics and theives had defiled the last resting place of so many of his brethren bringing ire like he had not known since the fall of Sotha itself. He would bring death to them, whoever or whatever they be. 

Floating amongst the crates, slain by some yet unknown force, were several bodies and as his brothers investigated, finding the vile Tau and their human allies, Raxan began to quiver with rage. His muscles convulsion almost uncontrollably beneath his armor as he struggled to fight the desire to dash madly forward, slaying all that he came across, avenging the desecration of his home with every round from his Bolter and every swipe of his chainsword. A blinding flash of light, followed by the heavy stomping feet of Brother Solaki brought him back from the brink. The misting spray of the Dreadnaughts lascannon coolant melting into the black of his armor. 

As his gaze snapped in the direction that Solaki's shot flew, he saw a group of men, one standing tall among them, engaged with the enemy. The tallest, a Marine adorned in the colors of Scythes, bringing death to all who came against him, the four smaller men, fighting with him in concert in such a way that immediately told Raxan that they had done so many times over many years. Raxan felt the urge to join them in battle, a feeling obviously shared by his squad as they surged forward, Bolters ringing.

He brought his own weapon up and snapped off several shots, each finding their mark, foes dying every time his finger stroked the trigger. Raxan watched as several of his companions rushed forward to engage the desecrators in close combat. He concentrated his fire on foes that attempted to flank his sword wielding brethren.

A voice, cutting across the vox drew his attention back to the Marine who could be no other than Cleomenes, as he demanded to know who they were. Confused, wondering who else they could be wearing the revered colors of the Scythes. Then it dawned on him, Cleomenes did not know what had transpired on Sotha. He had been far beyond the reaches of Imperial space. He could only imagine the crushing reality that his friend and brother must be feeling. 

"Cleomenes, brother, it is Raxan." Raising his bolter, he fired, slaying the foe that had been rushing Cleomenes from behind, "Welcome home my friend." He said rushing forward, hand outstretched to help his brother to his feet. "There is much to tell you, but first to business."


----------



## Lord Ramo

Kain turned away and moved to the front of the gunship as its assault cannon barked into life, obviously spraying and supressing the area where they would be dropped off. Kain waited patiently, the rest of the squad were silent, whatever they thought about the matter would stay quiet. Kain waited until the assault craft was ready before nodding at Raxan to open the ramp.

He stepped down quickly, bolter held in his hands, chainsword at his side as he moved towards the sounds of gunfire and battle, stopping only for the rest of the squad. It appeared that they were fighting Tau and human scavengers, damn xenos once again invaded their realm. They would be purged. 

Kain watched as Solakia fired a beam from his lascannon at a group of tau and humans fighting some friendly forces up ahead. Kain could see clearly the reason he was down here in the first place, Cleomenes. Immediately the squad surged forward, most of his brothers firing their bolters before leaping in chainswords blazing as they took their frustration out on the tau and humans in front of them.

Kain stayed back, bolter ready spotting a group of three Tau and two humans trying to hit their flank. He fired controlled shots, blowing the limbs off of two of the Tau and claiming a headshot before the remaining two got into cover. He primed a frag and tossed it behind their cover, watching them scramble before they were blown apart by the grenade. 

He moved closer to the Rogue traders group now, Raxan going over to Cleomenes. Kain was glad he had the veteran with him, it may make it easier for Cleomenes to accept what happened if he heard it from someone he had once known. For now he was content with staying silent, picking off any that he could._* "Brothers our objective is brother Cleomenes. Do not stray too far ahead!"*_ He warned down the vox as he fired a burst into three humans tearing them to shreds. His blood boiled, and this was a slaughter.


----------



## deathbringer

Kain bit back, barely controlled anger like a clap of thunder beneath the sermon of false words and poorly ascertained assumptions. Ignorant, he thought Izrael sought glory upon the husk below them.

How wrong he was, how little he knew, he longed for atonement, for completion, to remove the weight of failure from his shoulders allowing him to stand straight head held high, the honors he had earned no longer tainted by that original failure.

It was haunting, the ghost of a long dead veteran, of an oath that dwelt in the darkest depths his nightmares, consumed his emotions and left him shivering and empty amongst bitterness and hate. Kain moved closer, spite resounding in his words, an attempt to conquer his own failures by snapping at Izrael's

"If one of them had lived and we did not have need for more marines do you truly think you would have been raised?"

Izrael was laughing, the slightest chuckle oozing quietly from his helmets vox speakers, cast upon the wind for Kain's ears only. The chaplains had not been able to keep him in line because his will had been stronger, his purpose, a consuming need to find an honourable death, to end the misery of his shameful existence.

Words trickled from his lips unbidden a low his, drowned by the roar of the thunderhawks engines, a lilting quip sliding from his tongue even as the sergeant moved away

"Oh brother sergeant, you cannot hate me more than I hate myself, just as I can't doubt you more than you doubt yourself."

He spoke of the need for a chaplain in these troubled times, yet even as he spoke of fealty to their lord, he cast doubt upon him and Izrael gave a chuckle again, his words a low hiss once again for Kain's ears only

"So you do not believe lord sotha can impose discipline upon 3 pups. Interesting."

The matter was closed yet he baited Izrael with a talk of a spar with the poodle. All things considered he agreed with the sergeant, he would probably loose. He lost over 3 centuries on the elder. He studied the elders physique, his posture, searching for weakness in his stocky frame, no doubt his wounds had healed, though who knew what rust crept upon the hard bars of his muscle since his injury, who knew what was possible in these troubled times.

Either way he would rattle the cage of his psychi, do his best to stretch the elder's limits, it would be good to see what he could do against a veteran. His eyes bored into Raxan's yet the elder's thoughts seemed troubled by other matters, dismissive of his biting words, calm and unfettered, the product of centuries.

So long he had been chastised for his wildness, to see the flames of his rage against the cold steel of discipline would be a damning indictment to his skill, perhaps a lesson in discipline the chaplains had never taught.

"If he would fight me, I will step into the cage with your poodle yet to go into battle expecting defeat is to surrender not fight."
____________________________________________________

They stood upon a husk, an empty shell of a world, scattered fragments of their homeworld lay around him, the pilferings of rogues and scoundrels. Hatred bit deep , anger rising from him fanning the flames of his loathing, he was incandescent, his body unable to move, stalled by purest rage as he looked out over the grave yard of his chapter, scattered remains of smaller figures floated before them even as he stepped off the ramp.

He felt his foot touch Sotha's soil, and he gasped as a feeling, foreign, frightening, a sudden sensation of tranquility, of peace, of being at one with the ground that he trod upon even as his eyes baulked in revulsion.

Prayers slid from his lips, his helms voxed switched to mute with a flick of his eye, encase in silence his mind invoxed by the words he hissed to the world, battle litanies invocations of the god emperor filling him with righteous fury, stirring him and he moved forwards amongst the others instilled with the emperor's noble wrath.

He watched but did not hear even as Brother Vermaas tore the head from a pirate to reveal the cobalt blue skin of an Xenos and Izrael felt nauseous sickened by the sight, humans, their souls cast in darkness consorting with the alien to pillage the wreckage of their world.

A blast flashed over head, the acrid taste of the air told him that it was too much for the dreadnaught, the righteous rage of Brother Solaki splitting a bunch of the traitors, blood spatters suddenly suspended in the air as their bodies were vapourised by the fierce blast.

It was the trigger the release of all their emotions, each brother wading forth into those whose presence defiled the grave of their brothers, of their home, of their honor.

His bolt pistol was in his hand, chainsword sliding into his right even as the mass of grave robbers turned to meet them, several sliding into cover with graceful bounds and unnatural twists. Once was a fraction too late and Izrael placed a bolt round through his throat, the impact triggering sending the body pinwheeling leaving a crystalline spray of viscaera hanging menacingly in mid air. 

He was moving forward even as a scatter of small arms fire flashed around them, lasguns and various other energy weapons, slicing through the air, leaving shimmering ozone around him, sending a celestial glimmer across his cratered shoulder guard. A tall wiry figure slipped from cover before him, seeming to freeze as he saw the towering behemoth pushing towards him, the hesitation allowing Izrael to put a second round into his chest. He pushed on through the droplets of crimson ichor, leaving smeared blood across the aquilla on his chest even as a smaller figure broke from cover before him leaping high drifting up, the bolt round, sailing under the graceful arc of his body. 

A deft twist and his second round passed between arm and shoulder even as a strange carbine swinging round to come to bear upon him. He was sprinting now, great long strides, a blast of energy caught him in the chest yet he was still moving a thumb, thudding on the activation rune sending the wirring blade into life as he removed the floating figures head with a sweep of the blade, a second figure broke from cover, rushing towards him gun held high in blind panic. The blade sung again the spatter of blood a relief to the pent up energy.

Release of emotions, the bliss of blind rage fading away to leave the great shape of the fortress monestry before him. Within its hallowed depths lay the last chance at redemption or condemnation that his failure would be with him forever.

He paused, the weight of his decision brought to sudden head, the reason he had come here and the sheer mass of possibilites it brought. Total failure or the first step on the road to redemption stood upon what he found within those crumbling walls. 

"Brothers our objective is brother Cleomenes. Do not stray too far ahead!"

Even as he began to stride towards the fortress monestry he paused, yet another reason for the veterans to think him little more than an impetuous fool.

Fuck it, he found the sheet of paper still pinned to his shoulder guard and ran his fingers over the surface before striding onwards, he had his orders.


----------



## unxpekted22

We will be pretending that Niko was never sent down with the rest of you. He will be re-entered into the RP in this update. I really pushed the deadline this time and some people still didn't/couldnt post so I probably wont next time. I should have said this before sending a PM to some of you, but just so everyone knows all of you have three 'skips' basically. So if someone doesnt post for three updates I remove the character. This rule is not concrete, but is the general guideline I am going by. So with that said, you all have two weeks to post for this update.


Raxan, Cleomenes, Zeiran, Kain, Solaki, Raziel, Spurius, Hexor:

Raxan breaks the somewhat awkward silence of the group after reaching cleomenes' position, as he is most familiar with the long gone marine.

_"Cleomenes, brother, it is Raxan. Welcome home my friend. There is much to tell you, but first to business."_

Kain, you may notice that two of your squad do not share their names like the rest of you, those being Vermaas, and Izrael.

Cleomenes, what is your reaction to these marines? Particularly now that Raxan has confirmed himself. Whether he tells you or you see it upon his armor, you learn that the one, brother Kain, is the sergeant of the group. Cleomenes, even if you find you have questions that cannot wait, Raxan is proven to be correct in saying business first.

It becomes clear the scavengers had more than just the one sentinel that Cleomenes and his small group of elite killers managed to bring down earlier.

Perhaps the scavengers hoped to not have to risk their more expensive technology in this engagement, keeping them hidden until now. From behind one of the small hills several of the enemy are using for cover, rises two bobbing mechanical heads. Between the training and experience all of you have, you instantly recognize them as sentinels and take cover yourselves, well, at least until you see what weapons they bear.

The first has a multi-melta...not something to mess around with. The second has the more standard multi-laser equipped. 

All of you also expect for Solaki's las-cannon to instantly blow one of them away, but turn to find him already engaged in close combat with another power lifter pattern sentinel like Cleomenes saw before. 

Pretty much all of the infantry that were nearby have been killed off, and those that weren't remain hidden, content waiting to see if the sentinels can kill you first. both sentinels have an enclosed chasis, concealing the pilots within dark shields of bullet proof glass. A few bolter rounds would surely make their way through, but getting hit badly by a multi-laser or melta weapon would surely make their way through _you_ as well.

The multi-melta sentinel is slightly in front of the other one, trying to get in close while the multi-laser sentinel opens fire, trying to keep you all in cover more than anything else so the other can safely get in range. Such predictable tactics...

How do the seven of you plan to take on these two sentinels? Does your character try to coordinate with the rest of the group before taking action or do they decide to act on their own accord? Multiple posts may be needed or private message each other. Hell, a few signals from each other might be all that's needed, especially considering all the things the remaining Scythes of the Emperor have been through together, well except for Cleomenes of course. Speaking of which, Cleomenes' rogue trader allies let him know that they will leave the sentinels to him and his brothers, while they seek out the remaining scavengers who believe themselves safe in hiding. They will return soon enough.

Solaki: following the end of your post, you see your brothers making easy work of the enemy as expected. You soon hear your booming voice in your mind, though you speak through vox to answer Cleomenes demand, giving him your name. Shortly after, warning signs fill your vision. You feel something that Laikus made certain you had felt before. Pain through the dreadnought body, real but not real. Before a suitable reaction can be made you find a sentinel equipped with power-lifters using them as claws to hold onto the long barrel of your las-cannon, disabling you from turning to use it upon the new foe. Due to this, you are forced to see the two sentinels armed with a multi-laser and multi-melta march over the opposite hill toward your brothers who begin taking cover.

If you dont get this sentinel's power lifters off of your las-canno soon, they will crush the barrels. I will allow you to shoot it, but this will cause your las-cannon to be destroyed seconds later. If you decide to do this, specify which sentinel you fire at. Either way, you will have to find a way to destroy this power-lifter sentinel without your las-cannon. If you dont fire it, this means you give yourself enough time to find a way to avoid losing your arm. Describe your actions to do so, but I will determine the fate of the sentinels.


Izrael and Vermaas: 

Izrael, you continue slaying your way closer to the fortress monastery walls, a single focused intention in mind.

Vermaas, by coincidence you ended up closest to Izrael during the fighting and by instinct you made sure he stayed within sight. But you soon find yourself outside of squad coherency with any of the others and realize Izrael is moving in the direction he is for a reason, though the reason is unknown to you. 

As you stand still for a moment to watch Izrael, a ray of sunlight sudenly makes its way over the towering monastery walls. The bright light is caught, magnified, and reflected by the massive amount of ethcings in your armor. You seem to glow as half of every letter upon your armor appears white hot, though the red eyes of your helm continue to match the frozen state of the blood floating about your form.

You find yourself ignoring the fleeing survivors as you move to catch up with Izrael.

Blackguard: Vermaas catches up with Izrael, and will ask what Izrael is doing. How he gets his attention and how he asks is of course up to you. Once he responds, if he does at all, does Vermaas contact kain and say something? He doesnt have to, whatever you think his reaction would be. This means you will have to post before deathbringer, and again afterwards. I imagine these posts will be rather shirt though.

Deathbinger: Blackguard is to post first. Vermaas will catch Izrael and inquire about his intentions. Your post will be his reaction.

if you guys end up needing multiple posts due to conversation that is fine.

Niko: Start back at the first update. Everything will still apply to you except the following: Lord Sotha will not include your name with those chosen to go to the surface. This will likely seem odd to you, as you have been sent out with this group pretty much every time the Scythes have left the ship after leaving Ferim. Like many, Ryan and Zurick stay on the bridge to keep looking at their dead homeworld. Ryan and Zurick are often sent out on planetary missions as well.

Sotha leaves, likely to his personal chamber which also has a viewport. Naturally, as has been since Ferim, Alexander follows him. 

Choose to go to Ryan and Zurick, or choose to follow your Lord and Alexander. You will speak first, but any replies they make will be in my next update, I imagine. This way you can get your post up without us having to come up with a lot of dialogue first.


----------



## dark angel

On his knees, enshrouded in a glittering curtain of sand, crystal and dirt, Cleomenes cut a pitiful figure - Hands pressed into the cold ground, armour-shod fingers carving deep furrows in the earth. His gaze was downcast, through the spiralling patterns; mismatched eyes peering on resolutely. In an instant, he could draw both Boltpistol and Chainsword - Butcher the Astartes nearest him, perhaps one or two more, before he was brought down. 

Aye, these Marines wore the garb of the Scythes of the Emperor - But something about their postures was wrong, the way their shoulders sagged and their heads tilted. They stood like revenants, like men who knew that they had already been defeated. They reminded him of an injured wolf - Backed into their corner, snarling, desperate. Cleomenes’ lips peeled back in a silent sob.

‘Cleomenes, brother, it is Raxan. Welcome home my friend,’ That stung, the confirmation that this world, shattered so ruthlessly, was indeed Sotha. ‘There is much to tell, but first to business.’

Raxan extended his arm, and Cleomenes took it respectfully, allowing the other Marine to haul him onto his feet, so that they stood chest-to-chest. Cleomenes held his brother’s grip, fingers wrapped firmly around Raxan’s wrist. Cleomenes leaned in close, his plume rocking steadily.

‘Still a pretty-boy, Raxan?’ The smile was audible, even across the general vox channel. ‘It has been too long,’ He relented the grip and stepped back, a smile still splitting his steel-grey beard. ‘Your armour is newer - And still as naked as a babe.’ He chuckled, slapping his own chest, indicating the golden lions. ‘You don’t command here, however.’

He eyed the Squad of Astartes with distaste. Their armour was ramshackle, each suit augmented with sections of other plate - Gouged, scoured and pitted - Their weapons were somewhat better maintained, though none as meticulously as Cleomenes’ own. He prided himself on detail; every nook and cranny polished to a mirror-sheen. 

‘I shall take my leave,’ Tybarr Nymeros said politely, bowing deeply to Cleomenes. ‘I’ll clear the area. Family reunions bore me - I’m sure that we will be more helpful out of your way, eh?’ 

‘Yes.’ Cleomenes said simply, and then, after a moment - ‘Thank you, Tybarr. I am indebted to you.’

The rogue trader’s haughty chuckle filled Cleomenes’ helm. ‘Nay, Space Marine. You have done enough for me. Let this be the last of our favours, now. Else I’ll never rid myself of your oversized arse.’

This time, Cleomenes laughed. The rogue trader and his satraps, wonderful in their void-suits, moved off in silence. It pained him to admit it, but Cleomenes would miss them heartily when this was over. Even Mardonius, for all his faults and narcissism, was a friend.

‘Who commands here?’ Cleomenes asked his newfound brethren, circling, before his eyes set upon a Scythe with the trappings of a Sergeant, the dimmest glimmer of arrogance showing in his posture. An oath dangled on his shoulder, a purity seal embossed upon his knee. Cleomenes jabbed an accusing finger at him, lips peeling back. ‘You, _boy_, what is your name?’


----------



## Deus Mortis

Solaki turn around as the last blow was struck on the last visible invader. Solaki would be smiling if his muscles still responded as they would have in the flesh. Cleomenes spoke through the vox and it resounded like a bell in his head. "Brother, I am Solaki. I must warn you though, do not expect to see any more of my kind. I am the first in the restoration of our glorious chapter, but not the last." Suddenly, and spark of pain screamed up the cables into his mind. Laikus had prepared him for this. The dreadnought's MIU simulation of pain was indeed a strange one. It was like iron scraping against iron. It made a physically painful and uncomfortable sound, but it wasn't natural. It was artificial, like everything in this body. Cold, metal and artificial. Solaki's internal systems showed his eyes what was causing him such pain. A sentinal with power lifter was trying to crush his left arm, his bless'd lascannon. He noticed in the distance that two more had appeared and were about to assault his squad mates. His targeting system showed him that he could hit one if he fired immanently, but surely then the one on his left would shatter his lascannon. At the very least, it would be damaged to such and extent that only Laikus could repair it, and even then that would be back on the _Heart_.

But, if he fought for his arm, then he left his brothers open to attack. They had spent so long travelling to reclaim Cleomenes, what if he died here? Or Kain? The chapter would be wounded sorely by the loss of any of his brothers, but Solaki would be personally wounded by the loss of Kain. Solaki's mind could not help but recall a situation where he had been on the other side. Belial had save his arm in a fight with the xeno's warriors on Ferim, and Solaki had scalded him for it. He had shouted at him and called him a coward, and now he was faced with the same choice. But it wasn't the same. Solaki was the only one of his kind left, as he had just said. Any loss, even the loss of parts that Laikus could not repair, would be grievous blow. The chapter's remaining symbol of hope, smashed by mere grave-robbers. Moral would plummet to near suicidal, and those who already questioned his interment in this mighty relic would be even more skeptical and call for his removal. He had been given a chance to redeem himself and help to rebuild his chapter. With such a gift came a great responsibility. Besides, even his Solaki hit and killed one of the approaching sentinels, then the other might as well damage the group. He would be disarmed and would have gained nothing for it. His squad mates would need to handle themselves for now. As much a Solaki loathed himself for choosing his own welfare over his brother's, he had no other choice. The must understand.

All of this took about a second for Solaki to process in his mind, and already the pain had grown sharper. Nothing could truly hurt him, he would feel nothing if his arm was torn clean off, but it served as a warning mechanism that he did not have much time left. His choice had been made, for good or ill, and it was time to act. The sentinel was straddled over the barrier which Solaki had just destroyed and Solaki could sense the pilot's empty pride. He thought he could bring down a mighty dreadnought with this flimsy machine. Solaki scoffed at the thought. Solaki's main torso swiveled with enough force for the sentinel to jerk forward but not break the lascannon. The screaming electro-fiber bundles and servos which caused the arm to stay intact sent more pain flaring up Solaki's spine, but Laikus had prepared him for far worse pain than this in his simulations. The servos and gyro-stabalisers of the sentinel flailed and others broke, spraying quickly freezing hydrolic fluid in the void of space. The sentinel's footing was loose and the human or xenos driver responded far to slowly to compensate. That was a massive advantage Solaki had. His new behemoth form moved like a second skin, responded on a whim or an impulse. This sentinel was reliant on the reaction and action speed of it's pilot and whether he or she could pull the levers fast enough to compensate. Evidently, they could not. 

Solaki paused a moment and then reversed his movement and shunted to his left. He had not paused out of inability to move, but because it had allowed the pilot just enough time to compensate for his sudden movement right, which meant that the second movement had twice the destabilizing effect on the metal sentinel. The legs gave out and parted with the ground as the pilot frantically tried to stop the movement of the foe which they had chosen to fight. A fight which they had picked poorly and were destined to lose. Solaki kept his legs moving at a speed as close to a run as a dreadnought could get until they both slammed into the pillar several meters behind them. The momentum smashed the pillar to dust and broke large sections of the sentinels back, damaging sections of the power-plant. Most importantly, it caused the metal joining the power-lifters still gripping his lascannon, but no longer applying further pressure since the pilot had be occupied trying not to be killed by the vengeful dreadnought, to buckle and several of the more delicate coils to snap or be cut by torn metal. The sentinel still twitched with a semblance of power left in it, but it's power lifters clearly no longer worked as the pain was getting no worse, indicating no further pressure being applied, and the pilot must realise by now that he was already dead. Another swift swivel cause the pistons of the power-lifters to pull out of their cylinders and the already broken metal and frail wires to tear apart fully. Free from the dead weight of the sentinel, Solaki strafed immediately to avoid being hit by one of the other sentinels, being sure to crush the cockpit of the broken sentinel under-foot as he did so. He only hoped that his act of self preservation had not cost him and brothers, and that he could bring swift vengeance to these other grave-robbers, now that his lascannon was free from harm...


----------



## Midge913

Cleomenes took his hand and Raxan helped him to his feet. Cleomenes held Raxan's arm in a grip of pure iron. It was as if his friend was afraid that he was some sort of etheral spirit. One long dead along with their homeworld. The tension passed quickly and Cleomenes leaned in close. 

"Still a pretty-boy, Raxan?" His eldest frined chided, the humor and relief at a familiar face amongst the horrific grave of Sotha evident in Cleomenes voice. Raxan smiled, the first true smile he had had since the fall of his home. To have his brother back, was a joy beyond anything that he could have hoped for. Cleomenes stepped back from him, taking in Raxan's appearance, the lenses of his plumed helm flicking across the surface of his armor. "Your armor is newer- And still naked as a babe." Cleomenes chuckled, slapping the golden lions that adorned the front of his breastplate. Raxan could only shake his head and smile. Cleo was as incorrigble as ever though his attitude changed as he took in the squad that approached, "You don't command here, however." Raxan confirmed the statement with a shake of his head, "Never had any inclination for command and you know that old friend."

Raxan watched on as Cleomenes bid his compatriots from the Rogue Trader's vessel good bye. It was nice to see Cleomenes laugh, to see one of the Scythes, no matter his absence, free from the bruden that their fallen homeworld forced upon the rest of them. Soon the reality would truely grip his friend. But for now it was new, fresh, unbelieveable, as it had been for Raxan as he awoke in the apothecarion. 

Turing back to Raxan and the rest of the squad that had since caught up with them, Cleomenes asked, "Who commands here?" Before Raxan could answer Cleo spun, taking in the group before he found Kain. Jabbing a finger in the young sergeants direction, Cleomenes barked, "you, boy, what is your name?" Raxan put a steading hand on Cleo's shoulder and pointing off into the distance where he saw several Sentinel's bobbing, sprinting as fast as their robotic legs could carry them. "Later brother," he said, "there are things that need tending." To punctuate his statment he raised his bolter and fired several rounds at the approaching enemy.


----------



## BlackGuard

His chainsword came down in a vicious arc slaying the nearby suited form of a xenos or filthy tratior, he did not care to know which. His rage was unbound at this point as he pointed his bolter in his other hand and fired it on single-shot settings to maximize damage and minimize ammunition expended. The bolt pulped the body and the blood flowed from it as if a tiny star had exploded within the now-corpse. He glanced over his shoulder and caught the sight of Izrael again. He'd kept his eye on the youth throughout the fight only doing so because he was closest to him. He had spoken with Izrael only a handful of times but the young Astartes reputation had preceeded him. He was reckless to say the least and constantly one step away of outright disobeidience. It was something that did not set well with Vermaas but he was in no position to lecture the youth given his own state of mind. 

He swung his head around once more as he killed another of the spineless graverobbers. The situtation around him had changed, his instinctive reaction to stay close to Izrael had led them further away from the main body of the squad than he'd realized. The battlefield situtation had changed, the graverobbers were beginning to flee with haste from his immense size, he looked over to Izrael again and was dumbfounded to see the youth moving away yet again. He had heard Sergeant Kain's order no doubt? He ignored the remainder of the fleeing scum, their deaths were assured one way or another. He glared at the back of Brother Izrael as he moved in the direction of the ruins of the Fortress Monastery.

At that moment a ray of sunlight came up over the ruins and bathed him in pure golden light, the writings upon his armor blazed as if given new life by the very divinity of the God-Emperor. He felt his pride swell, his courage bolster, and his mind sharpen. He knew in that moment that the God-Emperor would see the chapter through one way or another. Weather the path they walked led to extinction or glory it would be a path well walked by the chapter and one he would eagerly see to the end -- no matter the conclusion. As he watched Brother Izrael move off into the distance even more he knew he could not let it stand.

He felt conflict brew within his chest -- surely Izrael was not so lax in his duties to his chapter that he would seek ancient chapter relics over the orders of his superiors. Vermaas' hearts burned with conviction as that possibility was allowed to float within his mind. The Scythes were already on the very verge of extinction, each death from here on out would be felt harshly by the chapter. Every brother who died was the loss of a major resource, the chapter could not afford ventures for personal gain.

He qued his vox to Sergeant Kain, 'Sergeant Kain, Brother Vermaas sir. Brother Izrael is moving in the direction of the ruins of our Monastery. I believe he may be having vox malfunctions. Possibly a lucky pulse round from these filthy graverobbers. I am moving to intercept. Will contact you once I have retrieved him.'

He didn't wait for his commanding officer's reply, knowing that the only course of action they could take was to retireve the lax youth. He began to move with all the haste his gene-forged body could muster and thanks to his centuries of training and warfare he was still able to move his gene-enchanced body fast enough to catch up with Brother Izrael. He knew in but a handful of more centuries his fellow brother would be able to well outpace him. For now though, he would do not such thing. He opened up an direct link to his brother. He knew the vox malfunction story was weak at best, the sergeant may even see through it but it was better than just condemning his brother to censure over this. He would be brought back to the squad, of that he had no doubt, but perhaps a moment of enlightenment and a bonding could occur. 

'Brother Izrael, you must stop this folly,' he spoke over the direct link, 'Halt in the name of the Chapter and explain your actions. I know you heard the commands of our sergeant.'


----------



## deathbringer

He walked not ran for this was more than a mission, this was a pilgrimage, the final stage of his journey, the last leg of the relay. He would know if he was doomed to walk the earth an oathbreaker, or to be born anew fufilled and renewed, to be resurrected from the restless undead. Too apt it would happen in a grave yard, too apt to be reborn from the ashes of where he had died.

Feet thundered behind him yet still he moved on ignoring the pounding of guilt, the gnawing anguish that this blatant disobedience caused him. Was he to condemn himself to eternal shame, the moment he found new life, too bad he had already condemned his soul the moment he had boarded the thunderhawk, this was just shades of grey.

He continued his wondering picking up the pace ever so slightly, his walk shuffling and his head bowed like a pilgrim.

'Brother Izrael, you must stop this folly,'

Anger flooded him, a low sneer forming on his lips as the voice of the pious Brother Vermaas, his voice regal in its command. Folly how dare he call this folly

'Halt in the name of the Chapter and explain your actions. I know you heard the commands of our sergeant.'

The anger swelled in his gut, rising and bubbling in a mass of bilious hateful words, yet it died as it reached his throat. He was doing naught but his duty, his duty as a loyal brother trying to bring an errant child back to the fold.

He was still walking, eyes fixed upon the monastery before him, the fire drained from him even as he moved further.

"We are the same you and I Brother Vermaas, upon this world we were torn asunder, defiled and sullied by xenos scum. Yet you sought the emperor's purity and I sought the purity of oblivion."

He gave small laugh

"True, yours is a better way to go, far more respected, gains you names like dependable, honorable and mine wild, irresponsible, but who can understand what happens when our minds are plunged into madness.""

He turned to brother Vermaas, walking backwards over the rubble, emotion was pounding in his breath, every step taking him nearer to salvation or condemnation, a pinnacle of his existance. He would not be denied, not now, not so close

"I swore an oath of moment to Veteran Brother Alark Krin that day."

His hands touched the battered parchment tracing the words that were etched across his very soul

"I swore an oath that we would do all that was in our power reclaim the Banner of Justice from its keep. I failed, I was not strong enough, I was forced back by the oncoming mass as Scout Master Curak and Brother Krin held fast and were cut down. Had I been stronger, had I been more skilled I could have saved them. Instead I watched impotently as the banner of justice fell beneath a wave of tyranids and I vowed to die trying to retrieve it. Yet death was denied me, was torn away from me, when others were allowed to meet their end upon the world's surface, I was denied my greatest sacrifice to her memory."

His face was grim even as he gazed upon Brother Vermaas with willful intensity, words he had never spoken to anyone, be the friend foe or chaplain were bubbling from his soul like a hot spring. His proximity, so close it was suffocating him, he was drowning in possibilities as the words continued to gush from between his lips

"The oath consumed me for while i still breathed it was unfufilled, only in death could my duty end. I was condemned to be an oathbreaker before I even bore power armor."

He gesticulated wildly turning away to face the monastery once more

"How could any man of honor stand such shame?"

The sun was burning upon his armour, like flames of redemption they bathed him in their light. A single tear ran like a raindrop down his cheek.

"Now I stand upon Sotha still an oathbreaker, yet within that monastery lies a chance for me to bury my shame, to know that I had done everything that could ever be done to retrieve that banner, to bury the ghost of Brother Krin, to begin afresh unwbowed by hatred or self loathing. I shall always hate for Sotha, I shall always bear it's shame, yet that is a weight I can bear with my brothers, for we shall bear it as one til our dying day. My oath was mine and mine alone and it crushes me every single day."

He turned once more and raised his arms out to his brother and tears freely beneath his helm

"So tell me brother Vermaas, dependable and reliable. If you had a chance at redemption for what happened upon Sotha, to undo the horrors that tore you apart, would you not do everything in your power to take that chance?"


----------



## Lord Ramo

Kain knew that Raxan would have spoken to Cleomenes as he helped him to his feet, knowing that the two had known each other from before Cleomenes had left to travel with the rogue trader. It would be easier for Cleomenes if someone he recognized greeted him first then it might be easier news for him to bear. He turned as he heard an arrogant voice direct towards him, seeing Cleomenes standing there pointing at him.

Kain looked at him, his brother still looked regal amongst the dead world, though he couldn’t help but feel a little angry, if not annoyed from Cleomenes, who stood there as if he was Lord of the manor, and asked around arrogantly.

*“I brother Cleomenes, am Sergeant Kain Scrious. We have been tasked by our Lord Sotha to bring you back to the battle barge Heart of Sotha, to help strengthen the chapter.”* He said curtly over the vox back at Cleomenes, as he moved over to him._* “I suggest you stop standing there and pointing at people, and actually start fighting again, we have more problems to worry about right now.”*_ He said as he moved past him, spotting two sentinels moving towards the group of embattled marines.

Like an afterthought the entire attacking force seemed to melt into the shadows as the sentinels moved forward, obviously not wishing to deal with the marines until the sentinels had either soften them up, or taken care of them completely. Likewise the rogue trader and his followers disappeared to obviously attack those that the marines could not see for the moment, leaving the sentinels up to them.

'Sergeant Kain, Brother Vermaas sir. Brother Izrael is moving in the direction of the ruins of our Monastery. I believe he may be having vox malfunctions. Possibly a lucky pulse round from these filthy graverobbers. I am moving to intercept. Will contact you once I have retrieved him.' A voice spoke coolly into his helmet, and it took Kain a moment to respond. Whilst it would be good to have Vermaas fighting with them, Izrael must be brought to reason, or at least kept an eye on. The chapter couldn't afford to loose any, even Izrael._* "Copy that Vermaas, I doubt its vox problems but if you can't get him to rejoin us, stay with him."*_

Kain looked quickly to see if Solakai was in any condition to assist them, though it seemed as if he had problems of his own, the giant dreadnought fighting hand to hand with another sentinel. Kain wished he could help the giant dreadnought in his fight against the sentinel, but he had his own problems, and had to look out for the rest of the squad.

Kain ducked as a multi laser beam flew overhead, looking to see that one of the sentinel was standing back, firing its multi laser in an attempt to keep the marines pinned down. Kain saw that the other one, which was moving forward at blistering pace had a melta on, and was obviously the biggest threat to the marines and their power armour. 

Kain opened a squad channel, including Cleomenes in it,* “Brothers we have to bring down that melta sentinel first, it’s the biggest threat to us. Open fire on it, and when it gets closer try and take it out with grenades.”*


----------



## Serpion5

*Zeiran*

The rebels continued to open fire with their ineffective weaponry, hoping vainly for stroke of luck as their numbers continued to decline. It would not be long now before they were gone or routed, so Zeiran felt it relatively safe to begin a slow advance. He took several steps forward to draw a better bead on a hiding pair of humans only to find they had retreated out of sight. At this moment, movement further ahead caught his eye as the enemy seemed to have received reinforcements. 

The sentinel that had been destroyed earlier was clearly not the only one the rebels had at their disposal. The bobbing heads over the crest were a sure indicator of that and Zeiran inched forward even more, crouching behind the same cover he had been about to target. He risked a glance backwards, seeing that most of the squad were present save for Izrael and Vermaas. He couldn't tell where they were but trusted that they were probably just moving on a flank or some similar. He turned to where Brother Solaki had been positioned, disheartened to see that the venerable dreadnought had come under attack from another sentinel that held his lascannon in an iron grip with its power lifter servo. Though the dreadnought was a superior combatant, if the lascannon was lost it would mean valuable time would be lost with it and the destruction of these sentinels would have to be executed at close range. A tricky prospect given that one bore a multi melta and the other packed a less lethal but still threatening multilaser. 

That was the only safe assumption, and Zeiran was glad to see he was not the only one to have spotted it. Behind him Sergeant Kain had introduced himself to Cleomenes, something Zeiran had felt a little too shamed from disobedience to do properly, and issued the order to attack the melta toting sentinel as first priority.

'Understood Sergeant.' Zeiran responded. He leaned out of cover and began to take aim. He was acutely aware that his boltgun and a multi melta had a distinctly similar effective range, and it would be able to return fire at much the same time as he was. 

There had to be a safer way. He looked at the approaching machines and their attack pattern. The multilaser held itself back, while its melta toting cousin marched forward to reach its effective range. Sound, but predictable. 

'Sergeant,' Zeiran began. 'May I suggest we focus fire on the sentinel's legs? If we can reduce its mobility we can flank and destroy it. Or at the very least, slow its approach until Brother Solaki can finish it off...

A series of scorched craters appeared in the cover and ground next to Zeiran's position as the multilaser sentinel sprayed his general vicinity. Whatever decision they made would have to be made quickly, as the melta grew closer by the second...


----------



## dark angel

‘Later brother,’ Raxan voxed, his voice chirping in Cleomenes’ ear. ‘There are things that need tending.’

The Scythe of the Emperor raised his Bolter, loosing a silence-enshrouded burst. Cleomenes tracked the rounds, following them intently, and smiled ruefully when the mass-reactive shells met their targets - A pair of avian-like Sentinels, approaching with their familiar, hip-swaying gait. One had an underslung multi-laser, the barrel glowing cherry-red as it spat rounds, the other bearing a devastating melta.

‘I brother Cleomenes, am Sergeant Kain Scrious.’ Cleomenes grumbled at the arrogance in the Sergeant’s voice, flexing his fingers. Cleomenes was decidedly unworried, the encroaching Sentinels providing but a distraction - Sergeant Scrious was his main concern, young, a name that brought back memories of the Tenth Company to Cleomenes, though he himself had never had the opportunity to train the boy. ‘We have been tasked by our Lord Sotha to bring you back to the battle barge Heart of Sotha, to help strengthen the Chapter. I suggest you stop standing there and pointing at people, and actually start fighting again, we have more problems to worry about.’

Cleomenes paused for a moment, analyzing the information that the Sergeant had slipped in - Who, or what, was Lord Sotha? Certainly, it was not a title that had existed in the Sacred Band before Cleomenes’ departure. And to name oneself after their Homeworld was particularly sacrilegious, even the suggestion of it left a bitter taste in Cleomenes’ mouth. The Heart of Sotha was still active - That, if anything, was a good sign. She was a brilliant vessel, with an excellent crew and better records.

He ducked into cover, eyes never leaving his new squad-mates. The trust between them was temperamental at best. There was something about them that made Cleomenes nervous; an air of disbelief and misplaced anger. They were a sorry sight, all in all.

The dreadnought, who had introduced himself as Solaki, was now toe-to-toe with another Sentinel. A particularly one-sided affair, Cleomenes decided, and snapped his eyes back at his closer companions. 

In an instant, his Boltpistol was in hand, finger hovering precariously over the trigger-guard. The melta-wielding Sentinel was bobbing closer, its companion having slowed down - Laying down a wall of covering fire for the other bipod.

‘Brothers, we have to bring down the melta Sentinel first, it’s the biggest threat to us. Open fire on it, and when it gets closer try to take it out with grenades.’ Scrious voxed, the inclusion of Cleomenes taking the older Marine by surprise. He wasn’t this boy’s lickspittle, he owed nothing to him - But, as Raxan had stated, - This was neither the time nor the place.

Cleomenes glared at the Sergeant. 'Insolent whelp,' He whispered to himself, pursing his lips. 'What _fool _placed _you _in laurels?'

As bold as brass, Cleomenes stepped from cover, arm snapping up. He loosed a trio of shots at the Sentinel’s melta, each of the rounds striking home, though doing no visible damage to the weapon. A blast of superheated oxygen hurtled towards Cleomenes, who stepped back into cover unworriedly, and stalked off towards the left, huddled low. 

‘Target the canopy,’ He voxed, his voice deep and intimidating. Nay, he was not the commander here - But Scrious would get them all killed with his incompetence. ‘A concentrated salvo will shatter the glass. Let the void do the work, I have no intentions of wasting more ammunition than is needed on this churl,’ He waved his free hand dismissively at the Sentinel, which was now perilously close. ‘_Sergeant _Scrious,’ His voice was not friendly, speaking Sergeant as though it was a curse. ‘_Perhaps _you should divide your force. That metallic chicken cannot contend with two angles of attack.’


----------



## BlackGuard

Once he reached Brother Izrael he kept his pace with the constantly moving youth. His words, everyone of them, were consumed within his mind and his soul and devoured by both the conflictions of duty and a sense of honor that only an Astartes could ever feel. He had heard Sergeant Kain's orders and kept them close to heart. Their direct link meant that Izrael had not heard them and it was his choice weather the obviously confused youth would learn about them. 

As Izrael spoke about the oath of moment, the Banner of Justice, and a duty long needing to be fullfilled he could not help but remember his own oaths of the moment and the small number of them he had been unable to keep. He'd promised to push the xenos from Sotha, and he had failed, he promised to bring Brother Astelan down in a hail of bolter fire -- he wasn't even present when the time came. He kept a steady pace with the younger Marine but kept both his body language and attitude to an even calm. Years of warfare and inter-chapter (when there had been a true chapter) politics had forced him to adopt such demeanours before. 

_"So tell me brother Vermaas, dependable and reliable. If you had a chance at redemption for what happened upon Sotha, to undo the horrors that tore you apart, would you not do everything in your power to take that chance?"_ said Brother Izrael in conclusion.

Rage boiled within him like a volcano and he constantly screamed prayers and mantras in his mind to calm himself from the obviousl reaction he wanted to commit. How dare this Marine, even a brother, even a comrade-in-arms dare to talk to him about sacrifice! Was is not he who stood upon mounds of the vicious xenos corpses, forsaking both honor and brother in the name of the Chapter, in the name of the God-Emperor? This brother of his had placed personal honor above all else and chained himself to an Oath of the Moment. 

'Do not speak to me, _brother_, of so-called sacrifice and honor,' he spoke with a tone of solid steel, 'Long before you had even recieved your first implant or even been permitted into this chapter I was bleeding in the name of the God-Emperor. I was risking body and soul in the name of Humanity.'

He felt his choler rise and his desire to strike Brother Izrael for his short-sightedness but refrained, although a noticable tightening of the grip on his bolter would be noticed. He composed himself a heartbeat later, 'Honor is a noble thing Brother Izrael. Honor is what keeps our souls pure in moments of dire decision. It stays out hand from murdering the cowardly mortals whom crawl at our feet crying up to us for salvation. It is honor that we kneel before the Golden Throne of Terra, which is years from us.'

His voice rose, even though it was vox-to-vox, 'Right now you see honor and redemption waiting for you in those ruins. Those halls of our very dead. What do you expect to achieve there? If you reclaim the Banner of Justice, an honorable deed no doubt, what will it achieve? A moment of peronal satisfaction. Are you so selfish brother that you would sacrifice the Chapter in the name of your own vanity? We are wounded, we stand on the edge of extinction, we stand alone in an uncaring galaxy. We have only each other to keep us alive! Now you rush off for glory? For redemption?!'

He stopped walking and pulled out his bolt pistol, although he made no attempt to raise it, 'You damn your Chapter's honor for your redemption? How much does it truly mean to you?'

He let the words hang in the air. He had made an oath to himself when he chose to follow Izrael to the ruins -- he would bring his brother back. One way or another.


----------



## Midge913

The immediate tension that had flared up between Cleomenes and Kain was something that took Raxan by surprise. His friend, his brother for more than three centuries spoke to Kain as if he were still in the 10th, a scout in need of training and discipline. Kain retorting with curt words. Though, being honest with himself, Raxan could see his Cleo's irritation. Kain, barely a centruy old, would have never been given the laurels had the Chapter's history been different. Raxan took nothing away from the man, at all, for he was his friend, despite the blood debt that Raxan felt he owed Kain. But times for the Scythes were different. They avoided fights, too afraid to lose more precious marines. Kain's command experience mainly recruitment details. A heavy scowl began to dominate Raxan's face behind his helm, his loyalties torn. Loyalty to his Sergeant and friend, and loyalty to Cleomenes his oldest comrade and the ideals that he represented. His mind hand not been brudened by 20 years of grief and hardship. He still stood tall and proud, a shining example of what the Scythes had been in a time now long gone. 

Finding himself hunkered down in cover with the rest of the squad, though he didn't remember moving there his mind so focused on his introspection. Shaking his head, bringing himself back to the moment, he took in the marines that surrounded him. They were divided on all fronts, incohesive, individual. Some here seeking some sort of redemption, some tangible connection to a past that had been buried in the rubble of this world. Some here for duty, duty to a Chapter that for all intents and purposes was waiting for its death blow. They hid in the shadows, trying to rebuild, trying to grow stronger, but for what purpose. It was clear, made all too apparent by Cleomenes disdain for them, that they had fallen farther than Raxan had thought. It was as if a bygone age had appeared with his friend and shown him that the way of things could not continue. They needed to stand proud, look to the future, and not dwell in the past. With that thought, that notion, a new fire burned in his heart and soul, and he remembered what it meant to stand proud in the face of the enemies of man. 

As Cleomenes stood, stepping out in broad view of the Melta wielding sentinel, Raxan followed, flowing smoothly to his brother's flank, bolter raised. As Cleo fired on the sentinel's weapon, he fired on its legs. A handful of mass reactive shells impacted the things spinly supports, causing it to falter in its steps. Ducking back into cover with Cleomenes, he did not see if his shots had done lasting damage, but it had slowed for a moment, maybe the moment needed for Kain to rally them together. 

‘Target the canopy,’ Cleo said over the vox, his deep voice carrying, his helmeted gaze locked on Kain ‘A concentrated salvo will shatter the glass. Let the void do the work, I have no intentions of wasting more ammunition than is needed on this churl,’ He waved his free hand dismissively at the Sentinel, which was now perilously close. ‘Sergeant Scrious," Cleo continued as if ever moment speaking to Kain was one that he loathed. "Perhaps you should divide your force. That metallic chicken cannot contend with two angles of attack.’ 

"I agree," Raxan said, showing his support for the plan with a nod of his head in the direction of the approaching sentinel. "We are Scythes of the Emperor, yet we cower here behind a rock, hiding from mere thieves and charlatan's." Locking his gaze on Kain, his voice heavy with new found purpose, Raxan finishd, "Time to stand proud brother."


----------



## Euphrati

The dead world spins slowly in the void, a life-less corpse whose image is rendered in shades of jade and emerald. Tiny, glittering motes of light dance in the darkness around it, like the wings of carrion insects hovering around the desecrated bones of a slain hero.

I do not see the image of my birthworld as it is reflected in my battlehelm's lenses. 

_My eyes are closed._

-

When the ramp descends with a snarl of escaping air and a howl of tearing metal, it opens unto chaos.

He is out before its warped remains ever touch the blackened deckplates; the metallic ringing impact of his armoured boots lost in the deafening whine of engines pressed beyond tolerances, the pulsing wail of sirens, the tectonic thunder of every gun battery firing in unison, and the frantic screams of work crews as they race to defy the odds against us.

I am only a half-stride behind him when the kinetic impact of the blast takes us both off our feet. 

His armour is bulkier and far more resilient than my own scout carapace, but I still seek to place myself between his form and the annihilation of the Thunderhawk that was our bastion against destruction only a mere breath earlier. What he carries is worth beyond measure- beyond my life and the lives of my brother-scouts that were already spent in his safeguard. I am his last ward, oathbound to defend him with every beat of my twin hearts, and I will do so without pause. What he carries is the key to the very future of our dying Chapter.

The world spirals black and gold for a brief moment as I waver on the cusp of consciousness, pain nearly overwhelming my thoughts. I refuse to succumb and my training allows me to turn the pain into focus, to force compliance from a body that is caught between the last of my humanity and the trans-human I am being forged into. I twist around against the shockwave's power, bringing to bear a pistol that I cannot yet, and never will, think of truly as my own. My finger tightens and I empty the weapon's entire remaining clip into the shrieking maw of a burning xenos-bred terror. 

I land hard and messily, skidding along on the metal decking amid a shower of sparks for ten meters before something unyielding brings my momentum to an abrupt halt. I catch a brief glimpse of the shattered and burning remains of the crashed gunship through the ragged hole I have blown in the back of the abomination's massive skull before it collapses into a charred heap less than half a meter from the ichor-stained soles of my boots. The xenos had latched itself onto the back of the Thunderhawk like a lamprey as we fought our way through the swarms of the Enemy's hoard-fleet. It is at least twenty meters in length.

The left wing of the Thunderhawk is simply missing, torn off on impact with the edge of the bay, and the front half is buckled inwards where it slammed headlong into one of the main adamantium support struts of the vaulted ceiling. That our pilot maintained enough control to get us into the bay at all with such a monstrosity hooked to his back is display of skill and valour that I can scarcely grasp. His sacrifice and deeds will join the list of countless others just like them on this darkest of days.

My left arm is pain-numb; it refuses to respond to my demands. Dislocated. Sound is muffled, thick as cold blood; my body instinctually sought to protect my senses from the blast. I focus and it returns in a nearly physical wall of sound. My breathing is hard, sharp pain and wetness with each expanse of my chest. My overlapping shield of ribs are fractured in at least three places. I have internal hemorrhaging. 

There is the taste of metallic copper in my mouth behind the sharp bite of acid. I ignore it. 

I spit a curse for my body's weakness as I kick upright, grey eyes scanning the room for my charge. Something moves behind me and I stumble to turn before a gauntleted hand clamps onto my shoulder, keeping me upright. The gauntlet is white under the stain of Astartes blood and sapphire eyes look down on me behind the emerald lenses of his battlehelm. He nods and I hear a muffled clicking from his vox activating. A sudden tremor echoes in the deck beneath our feet, deeper by far than the rolling thunder of the gun batteries. 

It is the voice of the ship itself as the main drives fire. They were waiting on us. Waiting on him.

The heavy pounding of boots heralds the arrival of two more of my older brethren. Their battleplate is a mangled ruination, scared and pitted as if they have just returned from battle in the halls of Hell itself. It is not so far from the truth of things. The concern in their sonorous voices is replaced with relief as he turns to them, his grip remaining gently on my shoulder. I hear my name spoken, but my attention is taken elsewhere. A sudden silence descends as heads turn to follow my gaze.

A world spins slowly in the void through the veil of the bay's void screens. Bloated, venomous forms hang in the darkness around it, leaching the lifeforce from the upper atmosphere even as we watch in mute horror.

I understand the true depth of humanity's capacity for hatred in that moment.

-

I open my eyes to a scrolling parade of runes warning me of elevated heart rates and breathing levels. I dismiss them all with a blink. I do not need them to tell me of my brothers' reactions, for I share the same undying rage and forsaken pain within my own soul. I can taste the chemical tang of combat stimulants that have been released into my blood by the warspirit of my battleplate in response to the memories coming here has awoken within me. 

It takes me a full twenty seconds to force my own heart rate and breathing down to near-normal levels.

I glance at my chronometer. The others have left already, their signifier runes are locked in a list at the edge of my vision. I have been standing, lost in memory, for far longer than I care to admit.

Others stand nearby; our exclusion from the landing party was an unexpected turn in the normal state of events. I wonder if they share my relief in that. I did not wish to come here from the start. Even after twenty-five years, the wounds are still too raw to our souls. I turn away from the dead world and reach up slowly to release the latches at my gorget. I pause in the motion, feeling the recycled air of the ship brush gently against a salty wetness on my cheeks, before I lift my battlehelm free. _I feel no shame for that fact._

My steps are muted as I cross the expanse of the bridge, my eyes roaming the faces of those who have lingered here. I give a solemn nod to the back of my mentor as he follows our leader from the room. _We have spoken little of late, the hollowness that accompanies that truth has marked my soul in a way I have only recently admitted to._ I continue my path towards two warriors who stand apart from the rest, taking a place at their side and comfort in their presence.

I have become closer than I thought possible to the two warriors beside me, despite the fact they are my seniors in years by nearly triple my own. I let my eyes linger on the remains of our homeworld for a long moment before breaking the low silence between us,

'There have been times that I have envied those who found themselves at the Emperor's side that day…'

My voice is barely above a whispered breath, there is pain in merely speaking my thoughts aloud to them,

'I have read the vague accounts in the archives that speak of encounters with a band of warrior-brethren who fight on beyond death's embrace, unable to find true peace. I cannot help but feel a kindred to such forsaken warriors at this moment.'


----------



## unxpekted22

Raziel, Spurius, and Hexor are now NPCs

Kain, Raxan, Cleomenes, Zeiran:

_His name was Eilen Frisbern, and the heart beneath his dull-white space suit was pounding. It was beating harder than it ever had in his life, desperately trying to push its way from beneath his ribs and flesh. It beat harder than it did when he was a child still on his homeworld the day blood ran from his nostrils and over his broken teeth, while three larger children continued to pummel his sides with their fists. It beat harder than it did several years later when he was speeding through city streets in his parents' grav car. Law enforcement blared behind him, but despite their chase and the speed at which he drove all he could stare at were the blood stains on his knuckles gripping the wheel. His entire life was gone, and murder was digesting slowly. His heart now beat even faster than it did when during his new life on a new world he stared into the wondrously exotic eyes of his new lover: a female Tau named Su'litha, who still waited for him to return to her from his expedition. 

The Expedition...He remembered his Tau friends among the group being so excited at this news. It was the ambitious move his Tau fellows thought they had all been waiting for, the easy mission with big rewards that would set the rest of the course for their future. He had met the eyes of several of his human coworkers, and knew none of them felt comfortable about this. The Tau man giving the information had spoken the detail as if it were insignificant...that this planet had been the homeworld to a group of Imperial Astartes. It had been a barren wasteland since Kraken came rolling through the region more than twenty years ago. The chances of any astartes showing up while they would be there was absurdly small, so the few humans who knew the weight of their actions stomached their concerns.

That fear was about to pour over his lap in the form of vomit and bile. His palms were covered in sweat inside of his gloves, gripping the controls again and going as fast as possible toward losing his life. Obviously, the odds hadn't been small enough. A single abrupt laugh miraculously found its way through his fear and echoed in the small interior of the Sentinel's cockpit...as they were standing right there before him, an entire squad of space marines. Unbelievable.

His heart's pounding came back to his ears as sharp thumps smashed against the protective glass. A siren warned and small explosions dotted his vision, each ensued by a webway of cracks upon the shield. Signals on his control screen alerted to damage taken on the multi-melta as well. The sentinel still moved forward though, pulling him side to side with each long stride. His friend Gregory was in the sentinel behind him, his multi-laser actually working to keep some of the Angels of Death in cover. Yesterday they were getting tired of monotonous mining work.

Three of the dark figures suddenly emerged and started moving to his left, three did the same moving to the right, and one stayed in the center. He could feel the impact of their shots, barely stopped by the Sentinel's armor. Every single round could be the one to puncture, to burst through the glass and strike him through the face. He couldn't stop cursing now. His shaking hands made the decision for him, swinging the sentinel wildly to the right, not prepared for the difficult steering from all the fire the legs had taken. His wide pupil eyes shooting a look down at the panels to see the melta taking more damage. He would go down without firing it... No way, he couldnt, it was all he had! Not this way, not like this without even firing a fucking shot!_

A blinding lance of heat launches out from the twin barrels of the staggering Sentinel's multi-melta. Hexor, Raziel and Zeiran have taken the left flank, each of them taking separate but equally effective firing positions. The melta ray seers straight towards Zeiran just as he steps out from cover to move closer, and to some of his brothers appears for a moment to be hit. He is just barely able to escape certain death with a last moment reaction. After diving into cover his armor begins to cool down quickly. The entire left shoulder guard and left arm are left a scorched form of gunmetal grey and bits of the left leg, left side of chest, and left side of his face plate and power pack are affected much the same, showing heavy heat damage. 

A moment later a pair of grenades explode and finish what strength the sentinel's legs had left, dropping the already smoking machine to the ground head-first. The pilot has the shattered shielding released and staggers out over the sand, clearly disorientated. Before he can even look in the direction of the Scythes of the Emperor, three large dark-red holes appear in his midsection. He fumbles once before a fourth round strikes his head and actually detonates instead of going clean through. Raxan fires the first three rounds, and Cleomenes the fourth. The headless body hits the ground much like the sentinel did, with blood pouring out over the sand from the open throat. _Eilen Frisbern had so greatly scarred the power armor of an Angel of Death, perhaps the most impressive thing he had ever accomplished._

The second sentinel had moved up quickly, the pilot seeing his comrade in trouble. With the faster speed the multi-laser becomes inaccurate and thus ineffective against you. Raziel acts quickly spotting it about to run near a crate of some sort of rocket ammunition. He stands tall from cover firing full auto at the container and successfully detonates it, and the Sentinel in a cloud of flame causing it to crash heavily on its side. Though effective, part two of the plan was for _The Heart_ to obtain these resources, and surely an entire case of rocket ammunition wasnt needed to destroy the sentinel. 

Sorry, I was just having fun. Anyway, regroup and begin heading closer to the Fortress Monastery to link back up with Vermaas and Izrael. All of you will have received a ping from Vermaas that indicates he wishes for you to move to his position when able. If for some reason I must, I will respond for Raziel, Spurius, and Hexor. 

Solaki:

You lift your foot from the cockpit of your opponent's sentinel, and find your brothers have managed to deal with the other two. You will quickly notice the damage to Zeiran's armor and realize how close your decision came to costing the group a life. 

Regroup with the rest of the squad as they move to join up with Vermaas and Izrael, who apparently have encountered some trouble of their own. Feel free to join any conversation that may occur. 

Vermaas and Izrael:

Izrael apparently didn't have a response, not yet anyway, but still had his answer. He turned again to continue his movement toward the Fortress Monastery. Vermaas realizes that of course actually using his pistol on the younger marine was out of the question, and unfortunately it hadn't scared him into compliance. He instead sends a ping to the rest of the squad to move to his position when able. 

Vermaas: Whether you hear his voice via vox or receive a reply ping, you know Kain and the others are on their way. What do you until then, stall Izrael, or let him go until the rest get here? If you stall him is it physically or verbally or both?

Izrael: You could share your thoughts and/or voice another response to Vermaas as you make your way closer to the monastery entrance. Again you may likely need another reply post after his own.

Niko

Both Ryan and Zurick stand in their full armor, but helmets removed as they stare out of the bridge's large viewport. Ryan's familiar features are the same as usual: handsome, well defined cheekbones and jawline, hardly any marks or scars and short but flowing brown hair that seems to shine and stand up rather than fall down. 

Perhaps it was because you were so deep in your thoughts that you hadn't yet noticed the obvious difference in Zurick's appearance...its not a faceplate. Two dark blood-red irises meet your own surrounded by a demeanor of death. His flesh is pale, but scarred and darkened by battle. Long dim-red lines run down the right side of his face. You can easily identify them as self inflicted and based on the number, probably made for his fallen squad mates. He has a short-buzzed, though wide set mohawk. The sides of his head shaven down fully, but the thick stubble of black hair remains visible. A large section on the left side of his neck and throat is made of bionics, though his reaper-like voice seems to be his natural one, rather than caused by the cybernetics. You and Brother Ryan are likely the only ones who have ever seen his face before, of the marines still alive and on board the barge at least. Still, even the two of you rarely see it. You suppose he wanted to look upon Sotha without his helms lenses in the way being the reason.

He replies to you first, "_That's exactly what we are, Niko._

Ryan speaks next, more optimistically,_ "We're not damned yet Niko, we still have hope...as little as it may seem. We have new recruits after all, and thats all thanks to you, brother."_

The thundering sound of Solaki's gait signals he dreadnought exiting the room, likely along with the others.

He takes a moment to try and grasp what is going on inside your mind and spirit. "_Remember Niko, for every one of us you are unable to save, you have the fortune of also being the one to create more of us. You are the passage of both life *and* death for the chapter. As hard as it is to remember at times, You mustn't forget the Emperor's plan is greater than our own."_

Zurick cracks an evil looking grin at you, _"When you fight beyond death's embrace...you fight outside the plans of the Emperor. Its been a long time since I felt alive, but I'm not dead yet either."_

He pauses before saying more, _"That's what sergeant Brig asked when Grahm died, asked the Emperor if He had forsaken us."_

Ryan spoke again, _"If any of us actually felt alive after we lost this world and fled Miral after, it was Grahm. The spirit he held together inside of him flowed through all of us, its all that kept us together and holding onto sanity. Once he went, Christeph and Brig went too."_

You can tell Ryan was thinking then, what about himself and Zurick in that case? You also know that here when they are saying 'us' they mean their former squad. You also know, despite their contrasts, they were both wondering why they were not being sent down to kill these pirates. As if replying to your thoughts Zurick says, "We should be killing them. Without Ryan and I, Kain's squad is too soft. Raxan is his only true pedestal."

Reply how you see fit, also when belial approaches you can talk to him first or him you, depends on who posts first really.

Belial:

Go back and look at the first update. Please take this opportunity to respond to the first part. You would have been on the bridge with the rest of your brothers viewing Sotha in its lifeless state for the first time. What goes through your head at seeing it, and further more finding a group of scavengers grave robbing it. You will _not_ have met Cleomenes before, but perhaps you still feel good to be picking up another marine. Once you are finished with these thoughts, you spot Apothecary Niko speaking with brothers Zurick and Ryan. You will approach them and speak with them. The three of them normally go to planet surface missions with the small group Lord Sotha declared would be going to the surface here, but they are not this time for some reason. Despite being squad mates with several of them on Ferim, you have not normally been chosen to go planetside during this whole time of finding new recruits. Also due to your nature and regrets, you likely haven't spoken to Niko in quite some time. Who of you speaks first really depends on you guys PMing eachother or whoever posts first.


----------



## deathbringer

The hatred in brother Vermaas's voice startled him, his eyes widening as he faced his accuser who he closed the gap on him with barely concealed loathing

'Do not speak to me, brother, of so-called sacrifice and honor, long before you had even recieved your first implant or even been permitted into this chapter I was bleeding in the name of the God-Emperor. I was risking body and soul in the name of Humanity.'

He seemed beside himself with rage, the very air between them starting to tingle and Izrael felt himself tense once more, pausing for the first time his stance ready yet the honorable brothers voice was suddenly calm and Izrael walked on, walking backwards, unwilling to turn his back on brother Vermaas. Did he truly think he would strike him, it was not a risk he was willing to take

'Honor is a noble thing Brother Izrael. Honor is what keeps our souls pure in moments of dire decision. It stays out hand from murdering the cowardly mortals whom crawl at our feet crying up to us for salvation. It is honor that we kneel before the Golden Throne of Terra, which is years from us.'

His voice rode, his chest swelling with pride and izrael crushed the urge to laugh at the pompous puffin that strutted before him, his tone sanctimonious and smug, the deep lying roots for him purity buried deep under copious prayers for forgiveness.

'Right now you see honor and redemption waiting for you in those ruins. Those halls of our very dead. What do you expect to achieve there? If you reclaim the Banner of Justice, an honorable deed no doubt, what will it achieve? A moment of peronal satisfaction. Are you so selfish brother that you would sacrifice the Chapter in the name of your own vanity? We are wounded, we stand on the edge of extinction, we stand alone in an uncaring galaxy. We have only each other to keep us alive! Now you rush off for glory? For redemption?!'

The bolt pistol raised and his words were lost in its maw as it slid into his hand and Izrael readied himself again his pace quickening making for the opening to the monastery, making for something to hide behind, to shield himself for the madness of brother Vermaas. He was truly blind, ignorant to the idiocy of his words, for his failure to see the stains of blood that sullied all their hands even as she shouted with righteous abandon

'You damn your Chapter's honor for your redemption? How much does it truly mean to you?'

Izrael's own temper flared with hatred and he bit back still moving towards the monastery.

"What honor, we fled like scalded children from xenos scum, we left our home to die and now we are but a company without a home, struggling to cling to this folly that we are a chapter. We are failures.... we failed to protect our home world, we failed to protect the one thing we have held since our founding, that has guided and inspired hope in astartes and human alike."

He took his first step towards brother Vermaas eyes wild, voice filed with spiteful distaste

"You can act all high and mighty, because you were born before me, because you strode the worlds and killed in the Emperor's name but you fled all the same. You are stained with the same failure as any of us that survive, your noble deeds are all defiled by the greatest failure. Your age means nothing, the traitor Astelan was an ancient and look what happen to him, and look what is happening to you, an honorable devout brother, you stand facing a Brother who would die for the God Emperor has thrown himself without fear at his enemies, with a pistol in your hand."

He turned away with bitter distaste

"Use the pistol if you will, kill me, for you will have to. This quest is about oaths, oaths to the dead, about honoring our promises, if it can just be discarded because it is inconvenient, what use is my word?"

He gave a little laugh shaking his head

"You think I care about the honor of the deed, you think this a selfish act for the glory of bringing home a relic,"

He gave a snarl of hatred, that they thought he was such a child, chasing a trinket. They very thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, bile rising in his throat

"If I find the banner, you can take it back to Lord Sotha yourself. It is needed, Brother Krin knew it, which is why he sacrificed himself to bring it back, which is why he swore these oaths of moment, why he made us swear not just to try but to do all in our power. If we bring it back along with Brother Cleomones, brothers will see that nothing can break our resolve, that at the core we will never die, that we will come back, that we will begin again."

He met the gaze and stood toe to toe with brother Vermaas yanking his pistol arm up,which he held pointed directly between the lenses of his helm.

"End my life brother Vermaas, nothing would please me more and it is the only way you will bring me back for you will not restrain me, I will do everything in my power to continue. However as Brother Krin tasked me, I task you in the Emperor's name, in the memory of this world we stand up and all that stood, fought and died upon it, in the name of the chapter's future bring back the banner of justice."


----------



## Serpion5

Following the lead of his squad, Zeiran had moved up firing his bolter a the sentinel's weak spots. Several shots to its legs had been enough to delay it the time they needed to get a bit closer. Raziel and Hexor were on the left flank with him, and the three of them had ducked into cover just as the sentinel righted itself. More shots hammered into it, this time taking the canopy. 

The thing staggered fatally, and it seemed as though the pilot would taste vacuum any moment now. Zeiran stepped forward to place another shot... And was met by a blinding light as the multi melta fired. 

Perhaps it was his own instinct that saved him, perhaps it was the hand of the Emperor reaching down from above to shove him out of the way, but whatever the case may have been he was still alive. As he struggled to his feet he became aware of the damage through his auto senses. The entire left side of his body had been exposed to an extreme wave of superheated energy. Had he moved a moment later he would have been subatomic ash. 

Several explosions marked the death of the sentinel as the grenades tore its legs from under it. Zeiran watched still slightly dazed as the pilot shambled forth only to be gunned down by Raxan and Cleomenes. 


Flashing beams of light whizzed past them as the second sentinel moved forward to avenge its comrade. Zeiran spotted a crate of explosives in its path, but Raziel was closer and had already seen them himself. With a few well placed shots, the second sentinel was sent to the same hell its fellow had just entered. Maybe it was the shock of nearly being burnt alive, but Zeiran didn't seem to mind that they had lost a full crate of rocket launcher ammunition. How could he, when he had been about to follow the same course himself? 


Zeiran moved his creaky left arm and leg a few times before falling into place alongside the others. They were moving towards where Izrael and Vermaas had ventured further up. 

He spared a glance backwards at Brother Solaki as they went, noting with a grim sense of relief that the dreadnought had not taken as much damage as he almost did...


----------



## Deus Mortis

ABTN:
Solaki turned just in time to see the second sentinel explode in a mass detonation of missiles. Shells from Raziel’s bolter had torn through the outer casing of the missiles and ignited the explosives inside them. The “metal chicken”, as Cleomenes had so eloquently put it didn’t stand a chance against one krak missile, let alone a case of them. Although it did seem like such a waste. The very resource they had been sent to claim, apart from Cleomenes himself, was being squandered. “Whilst the shot was impressive Raziel, bear in mind we are meant to bring back that ammunition to our brothers aboard the Heart.” Solaki’s metal voice cut out there. Whether he might have said more, or he might have left it at that. As it was the words hung in empty space like a dead weight while Solaki’s attention was fixed elsewhere.

Zeiran’s armour was warped from intense heat exposure. Only certain weapons could do that to Astartes power armour, but one of them was hanging from one of the derelict sentinels. Oh Throne of Terra, what had he done? Inwardly Solaki heaped burning coals on his own head. How could he have nearly sacrificed his own brother for a piece of machinery which could have been replaced? This business of him being a model for what the chapter would be was sceptical and feeling more like a charade now. What chapter did he embody that would not stand together, would not defend one another? Solaki’s crippling despair receded for a moment as he thought past what could have been. Zeiran was not harmed. His armour was damage, but not compromised. He was not dead. He could have been, but he wasn’t. Solaki mentally uttered a quick praise to the Emperor for keeping him alive. Still, Solaki needed to verbalise his thoughts, and so opened a private vox channel to Zeiran. “Brother, I trust you are unharmed.” Zeiran indicate that he was before Solaki continued. “I am sorry. I could have slain the sentinel and then fought my own battle, but I chose selfishly. I will not do so again. I will not let you fall, you have my word.” Although his metallic voice lacked any tombre or emotion, anyone who had known Solaki in life would know the emotion behind his words and the conviction with which he felt them.

Even as one problem was solved, another seemed to appear. Vermaas and Izreal were having problems of their own, and it was not with enemies. Izreal has seemed to have forgotten himself and was marching onward towards the ruined husk of their fortress monastery, despite direct orders from Kain and, given Vermaas’ disposition and the weapon raised against him, strong words and threats from Vermaas. They had been on their homeworld less than an hour, and yet already their resolve was crumbling. What was the madness that possessed one to ignore his brothers and the other to draw his weapon so quickly? Solaki marched onwards toward the pair bickering like children. Solaki had almost made a fatal mistake, but he would settle this dispute. He noticed Vermaas holstering his pistol. Solaki's mind flicked back to an image of Ferim, of a brother fighting another brother. “Vermaas, do not be so quick to draw your weapon on your brother. The road to damnation is paved with good intentions” Solaki’s metallic voice boomed with an ominous tone over the vox. All bar Cleomenes would appreciate the significance of his advice given recent events. Solaki was deliberately cryptic, still unsure of Cleomenes, and since he already seemed not to favour Kain or anyone besides Raxan, he thought it best to avoid openly discussing those particular unpleasantries. As he stepped in front of Izreal, Solaki’s mass forced Vermaas to move aside, breaking the dead-lock of the two marines intense stares. Now Solaki towered over Izreal, his frame bent forward slightly as he spoke, the black grill of his face portraying no emotion other than that of lifeless steel. “So, little one, what possesses you of such great fury that you would abandon your brothers and ignore your sergeant?”

(OCC - Sorry it's a bit short. I am hoping that this will spur some discussion so I will be able to post again)


----------



## Jackinator

A searing beam of heat pulsed from the barrel of the multi-melta as the weapon discharged. Raziel didn't even turn to follow it's path, if the shot had been accurate then there was nothing he could do, and whichever Space Marine had felt it's atomic fury would be long since gone. If it had missed then it was irrelevant, the walker was down, the shielding crazed and holed from the bolter shells that had slammed into it. The shielding flexed for a moment, then released from the carcass of the walker. It's pilot staggered out, he barely got five paces before his body jerked, three red holes visible as bolt rounds punched through him. He took one more fumbling step, and then a fourth round flashed through the intervening space and his head detonated like an overripe fruit.

Raziel ducked as a spray of laserfire burnt overhead, the beams lighting up the rubble as they flashed past. The sentinel bearing the laser had increased it's speed, it's long, reverse jointed knees moved awkwardly as it pounded over the uneven grounded, it's splayed feet throwing up splinters of rubble and clouds of dust and ash behind it. It was moving fast, and had taken little damage yet, his bolter would do little alone, but as he followed the path of it's intended approach he spotted a large metal container, it was old, but the stencil on it's side clearly marked it as some sort of missile ammunition, krak if he was lucky, but frag would do just as well. He didn't quite have the angle, and the sentinel was still firing, but if he could get that before the sentinel got past it...

He vaulted up onto the shattered slabs he was sheltering behind, standing tall, exposed to anyone who might glance in his direction, but he could see the crate clearly. He flicked the selector on his bolter and opened up. The massive weapon roared in his hands like a massive hunting beast bolt shells tracing a seemingly unbroken line between him and the container as he forced the bucking weapon to remain lined up on his target. The crate buckled, the first few rounds doing nothing but denting the casing, then, as more impacted on it's surface it cracked and finally deformed entirely under the barrage. One bolt shell made it into the ammunition case and it went off like the impact of a battle cannon.

The sentinel disappeared in the explosion, flame enveloping it completely, regardless of whether it was disintegrated or merely crippled, it was out of the battle, Raziel turned away from it. That appeared to be it. He couldn't see any others and the rest of the Space Marines were moving back together to regroup. He dropped down from the rubble, landing with a puff of dust as he dropped the magazine out of his bolter and slammed a fresh one home, cocking it with a curt movement.

“Whilst the shot was impressive Raziel, bear in mind we are meant to bring back that ammunition to our brothers aboard the Heart.”

It was the dreadnought, Solaki who had spoken. Raziel didn't turn, the dreadnought's voice had cut out abruptly and he guessed he had turned his attention to other matters. Raziel treated Solaki with a grudging, almost forced respect, he had sacrificed a lot for the chapter, but he was no ancient, barely a century old, and honoured with a sarcophagus of the ancients. What did he have, what centuries of wisdom and experience could he offer. He was a poor replacement for the ancient brothers they had lost. Though he did care for his brothers, it was a weakness, every loss should be a sacrifice for the Imperium, there were pointless sacrifices, but death in service was the greatest fate any Brother Marine should wish for.

Solaki had made his way to Vermaas and Izrael, the two were stood, facing off in some pathetic, savage imitation of male beasts in the mating season. Solaki forcibly interposed himself between them, his massive form forcing the two apart and preventing, he hoped, any further unpleasantries. The two were pathetic, Vermaas certainly was above this, he was two and a half centuries old, most of them a Space Marine, he was not the one Raziel had expected to have drawn. The younger Izrael though seemed unperturbed, but his was no bravery, it was pride, stupidity.

"Leave them brother, while the death of even one Space Marine is a grievous loss, the deaths of these two would be little loss to the chapter if they cannot follow orders or control their temper. There is no place for children and fools in the Emperor's service."


----------



## BlackGuard

His eyes never left Brother Izrael has he gave his reply. It was a predictable response given the circumstances Brother Vermaas has placed him in. His berating words, his sudden mood swings, his bolt pistol being drawn. All of it had been done our of emotion, but even as Izrael replied Vermaas saw the oppurtunity this presented him. He immediately pinged his location to Sergeant Kain, requesting that the squad immediately move up to meet him. 

"What honor, we fled like scalded children from xenos scum, we left our home to die and now we are but a company without a home, struggling to cling to this folly that we are a chapter. We are failures.... we failed to protect our home world, we failed to protect the one thing we have held since our founding, that has guided and inspired hope in astartes and human alike," said Brother Izrael.

Vermaas remained unmoving, his bolt pistol at his side, his red lenses burning in the non-atmosphere of his dead homeworld. "We fle-"

Izrael took a step forward, cutting off Vermaas with his exclamation, "You can act all high and mighty, because you were born before me, because you strode the worlds and killed in the Emperor's name but you fled all the same. You are stained with the same failure as any of us that survive, your noble deeds are all defiled by the greatest failure. Your age means nothing, the traitor Astelan was an ancient and look what happen to him, and look what is happening to you, an honorable devout brother, you stand facing a Brother who would die for the God Emperor has thrown himself without fear at his enemies, with a pistol in your hand."

It sickened him when he realized that his eyes moved to the left and down a bit -- almost as if he subconciously felt guilty about that last, sore fact. He had drawn the bolt pistol, but the intention was not malicious -- it never had been. Even if Izrael had moved on, even if he heaped insults upon him his arm would never have risen. But that was only known to him and he realized that Izrael's reaction was overboard because he did not see it in that light. Still the thought of killing one of his own brother's intruded upon his mind, as if a darker part of him warned that it was all too possible given what happened to Astelan. 

Izrael turned around again, walking away speaking about the weight of honor and oaths. Vermaas was livid inside, the boy was well beyond his station by speaking to him like that. Age and duty-served were indeed worth something. Campaigns waged, wars fought, and battles won all meant something to a Chapter.

He spoke out now, with Izrael walking away, 'Things change Izrael. We fled Sotha, I will give you that, but we did not flee in terror or cowardice. We fled because we had no other choice. We fight for the God-Emperor, not this world, not this Chapter. They are trappings at best.'

Izrael suddenly spun around and made his way towards Vermaas, a feverish aura about him. He grabbed Vermaas' arm and yanked it up -- the veteren did not attempt to stop the youth but auto-locked his trigger finger, to prevent even the slightest chance the bolt-pistol might accidentally go off. 

"End my life brother Vermaas, nothing would please me more and it is the only way you will bring me back for you will not restrain me, I will do everything in my power to continue. However as Brother Krin tasked me, I task you in the Emperor's name, in the memory of this world we stand up and all that stood, fought and died upon it, in the name of the chapter's future bring back the banner of justice," Izrael spoke with a bold voice, filled with honor.

Vermaas checked his sensors again, taking note of the closing of Solaki. The squad had made far better time than he had expected -- even as they moved up. Vermaas moved his arm down, he looked Izrael dead in the eye-lenses,

'Apologies brother,' he said, gesturing towards the bolt pistol, 'I was tasked with preventing you from recklessly moving ahead, and I have done so without needing to use violence.'

As Solaki came within feet of them, Vermaas began to move away, in part it was voluntarily, and in part because Solaki was a several ton Dreadnaught, 'Praise the God-Emperor your recklessness did not cost us your life.'

He heard Solaki warn him against raising his weapon upon a fellow brother, a path of good intentions leads to dark places. It was a lesson he did not need any study in, one he had seen far too many times. Yet for all his veteren status, he could not bring himself to argue with the venerable brother,

He nodded his head in difference, 'My apologies Venerable Solaki -- I forget my station.'

He moved away from the situtation between Solaki and Izrael -- he no longer had any need to speak with either. Izrael's arrogance and foolishness were a liability, one that was only slightly outweighted by his effectiveness as a warrior. He could not help but feel his ire rise within him at the confrontation -- Brother Raziel interjecting his own uneeded comments. Vermaas did what he did so often under those circumstances. He repositioned himself and awaited orders from his superiors.


----------



## Midge913

The squad, using that word a bit liberally Raxan thought to himself, fanned out, closing in on the approaching sentinel from each of its flanks. Raziel, Hexor, and Zeiran on the left, himself, Cleomenes, and Kain on the right. He watched as the younger marines, bobbed in and out of cover, closing cautiously on the machine that bore the deadly Multi-melta. Raxan watched, horrified as Zeiran, ducked out of cover, just as the enemy unleashed with its blast of superheated air. Raising a hand, shouting a wordless warning into the vox, he surged forwards, Cleo and Kain not far behind, hoping to get the things attention, hoping to give Zeiran a chance, no matter how slim, to escape. Whether his appearance, sudden as it was from behind his spot of cover, mattered at all was something that Raxan would never know. From behind him, a slight grunt of exertion from kain narrowly preceeded two grenades, flying in a graceful arch over Raxan's head, only to detonate, right on target, clanging into the Sentinel's legs. The machine, barely functional before the blast, pitched forwards, falling on its front, smoke billowing from the seams and crevacies of its metallic housing. 

With a his of air, the atmosphere inside the cockpit vented as the pilot, a grimy wretched specimen of a man, released the hatch and tumbled out of the wreck. Lurching to his feet, he took a single staggering step before three neat round hole, blossoming with a fan of gore, opened in his chest, the spray of the blood a gruesome parody of the smoke that slowly rose from the end of Raxan's bolter. A fourth shot, from his left, rang out and the pilots head exploded in a shower of blood and brain matter. Looking to his left, he saw Cleo, pistol raised, eyes scanning for further threats. Across the vox Raxan said to his brother, "Show off. He was just as dead now as he was before you shot him." His tone light, his spirit lightened. Here he was, fighting once more by Cleomenes side. Raxan never knew why his brother had chosen to go jaunting off through the galactic wastes with that rogue trader. Many times he had asked himself the question, only to come to the same unsatisfying answer. But now, in this moment, it did not matter. 

His attention was brought back to the moment as the second sentinel approached at its ungainly top speed, multi-laser spitting out its inaccurate payload, rounds skipping across the ground at his feet, one glancing of the toe of his ceramite boot. He turned to confront it, only to be rocked by a vicious explosion. The force of it in conjunction with his proximity to the blast causing him to sway backwards, almost off balance. As the dust cleared, nothing of the second sentinel remained. Brother Raziel, apparently deciding it wise to detonate an entire crate of missiles. Shaking his head, Raxan decided that it was not worth the arguement, though several of his brothers, including Solaki, commented on the waste. Looking around, Raxan was relieved to find that Brother Zeiran was none the worse for wear. His armor, melted and scarred in places, had taken the brunt of the Multi-melta damage, but it appeared that he had been able to duck out of the way in time to save his own life. 

A light, small and unobtrusive in the corner of his HUD started to blink, pulsing near Vermaas' life rune. His locator, something was amiss, it appeared that he was heading in the direction of the Shell of the fortress Monastary. He wasted no time joining the rest of the squad as they head in the direction of Brother Vermaas' location. Cresting the rise of a small hill, he was visited with a strange tableau, slightly masked as Brother Solaki rushed forward. Vermaas had drawn his pistol and had it ready, pointed in the young upstart Izrael's direction. So this was the trouble, the hotheaded young marine had rushed onward, intent on some purpose that was his own. 

As the squad approached, Solaki placed himself between to the two marines, Izrael's frame hidden to Raxan's view behind the massive dreadnaught. 

"Leave them brother, while the death of even one Space Marine is a grievous loss, the deaths of these two would be little loss to the chapter if they cannot follow orders or control their temper. There is no place for children and fools in the Emperor's service." Raziel's callous voice cut across the vox, his stance undisturbed and relaxed, despite his words.

"Still your ignorant tongue Raziel," Raxan said calmly, his voice carrying in an even timbre. "Vermaas, what happened brother?"


----------



## BlackGuard

His eyes remained forward as he awaited Venerable Solaki's continued comments towards young Izrael and the arrogant youth's response. He cared little for either at this point, the matter was settled and the situtation resolved ... more or less. Sergeant Kain would no doubt issue some kind of punishment, for it was still a taboo to draw a weapon on a fellow Marines, if any Chapter, but especially one of your own. No reasoning could justify his actions but he had expected as much the moment his gauntlet gripped the hard adamantium shell of the bolt pistol's grip. He had, however, achieved his task and delayed Izrael until the rest of the squad could move up. It was a success, or so he reckoned.

He saw Raxan berate Raziel, commanding him to shut his ignorant mouth. Vermaas would be lying to himself and therefore insulting the God-Emperor if he did not find at least a little amusement at the comments. He kept that emotion to himself and remained unmoving until Brother Raxan turned his attention towards him.

'Vermaas, what happened brother?'

Content that Izrael was busy with Solaki, he turned to face Raxan. 'The youth is beyond his station, as was I. I was tasked by Sergeant Kain to insure his safety. The boy insisted upon moving into the Fortress Monastery, as you can imagine brother it is likely not as safe as it once was. I only drew my weapon to delay any reckless actions on his part. The display was taboo, I admit, but one I felt necessary.'

He was unsure of Raxan's reply, but had hoped that his fellow brother would understand the methods he employed to insure Izrael's safety ... from himself no less.

Before Raxan replied he felt the need to interject one more comment, but for the sake of spurring even more confrontation he immediately opened a direct, closed link to Raxan, 'The boy was half-mad. He raved about an oath to one of our fallen brothers. He would not listen to reason. His self-loathing is becoming a liability brother.'


----------



## Lord Ramo

The two sentinels had been dealt with rather effectively, thanks to the squad splitting into two and attacking from both sides and bringing the melta one down. Raxan and Cleomenes took out the driver of the massive being, though he noted that one of his squad was hit by the melta blast before it went down. An amber warning light flashed on his hub, though he was glad to see he hadn't lost anyone yet. The other sentinel was taken out by the quick thinking of Raziel. Kain heard Solakia admit that it was quick thinking but they were to conserve as much ammo as possible.

He flashed for the squad to regroup before getting the ping from Vermaas who Kain had told to stay with Izrael. Obviously something was wrong, and he was glad that Solakai could join them once more, taking down his sentinel. "Brothers lets move to Vermaas, somethings going on with Izrael and I wish to know more." He said simply before moving off, Solakai at the head of the group as the rest moved in astartes battle formations.

The group moved towards the old fortress monastery, Kain feeling sorrowful as he looked upon the once proud and mighty bastion. It would be the same for everyone in the squad he thought to himself, all had lost many brothers in defence of it. Cleomenes did not fully know what had happened on the planet yet so he may not have felt it like the others, though Kain didn't doubt that he would. He thought of all of his brothers that he had lost since the damned tyranids had come and burned Sotha. He felt anger seeping into him, even though the tyrant had been slain, ending the tyranid threat for the moment he wished once the chapter was whole once more they would punish the tyranids for what they had done, though he knew that they shouldn't underestimate the beasts.

They arrived to see a ugly scene in front of them. Incredibly Vermaas had his weapon trained on Izrael who stood there as if daring his brother to shoot him. Solaki immediately told Vermaas to lower his weapon before placing his bulk between Izrael and the fortress. Kain moved over as Raxan and Vermaas conversed, Vermaas explaining what he did and an assessment of Izrael. Kain was unsure what to do. The only situation he had ever experienced like this was the one with the cursed Astelan, and Kain knew that it had not ended well. Vermaas's actions were extreme, but he had only been following Kain's orders. The fault was his, he had risked the life of one of his brothers because he went off alone.

"Thank you for sticking to my orders brother, though drawing your weapon on one of your him was not the greatest idea." Kain said to Vermaas as he lowered his weapon. The situation had gotten out of hand, anyone could see that. Kain moved over to Izrael, "Brother what do you hope to gain in there? Closure or are you looking for something else in those ruins?" Kain knew that Izrael had come down for his own reasons and had given no regard for the mission, and was curious to know exactly what he was after and why. Whatever he sought could aid the rest of the chapter, though Kain was unsure.


----------



## dark angel

Combat-stimulants flooded his arteries, his senses heightening within the confines of his helm - Perspiration, lubricants and an acrid, metallic tang filling his nostrils - The Squad, though more of an ad-hoc formation, fanning out to draw the Sentinels’ attentions. Half of the Astartes went after the multi-melta totting machine, weaving in and out of crates and moving equipment, the Sentinel pivoting back and forth, desperately, rounds detonating on its legs, each shot striking true to home.

Cleomenes stuck close to Raxan and Sergeant Scrious, the larger Marine leading the way, Cleomenes doggedly following his heels, pistol barking in his hand. The recoil was nonexistent, save for a gentle tugging at his wrist - Not enough to be an annoyance, but rather a reassuring movement, like a child clutching dutifully at the hand of his mother. Every shot he loosed struck home, twisting metal savagely, but still the bipod lumbered onwards. 

One of the Scythes of the Emperor - Cleomenes was unsure of his name - Was half-engulfed in a plume of fire, armour fizzing and popping, the dyed plate glittering silver as the colouration evaporated. The left-hand side of the Marine’s armour was a mess, how it had not breached, Cleomenes was clueless. 

‘The Emperor watches you,’ He said gruffly - Ejecting an empty magazine from his Boltpistol and slamming another home, watching a pair of grenades sail through the air, wobble, and then detonate at the Sentinel’s feet.

The legs crumpled, the cockpit careening over into the dust. The operator hammered a rune, the spider-webbed canopy ejecting away with a pneumatic squeal, the man himself stumbling out, wreathed in smoke. Raxan loosed a trio of rounds, each round punching into the pilot’s suited chest, blood erupting outwards. Cleomenes leveled his side-arm coolly, depressed the trigger, and struck the man’s forehead. His helm exploded outwards, blood, bone and brain fragments scattering outwards.

‘Show off. He was just as dead now as he was before you shot him.’ Raxan said, as Cleomenes drew next to him. He smirked, a delightful, victorious smirk, mag-holding his Boltpistol to his hip. 

‘Perhaps.’ Cleomenes said, with a lopsided grin, ringing his gauntleted hands together. ‘Age has diminished my eye-sight, I am afraid.’

The Squad gathered back, Cleomenes eying each with half-hidden aggressiveness. Save for Raxan, he trusted none of his companions. They were, after all, strangers - Men garbed like his brothers, though, in reality, were nothing more than ghosts of the past - The last pitiful dregs of Sotha, here to collect Cleomenes - A living, breathing, fighting relic of days long gone. He sighed inwardly - What terrible fate had befallen his Chapter?

Two of their number had wandered off into the ruined fortress-monastery; and now, on the orders of Sergeant Scrious, the others were bounding off - In search of their errant brethren. The Dreadnaught, Solakai, plodded along in front, huge and foreboding, blood rimming one of the machine’s piston-ankles. Cleomenes was in a state of disinterest - Unbothered by the petty squabbles of his companions - More concerned with learning what he had missed, what had savaged Sotha.

‘It would appear, Sergeant Scrious,’ Cleomenes said, the smile audible, as they neared the pair of Marines. ‘That you hold a slack leash over your Marines. That is _awfully _disappointing.’


----------



## Euphrati

_To look into eyes of a man is to take a measure of his eternal soul. _

I wonder just what that long-dead scribe who first pinned those words in the darkness of humanity's distant past would think as I look into the cold, inhumanly coloured eyes of my brother.

The blood-coloured irises are a rare Sotharian trait, he is the last of the Chapter to bear them. Without conscious thought I examine the dissimilarities from the last time I beheld his flesh in the cold lights of the Apothecarium; meticulously noting the slight pinkness to the lines of scar tissue that mar his features. The self-inflicted marks have been reopened ritually within the last eight hours. I am not surprised at this fact. We each cope with our pain in our own ways- Zurick is not the only Scythe to bear marks of penitence upon his flesh for the ghosts of the past.

The process that forges us into demi-gods of war is not without its costs, though I find it unkindly paradoxical that the price of becoming mankind's ultimate defenders is the sacrifice of our own humanity. Of all my brothers, Zurick's connection to our birth species hangs by the thinnest of fraying threads.

In the long, dark hours I have spent in the hushed silence of the Apothecarium over these last years, awaiting the multitude of results from the genetic tests on the newest batch of youths and watching over dimly-lit vat stores of growing implants, I have cherished their company; albeit it often brief and haphazard in nature. I have often wondered if Zurick's tentative acceptance of me is due more to the warrior at his side than not, and I do not doubt that his life is measured in the same span of time. Zurick unequivocally lives and fights because Ryan draws breath.

Ryan speaks now and I bow my head in acknowledgment of his words, he recognizes the weight that I carry for us all. A fact that touches me greatly. Zurick's smile does not show through the dark crimson gaze of his eyes, and is all the more haunting for that reason.

As they speak I am distinctly reminded that, though I stand physically here beside them in the strobing lights of the bridge, I am an outsider to the bond they share. A bond that was forged before I was ever borne.

I can pick out the longing in their voices' tonal range, the subtle signs of biological instinct altering their stances and chemical balances without even consulting the bio-input monitors located in the Narthecium on my arm. The desire to be down with the others annihilating those who dare to defile the soil of our dead world is a physical manifestation in their every breath. I smile softly as Zurick's words give life to my inner thoughts, 

'I have a feeling you may slake your desire for that very soon, Zurick,'

I know my eyes show the dark need to shed the thin blood of the heathen beings named Tau clearly in their stormy depths,

'I only ask that you leave one breathing for my blades... I promise you his death will not be quick nor painless in any sense of the word for their impudence at coming here.'

As the words leave my lips I note the movement of another coming towards where we stand and glance over my shoulder. Belial strides near and I pause for a moment as a strange emotion brushes across my thoughts as a memory uncoils within me. I have never told Belial the truth of the fact- the only reason I did not simply fire through his body and into the Traitor was that I could not guarantee the bolt would penetrate far enough through his armour in only a single shot.


----------



## FORTHELION

Strideing onto the bridge alone again, Belial looked to the forward view port, the horror that met him there curdled his blood. If anyone could see his face under his helmet the reaction they would have seen would have been one of horror, revulsion and anger. How dare anyone sully the soil of Sotha. Was not enough damage done by the tyranid menace. These wretches will surely pay for their tresspass. Is nothing sacred anymore he thought to himself.

Belial remembered back to the last time he had seen her sacred soil. It was in the belly of a thunderhawk screaming its way from the surface under constant fire from the tyranids of hive fleet Kraken. It was not a memory he remembered well, he tried to shut it out, but it would always resurface from time to time. Time it seems doesnt heal all wounds he mused to himself. 

Tearing his eyes away from the view port Belial spotted Niko, Ryan and Zurich in conversation with each other. Sometimes he longed to be able to converse with his brothers on a more personal level, but somehow he never seemed capable of holding down a full conversation with them, whether that was because he didnt feel their equal or had nothing in common with them he wasnt too sure, but either way most of his time was spent alone except for the occasions he spent time with Laikus.

Though this situation was too important to say nothing. He strode towards his brothers. He greeted them with a nod of his head and said " Brothers it pains me to see our home world being sullied by these wretches. They will feel the full wrath of what is left of our chapter for their actions here". Pausing then he waited to see if there was a response comming from any of them.


----------



## unxpekted22

Niko and Belial:

A new set of armored foot steps approaches the four of you, it is Veteran Sergeant Tobias.

"A shame isn't Niko...we finally get a break from the youths only to observe this..." he waves his black gauntlet, motioning across the wide viewport at the dead world of Sotha, "unbearably depressing grave stone, not even resting in peace."

He speaks to the group as a whole, replying to Zurick's concern in particular about the scavengers' fate and from whose hands it is dealt.

"They will receive their punishment. I believe this without a doubt. I find it likely, Zurick, that our Lord chose those he did for a reason. The reason being that Brother Ryan and yourself would not benefit from the killing in any tactical sense. It is Sergeant Kain's first _true_ test of leadership after all. The prey is easy. The scoundrels will die, and the young marines get some well needed practice. Raxan, their pedestal as you say, with them as a safety in case something goes wrong that the rest have never dealt with before. He is a bit better when it comes to teamwork than you two, "he nods toward Zurick and Ryan, "Though I mean no offense by saying so."

Zurick makes a quick response, "Ryan and I could take out every one of those pirates down there on our own.

"I agree, brother, but that's precisely why our Lord saw the need to do otherwise. He is impressively meticulous in how he uses the few marines he has left."

Zurick returns to silence after muttering one last statement, staring out the viewport again, "Raziel is a force to be reckoned with as well". 

Ryan speaks up next, "You make good points Veteran Sergeant, though you know we have our disagreements when it comes to the leadership of our remaining chapter."

A heavy silence falls upon the group of five, everyone remembering the fact that Zurick and Ryan went with Sergeant Brig's commands on Ferim, even though they were against Lord Sotha's. With such a small number of marines left, and the skill that Ryan and Zurick bring to the table...the issue has never even been truly brought up, and so, never resolved.

Brother Ryan breaks the silence, after seeing he created it, "Belial, its been a very long time since I have seen you, hasn't it? Keeping yourself busy I presume?

Tobias looks at Niko, as if he is waiting for the apothecary to say something.

Continue your thoughts and the conversation. Keeping yourself occupied while knowing a handful of your brothers are now on the surface slaying the scavengers is probably a good idea. Next update will have something different going on, I promise. I started everyone who was in the thunderhawk with nothing but conversation either, so its fair lol.

Izrael, Vermaas, Solaki, Kain, Cleomenes, Zeiran, Raxan, and Raziel: Hexor and Spurius are still in the scene as well, remaining as NPCs

The group of black and yellow armored Scythes of the Emperor steadily falls into place, everyone moving in closer and lowering their weapons. All but Hexor and Spurius at least, who keep their guns trained on the hills ready to blow apart any foolish scavengers that the squad may have missed.

Does Kain respond to Cleomenes's comment?

Izrael proceeds to answer the questions of the Sergeant and dreadnought. He tells all of you the same things that he told Vermaas:

_...This quest is about oaths, oaths to the dead, about honoring our promises, if it can just be discarded because it is inconvenient, what use is my word?...

...If I find the banner, one of you can take it back to Lord Sotha yourself. It is needed, Brother Krin knew it, which is why he sacrificed himself to bring it back, which is why he swore these oaths of moment, why he made us swear not just to try but to do all in our power. If we bring it back along with Brother Cleomones, brothers will see that nothing can break our resolve, that at the core we will never die, that we will come back, that we will begin again...

...as Brother Krin tasked me, I task you in the Emperor's name, in the memory of this world we stand up and all that stood, fought and died upon it, in the name of the chapter's future bring back the banner of justice..._


So, brothers, do you agree or disagree with Izrael? You all listen but do you all respond? Who thinks the squad should continue on into the Monastery and retrieve this banner, if it is even still intact? And who thinks the squad should stick to their Lord's orders and return now that they have Cleomenes? Ultimately the decision is up to Kain, who if he is a wise sergeant will listen carefully to his brothers' opinions and keep note of the majority vote. Though, he also has the option of informing Lord Sotha of the situation.


Another two weeks!


----------



## Deus Mortis

Solaki continued to tower over Izrael and listened to the youth speak. To his merit, he held his never when faced with a Dreadnought which stood at least half his height taller than him. The behemoth stood, immoveable. Izrael could not push him aside and so had to reason with him. _“...This quest is about oaths, oaths to the dead, about honouring our promises, if it can just be discarded because it is inconvenient, what use is my word?...”_ Solaki interjected. 
“Brother, your intentions are noble, but untempered they are reckless, and that makes you useless to your brothers. Those who are still breathing. Those are your oaths. Those are your most important oaths. You cannot abandon them to fulfil an oath to the dead, or else you will have more dead to honour.” Unfortunately, Solaki was convinced that Izrael’s youth was against him. He was possessed of a strong sense of honour, and that was a noble thing that the chapters could use. But if it clouded his judgement, then it was a detriment, not a virtue. He would need to be tempered into a weapon of righteous fury, but for the moment he was a loose cannon and would need to be kept on a short leash. 

Izrael carried on unperturbed by Solaki’s words. _“...If I find the banner, one of you can take it back to Lord Sotha yourself. It is needed, Brother Krin knew it, which is why he sacrificed himself to bring it back, which is why he swore these oaths of moment, why he made us swear not just to try but to do all in our power. If we bring it back along with Brother Cleomones, brothers will see that nothing can break our resolve, that at the core we will never die, that we will come back, that we will begin again...”_ Solaki needed no lecture on how the chapter needed a sign of how unbreakable they were. Laikus, Sotha and several others had told him many times, either as a frank evaluation or a snide condemnation, that he was a symbol for the chapter to rally behind. An ancient was a machine which was last seen when the chapter was great, and so their returned hinted at the return of the chapter’s formed strength. 
“Do not lecture me, little one, on symbols needed. Niko and I have been forged into heralds of the chapter’s return. But what return is it when we stand divided and are riddled with insubordinate youths such as yourself? Brothers who are not mindful of their brothers and would leave them to pursue their own agendas, however noble they might be?” Solaki let Izrael consider his words for a moment. Somehow, he doubted that he would take much notice of them. He was too lost in his own thoughts of oaths and honour to be swayed, Solaki felt. “Your desire to prove to our chapter that it is unbreakable is noble, but your conduct and pursuit of such goals is selfish and speaks of your youthful ignorance and recklessness.”

If Izrael was swayed by Solaki’s words, or felt any remorse about how he acted, he seemed to show no sign of it. _“...as Brother Krin tasked me, I task you in the Emperor's name, in the memory of this world we stand up and all that stood, fought and died upon it, in the name of the chapter's future bring back the banner of justice...”_ The fortunes of being in a Dreadnought were many. His shell was all but impenetrable, his weapons were many and his size was currently barring Izrael from pursuing his recklessness further. But, at this moment Solaki was particularly thankful for the virtue that Solaki could have any emotion he desired in his sarcophagus of ammonic fluid and life sustainers and it would not be written all over his stance. Who was this cur to hold him to oaths and demand that he do things for him? He certainly did not have the authority to so such things. Solaki rumbled in his cold metallic voice, the iron grating betraying nothing of the anger or vehemence in his heart. 
“You forget your place, Izrael. Krin was your superior and so could bind you to oaths. You are not mine, and so you have no such authority. You would do well to remember that.” Still, they had to make a decision. The banner would be a useful relic to bring back, but was not amongst those things which the Scythes had been ordered to bring back. They had no guarantee that the banner was still intact enough to be worth retrieving, and had no promise that the fortress monastery would not be defended by even more scavengers. Whilst those mites would not pose a problem on their own, every marine here knew one well-placed shot could be enough. Zurich had almost proved that for them. Solaki realised that Sotha would already know that there were relics down here. Many of which could be argued would boost moral just like the banner which Izrael sought. However, they had not been ordered to collect them, so clearly Lord Sotha did not believe they were a priority. “We will proceed as ordered, and if you continue to refuse to comply, I will carry you like a pup.” Solaki continued to tower over Izrael, both to watch him and to emphasise that he had both the means and willingness to do as he said…


----------



## Serpion5

*Zeiran*

Hexor and Spurius had the outer perimeter secured for the most part, so Zeiran instead walked back towards where the rest of the squad had assembled. He took the oppurtunity to fully flex his armour joints, noting with satisfaction and relief that he still had full function, or at least so it seemed for now. 

*'...This quest is about oaths, oaths to the dead, about honoring our promises, if it can just be discarded because it is inconvenient, what use is my word?...'* Zeiran recognized the voice as belonging to Izrael, and immediately focused his attention on the astartes as he continued. *'If I find the banner, one of you can take it back to Lord Sotha yourself. It is needed, Brother Krin knew it, which is why he sacrificed himself to bring it back, which is why he swore these oaths of moment, why he made us swear not just to try but to do all in our power. If we bring it back along with Brother Cleomones, brothers will see that nothing can break our resolve, that at the core we will never die, that we will come back, that we will begin again.'*

_Admirable._ Zeiran thought. _But ultimately an unnecessary risk._ The Chapter was on the verge of extinction, the likelihood of them all dying out completely was as real a possibility as anything else. 

Izrael continued regardless. *'...as Brother Krin tasked me, I task you in the Emperor's name, in the memory of this world we stand up and all that stood, fought and died upon it, in the name of the chapter's future bring back the banner of justice...'*

Solaki spoke at this moment, interjecting his own thoughts as to why the much younger astartes had acted out of turn. Zeiran could not help but finding himself in agreement with the dreadnought.

Zeiran softly shook his head before voicing his own thoughts simply and bluntly. 'Your goal is admirable, but tell me Brother Izrael, is there any reason you felt the need to pursue it alone? What is it that kept you from bringing this up with your squad and sergeant?' 

Regardless of how the marine would react, Zeiran kept his posture at a relaxed but ready position. 

'I am perfectly willing to aid you in retrieving the banner, but not for a moment would I support the idea of any of us undergoing such a task alone, and certainly not before the primary objective was completed.' As he finished, his gaze turned to Cleomenes, wondering what the elder veteran must be thinking of the rabble that had been sent to rescue him.


----------



## Midge913

Nodding in thanks to Spurius and Hexor as the two younger marines, took up a defensive position, scanning the surrounding wasteland for further enemies, as he listened to Vemaas. 

"The youth is beyond his station, as was I. I was tasked by Sergeant Kain to insure his safety. The boy insisted upon moving into the Fortress Monastery, as you can imagine brother it is likely not as safe as it once was. I only drew my weapon to delay any reckless actions on his part. The display was taboo, I admit, but one I felt necessary." Vermaas' word struck a sour chord for Raxan. Brother pointing weapons at brother, it forcibly reminded him of the trajedy that was Astelan's defection and fall. His eyes narrowed, a scything retort balanced on the tip of his tongue. Vermaas, though he seemed confident in the necessity of his action, he still obviously was unsure as to how Raxan would react. Raxan needed to tread with care. He didn't know why, but these marines seemed to look to him for approval. "The boy was half-mad. He raved about an othe to one of our fallen brothers. He would not listen to reason. His self-loathing is becoming a liability brother." The strain in Vermaas' voice was evident. The experience obviously trying his own values to the core. 

"I understand Vermaas, though the thought of my brothers drawing weapons against one another troubles me. Have we fallen so far that such actions are necessary?" He pivoted to the side, allowing Kain to enter into the circle of their conversation. Raxan was accutely aware of Cleomenes who stood by his side. What would he think of them? It was obvious that few in their company had managed to gain his respect. With a heavy heart, Raxan listened to Kain speak. 

"Thank you for sticking to my orders brother, though drawing your weapon on one of your him was not the greatest idea." Raxan watched as Kain, turning on Izrael, demanded an explanation for hit actions, "Brother what do you hope to gain in there? Closure or are you looking for something else in those ruins?" 

Izrael launched into a passioned explanation of his action, but his passion clouded his judgement. Raxan remembered the day that this planet fell, he remembered oaths he had taken to prevent the inevitable, even as the skies rained down death and destruction upon them. Each man here had oaths that were unfulfilled, Raxan was dismayed that Izrael, despite the importance of the oath he took, did not see the folly in trying to retrieve the banner himself. After all, were they not tasked by Lord Sotha to retrieve all available resources that they could from the planets surface?

Solaki seemed to be taking the youths actions more to heart than Raxan could force himself to. The dreadnaught speaking of what they would be doing, as if he commanded here, even going so far as to say that he would carry Izrael from the planets surface as if he were a wayward child. It wasn't until Zeiran, his melted armor a stark reminder of perlious nature of the planet they now stood on, spoke. His words trying to diffuse the building tension between the group. 

"Your goal is admirable, but tell me Brother Izrael, is there any reason you felt the need to pursue it alone? What is it that kept you from bringing this up with your squad and sergeant?" Raxan couldnt agree more. He would give much to see the Banner of Justice hang once more in the Heart of Sotha. "I am perfectly willing to aid you in retrieving the banner, but not for a moment would I support the idea of any of us undergoing such a task alone, and certainly not before the primary objective was completed."

"I agree with Zeiran," Raxan said, a glance in Kain's direction," Afterall were we not tasked by our lord to retrieve any resources that we could? I think that it would be well worth the short walk to the Monastary, even if it is unlikely that the Banner has survived." Locking his gaze on Izrael Raxan continued, "You should have said something brother. If we cannot work together, operate as one as a squad, what hope does the chapter have of survival? What do you think Brother?" His question directed at Kain.


----------



## BlackGuard

Vermaas quietly listened to Brother Raxan's comment. Perhaps he was right, maybe they had fallen so far that his actions now somehow seemed appropriate. He felt the internal conflict within him dwell up to the front of his mind for a few, vulnerable seconds. He could not deny the inescapable fact that but a handful of years ago such an act would have been beyond words. He doubted it would ever have been an option in the first place. What had changed within them? What made him think he should ... even could ... do such a thing? Even as the doubts rose he felt his faith halt his emotions. They had been betrayed once by the recklessness of a single brother, Astelan, and his betrayal had cost them more than anyone truly wanted to admit. Brother Izrael, while well meaning and zealous in his duties, was a loose cannon. He obviously thought the chain-of-command was something to be ignored, that his superior's orders were something to be spit upon.

Such a lack of discipline held the heavy potential for even further acts. In the grand scheme of the Scythe's current condition this small act of defiance in a well-intended retrieval seemed minor. Likely most of his brother's held more discontent towards him for drawing a weapon ... images of Astelan's heresy likely stilll fresh in their minds. Though was this not where such great betrayals began? With a well-intended act of defiance ... in the name of a cause that no honorable Astartes could reasonibly hate? What was the next step for Brother Izrael, especially if he got his way this time?

His eyes had been fixed on Brother Raxan but he felt them instinctively glance at Brother Zeiran and noticed the, mostly, cosmetic damage to his armor. His centuries of experiance upon the bloodiest fields of war upon the most unforgiving worlds known to Humanity allowed him to take notice that it was likely inflicted by an energy-based weapon of some kind -- either plasma or las. He felt the embers of his rage grow a little stronger. Brother Zeiran had survived this time, though he might never have come so close to injury or death had Brother Izrael not been so foolish. 

His glare once against returned to Brother Izrael's helm -- his facial expressions unreadable beneath his sealed war-helm. For a moment he warred with himself over weather to comment -- obviously his opinion would be given little merit since he'd just pulled a pistol on a fellow brother. 

He opened his mouth to speak and then quietly closed it. Sometimes it was best to simply keep quiet.


----------



## Jackinator

Raziel stood silent as the debate rattled back and forth between the different Marines. There were opinions for both sides but as the different views were put forward Raziel was forced to accept that he agreed with Raxan, the two of them had never seen eye to eye, Raziel had, for a long time, been as impetuous and headstrong as Izrael. Though age had tempered his recklessness, there was still a degree of it left in him, it often manifested in an apparent disregard for his own safety, perhaps he had never grown out of it. Nonetheless he couldn't agree, resources or not Izrael's actions had been stupid and undermining for Kain, Raziel might not have liked the young Sergeant, but he was their sergeant, he was in command and neither Izrael or Cleomenes should attempt to undermine him in the way they were doing. It was below them, it was certainly below Cleomenes.

It might not seem much now, but if Lord Sotha had wanted them to recover the Chapters relics he would have said as much, memories of a ravaged and dead past were no longer of any use to them, they were fables now. They had already nearly lost a brother and though Raziel would be the first to say that should he die in battle against the Emperor's enemies he would not die in vain, even he knew that to fall against such pathetic opponents as these was a waste of any Space Marines potential. It only took one shot. It may take a stupendous amount of luck, but it happened. If Izrael went off by himself the odds of that only magnified. It was a complex situation, Kain would have an interesting choice presented to him, and only time could tell what repercussions it could have.

Raziel maglocked his bolter to his side and crossed his arms in watchful silence, he was happy enough to watch for now. Kain was the sergeant, he would have to earn his laurels, for Raziel or any of the others to defuse the situation for him would only undermine his authority even more and though Raziel dislike him, he respected the authority behind his authority, he had to at least give Kain the chance to prove himself with out the help or deliberate hindrance of the rest.


----------



## dark angel

Cleomenes watched the spectacle unfold in silence, his lips pursed contemplatively behind his skull-close helm, eyes narrowed beneath mismatched eyepieces. Nameless, statuesque suits of armour begun to form into personalities, voices and opinions. Something catastrophic had happened to Sotha - To the Scythes of the Emperor - And Cleomenes was still in the dark with the entirety of the situation. It irked him, blood-sticky sticky fingers curling into huge, crushing fists at his sides. 

The one who had wandered off - Brother Izrael - Preached his motives, curling Cleomenes’ lip. Disobedience was a cancer; one that, unless excised upon naissance, would grow and fester until ultimately forcing the individual’s hand. Brother-Teacher Othello, Cleomenes’ tutor before his departure from Sotha, once-Captain of the Sacred Band, had taught as much. Izrael, Cleomenes thought with a self-satisfactory smile, was most definitely not one of his students. The Space Marine he mentioned - One Brother Krin - However, made Cleomenes’ ears perk. The name was familiar, if one that Cleomenes could not put a face to.

Each of the Marines had their chance to voice their opinions, even the monstrous, golem-like dreadnaught. Cleomenes tilted his transverse-plumed helm at the mobile sarcophagus, wondering what fell abomination had cursed Solaki with numb immortality. He sucked the recycled air between his teeth, before stepping forwards, hands still bunched into fists, helm bobbing between each of the ragtag Scythes. 

‘You are Scythes of the Emperor,’ He proclaimed, though there was little pride in the use of the Chapter’s name - More of a poisonous hiss, using the name loosely. ‘Fulfil your duty. Secondary and tertiary objectives - Especially those of a personal nature - Should be concluded upon completion of the primary,’ He gave Izrael a distasteful look beneath his plate, eyeing the black shoulder pauldron suspiciously. ‘If you are so concerned over _decorative thread_, Brother Izrael, I am sure that this Lord Sotha of yours will happily dispatch another retrieval team.’

He turned towards Kain. 

‘_Sergeant _Scrious,’ The smile was audible, the distaste subtle. ‘May I suggest that you enact some form of censure upon Brother Izrael. Allowing your more.. Questionable wards to run off, alone and unattended, in an hostile environment is ignorance. Perhaps it is _you _who is need of punishment, rather than he.’


----------



## deathbringer

His words sounded hollow when cast to the group and he felt his back stiffen at the disapproving gazes cast at him, like a group of eyes rolling at the young buck before them, so willful and ignorant, a wild beast that needed to be tempered and leashed.

Fuck them, fuck them all, he couldn't fight them all barehanded, for he would never draw bolt or blade against his brother's. It rankled at him, that no one questioned Vermaas for such treachery, they accepted him back into their midst with barely a word. Nay of the group he was the heathen, not the man that had drawn a pistol upon a fellow scythe.

It was the dreadnaught who spoke first and Izrael felt his distaste raise at the superiority, the pompous self righteousness that oozed through his vox grill to make Izrael's skin crawl, his mind suddenly working overtime as he struggled to find a way out of this new situation, inches away, his goal, his desires within his fingertips yet he was about to be dragged away once more. No, he had been dragged away too many times, yet a single look at the dreadnaught's looming form told him enough. If he drew a weapon he would be dead within seconds and rightly so even if such horrific treachery seemed acceptable in their midst. A spiteful glare at Brother Vermaas standing silent and sanctimonius on the fringe made his cheeks flush with rage, as the dreadnaught ignored the treachery, his head too far up his own arse to notice the horrors that surrounded him.

“We will proceed as ordered, and if you continue to refuse to comply, I will carry you like a pup.” 

The dreadnaught leaned in with, some desperate inner need to impose himself upon the "pup" before him ill placed, a show of strength little to discourage a man already dead in his mind and he squared up to the dreadnaught his weapons holstered and hands outstretched like a martyr before the headsman's block.

A single flick of his angry eyes switched them to a private channel, his words for the dreadnaught and the dreadnaught alone

"You forget your place dreadnaught, Brother Krin was your superior, so I'll take his orders over the orders of a corpse in a pretty jacket."

He felt the desire to spit his mouth bitter, the dreadnaught's huge bulk and unlocking an innate desire to protect himself but he resisted, hand gesticulating to the dreadnaught's body instead

"It is beautiful no doubt, Lakius is truly a master of his craft but it can't wash away the stench of failure can it, the stench of having been bent over and fucked half to death by an Xenos scum."

He gave a low snarl of distaste,

"You can say your a symbol, but you like me, like Kain, are a symbol of what is wrong with our chapter. Needs must, mediocrity accepted where excellence is necessary. I was not ready to wear the armor of the legionnaire when i was raised, my mind was fucked torn apart by failure, and I was rewarded, the very thing I had worked for, longed for, had haunted my dreams tainted and besmirched."

He wanted to turn away but he would not leave the dreadnaughts

"So you can take your symbol and shove it up a star cruiser because if a hive tyrants bitch is the best emblem for our future then I hope I don't live to see it."

He turned away for the dreadnaught severing the connection with a hateful snarl, even as others spoke, Raxan speaking the most sense of any though he chastised his disobedience before looking to Kain the one that would truly decide the fate of his quest and he implored the pair of them with a low growl his voice softening

"Speak sense brother. The marine that should not be, speaking of a banner on a mission carried from beyond the grave."

He gave a low chuckle

"If our positions had been reversed I wouldn't believe me either"

It was a new voice that caught his attention next, a sarcastic voice filled with distaste coming from the brother they had come to retrieve, this the valuable resource that had brought them her. 

‘You are Scythes of the Emperor. ‘Fulfil your duty. Secondary and tertiary objectives - Especially those of a personal nature - Should be concluded upon completion of the primary,"

It stuck in his craw. The distaste in his voice above the poisionous lilt scratching at an already frayed temper. Cleomenes, oh yes he had heard of the veteran that had run to play merchant.

‘If you are so concerned over decorative thread, Brother Izrael, I am sure that this Lord Sotha of yours will happily dispatch another retrieval team.’

His voice was light as he bit back, airy and breezy the slightest hint of false respect

"I agree Brother Cleomenes, I am currently set upon direct course to my primary and endeavoring to complete it with all haste. I was not sent as part of the team to retrieve you and thus though I applaud Brother Sergeant Kain for the rapid and efficient completion of his primary. Mine sadly still needs completion."

His tone remained bright though his eyes glinted maliciously beneath his helm

"and pray Brother what was your primary"

he paused even as his voice took on a flintish quality, filled with hatred, an astartes running off with a trade ship

"Playing merchant while Sotha burned and died around your brethren?"


----------



## Lord Ramo

Kain turned at the comment from Cleomenes, barely resisting the urge to strike the marine. He had no idea what had befallen the chapter since he ran off with a merchant. Kain felt his ire raging at the “veterans” comment, though he decided not to respond. He had no reason to explain himself to the “oh so mighty” Cleomenes. He was not a superior officer, and had left his brothers to go play merchant boy.

He listened to the youth as he spoke about his oath, oathing them all to do the same as he was oathed and to collect the banner. The youth was determined, that was easy to see by all of them, his determination almost infectious. His Lord had told him to collect anything useful, though he had meant munitions, armour and ammunition. That was the future of the chapter in Sotha’s mind. However Kain believed that the banner could be useful as the youth had said, it could inspire the marines left. Or it could remember of the past even more than they were reminded.

One by one his fellow marines spoke up, some staying quiet to see his decision, whilst most believed that the squad should head for the banner before returning. Kain listened to each, Raxan and Zerien, believing that whilst his goal was noble he should have mentioned it so the squad could claim it to ensure that they didn’t lose a marine. He waited for the opinions of the rest of the squad, Solakia telling Izrael that he would do as he was told or he would be carried by him.

Kain turned to the squad, ignoring Cleomenes comment about how he should punish Izrael or be punished himself, the youths response provided nothing but humour for Kain, who almost laughed underneath his helmet.

“Brother’s I have made my decision, we don’t have time to stand here and bicker. We go for the banner. Anything that we find within the Fortress that can be used we also take back with us to the Heart. As our “esteemed” brother Cleomenes is our primary objective he will come with us, in the middle of the squad. Solakia, I ask keep an eye on our primary objective by staying near him. Raxan and Izrael will be at the front with me, Zerian and Vermaas you have the rear of the squad. Raziel stay next to the objective as well with Hexor and Spurius. Let us move brothers.”


----------



## FORTHELION

As Tobias arrived on the bridge the conversation started off fairly pleasantly though it soon became clear the brothers Zurich and Ryan were unhappy at being left behind on the ship. Belial could understand their frustration but things turned for the worse and became alot more awkward when brother Ryan said "*"You make good points Veteran Sergeant, though you know we have our disagreements when it comes to the leadership of our remaining chapter."*

Silence followed only broken by brother Ryan himself when he said to Belial *"Belial, its been a very long time since I have seen you, hasn't it? Keeping yourself busy I presume?* "Yes brother i tend to keep my own councel these days, though in times like these i think its best we stick together, these scavengers deserve the full wrath of our chapter. And for what it is worth i dont think now is the time to get into a debate on the rights and wrongs of lord Sothas Orders. Now is the time to follow orders and if you have any grievances they should be taken up at a later date. On a more interesting note though it will be interesting to see how Sergeant Kain gets on in his first combat mission as sergeant, i for one believe he will cope admirably, he is a proven warrior and deserves the faith lord Sotha has entrusted in him" Have you any thoughts on this apothecay Niko?

At this point Belial decided to stay quiet as apothecay Niko would be the one best suited to calm the situation as his word was always respected by every battle brother in the chapter. He waited for his responce.


----------



## dark angel

The comment made his spine stiffen, combat-stimulants pumping back into his arteries. His empurpled lips pressed together, suppressing an undignified snarl. An accusing finger swept up through the air between Izrael and Cleomenes, the blue ceramite now stained a garish, fading pink. Rage, burning within his twinned hearts, fueled his words. 

‘You know nothing of my circumstances, _boy_.’ Cleomenes grumbled, his voice a husky, outraged clash of syllables. ‘Had I known of Sotha’s predicament, I would have returned. I would have died for Sotha, child. Do not humour me with false injustices.’ He sucked recycled hair between gritted teeth, calming the urge to crush Izrael’s faceplate. ‘I walked alongside Thorcrya whilst you were still suckling upon your mother’s breast, I gave Sotha more than my worth. It was Thorcrya, lord Thorcrya, who sanctioned my absence. In judgment of me, you also question the word of your master..’ He paused, giving Sergeant Scrious a glance. ‘And that, brother Izrael, is a most _unwise _decision.’ 

He lowered his hand, smiled woefully, and shook his head. His eyes, bright, glittering blue, turned upon the fortress-monastery. It sagged drunkenly, towers collapsed into one another, walls cracked open like huge, colourless eggs. It was a shade, a broken mirror of the great construct that Cleomenes had left behind, shining proudly in the Sothan daylight - Now enshrouded in a great, sparkling cloud of dust. Cleomenes wanted nothing more than to wake up from this terrible nightmare, to be back aboard the _Sorrowsong_, amongst his companions; his adopted brothers. Deep within, he knew it would not come.

When Sergeant Scrious announced his intentions to search for the banner, Cleomenes shook his leonine head. He glanced again at the dreadnaught, chortled, and turned on the Sergeant. ‘Sergeant Scrious. I will not be degraded. I do not require your _pet _dreadnaught to walk me. _If _we are going into the fortress-monastery, I will be at your side. No-one else’s.’

Cleomenes’ voice dropped into a dangerous, rumbling purr. ‘And Brother-Sergeant, that is _not _a request.’


----------



## unxpekted22

Niko and Belial:

The conversation continues for some time, but news soon unfolds regarding the brothers sent to the surface of the dead homeworld...

You two, along with Brothers Zurick and Ryan, veteran sergeant Tobias, Chief Apothecary Alexander, and the techmarine Laikus stand alone in the bridge, all other marines dismissed from the cold metal room.

The giant view of the dead planet still casting a rather aggravating light onto the deck as Lord Sotha gripped the rail before his throne and gave a loud sigh before speaking further, as some matters have been discovered and brought to his attention mainly thanks to Laikus.

"So, three of my marines blatantly disobeyed my orders, none in the team I elected did anything to stop them, and now they have moved into the decaying fortress monastery. We've gained Cleomenes and I wish dearly to speak with him, but we may very well lose all of them now. The scavengers have been here a long time....they are in those ruins and will have them defended after hearing the radio cries of their allies."

He breathes the reversal, inhaling heavily though his nose, "I can't hear them, I dont know if Kain is even still in charge. I should have been more specific in my orders."

In an instant, your lord snaps to his full height, his velvet black cape embroidered with golden border and sigil flexing outward and slowly drifting again toward the backs of his legs.

"Brothers Ryan, Zurick, Belial, and Apothecary Niko, Laikus has already recalled the thunderhawk and it will be ready for your entry shortly. The four of you are to enter the monastery, make sure everyone in the retrieval team survives and bring them back to the thunder-hawk for immediate extraction... I will have to send some of our other brothers to retrieve necessary supplies."

In what seems like no time at all, the thunderhawk ramp opens to reveal what several of your brothers saw less than an hour before. Though, you are dropped off right next the monastery's main entrance rather than the landing pads that your brothers were. Four more pairs of black armored boots housing the feet of this world's long lost children, land in the dirt. The devastated ruins of the Monastery looms over you. 

Floating corpses with their frozen goblets of blood around them reveal the scavengers to be of both Tau and Human races, just as the others had discovered. Large prints in the sandy ground mark Solaki's path, and smaller sets for the others. You seem to be standing where they all stood musing about or some such in a circle for some time. 

Ryan follows the majority of footprints that came over a small hill, and shares the news of two destroyed vehicles, one a sentinel the other unrecognizable. This means the enemy has acces to at least _some_ heavy weaponry. The other trail of footprints leads straight into the monastery. 

Zurick looks at Ryan and speaks over the public channel, "...Nothing, but our bare hands..." Ryan gives a slight nod in return. They walk in front of you two, all four weapons maglocked, Ryan's hands curled into fists, Zurick's fingers stretching.

I was actually going to thrust you two even further than this, but this is a lot to take in at once. Your thoughts and words please. Feel free to speak to Ryan and Zurick once more as the four of you begin moving into the monastery ruins yourselves.

Solaki, Kain, Cleomenes, Raxan, Vermaas, Izrael, Raziel, and Zeiran:

Sand, dirt, and dust has all made its way deep within the ruins of the fortress monastery. You all see how these particles fill the air every time you pass through a beam of light, now trapped inside floating for an aimless eternity.

A cloud of this dust and dirt suddenly swims around a black-armored hand, a mechanical gauntlet with fiery life inside of it. Brother Izrael closes his hand, curling his fist around a long, metal staff just beneath the extravagantly decorated image of the Banner of Justice. Though tattered and torn, and color withered by age, Izrael takes it from its stand and slams the base of the pole proudly into the solid ground beneath him. All of you gaze upon it, different details striking each of you, causing you to remember old feelings and old memories.

The journey inside the monastery was not entirely simplistic, but nothing you couldn't handle. The suits of power armor worn by Vermaas, Raziel, and Izrael stained with the most scavenger blood by far, everyone else almost entirely clean...

Cleomenes had walked alongside whomever he wished, just as he had stated. Solaki had little choice once inside the ruins, unable to keep up with the elder.

You all feel glad to get this errand done with, or this oath fulfilled, turning to leave the way you came. 

Raxan turns to find a mustard-yellow package of some kind floating silently in the void straight towards his face at what seems to be a rather nonthreatening pace. But it is already where it needs to be. The black centerpiece blinks red once and it becomes instantly clear what the scavengers have been using to mine the ruins with.

The explosion erupts in front of Raxan, kicking his head back and sending him straight to the ground. Though none of you can hear it, spurts of pressured air hiss out through the cracks in his helm, arms, and chest plate as he tries to stand back up, attempting to cover one crack, then another, and soon realizing he only has so many hands. White sprays of mist signaling limited life plume and spiral from his carapace, as if his very soul is seeping through the armor.

The scavengers no longer seem so foolish. The instant the explosive goes off, your helms' targeting systems begin locking on forms appearing in the walls at various heights and at the three entry ways into the room. Pulse and las rounds fill the space between you and them. Solaki is the first to react to this threat, a heavy salvo from his under-slung storm bolter making a massive sweeping trail of smoky debris along the opposite wall, his even more advanced systems auto-locking on the rifles now poking through holes in the wall faster than the rest of you. 

All of you, push your way through the incoming fire and force your way back through the main entrance of this room. Raxan is able to regain himself, but the pressured air continues to seep through the damage in his armor. If he doesnt get back to the thunderhawk _fast_, he will die. You can gun down enemies, charge and cut them down, its fair game just dont go overboard. Keep in mind you will be being fired upon the entire time. I am not saying Raxan will actually die, but it means there cannot be any more time spent in the monastery. Getting out is an absolute priority. With that said, you wont make it too far just yet. 

Another two weeks! Multiple posts seem a definite possibility so be aware of that.


----------



## deathbringer

(ooc: this is just the start of the post. I'll do the rest of the update after more people post just in case da wants to respond)

Kain's voice drew Izrael's eye as the decision now rested on the sergeants soldiers, his next words setting the path for the squad, setting a path for his future. If he said no, the squad would swarm on him, the humiliation of being carried like a babe in the dreadnaughts arms a horror he would never live down.

The very thought made his face flush as he stared at the sergeant held his gaze with tremendous intensity. as he pondered his next move

“Brother’s I have made my decision, we don’t have time to stand here and bicker. We go for the banner. Anything that we find within the Fortress that can be used we also take back with us to the Heart. As our “esteemed” brother Cleomenes is our primary objective he will come with us, in the middle of the squad. Solakia, I ask keep an eye on our primary objective by staying near him. Raxan and Izrael will be at the front with me, Zerian and Vermaas you have the rear of the squad. Raziel stay next to the objective as well with Hexor and Spurius. Let us move brothers.”

Izrael felt his features break into a smile for the first time in, he could not remember, the muscles so long unused; He would be given a chance, a chance to tear up the infernal paper upon his left guard, the paper that had taken over his left guard and begin a new. Aye he had been disobedient and he would pay the penance for it, but if they recovered it, if they brought it back, he could lay the ghost to rest, restore the honour of his word, feel comfortable in his skin once more. 

Finally he would begin to earn his title as battle brother.Finally he could begin to earn the respect of his brothers, to find closure and honor in the rebuilding of the chapter.

You know nothing of my circumstances, boy.’ 

The word was acrid filled with despite and Izrael could not restrain the smile beneath his helm, the knowledge he had got to the coward satisfying. He still held himself in such haughty esteem. Izrael had none for him, no time for anyone that held themselves so highly, especially when the ruins of his homeworld showed he had no right

"Had I known of Sotha’s predicament, I would have returned. I would have died for Sotha, child. Do not humour me with false injustices. I walked alongside Thorcrya whilst you were still suckling upon your mother’s breast, I gave Sotha more than my worth. It was Thorcrya, lord Thorcrya, who sanctioned my absence. In judgment of me, you also question the word of your master..."

His final words were a blatant threat yet Izrael was unmoved, still held in the icy void of his own demise. Since Sotha, pain and death had been but bywords to him, the fact that the elder could gut him like a fish no reason to give false respect. Every act they had performed, every deed had been swallowed by the weight of their failure

"and that, brother Izrael, is a most unwise decision. Sergeant Scrious. I will not be degraded. I do not require your pet dreadnaught to walk me. If we are going into the fortress-monastery, I will be at your side. No-one else’s. And Brother-Sergeant, that is not a request.

Izrael's anger peaked at the hypocrisy of his words, his distaste for the returned merchant growing as he opened his mouth and he snapped back

"Brothers slaughtered, our home burning, that was some fucking predicament I will tell you that brother. It is interesting though, to think that you were not called back until now 50 years later, once the fighting's done and we kneel battered yet unbroken. Perhaps that says more about the esteem you are held in than the wrinkles on your flesh."

He met the esteemed brother's dangerous gaze without fear his voice bilious even as he moved to take his place alongside brother Kain at the front of the group

"Perhaps it is true that a merchant has two tongues for his two faces, for hypocrisy flows from yours in rivers. Do not question my actions when you know so little of my circumstances and I will offer you the same courtesy. When I want to know the price of salmon on the eastern fringe, I'll come to you, til then..."

He paused and left a hollow shrug, his face twisted with distaste, a hund waving dismissively as he turned away


----------



## Serpion5

*Zeiran*

The decision had been made and the errand was under way. The ruins of the Fortress Monastery were like a terrifying vision of the future in Zeiran's mind. Burned and crumbling beyond recognition, he was reminded of a nightmare he had experienced once during warp transit. It was of a crumbling and charred image of the Imperium, or so he had thought up until now. Zeiran had never been an avid psyker and had never put stock in the lies of the warp. But seeing this was, if nothing else, a reminder that even the greatest of empires could fall in time. 

The place was still infested by those seeking to plunder what was still the property of the chapter and as such the journey inside was far from straightforward. They may not have been well equipped, but the rebels were irritatingly persistent. 

He was instantly relieved when the banner was found and Izrael hefted it aloft. The banner was an encouraging reminder of what it meant to be a Scythe, even in its current state. 


* * *


As they made to leave, still weary for more signs of the intruders, Raxan made to lead the way. He had barely taken a couple of steps before a small yellow item floated in front of him. It was as though some sort of projectile approached him in slow motion but after a split second it became apparent that the lacklustre pace was not indicative of the item's threat. 

A single red blink was the only warning before the device exploded, throwing Raxan brutally to the ground and sending a slight concussive force through the floor beneath them all. Instantly more of the scavengers' forms began to appear from the cracks and ruins all around them. Zeiran popped off a few shots almost immediately, felling two of the closest enemies before rushing forward. With a glance at Raxan it became obvious that his armour had been ruptured by the explosion as numerous jets of air hissed silently from the rents in his power armour. 

It was blindingly obvious that they had to get out of the place and fast, otherwise Raxan was going to asphyxiate in a matter of minutes. With the loss of pressure in his suit he would be subject to the extremes of airlessness and lack of atmospheric pressure that the armour provided. This was lethal, even to the enhanced physiology of an astartes. With this in mind Zeiran pushed forward, wading through the onslaught of lasgun fire to ensure as many of the rebellious foe were cut down as possible. His bolter snapped off rounds almost of its own accord as Zeiran's mind raced from one priority to another. Kill the Heretics. Get Raxan back to the transport. 

The two objectives blurred and became one as he continued alternating his gaze between his targets and his brother astartes. Raxan was composed for now and the squad was well aware of the situation as their own movements matched the hurried pace of Zeiran. He gave one more glance to the air leaking form of Raxan before a terrible joke formed in his mind and even in this dire situation he found himself unable to resist giving it voice. 

'As much as I'd like this to progress quicker...' He said, pausing to gun down another charging rebel. '...I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you.'


----------



## Deus Mortis

The group had stalked through their old fortress monestary to collect the banner Izrael so desired. It was a simple enough errand. Only meager scavengers opposed them and Solaki unleashed his full fury on them just to vent it away from the whelp that strode at the front of their group in search of his precious banner. As they stalked the dimly corridors and cut down pathetic foes, Solaki had privately seethed with anger. In the moment, it had been all he could do not to pick Izrael up and crush him in his hand for his insolence. It would have been so easy, and no one could have stopped him. But he had not. He had said they would follow orders, and so Solaki followed Kains orders but remained far from Izrael. Solaki wished he had been above Izrael's petty barbs and insults, but he wasn't. Being in his cold metal box gave Solaki more time to think than he had ever had, and his greatest daemons had always lurked in his mind. So having more time to spend there was like living in a battleground. Izrael's comments had been true, if crude and sadistic. He had failed, and the only reason he was a dreadnought was because he was the only candidate who fit the requirements neccessary at the time they were required. He was a consiquence of need, not of greatness. It hurt him to admit it, and in that moment he had felt his walls of resolve crumble and the desire to claim he was a symbol, in the hope that if others believed it, he would too, fail. He was a failure given a chance at penetance, not a hero given a chance for vengance.

They finally reached the resting place of the banner and Izrael slammed it into the rockrete floor with great pride. It was plain to see than a great weight had clearly lifted off of his shoulders, and Solaki was glad to see that, mainly because he hoped it would temper him now that his 'oath' was fufilled. The banner was a bit knicked and bruised and faded, but it was still splendid in its glory. It showed past triumphs and Solaki couldn't help but feel that reclaiming such a relic could only be good for the chapter. They turned to leave, their objective achieved. Raxan was at their head as a small package floated slowly towards him. It seemed harmless enough, and there were no enemies around to be wary of, so nobody blinked as it cut through the void. It was only once the package blinked its solitary red eye at them that they all became concerned. Before anyone could move, the package exploded and knocked Raxan to the ground. If Solaki had stayed to watch he would have seen the gouts of white mist spraying out of Raxan's armour, but he was already turning. His targeting systems were locking onto fresh targets that had clearly been in waiting until their trap was sprung, and their guile was met with the silent roar of his storm bolter. It raked across the wall and collided with several 'threats', only to explode and void their armour almost instantly.

As all their bolters roared against those who sought their death, Solaki stole a look at his comrade. Raxan's armour had several breaches in his own armour, and his super-human physique could only hold out so long once his suit had voided itself. He could not be lost. He could not be. If they could get him back to the thunderhawk in the next few minutes, he might yet make it, but looking at the number of xeno-human hybrids opposed to them, killing them all would take far longer than they had. Either they would all die and Raxan would, or they would live a while longer and so would he, maybe. They needed to clear a path down the entrance they had come from. Solaki pivoted even as small arms fire pattered against his chassis like rain from enemies he had not yet slain. They could not harm him. No weapon they had could, and Solaki doubted even one of their demolition charges would be enough to critically breach him. Besides, none of them dared venture into the open , knowing that the moment they did they would be torn apart by one bolter or another. Instead they preferred to cower behind cover. 

He turned his attention to the way they had come, which was now blocked by enemies they had not know were there, lying in wait. His storm bolter spat dozens of rounds a second which caused death where-ever they struck. His las-cannon lanced out and demolished a section of cover and then his storm bolter mowed down the survivors a moment later. Solaki felt guilty at destroying the monestary he had once called him. But those days were long gone and the need demanded it. Solaki kept up his viscious rain of fire until almost no-one remained to oppose them. "Brothers..." he voxed over their frequency "...get Raxan back to the Thunderhawk. The air pressure there might yet save him. I will keep these scum from following you." He thought they would be foolish not to listen to him, even if he didn't have authority. It was what they all knew to do, he had just said it. He turn to those who might seek to follow his brothers. They could not and would not slow them down. His vox-caster broadcast on any and every frequency, powerful enough to burst through into the comparitively primative vox networks these scavengers would have, if they had them at all. "You chose to oppose the Emperor's finest, now know death you whoresons!" His twin weapons of destruction rained death on the pathetic foes which opposed them, whilst Solaki kept his eyes between his targeting array and they small map which denoted where his brothers were, ready to fall back to support them as they moved from the chamber...


----------



## BlackGuard

Vermaas stood as he always did stoic and resolute in the face of the internal tensions that had faced his chapter since the coming of the Tyranids to Sotha. Brother Izrael battled words with Solaki over the correctness of his so-called cause. He heard the response of Brother Cleomenes to Seargent Kain's comments and said nothing again. It was not his place to interject between his superior officer and a long-standing veteran of the chapter. Since linking back up with the squad he had slowly taken stock of the tension between Kain and Cleomenes and idly wondered from where this spring of bitterness from Cleomenes sprung. Was the veteran simply taking out his own self-loathing on the relatively young Kain? It would fall in line with the general attitude of his wayward brother since their arrival. Maybe this Cleomenes bitterly resented looking upon Sotha now ... now that any chance for him to die gloriously in its defense was lost. 

_'Brother’s I have made my decision, we don’t have time to stand here and bicker. We go for the banner. Anything that we find within the Fortress that can be used we also take back with us to the Heart'_, said Seargent Kain. His attention rapidly switched over to the decision of his commander and internally he sighed. It was an unwise move in the extreme. He had idly heard Cleomenes chiding of Brother Izrael over searching for the Banner and hoped that his commander had not simply chosen to look for the relic out of spite for this newcomer. His helm moved slightly to see Brother Izrael, and even though he could not read his brother's facial expression behind his helm he could almost 'feel' the childish smile behind those lenses. 

Seargent Kain's orders for insertion into the monastery ruins were quick and snipped. He was to assume a rear-guard action with Brother Zerian while the troublesome youth would assume a leading position into the ruins to claim his relic. The decision chided within Vermaas' mind and he could not help but feel the tug of a historical moment upon his mind. This seemingly insignifcant move would echo across the chapter's history. He prayed to the God-Emperor it would be a moment looked upon with pride rather than shame. The Scythes had too many blighted moments in their past. Remembering these various moments, some of them he had all too much of a role in, he decided to retain his stoic nature. He had to admit that it was a shield he had woven around himself -- something he started to do when the Tyranids tore his brother's apart before his very eyes and Sotha was consumed. It was completed when Astelan betrayed all of them and every movement, every word spoken, and every enemy slain since then only reinforced it. To rebuild the chapter would require stoic bluntness ... a firm understanding to simply obey orders and ensure the chapter's objectives were accomplished and goals realized.

It was with this mentality reinforcing him that he was the last one to enter the ruins of his chapter's most sacred of complexes. Within it was dark and dusty, beams of light punctuating the darkness and seeming to trap poor motes of dust in mid-air, destined to hang forever as silent witnesses to the decay of the Emperor's Finest. For nearly four minutes and thirty-seven seconds there was nothing of interest within the chapter ruins -- until the first of the scavangers suddenly assaulted the front, running right into the waiting chainblade of Brother Izrael who beset upon them with righteous fury. A few heartbeats later, enemies came forth from around corners and rooms which had been sealed when they passed them. Their tactics were sound and perfectly executed -- against any other foe they might have had a real chance. Against post-human demi-gods no amount of tactics would suffice. The patches of scavangers that attempted to engage him at long range were cut down by his bolt pistol -- the few foolish enough to charge him were hacked to pieces, their frozen blood forming a spectatcular mosaic across the non-gravity void of the chapter monastery. He couldn't help but notice that has they passed through the shafts of light from Sotha's still-burning sun, they looked for all the world like the purest of rubies. 

For nearly half an hour they steadily made their way towards the last known location of the Banner of Justice -- every so many minutes the enemy would attempt another ambush from different directions. Trying a heavy ranged-assault which were often cut down by his bolter, or they would suddenly switch up for melee and would die even quicker beneath his chainblade. His armor was awashed in a million tiny frozen blood droplets that clung to the electro-magnetic field emmitted by his power-pack. He smiled behind his helm as a shaft of light passed over him as he walked backwards, keeping a wary eye on every corner and passing hallway -- already checked he knew with his own eyes but this enemy was treacherous and cunning in their stealth. Almost without him realizing it they were suddenly within the room -- and there it was just as Izrael had hoped.

The Banner of Justice was not a relic lost upon him. He had seen it a hundred times over the long course of his service to the God-Emperor and often remarked upon the artistic uniqueness of the tapestry. For a moment he half-forgot his duty and gazed upon the banner. Its golden parchment gleaming all the brighter despite the dust which covered it, the many scribe-works across its holy cloth which pronounced a thousand victories upon a thousand worlds. He had to instinctively resist an urge to kneel before it in reverence. He watched Brother Izrael almost haltingly advance towards the elegant pole which provided support for the true relic and gripped it in his armored gauntlet. He could almost feel the youth's vindication from his position within the room and deep within his chest -- to his very shame, he felt a moment a envy. He surpressed it harshly and said a silent litany to the God-Emperor before noticing that the squad was beginning to move out of the room with Raxan in the vanguard. 
His keen eye-sight which had not been dulled by the multiude of battles he had nearly given his life in, in service to the Emperor, sudddenly noticed the rather out of place yellow package looking objective suspended in mid-air. It took an instant to recognize what it was, as an Adeptus Astartes one would not usually notice such minor civilian tools such as mining explosives -- not when almost every chapter could easily acquire meltas or krak grenades. 

'Brother its a-' he said before the tremor of the explosion vibrated within his body as Raxan was immediately felled by the cowardly attack. He took two steps towards his brother to assist him suddenly his targetting array came alive as though a veil had been lifted from it. It was actually late for about nine miliseconds before it went off he was already aware of the enemy's presence. This was done via two different things happening. First his eyes caught the glint off a pulse rifle, likely hefted by a filthy Tau. The second was the tiny pains erupting across his body as rounds from both pulse and las-guns attempted to end his life. He immediately spun around and began to open fire with his bolter on full-auto. His shots were well intended but were offset by the suddenly apocalyptic burst given by Venerable Solaki as he took account of the situtation long before any of them. 

He attempted to find something close to cover to at least hide part of his body from exposure from enemy fire. Alas the relic's room was left open as it was never intended to be a place of prolonged defense of any kind. The rest of the squad by now had begun taking their own defensive measures, some firing on the enemy others trying to take stock of the situtation. He glanced over at Brother Raxan, hoping that the explosion had not sent him to join the God-Emperor. To his relief, Brother Raxan unsteadily rose from the ground, but from a dozen different spots spewed the tell-tale white mist of a leak. He cursed as he knew exactly what it meant. It was time to return from this fools errant and quickly. 

As he began to make his way out of the room, turning and firing as he went to keep the enemies heads down whenever possible he exited with the rest of the squad as they attempted to keep some cover for Raxan -- with his armor already critically breached it didn't need any lucky rounds from the enemy complicating his already unstable chances of survival. Vermaas turned to fire again when he realized Venerable Solaki was blocking the way as he fired into the enemy -- he ordered them to move on without him. Vermaas' quietly took stock of the Dreadnaught's tactical chances of survival and found them higher than his own but not without risks. The enemy held no weapon that could harm him but in the same breath -- he'd thought that about his own power-armor barley minutes ago. If that package was the sum total of their weaponry then Solaki would likely be fine but ... what if it wasn't?

He immediately turned around and took a position behind the Dreadnaught but quickly found opening in its gun-fire to help cover all its blind spots as it switched from one target to the next. He switched open a direct communication to Venerable Solaki,

_'Your orders are disobeyed venerable,' he said calmly as he gunned down an enemy attempting to peer out of cover to take a pop shot at Solaki, 'We did not think them capable of penetrating our armor and look at Raxan. I will remain with you to provide close-fire support. Confirmed?'_


----------



## Midge913

The weight of the memories that suddenly rushed upon him, crushing feelings of loss and guilt, almost forced Raxan to his knees. The sight of his home, his Monastary, a skeleton of its former glory, was more than he could bear. Instantly, gazing around at his companions, he regretted his decision to support this venture. He wished nothing more than to board the Thunderhawk that awaited to transport them back to _The Heart_, leaving this dead world and all its painful memories behind. Before his eyes walked the ghostly images of his brothers, long dead, their eternal slumber disturbed by this fools errand. As much as he desired to retrieve relics of his chapter, they were remnants of a time long past, a time that he wished to bury in the bitter wastes of his mind. With Cleomenes at his side, if he closed his eyes he almost felt like he was back home. Like the present was a wretched nightmare, one that would disappear if he but awakened from it. 

Cleo's scorn for Kain's chosen action was evident. In the way he walked, in the way his gaze sometimes flitted in Kain's direction. More and more, as he became reaquainted with his long lost friend, Raxan felt his loyalties torn. Kain was his friend, but between them was always the unspoken debt Raxan felt he owed the man. They had never become as close as he and Cleomenes had and Raxan knew that was his doing. He was far more closed, for more reclusive than he had ever been since the fall of Sotha, he felt comfortable as Kain's right hand man. He knew that his friend would listen to any advice he would have to give, the weight of his experience a valuable thing to the relatively new sergeant. Until Cleomenes' return, Raxan had been comfortable with the relationship. But his brother's return, his contempt for what they had become, the way he stood for the lost ideals of a chapter in ruin, the more Raxan felt himself pulled in his direction. His eyes now open, his mind conflicted by what he saw. 

All the same, he knew his duty and as scavanengers erupted from the rubble, las guns flaring, pulse rounds bouncing off of his armor even as he raised his bolter and returned fire. His brothers reacted in much the same fashion, swords flashing, bolts flying, the holy vengence of the Emperor himself rained down on these heretics. They paid for their trespass in blood. Footsteps to his right, a filty Tau warrior rushing in his direction, a bolt round ending its life in a splatter of gore, even as his combat knife took the throat of a human that rushed his flank thinking him distracted. As soon as the assualt began it was over, the ground littered with the bodies of the dead, each floating inches above the ground, bobbing like a morbid beacon to any who would come across them. A message that their trespass would not be tolerated. Sheathing his knife, he flexed the joints of his gauntlet, frozen blood crunching off of it in small shards that floated away from him. Raxan smiled behind his helm, for the first time they had worked as a squad, each falling into a role in the assault with the ingrained training each of them bore. Perhaps there was hope for them yet. 

The swift skirmish, barely enough to wet his blade or slake his growing frustration driven bloodlest, drove his dour thoughts of earlier from his mind, and for the moment he could look out on the broken walls and dusty floors seeing nothing but another ruin. It was merely a place that contained his objective. In no time, with Izrael leading the way, they made it to the reliquary where the Banner was kept in the times where this place was a hive of activity. To Raxan's great surprise the banner still stood, safe in the holder that had kept it aloft for centuries. Raxan almost felt it as Izrael tensed at the sight of it. Its great flat surface adorned with images of victory and triumph. Its scrolled wording outlining a history rich with success and achievement. Slowly, reverently the youth stretched out his ebony clad hand, his fingers tensing around the shaft of the banner pole in a fashion that said he almost believed it would disappear at his touch. All trepidation melted away as he slammed the banner pole to the dusty ground, triumph and fulfillment evident in every fiber of his being. Something in the youth changed and Raxan could almost sense that a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

Looking around, tearing his gaze from the Banner, he took in their position. It was exposed, far too exposed for his liking. One of the walls had fallen and so enthralled by the Banner, none of the squad had noticed. "Lets move out," Raxan barked, "Our position is not defensible." Turning to lead the group out of the room and back through the Monastary to their evac, he saw a flash of red light and registered an unintelligble call from one of his brothers behind him before he was rocked by an explosion. 

Weightlessness..... colors flashing across his vision. Pain.... somewhere his mind echoed with the thought that the fact that he felt pain was a good thing. The dead did not feel pain. Slowly, torturously he forced his eyes open, instantaneously wishing he had not for the world seemed to spin around him, the towering splinters of wall that stretched far above him spinning at a speed that made him dizzy to watch. His breathing was ragged, the air thin. Blackness threatened at the corners of his vision, he gulped, strained to force the air into his lungs. He knew he needed to move. Slowly, the thready voices of his brothers began to echo in the vox, barel audible over the ringing that still threatened to deafen him. Rolling to his side, ponderously forcing himself up to his hands and knees, the blood pounding in his head he began to take stock of his situation. All around enemy rounds assailed the group. The ring of bolt rounds become more clear, accentuated by the heavy hissing thud of Solaki's lascannon. They were in trouble, he must help. 

Lurching to his feet, he raised his bolter, and fired at a silhouette, a helmed head that stood out amongst the tortured rock-crete. He was unsure if he hit the target, but as his vision steadied, it was no longer where it had been. His brothers were moving and even though he could not hear them, he went to move with them. His movement brought his arm up into the line of his vision and he almost stopped dead where he stood. white plumes of air were venting from his plate, not only from his arm, but his chest, neck, and back of his knee, a half a dozen spots in all. The blackness made sense, the thinning air all to telling of his predicament. In that instant, resolution gripped him. Fervent desire, an unquenchable lust to see these theives driven before him, flashes of him dying a noble death in the struggle consuming his mind. Rushing the the fore, barely noticing his brother's attempting to form a protective ring around him, bolt pistol clenched in one fist, bolter in the other, he engaged them. All thought of his own safety fled from his mind, his only desire to see these vermin dead at his feet and his brother's safely off this rock that was no longer his home.


----------



## dark angel

‘The inequity of fate,’ Cleomenes spoke, softly, lips parted in a veneer of a smile, as the Scythes of the Emperor advanced through the fortress monastery - The once-proud hallways now filled with debris, the marble floors gouged and rent, scorched and cracked. His hearts filled with nostalgic memory; a pulsating urge to reverse time, to live amongst his brother’s once again, now an impossibility. 

He kept towards the front of the group, striding besides Sergeant Scrious, one hand resting heavily on his bolt-pistol, eyes scanning the darkened hallways wearily. Brother Izrael’s retort had done little to phase Cleomenes - Though, the elder Astartes wanted nothing more than to berate the boy - To beat some sense into his pig-ignorant brain. The Space Marine’s armour steamed as he advanced, sparking at the joints, the void-cold playing havoc with the internal mechanisms. 

Ahead, a pentagonal chamber opened up, beams of light illuminating the room, dust and sand particles dancing prettily in the dull light. 

Cleomenes sighed. He remembered the room well - It was where Thorcrya had first told him of Tybarr Nymeros’ extravagant fleet, of Cleomenes’ future. Gone, now, were the benches and the bejeweled fountain; the tapestries and commemoratory paintings having long-since burnt away. One of the walls sagged drunkenly, opening up into another hallway; swathed in inky darkness.

The Polemarch halted, Marines filtering past him. The dreadnaught Solaki’s heavy tread, like a war-drum, reverberated across the floor and along Cleomenes’ legs. The Space Marines should not have been here - This was a mausoleum now, a silent, broken effigy to the dead. Their presence, and those of the scavenger’s, polluted the place. It was sacrilegious, a defilement, and Cleomenes loathed Sergeant Scrious for allowing their entrance. 

With a series of purposeful strides, Cleomenes was back at the Squad’s head; slightly behind brother Izrael’s deranged, fervent half-run. The Space Marine was determined, Cleomenes gave him that, but otherwise, he was far too belligerent for Cleomenes’ liking. All-in-all, Raxan was about the only other competent Space Marine currently present; the others were either too slow to react, or overeager. 

Eventually, the banner was located - A pitiful piece of rag, discoloured and ripped, strapped to a twisted haft. Izrael took it in his hands, slapping the heavy bottom of the banner against the floor, his pose triumphant. Cleomenes shook his head; remembering the trivial emotions of youth, of what it was like to feel pride in such meaningless actions. 

A moment of peace reigned. Cleomenes detached himself from the squad, moving back towards the main entranceway, disinterested with the banner. The Scythes of the Emperor had evidently become something else - The banner was an icon of old, a pitiful remembrance of the Chapter’s distant glories. 

Cleomenes half-turned, expecting the others to be following him, I time to see Raxan stretch his arm out to an object.

‘Brothe-’ Cleomenes began, recognizing the pack as an explosive device, though his warning was of no use, the concussive blast flattening Raxan, sending Cleomenes into a violent stumble. Enemy fire rained down upon them, hammering into ceramite, as scavengers emerged from their hiding spots.

Cleomenes whipped his bolt-pistol upwards; dropping a trio of sprinting humans, their blood crystallizing as it erupted from ghastly wounds. The Astartes were firing, now, dropping the thieving mongrels with each shot. 

‘Hostile contacts,’ Cleomenes bellowed, as more of the enemies rushed from the leftward entrance, firing at the hip. ‘Fall back.’

Raxan had regained his feet, plumes of air leaking from his cracked carapace. Cleomenes felt rage grip his hearts. He would not lose his brother - Not so soon to reunion. The Space Marine pushed forwards, raising his weapons, and for a moment, Cleomenes sympathized with his oldest of friends. He wanted his vengeance, but now was not the time. One huge gauntlet clasped Raxan’s shoulder pauldron, fingers clamping shut on the ceramite.

‘Brother Raxan.’ Cleomenes voxed, his voice a demanding timbre. ‘Your power armour is ruptured. You are leaking oxygen. _You will die_. This is not the time for foolishness, friend. Fall back, as I said. If you do not comply, I will personally drag your stubborn hide to safety.’

He destroyed another scavenger’s head, this one venting purple-blue blood. Tau, he thought bitterly. 

‘This is not a time for pointless heroics,’ He transmitted to the Space Marines, ducking out of the door, one hand still held firmly on Raxan’s shoulder. ‘We withdraw. I hereby reclaim my position as Sergeant - Any complaints may be taken up with your Lord Sotha.’

‘Extraction of brother Raxan is now our primary objective. We cut our way out of Sergeant Scrious’s mess. We are the Scythes of the Emperor, we do not dance with grave-robbers. Form dispersion pattern Omega,’ The arrow-head formation, Cleomenes thought with a coy smile. It was reassuring to be around Astartes. ‘Brothers Scrious, Izrael and myself will take the fore.’ The weak-elements, those who would need watching, would stay with Cleomenes. If he was going to be stabbed, he’d prefer it to not be in his back. ‘Vermaas, Zeiran and Raziel have the rear. Dreadnaught Solaki - Keep an eye upon brother Raxan. If he falters, _carry him_.’ 

‘And now,’ He said inwardly, cutting off the channel. ‘We shall see what has become of my Chapter.’


----------



## Lord Ramo

The journey to the standard was fairly uneventful, the corridors that had once housed a chapter, once had been the centre for activity and reflection stood dark, empty, silent. Kain moved at the fore of the group, Izrael with him as well as Raxan and Cleomenes, the damnable marine believing he could go where he wanted. 

Kain stayed quiet throughout the journey, as did the rest of the squad as they moved cautiously through the ruins, the heavy treads of powered armoured boots and that of Solaki's giant strides the only thing that would make noise, even though it could not be heard in the vaccum. Kain cursed himself inwardly for leading his squad in here, but then again unless he wanted to return to the Heart empty handed except for a marine believing he was better than everyone else he would leave.

Finally the youth got his standard, holding it almost proudly as the squad turned to move, before an explosion rocked Kain's world. Raxan accidently activated a mine, causing his suit to vent atmosphere and immediately the marines opened fire, hitting silhouttes as more scavangers tried to ambush them. Over the vox Kain heard Cleomenes spout some rubbish of him taking command and ordered everyone to follow his orders.

"Shut up Cleomenes you proud fool. You have no command here, no rank to which you can claim, once we are out of this mess I will relinquish my command to a more level headed Astartes. Astartes fall back, form up around Raxan." Kain bellowed into the vox as he tried to rally his men back. It was his foolish mistake that had brought them in here, he would rectify it then relinquish his command to one of his more stable brothers.

"Solaki you have the rear of the group, cover our retreat. Brothers Vermaas and Zeiran carry our brother if necessary but stay with him, ensure that he does not fall behind. Cleomenes and I will take the fore of the group, Izrael, Hexor, Spurius and Raziel will follow behind Raxan." He ordered as he moved, "Once we are out of the mess I got us into, Brother Vermaas will have control of the squad until we return to the heart, any problems?" He almost snarled the last part in the direction of Cleomenes. He would be damned if he let that pompous marine take control of the squad.

"Brother stay with me. Once we are out of this mess, with you in one piece consider your life debt repaid." Kain privately sent over to Raxan worriedly.


----------



## Midge913

A haze of red filled his vision, the desire to kill and purge, consuming his mind. His lips parted in a rictus snarl, a wordless roar echoing in the small confines of his helm, its faceplate bathed in the strobing light of the muzzle flash of his weapons, Raxan relented. He gave into the bloodlust that he had all too often felt since the fall of his home and around him the world started to melt away, falling into the blackness at the edge of the red mist that clouded his mind and swam before his eyes. All thoughts of restraint burned away in the sudden rush of furious rage that consumed the very center of his being. He knew, down to the very core of his aged bones that he was going to die. He knew that as the seconds passed, the remaining moments of his life ticked away and that thought filled him with a boiling ire that longed for release and so he let it. Lost in the raging fires of hatred and anguish everything else around him, the shattered ruins of his home, his brothers, his friend's, became meaningless.

He felt something grab him, an iron vice like grip holding him steady, preventing him from moving forward, and he let out a howl of rage that vibrated from the depths of his soul at the inconvience. He twisted trying to break free of the restraining obstacle, his guns still firing, his eyes still finding targets, his mind gaining small bits of relief at each enemy that fell dead or dying to the dusty floor, but it held firm, immovable as the bed rock his beloved home had been built upon. He slowly turned his head, his maddened gaze searching for the obstacle that forestalled his progress, until his eyes fell on the gauntlet, a shining vibrant blue hued armored hand, that steadfastly gripped to his right pauldron. His rage lessened, his reslove crumbling as his eyes journeyed up the powerful arm that held him, taking in the ivory trimmed pauldrons that incased the shoulder, the golden lions that reared on the chest of the marine that stood to confront him. Slowly, with a titanic effort, Raxan began to bottle down the rage that coursed through him like fire, a voice, echoing in his mind, attempting to snap him from the brink of insanity. Slowly he focused on the sound, the sound of Cleomenes' voice, and the words finally began to make it through the cloudy fog that gripped his conciousness. 

‘Brother Raxan.’ Cleomenes barked across the vox, his voice heavy with demanding authority, ‘Your power armour is ruptured. You are leaking oxygen. You will die. This is not the time for foolishness, friend. Fall back, as I said. If you do not comply, I will personally drag your stubborn hide to safety.’

His friend's voice finally cut through, finding the part of him that still knew control, shattering the madness of his bloodlust like a sledgehammer on glass, and Raxan shook his head, clearing the last of the red fog from his mind. "I understand brother," he panted, his breath coming in short snuffling gasps, "I will do as you ask, and offer my apologies for my lapse in judgement."

He listened as Cleomenes once more spoke in to the vox, this time for the squad at large, "This is not a time for pointless heroics, We withdraw. I hereby reclaim my position as Sergeant - Any complaints may be taken up with your Lord Sotha.’

‘Extraction of brother Raxan is now our primary objective, " Cleomenes continued, " We cut our way out of Sergeant Scrious’s mess. We are the Scythes of the Emperor, we do not dance with grave-robbers. Form dispersion pattern Omega, Brothers Scrious, Izrael and myself will take the fore.’ The arrow head formation thought Raxan, his training taking over, his steps moving him automatically to the center of the group, his logical mind taking more of a hold with each passing second. ‘Vermaas, Zeiran and Raziel have the rear. Dreadnaught Solaki - Keep an eye upon brother Raxan. If he falters, carry him.’ 

They had not even taken a step before Raxan heard Kain call out, "Shut up Cleomenes you proud fool. You have no command here, no rank to which you can claim, once we are out of this mess I will relinquish my command to a more level headed Astartes. Astartes fall back, form up around Raxan."

Raxan stopped, anger coursing through him, though not at the way Kain and Cleomenes spoke to one another, but the growing realization to the fact that they both shared the same objective, to get all the Marines on the surface of Sotha away unharmed. Despite the fact that they shared this goal, they could not see past their dislike of the other. "Solaki you have the rear of the group, cover our retreat." Kain barked into the vox, "Brothers Vermaas and Zeiran carry our brother if necessary but stay with him, ensure that he does not fall behind. Cleomenes and I will take the fore of the group, Izrael, Hexor, Spurius and Raziel will follow behind Raxan." He ordered as he moved, "Once we are out of the mess I got us into, Brother Vermaas will have control of the squad until we return to the heart, any problems?" Shaking his head, Raxan fired his bolter at an approaching Tau warrior, blowing its arm off at the shoulder and sending it into crazed spin as it was blown from its feet at the impact. He was startled when Kain came across the vox, a private connection with Raxan alone, "Brother stay with me. Once we are out of this mess, with you in one piece consider your life debt repaid." 

"I don't know what to say brother, except that I will decide when my life debt to you is repaid," Raxan responded over the private channel, "that issue aside, you will hear what I have to say." Closing the channel to Kain, Raxan opened one to Kain and Cleomenes. 

"Brothers, you two are my closest friends, one old and one new. But your infighting is unnecessary... You both desire the same result. Kain, when Cleomenes left the Scythes for his assigment to the Rogue Trader holding the rank of sergeant, so he does indeed have a rank to reclaim, one that is the same as yours, and one that his has decades of experience holding. Cleo, I know that you think little of him, but Kain is an able marine, and competant commander. Would I have spent so many years at his side if I did not think so?" He left the question hang, the silence adding to the emphasis he wished to place on his statment. "Being here, Cleo, has clouded the judgement of every marine that now treads its surface, each of us wishing to bring back at least a piece of the past that haunts this place. Now, no one is taking command away from anyone else or relinquishing command to another, we will stop fighting amongst each other, we will establish a clear chain of command starting with Sergeant Kain," Steel crept into his voice, experience and battle field wisdom ringing in every syllable as Raxan spoke," We will get the hell off this desolate piece of rock, and if you need to you can beat the hell out of each other in the practice cages when we return to _The Heart_. Finally, stop treating me like a swaddling babe that can't fend for itself, I have survived worse. Lets work together, if not as friends, as brothers to make sure no one suffers from the folly of a collective judgement call."


----------



## deathbringer

Cleomenes sunk to grim silence, though Izrael could feel the bubbling cauldron of his rage, just below the surface, a rabid dog upon a straining leash. He rolled his shoulders, resisting the urge to keep Cleomenes in view, taking his place at the head and setting a steady pace at a combat jog, eyes scanning the ground even as they entered the halls of what had once been home.

The barren devestation was enough to give him pause, grafiti in the script of Xenos sullied hallowed walls, others leaned drunkenly cracked and crunbling, a perfect metaphor. Defiled and bowed yet not broken, like the chapter they still stood, like the chapter, the foundations were still there to build anew.

Such optimism suprised him, the closeness of his quarry and the brothers at his back a source of strength, casting a rosy glow over a mission that could still end in failure. What if the banner had been consumed, destroyed by tyranid beasts, or held in the hands of some alien overlord, what then, what then?

Was it pointless hope, to come so close and be stopped only to be allowed to continue again. Was it stupid to suddenly believe that you could not fail?

Yes, yet here he was, every turn a turn he had made a thousand times in dreams or nightmares, yet it had always been lone footsteps upon the flagstones, he had never dreamed he would find support or company in his quest.

Wherever they found resistance they tore through it, a boulder crushing through leaves and he drew blade and bolt pistol the blood of xenos defilers spattering across his armour as the whirring teeth bit deep into flesh and splintered bone. Adrenaline melded with anticipation, his sense heightening with every step even as he picked up the pace, head high, a predator catching the scent on the wind.

Then it was there, standing proudly before him, resolute if faded and shrouded in dust and he blinked furiously, desperate to ensure the vision before him was no trick of his senses, no desperate response of his hormone filled brain to sate his longing. He felt someone begin to move, but he was closer and faster even as his hand closed, around the solid staff feeling its weight icy cold in his hand. He raised it from its stand and felt... nothing.

No pride, no joy, nay, there was void in his heart, where once there had been purpose and desperate emotion, now he was blank, an aura of serenity settling over his soul. He felt his knees buckle and the staff clattered, sparks flying upon the cobbles even as he struggled to hold himself upright.

He had dedicated his whole life to purpose, for this purpose. His eyes flicked over the glorious surface of the banner, the sigil that had marked there existance and stood over them as they had strode the galaxy. It would fly above them again, because of him, he had ensured Brother Krin did not die in vain.

Yet he felt nothing, all pride, all enjoyment of the moment stifled by what he had become. He had disobeyed, lied and endangered his brothers, for what he held in his right hand, he had his word, yet he had no honour to put it too. For all that he had fixed he had broken, he could see it now, the blindfold had been removed, the truth in his brothers words laid before his eyes.

It was not what he had said that shocked him, no he believed every word, they were failures each one of them... but what he had done, disobediance, such reckless abandon, such disregard for honour and duty despite the best efforts of his brethren to bring him back to the fold.

Even as they returned through the halls, he hung back head buried in thought, the banner clutched in the crook of his arm, bolter drawn in one hand, brow furrowed with the worries of his conscience. The explosion rocked his mind and he jumped back with a low snarl, brain suddenly alert as figures began to emerge from the dust around them.

He could see Raxan was reeling, heard Solaki and Cleomenes roaring in rage, something about taking command and he opened his own mouth to speak, preparing to push forward, yet something held his tongue.

His opinion was not needed here, a true sergant would come to the fore when needed. For the first time Brother Izrael shut his mouth and listened. Kain's orders were clear and concise if not to Izrael's liking, his talents more to cutting a path than a rearguard action yet he obeyed. Moving easily to the back of the group even as the dreadnaught raked the area, the deadly power of his weaponry sending mists of blood and flashes of stone spraying.

In the wake of his fire power unharmed heads popped up and Izrael followed his aim, a deft switch to single shot, bolter held high to aim above the moving forms of his brothers. Head exploded in a pink mist even as they appeared, there shots flying wildly as their bodies spasmed and went limp. Even as others screamed and shouted, curses and battle cries, orders flittering across the vox in a desperate babble, Brother Izrael was silent, still lost in his own head.


----------



## unxpekted22

(As mentioned in the recruitment thread, Belial and Niko will be put on hold until further notice.) 


Raziel, Raxan, Solaki, Cleomenes, Kain, Zeiran, Vermaas:


Solaki's continued onslaught ravishes the already old and war-torn ruins of the fortress monastery. Walls collapse in every direction, ceiling pieces fall around you, dirt flies everywhere, and the occasional bright red line of a lasgun round or blue flash of a pulse rifle continue to strike through the debris. 

The group of Scythes of the Emperor all move with the same sense of purpose and the same goal in mind, which is fortunate considering none of you know who is actually in command right now. Despite this being your home for many years, none of you have any memories of its current ruined layout, and knowing which way to go begins to get difficult. 

Suddenly all of you come to an expansive room that tells you you're still going in the right direction and are close to your destination. All enemy fire upon you suddenly stops as you make it into this place, apparently the scavengers hadn't found much they desired here and all the damage is clearly from the the time of the planet's defeat. A solemn silence sets in here. Despite no sound travelling through the void since you arrived on this corpse of a planet, here, you seem to actually _feel_ the silence. As if your heart strings hadn't been plucked enough already for one day, you all find yourselves moving through the Hall of Remembrance. 

The ceiling reaches far, far overhead, and it is broad enough for multiple lanes of civilian traffic to pass through. Eternal pyres once burned in great number here, lighting the great hall and the deads' pathway to the Emperor. A long row of enormous and magnificent statues lines each wall. Statues depicting the chapter's heroes, leaders, and brothers of renown before The Fall of Sotha, many of which have bowed heads that stare down at you as you pass through. Built into the walls themselves lay richly engraved coffins for every Scythe of the Emperor who had ever passed. So many of the chapter's greatest who earned the right to be buried and honored here, never will be. Giant marbled columns stretch from the floor all the way to the ceiling, fully engraved from top to bottom with names and the designations of imperial forces that fought alongside the Scythes. Some of these marble columns are bigger than the rest, with large colorful astartes chapter symbols painted upon them, along with the names beneath them of brother-cousins who died fighting beside or in a joint campaign or crusade with the Scythes. Ahead of you in the Hall, many chunks of ruined statues lay about, big and small. Giant boulders of finely detailed ceramite-clad torsos, and the heads of heroes roaring frozen battle cries. Raxan's time is still very limited, and any time spent recognizing these figures must be made on the move. 

After moving through several of the broken statue pieces, you see flashes of lasgun fire once again. Oddly, they are not being fired in your direction. 

You all arrive upon a silent slaughter.

To your surprise, two Scythes of the Emperor battle-brothers fight in the middle of the Hall, purposefully using nothing but their hands to murder the grave robbers. All of you but Cleomenes recognize these two immediately, for they are never seen separately. Brother Ryan and Brother Zurick. None of the remaining Scythes fight with such efficiency and ferocity as this pair; the two remaining members of the once unstoppable squad of Sergeant Brig. 

Apparently the large group of Scavengers who had been moving towards the Monastery exit thought perhaps they could take on just two of the Space marines. When you first spot them, Ryan is driving his fist all the way through the head of a scavenger he holds up. Zurick catches one jumping toward him aiming to hit him in the face with a piece of statue, swings him to the ground breaking his knees, and rips off the suit's helmet revealing a Tau. As the Xeno begins to freeze and suffocate Zurick places his crushing black gauntlet over the alien's comparatively small head, and with frightening ease slides the head and spinal chord up and away from the rest of the body, tossing the bloody sinew covered vertebrae away dismissively. A heavy, low, and assassin-like voice enters the vox channel, "Brings me back to Damocles..."

You all clean up the rest quickly with your bolters and blades, gaping holes in the backs of your enemy and blowing off limbs.

Ryan enters the squad's channel, "Time to leave."

Kain responds with, "We're already on our way out brothers, Raxan's armor has been compromised."

You all hear something muttered from Zurick's voice but its too low and quiet to understand. Its very clearly angry, though.

They turn with you all for the final sprint to the Monastery's exit.

For your posts go through this scene from your character's perspective. Enough was said to keep everyone, including Solaki and Vermaas, moving with the group. Raxan, it gets increasingly harder for you to keep moving, by the time you get to Ryan and Zurick your oxygen levels are going to be minimal. Even if Izrael has conflicting thoughts on it now, he will decide to keep holding onto the Banner of Justice. Hexor and Spurius are still with you as NPCs. For those not involved in ABTN2, Ryan and Zurick are major returning NPC characters. Remember, pretty much everything your characters are going through here on Sotha is setting up for things later in the RP. Also remember the details you give me back never go unnoticed. I will be updating in two weeks.


----------



## BlackGuard

The chatter of gunfire is unheard within the void. Instead within Vermaas he can simply feel the thudding vibration of each and every shot he takes. Each one is a kill or a fatal wound to those he aims at for these Tau-scum and their human paymasters are far too feeble to avoid his careful gaze. Next to him stands the mighty dreadnaught Solaki, who continues to lay down withering fire. For a moment he remains with the dreadnaught, and he overhears the exchange between Cleomenes and Sergeant Kain over the squad-network. He shakes his head in shame, hoping that the gesture will be unseen in the fury of battle for he cannot help but feel shame at the sight of his commander already giving up hope in his abilities and trading command over so quickly. He caught the glimpse of a xeno-coveting human’s lasgun as he edged out of cover, his spine become slightly more solid with the belief that he went unnoticed. A quick bolt to the right-side of the fool’s skull sent him before the God-Emperor’s judgement. A pulse round suddenly hit him squarely in the side of the helm, his internal cogitators growled in frustration as they attempt to resist the damage – another shot him in the paulderon, he barley felt that one but the next him that hit him in the abdomen sent a slicing pain up his gut and into his chest. He rolled backwards with the final shot that hit him, the low gravity of the dead world helped to make the roll into a almost comical backflip whereby he took cover behind a pillar before returning fire. His armor automatically ran a diagnostics check on its systems and everything came back green, no major damage and more so no punctures. 

The dreadnaught began to slowly move back and Vermaas retreated back in its wake. He knew the venerable was simply maintain squad cohesion, for the last thing they needed was to get separated and divided. He did his part by providing the close-fire support he promised as a few, obviously insane, scavengers attempted to charge the dreadnaught while he slaughtered their kinsmen who still sat within their hiding nests. The weight of Solaki’s fire devastating and Vermaas began to take note of the damage his brother was doing to the walls and ceilings in the area as their structural integrity – already pressed thin by Tyranids and passage of time – began to come crashing down around them. He fell back a little faster giving Solaki all the room he would need to fall back as well. The last thing he wanted to do was try to dig the dreadnaught out of the monastery under fire. 

Their retreat out of the monastery was not as easy as entering it as the hallways collapsed and the passage ways back were suddenly impossible to take. Despite this they continue their track back, Vermaas continuing to lay down a heavy sheet of fire whenever possible but the dreadnaught was obviously do all the heavy lifting in this rear-guard action. He continued to step backwards, watching the squad’s rear as he entered into the Halls of Remembrance. Had he not swiveled around to see where he was going he might never have noticed the room at all? His pride swelled to see this place again even as his mind made the mental note that xenos contacts had suddenly trickled away, within this quasi-sanctuary they seemed relatively safe for the moment. The pride he felt drained away as he took in all of the room. It was war-torn and battered, the mighty statues of heros were laid low and the coffins of all of his brothers were bedraggled. Within those coffins he knew their skeletons remained, a testament to mighty heroes of truly legendary scale. He knew some of them and he recognized the names on more than few. 

He passed one coffin, near an ornate column which raised all the way to the ceiling and had several blood drops on it signifying the Scythes time spent with the Blood Angels 4th and 2nd Companies some centuries ago. The name upon the coffin was Atroxus, one of the few brothers he had ever truly felt at peace with. That painful memory within him rose even as he stepped on the coffin which housed his brother’s remains and continued to match the pace of the squad. Atroxus had died almost a full year before the Fall of Sotha and his death had been a traumatic experience for Vermaas. He watched him die, savagely ripped apart by Orks even as he fought his way to him. By the time he arrived Atroxus was little more than a half-eaten flayed corpse. 

‘If only you were here brother,’ he spoke quietly within his helm, uncaring that his squad-vox link was still on, ‘Your death is yet avenged.’

He remained dreadfully quiet as they finished their walk through the Hall of Remembrance – he cared little for what remained within here, his very bones enflamed at the idea of looking upon their past. Had he not scorned the boy Izrael for clinging to a past that could not save the present? Yes he had and he would be foolish to attempt to do the same himself. 

His targeting systems suddenly came alive and highlighted for him a number of flashes off in the distance. Even through his grief his mind made the almost instinctive comparisons and came to the conclusion it was las-fire – though not aimed in his direction or anyone’s for that matter. Had the scavenger’s alliance been sundered by their appearance, very few mortals contained enough of a spine to even defy them … even less had enough courage to openly stand against them. As the squad entered the next section of the Hall, he saw them.

Brothers Ryan and Zurick were within the room fighting off the scavengers with their gauntlets alone. They smashed fragile human skulls and pulped xenos flesh with little effort. He remembered these two brothers instantly but did not show any external signs of happiness to see them. He heard Ryan vox about needing to leave and Kain’s confirmation.

That was all he needed to hear.


----------



## Midge913

Raxan nodded in satisfaction as his brothers remained silent, both showing the sense he had come to expect from them. He fell in behind them, reluctantly taking what shelter he could from their battle-plate covered forms. In the corner of his HUD a rune began to blink, accompanied by a warning chime. _" Thank Omnissiah that you are there to warn me that I am running out of air,"_ he thought sardonically, _"It is not as if the white haze surrounding me and the difficulty to breathe wasn't enough."_ He blink-clicked the obnoxious sound into silence with a sneer. To die like this, would be a downright shame. Almost three centuries of service ended by an errant mining explosive jury-rigged into a proximity mine. He would have nothing of it. He would hold his breath all the way back to the heart if he had too. 

He watched as Solaki's weapons, strafing the surrounding ruins, brought chunks of rubble sliding down the dilapidated walls, heavy chunks of rock-crete and steel crushing those enemies that were not slain outright by the firepower of his squad. Keeping his eyes on Cleo's back, not wanting to become disoriented should the lack of oxygen really start effecting his brain, he occasionally brought his bolter up and fired. Trying to lend support, only to be pushed back into the protective ring of his brethren by one hand or another. He did not know whether to cry out in frustration at their molly-coddling or in joy as they worked together as one. Following Kain and Cleomenes as they hurried through corridors wrought unfamiliar by damage. Filling the formation chosen with the ingrained training of an Astartes regardless of the uncertainty of command. Raxan watched as young Hexor, stepped in front of a las-round that would have hit him to the left side of his chest piece, the larger marine preventing the beam from striking Raxan where the damage to his plate was greatest. A nod, an overwhelming feeling of gratitude towards the warrior he had earlier chastised, coursed through him. Despite their differences. Despite all that had occurred in the last hour.... They were Astartes, Scythes of the Emperor, and in this moment the entire group acquitted themselves as such.

They group jogged into a room, a large hall, a pervasive feeling of silence and memory enveloping Raxan in a heavy blanket of reminiscence and emotion. The incoming fire from the enemy had stopped, leaving the Scythes alone long enough to get their bearings. Raxan took in his surroundings, the high vaulted ceilings, the wide avenue of travel, the now weather worn statues, depictions in marble of heroes long dead. This was the Hall of Rememberance and Raxan felt the weight of his memories, the weight of the stoney gazes of the statues of those entombed here fall upon his shoulders. His already shortened inhalations stuttering in the wake of the wave of emotion that hit him. He must speak, to share his pain with those who would understand. He opened a vox channel to Kain and Cleomenes, "It tears my heart in two to see this might hall torn asunder. I can barely stand to set foot here brothers." He paused, a stiffled sob, an airing of the sorrow he felt to see this place once more, escaped his lips, despite his attempt to quash it. "Do you remember when this place stood in truth? The grandeur? What I would give to see this place, above all others, stand again. What I would give to bring back the final peace of the halls beyond this life to those interred here." He almost wept as he came across the visage of his first Sergeant, Omegus, the man who had shaped who he would become as a marine. The head of his marble statue resting on the dusty ground a full 50 feet from the place where his effigy had stood. He stumbled, whether from the sadness that gripped his twin hearts or his slowly depleting supply of air, he could not say. But he was glad when the group's march took them out of the Hall, thankfully in the direction of the exit to the monastery and the his only hope of survival. 

Flashes ahead, at first he thought it was his vision, the blackness of suffocation slowly encroaching at the edges, but as his HUD flashed to life, showing more enemy contacts, along with two runes indicating additional Astartes, he laboriously picked up his pace to match the rest of the squad. All too quickly the source of the disturbance came into view. In the center of a great ring of dead enemies stood Brothers Zurick and Ryan, arms coated in the viscera of the foes they faced. They had eschewed the use of their weapons, contemptuously dispatching the tide of xenos scum with their power-armored hands. A warning light displayed in Raxan's HUD, spinning to his right, he met the Tau warrior that had rushed him head on. His bionic hand flashed out and snatched the xeno from its feet in one deft motion. Its head locked in an iron grip, he felt rather than heard its scream as he flung it over his shoulder, smashing it to the ground with a grunt of exertion, the snap of the alien's bones reverberating up his arm. A bolt pistol round to the face of another human pirate, followed a punishing punch to the face plate of another foe, its race obscured by a mirrored visor. Out of the corner of his eye, Raxan saw the rest of the Scythes enter combat, making short work of the remainder of the enemy. 

"Time to leave," barked the curt voice of Brother Ryan, a burst of static announcing his presence on the squads channel. 

Raxan heard Kain respond, but the word's were unintelligible. He couldn't breathe, his lungs, even with the assistance of his additional one, were laboring, unable to pump enough oxygen into his system. He fell to a single knee, barely able to hold himself up, an open palm splayed on the surface of his beloved home barely able to keep his face out of the dirt.


----------



## Serpion5

*Zeiran*

As ordered, Zeiran stayed close to Brother Raxan during their retreat. The towering form of Solaki pored wrath and hate in all directions, destroying the enemy along with whatever cover they may have had. Brief flickers of blue and red penetrated the dust and the gloom as the foe fought back with plasma and las fire. 

He tried not to read too deeply into exactly what was going on right now as he ran forward and fired into the gloom with his bolter. Had Kain given the order or had Cleomenes? Did it matter? His goal at this stage was simply to ensure that none of his battle brothers were lost to these scum that now surrounded them. They continued to push on, bolter and blade cutting their path and their enemies asunder. 

Fallen statues surrounded them now. Memorials to heroes long dead, now likely to be forgotten as all traces of their tomb were left behind or destroyed. But what caught Zeiran't attention more than that was the fact that the enemy weapons fire was no longer headed in his direction, nor that of his squad. 

As he saw through the dust and glare up ahead, he made out the forms of two Scythes fighting back to back. Their forms bore a familiarity that momentarily escaped Zeiran before the recognition set in. 

'Ryan, Zurick...' Zeiran muttered under his breath. 'Emperor be smiling on us today.' As happy as he was to see that the two had survived, the knowledge that Raxan may well not was an ever present weight at his back pressing him forward. Zeiran joined Kain and the squad in pressing forward, adding their own strength to end this fight as quickly as possible. At length Brother Ryan entered the squad's vox frequency, indicating that it was about time to be leaving. As Kain confirmed the plan, Zeiran gave another look to Raxan at his side. 

'Almost there Brother.' He said. With his free hand he hooked under Raxan's arm, helping the stumbling astartes to pick up the pace as they made their exit from this dead place.


----------



## dark angel

His orders were disregarded. His attempt to form a working, competent unit, failed miserably. In the ruins of his once-proud home, the shattered remnants of his Chapter; led by the thus-far incapable Kain, continued to fight against the grave-robbers. A strange half-smile crept onto Cleomenes’ bearded face; teeth shining pink-white in his helm’s interior light. Despite Cleomenes’ failures to rally the Squad - They still operated with a sole-purpose, binding them together - Raxan’s survival. His twinned-hearts tightened, he would not lose his brother so soon after their reunion. The thought of it made the Marine tremble.

Through the hallways they bounded - Spitting death at any who stood in their way, demolishing bodies with bolter and Chainsword. None withstood their might - Both of them concerned over Raxan. Gentle, soundless plumes of oxygen were leaking from him, giving the ailing brother an ethereal appearance in the semi-lit fortress-monastery. Cleomenes led the way like a torch - Plumed helm bobbing as he sprinted along, Othello’s Chainsword held proudly in his ocean-blue gauntlet. Ahead, the hallway opened up.

The Hall of Remembrance, Cleomenes knew, before he even entered. He had spent many a days in this place - With his Scout-Students, enthralling them with tales of past heroes; paying reverence to the host of dead Astartes held within. Many of the statues within were toppled, marbled countenances shattered, clawed and digested. Tombs and urns were defaced, many nothing more than pebbles and chips, faded after years of disrepair. Cleomenes’ hands tightened instinctively. This was sacrilegious - A defiling of the dead - An honourless act. 

Raxan spoke, a somewhat poetic sentiment, his voice rumbling in Cleomenes’ ears. Cleomenes listened dutifully, the half-smile returning to his aging features, before erupting into a triumphant grin. ‘It pains the hearts, indeed, old friend. I recognise many a face here. I have ancestors amongst the dead, did you know? I am not the first of my line to serve - But I am evidently the last.’

The Polemarch stalked off, along the silent roadways of coffins; reading the names of each one - Andronicus, Kallistos, Gaius - All names that he knew, that he had studied and worshipped. He stopped momentarily at the urn of Sergeant Nicanor - Running a gauntleted finger over the bejeweled pottery. Nicanor had died on Midas; felled by his own plasma pistol. Nothing of Nicanor was within the jar - But rather a fragment of his armour; surrounded with scorched soil that had been found around his corpse. 

Further ahead, at a junction, was a fountain. The water supply had long since dried up - But the state atop had remained standing, tall and proud. Handsome, intelligent features stared at Cleomenes as he approached. Cleomenes licked his empurpled lips - Scanning the figure. In the crux of his arm, a plumed helm was held, one that Cleomenes knew well. One that he had worn a thousand times. Cassander’s stony-eyes stared blankly at Cleomenes. The Marine was a role-model to Cleomenes. He had served dutifully for four-hundred years; rising from the ranks of Scout to eventual First-Captain, before his death at the hands of a Ork in the Chaeronean Gulf.

‘If only you had been here,’ Cleomenes purred, leaning heavily on the fountain’s barrier. It disintegrated under the weight of his armour, eliciting a grim chuckle from the Space Marine. ‘I’m sure none of this would have ended so morosely.’

The statue gave nothing but silence. The Squad carried on - Through the grim cemetery - Cleomenes marching alongside Kain, chest swollen, shoulders wide. His stride was prideful, confident, trying to hide the heartache that he truly felt. This place had opened up old wounds, made him remember past friends, brothers whom he had loved and cherished. All dead, now. But dust in the wind - Fading faces and toneless voices. Soon, they would be gone from Cleomenes’ completely.

The notion was intolerable. It stung, emotionally rather than physically, a far more agonizing pain than any laceration. Here, in the ashes of his beloved world, Cleomenes was slowly unraveling. He needed off - The sooner he did so - The sooner he would be able to get his answers. Ahead, a silent firefight was raging.

A pair of Scythes of the Emperor stood - Unrecognisable in their ramshackle armour - Tearing limbs, crushing skulls, pulping organs - All with their bare gauntlets. Cleomenes hacked a man in half, from shoulder-to-hip, as he encroached on them, not breaking his stride. A Tau collapsed, head cleaved away, and then Cleomenes was with the other Astartes; eyes dancing over them for some form of indication to their identities. There was none. More faceless suits of armour.

‘Time to leave.’ One of them transmitted, though Cleomenes was unsure which. Sergeant Scrious returned that they already were - Garnering distasteful mutters from the other Space Marine. 

‘What a merry band of warriors.’ Was all Cleomenes said, as the Marines turned for the final lap of their journey.


----------



## Deus Mortis

Solaki’s weapons roared silently in the cold void. Fist sized explosive bolts smashed continuously in long strafing runs along areas where his foes were. Their plan had been reasonably well thought out, but they had only damaged Raxan’s armour. Solaki could imagine that, now having seen a measure for the roused ire of a dreadnought, these pathetic scavengers wished they had damaged him. His lascannon tore holes in the walls, causing several to collapse. For split-seconds Solaki would wonder if he should be more careful with his firing. He was destroying their home, their legacy. But then he squashed the idea as quickly as it formed. This was not his home any more. This monastery was none of theirs home. Their home was dead long ago. This was just a shell, a fading after-image of their past glory. 

There was suddenly a burst of chatter, rapid commands, but some not from Kain. Twice command was either demanded or relinquished to another and it became impossible to tell who actually held rank over who. Cleomenes was certainly a catalyst for change within the squad. He brought a foreign element which Solaki had not experienced in years. Pride in the chapter. A refusal to let it be tainted by those who are unworthy. Even as Solaki thought of this, he refused to pursue that train of thought any further, for he knew where and to whom it would lead. His subconscious realised that the last Astartes who had been so vehement in his pride and dedication was Astelan, and did not want his conscious mind to read too much onto or into Cleomenes. Certainly things would change. Kain and Cleomenes found it difficult to co-exist whilst Kain was in command, and perhaps if the roles were reversed, the humour of the squad would be more balanced. All the while his guns continued to decimate xeno-human allies until his map-readout showed him that his brothers were finally moving.

Soon, they were moving back steadily. Solaki kept up his rear-guard action, just as he promised trusting his brothers to protect Raxan in front. The unfortunate side effect of his extremely prejudiced killing spree was that some paths they had taken in were now blocked, decades of age, battle and now mining and Astartes weaponry finally taking their toll on the ancient building. As the moved, the fire gradually petered out to a few occasional burst, finally fading into nothing. Still Solaki paced backwards, unwilling to be caught off-guard but such vermin as these. That was until Solaki noticed the ornamentation around the archway he had just walked and his mini-map being projected onto his retina showed that he was in a huge cavern. Cautiously Solaki looked around. It took a few moments for his memory to remember where they now stood. The Hall of Remembrance.

Whilst ambling idly was not an option, Solaki’s pace slowed as he took in the sights of the ancient heroes of the chapter standing vigilant over them. He looked up as several of them stared down at him and his comrades. He looked into their hollow eye sockets and was not sure whether he saw pride or scorn in the non-existent eyes of his chapter’s heroes. He was a good warrior, and he had earnt his place in the chapter. But Solaki knew that these men under whose gaze he now walked were the standard which those who were interred in the sarcophagi of a Dreadnought should aspire to. Faced with that, Solaki knew he fell dangerously short of the standard. Izrael had been right, as much as it pained Solaki to admit, when he said that he was sub-standard, accepted out of necessity not out of worth. Lord Sotha had known as much when he had charged Laikus to put him in this metal shell.

In this brief moment of quiet, Solaki pondered his position within the chapter. He was convinced many would see him torn out of the life sustaining fluids in which he knew he was suspended and another, more worthy candidate put in his place. For certain, many saw him as a failure, unworthy of his vaulted position. Izrael’s outburst had made that clear enough. Only the fact that his voice was now metal and monotone disguised the doubt behind his assertions of his own position. There were some who thought that he would fit into his position, some who thought he was a good investment. Solaki wondered what he thought of himself. Did he deserve it, this privilege? What these great men make of him? Solaki mulled over in the quiet how he had died. The pain had erased most of the memory, but some moments were crystal clear. The carnifex falling to the floor. The hive tyrant holding him in its xenos grip. The searing pain of losing his legs. Arx dying. True, his deeds were not the stuff of legend, but he had fought with honour. He had served the Emperor with everything he had, and already died once. Someone thought it fit to return him to the world of the living for a purpose. True, he did not have a list of achievements to prove him merit, but under the steel gaze of these fallen champions Solaki resolved to prove to those who doubted him that he was worthy of his position. For the memory of the chapter gone and the hope of the chapter to be.

As they left the Hall, Solaki walked up to one of the pillars which held the names of the fallen. He reached out with his mechanical fist, power fields flaring into life. He looked for an appropriately empty space, not wishing to erase the memories of those already lost. He found one and with a single finger slowly and deliberately carved “Arx – Ferim”. It grieved him that he did not know his brother’s last name, but he felt that was enough to honour his memory. And with that memory laid to rest and a resolute determination set inside himself, Solaki left the chambers, once again as the rear-guard. His auto-senses alerted him to fire behind him, so he pivoted to see what enemy dared stand against them now. Oddly, the fire was not directed towards them. As the group moved onwards towards the source of the fighting, they saw why. Ryan and Zurick had arrived, and carnage had followed them. The scene they arrived to was nothing less than unadulterated slaughter. Their hands were their only weapons, but they were more than enough to deal with the pathetic grave-robbers. The assassin-voice of Zurick entered the vox _"Brings me back to Damocles..."_. “Aye, it does brother” Solaki responded as his storm bolter spat death once again. It only fired on a form of semi-automatic, as Solaki was unwilling to risk anything more vicious in case it hit Zurick or Ryan, which was possible while they were so close to his targets. When all of their foes lay dead, hanging in empty space, Ryan spoke _"Time to leave."_ Time to leave indeed, Solaki thought as he made his final strides towards the fortress monastery’s exit…


----------



## unxpekted22

Cleomenes, Raxan, Izrael, Kain, Zeiran, Raziel, Vermaas: From the perspective of Cleomenes

Ah, now here is something you remember, quite a large piece of your chapter that apparently still remains, _The Heart of Sotha_. Perhaps you have been aboard her belly before. If not, surely you are quite familiar with the massive vessel, the chapter's flagship. 

You see it from the thunderhawk's viewport. Behind you stand the two new astartes to the group. They haven't spoken a word since 'time to leave'. Though on the way out of the Monastery they drew their weapons seeing there was no time for delay with Raxan's condition. The way they killed, though far from the glorious codex tactics you remember of your chapter-brothers, was unarguably impressive and efficient. Something you pick up from the way they fight that you have seen little of so far is the way these two work as one. It is clear they have fought side by side for a _very_ long time. You notice that one of them is staring at you, unabashed and completely unfaltering, eye lenses to eye lenses. Whether you maintain the stare, his will stick until the transport's doors open inside the hangar.

There were rows of unfilled grav-seats. Raxan occupied one of them, regaining himself. Zeiran, Raziel, Kain, Vermaas, Hexor, Spurius, and Izrael who still held the banner were there as well.

You soon find yourself walking down an endless corridor with the same group. The same one that had spoken before spoke again, informing everyone that they were going to the chapter master's chambers. 

Perhaps upon seeing the barge you thought more of the chapter remained, at least the three companies worth that this ship can hold to capacity... but there are hardly any battle brothers in sight, and so few servants and servitors. 

Several of the battle brothers that have come to see the squad's return kneel or bow their heads at seeing the banner of justice returned, some even blessing Izrael, praising his deed. Some of them praise Kain, being the sergeant of the retrieval team. 

The dreadnought no longer lumbers behind you, having apparently been taken somewhere else. Soon what seems like a massive amount of bodies turns from one of the many side passages into the main corridor right in front of you, quickly filling the dull metal scenery with the blacks, golds, and yellows of their plate. You count ten fully armored battle brothers. They march strongly past you and your retrieval team, some nodding at you and some nodding at the others. A glance back will see them heading straight to the Hanger from where you just came. 

Perhaps conversation is struck during the travel, perhaps not. Regardless, eventually you and the others ares topped outside of a large set of doors with the chapter symbol covering them entirely. Two enourmous yellow scythes crossed over a black background. In several shades of gold and white below them an Astartes wielding one of the same weapons rides upon horseback, surrounded by flames.

You are about to see the current chapter master, the so called, "Lord Sotha". What are your thoughts before going in, what answers will you receive or do you hope to receive. What have you gathered so far? And, if the chapter is in such a state of disarray, what in the Emperor's name will the future hold for you now? Certainly no grand return festivities.

All of you, take Cleomenes perspective and write in your own character's. Raxan makes it back to the thunderhawk just outside the monastery. The transport lifts off immediately and soon returns to the Heart's hangar bay. form there, Ryan and Zurick lead you to the chapter master's chambers. Do any of you say anything along the way? When you get to the doors, you will all have your thoughts on the matter as well. What will your Lord have to say? What punishments may you now have to endure? Perhaps you have questions for him, or matters to bring forth based on what has occurred on the surface of your dead homeworld. I plan to occasionally do updates from the perspectives of the rest of you as well. I chose Cleomenes for this one because the rest of you are already familiar with the ship's and chapter's state of being. Remember if you did not post for the last update, you can still do so now.

Solaki:

While the others hasten Raxan up the into the infantry compartment, you make your way to the opposite side of the thunderhawk and return to the vehicle compartment. When the transport arrives back in The Heart's hangar bay area and the massive gateway opens again, you are nearly attacked by brother Laikus. Without fear, he crawls about your form even as you move forward into the hangar's light. You can feel his mechandendrites and servo claws meticulously checking the damage marks.

You see brothers Ryan and Zurick lead the rest of the retrieval team up into the ship, likely to Lord Sotha. However, Laikus commands you to his chambers while leaning over your back-mounted exhaust pipes. He jumps down after staying upon you for some time as you walk, more spider-like than ever, asking you questions along the way, "How did the weapons feel?" "how was your movement?" "How did the chasis handle in battle?" "Have you taken any damage I cannot see?". Though no longer on top of your head, his servo arms continue to inspect your armor, already making repairs with las tools and plasma cutters.

basically explain to him how everything went being your first mission that encountered resistance since being entombed. What you felt how you felt, etc. Also include any thoughts you have leaving the monastery and riding in the thunder hawk. Remember, do not speak for Laikus, if you need an answer from him I can give you one though, just PM me.


----------



## BlackGuard

The Heart of Sotha, the capital battle barge of his chapter had long since worn him of its impressive nature. He had been aboard it for so long, waging wars against the most horrible of things that his mind had become numb to its beauty and fury. Deep down he knew that was almost regrettable for she had always been an impressive ship bristling with guns along her flanks -- guns that had rang out with the God-Emperor's hatred more than once. For now though his mind replayed the events on the surface over and over as he tried to piece them together again. The confontation with Brother Izrael was on his mind the entire way to the battle-barge, well almost as he kept it from his thoughts until it was confirmed that Raxan was alive and would likely make it. He remembered the swagger in Izrael's steps as he entered the fortress monastery no doubt a taunt to him since Sergeant Kain had chosen to follow the fool's errant that the entire ordeal had become. When they climbed on board the thunderhawk to rid themselves of the devstation of their ruined homeworld he had noted that, that swagger was now gone from the boy's movements has he clung, almost impassively, to the Banner of Justice. 

_'Good,'_ he thought, _'Know that your oath almost cost us a brother. Know that your dogged resistance to reason was foolish.'_

The thunderhawk landed within the hanger of the Heart of Sotha -- an ironic name now that he thought about it. He cast the petty thought aside as they descended the ramp out of the thunderhawk. They were lead by Ryan and Zurick down the long corridors of the Heart and along the way they passed a handful of servants or servitors depending upon their location. Vermaas had not spared Cleomedes any attention since their extraction. He had completed his mission by retrieving the long-lost brother and given the fool's attitude on the surface he no longer considered him his problem. His issue was with no one despite what others would no doubt think. They would go to Lord Sotha, no doubt Izrael amongst them, and proclaim his sin of threatening murder upon a brother.

He was unphased by the prospect of punishment by his master. He had done what he knew he had to do and that was enough in his mind to settle the matter. The dishonor, however, of being reprimanded by his Chapter Master was not something he longed before but was willing to accept. From around the corner came another retrieval team marching proudly in the colors of their chapter. Vermaas gave a nod in the direction of them as a sign of respect but kept his attention to his thoughts.

The issue of the dispute between Sergeant Kain and Cleomedes would need to be resolved by the Chapter Master. Kain had, in fact, led them into an ambush within the ruins of the Chapter Monastery -- but what of it? How many times had they been led into Tyranid ambushes? How many times had they all walked, willingly, into an enemy ambush because they knew it was the proper coarse of combat? Were they not Astartes gene-forged by the blood and wisdom of the God-Emperor? Did not the blood of the greatest being alive, He Upon Terra, not flow in their veins? 

He shook his helm as he remember Kain releasing command to him after they were clear of the Monastery -- he had of coarse assumed no such command nor even voxed by a response. Sergeant Kain was selected to lead the squad because of his skill in leadership and his promising future. He was but a squad-member and refused to play the politics that seemed to eat away at the chapter more and more. If he was meant to lead, then Lord Sotha would give him command. If not he would follow Sergeant Kain into the very warp itself if required. Cleomedes could, for all he cared, go to hell.


----------



## Serpion5

*Zeiran*

It was close. Perhaps too close for comfort but they were alive. That was what mattered most. Zeiran's mind didn't even come close to relaxing until he and the rest of the Scythes had made it aboard the Thunderhawk and were well on their way to docking with the _Heart_ back in orbit. Zeiran kept mainly to himself, only sparing a sidelong glance or two to make sure Raxan had properly recovered. Beyond that, his thoughts turned a little more towards his own immediate future. 

Before this day, he had never once disobeyed orders. He had never let his emotions get the better of him, a desire for vengeance or closure to override his sense of duty. It was a shameful thought, and one he was prepared to accept any and all consequences for. But then, rather than cost the chapter anything, they had successfully retrieved Cleomenes, and found Ryan and Zurick. Surely that would count for something...



The squad, and the extras, followed Brothers Ryan and Zurick down the corridors of the _Heart_ that would lead to the chambers of the Chapter Master himself. What was coming would likely be a mix of celebration as well as scorn, so for the time being Zeiran resolved to simply keep to himself, accept whatever Lord Sotha deemed fit to be his penance and await his next official command...


----------



## Jackinator

His lip was curled behind the face plate of his helmet, though it could not be denied Kain had succeeded in retrieving the banner, he had disregarded the mission and the damage it could do to discipline, if the man couldn't even keep his decisions firm how could he make the correct one when the entire squad might depend on it.

At least the primary objective, the retrieval of Cleomenes, had been succesful, though the Space Marine had been overbearing. Kain had been a fool, but not so much that Cleomenes could justify attempting to relieve him of his command. The marine may be a veteran, but in trying to take command his arrogance had only proved him the fool. Though Raziel respected his experience, and believed that Kain shouldn't have gone into the ruined monastery, it had paid off.

Cleomenes may have been a sergeant in the past, and to take it back in such away meant he had forfeited a great deal of the respect he apparently believed he deserved. Kain had proved himself to be a better, or at least a luckier leader, and though the youngster was impetuous, he had produced results, and that was something Raziel desired in a leader above all.


----------



## Midge913

_"Damn you," _Raxan thought to himself,_ "you will get up. You will not die here, your face in the dirt like a dog."_ He pushed, levered himself up off of his hands, one knee supporting his weight as he tried to right himself, to get to his feet. A hand, an armored hand, cupped him under one arm, and helped him to stand. He welcomed the help, his pride no longer a factor. Without help he knew he would not make it off the surface.

Lurching to his feet, he turned his gaze to take in the man who now assisted him. He was surprised to find the youth Zeiran at his side. Of all the marines on the ground of this dead world, his blood brothers and long time friends meters from him, it was not this disobedient child he expected to find supporting his weight, assisting him as his strength ebbed. He focused on the solid form of his brother marine under his arm, on putting one foot in front of the other, forcing his body, despite its protest, to get him to the thunderhawk that awaited them. After what seemed like an age, his lungs screaming in protest from the lack of air, he slumped into an empty seat, silently urging his brothers to hurry aboard the craft. 

Ecstasy...... Sweet pure life giving air shot into the passenger chamber as the rear door slammed shut. As soon as he felt it he ripped his helm from his head, gasping in great lungfuls of the recycled air. Despite its stale, mechanical taste, it was one of the greatest things he had ever experienced. His head in his hands, he said a quiet prayer of thanks to the Emperor for delivering him from a shameful death at the hands of traitors and pillagers. He also said a prayer of thanks to the machine spirit of his plate, patting his chest absent-minded grateful to be alive. 

The issues of earlier, the divide between the squad, most importantly between Cleomenes and Kain, crept back into his thoughts. For the first time in almost two decades he questioned the way of things. The entire episode on the planet was a debacle, a poorly chosen path, chosen by those to emotionally compromised to make a good choice. Sitting back, his world had stopped spinning, his enhanced physique recovering quickly from the lack of oxygen, he let his head fall against the back of his chair with a heavy sigh. Were did the blame lie? Was there blame to be assigned? Questions he could not answer. They had the banner, they had all survived, Cleomenes was among them. It seemed to him that their objectives had been reached, if only barely. Lord Sotha would have the final say he presumed. 

Following his brethren off of the Thunderhawk as it disgorged them onto the deck of _The Heart_ he barely noticed his surroundings. He merely wondered as they walked, Ryan and Zurick in the lead, what would become of the squad. He wondered what the immediate future held.


----------



## Deus Mortis

After the last of the scavengers were dead, there was little left for Solaki to do. Those more suited to Raxan's size helped him to the passenger compartment of the Thunderhawk and they disappeared into the belly of the great metal bird. Solaki simply walked into the vehicle compartment located at the rear of the Thunderhawk and pondered over what had just occured. What had originally been a search and recover mission with very little actual danger had turned into a fight where one of their brothers had almost died, another had almost been vapourised and the leadership of the squad was now a mater of contention. It should never have been this difficult. Solaki pondered why such calamity had befallen them as they rode up to _The Heart_. Was it simply being on Sotha again? Not that he was one to believe in superstition, but their homeworld no longer seemed to be linked to any form of good omen. Perhaps it was simply proof that they had all be hold up on _The Heart_ for too long. Perhaps they were simply rusty and needed the live combat action to ready them once again. Solaki certainly needed the bloodying of his new form.

As the thunderhawk touched down in the hanger and the rear-door opened, Solaki barely took two steps before Laikus sprung on him like a spider leaping from it's nest. Solaki stopped for a moment and then continued to move into the hanger, neither his movement nor his lack of movement perturbing Laikus. He simply carried on his work, checking all the various pipes and levers and servos to ensure that everything was as it was and nothing had anything more than superficial damage to it. Solaki noticed that the rest of the group walking off, lead by Ryan and Zurick. He went to follow them before Laikus instead commanded him to his chambers for further inspection. Solaki did as he was ordered, although he longed to be present with his brothers as they were debriefed, or chastised, so as to feel some kind of bond with them. Although, the time for such brotherhood had probably passed. For a time, Laikus crouched over the rear exhaust pipes of Solaki's form, unphased to any movement he made. At some point along the journey he jumped down onto the floor. 

Then the questions began, as Solaki had anticipated. This was a moment of pride for Laikus, he suspected, and he wanted to be sure that everything was as it should be. _"How did the weapons feel?"_ 
"Honestly, they didn't feel like anything. There was no feeling of kickback as I would expect from such weapons. But I suppose that feeling is filtered out by dampeners and stabalisers. So, given that, they felt normal and performed exactly as they should have." 
_"How was your movement?"_
"Oddly, given Sotha's reduced gravity, normal. It felt exactly the same as it does now. Again, nothing unusual to report."
_"How did the chasis handle in battle?"__"Have you taken any damage I cannot see?"_ Solaki resolved to answer those two questions together. Those who served the Omnissiah favoured efficiency in an form or communication, Solaki had experienced.
"The only damage of note was a battle with a sentinel the scavengers had 'acquired'. It possessed heavy lifting claws which tried to destroy the lascannon by crushing it. I believe I prevented anything more than superficial damage taking place and following the battle the lascannon still fired properly. And I fired it extensively." The last bit was added more for Solaki's own amusement than Laikus'. Laikus listened to all Solaki had to say, all the while wandering around him, making cuts and incisions with his plasma cutters. He didn't seem overly concerned with anything he saw or that Solaki said, but he was sure that Laikus would run additional diagnostics when they reached his chambers, which they were now nearing. "If you prefer, I can give you a full account of the battles which occurred? Or you could watch the vid-feed?" Laikus seemed to ponder this, but gave no response as he continued his checks. As they entered the tech-marine's chambers, Solaki wished to ask if he would be called to give an account of the events on the surface or he would be able to commune with his brothers, but knew that before either of those things occurred, if they did, Laikus would need to be fully satisfied by all the tests and necessary repairs he would run on Solaki...


----------



## dark angel

The new arrivals worked magnificently - As a _dyas _- Covering one another’s flanks effortlessly, bolters barking silently - Sending a menagerie of humans and Tau tumbling away, shrouded in crystallized crimson, starlight twinkling on the frozen blood. Evidently these two had fought besides one another countless times - They moved in unison, dancing their murderous waltz - Hacking, bifurcating, pulverizing as they went. Cleomenes watched them avidly - Eyes narrowed beneath his faceplate - Lips twisted in a distasteful scowl. Gone was the grace and beauty of the Scythes of the Emperor; now replaced with barbarity and malice.

‘Guilliman would weep.’ Cleomenes remarked inwardly as the group burst from the skeletal fortress-monastery, Cleomenes at the fore of the group, weapons mag-locked to his hip. 

An idling Thunderhawk lay ahead, brutishly squared, automated turrets swiveling back and forth. Cleomenes bade the fortress-monastery one last, melancholic glance. His hands crept into the sign of the Aquila, the left gauntlet a deep, mesmerizing ocean-blue, marrying the unreflective, scarred black right. For a moment he stood there, glittering dust, debris and sand floating about his massive power-armour, framed against his dishevelled, former-home. A mausoleum, now. A ghost of the past. To see it twisted, molten and cleaved was sacrilegious. Cleomenes turned, hearts clenched in hate’s cold talons, and boarded the Thunderhawk.

He took a seat towards the cockpit, restraints clamping shut over his shoulders, locking him in place. The two Astartes - The newcomers - Sat opposite him. Cleomenes turned away, staring out of the viewport, watching as Sotha shrunk behind him, the ground falling away, diminishing into an angry, sand-coloured speck. The Thunderhawk swung about groggily, and something else filled the viewport - A behemoth, topped with darkened cathedra, monstrous, planet-murdering cannons hidden amongst balustrades, towers and atriums - The portside extending away before Cleomenes, like a space-born cliff face. 

‘The _Heart of Sotha_,’ Cleomenes purred, as the Thunderhawk flitted alongside the battle-barge. Twice had Cleomenes set foot aboard the hallowed ship - Once as a initiate, for a pilgrimage to the shrine-world of Saint Mirabelle’s Folly - And again as Scout-Sergeant, for a private symposium hosted by Chapter Master Thorcrya - A most enlightening experience, to say the least. 

Curiously - There were no escort vessels in the space beyond - Not a single cruiser, frigate or destroyer - Even a ship as ancient and mighty as the _Heart of Sotha _traveled within a Battlegroup. 

‘Why-’ He began, turning back to his brethren. His voice cut off, when he met the cold, emotionless stare of a battle helm. One of the two newcomers - Cleomenes did not know which, and had not bothered to enquire their names - Was looking upon him, intently, a tad threateningly. Cleomenes smirked hungrily at the boy, locking his gaze, tapping a gauntleted finger on his bolt-pistol. The notion was clear; if the Marine was to attempt anything - Even the smallest violent digression - Cleomenes would make a crater of his faceplate. 

The Thunderhawk’s engines whined as it entered one of the Heart of Sotha’s hangers, powering down after a moment of floating above the deck, landing-claws extended outwards with a dull vibration. One-by-one, the Squad left the ship. There was no welcoming delegation. Not a single Scythe of the Emperor occupied the cavernous hanger - Rows of Thunderhawks sitting in darkened alcoves - Many in a state of disrepair. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

The scorched Homeworld, the empty hallways, the ramshackle armour… 

Had the Scythes of the Emperor been declared Excommunicate Traitoris? Was Cleomenes being led to a slaughterhouse - To be stabbed in the back by Chaos-aligned brethren? No, of course not. Thorcrya would never allow that - He’d sooner burn his Chapter than allow it to fall into such dishonour.

The Space Marine unbuckled his helm, long, steel-coloured hair falling free. Cleomenes was handsome - His features classical, statuesque, cheekbones flanking scintillating, blue eyes. He ran a gauntlet through his beard idly, sniffing the recycled air. It was stale, poignant, metallic. Like that within a blacksmith’s. All that was missing was the clanging of an hammer and the acridity of smoke. 

The Squad, newcomers and Cleomenes amongst them, began their climb through the labyrinthine hallways. Few Space Marines haunted the ship. It was heart-aching to see the flagship of the Scythes so empty. What had happened? What had shattered his Chapter? A thousand answerless questions flooded his head. 

Ten Astartes pressed past, a full Squad - Armoured and armed, plate gleaming ethereally in the illuminators. Three of them nodded at Cleomenes, and he wondered dimly whether he knew the faces beneath the blank-faced helmets, or whether it was merely a sign of respect to the wizened Marine. Eventually, the Squad was assembled outside of the Chapter Master’s chambers - And for a brief moment - Cleomenes wondered if this Lord Sotha was Thorcrya or another. He pondered upon asking, but chose otherwise. On the other side of the ornate doors, lay Cleomenes’ future.

He wanted to flee.


----------



## Lord Ramo

Kain was thankful to see Ryan and Zurick there, but knew that they would not agree with the course of action that he had taken. No marine left in the chapter would agree with him. He cared not know, Lord Sotha would take appropriate action that much was for sure. He stayed close to Raxan as they moved to the thunderhawk, glad that they had made it before his brother had run out of air.

He looked over his squad, standing as the thunderhawk took off. He took his seat near to the exit of the thunderhawk as the moved back to the heart, taking his helm off of his head. He spoke to his squad as they all sat in silence, deep in their own thoughts. "You all preformed well down on Sotha. Even though some of you weren't assigned to this mission you all proved that you were crucial for the success of the mission."

He stayed silent for the rest of the journey and as they moved through the corridors of the heart deep in his own thoughts. He had shown little leadership on the planet, he needed to talk to his Lord about that. Had he failed as a leader of Godlike astartes. Did he deserve a second chance? He would find out soon enough.


----------



## deathbringer

Stone was falling, great chunks of the ceiling and walls, tumbling in a destructive waterfall of masonry and they were moving again, running for Raxan's life through the corridors of the fortress monastery, turns taken by fleeting memories of structures that had crumbled into unrecognizable ruins, disfigured and marred like the banner in his hand.

He clutched it tight even as he ran, the banner unwavering in his hand, a pillar of strength, the reasons he had done what he did at constant war with the atrocities he had committed, the blackened heart of the astartes he had become.

Feet clattered on a floor of a structure almost untouched, a relic seemingly kept in statis from the time before... a time of glory, a time when the scythe's of the Emperor had cut majestically across the stars. A time before shame, before the crippling failure.

He envied the dead, envied that they would sit in honor at the Emperor's side, undefiled by the events that had happened on this world. Others lingered at crypts and coffins, reading names and remembering brothers lost. He mourned no one, remembered no one, they were all blessed to be encased within, far better in there than out here.

He was the last to enter and the first to leave taking his place wordlessly as they filed out on to a scene of bloody murder. Two brothers moved with devastating speed, the 4 hands seemingly united as they twisted and turned, heads crushed to pulp by giants fists, skulls cracking, shards of bone lodged in ceiling and floor.

Raxan was stumbling, half held up by Brother Zeiran yet as he looked upon the pair, he knew everything was going to be alright... it had to be... it just had too
_________________________________________________________
They strode down the ramp of the thunderhawk Izrael still clutching the banner limply in one hand. He turned looking for Brother Solaki yet the form of the dreadnaught was already wandering away.

He had wanted to hand the banner to the dreadnaught, a symbol of the future clutching a symbol of the past was an imagine even the most skeptical could enjoy, could be lifted by. Nothing had changed, about the chapter on that piss-weak excuse for a symbol He had laid his ghosts to rest, done what was necessary and now he was empty, nothing to fight for, left only with the blackness of his own soul, the crippling horror of what was left around him.

He had always seen there situation as crippled and dying, the weakened strength of the suffocating as the life was drawn out of them second by second. He looked at the Brothers striding by, those that knelt, that praised and blessed him for his deeds.

There was strength here... he looked own it his hands at the blood that stained them at the sheer power he possessed in his fingers... he was still here. After all he had been through... after all he had done and tried to do.... he was still standing

The situation may be shit... may be hateful, may stain him for decades, centuries, millenia, yet he was still here, still strong, still learning... still fighting. He had never thought the banner would be recovered, had believed he would go to his grave with that stain upon his heart and his honor, yet it was gone.

He had cleansed what he believed was permanent... could this dishonor be cleansed?

For the first time as he stood before the doors to the chapter master's quarters... he believed.


----------



## unxpekted22

Long upate: If you dont have the time for some reason, or really just cant get yourself to read that much please scroll to the very bottom of the update for more in pink.

Everyone but Solaki:

You all hear a click from brother Ryan's vox unit activating. Exactly three seconds later, the adamantium doors split open, wrenching the golden chapter symbol upon them in half. 

The figure directly on the other side is definitely not your Lord and chapter master. Instead stands Chief Apothecary Alexander; a broad shouldered marine, stern jawed with deep blue eyes and short black hair standing on end. None of you get the chance to catch much more detail than that. White robes splash through your ranks as he moves straight toward Zieran with face wrought with concern. 

A bright red symbol of the Prime Helix reveals itself upon the backside of his robes. He stares at the left side of Zeiran's power armor, scorched as it is, and asks of any damage, astonished when the answer is a negative. 

Vermaas is the first to spot the chapter master in the background, and moves in first, everyone else strolling in after him.

"I will be checking that for myself at the conclusion of this discussion." says Alexander to Zerian with a matter-of-fact emphasis, as he moves into the room again with the rest of you. 

Walking into Lord Sotha's chambers is as if you are walking off the ship into space itself. The room is shaped like a snow-globe, and the only surfaces of it that are not ultra-reinforced glass are the door panels now behind you and a metal cylinder at the center of the globe's ceiling, which spirals outward to cover the room during warp-travel. Even the floor is see through, allowing you to float over another section of the massive ship below you. Beneath he black marble throne in the center of the room is another mechanism, that you know to release metal shielding over the floor, also for time spent in warp travel.

For now though, the shields are up, and you all walk into space with stars shining bright all around, above, and below. Taking up nearly the entire lower right hand side of the room is Sotha, the dead brown colored planet you strode upon just 20 minutes or so ago. Several flickers outside the globe-like room are testament to the ship's reinforced shielding around it. Other vital locations on the ship have the same surplus of protection. The rear near the engines, and the bridge for example.

All but Cleomenes are aware of the near fatal wound that a Tyranid Ravener landed upon the chapter master on the world of Ferim some fifteen years ago, and so too do they know of Alexander's extensive amount of time monitoring his health since. Alexander can always be found in one of two places aboard _The Heart_, doing one of two things: by his Lord's side monitoring his health or in the apothecarium studying the tyranid gene strand collected from the peculiar group of bugs that hit Ferim. Leaving brother Niko, the only other apothecary the chapter has, to be responsible for nearly all the rest of their duties. 

In an extremely ornate case, or holding cell rather, directly behind and above the throne, lays the official symbol of office for the Scythes of the Emperor Chapter Master: the uniquely designed power-scythe...in case Cleomenes was doubtful of his position. 

Lord Sotha stands with his hands behind his back, bare chested, staring intently towards his dead home-world. A massive scar, despite Astartes physiology, stubbornly remains as a risen pathway of scar-tissue from his left collar bone to the lower right of his rib cage. Around his lower half he wears a black and gold hakama of sorts. 

Vermaas, still in front, kneels down causing his ceramite knee cap to make a dull clang against the solid glass. "Lord Sotha, I-" he began, but was stopped immediately by a raised hand.

Still staring at the world below, he speaks, "No longer shall that be my title."

At this point he turns toward you, and just before he reverts to his original name, Cleomenes recognizes him.

"Thrasius. That is how I am to be addressed once again. " After another moment of silence he takes in a deep breath and turns, walks straight to the knelt form of Vermaas. He places his rock solid hands on the sides of Vermaas's shoulder pauldrons motioning for him to rise, saying, "Vermaas please, my brother. I am too fond of you to have you kneel when speaking to me."

His voice booms, thrashing out against the reverberating invisible walls, pointing his hand at those whose names he barks, "_*Zeiran! Hexor! Izrael! Kneel!*_"

Hexor does immediately, perhaps you two hesitate, perhaps not, but ultimately kneel all the same. Izrael's banner-pole making a similar noise as Vermaas's knee when it hits the floor. 

"Cleomenes," whom he turns toward next, "I am very glad to see you again, and still as prompt as ever!" he says this with a forced smile that fades quickly. His face says it all for you; He doesnt actually know a thing about you aside from your history in the chapter, nor you him, but he also misses Thorcrya, and regrets the loss. You realize then, that it must be clear on your face what you're thinking as well. "Once we sort this mess out, we can speak."

Thrasius, previous captain of the glorious Third Company, then has the group form a line, and has each marine in the room, one by one, tell him what happened on the surface starting with sergeant Kain, naturally.

It takes some time of course, but by the end of it, he knows every detail aside from exact dialogue.

Thrasius remains standing just as all of you, rather than having sat in his throne while listening to everyone. He takes a moment to let it all settle in, and gives himself some time to choose his words.

"Obviously, not only amongst you lot but among the rest of your brothers that were still aboard _The Heart_ as well, it has been a question as to why I chose to only send a handful of you to the surface of our dead homeworld... I trust the reasoning is now clear."

"Think about everything you just told me. Look at what walking upon that grave did to your minds. Can you imagine if I had sent every marine left under my command down to that Hell? And yet now I have been forced to send ten more of you to retrieve the materials we _need_ from the surface. Now they go to the same fate. This as well, the larger the number the more careless a force tends to get, not to mention more targets for the enemy. If I had sent twenty of you, the chances of that melta blast actually killing someone would have been doubled. Furthemore, if something had been on the surface that could have killed all of you, or the scavangers had some how been brilliant I may have lost all of you, but not my _entire _force." 

He sighs, "Brother Izrael. It is admirable for you to complete such a long lost mission, and it warms my heart to see that banner once more. I should have expected some of you to disobey me this time, but understand this," he now says to all three stowaways, "If any of you three disobey me like that again I will behead you myself. We may only have half a company left, but that is precisely why I would kill you. Losing one of you is unfathomably significant, but losing more than that because one is choosing to act foolishly is worth the price of that single marine's life. Raxan, one of my most veteran survivors almost lost his life. Zeiran who shouldn't have even been there, almost lost his."

"Every command I make is made for a reason. Though I speak of sending a small number of marines, I could have sent less. I am quite confident that Ryan and Zurick could have done the mission with just the two of them. The point there? They dont need the practice. Unlike those two, however, I would wish that several of you eventually become the chapter's new sternguard. Unfortunately that possibility now seems much further from reach than I had hoped. I chose each of you to go to the surface for very specific reasons. If we do not have complete faith in one another my brothers, We will never see this chapter return to its former glory."

"Here are my resolutions: Izrael, Zeiran, and Hexor your punishment will come, but not today. I absolve Vermaas of any sin he or the rest of you may think that he committed. I find his actions to be in the right. And lastly, Kain will continue to hold the rank of sergeant. If I place any of you under his command in the future know that his law is my law and it is not to be questioned. Oh, and Zieran, Laikus is not to repair your armor until I say otherwise."

"I hope to have some good news in the near future regarding the progress of finally getting our potential recruits into the chapter's ranks. Until then we wait here, and make sure these scavengers are gone for good while sergeant Hagard's squad extracts as many supplies from the surface as they can. Hexor and Spurius, help is needed in the hangar. Laikus has Solaki to tend to. Zeiran, go with Izrael to the cathedral to place the Banner of Justice. (Can start your posts in the cathedral area or on the way, whatever you feel like really.) Raxan, Vermaas, and Raziel... Go to Veteran Sergeant Tobias. He continues to train the potential recruits. After having to revisit our past, I would like you to now visit our hopeful future. Chapter robes please, leave your power armor in the armory for Laikus to inspect when he is able, particularly yours Raxan. (Go to the armory first then make way to the recruit training area, which you will reach next update.) Finally, Kain and Cleomenes I wish to speak with you further."

He then dismisses everyone. They all go their separate ways, Ryan and Zurick included. Alexander stays however. Thrasius saying once the doors shut and seal, "Any questions you two wish to ask, I will now do my best to answer." This is aimed more so at Cleomenes. (Giving you some room here Ramo, figure you still need some time to get things settled a bit more but you can still post of course if you feel like taking your mind of things or something) 

Solaki

You find yourself cooped up in Laikus's laboratory. He has removed your arms for repair and improvement, though he keeps telling you little things about an entirely new set up anyway, one that he greatly looks forward to. He says he waits for all of the supplies he needs from the surface. You have been here for a few days now and have learned than _The Heart_ is still in Sotha's system as Lord Sotha, who has now informed everyone he has returned to his original name, Thrasius, waits for some kind of confirmation from who knows what. But, it has something to do with hopefully finally finding a way to induct the new recruits into the actual ranks of the Scythes. You have also learned that another squad, Sergeant Hagard's, was sent to the surface to get the supplies that your squad should have gotten. Now _more_ brothers have to tread on what became on odd form of Hell for most of your squad. hopefully they dont also get into fights or lose their focus.

Only Two have been here besides Laikus these last few days. One of them was Thrasius. He discussed similar things with you as he did the rest of the squad, but seemed to just be notifying you of what he told them, rather than actually telling you as well. In other words, from what the other told Thrasius, the chapter master didnt seem to find anything faulty with your actions. Perhaps it was harder for him to understand the mental pain you also went through because of the dreadnought form. Perhaps your squad brothers hadn't even noticed. He did say one thing different to you though. Just before turning to leave Laikus to his work, "It was not _just_ the opportunity and necessity that got you entombed my brother. I allowed it because I also felt that you _deserved_ the honor."

The second to visit was brother Niko. Though his visit was much longer, he was also much more silent. Barely said anything in fact, merely watched and looked. Though hard, perhaps, to get such a feeling anymore, it seemed to you that Niko still showed some animosity toward Laikus. Maybe you understand why, maybe not.

Any questions you may have for Laikus, feel free to ask. Also, if you could see just one of the brothers that you went down to Sotha with, who would it be?


Go to the teal colored sentence in the middle of the update. Everyone has entered the chapter master's chambers. Chief apothecary Alexander is also there. Lord Sotha reveals himself as Thrasius. Everyone tells him what happened. Start reading from the teal line down.


----------



## Serpion5

*Zeiran*

Zeiran allowed his mind to wander but slightly aboard the thunderhawk as it made its way back to the _Heart of Sotha_ and docked. The clicking of Ryan's vox snapped the marine back to attention and moments later the metal doors of the flying behemoth opened. The squad descended the ramp to be greeted by a figure unexpected but welcome. Apothecary Alexander, his face a mask of concern and seriousness, all but pushed the squad members aside to approach Zeiran directly. 

*'Is there any damage to you Brother?'* He asked Zeiran. 

'Negative Brother Alexander.' Zeiran answered. 'I am intact, the damage appears confined to the armour itself. Mere backwash, mostly superficial.' 

Alexander seemed unconvinced. *'I will be checking that for myself at the conclusion of this discussion.'*

'As you wish.' Zeiran agreed with a slight bow. He excused himself from the apothecary's attention to follow the rest of the squad who had begun to approach the form of the Chapter Master. They retreated to the Chapter Master's chambers, Alexander following them inside a few moments later. 

Almost immediately Cleomenes seemed to recognize Lord Sotha as Thrasius even before the Chapter Master had given his name. The pleasantries were interrupted by the marine's next booming words. *'Zeiran! Hexor! Izrael! Kneel!'*

_Damn._ Zeiran knew better than to hope this wasn't coming, and also knew better than to displease his lord at a moment like this. He dropped to his knee immediately, two resounding clangs nearby letting him know that Hexor and Izrael had done the same. Sparing a few words for Cleomenes before turning his attention back to the three stowaways, it was clear that he was not in a pleasant mindset. 

He demanded a recount from each of the astartes present, and after everyone had said their piece, he settled down a little and took a breath before continuing. *'Obviously, not only amongst you lot but among the rest of your brothers that were still aboard The Heart as well, it has been a question as to why I chose to only send a handful of you to the surface of our dead homeworld... I trust the reasoning is now clear.'*

Zeiran grudgingly agreed, but not to the extent that he could find it in himself to regret his actions. He had no doubt within himself that he would have followed the same course of action even knowing that punishment would come. 

*'Think about everything you just told me.'* Thrasius continued. *'Look at what walking upon that grave did to your minds. Can you imagine if I had sent every marine left under my command down to that Hell? And yet now I have been forced to send ten more of you to retrieve the materials we need from the surface. Now they go to the same fate. This as well, the larger the number the more careless a force tends to get, not to mention more targets for the enemy. If I had sent twenty of you, the chances of that melta blast actually killing someone would have been doubled. Furthemore, if something had been on the surface that could have killed all of you, or the scavangers had some how been brilliant I may have lost all of you, but not my entire force.'*

Zeiran began to dwell on the events as The Chapter Master continued on. His name was mentioned somewhere among Thrasius' words, but the kneeling marine was only dimly aware of what was being said. There were things he should have done differently. Things he would have. But Zeiran was not a sergeant. And likely wouldn't be for some time after this debacle. 

*'Here are my resolutions...'* Zeiran snapped back to focus as Thrasius made his decisions. *'Izrael, Zeiran, and Hexor your punishment will come, but not today. I absolve Vermaas of any sin he or the rest of you may think that he committed. I find his actions to be in the right. And lastly, Kain will continue to hold the rank of sergeant. If I place any of you under his command in the future know that his law is my law and it is not to be questioned.* Zeiran was about to bow in acknowledgement before his lord turned to him. *'Oh, and Zieran, Laikus is not to repair your armor until I say otherwise.'* 

Zeiran completed his bow, wondering how he was going to explain this to the techmarine should the two encounter each other in the meantime. Thrasius continued speaking after this, giving Zeiran the order to accompany Izrael to place the Banner of Justice back upon its pedestal in the cathedral. Zeiran responded with gusto, glad to finally be away from his lord's scrutinizing eye. 

* * *​
Zeiran could only guess at what would be going through Izrael's mind right now, but even so he did not feel inclined to. Izrael was awaiting a punishment just as Zeiran himself was, but at least had the satisfaction of having completed a personal objective on the planet's surface. 

The sound of power servos and the straining of Zeiran's left leg joints accompanied them as they closed the distance to the cathedral. Just before they entered, Zeiran found himself muttering perhaps involuntarily; 'I wouldn't have done anything differently...'


----------



## dark angel

The gilded doors swung outwards languidly, the effigy bifurcated by a shaft of dim, star-illuminated light. Cleomenes straightened instinctively; mouth forming a grim, determined smile, gauntleted fingers sliding down to his bolt-pistol. A white-robed figure stood in the entranceway, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, his blue eyes sparking with inner lambency. Cleomenes recognised the Marine instantaneously - One of the Chapter’s most skilled warrior-physicians - An Astartes that Cleomenes both respected and lauded. 

‘Alexander,’ He half-whispered, licking his empurpled lips. The Prime Helix, the Apothecarion’s symbolic heraldry, stood out blood-red on his back as he spun. Battle-Brother Vermaas entered first, pushing past Alexander, who enquired Zeiran upon the state of his armour. 

Cleomenes marched inwards. The Chapter Master’s chambers were an horrible place, by Cleomenes’ standards. It was formed entirely of reinforced glass, completely transparent, displaying the distant, star-speckled void for all. Squad Scrious’ boots clattered across the floor, which, coincidentally, was also made of glass. Far beneath, like a metal carpet, the Heart of Sotha shot away. 

The Polemarch groaned, focusing on the Chapter Master. Thorcrya was not standing there, his flaxen hair shining, golden-orange eyes bright with intelligence and charisma. 

‘Lord Thrasius,’ Cleomenes said, momentarily stunned. The Brother-Captain was bare-chested, a lurid scar decorating his pale, cold flesh. He turned, greeting Cleomenes warmly - Though the two had never been friends - Associates, perhaps. Cleomenes and his Scout Auxilia had served alongside Thrasius’ Third on several inhospitable worlds. And moons. And hulks. And..

One-by-one, the Squad begun to inform Thrasius of what had occurred on Sotha. Cleomenes’ portrayed himself in somewhat biased light, vilifying Sergeant Scrious - Displaying the Squad in less-than-favourable light. It was a mundane task, Cleomenes voice decidedly deadpan. Thrasius paused for a moment after the last Space Marine had finished, before casually dismissing them.

When the other Marines had gone, leaving Apothecary Alexander, the Brother-Captain, Cleomenes and Sergeant Scrious alone, the elderly Marine turned his blue eyes upon Thrasius. ‘_What _happened?’ 

‘I am sure you remember the alien plague that entered the Galactic South-East, plunging into the realm of Ultramar? They were called the Tyranids.’ Thrasius spoke, now. 

Cleomenes arched an eyebrow, empurpled lips peeling apart. ‘Vaguely. Tybarr Nymeros had an Ultramarine amongst his entourage. He shared with me what information he could acquire - Though, ruefully, that was _scarce _at best.’

‘Well, you will come to learn much about them soon. With the defeat of Hive Fleet Behemoth, as it was called, the Imperium believed that to be the entirety of the species. But, this was anything from accurate.’ Thrasius continued, Cleomenes listening intently. ‘In 992.M41 a second Hive Fleet swam into the galaxy, this time from the Galactic East. This Fleet was smarter, by tenfold. It planted seeds of corruption in major hive cities causing mutations and alien cults preparing major worlds along the eastern fringe for easy capture before the fleet even entered into play.’ 

‘Unlike Behemoth, this Fleet, called Hive Fleet Kraken, used a two pronged method of attack, splitting its enemy's forces and their focus. The Tau worlds were hit first but they failed to stop it. After that, it kept going, and eventually one of its major fleet paths came across our beloved Homeworld,’ He gestured downwards at Sotha with a wave of his hand. ‘All ten Companies were present, some coming in later for the defense than others, but all ultimately took part. Even with nearly the entire Chapter present on Sotha, we couldn’t halt the Tyranid advance.’

‘They bested us, brother, these Xeno monstrosities. They pulled biological resources to constantly regenerate their dead from all the worlds they had consumed before reaching ours. Their number was infinite, their fear as non existent as our own but without any sense of honor.’

Cleomenes ground his teeth together, fingers becoming fists. ‘You _failed_.’

With an nod that perhaps would have been surprising for any Astartes to see come after such a declaration, Thrasius responded with a simple - 'We did. The Scythes of the Emperor lost Sotha to the Tyranids. With less than a third of the chapter still alive It was on Thorcrya's order that we withdrew from this theatre. We made for the death-world of Miral, where we were to make our final stand against Hive Fleet.’

‘Evidently, brother, it was not _so _absolute. _You _still draw breath.’ Cleomenes sibilant tone made it sound like an accusation, rather than a statement of fact.

'To my own surprise, scout-master, It wasn't. Kraken made its way to Miral soon enough. We had taken to the Giant's Coffin; a steep highly defensible cliff faced mountain. The Heart remained on the opposite side of Miral from Kraken's advance. Its smaller vanguard class ships came first and we were able to easily defend against the Tyranid forces for some time. But inevitably came the bulk of the Hive Fleet. Before the Tyranids made their final push up the Giant's Coffin to finish us, Thorcrya made his judgment.’

‘Despite our protests, he commanded that every Scythe of the Emperor still alive who was not a part of the First Company to get back aboard the Heart, and flee for our Chapter's survival.’

‘You _ran_.’ 

'We had to, brother. I'm sure you knew Thorcrya as well as I... I could not disobey him. As I said, we protested, but there was something in Thorcrya’s eyes, in his voice, his posture when he reaffirmed his command... And he had never steered us wrong before. He named me Chapter Master and thus put me in command of the Heart and its survivors,’ Thrasius waved at the power-scythe, the symbolic badge of authority. ‘There was just under a Company's worth of us still alive. And that feeling, that one you feel now with your lips curled and eyes sharp... Everyone one of us felt the same. We fled Miral, but we did not flee the war.’ 

‘I sailed this ship across the Eastern Fringe, doing everything possible to try and sate our need for vengeance. The Hive Fleet had broken into countless splinter fleets by then. Its forces spread thin. We, the Scythes of the Emperor went from world, to world, to world. Any that was in the path of one of these splinter fleets that we could. We would bolster the defences there and recruit its best youths after the fight to rekindle our numbers. Some of your brothers aboard this ship were taken from these worlds along the Easter Fringe, rather than Sotha.’ 

‘This went on for years. Ultimately by this time the Hive Fleet had been defeated, but remnants of its forces remained scattered across the Fringe. Multiple forces were at work cleaning them up. With each battle we lost a few more Marines. So our number stayed the same, for each time we gained a battle-brother, another was soon lost. But we kept on going. We wanted to kill the Tyranids until either every single one of them was dead, or every one of us was. Though with yet another Hive Fleet entering the galactic south, called Leviathan, and several smaller fleets elsewhere... We realized the extent of the improbability of us killing all of them. Leviathan came in 997.M41, and was defeated early on in the new millennium, and ironically it was Orks that saved the Imperium from Leviathan reaching Terra... As much as I _despise_ that truth.’

‘These Tyranids bled the Chapter dry. Vengeance, Thrasius, is not always sweet. Survival alone is the best revenge that you can offer the Xeno. Against indomitable odds, you lived. I commend you for that, if nothing else.’ Cleomenes intoned, giving the Chapter Master a half-smile. ‘Continue, please.’

'I thank you for that. Truly.' He paused, for a moment, before continuing. 'In our battles we became something else when battling Tyranids. When we fought by the side of other Chapters, there was always tale and talk of no other Chapter with the ability to slay Tyranids like us. Many proclaim us to be even better at it than the Ultramarines. For some reason I find this honor to be quite sour. Our pace only changed when we came to a small world named Tri'vaa by the Tau Empire.’

‘There was a Black Templar fleet there, and more remains of Kraken. Evidently, the Templars didn’t feel like leaving the clean up of the Tyranids to the incapable Tau. Rather than stay out of the Templars way, the foolish aliens of course intervened. We had been watching the events unfold from afar and moved in when things were quite obviously going awry. Something odd was going on with this particular Tyranid force. We stepped in to handle them so that the Templars could focus their efforts on killing the Tau there instead.’ Thrasius paused again, as though searching for the right words. ‘It was massively bloody for everyone.’

‘In short, there was fallen Norn Queen, a creature that basically controls the force's hive-mind, and she was protected by her minions hidden away in Tri'vaa’s extensive caverns beneath one of its mountain ranges. Before this Norn Queen was killed, it gave birth to a Hive Tyrant, this is the main form of a Tyranid warlord, or a general of sorts. Normally they only act as major hive-mind buffer, but the Queen some how transferred complete hive-mind control to this beast. It had a mind and will of its own. The Templars took heavy losses form both the Tyranids and the Tau and the fleet's Marshal declared Exterminatus. We got off the surface as soon as possible.’

‘..And so did the Hive Tyrant. We followed it to a world named Ferim. It was relatively new world set for hive-city construction, rich in an extensive list of mineral. The Hive Tyrant proved time and time again to be something we had never seen before. We had never even thought possible for a single Tyranid to possess such ability. Its psychic levels were outstanding, its strength incredible, and its intelligence... Something we had never encountered from the species before. We lost many brothers on Ferim. It took far longer than we had hoped but we accomplished our goal. We killed this Hive Tyrant.’ 

‘Unfortunately it took far longer than we had hoped, and took the support of the world's shorthanded Guard and PDF forces to finally bring it down. But we killed the beast, and ended its foul reign upon the Eastern Fringe. This victory, was one that finally gave us some real satisfaction in our goal to commit vengeance on the Tyranids. We finally felt we could let our hatred seep into the background for a time, while we rebuilt the Chapter.’


‘But unfortunately,’ His mouth instantly became dry, ‘Unfortunately this victory was darkened by something even worse. The Tyranids are not the only thing that took life from us on Ferim, brother.’

The sorrowful glitter in Thrasius’ eyes gave it away.

‘A traitor,’ Cleomenes rumbled, his voice a deep, hate-dripping growl. ‘One, or more, of the Scythes of the Emperor had fallen to the Eight-Fold Path. Whom, Brother-Captain?’

Thrasius nearly trembled, ‘Is it that clear upon my face that one of our brothers betrayed us? By the Emperor… It was one of my own men, a long time veteran and a solid warrior of the Third. His name was Astelan. There was a Daemonic presence on Ferim, one that was there before the Imperium had reached it, and Astelan’s mind was only just awaking to its inner potential. He had been a latent Psyker, and the daemonic entity on Ferim took hold of it and corrupted him. There was a band of Mortifactors on Ferim with us, a veteran squad led by a Librarian to help us fight the Hive Tyrant, Astelan fully revealed himself as a traitor in their presence. The Librarian saw it immediately, and tried to cleanse Astelan. But it was then that he showed the true extent of his betrayal to the Emperor and his Chapter.’

Cleomenes pursed his lip thoughtfully. ‘Gaius Astelan. I remember him, if by reputation alone. I was tutored under Brother-Teacher Othello - As was your Marine. Unlike I, Astelan scorned Othello’s teachings. He was a cruel Astartes, calculating, efficient, arrogant, even craven. He was weak-willed, certainly. But a Psyker? That is _astonishing_.’

‘Indeed. I saw it in him, and early on in the theatre of war that became Ferim, Astelan was fighting heavily with his Squad members. Before I could coax his mind in a different direction is when I received this,' He pointed to the gruesome scar upon his chest and midsection, ‘And was removed from the fight. I was unconscious for a time, but the miraculous efforts of our younger Apothecary kept me alive.’

‘I did not know of Astelan's betrayal until we had left Ferim. My mind has been plagued by his betrayal ever since. I was unable to detect it, even with so few Marines left under my command, but of course the greatest problem is the fact that no one else in the galaxy can ever know. The Mortifactors knew, and they helped our brothers kill Astelan. His gene-seed was destroyed. The Mortifactors returned to their Homeworld, which we later found out met the same fate as Sotha at the hands of Hive Fleet Leviathan. I assume the are all dead. But, Astelan's betrayal showed me just how much some of the minds left among us have slipped from the Codex since losing our Homeworld.’

‘Our chapter is severely lacking in resources. We have two Apothecaries, one Tech-Marine, no Chaplains. I am Chapter Master, Master of the Fleet and all other head positions. We have four Sergeants, one of them a Veteran-Sergeant. We have Solaki the Dreadnought. The rest.... Tactical battle brothers.’

Cleomenes circled around Thrasius, eyes dancing over the Chapter Master. He towered over Thrasius, in his ornately-decorated power armour. The act alone reeked of threat. ‘You and I served together at Antioch, you know? No, no. You wouldn’t recall, I and my Initiates were deployed under somewhat _dubious _circumstances,’ He flashed a grin. ‘You are a capable commander, brother. Thorcrya saw it. I see it.’

He moved away, advancing on the throne, or rather, the power-scythe that hung above it. His hands reached out, fingers dancing across the haft, before retracting - As though stung. ‘My apologies, Chapter Master. May I?’ 

‘I am afraid not, Cleomenes. I have yet to even use it in battle, for it is the most tangible remainder of Thorcrya's legacy and final command to his Chapter.’

Cleomenes’ raucous laughter echoed throughout the glass chamber. ‘Of course. I forget myself, at times. I have been absent from my brethren for far too long. I have several requests of you, Lord Thrasius, if you will?’

‘Please.’ Thrasius spoke simply.

‘Firstly, I would like a roster of all current serving battle-brothers - Including attached psychological and physical reports, combat records and Squad organizations.’ He glanced at Apothecary Alexander, giving a smile beneath his salt-and-pepper beard. ‘If Alexander can arrange that, I will be most thankful.’

‘That will be arranged, yes,’ Said Thrasius, bidding Alexander a nod. The Marine returned it. ‘Which reminds me. There is now only one Company, the Battle Company. Squads are not concrete by any means. My aim has been to make each remaining individual of the Chapter as versatile as possible and members are placed with another at my whim. What else do you request, Cleomenes?’

‘Very well, thank you. Secondly. A manifest of current supplies - Ammunition rates, along with a compilation of what arsenal we still have, including functioning vehicles and armour.’ 

‘As well, this will be done. Go on.’

Cleomenes nodded once. ‘Thirdly, I have acquired a somewhat extensive list of materials, weapons and antiques whilst traveling with Tybarr Nymeros. I would like to have them - You needn’t commit any of your forces, merely allow Nymeros to organize their transferal aboard the Heart.’

‘Lastly,’ Cleomenes said, this time a triumphant smile flittering on his face. ‘You mentioned recruits. I would like to inspect them, and if possible, oversee their future instruction.’ He paused, pursed his lips, before continuing onwards. ‘However I would like to petition that you have Brothers Raxan, Ryan and Zurik assigned to my training cadre.’

He glanced at Sergeant Scrious. ‘The lack of a Librarian amongst the Chapter has not gone unnoticed. If we are to mend the Chapter, I will need confident, reliable Space Marines to induct the youths. Brother Raxan is a must and from what I’ve witnessed of brother Ryan and Zurik, they are perfect for the role..’

Thrasius sat upon his throne, now, fingers dancing over his mouth and chin. ‘With the taint that showed itself in Astelan, we have no means to pass any of our recruits to the status of scouts. I am currently waiting on a reply from some old allies to help resolve that issue. No one can know about Astelan, Cleomenes. It essential to our existence that it be kept silent. I have not kept the Scythes alive from the Tyranids just be extinguished for treachery by the Inquisition.’ His eyes trailed to the floor. ‘Veteran-Sergeant Tobias has been training them so far. I must speak with him first. Raxan is never an issue, but as for Ryan and Zurik... I honestly don't think that’s a good idea.’

‘Hm.’ Cleomenes purred, narrowing his eyes. ‘Why not?’

‘Regrettably, of them I have the least control. There is quite a history with their former Squad.... They are expert killers without a doubt, but they do it in their own way. I am not sure that one, they would be interested in helping to train those boys, and two, I am not sure I would like their methods if they did so.’

‘Orphans are often the wildest of children, Thrasius. They are reckless, rebellious, hateful. Allow me to speak with Ryan and Zurik. I will find the cause of their seditiousness and I will excise it.’ Cleomenes spoke, this time leaning in closer to the Chapter Master, adding more emphasis upon the desperation in his voice.

‘You are certainly welcome to speak with them and try as you will. I certainly won't stop you, brother. Again though, I will have to get back to you about training the recruits. Surely you have much to think on now, There are plenty of unoccupied personal quarters on the ship if you wish to be undisturbed. So, will there be anything else before you leave?’

‘Yes, a word of caution, if you will.’ His empurpled lips peeled back in a smirk, directed towards Sergeant Scrious. ‘The Scythes of the Emperor have been to where constellations set, where the last of the ocean waves die. You have stared into the abyss. You survived. Do not let impetuousness and the desire for vengeance cloud your view. Do not let us fade away, Thrasius.’

‘Duly noted. Its good to have you back with us Cleomenes.’ The Chapter Master said, waving Cleomenes away.


----------



## Lord Ramo

Kain stood still as they entered the Chapter Masters great chambers, nodding in greeting as he past Alexander. Kain held his helm in one arm as he saluted to his Lord and Chapter Master. Thrasius, though it was odd that he told them all to call him by his original name, and not that of the Lord Sotha title he had given himself.

He stood, not sat on his throne, and the badge of his office, the great scythe stood a little ways away from him. He calmly told Vermaas to stand as he knelt, obviously due to the fact that he pulled a gun on one of his brothers. Thrasius asked each of them to give their account of what happened down on Sotha. As sergeant Kain went first, telling his Lord how he had failed him, how whilst gaining Cleomenes, he had put the lives of his brothers at risk.

After he heard it all, Lord Thrasius gave his resolution. Vermaas would have no punishment for his acts, something that surprised Kain somewhat. One thing that surprised him more was the fact that he would stay as a Sergeant and keep his command, though he wasn't surprised that the three that had disobeyed would be punished later.

As his squad filed out, he stayed, Cleomenes as well and the great apothecary Alexander. Kain stood still, allowing Cleomenes the time to demand and ask his way through everything that had befallen the chapter, as well as all of his demands. Kain stiffened a little as Astelans name was mentioned, though Cleomenes couldn't see that as he was intent on Thrasius. Kain had supported his brother, thinking that he was not heretical but it was maddening what the others had suggested about him. He had been wrong. So wrong. Kain cared not for what Cleomenes wanted, he cared not how he was viewed in the chapter. All Kain cared about was how he had failed his brothers, his Lord. He would atone one way or another.

After Cleomenes was done, asking for Ryan, Zurick and Raxan's assitance, something that did not surprise Kain, nor bother him, Kain was given a chance to ask his questions. In truth Kain would like to have Raxan by him, he provided experience and a level head. However it would be better for him to be near Cleomenes, he had seen the effect he had on his closest friend. It was a good thing.

Kain knelt before his Lord as he spoke. "My lord, I must ask you why Vermaas has not been punished at all for his actions. What he did bordered on heresy, and whilst I did tell him not to leave the youth or allow him to do anything rash, his actions remind me that of Astelan." He paused for a moment, knowing that it was a very touchy subject with the Scythes, even if Thrasius didn't seem to mind telling Cleomenes.

"I must also ask you my Lord, why am I allowed to keep my command? I failed you as a Sergeant and as a marine down on Sotha. Whilst the primary objective was complete, I led my squad in blindly to secure the banner, and failed to gain the much needed supplies, as well as risking the lives of the men under my command and almost losing two of them in my foolishness."


----------



## deathbringer

"Zeiran! Hexor! Izrael! Kneel!"

Part of him balked, the tone, the demands in the face of the favoritism, part of him longed to defy the Chapter Master to spit in the face of the leader of this bedraggled clan of failures.... yet what good would it do. 

He had done wrong... he had disobeyed, how do you treat a bad dog with stern unflinching leadership. So he knelt, bowed his head and prostrated himself before his lord.

When his time came to speak of what had happened on the surface he spoke haltingly and sparsely, voice devoid of any arrogance or pomp, the bitter bile that had laced his tone replaced by weariness. He spoke of arrival, of his decision, of Vermaas's words he had not heeded... of the Sergeants decision, of the banner, of their return. He did not explain nor elaborate, nor speak of the sins of others, they were not his to tell nor his to judge though the memory of Vermaas pistol in hand made his mind shiver.

Yet others spoke of it with vehement shock and twisted horror, though he wished they would not... he had pushed Vermaas to it, for the banner he clutched in his hand, the weight of his sins balancing against the pole clasped in his hand.

The chapter master's words were a lecture he disagreed with in part, yet contained truths he already knew and did not need to hear and he left hastily as the chapter master dismissed them unaware of the company he had gained as he headed towards the cathedral

'I wouldn't have done anything differently...'

He paused the banner clinking upon the stone as he turned to Brother Zeiran. Though he had not gained the acclaim Niko had, Zeiran had gained a reputation for a keen sense of honour, perhaps not recognized against the righteous fervour of Brother Vermaas or the grim stoicism of Brother Raxan yet like Izrael's reckless abandon it had not gone unnoticed.

"You are know for a keen sense of honor Brother Zeiran. If you believe going to the surface was the honorable thing to do then I would not doubt your motives."

He gave a low sigh

"In a time when our oldest and noblest can be corrupted by the foulest of forces, who else can you trust but your own heart"

He gave a wry smile

"And my heart tells me I should have forgotten this"

he tapped the banner gently on the floor even as his other hand came to rest upon the aquilla directly over his primary heart

"And focused on this"


----------



## Jackinator

Even Raziel, cynical as he was, was surprised by Lord Sotha's insistence on his old name. Thrasius. He hadn't lived under that name for years now, not since he had taken the decision to symbolise their homeworld, their chapter. The chambers were impressive, but Raziel, his mind cold and unmoving, barely registered them, they had little bearing on the situation before them.

He blinked when Thrasius commanded Vermaas to stand, surely he knew of the Space Marines rash, near heretical decision. Why he had so chosen to dismiss his crime remained unanswere however, as the Chapter Masters voice boomed out, "Zeiran, Hexor, Izrael kneel."

They did so, the harsh click of ceramite on armoured plexiglass cutting through the room. The Chapter Master turned to Cleomenes, speaking to him, as one might an old friend, though there was an air about him that spoke the truth, neither knew the other but there was a look on his face that spoke of longing for the old days. Raziel felt his jaw tighten slightly at that thought, but pushed away the temptation to relive memories of the Chapter's glory.

He gave his report without bias, almost robotically, though others perhaps expressed shock or fury at Vermaas' actions he merely detailed the exchange before moving on. It was not his way to cloud a report with his own opinions, regardless of what he may truly think of their behaviour.

To explain his reasons for sending them down was unneccessary however. As Chapter Master, Lord Sotha, he was their commander, theirs was not to question his orders. He had long since proved himself in battle and was one of the few Raziel still accorded the full measure of respect. To relieve Vermaas of his sins was a risky move, Astelan's betrayal was still a raw wound in the minds of the Chapter, and to see a Brother very nearly take anothers life was an unpleasant reminder, he should at least have been disciplined. Though Raziel believed that Vermaas' actions were an error in judgement, that he wouldn't have pulled the trigger, to let him off entirely...

When the Lord Sotha, Raziel refused to think of him in any other terms, turned his attention to him, Vermaas and Raxan. He nodded his head sharply, acknowledging the order, and as they were dismissed turned sharply on his heel and strode out without a word. The armoury wasn't far and he careful removed each individual item of armour, laying them carefully an lovingly out as though he were constructing a Space Marine before him. He robed himself and turned to the other two, his face curled into it's perpetual sneer and raised an eyebrow.

"Are we ready to witness the future gentlemen?"


----------



## Deus Mortis

Solaki stood propped in the centre of the room watching Laikus work. He was fiddling with endless repairs and improvements to his armaments, talking about a 'new set-up' which Solaki would be receiving. It comforted Solaki to still feel human comfort, and whether Belial had been refraining from visiting Laikus as much as in past or Laikus simple enjoyed talking to someone who was beginning to understand what he was doing. At this exact moment, however, Laikus was crouched over one of Solaki's arms in silence, his plasma cutter making a constant hissing as it melted plasteel and ceremite. Laikus seemed unphased by any of the minor damage Solaki had received. If anything, after having heard the battles he had endured, Laikus was pleased with his handy work.

Since returning, Solaki had spent comparatively little time in the 'sleep' most dreadnoughts endured. The loneliness still gnawed at him frequently. It was similar to his induction as an Astartes, but when he became trans-human he had many others who were similar to him. Inside his metal shell, he was alone. A few brothers had visited him since they returned to the heart. Lord Sotha had…no, Lord Thrasius. He must remember that his lord had returned to his original name. He would not like to make that mistake in public. He had explained what others had said concerning the events of Sotha, and had found nothing at fault with his actions. Curiously, he had found nothing at wrong with Vermaas’s actions either, and he would not be punished. Solaki had been astounded by that, but had trusted Thrasius’s judgement. 

As his lord left he said a curious phrase _"It was not just the opportunity and necessity that got you entombed my brother. I allowed it because I also felt that you deserved the honour."_ Solaki had time to mull it over during the time between visits and was not sure how his lord meant it, or even how he knew. Solaki had never explicitly said that he felt he was just and agent of necessity, but simply felt it was an unspoken truth. To learn that he not only knew but refuted Solaki’s belief stunned him. He also wasn’t sure what had made him deserve the honour. On Ferim, Thrasius had been appalled by his, Belial’s and Astelan’s conduct. Perhaps the fact that they stood against Astelan and he was proved to later be a traitor made Thrasius feel Solaki had some form of perception of character. He was still unsure how he had deserved the honour of being an ancient.

Niko had also visited, but had barely spoken, and when they had it had been mostly through private vox channels. He seemed content to simply watch the work that was taking place. Solaki wondered if he was simply monitoring one of his brothers as his duty as apothecary, or if it was done out of more of a vested interest. Once Niko had left, Solaki had thought more on the events on Sotha’s surface. One particular moment swirled around in his head like a poison slowly distilling itself in blood. Izrael’s diatribe at him still stuck. Perhaps it was to do with Thraius’s words to the contrary that made him think more and more about it, but Solaki wished he could speak to Izrael out of some morbid curiosity to see if bringing back the banner had tempered the youth in any way, or if he was likely to remain the same. Laikus all the while was continuing with his work and Solaki broke into the silence. “Brother techmarine, what exactly will be this new armament you speak of? Am I to receive different weapons?”…


----------



## Midge913

The party came to a stop, drawing Raxan from his thoughts. He saw that they now stood in front of the Chapter Master's quarters. It had been sometime since Raxan had last set foot in the rooms beyond the beautifully stylized doors. That time it had been to discuss the details of the impending recruitment mission he had been tasked with, it had been an easy conversation, his respect for Lord Sotha ran deep, as it did even now despite the fact that his mind was wracked with doubt. This time, he did not think that the conversation would be so amiable. Brother had drawn weapon against brother, marines had disobeyed his commands, and two of their number, himself one of those, had almost been lost on a quest to unearth the past. Raxan still did not know if the act of retrieving the banner had been worth it. It had inspired, battle-brothers that passed his squad in the halls of _The Heart_ had taken inspiration and comfort from seeing the venereated scrap of fabri once more. It would boost morale, but would it be enough to re-invigorate a chapter plagued by inactivity and fear of loss? It was a question that only time would be able to answer. 

As the doors swung open, revealing the expansive space of Lord Sotha's chambers, the squad began to enter, only to have their path obstructed by the form of the Chief Apothecary, Brother Alexander, who almost ran Raxan over in his haste to get to Brother Zeiran. Raxan smiled, men like Alexander and Laikus always amused him, hovering over their charges in an attempt to prevent every injury and every bit of damage. He was greatful that the damage to Zeiran's armor was much more evident than the damage to his own. As much as he liked Alexander and respected his dedication to the marines under his care, Raxan did not need him flitting about like a mother hen concerned for her chicks. He would survive, his was uninjured save a bruising to his pride. His armor would be repaired and life would go on as if the incident had never occured. "Keep telling yourself that old man," he thought, "the trip to Sotha's surface with stick with you longer than you want to admit." Shaking his head, attempting to clear his thoughts as he stepped into the presence of the Chapter Master with the rest of his squad. 

Lord Sotha stood, facing out towards the stars that shown brightly in the expanse of the void. The transluscent safety glass that comprised the walls of the Chapter Master's chambers giving a clear view out into space, the view dominated by the dead, brown orb that had once been Sotha. Raxan could tell that something was bothering his commander. Something about the way Lord Sotha held himself, the level expression, the deadpan way that he stared at the slowly orbiting planet before him. Despite having seen the wound to the Chapter Master's chest several times, Raxan could not help but take in the thick ropey length of scar tissue that ran from his lord's left collar bone to the bottom right of his rib cage. Like the dead world before them, like the tattered Banner of Justice, like the decimated Chapter-Monastary below them, the vicious scar was another reminder of the vicious nature of the Scythe's hated foe. 

The resounding clang of ceramite on glass caused Raxan's attention to snap from his commander to the kneeling form of Vermaas, every nuiance of his brother's posture one of supplication and penance. Words began to flow from Vermaas' lips, forestalled by a commanding gesture from the Chapter Master. Something, a flitter of emotion in the eyes of his lord, caused Raxan's eyes to narrow in question, before Sotha spoke. Telling his marines that no longer would he be referred to as Lord Sotha. Change was in the air, something about being back in orbit around their former homeworld had caused a shift in thinking, and it started here, in these chambers, with the simplest of things.... the changing of a name. 

Raxan watched on, expression neutral, the warring emotions behind his stoic facade invisible to his companions as Lord Thrasius spoke to those who had disobeyed his commands. There was a vibrancy in Thrasius that Raxan had not seen in his commander in some time. A passion for his command and a fervent desire for the chapter to not only survive but thrive in the way that he spoke, in the explanations he gave. Listening to each of them tell the tale of what happened on the surface with patience. As Raxan relayed his version of the tale he left nothing out, from the initial engagement with the xeno theives, to the incident that had happened with Vermaas and Izrael, to his initial support to the task of retrieving the banner, to his eventual reservations about the wisdom of that choice, to his eventual near incapacitation. All delivered in his steady baritone. 

As Lord Thrasius explained the reason for his orders to the disobiedient, Raxan's gaze was drawn to the form of Kain, his friend, his Sergeant. Kain's manner was dour, his face dejected. Raxan knew that Kain had doubts about his ability to command, doubts that Cleomenes obviously shared. Raxan however, knew that there was much more to the man than he had exibited on the planet. He could only wait, hoping that Lord Thrasius saw the same thing that Raxan did. 
Lord Thrasius spoke of the new recruits that he hoped to soon raise to the Scout cadre. He instructed Raxan, Vermaas, and Raziel to report to Veteran Sergeant Tobias after changing into chapter robes. He insisted that after visiting the ghosts of the past on the surface of Sotha, seeing the future of the chapter would do them good. Raxan wasn't sure that he agreed, but followed his Lord's commands, bowing his head in respect and acknowledgement of the command. Placing a supportive hand on Kain's shoulder as he passed his friend, he tried to convey that he was pleased that Kain would keep his command. 

As the walked, Raxan brought up the rear of the trio, his gaze firmly on Vermaas' back. He had been surprised at his Lord's dismissal of Vermaas' actions as if they were nothing but a triviality. Visions of Astelan's heresy still flowed through Raxan's mind as his thoughts turned back to the frightening tableau framed against the dust covered sun on the surface of his dead home. He wanted to speak to Vermaas about it, to try and make sense of what his brother had done, but he could not, would not speak of it in the open halls. To many prying ears, to many minds that would not be as understanding as Lord Thrasius. Later.... He would speak with Vermaas' as soon as he could get him alone. 

As they entered into the arming chamber, Serfs flocked to them waiting and willing hands eager to assist, and Raxan let them. He wouldn't have had a choice in the matter had he wanted to remove his plate himself as the explosive mine had fused part of his chest plate together. His weapons stowed in their proper compartments, his plate having been whisked away by several of Laikus' menials as soon as he had removed it he stood, his simple robes falling loosely around him. As he joined Raziel and Vermaas near the door, Raziel spoke.

"Are we ready to witness the future gentlemen?"

With a grunt, Raxan replied,"I despair for our chapter's future Raziel.... Despite the fact that we recruit and train new aspirants, we are unable to raise them to full brothers to bolster our numbers. Without a librarian to test their minds, without chaplains to harden their hearts, what good are those younglings that we find?" Sighing heavily, "No Raziel, we go not to view a glimpse of our chapter's future....."

"... But our demise?" Raziel asked tersely, Raxan's oppressive thoughts obviously drawing his brother's choler. 

Raziel glared back at Raxan, "would we had a Chaplain to purge such unworthy thoughts from us brother."

His tone softened a little, and he sighed, "I too, wish we had a Chaplain to guide us, without one we are as lost as children, what does it matter that we cannot raise them to full battle brothers when we ourselves cannot find our own path?"

"I did not intend to be a dour as suggesting the demise of the chapter Raziel, but I did let my doubts cloud my thinking. Doubt festers in my heart where once there was none." Pinching the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath, and settling his robes more comfortably around his shoulders, Raxan continued, his thoughts of late spilling out almost uncontrollably to the marine at his side. "For years I have been convinced that we were doing the right thing, barely leaving the confines of _The Heart_, and then only to find fresh recruits. I believed Lord Sotha was in the right, keeping us out of harms way, giving us time to rebuild and regain what we have lost." Pausing, unsure whether to give voice to the words flashing through his head, Raxan turned his gaze to the ceiling, praying to the Emperor for guidance before saying, "What happened down on the planet should not have happened. We are rusty, skills too long idle becoming lax and dulled. It has shown me that things cannot continue the way they have." 

"Our path is clear, clearer to me now with Cleomenes' return than it has been since the fall. We must raise these new aspirants to scout hood, the Chapter Master must find a way to test their minds, to protect us from the taint that took Astelan from us, and we must fight. We must do what the Emperor created us for. What good would it do us to recruit new brothers, only to waste away in this nameless existence. Robbed of the pursuit of glory and honor, alive only for survival's sake." He felt the same thing he had felt on the planet, as they had engaged the Xeno for the first time, watching his brother's fight as they had been bred to do, a fervent desire to see the return of the old ways. He smiled, beaming at the marines by his side, " We must confront our destinies brothers, not hide away from them in the shadows of obscurity." Slapping Raziel on the shoulder, "No brother, the untested aspirants are not our future.... They may someday play a part, but for now, it is us.... those few of us that have survived that must become the future of this chapter. We must set aside the past and look to the now."

Raziel smiled sadly, and the smile only worsened the harsh grimace his face was forced into. It was a somewhat ghastly sight. "You are right brother, no matter what the mistakes and failings of our past, it is our past, and unchangable, the best we can hope to do is atone for the sins of our brothers, and seek to guide those that would follow us onto the path of honour."

"Indeed, brother, I agree. So with fresh perspective let us go see these recruits. Unless I miss my guess Cleomenes will want to retake his place as Training Sergeant. If anyone can shape these young people into the marines we will come to need, it is the one marine who has been free of decades of guilt and loss." 

Raziel grunted in response, unimpressed. "Perhaps he is freed from the loss that we have suffered. But I am not sure this makes him the best to shape our aspirants. We have suffered true, but he remembers past glories far more clearly than we, and I fear this could cloud his judgement as he already demonstrated upon Sotha itself."

"That may be, but is our judgement any less clouded? I would rather have some one aspire to the glories of the past than be swamped with memories of loss. We shall see what the future holds brother. It is already apparent that Lord Thrasius has changed his vision of it already. Things are changing, I can feel them, whether for good or ill remains to be seen." Raxan said with surety. 

"Perhaps brother, perhaps, as the Emperor wills it," Raziel responded.

"As the Emperor wills it," Raxan echoed.


----------



## unxpekted22

Kain:

At your words, Thrasius's face corrodes into a sickened, foul state. It is extremely clear that he is doing eveyrthing to push through answering your latter question first,

"It was a practice mission, Sergeant. Practice that you needed. None of your brothers died, there is a very significant difference between them returning alive, and still down there dead. We are space marines, we are always near death. Your squad retrieved a scared relic, recovered Cleomenes, killed the majority of the scavengers, and no one died. You did anything but _fail_ me."

He stands up, eyes narrowed, face pale, walking toward you curling his fists up toward his abdominals, shaking slightly,

"Vermaas...is nothing like _Astelan_. Do you _remember_ Astelan, Sergeant Scrious? I was with him on the verge of his betrayal. He fought and spat at his brothers with venom."

"When he spoke of hurting his brothers, there was no doubt he would have truly enjoyed it. His eyes, his posture....If I had allowed him to spar Belial to settle their differences, he would have murdered the marine with a salivating mouth."

"You accuse Vermaas, _Vermaas_, of heresy!? Vermaas, Sergeant scrious!?"

He follows this with a yell of anger, no words nothing held back just a short burst of flared anger as an after thought to the question.

"That is one of the most honorable marines left under my command,"
he says still breathing heavily, "I am no fool, Scrious, I know he could have stopped Izrael in other ways. But his intention to me was clear, he slipped up. All of you slipped up! Why? Because none of you have seen true battle in _*years*_!"

He starts to calm himself, "Let me be clear about this. If another one of my astartes shows any signs of heresy, I will take Thorcrya's blade," he says, pointing to the giant power scythe encased behind him, "_kill_ them, _decapitate_ them, and _destroy_ their geneseed!"

He moves over to the power-scythe, and takes hold of it. The intricate force field around its almost biological looking mechanics recognizing his large, rough fingers and allowing them to curl around the weapon's staff. He pulls it free of its prison and activates it. A sharp crack, spark, and flare erupts from the tip of the scythe as a flash of energy shimmers over the blade. Such a powerful weapon, you can see it cooking the air around it as Thrasius walks back over to you.

"So Sergeant, choose your words carefully when you answer this question. Vermaas was with you during your mission to Sotha's surface. You were his commanding officer. Are you telling me, you believe him to be a heretic?"

Give Thrasius what I hope your answer is. After what he has explained to you, you still may think Vermaas should have been punished, though it may seem like bringing it up again isn't such a good idea. Ultimately that will be your call whenever you meet back up with some of the other players. They likely may bring it up to you after all. After you give your answer, he will dismiss you. From there explain your thoughts, where your headed and/or who you want to speak with.


Solaki:

You appear to hang by the banded multitudes of massive chords hanging from the ceiling, connected to your front chasis and backside. It might look like you were floating if not for the massive footlocks propping you up at a slight angle from the floor. Red and orange lights light the room from various technologies and mechanisms. Right now, you may as well just be another one of those pieces of tech, albeit a very large one in center of Laikus's chamber. Several of the techmarine's words over the past few days still echo through your mind as it travels through the odd state of sleep it has been placed in.

_An upgrade, we'll call it, yes..._

_Explain...you....up_

_The parts....cannon....here..._

His final statement the most clear, naturally.

_You won't be in full stasis...Dont want you going back to full slumber, we will need you again sooner than that I'm sure. Just enough for me to... necessary changes...systems_

The mechanical, deep astartes voice of the techmarine seems to float up and up and up away from you into the air. Never ending mechadendrites encircling you begin to spin apart, swirling and transforming into thin grey clouds as you fall through a red-orange colored sky, Laikus's echoes trying to keep up with your descent, but just cant fall quite as fast as you are. Your hand, in its gauntlet of black ceramite, reaches out above you and clasps onto flat rockrete. 

All you can see are people's legs, hundreds of them busily walking past you in silence, the people they belong to failing to notice you at all. They step right beside your reached out hand, so close, but always avoiding you. You pull forward. Through the hundreds of shoes and pairs of legs, you see buildings, tall skyscrapers rising above the heads of the people who continue just walking past you. You motion to stand up, but an excruciating pain erupts from the leg muscles you try to move. Its enough to make you wail in agony. 

You continue pulling yourself with your hands, fingers trembling as they dig into the rockrete in front of you, finding purchase through the masses of moving people. Your power armor scrapes and scratches along the rockrete as you drag yourself. You breath crazily, bits of saliva shooting to the ground through gritted teeth, and muted yells of pain coming from your curled lips. 

The top half of an astartes in power armor yelling in pain with watering eyes, inches his way forward through the massive, silent, and uncaring crowd as his stub legs leak streams of thick blood behind them. Nothing past the upper thighs remain. A few strands of muscle tissue trail slightly alongside the strips of metal and chord from the suit's ravaged leg armor.

Though you cant feel them, the remaining parts of your thighs wag slowly back and forth, automatically moving in motion with the rest of your body as you army crawl forward. You see something else prone up ahead, writhing like an injured worm with flailing limbs. You cant change direction but soon crawl past the figure. You cant even turn your head to look better, only your eyes as you continue forward. An adolescent boy in casual Sothan clothes, but with an MKVII helmet on his head. The boy is screaming bloody murder, but the voice is muted by the helmet rather than amplified. His hands scratch desperately at the helmet, his nails curled and chipped. You see the shadow of massive wings pass in front of you, and you hear the flap of its wings ascending away, quickly dissipating as you move past the screaming boy.

Now to your right a large figure shows through the crowd of bodies. People slowly stop passing in front of it altogether allowing you to see. Death himself seems to slip away just as your eyes land on the black and yellow armored marine, limp, hanging, heavily shadowed and pinned through the chest against the building wall with a large crystalline spike. 

You continue forward toward the rising sunlight and through the pain you hear it, the faintest of whispers passing through your mind like thinned smoke-

_Solaki....the shadows must win. Leave the shadows._

The sunlight flares incredibly, and the massive crowd burns away peacefully just before your vision is filled with light and you are looking into Laikus's faceplate.

"How did you follow me here without being awake?" He asks you, obviously dumbfounded despite the emotionless tone. He shakes his head, making it a problem to figure out later. 

"Since you made it here, I need you to test your new weapon systems."

You now have two hand shaped dreadnought close combat weapons. So you have two hands basically. On the right arm, is also an under-slung, long barreled assault cannon. It is currently collapsed against the side of your arm but you can cause it to flip forward in order to fire it. its belt-feed going up into your right shoulder which houses an extended munition box for more rounds than the average dreadnought assault cannon armament. Your left arm has a similarly under-slung heavy flamer. You'll notice your chasis is slightly larger, with a new layer of armor plating. On both shoulders you have a hunter-killer missile launcher. Connected to these on your backside below your exhaust pipes, are your missile stocks. They each hold five plus the one in the chamber. That's twelve at a time total. You are in a vehicle test firing chamber. Have at it, whatever you feel like would be targets in such a chamber.


Izrael and Zeiran:

The pole slams into its place behind the lonely altar of the silent Reclusiam. 

Zeiran watches and Izrael steps back from it, both taking in the view of it back aboard the Barge where it should be. A clear view this time, with no helmet lenses in front of the eyes.

What does it mean, the banner of justice. I once waved proud, believing true those words threaded into it. The chapter, the Scythes of the Emperor with justice at their backs. Was it a badge of authority to serve justice, a declaration of what they believed justice to be, something more even?

There were other banners of course, so many, that had all hung throughout the Fortress Monastery. What made Brother Krin requisition Scout Master Curak to the task of securing it over all the others during the Tyranid invasion of Sotha?

You think on these ideas for a bit, perhaps even discuss the matter with each other. Either way, when you both turn to leave you stop dead in your tracks at the two marines standing behind you. They are about half way between the doors of the Reclusiam, and your position.

It is Ryan and Zurick, both still in armor as well, though Ryan has removed his helm also. Ryan speaks,

"Way to almost get yourself killed, Zeiran. Not much glory coming back to the chapter anytime soon if you cant remember your battle training."

his voice is not one of taunt, but matter of fact. 

"You though...," he says further, looking to Izrael and raising his index finger.

"Don't get me wrong Zeiran, your our brother and we'd hate to lose you to some pirates. But there are so few of us left; you have to understand our concern for those of us making such errors."

Zurick's wrathful throat reaches out suddenly form beneath his helm, "We can't afford mistakes."

"Its good you've stayed aloof for so long Izrael," says Ryan again, "its kept your head in the right place, I think."

Zurick turns first, as if fed up with being there. Ryan turns to follow, his handsome features and thick, shiny brown hair, accentuated by the Reclusiam's peculiar light systems and burning fires. He seems to pause for a second about to say something further, but decides against it. No longer trying to be quiet, apparently, their hip hanging weapons dankly clatter and chime of war as they walk.

Any reactions? Thoughts? Do either of you follow them, or make way somewhere else? whatever you do, do you two stay together or go your separate ways?

Cleomenes:

As you leave Thrasius and the chamber doors close behind you, the scope of everything you just learned starts to sink in. Even for psychologically trained Astartes, that was a lot of information to take in at once. Now that he is not before his new Lord, how does Cleomenes deal with this this info, what does he think of it? He seems to have remained stern an straight headed, that is good I'd say, but does this mean he believes the chapter can become what it once was?

About twelve hours later, you sit in your ambassadorial chapter robes gently scratching your pet, kindly returned to you by Tybaar, along with the rest of your belongings. Before you are the two you wished to speak with, brothers Ryan and Zurick.

They both still wear their war-plate, and only Ryan has his helmet at his waist's mag-lock.

Ryan speaks, rather warmly really, nothing hostile to it, "You wanted to speak with us, long lost brother?"

Where you are doesn't much matter to me, somewhere appropriate for the situation is all. its up to you. Main deal is pretty much whatever you'd like to say to them. If you think a back and forth convo is necessary again let me know.


Vermaas, Raxan, and Raziel:

Vermaas stays quiet during the walk to the armory and subsequently the recruit training area of the ship. For one reason or another, one could probably guess.

When the three of you arrive you immediately see the veteran-sergeant, shirtless with a training sword at his hip. It would be difficult for any for the remaining Scythes to say that Tobias doesn't bring about a breath of fresh air and warmth.

Idealistic to the letter for a commanding officer. The only stain on his record being the sergeant of the squad Astelan was a part of on Ferim, even if it was for only a very short period it of course is not something he is fond of.

The three of you walk in on what was apparently some form of lecture. The 32 boys stand in perfect lines facing Tobias. The developing muscle and scar tissue clear on their bodies, as is the exhaustion; obvious to your eyes despite their concentrated efforts on hiding it.

"And who do we have here?" Tobias asks, apparently to the boys, as they all answer him in unison, kneeling as they do so and putting their right hands over their hearts.

"_*Lord Raxan, Lord Raziel, Lord Vermaas.*_"

Tobias says further, "It looks like my brothers have volunteered to give your lesson today in my stead. Split into three groups."

Tobias simply waves his arm toward you three and steps back.

Raxan and Raziel are approached by 11 boys each, and Vermaas 10. They stand up straight in attention in front of each of you. Give them a lesson. It can be of mental or physical value, or a combination of both, whatever seems important to you to teach them right now. We assume Tobias has not already taught them whatever you come with. It can be long or fairly short, but make sure its not like a one-sentence lesson or something.


----------



## Midge913

Raxan couldn’t help but become more concerned for Vermaas as the trio walked from their arming chamber to the training area. His brother, though usually reserved, had a sullen air about him. His silence adding even more weight to the worries that roiled in Raxan’s mind. He would have thought that at some point during the conversation he and Raziel were having, Vermaas would have spoken up, given his opinions, but that did not happen. His brother’s eyes remained locked ahead of them, his mouth clamped shut, his mind elsewhere. There was just something about Vermaas’ posture, his gait, his expression that put Raxan on edge. 

Their arrival at the training area forced Raxan to push such thoughts to the back of his mind, a more immediate concern replacing them for the moment. The training center itself opened up in front of him revealing Veteran Sergeant Tobias stripped to the waist, a training blade at his side, pacing as he Addressed the rigid formation of aspirants in front of him. Raxan couldn’t help but smile at Tobias as he stepped across the threshold of the large room, the Veteran Sergeant the epitome of what Raxan himself, as well as many other surviving Scythes, aspired to emulate. Being here, in the man’s presence, was already enough to still some of the disquiet in Raxan’s mind, to focus his turbulent thoughts. 

Tobias noticed them as they entered and he turned to greet them, but it was beyond him, the group of younglings that enthralled his gaze. They were developing, that was not in question, the thick ropes of scar tissue that adorned their near perfect physique, rippling muscle growing from both physical exertion and gene-therapy, spoke to the fact that they progressed along the path to become a true Scythe. He hid a smile at their attempt to hide the sheer exhaustion that seemed to sit on their comparatively small shoulders, the sight of them casting his mind centuries into the past, bringing forth his own recollections of a time where he stood in a formation identical to this one. He could only wonder at the lengthy rode he had trod since that time. He couldn’t help but wonder if any of these youths would ever be tested they way that he and his brother’s had, deemed worth to enter the ranks of full brotherhood, or would they waste away, segregated from the chapter for fear of the taint of chaos. 

“What do we have here, “ Tobias asked, a question, a test to the boys ranked behind him. They answered, as with one voice.

“Lord Raxan, Lord Raziel, Lord Vermaas,” the group intoned, they sank to their knees, hands over their hearts in salute. The practice made Raxan uncomfortable. He remember when he too had knelt at the feet of Battle-Brothers when he was in the early stages of training, but now, so long later, the sight of these boys kneeling in his presence felt wrong to him. He was not one that deserved their veneration. He was a warrior, a killer, and a stubborn old man, nothing more. He motioned, quickly, perhaps too quickly for them to rise. 

Tobias, a smirk on his face, turned away from the boys to face the trio of marines and said, “It looks like my brothers have volunteered to give your lesson today in my stead. Split into three groups.”

The younglings did as they were instructed and soon Raxan found himself at the head of nearly a dozen of them, expectant faces turned in his direction. Raxan paced up and down in front of the boys that had assembled in front of him finally coming to a stop in front of one of the larger specimens in the front row, he spun to face the youth, whose head barely made it to Raxan's shoulder, he spoke, "You, boy, what is the most effective weapon you wield against the enemies of the Emperor?"

Befitting his demeanor, the youth barely flinched at Raxan’s direct manner, answering quickly with regurgitated litany, “"My faith, my lord, the Light of the Emperor in which I bring to the shadows." Nodding, at his answer, knowing its truth, but also knowing that they child did not have any idea what that would mean when standing toe to toe with the worst the galaxy could spit at him. Raxan pushed harder, "But what does that truly mean to you child. How will that faith manifest itself in your hand as you face down an enemey that threatens to strike fear into your very soul? Hmm?" Raxan queried, eye brow raised," What force keeps you from faltering? What holds you up when you fear that you will fall?" 

The boy narrowed his eyes and averted his gaze. The query, meant more to get them thinking than actually expecting an answer, obviously had confused them. Others began to mumble answers,"Our weapons?" one said. "Our armor?" another voiced timidly. "Where those items are important they neither think nor react. They are tools, nothing more. Weapons break, armor weakens, tools become useless." Raxan said, a smile crossing his face at their consternation. He was glad that he was bringing them out from behind the comforting blanket of recited litany. It was sharp minded, thinking Astartes that the Scythes needed, now more than ever. He could see that they were considering the problem, their desire to please pushing them forward along the line of thought he desired. 

"With true faith, we will never be afraid," on piped up, confidence brimming in his tone of voice and posture. "Is that so young one?" Raxan asked, but gave them no time to answer, "Fear is essential. Without fear what is there for you to conquer? Without fear courage is meaningless. It is the mastery of that fear that I speak of. No young one, faith is but one piece of the puzzle. The answer to my question is neither easy nor universal for all. Each man conquers fear differently, but in the end we all, each Marine in this chapter, share a single defining characteristic.... Duty. Duty drives us forward when we can go no further. Duty hardens our hearts and strengthens our minds. Duty gives us direction. This is the most important weapon in your arsenal."

Raxan stopped pacing and faced them once more. "From duty grows brotherhood. Look at the men standing around you. Take a good hard look at each face for you are brothers, both in blood and in oath. It is these, these few, that will stand beside you, for good or for ill." 

"Now," Raxan said, turning from them he looked over his shoulder, "Come, I am not the expert swordsman that Sergeant Tobias is and bolter practice can be a bit droll. We shall see what you know of unarmed combat." Leading the group of younglings to one of the practice mats, he paired them off. "On my command, engage your opponent. Your objective is to disable your opponent as fast as possible. Try to keep each other in one piece." 

As they began he toured the mat, correcting grips, explaining further the physics of a throw or a hold. They had promise these. More than he had anticipated he must admit. They were eager to learn, sucking the knowledge that he provided up like a man dying of thirst given water. Despite his earlier reservations, his proclamations of dread, Raxan found himself watching the recruits with renewed hope.


----------



## unxpekted22

Deus mortis's post for solaki:

As Solaki drifted into half sleep, Laikus’s words became less and less coherent. He was certain he heard them, but his brain simply refused to process them into anything meaningful. Solaki had been on the edge of exhaustion once or twice in the field. So tired his eyes simply refused to stay open. Astartes were mostly immune to the effects of fatigue, but even they had their limits. He thought the current sensation felt a bit like that. Suddenly, with unprecedented clarity, Laikus words rang through his ears. “You won't be in full stasis...Dont want you going back to full slumber, we will need you again sooner than that I'm sure. Just enough for me to... necessary changes...systems.” 

Then it felt Laikus was lowering him. But he wasn’t. He was moving too fast. The words rung around his head, like Laikus was repeating them, over and over from a million different angles. He kept falling and it was clear that he shouldn’t be moving this fast or this far. Something was going horribly wrong. Still the words followed him, spinning faster and faster over his head, blurring into a wheel of noise and metal which he was falling farther and farther away from. Solaki had no idea how to arrest his fall. He knew Laikus had disconnected his arms, so he was just a falling box. He saw the edge of some dream-world, for it could be nothing else, rush up towards him. Instinctively, he tried to reach out the hand he didn’t have to grab it. 

Much to his surprise, his hand, his true hand, reached out and grabbed the edge. Holding on for a brief moment, Solaki realised he had taken his original form in this dream. It was peculiar, he had almost forgotten what it felt like. He reached up with his other hand and hoisted his top half up onto the rockrete base. He tried to bring his leg up to stand, assuming that since he possessed arms, his legs would be returned to him also. He was wrong. The pain of pulling at raw and broken tendons and scrapping them along the gravel-covered floor was excruciation, even more so because Solaki had not been prepared for it. His mouth opened into a harsh howl of pain and his arms gave way under him. His face hit the rockrete floor with a dull thud, but any pain Solaki would have felt from the impact was eclipsed by the searing pain in his lower legs.

There was a crowd of normal citizens walking on by, minding their own business. Perhaps if he were not in so much pain, Solaki might have found it strange that none of them even noticed him or his outburst. He summoned all his determination and decided to crawls on further. His large ceremite fingers gouged great holes in the rockrete which he used to pull himself forwards, inches at a time. The crowd flowed around him as if they were water and he was oil, none of them noticing him even when he was right in front of them. Solaki had the appearance of some form of a perverse slug or snail, leaving behind his ragged form a trail of spittle from his mouth and blood from his legs. His breathing became increasingly ragged as he move further and further into the sea of people. At one point he even stopped, his arms locked and his eyes focused on the floor. Thin trails of saliva hung from his open mouth as he tried to regain his breath.

As he crawled forward, he spotted another prone form in the crowd. It flailed like some form of an injured animal. He had seen men flail like that when afflicted by vile poisons or witchfire. “Like a brother on a world marked by fate.” The thought was a harsh whisper, almost a hiss through his head. It was so venomous that he wasn’t sure if it was his own or an outside entity. Even as he crawled past, another allegory-given-flesh appeared. A young Sothan, no older than many recruits that were now noble Scythes had been. He was in simple clothes, except for the majestic MKVII helm on his head. Even through the muted vox grill, Solaki could hear his screams, as if the helmet was some form of iron maiden, or other ancient instrument of torture. As he began to move closer to the boy, Solaki heard and saw the beating of great wings overhead. He had heard them before, and so crawled even faster, least the beast between them come and swoop down and carry him to its nest to devour him. “The man-killer returns”. The same voice hissed in his ear a second time as the wing-beat grew louder. But as he passed the boy, the shadow and noise abruptly disappeared.

The crowd to his right seemed the thin. People avoided an area of rockrete wall like it was infected. People dispersed until finally Solaki could make out the detail of the black smear on the wall. It was a carcass of black ceremite, pinned like an exotic insect for inspection. “The voice of reason has fallen silent, and now the brothers ride to hell.” This time the voice seemed almost recognisable to Solaki, its tone almost lamentful, but still the words were harsh and crass. Still his breath was ragged and sharp, still the pain burnt like fires in his legs, but Solaki dragged himself further still towards the approaching sun. A voice cut through all the other thought in his mind, and Solaki could not be certain it wasn’t the same voice he had heard earlier, but he was not certain that it was either.
“Solaki....the shadows must win. Leave the shadows.” Before Solaki could speak back, the sun flared as if it were about to burst. The crowd vanished like shadows before the sun’s powerful stare. The intensity made Solaki shield his eyes for fear of being blinded.

When he opened his eyes again, all he was met with was the familiar inside of The Heart an Laikus’s faceplate. 
"How did you follow me here without being awake?" Laikus asked, his voice monotone but not hiding his confusion at his appearance. The techmarine shook his head, obviously making a mental note to address the problem later. "Since you made it here, I need you to test your new weapon systems." Taking stock of his surroundings, Solaki realised he was in a vehicle testing chamber. He rotated his arms to find that he now possessed two Dreadnought fists. One, like he had before, and the other, is right arm, now had an assault cannon fitted underneath it. It was currently collapsed in a ‘safe mode’, but a mental command made it spring into action. He also noticed that his armour appeared to be thicker and, although he could not see them, his internal computer and targeting told him that he also had missiles on his back. This was certainly an impressive upgrade.

Solaki swivelled to meet the main targets in the chamber. They were essentially giant steel blocks, sealed from the front and sides, which were pulled forwards on conveyer belts to similate vehicular combat. Solaki knew that there would be servitors inside, ready to pile out in a simulation of warfare. He had seen similar tests conducted before, but never imagined he would be one of the testers. Aiming for the one in the middle, Solaki loosed the two missiles already loaded in his firing compartments, one fractionally after the other. The first one struck the centre of the block, and the second slightly off-centre. The combined impact of both burst the ‘tank’ open like a flower. The servitors started to pile out, and Solaki sent another rocket streaking towards the tightly compacted transport space. The confined space amplified the explosion and funnelled the bits of the servitors which the rocket destroyed out of the hole like some form of perverse confetti cannon for celebrating. 

Quickly Solaki turned to his left, loosed another rocket which impacted into the side of another ‘tank’. The force of the impact and the explosion shortly after knocked the ‘tank’ onto its side and it slid for a few more meters before stopping, sending sparks flying all the way. Leaving the servitors to disembark, Solaki turned his attention and whirring assault cannon to the last tank on his right. Shooting the conveyer chain would have been simple, but in the effort to test the weapons properly, Solaki directed his targeting towards the ‘tracks’ of these lumbering bulks. His assault cannon spat death at an unbelievable rate, tearing into the metal and ‘treads’, shredding them to pieces and causing the ‘tank’ to grind to a halt. As the servitors inside processed what had happened and proceed to pile out, Solaki’s targeters alerted him to the servitors from the left ‘tank’, which had now fully disembarked. 

His assault cannon barely stopped as he swung his arms in a wide arc across the room before is spat more fist-sized bolts into the oncoming crowd of machine-slaves. These bolts were made to pierce the heaviest armour and tanks, so it cut down the servitors with ease. Several of the bolts cut clean through the man-machines and went on to kill one behind it. The power Solaki realised he now possessed was incredible. As the last died, Solaki fired another rocket into the underbelly of the ‘tank’ where the fuel for the conveyer lay, which exploded quite spectacularly. Pleased that he would not have to contend with any more from his left, Solaki turned his baleful glare to his right. The servitor shambled out, where a foe possessed with true intelligence might have tried to hide behind the cover of the wrecks. Solaki dispatched them quickly with his might assault cannon. He realised there were none more left, and so the assault cannon began its cooling cycle. “My commendations Laikus…” Solaki said turning to the techmarine, lifting his assault cannon in front of him as if to inspect it as he spoke “…this upgrade is most formidable. Although, I have to ask; was it a commission from our Lord Thrasius or simple a personal decision to ‘upgrade’ me?”…


----------



## dark angel

The _Heart of Sotha _was a mausoleum, the hallways silent and dark, the crew sullen and hopeless. Those few Astartes that Cleomenes passed - Some armoured, some robed, - Were a menagerie of new, old, friend and stranger. Most offered him shallow nods, some smiling and clasping his wrist, and a few - Those leathery, sun-kissed faces that Cleomenes knew - Shared half-whispered words, joyfully announcing that they were glad of his return, before leaving him, alone and mercurial, in the ever-dead halls.

Cleomenes had his pick of chambers - Inspecting a dozen towards the stern and twice that near the prow - Both strategically sound systems, protected by metre-thick plates of armour, world-murderers, deep amongst the _Heart of Sotha’s _labyrinthine bowels. Eventually, Cleomenes stumbled across quarters that caught his eye.

They were large, the floor marbled, a mural of Lord Guilliman and Marius Gage - Heroes of the Imperium - Painted marvelously along one wall, opposing a landscape of Sotha, spectacularly detailed, each blade of grass shining in emerald, the water sparkling with ingrained stone. A Sothan lion, golden of mane and long of leg, hunted amongst the grass. Cleomenes smiled, empurpled lips pressing together, and informed an accompanying servitor that he was decided. 

Seven hours of contemplation passed. Cleomenes’ was lost in thought - Gradually devouring Post-Miral records, separating the useless information from the useful, building up a more detailed account of what happened to his Chapter - On the seventh hour, his vox chimed, a monotone, lobotomized voice requesting Cleomenes to attend to the secondary hanger bay. 

Cleomenes grunted, collecting his Chainsword and Boltpistol - Assuring that the latter was loaded, still slightly untrusting of his newly-returned brethren. When he entered the hanger, one of Tybarr Nymeros’ shuttles, gilded and shining, sat on the deck. A quartet of Sellswords stood around it, weapons held over their chest, encompassing a series of crates. 

‘Lord Cleomenes,’ One of them said, his voice muffled by a serrated grille. ‘Sire Nymeros sends his best wishes, and,’ He indicated the crates. ‘Your personal items.’

‘Thank you, my child,’ The Space Marine purred, bowing his head, working his way through the crates - Hunting for one in particular. 

When he found it, a bejeweled crate with the Ultramarine omega atop it - One of Memnon of Calth’s - And popped the seals. 

Within, fiery-coated and emerald-eyed, was nestled a Gyrinx. Cleomenes’ face cracked in a broad smile, gently scooping the feline up, holding it close to his chest.

‘Hello, Persephone,’ He cooed, the Gyrinx purring as he ran his hand over her head. He turned, towards the idling servitors and thralls, calling - ‘Gather my belongings. And be gentle, they are worth more than your little lives.’ 

***

The one called Ryan was handsome. Cleomenes was handsomer in his youth - Ryan’s features sharp and classical, formed like one of Sotha’s statues, his hair a healthy shade of brown, his eyes bright and intelligent. Zurick stood behind him, featureless in his battle-helm, his armour scuffed and worn, though nonetheless effective.

‘You wanted to speak with us, long lost brother?’ Ryan said, affably, and Cleomenes stood, placing Persephone down on the floor next to him.

His robes - Yellow and grey - Flowed across the floor beneath him. A ceremonial dagger, the pommel studded and polished, was strapped to his hip. Cleomenes was confident that, if Ryan and Zurick were to attempt anything, Cleomenes could take one of them with him.

‘Yes, yes I did,’ He said, with a smile. ‘Firstly - I would like to congratulate you on your conduct upon Sotha - Unorthodox, certainly unorthodox, but effective. There is a flair of the Chapter to you - The _old _Chapter.’

‘Secondly, I have a request. Thrasius mentioned initiates, and, as you may know, I have a certain… _Reputation _when it comes to hammering recruits into Astartes,’ He grinned, teeth showing. ‘However - Alone - That is a particularly troublesome task. On the event that I am given permission to oversee their training, I would like you two to aid me.’


----------



## Lord Ramo

As Kain finished speaking he could see the face on his Lord's face corrode. He was beyond furious with Kain, that much was evident. Kain stood still at attention as his Lord turned to him, obviously trying to hold himself together, trying to hold his anger back as he answered one of his questions.

"It was a practice mission, Sergeant. Practice that you needed. None of your brothers died, there is a very significant difference between them returning alive, and still down there dead. We are space marines, we are always near death. Your squad retrieved a scared relic, recovered Cleomenes, killed the majority of the scavengers, and no one died. You did anything but fail me."

He stood up, his eyes narrowed as if he was stalking towards him, shaking slightly as his hands curled into fists. His face pale as he walked towards the marine standing at attention. Kain did not move, though he was upset on how his comment had visibly affected his Lord.

"Vermaas...is nothing like Astelan. Do you remember Astelan, Sergeant Scrious? I was with him on the verge of his betrayal. He fought and spat at his brothers with venom."

"When he spoke of hurting his brothers, there was no doubt he would have truly enjoyed it. His eyes, his posture....If I had allowed him to spar Belial to settle their differences, he would have murdered the marine with a salivating mouth."

"You accuse Vermaas, Vermaas, of heresy!? Vermaas, Sergeant scrious!?"

He roared in anger, at the very thought of the question, Kain fighting every urge not to bellow back at him. He did not think Vermaas was a heretic, he did not think what he did was heresy. He only worried about it, after Astelan didn't they all have a right to do that?

"That is one of the most honorable marines left under my command,"
he said still breathing heavily, "I am no fool, Scrious, I know he could have stopped Izrael in other ways. But his intention to me was clear, he slipped up. All of you slipped up! Why? Because none of you have seen true battle in years!"

He started to calm himself, gone was the anger so evident though his tone was one not to be put out of context, "Let me be clear about this. If another one of my astartes shows any signs of heresy, I will take Thorcrya's blade," he said, Kain's eyes being drawn to the elogant weapon that was encased behind the two of them, even as his Lord pointed it out. "kill them, decapitate them, and destroy their geneseed!"

He turned away from Kain, moving towards the powerful weapon. Taking hold of it through the force field, that recognised somehow his finger prints to allow him to take control of the weapon. He turned pulling it free and activating it before walking back towards Kain, looking hulking and menacing even though he was not armoured.

"So Sergeant, choose your words carefully when you answer this question. Vermaas was with you during your mission to Sotha's surface. You were his commanding officer. Are you telling me, you believe him to be a heretic?"

Kain spoke up at last given a chance to explain himself. "My Lord, I was not trying to accuse brother Vermaas of Heresy. However I merely brought it up some of our brothers may see it as a heretical act and wonder why it was not punished. I do not believe our brother is a heretic, I have seen a heretic. I was tricked by a heretic, may the Emperor forgive me." He thought back to how on that damned planet he had sided with Astelan when he was to be killed by the Mortifactors, how he had been one of the brothers to rush to his aid when they had tried to taken him. He still remembered the shame of it all.

"I apologize my Lord for my poor choice of words." He said at last before he was dismissed with a wave of his hand. Saluting to his Lord he turned and walked out of the door, headed to the armoury. He needed to be alone for a moment, he needed to think on his actions down on the planet. He needed to ensure that they never, ever happened again.


----------



## Jackinator

The recruits were growing into their power, their potential, but they weren't complete yet, and he could feel the raw potential, and risk coming off them in waves. They weren't ready, couldn't be, wouldn't be until there was a Chaplain seeing to the spiritual well-being of the chapter, and there seemed to be little enough chance of that. Despite his thoughts being in turmoil his face was an impenetrable mask, locked into a completely neutral expression.

Tobias smirked, and turning to them spoke to the younglings, “It looks like my brothers have volunteered to give your lesson today in my stead. Split into three groups.”

Though his scar hid the true expression on his face, had he been unscarred the grimace would have been clear. They might have been important for the chapter, but that did not mean he wanted to have to spend anymore time with them than absolutely neccessary. That was Tobias' job, he was good at it, Raziel knew he would be a poor substitute for the old sergeant.

He left his group standing, and stood in front of them, arms folded. They were not yet full grown, it was true, but they were still aspirants. Nonetheless Raziel dwarfed them with sheer presence and glowering malevolence.

"What is your greatest enemy?"

The answers were spread equally throughout the group, and each answer was different, valid, but most were nonetheless incorrect.

"The forces of chaos my Lord"

"Traitors to the Imperium, Lord Raziel"

The oldest of the group answers with, "our own personal weaknesses."

At the opposite end, the youngest declares it to be the tyranid race, the xeno lifeforms responsible for the devastation of the chapter and its history.

Raziel found it odd to find so may differing answers within the group, Tobias had always been consistent in his teachings, perhaps the lack of a Chaplain was most significant here, among the possible future members of the chapter.

He looked to the oldest once more, his scar turning what was simply a pointed glance into a glare. He nodded, his face twisting into a grimace that was supposed to be an approving smile. "Correct young one."

"Our greatest enemy is not that which faces us with gun and blade, but that which dwells within us. Our doubts, our fears, our pride."

He glared across the whole group now.

"Within each lies the potential for failure, and to fail in our duty is to turn our backs on the Emperor's light, on the Emperor's glory and on humanity itself."

His fists clenched as his scowl deepened.

"Can we simply ignore these failings?"

He raised his voice, the harsh tones cutting across the room easily.

"No! We cannot! We must always be vigilant, and our greatest enemies are none other than ourselves. Beware the witch, the mutant, the heretic. But ensure that in so doing you don't become that which we so despise."

He took an Imperial Aquila from a pouch at his belt, dangling it on it's chain before the recruits. "This is the symbol of our faith, but we cannot focus on this, we are the true emblem of the Emperor, guardians of his faithful and mighty representatives of his fury. Never forget that, never forget that if it weren't for the Emperor in his eternal wisdom we would not exist, we would not be blessed with the strength and the will to fight the enemies of mankind."

He realised that he had meant the speech, all of it, every doubt had somehow been expunged, he looked around at the aspirants.

"I want us to take what time we have left, to sit and meditate on our own doubts, our weaknessess. We all have them, and we must first realise and face them, before we can conquer them."

At first he joined them in the meditation, and then walked among the aspirants, answering questions and giving advice, feeling a strange, unfamiliarly paternal feeling towards these young ones, perhaps recognising something of what he once was in them. It didn't last long, he shook it away, he was not one for such weaknesses.


----------



## deathbringer

He was keen to be rid of it, the soulless clang of metal on metal leaving little in his heart but a keen sense of relief to be rid of it and a faint hope that he would not have to clutch it again. Even as he stood and gazed upon it, a faded relic, yet it still stood strong and unbowed, glorious even amongst the tattered remnants of their most recent campaigns.

He was not proud of his actions any longer yet he was proud to stand before, rightfully proud of the result of the dedication and care he had shown, that singleminded desire and drive that so few possessed, drive that had been on a careering rickety path, a rollercoaster ride through death and destruction.

The quest had show the best and worst of him, yet the emptiness he felt was suddenly less hollow, more satisfying the longer he gazed upon the banner, his mind wandering aimlessly over the design, over the words upon its wan surface.

The minutes stretched and they stood shoulder to shoulder, silent, eyes fixed upon the banner, each man left to his own thoughts before almost as one they turned to leave.

Two figures halted them before they had turn, a reflexive step back, hand inching towards his blade before he recognized their features the silence of their approach yet another testament to their skill.

"Way to almost get yourself killed, Zeiran. Not much glory coming back to the chapter anytime soon if you cant remember your battle training."

Ryan addressed the astartes beside him who stayed silent, eyes falling to the floor for a brief second and Izrael met the piercing gaze of Brother Ryan, taking in the smooth clean cut features even as she eyes flashed too him with hard bit intensity

"You though...," he met Izrael's gaze, index finger rising,seeming to weigh him in his mind.

"Don't get me wrong Zeiran, your our brother and we'd hate to lose you to some pirates. But there are so few of us left; you have to understand our concern for those of us making such errors."

A voice harsh and gravelling, as if barely used cut across the others dulcit tones as Zurick interjected, "We can't afford mistakes."

Ryan turned to him again

"Its good you've stayed aloof for so long Izrael," he hissed, the eyes seeming to weigh him up once more

"its kept your head in the right place, I think."

They turned to leave Izrael standing still for a single moment, stunned to be addressed by veterans of the chapter with... what was it... he was so used to belittlement and dissapointment, to be treated as a kindred seemed out of place foreign yet welcome. Especially from the two men he had watched with suppressed awe as they slaughtered barehanded, predators even amongst astartes.

Zeiran seemed to have slipped away, perhaps in reflection, perhaps in anger yet nonetheless Izrael felt drawn to follow the pair as they strode at ease through the corridors, side by side, weapons seeming to clatter in perfect harmony. Behind them Izrael removed his helm the slighest hint of a catch in his throat as he called out

"You see it as it is, dont you?" he paused hesitating briefly "What has happened to us all"

He paused his head bowing, his voice low

"You see this.." his hand gesturing around aimlessly at the walls and ceiling "as I do"


----------



## unxpekted22

Izrael:

“Perhaps,” replies Ryan, looking back at you again. He continues walking with you slightly behind him now, Zurick somewhat further ahead, “Its always hard to say whether or not you’re thinking the exact same as someone else. We find this state of being pathetic, for an astartes chapter. We know our luck hasn’t been too kind, and we know time must be spent rebuilding to make the chapter strong and active again. Perhaps we are just impatient, but under past leadership, things seemed to get done much faster. When we come out of our ‘down time’, Zurick and I would like to make sure that at least some of us who are still alive are ready to shape this chapter into the weapon it needs to be in order to make sure the galaxy knows not to anger us in the future. The way the Chapter was, in all its glory as Kraken rained down hell upon our Sotha, it wasn’t good enough to stop it.”

“And yet,” calls out Zurick from in front without turning his head as he walks, “the _Ultramarines_ did.”

Ryan nods and continues, “Which means it was possible for us to defend our homeworld as well; in our eyes, at least. But maybe we’re just rebels,” he smiles deviously, “who are still pessimistic and butt-hurt over three of our beloved squad mates getting torn apart on Ferim and wish to remain separated from the rest of the Scythes just because we feel like it.”

You follow them into an enormous chamber. It is one of the battle training scenario chambers.

“Time for some training. We shall return shortly with others. We like your personality, but we must discover if you can work beside us in battle before anything further.”

Cleomenes:
“I’m not sure what else to say other than we’re not interested,” replies Ryan, “I myself wouldn't be caught dead training new recruits and Zurick,” he pauses, turns his head to his companion and brings up his hand open palmed toward him, who remains silent and motionless.

“And I wouldn’t be counting on getting that position again, Cleoemenes.” he continues, “Frankly I think Thrasius needs your skills elsewhere. Refining the minds of those who are already battle brothers for example, not to mention your decades worth of skill in battle. Look at Kain and Zeiran, Hexor and Spurius...just for a few examples. Those are your new scouts in my opinion.”
Zurick turns and starts to leave. Ryan begins to follow, saying, “You’re needed in training bay Epsilon, brother. Power armor is required. Oh, and...orthodox is what got so many of us killed.”

His eyes meet yours in a much different way as he says that than they had the rest of the conversation. He slips beyond the corner and the door seals.

Izrael, Cleomenes, Dymethus, Raxan, Kain, Raziel, and Solaki:

All of you are gathered near the main doors of this enourmous chamber, training area Epsilon. It is a war simulation chamber. In its current state is flat and empty, but the terrain lays in the floor and can be set to nearly any landscape in metal form. The even larger training bays such as Alpha and Beta can simulate to even more realistic detail; raining water, sand or snow from the ceiling to quickly cover the ground or continue as precipitation. 

Veteran Sergeant Tobias showed up some time ago to begin the set up. There are several servitors in front of him at control stations listening to his commands. Zurick and Ryan arrived recently and Cleomenes who is the last to arrive has just stepped through the automated doors. 

Everyone is in their power armor, but no one is wearing their helmets yet, bar Zurick.

Ryan perks up at the sign of Cleomenes’ entrance, “Well everyone is here. I intended to have Brother Zeiran join us as well but found Alexander demanded his presence. Since Brother Dymethus was near Solaki, I had him agree to fill in. And Vermaas is lost somewhere in the ship it seems.

Everyone will address Dymethus here in their own ways, looking, speaking, hand shakes for it perhaps being a while since last seeing him or any mixture of the three. He is a marine not native to Sotha, having been picked up early on in the post-Miral defense against hive fleet kraken’s splinter fleets from the world of Radnor Prime. While this is happening Tobias directs Solaki to the center of the field.

When Solaki is in position Tobias gives a command to the servitors.
“Theorize: Urban scenario Charlie, central ojective, two teams, set and apply to field.”

With this, countless mechanical workings beneath the deck can be heard clanking and coming to life. A maze of metal slabs rise up from the flat surface, creating the artificial layout of a small city block. It is incredibly noisy and takes several minutes, but never ceases to be impressive no matter how many times you have witnessed it. 

The layout is this: Square field. 8 buildings forming a square ring, all with one side against the perimeter. Each building has several entry points. some buildings have one floor, others have two. Four more buildings face diagonal to the map corners and form a smaller ring around the central courtyard where Solaki stands. The central court yard has a circle of pillar/statue shaped structures for cover, surrounding Solaki. In the streets are several large obstacles that represent possible forms of cover such as abandoned/ destroyed vehicles or objects placed for impending military action.

Tobias begins his instructions, “You’ll be split into two teams. Team Black will consist of Ryan, Zurick, Dymethus, and Izrael. Team Gold will consist of Kain, Cleomenes, Raxan, and Raziel. The goal is to kill the opposing team. Solaki is the center of the map and represents the winning weapon, currently neutral and offline. Whichever team has one of their members touching Solaki with one hand for a duration of 60 seconds awards him to the team. No one from the other team can be in contact with him at the same time. If one team gains Solaki, the other can still win if they manage to kill the remaining infantry opponents. The dreadnaught cannot be destroyed. He will be using his own current weapon set up with non-lethal ammunition as well. I will be making the call when someone has been defeated as I can see everything from this station.

Weapons racks rise up from the floor beside each team. Dangling from them are all sorts of Astartes small arms, but they are all training models. The chainswords are locked but still bladed, and the bolt weapons fire rounds that burst into a thick inky, smokey cloud upon impact. Against the head they will do some damage but nothing lethal to Astartes.

“Two members from each team are to take a bolter, and two a chainsword and pistol. Get to your starting positions. I will signal when to start. The time limit is however long it takes one side to win. The only thing the Heart is doing is travelling through space, after all."

All of you trust Tobias’s opinion. he is not one to be biased in something like this or anything like that so if he calls it, its a good call from a fair game stand point.
Both teams are in the center building of the outer ring on opposite ends. For this update your post should include greeting Dymethus as mentioned above (or specifically not caring or wanting to do so), the moving into position with your team and any discussions, planning, comments or thoughts had. You will hear Tobias say both teams are in position. Shortly after he will sound a siren which is the signal to begin. Include your initial movements. You will not see any opponents yet. Some possible mentions include whether or not you intend to get Solaki, if there is anyone specific your character wishes to ‘kill’, or which ones they are worried about. Team Black wears black cloth over both shoulder guards. Team Gold wears gold cloth over both shoulder guards. POst order will determine who gets what weapons. For Team Black, Ryan takes a bolter and Zurick takes a pistol and chainsword. Solaki, continue your thoughts from last update and onto this one. Perhaps go over what you think of the teams, who will win, if you think they will try to gain you, etc.

As always PM with any questions or dialogue needed from NPCs, PM each other with any questions, and this will begin our return to the two week time period for posting. Let it be known that due to the site down time and player changes I came up with this scenario thing today. I was forced to change plans in other words so I hope this works for now. .


----------



## Deus Mortis

Not long after Solaki had finished trialing his new armaments, a marine Solaki had only seen a couple of times appeared in the testing chamber. His name Solaki learnt was Dymethus. He was a young marine, Solaki could see that when he looked at his face. His face was yet unscarred by battle and his face shone with naivety. Not that Solaki minded. They would all be tested very soon and that look of eagerness would disappear. He asked if he could be of assistance to Laikus, and Laikus seemed quite happy to oblige. Belial had not been close to anyone for a while, not since Ferim, and Solaki suspected after listening to Dymethus talking to Laikus and from the look of admiration in the young marine's eyes that Laikus might find a sort of kindred spirit in Dymethus. That was good, Solaki thought to himself as the two worked around him, cleaning the debris he had created from 'testing'. Alexander had found Niko and it would be good for Laikus to raise another brother into the ranks of the Mechanicus.

At one point Ryan and Zurick entered the room, interrupting the works of Laikus. Apparently Tobias had summoned Solaki to training area Epsilon and they needed one more marine, since Zerian was elsewhere, so they offered the opportunity to Dymethus, but with the air of a command, rather than a question. Solaki knew that the reason would be good. The veteran sergeant was not kind on laxity. Laikus proceeded to strip Solaki of all his lethal weaponry, replacing live munition drums with special training rounds and doing likewise with the rockets. He also disabled the power-fields in Solaki's hands to prevent them accidentally coming online and vapourising one of his brothers. This and a few other alterations to make sure that the force of his giant fists didn't fatally wound anyone on impact. All the while Ryan and Zurick stood motionless, not speaking a word to each other or anyone else, simply waiting to take what they had been sent for.

As this happened Solaki studied Dymethus. The young marine seemed helpful and eager, as if he was trying to prove himself. He definitely held Laikus in regard, although it was impossible to say what he thought of Solaki. He seemed to know how to handle himself with any minor tasks Laikus assigned him. Obviously all the important jobs were left to Laikus, him being well known for wanting to personally oversee everything. Once all the alterations were finished, Solaki and Dymethus set off with Ryan and Zurick toward the training area, the loud clang of Solaki's footsteps overshadowing the quiet clicks of the young marine's steps. "I have yet to see you in battle Brother" Solaki commented. "I trust you are as diligent in battle as you are in serving Laikus."

The rest of the journey passed in relative silence. They were not the first to be at the training area, nor the last. Cleomenes was the last to enter, and Solaki couldn't help but wonder if he had done that to make some kind of point. Curiously, Ryan and Zurick were here, which surprised Solaki. The two veterans could rarely be found with anyone but each other, so for them to agree to participate in a training exercise was unusual. As Cleomenes entered, Tobias spoke “Well everyone is here. I intended to have Brother Zeiran join us as well but found Alexander demanded his presence. Since Brother Dymethus was near Solaki, I had him agree to fill in. And Vermaas is lost somewhere in the ship it seems." Solaki was sure that Vermaas would be hounded by Tobias later. When he was under Tobias, Solaki would not have missed a training session if he knew about it.

While the others talked amongst themselves, Tobias directed Solaki into the center of the flat terrain. No sooner had he stood in position, Tobias spoke the command and the whole layout shifted. For several minutes the most dominant noise was the whirring of gears, as sheets of metal rose, fell, folded and slotted together to what looked like a portion of city-scape. Tobias began his instructions, _“You’ll be split into two teams. Team Black will consist of Ryan, Zurick, Dymethus, and Izrael. Team Gold will consist of Kain, Cleomenes, Raxan, and Raziel. The goal is to kill the opposing team. Solaki is the center of the map and represents the winning weapon, currently neutral and offline. Whichever team has one of their members touching Solaki with one hand for a duration of 60 seconds awards him to the team. No one from the other team can be in contact with him at the same time. If one team gains Solaki, the other can still win if they manage to kill the remaining infantry opponents. The dreadnaught cannot be destroyed. He will be using his own current weapon set up with non-lethal ammunition as well. I will be making the call when someone has been defeated as I can see everything from this station."_

Solaki knew the teams were fair, or as fair as they could be. However, despite acknowledging that it was the fairest option to put Kain and Cleomenes in the same team, Solaki doubted their effectiveness. Whilst he had been told that Thrasius had declared that Kain was unarguably still in command, Solaki doubted that Cleomenes would hold to that. Although, perhaps that was a lesson from this exercise for the two of them. They needed to learn to work together, and it needed to not be when lives hung in the balance. Also Solaki wondered how well Ryan and Zurick would function with Dymethus and Izrael. The two were pretty much autonomous, rarely joining with anyone else. But again, Solaki suspected that was a lesson. Perhaps for two long they had fought as individuals and needed to remember how it felt to operate as a unit, as a brotherhood. As for himself, Solaki was left to wonder what his lesson was in all of this, or if it was simply just practice for him with his new equipment. Either way, it would hopefully soon become apparent as the war-games were about to start...


----------



## Midge913

*Raxan*

Raxan did not know how much time he had spent with the recruits, speaking with them, answering questions, overseeing sparring matches, but he did know that he felt a slight pang of disappointment when Sergeant Tobias finally approached him and instructed him to return to his arming chamber and don his war plate. Raxan's question as to the reason for this, but Tobias merely told him to prepare quickly and report to training area Epsilon. 

Raxan did as he was bidden, leaving the recruits alone, Raziel and Vermaas having already left and as he hurried back to his arming chamber he could not help but think on what the crafty old Sergeant had in mind. He spent the next half of an hour, patiently waiting as the servitors in the room assisted him back into the plate he had just removed, feeling more than a hint of irritation that he had been asked to remove it to begin with. Leaving his own weapons safely in their alcoves, he made haste, ceramite boots ringing clearly in the steel of the empty corridors, his mind on other things. Vermaas, and his air of sullen withdraw was on the fore of his mind. Something about his brother's silence put him on edge and his sudden disappearance from the training hall was not in character for him at all.

However such thoughts were pushed from his mind, banished by the tableau that met his gaze as he rounded a turn in the corridor and found a large group of his brothers, Ryan and Zurick oddly enough among them. Raxan joined them and his view of the training area, a massive square room, opened up in front of him. Sergeant Tobias was already there, servitors milling around his stoic form as he commanded them in preparing the scenario that he had obviously devised. His curiosity at the assemblage burned almost to the point of prying, when Cleomenes, the last to arrive, finally joined the group. To Raxan's surprise his friend's arrival caused Brother Ryan to brighten, words of explanation quickly springing to his lips, "Well everyone is here. I intended to have Brother Zeiran join us as well but found Alexander demanded his presence. Since Brother Dymethus was near Solaki, I had him agree to fill in. And Vermaas is lost somewhere in the ship it seems."

Raxan turned an appraising gaze on the new comer to the group, concern for yet another Brother's whereabouts quashed as took in the youngling's appearance. He stood tall in his battle plate, yet Raxan could remember the very day that he had been brought aboard The Heart. He had been a child, no more than a decade to his name when Raxan himself had led the lad down the vast hallways of this ship, toward the waiting arms of the Chapters Apothecaries. Raxan doubted the boy would remember him, for Raxan had, for many reasons in those days, steered clear of the training halls, the education of recruits the furthest thing from his mind. It was good to see that one he had helped bring into their fold had found a modicum of success with in the chapters ranks. Already it was told that he had made himself quite useful to Laikus, showing proficiency and skill in the arts of machinery/

"You are welcome among us Dymethus," Raxan said, offering his hand in greeting to the young marine, "It is good that you were able to get out of the maintenance bay. I think that we could all use the distraction at the moment." 

Shortly after hearing the boys response, Raxan found that their conversation was interrupted by Tobias' voice as it rang out from the center of the training expanse, Solaki positioned at its very middle, “Theorize: Urban scenario Charlie, central objective, two teams, set and apply to field.”

Despite the fact that he had seen it many times in the course of his service to the chapter, there was still something about this technology that fascinated Raxan. The loud whirring of thousands of gears, the beep of servitors, and the thump of the machine's internal workings rang out as metal slabs, surfaces flat and smooth began to rise out of the floor. It hummed ass it worked at creating a layout of a small city block. An square field, its perimeter laid out with simulated buildings, eight in all around the outer edge, some multi-storied, some single. Four more buildings faced diagonal to the map corners, forming a central courtyard, in the middle of which was the dreadnaught. Pillars and statue shaped structures were strategically placed throughout the courtyard, obviously intended to provide cover and decent shooting positions. All in all in Raxan's opinion, a wonderful recreation of a war-torn city square, the outlying roads littered with debris and simulated wreckage only adding to the realism of the scenario. 

Tearing his eyes away from the scene beyond, Tobias' voice beckoning his attention as well as the rest of the group with clipped words and instructions, "You’ll be split into two teams. Team Black will consist of Ryan, Zurick, Dymethus, and Izrael. Team Gold will consist of Kain, Cleomenes, Raxan, and Raziel. The goal is to kill the opposing team. Solaki is the center of the map and represents the winning weapon, currently neutral and offline. Whichever team has one of their members touching Solaki with one hand for a duration of 60 seconds awards him to the team. No one from the other team can be in contact with him at the same time. If one team gains Solaki, the other can still win if they manage to kill the remaining infantry opponents. The dreadnaught cannot be destroyed. He will be using his own current weapon set up with non-lethal ammunition as well. I will be making the call when someone has been defeated as I can see everything from this station." Raxan nodded in understanding, the scenario was simple enough, get to Solaki before the other team. 

Weapons racks rose from the floor beneath them and each team huddled around their respective repository. “Two members from each team are to take a bolter, and two a chainsword and pistol. Get to your starting positions. I will signal when to start. The time limit is however long it takes one side to win. The only thing the Heart is doing is travelling through space, after all." As Tobias finished his instructions Raxan stepped up with his group, Cleo to his right, Kain to his left, Raziel just ahead, he reached out and took one of the bolters, popping the magazine out to verify it held non-lethal training rounds, before re-seating it and taking several spares. A slow grin passed over his face as he faced Cleomenes, "You remember the battle on Abraxis Prime brother? I think that attack pattern Alpha 495 would be appropriate. Raziel and I will be the hammer, you and Kain shall play the anvil. What say you brothers? Are you ready?" It was hard to keep the excitement out of his tone, for it had been sometime since he had participated in one of these exercises and the recent events down on Sotha's surface had reminded him how important it was for the Sycthe's to work together. Hopefully his brothers had come to similar conclusions.


----------



## dark angel

There was a moment of pregnant silence.

Cleomenes, still sitting upon a stool, watched Ryan and Zurick with those avid, ocean-blue eyes. Only the distant thrumming of the Heart’s engines, reverberating through the vessel with the sound of smashing waves, filled the room. 

‘I’m not sure what else to say other than we’re not interested,’ Ryan ventured, eventually. Cleomenes arched an eyebrow, lips pressing together in a grim, emotionless smirk. ‘I myself wouldn’t be caught dead training new recruits and Zurick..’ 

Ryan indicated his brother with a open-handed wave. Zurick, ever-mysterious, remained motionless. Cleomenes kept his eyes fixed on Zurick, featureless beneath his blank-faced helm, the eyepieces glittering with malign intention. Ryan finished, ending the conversation with a summoning, Cleomenes standing, robes flowing about his lean, iron-taught body.

‘Disappointing,’ He said, with a distasteful snort. ‘The last person that turned down an offer of mine.. Well, I don’t recall,’ He smiled, his beard cracking. ‘Conventional methods work, Ryan. We are the Adeptus Astartes. We thrive on tradition. Guilliman’s - Blessed His name - Codex is our guiding light. Stray too far away from the light, into the darkness, and you will get lost..’

The two Space Marines left, leaving Cleomenes to his chambers.

His plate, held on a oversized frame, glittered. The Helm of Cassander, marvelously plumed, was hidden beneath a silken shroud - Something that, Cleomenes realised, was worth more than a small moon. He grinned, shook his head, and began the slow task of armouring up.

***

He arrived last.

His brothers, Squad Scrious, he mused, had all assembled.

The Scythe nodded respectfully at Raxan, narrowed his eyes at Izrael and Sergeant Scrious. Weak elements, the ***** in the armour, the unsteady stanchion. 

Ryan spoke once again. He introduced a new face - One brother Dymethus, - Tall, gaunt and swarthy skinned. Cleomenes frowned - A not-Sothan amongst the Scythes? A sacrilegious occurrence. Not unheard of, and not unexpected given the Scythes of the Emperor’s current situation, but certainly something that Cleomenes did not hold in high regard. The Polemarch ignored Dymethus.

With a tremendous clanking, the ground started to change. Sections shifted, lifted, moulded together into prefabricated buildings. In a central courtyard, unmoving and powered-down, was the Dreadnought Solaki. Objective, Cleomenes thought.

They were organized into teams - Team Black and Gold - Kain, Cleomenes, Raxan and Raziel being bracketed together as Gold, cloth-of-gold draping over their pauldrons. 

‘You remember the battle on Abraxis Prime, brother?’ Raxan said, eventually, to Cleomenes. ‘I think that attack pattern Alpha 495 would be appropriate. Raziel and I will be the hammer, you and Kain shall play the anvil. What say you brothers? Are you ready?’ 

‘How could I forget?’ Cleomenes laughed, bitterly. He remembered the tunnel-fighting well, blood sloshing around his ankles, bursts of weapons fire illuminating the oily darkness. Squad Nicanor - Emperor Rest - Had lost three members during that campaign. Cleomenes sighed, before - ‘I still have the scars. For the Fourth, eh? A sound plan, Raxan. I approve.’

He turned to Sergeant Scrious. ‘This is deliberate, you know? You and I?’ He smiled falsely. ‘Let’s keep the petty bickering to a minimum. I wouldn’t want to hurt you in front of all these brothers, _boy_.’

He grabbed a Bolter - Slotting a magazine in place, checking the mechanisms. ‘We should neutralize the pup and Ryan first. Dymethus is young. He’s not Sothan. He doesn’t share our lineage. Zurick relies heavily on Ryan, from what I have observed. Get me in close with that handsome bastard,’ He smirked cruelly. ‘And I’ll show him why I enjoy pankration so much.’


----------



## deathbringer

“Perhaps,” Ryan muttered, his place slowing to walk just a little ahead of Izrael, the pace of Zurick never dropping his head refusing to turn, stoic and unbending

“Its always hard to say whether or not you’re thinking the exact same as someone else. We find this state of being pathetic, for an astartes chapter. We know our luck hasn’t been too kind, and we know time must be spent rebuilding to make the chapter strong and active again. Perhaps we are just impatient, but under past leadership, things seemed to get done much faster. When we come out of our ‘down time’, Zurick and I would like to make sure that at least some of us who are still alive are ready to shape this chapter into the weapon it needs to be in order to make sure the galaxy knows not to anger us in the future. The way the Chapter was, in all its glory as Kraken rained down hell upon our Sotha, it wasn’t good enough to stop it.”

His words were like an echo, a pale, distorted version of Izrael's own feelings, his own disparity towards the dilapidation and mediocrity oozing into the chapters ethos.

He found himself a little dissapointed that the chapters most resilient critics could not match the burning fury within his own heart, the contemptuous anger seering as he looked upon the "symbol" of the new born scythes.

Or perhaps they were unwilling to unleash the true extent of their delusion to an outsider, to reach out completely beyond there brotherhood of two... nonetheless they had reached out... and to him, they honoured him with their attention.

Zurick's voice was harsh and cold, the cracking whip of failure setting his thoughts fleeing into the darkness

“And yet,....the Ultramarines did.”

Ryan nodded, the shame burning in his eyes, the words casting a sour note across the conversation
“Which means it was possible for us to defend our homeworld as well; in our eyes, at least. But maybe we’re just rebels,” his smile was devious, a hint of ire in his voice

“who are still pessimistic and butt-hurt over three of our beloved squad mates getting torn apart on Ferim and wish to remain separated from the rest of the Scythes just because we feel like it.”


There walk was interrupted as they moved into one of the battle simulation chambers and Ryan flexed as he spoke, his words emotionless as he turned upon Izrael

“Time for some training. We shall return shortly with others. We like your personality, but we must discover if you can work beside us in battle before anything further."

Further.... what was further, what plan had he become enveloped in, time to inquire further was denied him, a group gathering around Veteran Sergeant Tobias, sevitors clicking and whirring as they uploaded programs to transform the room before them.

In the center of the cavernous empty metal stood Brother Solaki, the dreadnaught immobile, in the center of the training room even as the order came and the room burst into life. It was as if the very earth was moving, every movement precise to the last milometer as civilization seemed to burst from the floor, metals cubes sliding to form silver brick buildings and Izrael found himself letting out a breathless chuckle.

“You’ll be split into two teams. Team Black will consist of Ryan, Zurick, Dymethus, and Izrael. Team Gold will consist of Kain, Cleomenes, Raxan, and Raziel."

A surreptitious glance at Ryan and Zurick made him wonder what had been said prior to the encounter, a small smirk spreading over his face at the irony of the colour choices.

The so called black sheep of the chapter cast in black, Sotha's golden boys cast in gold. Tobias was not the sort to make such bias, yet none the less a... yes... suprisingly it was pleasant, to be grouped apart from those he considered to be raised above their station, placed upon an undeserving pedestal.

His gaze took in Brother Dymethus, the fourth added in at the last moment, a few years his junior, little more than a lackey to Lakius, his fingers stained with grease and whatever other mechanical filth he had played with.

Izrael had never met him and had no desire to become closer acquainted, his eyes moving from Lakius, to the scene that had erupted around him eyes wandering ruthlessly across the depths, moving ever so slightly away from the group as he began to study his surroundings.

This was his moment, to earn respect in the eyes of some that had not already placed the bar, to show what he could to eyes devoid of paradigms.

This was his time to shine.

"The goal is to kill the opposing team. Solaki is the center of the map and represents the winning weapon, currently neutral and offline. Whichever team has one of their members touching Solaki with one hand for a duration of 60 seconds awards him to the team. No one from the other team can be in contact with him at the same time. If one team gains Solaki, the other can still win if they manage to kill the remaining infantry opponents. The dreadnaught cannot be destroyed. He will be using his own current weapon set up with non-lethal ammunition as well. I will be making the call when someone has been defeated as I can see everything from this station."

By the end of the briefing Izrael was smiling.

He had a plan.

________________________________________________
They were moving towards their deployment zone, black cloth draped across their shoulder guards, a bolter clasped in Ryan's hands, pistol and chainsword clasped in Zurick's.

Without hesitation, like a schoolmaster to a pupil, Ryan's words hit him, teasing, almost casual, 

"So, Brother Izrael, What strategy would you suggest?"

His response was instantaneous

"Brother Tobias has phrased the mission carefully to make the dreadnaught appear to be the objective, when in fact it is numbers that count towards victory. In doing so he has provided the perfect killing ground."

The surrounding buildings have height, i suggest we set up our two astartes with bolters on separate roofs that give clear lines of sight to the dreadnaught and allow us to have a better overview of the surrounding area."

We can then not only pick off any that attempt to come near the dreadnaught but also feed information to the two on the ground meaning they will be able to plan any attacks with precision instead of trusting to blind luck."

"The intention is to prevent Brother Solaki from ever becoming active, by unbalancing the game before it has begun."

He turned to the pair, who glanced at eachother, a half smile growing over Ryan's face and he growled "A sound plan. I will take lead." 

Beneath his helm Izrael felt his own face split into a low smile as he hefted his bolter, his pride haunted by the single notion... no plan survives first contact with the enemy.


----------



## BlackGuard

His eyes remained forward and his mouth remained shut on the way to the Armory. Brother Raziel and Raxan would surely be unsettled to some degree to his sudden silence. Though he was always known to brood to himself from time to time. This was unfortunately one of those times as he reflected on the attitude of Lord Sotha, or rather Thrasuis now. Why had the Chapter Master decided to revert back to his more informal name than the one he'd made for himself years ago? He noticed that he'd missed out on most of Raxan and Raziel's conversation and continued to ignore the remnants of it. The back of his neck had begun to itch and for a moment he worried that he might have been an unnoticed wound -- perhaps a piece of shrapnel or a lucky xeno shot had caused a hairline fracture in his spine or skull. The lack of any real pain laid the question to rest. 

He realized that it was anxiety. He couldn't hide that Thrasuis' insistance upon him to stand and a renouncement of all of his crimes had come as a serious surprise. He'd fully expected to be reprimanded, perhaps even punished by pain or censor ... since Astelan there was even the potential for execution for such crimes. His mind began to travel once again to the past several hours and how he coudl have confronted Izrael better and quickly stopped. He did what he had to do in the situtation he found himself in and would not apologize or punish himself over those decisions. Besides the Chapter Master himself had given him praise for his actions and raised him above his own brothers in what should by all rights been his trial.

As the three of them entered the Armory he noticed Brother Tobias in a room full of thirty-two neophytes. His eyes glanced across all of them and saw potential as of yet unlocked by Tobias or the Chapter. He felt pride at the possibilities these youths provided for the Chapter and quietly thanked the God-Emperor for forging Humanity in such an excellent way to provide his chosen. The students immeidately fell to one knee before them and only then did Brother Tobias turn and notice them with a comment, 

_"Lord Raziel, Lord Raxan, Lord Vermaas ..."_

Vermaas nodded in Tobias direction and for the first time during the entire journey to the Armory spoke, _'Brother Tobias, it is a blessing to see you as always.'_

Instantly his mood had turned around despite the sullen air which he knew hung around him. Tobias had a slightly tarnished reputation for being in command of Astelans' squad for a short time during that dark peroid in the Scythe's history but Vermaas had long ago forgiven him. He had no control over Astelan and could not have predicted the downfall of that monster. Vermaas had always liked Tobias and was pleased to note that he was in charge of the neophytes training. Under his guidance they would flourish and be prepared for the day when they would replace marines like himself upon the God-Emperor's battlefields.

_'It looks like my brothers have volunteered to give your lesson today in my stead. Split into three groups,'_ said Tobias.

Vermaas nodded to the trainer and watched as ten boys lined up before him in a straight file. The oppurtunity to teach recruits was a task he was more than ready for and one that he hoped would help them grow into proper replacements. He felt a tingling at the back of his neck again and closely considered why his anixety was once again surfacing. It was Astelan he realized. In everyone of their faces he saw Astelan or some of his features. One of the youths had eyes like him, another's bone structure resembled him and in that instance Brother Vermaas understood that heresy could lurk in everyone of their hearts. Heresy lurked in every beating heart weather they were human or post human or something inbetween as these youths were. Of coarse he reminded himself that this is why they were trained under the harshest conditions both physical and mental -- to shield them against the most base temptations of heresy. 

There was only one area that Vermaas knew the Scythe's did not properly expand upon or work deep-enough in and that was faith. As the youths eyed him cautiously, Brother Raxan and Raziel's groups had already begun their practices, he wished to leave them standing for a few more minutes in pregnant silence. 

_'Faith,'_ he stated plainly, _'Is the keystone to your success as a Astartes of the God-Emperor of Mankind.'_

He noticed a few of the youths seemed a little unsettled by the sudden inclusion of spirituality into the conversation. No doubt Brother Tobias was an excellent trainer in the physical arts and preparing them mentally to deal with the climates of the harshest death worlds or the most grueling battlefields. But it was the soul in which the Scythe's had lost the battle for Astelan ... it was a battle he fully intended to never loose again.

_'The training you recieve under the watchful, wise gaze of Brother Tobias is excellent. It is unmatched by any other of our order. It will serve you well upon death worlds and voids alike,' _he began with a stone-cold face, _'The organs that we put within your body will enhance you far beyond the reach of mortals. The gene-seed which clings in your neck and chest will ensure you become the finest warriors than Humanity can provide. But know that all of it is for naught!'_

He had to surpress a smirk as the youths shifted. The other groups were engaged in their practices and they were eager to display their martial skills to him and to Brother Tobias. They were just like him and Raxan and Raziel so many centuries ago when they stood where they are now -- eager to prove themselves to the veterans. How many of those veterans still lived, he thought? The Chapter Master was an obvious one, but everyone else could be considered of the same generation as him. All those he sought to impress were dead. Their bones were within the sepulchre-floor of the Fortress Monastery upon dead Sotha. How the mighty truly have fallen. 

His eyes went to the floor for a moment of recollection before continuing, _'You want to prove yourselves. I can see it in your eyes. Full of youth, full of strength and vigor. You wish to lock yourselves into duels to best your brothers in strength. You wish to race and show me your speed or you combat acumen. Do any of you deny this?'_

A heartbeat of silence followed. All of them shook their heads, at first hesitantly not sure if it was a question to be answered but with Vermaas' insistance they each gave the same answer.

_'I am not a man so easily impressed by martial prowess, by speed, or by battlefield acumen. These things are the realm of Brother Tobias and they will serve you well when they are required. They do not answer the core questions you must ask yourselves. Why do you fight? Go on, ask yourselves this question and think on your answer carefully.'_

Two heartbeats past as he gave them time to really consider. He saw the same look in all of their eyes. The same look he'd surely have given had he been in there place.

_'You are all liars,' he stated plainly and stood before them stoically, 'You fight, right now, for yourselves. For me. For Brother Tobias. For the veterans who may occassionally watch your performance. We are the Scythes of the Emperor and we do not fight for ourselves! You will tell me, if I ask you, that you fight for the Imperium and the God-Emperor. In time those words will become truth in both word and action. I wish to spare you the horrors and the mind-numbing terror you must endure before you come to this realization ... this enlightenment. As I had to go through.'_

He noticed that the insult they'd suffered began to vanish from their features. What had been wounded pride was slowly being replaced by curiosity. No doubt this feeling was felt more strongly in some than others but in time all of them would realize it.

_'Nothing in this universe is worth more than the will of the God-Emperor. It is by him we draw breath and it was for him that we stop drawing it. Where we tread only absolution follows. Where we fight there is only victory. Where we die there is only salvation. Understand these basic truths. In your darkest moments when the alien, the heretic, and the mutant surrond you and squeel to feast upon your pure flesh -- let the hatred of the God-Emperor flow into your veins for your gene-forged strength will not be enough. When the madness of the demon seeps into your skull, sing the litanies of the Golden Throne and banish the beast back to hell which spawned it! Kill and kill again in the name of the Emperor and let not Humanity suffer the unclean!'_

He dropped to one knee, the recruits immediately following him -- even if it was done awkwardly.

_'We shall pray to Him-On-Terra ..._

_Immortal God-Emperor of Mankind give us your strength ... your wisdom and your blessing. Look down from your mighty chariot as you plow through the heavens of Humanity's final resting place, do us the eternal honor of looking from your foes and upon us. For we are your mailed fist, your hateful will made manifest! These youths have taken their first oaths, and by your grace and mercy they will be proven true enough to take many more. Show them to path of mercilessness, of intolerance, and of purity and prepare them in both body and mind for the trials to come ahead._

_Let it be done in your time -- Ahmen.'_

Vermaas rose from the floor immediately and signalled the youths to rise as well, _'Do not forget this moment for as long as your fight for our Emperor. You will likely not see its kind again, take this message to all corners of the void -- this galaxy is Humanity's and we do not suffer anything.'_

He took a few paces back and looked over the group, _'Now you may prove yourselves to me. Pair up into five groups. You will engage in a perfect square, six foot by six foot. First one to achieve a knock out of his opponenet or get him out of bounds is the victor.'_

As the groups paired up and began their matches -- Vermaas observed closely. For all of his religious chants and doctrines he knew that this was what the youths would likely remember most about their training session with him. He found it was waste depite noticing at least three of them had truly remarkable potential -- of coarse of those three recruits one would not make it past training, another would die over the coarse of his initial years, and the other would likely die later on. If the Chapter was lucky he would live long enough to impart his knowledge to the next generation and hope for the best. 

He noted, of coarse, with grim reflection ... that he was the one who'd live only long enough to impart his knowledge. There was little else for him to achieve rank wise within the Chapter and while he was content to be a simple battle-brother the realization of his age was not lost on him.


----------



## Capussa

Laikus had been working on some new project a lot recently, it was always the same when Dymethus was instructed to report to the Armoury. He never knew if the projects were secret or not but had learned that Laikus did not like to talk about or share his work, so they may as well have been. Having finished this morning’s list of tasks he took a moment to himself at the Omnissian Shrine in the Armoury, upon rising again he then entered the testing area to see what else he could help with. Laikus set him to clearing up the devastation caused by Solaki’s new weapons, Dymethus assumed that this was the result of Laikus’ latest project.

Solakai, like the rest of the chapter, was more someone he knew of as opposed to someone he knew. Laikus & Tobias were the only brothers who came close to being someone he knew and he would class either of them as people he knew, yet. Dymenthus barely noticed the arrival of Ryan & Zurick entered the testing room but eagerly accepted Ryan’s offer of training alongside the dreadnought and proceeded to aid Laikus in switching Solaki’s ammunition to the specialist training versions for his various weapons. Once Solaki was prepared for the training they all walked to the training area.

"I have yet to see you in battle Brother" Solaki commented. "I trust you are as diligent in battle as you are in serving Laikus." 

“I have not yet had the chance to prove myself in battle,” Dymethus responded solemnly, “I look forward to having the opportunity and can only hope to distinguish myself in a similar manner to the likes of yourself and the other survivors of Sotha.”

Upon arrival at training area Epsilon several of the participants were already in attendance, upon his introduction by Ryan Dymethus found himself the centre of attention as the others welcomed him. Returning handshakes and greeting in kind. It was an unexpected honour to partake in a training exercise with so many veterans of Sotha especially those who could be considered ‘favoured’. Dymethus Knew them all by reputation, though Raxan stood out, there was something about him that was more familiar than the others. He couldn’t help thinking ‘where do I know you from?’ as he responded to the veteran marine’s greeting.

“Thank you Brother, it is an honour to train with you.”

“Theorize: Urban scenario Charlie, central objective, two teams, set and apply to field.” Tobias' voice cut them off

As the room is redefined according to Tobias’ instruction Dymethus finds himself wondering what the machinery to create this looks like, how it works and if it is more impressive that what he can currently see. 

“You’ll be split into two teams. Team Black will consist of Ryan, Zurick, Dymethus, and Izrael. Team Gold will consist of Kain, Cleomenes, Raxan, and Raziel. The goal is to kill the opposing team. Solaki is the center of the map and represents the winning weapon, currently neutral and offline. Whichever team has one of their members touching Solaki with one hand for a duration of 60 seconds awards him to the team. No one from the other team can be in contact with him at the same time. If one team gains Solaki, the other can still win if they manage to kill the remaining infantry opponents. The dreadnaught cannot be destroyed. He will be using his own current weapon set up with non-lethal ammunition as well. I will be making the call when someone has been defeated as I can see everything from this station."

During Tobias’ outline of the scenario Dymethus doned his helmet and after the others had had chosen their weapons picked up the remaining bolt pistol, chainsword & a few additional clips, a little surprised that Izrael has taken the bolter and not them. Dymethus followed the Ryan, Zurick and Izrael to their start point and listened to the bold plan outlined by Izrael. The instant acceptance by Ryan and Zurich without an discussion was a surprise, Dymethus had expected some level of discussion of the strengths and weaknesses of the strategy and had to remind himself this was a combat exercise not a training session.

As he took up his designated position, Dymethus couldn’t help wondering if the past and future dynamic of the team was deliberate, with their opponents representing the present? He decided not to mention this as the others had largely ignored his presence, maybe he should consider a dash for Solaki if the opportunity presents itself.


----------



## Lord Ramo

Kain recieved the message to meet in training area epsilon, one of the largest chambers on board the actual vessel. It was so big that it allowed several different environments to be used, and was a good way to keep your mind sharp and to practice objectives that you may be set in a warzone. He saw that most of the squad he had just commanded were there, as well as the damnable Cleomenes and the two silent marines in Ryan and Zurick. Interesting how they would be divided into teams, it was obvious that they were here for one reason and one reason alone. Practice.

Veteran Sergeant Tobias had been there sometime in devising the scenario and who would be on what team obviously, several servitors in front of him at control stations listening to his commands. All the marines were wearing their power armour, though only Zurick had his helm on at the moment, Kain having his tucked underneath his arm.

“Well everyone is here. I intended to have Brother Zeiran join us as well but found Alexander demanded his presence. Since Brother Dymethus was near Solaki, I had him agree to fill in. And Vermaas is lost somewhere in the ship it seems."

Kain turned to see Dymethus there and nodded his greetings towards him. He was a young marine, having just become one and had a future to serve the Emperor and mankind. He was picked up early on Miral when they were defending from the hive fleet. Solaki moved under Tobias direction to the center of the field, most obviously the objective for the marines today.

When Solaki was in position Tobias gave a command to the servitors. “Theorize: Urban scenario Charlie, central ojective, two teams, set and apply to field.” The field instantly changed, metal works sprouting from the deck to form an impressive looking combat environment.

Tobias begans his instruction to the assembled marines, “You’ll be split into two teams. Team Black will consist of Ryan, Zurick, Dymethus, and Izrael. Team Gold will consist of Kain, Cleomenes, Raxan, and Raziel. The goal is to kill the opposing team. Solaki is the center of the map and represents the winning weapon, currently neutral and offline. Whichever team has one of their members touching Solaki with one hand for a duration of 60 seconds awards him to the team. No one from the other team can be in contact with him at the same time. If one team gains Solaki, the other can still win if they manage to kill the remaining infantry opponents. The dreadnaught cannot be destroyed. He will be using his own current weapon set up with non-lethal ammunition as well. I will be making the call when someone has been defeated as I can see everything from this station."

Kain almost sighed as he was put in the same team as Cleomenes, the damned marine thought himself superior to all seeing how he hadn't got his hands dirty in years, travelling with a trader would do that to a man. 

“Two members from each team are to take a bolter, and two a chainsword and pistol. Get to your starting positions. I will signal when to start. The time limit is however long it takes one side to win. The only thing the Heart is doing is travelling through space, after all."

Weapon racks rose from the floor revealing the weapons, Kain moving forward to take a bladed chainsword and a bolt pistol. He slid the bolt back all the way to prime it. He heard Raxan talk to Cleomenes, something about a past battle and splitting the squad up into two, pairing Cleomenes and Kain together.

Kain trusted his brothers judgement, and knew exactly why he did it, but knew that neither marine would ever get along. Cleomenes was too arrogant to up himself. Kain hadn't enough experience in his eyes. It mattered not to Kain, he cared not what a washed up old marine thought of him as Cleomenes turned to talk to him, the smile on his face blatantly false. ‘This is deliberate, you know? You and I?’ He smiled falsely. ‘Let’s keep the petty bickering to a minimum. I wouldn’t want to hurt you in front of all these brothers, boy.’

Kain turned to Cleomenes before he responded. "I have no problem working with you brother, I'm not an idiot I know this is deliberate. Also I'm not a boy old man, and I'm pretty certain the time you have spent in luxury has made it so that you couldn't hurt me if you tried "brother"." He responded before he put his helm on. Cleomenes was the least of his worries, but he wouldn't pander to the delusions of a marine who thought himself above others.


----------



## Jackinator

The time seemed to pass easily for Raziel, but he was not sorry to part from the recruits, each was learning, in his own way, but each was focused more on the physical aspect of the training, which was why he'd left that to the others, keeping the young aspirants solely in the realm of their own minds, their own doubts and strengths. He had, at least tried to focus their minds, for while strength in arms was vital, strength in soul and faith was paramount.

---

The Space Marines in the training area were all armoured, helmets worn or cradled under an arm while a weapons rack was arrayed before them. The objective seemed simple enough, remove the opposition, with the Dreadnought as a secondary objective that could potentially sway the course of the battle. 

The room had whirred and creaked, metal plates rising from the floor as the vast space reformed itself into an image of some unnamed destroyed Imperial outpost. It was a scene he had seen many times, over many worlds and hundreds of years. 

As they stepped up to the weapons rack Raziel silently selected a chainsword and bolt pistol, checking the magazine, racking the slide and then maglocking it to his thigh. Then he took the chainsword, swinging it a little to test the balance, before hefting it easily. He listened to Raxan, nodding, Attack Pattern 495. It was a tried and tested manoeuvre, one that had served humanity well. He agreed with both Raxan and Cleomenes.

"I concur brother, it is an effective plan, but the younglings are less than inclined to stay so close to the established codex doctrines as we are, I fear by simply following that we may be making ourselves... predictable."


----------



## unxpekted22

Team Gold:

The siren indicating the start of the scenario wails loud for a moment, and new mechanisms throughout the cavernous chamber can be heard adjusting to it, final perimeter walls rising up around the scenario for instance.

Astartes move fast, and the hammer and anvil swing apart as solidly as they would in the hand of an expert blacksmith. All of you pass by the walls of the three perimeter buildings on your starting edge and into the street; armor lightly clanking undisturbed by any voices for the time being.

Raxan and Raziel move off to the left and find cover in the street diaganolly outside the central ring of buildings that surround the courtyard. Raziel's movements ever so slightly different from Raxan's. From the perspective of someone inexperienced these differences would go largely unnoticed, but to Raxan it is crystal clear that Raziel's time in the deathwatch has altered the typical stride of the Scythes.

The same clarity is noticed from Kain, as the motion of Cleomenes' movements next to him just feels _off_ from the rest of his brothers.

In their cover, Raxan and Raziel can already see bits of Solaki's massive form beyond the circle of pillars and other forms of cover between the two diagonal facing buildings in front of them. However, they cannot see anyone on the opposing team yet.

Kain and Cleomenes hit the wall, taking cover on the backside of the closest building to them that lays adjacent to the courtyard, Raxan and Raziel now out of sight.

Kain peers ever so slightly around the corner of the building. Fortunately, his bionic eye is better than his natural one, and he spots a glimpse of Izrael getting into a prone position atop the building opposite, looking over the courtyard. Kain immediately pulls his head back behind the wall.

I suggest Ramo post first, informing the team about Izrael's position. Then decisions need to be made about to deal with this information. Remember you are astartes bred for war and can take Izrael's position and think of a multitude of possibilities as to where his teammates positions are based on his own. Coordination is also important, of course. 

Raxan and Raziel, do you move up along the street and stay on the opposite side of the buildings from the courtyard? You also have the option of moving into the closest building instead. You can also move into the courtyard directly, with caution or dash to Solaki.

Cleomenes and Kain If you try to cross the street you will surely be seen, so your options feel a bit more limited initially, but there are ways around this. Cleomenes, of the four Team Gold Members perhaps because of the higher variety of chapter roles, battles experienced, time outside the galaxy with the rogue trader or hell maybe just your odd natural intuition, you are the only one of the four who gets a sudden gut feeling that something is already wrong.

Team Black:

The siren indicating the start of the scenario wails loud for a moment, and new mechanisms throughout the cavernous chamber can be heard adjusting to it, final perimeter walls rising up around the scenario for instance.

As the team is double checking their weapons and armor Ryan says to Izrael and Dymethus, "We are still sticking to Izrael's plan. However, neither of you will know Zurick's position. I will, being the team lead. This may seem like bad coordination but trust me...its better if the two of you don't know where he is.

Just before the siren goes off Ryan says to them further, "Remember, timing is..._ everything_"

With the siren starting the match all four of you sprint off through the street toward your respective positions. Ryan and Izrael magnetizing their weapons to their armor and leaping onto the smooth metal walls of the two buildings facing diagonal adjacent to the courtyard, gripping to the window sills and leaping up further climbing to the rooftops. 

Out the corner of his eye Izrael sees Ryan hit his prone position a second before himself bolter already drawn. Izrael brings up his own bolter and faces it over the courtyard but just as he does so he sees the slightest bit of movement behind the corner of the building opposite him on the ground. Its enough to know that at least one of the enemy is behind it and if he saw it, then they may have seen him.

Dymethus with pistol and chainsword in hand moves to his own position, sprinting in a straight line and stopping in cover just outside the circle of the courtyard. Solaki in a fairly clear view. 

Neither Dymethus or Izrael see where Zurick has gone, but Ryan informs both of you that he is in position.

Izrael: knowing that your position may be compromised what do you do? Do you inform Ryan? Do you move or sit still and stick to the plan? Instinctively, you have already crawled backwards just a bit to be out of sight. If you wish to inform Ryan and want his response before making any further decisions let me know.

Dymethus: The chance to dart for Solaki seems to be upon you. There are no enemies visible and you know that Ryan and Izrael are covering the courtyard. You have not received any orders to move in and you know the plan ultimately does not call for gaining Solaki. But if you managed to gain him for the team how impressive would that be? Its your call, you can sit in cover and await further instructions or go fo the dreadnought. 

Solaki:

You stand in place, restricted from moving, even turning, or voxing a word during the scenario unless you are 'activated'. You face to the side of the 'map', so that it is not easier to gun down one team over the other after initially being activated.

Your sensitive tomb still picks up a lot of information from the two teams, sounds and vibrations. Thin light green squares constantly informing your eyes of slightly adjusting light reflections for possible movement. Finally, standing here in the middle of this scenario, your mind is able to wander back to the odd dream you had while Laikus swapped out your parts.

While you wait to see what unfolds in the scenario, what do you think on the dream you had? Did it mean anything or was it all just random drug induced foolishness? It was the most gut wrenching, real feeling dream you ahve ever experienced. And the whispers that the rays of sunlight spoke to you seem to still flow through your ear drums. 

Vermaas:

You leave the young ones behind as you leave their training chambers alongside your brothers once more, having impacted the aspirants more than you may think. You part ways from them at an intersection in the ship's corridors unannounced.

Normally you would make toward your personal chambers, presumably, but this time you steer clear form there. You steer clear form the bridge, you steer away from the one Hangar currently in use, nor do you go to the medical bay. You dont even go to the reclusiam.

This time, you go deep into the ship's underbelly. You walk through now long-dead scenes of mass servitor work. Offline mechanisms remain still and the only sound is the hum of the ships enormous engines. Normally, a brother of the chapter would never walk these parts of _The Heart_. But now it seems that when a heart lays in pieces, One can find themselves going from one piece to the other in ways that would have never led there before. And one can find themselves searching for something new in old places. You make your way through the darkness only by the nature of your enhanced eyes, eventually coming to a small port window in the side of the ship.

It is a confusing sight, and you realize human servants would be the ones coming down here to check up on the servitors, and it helped normal men not go insane if they could see something further beyond what was right in front of them.

You walk up to the small window and place your thumb and index finger on a small handle that connects to a metal slab used to cover the porthole during warp travel. You swing it back and forth mindlessly a few times, causing its hinges to squeak. You stare out the window and see dead Sotha now a spec of bright dirt in the distance as the ship moves away from its past.

Pick an event or two from Vermaas's past, and I want some good detail! Nothing from when Sotha was being attacked by Kraken please. 




Keep in mind, everyone is moving _at the same time_. Therefore there will be no big upper hand in seeing what others post first before making your decisions. There may be a slight upperhand in some cases but I will be working on my end to make sure that effect is minimal. In other words, with the exception of Ramo posting first for team gold, no one should be waiting for others to post. Let's aim for two weeks again, please.


----------



## deathbringer

"We are still sticking to Izrael's plan. However, neither of you will know Zurick's position. I will, being the team lead. This may seem like bad coordination but trust me...its better if the two of you don't know where he is."

Izrael wanted to point out the stupidity of the statement, better for your own team to be in the dark in a coordinated battle, better to be a legion of individuals than a unit?

He opened his mouth yet even as the siren rang out Ryan added. 

"Remember, timing is... everything"

Izrael was too busy running, helm on, bolter in his hands to shout back yet beneath his helm he silently fumed. He had know the pair were a team of one, yet to make such a change to his own plan... what was the point of having him make the plan anyway.

It had been a good plan, could still be a good plan. He was sprinting, his building already chosen from the wander to the deployment zone, high giving him a good angle from return fire and a better angle over the statues not to mention a good clean view of brother Solaki.

He sprinted up the stairs, pushing onto the roof, from the corner of his eye seeing Brother Ryan upon the roof. Even as he dropped, his plan went to shit, a single millisecond forcing him to rethink his whole approach. A flicker of movement at a corner, something moving away and out of sight even as he hit the deck shuffling backwards to shield himself from incoming fire, eyes peaking over to scan building and its surroundings.

No movement, if he had been spotted, they wouldn't poke a head back around.

Frantically he re evaluated, opening the coms with a snarl.

"I'm compromised, movement at corner 3 of inner building 3 setting a diversion and relocating down one floor. Ryan you have the hawk eye, please note hostiles are aware we overlook the courtyard. Hostiles are aware. Ground units be advised of possible flanking maneuver on my building, any assistance would be appreciated, I prefer my arse to be free of chainswords when I'm on overwatch."

He paused, a final grunt

"Once again, Ryan you have the high ground, I will be maintaining radio silence from now on."

With a hiss he unlocked his helm and tore it from his head, the crackling of the radio suddenly in his left ear as he placed the helm on its side. Positioning it carefully at an angle to show the slightest slither of black over the edge even as he shuffled backwards before slipping off the roof and into the stairwell below.

One floor down he stood flat against the wall of the window and held his position, the seconds ticking by in his head even as he strained his ears for any sounds of movement below, listening for the sounds that would decide his next move.


----------



## Deus Mortis

Solaki had shut off all the systems which allowed him movement and so had to be satisfied with the limited scope of information he had, as glints of reflections and slight taps of noise were picked up by his sarcophagus’ sensors. Both teams would be moving by now, although he could not see clearly which was moving where. The games had only just begun and no one had made a straight dash for him. He had not expected them to. It would have been a foolish plan and one unlikely to work, and Solaki knew that none of his brothers were so lacking in skill and tactical acumen that they would risk such a blunt and fallible plan. So, for the moment, he remained inert. His outward appearance gave no hint of life or sentience, and so an outsider he might look as if he were sleeping as most dreadnoughts did.

Sleeping. Even as Solaki thought the word his mind wandered back to before his training session with Laikus. He had been dreaming. That in itself was weird, because for all the times he had been under the psychosomatic-induced sleep and hypnotherapies he had never once ‘dreamed’. Sleep was just like a shroud falling over his eyes, only to be lifted when he was next needed. He shouldn’t have dreamed. His sleep was designed not to contain dreams. Dreams could drive a man insane. When he was in the flesh he could have just woken up, but when he was under the forced sleep his sarcophagus gave him, he had no way of doing that. He could be stuck in dreams or nightmares for years if no one came to wake him. It could drive him mad if he dreamt. He was not supposed to dream.

But then, he had not been in full stasis. Laikus had said so himself. Solaki thought for a moment that he might have been able to dream then, but then he dismissed that. If Laikus had wanted to put him into partial stasis he would have flooded his system with drugs to put him into a mindless sleep, and cleaned the drugs from his system when he was needed. He still would not have been dreaming. And besides, there was another unresolved matter that was inextricably linked with the dream. Solaki had been in Laikus’ lab when he had been put into slumber, and had woken up in the testing area. Whatever state he was in, Solaki should not have moved anywhere. No, this was no natural phenomena which he could dismiss. There was something more to this dream.

Then there was the dream itself. Even in the flesh, he had never experienced such a potent dream. Everything was startlingly real. Solaki had almost been convinced that the dream was real, if not for its subtle wrongness. Someone could have implanted it into his regular cycle of hypnotherapies. That was a reasonable explanation. That would lead to him naturally experiencing it. But even as he thought this, Solaki began to question it. Why would someone implant such a cryptic message into his thoughts? Even now, Solaki did not know what the ‘dream’s omens could mean, nor what the cryptic messages throughout. Perhaps it was meant to be unfathomable in an attempt to drive him mad. A dream designed to slowly consume his thoughts and frustrate his logic trying to work out a gibberish message.

Yet it had only occurred the once. Solaki supposed that made sense. He had slept far less than most ancients were supposed to, so if it was set to occur after a certain period, it would be understandable that he would only have experienced it now. However, there were a few problems Solaki saw with this explanation. First, it would require him to have a brother or brothers who despised him so vehemently that they would go to such lengths to disrupt him. Second, it would require someone with a high level of machine knowledge to implement something that elaborates into his regular hypnotherapies. The only person Solaki knew with such skills was Laikus, and why would Laikus try to destabilize the project he devoted most of the last 15 years to? Something was not quite right about that idea, but Solaki could not dismiss it so easily.

Another thought which occurred to him was that the fault may lie with Laikus, but not malicious in nature. Laikus was only one man, and he had been forced to build Solaki from parts of fallen brothers. It was possible, at least to Solaki with no real idea how the inner workings of his metal body worked, that Laikus could have made some fault when assembling him and the fault was only starting to show now, allowing a portion of his subconscious to bleed into his stasis. 

But still, Solaki could not reconcile that dream with any he had experienced in his past. Nothing had ever felt so real. It was even more shocking was that he had not possessed a real body with real pain and real limbs in fifteen years. Yet, everything felt just like it did back on Ferim, exactly. And the voice. That voice which whispered to him. It hovered just on the edge of his hearing and if he thought about it, Solaki could still hear the words as if they were being whispered into his ear. There was something odd about this ‘dream’. If it was a fault with the machine, it was possible that his thoughts were amplified, and if it were placed there it could have been made to seem stronger than a regular dream. 

Even as Solaki mulled over the preconceived ideas in his head, a third uncoiled in his mind like a vaporous serpent. _Astelan_. Solaki thought on his misguided brother. No one has suspected him of being a psyker until the extreme stress of nearly losing Thrasius had drawn it out of him. What had he experienced? An outpouring of psychic energy in a way he was already thinking, and thus it became a weapon in a crude form. Solaki knew some about pyskers and their abilities, enough to know that prophecy and omens were their realm. He knew enough to know that the visions they experienced were as good as real, but not real at the same time. Somehow wrong.

Solaki tried to quash the thought, but now it had arisen, he could not ignore its potential. Perhaps it was a fault with the gene-seed. Perhaps some mutations lead to the development of psychic potential in extreme circumstances. Astelan had not known he was a pysker until that moment. Perhaps the same was true of Solaki. It would explain breaching the natural circuitry which was meant to prevent dreams and would certainly explain its wrongness and the lingering ability it had.

Solaki could not jump to conclusions though. The previous options still carried just as much merit. Even if Solaki could not ignore the possibility of a second psychic anomaly within his chapter, he could be content that it was not the only possibility, nor was it the most likely. It may well be that there was some explanation which he had not thought of, and he was worried about nothing. Still, the thought lingered much the same as the voice from his ‘dream’ did.

Most importantly, Solaki needed more data. It was entirely possible that it was simply an anomaly. Until a similar occurrence happened, he could put is down to that. Or, he could in theory. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he had assumed that it would occur again and was not an anomaly. He could ask Laikus to check the systems which controlled his stasis just in case, and could attempt to talk to Alexander or Niko about the possibility of the gene-seed causing psychic mutation in himself or others.

Solaki had finished his musing, but left his introverted probing with more questions that he had answers, and a few new niggling concerns. If he was a psyker, what would happen to him. Thrasius was not trusting of warp-dabblers anymore, not since Astelan. If that were the case, Solaki wondered where that would leave him. And if it was not that, if someone was planting dreams to try and destabilize him, Solaki had concerns from within. Certainly, if it was not an anomaly or a simply mechanical fault, it left a great deal to be accounted for.

Solaki turned his attention back to the limited information he had available to him. His brothers had certainly moved since he had been lost in thought and he wanted to try and re-establish where they were, if only to busy his mind from the questions he still had no answers to. Hopefully he would be activated soon and then he could really test his new armaments. It was one thing to test them on mindless servitors, but another to test it on real beings with thought and tactics. It would be as close to live practice as he ever got, and he was certain most of the foes he would face would not be as skilled as his brothers were…


----------



## BlackGuard

He left the youths alongside his brothers Raziel and Raxan but again there was no exchanging of words -- the trio walked quietly down the hallways of The Heart. Without warning he made a sudden turn and left them. His mind was more focused on the youths he'd been giving lessons too and hoping that they would take at least something away from what he'd told them. Despite the Scythes of the Emperor's policy that the Emperor was not in fact a god but the first among Humanity they had never censored him in all his long years of service. Of coarse there was the tension at times especially during his prayers before and after missions. His chanting over the vox-network during combat or his prolific use of righteous battlecrys during close combat. His brothers had done him the modest honor of respectfully ignoring him in the worst cases and in the best they would join alongside him but rarely go so far as to speak in acceptance of his adopted creed. He couldn't help but ponder why he'd been allowed to act the way he does without reprimand. Would they have said something if Sotha was alive beneath them instead of a dead rock? If the Chapter was still whole and intact that they were not having to so heavily weight the pros and cons of sending out a single sqaud -- would they tolerate his esoteric beliefs?

With a harsh shake of his head he banished the thoughts. How long would he wonder these things? How long would he doubt his own inner beliefs in the divinity of the God-Emperor? Had he not seen things beyond human or post-human comprehension? He had and he knew he should not doubt himself. He noticed his personal quarters were ahead and there was something of a longing to go within them sit quietly and reflect again upon the doubts he battled against everyday but this day he walked right past it and down the hall. He considered where he was going and found that he didn't really have an answer for himself. The bridge was one possibility but he didn't wish for the company of his brothers or The Heart's captain. He walked past the only hanger in operation several minutes later as he continued his seemingly aimless walk down the corridors of the vessel. He would not be stopped by any mortal. The chances of actually seeing a battle-brother on his walk was slim to none. That fact, he found, startled him more than his own clouded mindset. 

He saw the first symbol for the Reclusiam and the approximate distance down the corridor until he'd have to make a left turn and go another four hundred and sixty-seven feet down the next hallway until he reached the door. He'd spent so many sleepless day and nights within its confines that he considered the chapel a second home. Rarely did his brothers visit it these days and that was a sad fact. After Sotha fell he'd seen visits increase to it but at that time was still a believer in the Chapter's views on the Emperor and chose to avoid the place. After Astelan's actions ... the chapel saw a small up-tic in activity but it quickly bled away except for himself. He'd been within it day and night battling to the demons within his own soul as he fought over why his brother had betrayed them all. With his chest tightening as passed right back the Reclusiam -- it would not give the silence he felt he needed.

He advanced to the deepest bowels of the ship to places that had likely not seen a Astartes in decades, if not centuries. He passed the occassional servitor who gave him the standard greetings of 'Lord Vermaas' or didn't acknowledge him at all. The path to the inner portions of the ship was pitch black. He knew any mortal would be completely lost without night-sight enhancement gear; but an Astartes relied upon gene-forged eyes to guide them. He eventually found himself coming up to a column of dim light, a shaft of dull radiance with crossed his path horizontally nearly at the end of the corridor. Once he reached it he realized it was a porthole and his mind siezed up as to why it'd even been placed here. A servitor scuttled by and it momentarily drew his attention, if only by combat instinct, and he drew the most logical conclusion. Servitors required maintenance during set frequencies and they would need mortals to perform said upkeep. Likely the porthole was placed here to help the morale of those trapped this deep within the ship. How lucky he was to have access to the observation dome where he could stare out into the limitless abyss of the universe. His eyes peered out of the small hole in the ship, the only thing protecting him from the stark cold of the void a couple of inches of armaplastek. There were only a handful of stars he could see compared to the billions and billions visible in the dome several decks above him. Though to a mortal trapped within the depths of this ship this likely was a moving experiance. 

Experiance. The word seemed to draw at something in the back of his mind like a trigger was being tugged at. Unable to remember he took a step back and looked at the porthole once again only now registering the protection plate placed up against the wall likely by the last mortal to peer out the armaplastek -- God-Emperor only knew how long ago that could have been. He touched it and for a moment as he closed it slightly he could imagine how clostrophobic it must have seemed like to a crew-member standing here slowing closing his only link to the outside world. During normal space-travel there was little to no risk invovled in leaving the protection plate open but during warp travel, no mortal had any business peering out into the unfiltered madness of the warp. Still his grasped the plate and slowly moved it back and forth in mock close and opening procedure. It made a slow creeking sound that tattled on the maintenance personnel on this deck. He could hardly blame them given the absolute disrepair the Chapter was in itself. How could the maintenance crew be expected to pay attention to one minor detail like the protection plate for a sub-deck's porthole that none of them probably knew was even here?

His thoughts slowly changed from the crew of The Heart to the almost peaceful monotone sound of the plate's creeking back and forth as he moved it. At the back of his mind something pulled at his thoughts. The plate's sound was a cousin to a sound he'd heard many, many years ago. Vermaas' mind shifted from the casual mindset he was in to immediately recollection of a campaign that'd occured only a decade after he'd been initiated as a full-fledged battle-brother of the Scythes. He could remember still feeling slightly alien to the queer smell of chem-laced sweat that permeated from his body during moments of exertion or excitment. He could remember the latter being the culprit in this case as his seargant continued to detail to them the opening tasks they'd have to perform in the campaign. 

He remember peering out a porthole very similar to this one aboard the strike cruiser Winter of Sotha as the Fourth Battle Company approached the purple and black world of Killia. Even from space the smell seemed to reek of both death and defilment the byproduct of the poor choices of his inhabitants. Killia was a proud world who'd supplied the Imperial Guard with several dozen regiments of tough, strong warriors. Or at leas thats what its file read. As a simple battle-brother his need-to-know basis was relatively low and only in broad terms to pervent him from becoming distracted with needless details. It was a policy implemented and rigidly enforced by Nov, his sergeant. A broad, squat marine who'd refused promotion at least twice by Captain Droloon he'd never believed in simulated combat or wasteful training exercises but instead gave his men as close to real combat was possbile. Several times he remembered training with actual combat knives and seeing more than only brother loss a finger or thumb. 

Most of all he knew how he felt during those opening weeks of the campaign on Killia as his sqaud was given the task of rapidly striking several key enemy installations. These facilities were delaying the advance of Imperial Guard regiments and hindering air-patrols over their lines giving the enemy the chances it needed to cause serious setbacks for the thousands of mortals who huddled in ther trenches thousands of feet below them. These operations had gone very successful with Vermaas and his squad landing close to or directly ontop of these facilities via drop-pod or thunderhawk and unleashing hell upon the defenders inside. Their uniforms were tarnished things that once might have been respectible but since their decent into madness they'd covered them in blasphemous runes which damned them before the eyes of the Imperium and the Emperor. The excitment he'd felt as he rushed through enemy ranks, breaking them barricades hastily errected, gunning down fleeing cultists and driving his chainsword into the brave (or stupid) few who remained. 

The Killian Campaign was nearly in its final stages. All major cities had fallen and the purple miasma which had clung to most of the planet had begun to receed with each victory and the slaying of each convent. The final assault on the captial city of Killia Prime was expected to be a formality; something that should have been done by the Guard while the Scythes moved onto the next threatre of war. Captain Brevane had refused to leave until the culprit Arch-Heretic Blacksworn was killed or captured for the handful of deaths the Scythe's had endured. 

Vermaas' squad was working its way threw the promethium refineries in the southeastern districts of the city clearing them out of cultist infestation. They were surronded by massive cylinoid tanks many of them several hundred feet in diameter which held millions of gallons of Vulkan-III grade prometium. No doubt some of it would find its way into the hands of fellow Astartes -- perhaps entire segmentums away. Sergeant Nov was a man of few words and even fewer kind ones. His squad's original orders were to clear out a few initial promethium-tank farms in this distrct before handing the area over to advancing Guard units and puhsing north by northwest to attack an enemy strongpoint which was delaying the advancement of a column of Leman Russ tanks. Vermaas remembered the vox-communication which came in, it held not privacy restrictions or rank-only disignations so they'd all listened in as Captain Brevane informed them that Arch-Heretic Blacksworn was in the same facility as them as his elite Foresworn guards rushed him away to another safe point. Their orders were clear to them long before Brevane gave them -- take him alive or dead.

Force reconnisance by Vermaas, who was still green by Nov's standards, and Brother Ragulf had located a column of armored vehicles moving across the facility towards the far-eastern gate. The pieces instantly fell together in Vermaas' mind. Reports had streamed in since the onset of the assault that certain eastern districts were almost impossible to break and had required a heavy-handed response by the Scythes to even begin the process of clearing them out. He believed they were holding so fast because the eastern flank of the Governor's Palace, which had become Blacksworn's fortress, was the easiest to traverse and could give the Guard and Astartes ideal artilery positions. He should have noticed that was not the intention when the enemy failed to react to their western flanks folding in and two squads, Sergeant Antin and Weslyy were able to gain access into the Governor's Palace. 

Nov had pushed them hard across the tank and berm infested mazes of the facilities as they tried to quickly set up a roadblock and ambush for the column. He'd been given the duty of throwing krak grenades into the first vehicle in the column to disable it. He remembered the tension he felt as he smashed the activation rune on the krak grenade after lining up the arc he was going to use. The grenade sailed through the air and hit the lead vehicle, a boxy thing with spikes along the edges, and explode. The vehicle erupted into flames and anything inside was surely dead. His battle brothers came from all sides and opened fire with bolter, pistol, lascannons, and even more. Within fifteen seconds the entire column had been reduced to slag or smoking husks. 

Vermaas moved closer to the wreckage in unison with his squad as they inspected their handy work. Surely nothing could have survived. Each of them failed to notice that a miasma began to roll in slowly behind them from the berms enclosing other tanks. Vermaas noticed it after it was too late as it swirled around his legs. 

_'Miasma!'_ he remebered screaming. The gaseous mist had been responsible for thousands of deaths amongst the Guard and even a few of their own number. 

The squad immediately rechecked their suits integrity and thank the Emperor none of them werre compromised. The mist began to swirl towards the wreckage and he could hear Nov screaming orders. He continued to watch the unusual patterns within the mist as faces formed, screamed, and disappeared. He noticed his hearts were racing, he was breaking out in a cold sweat, and his body felt like it didn't want to respond. He knew his seals were pure -- so what was it? Was this the distant cousin of the emotion mere mortals called fear? The thought that he could actually feel fear only sparked hatred within his chest.

_'Damn you! Listen to me!'_ he suddenly heard. He snapped out of the self-doubting he'd indulged in and looked around to notice others doing the same thing. Who had said that he pondered? A scream a few seconds later pulled his attention to sergeant Nov who stood screaming as his armor was engulfed in blue, twilight-like flames his bolter firing sporadically and randomly. 

_'Daemons!'_ he heard another voice in the thickening mist scream. His hearts skipped at beat at the notion. He had never faced a daemon before. Of coarse he'd slain countless cultists, even saw a few daemons at a distance but for whatever reason or random chance of fate he'd never fought one. He spun around looking for who had called out the word but could only hear the racket of bolter fire and screams of the wounded and dying. His brothers were dying around him. By the Throne, what was he looking for? Vermaas raced through the mist calling out to his brothers trying to find someone. He started in the direction of sergeant Nov since he'd seen him on fire. To his horror he found only the molten remnants of Astartes armor cooling in the mist when he reached his location. He could feel panic beginning to fill his veins. He was blind and somehow the enemy, whoever the hell that was, wasn't effected.

He saw his enemy a few moments later. It emerged from the mist stumbling around obviously wounded by a bolter, gear chunks of its pallid blue flesh was gone. Twilight flames licked out from the numerous mouths which covered its body and while he could make out no eyes in the mist he knew that if they existed they'd be looking at him in hatred. Were he mortal he would have died then his body siezing up on him and his mind lost in madness at the impossibility before him. Instead his psycho-indoctrination took over where his concious mind was too slow and he raised his bolter and opened fire. Somehow he knew to aim for the mouths themselves instead of the flesh.

The creature spit fire at him from the other mouths searing his armor and catching his right paulderon on fire. He screamed righteous fury as his bolts found them mark and detonated within the daemon's mouth exploding and eventually causing the twilight flames within its body to erupted. It screamed and hissed at him and he could swear some of it was actual words, part of some archaic, maddening language long forgotten and forbidden. It died moments later flames continueing to sporadically shoot out of its mouths but quickly fizziling. 

He fell to his knees moments after it stopped twitching. His right shoulder was practically burned to the bone as the twilight flames continued to spread. He tried to put them out but they chewed away at the flesh beneath. He fell on his back as the fire seemed to burn his strength away. 

_'I got you bastard,'_ he said bitterly to the miasma swirling about.

The memory faded just as his vision had that day. He no longer saw the purple and black miasma around him, nor could he smell the burning copper smell of the warp. He did not see the liquidified remains of sergeant Nov or the burning remains of the daemon he would later learn were called Flamers. He did not die that day but he had come close. It was only the timely arrival of Inquisitor Yanis, the Inquisitiorial representative to what became the Balancing of Killia. He had responded immediately upon word that an Astartes squad was intercepting Blacksworn. The arrival of him and Captain Brevane to the location had saved them as several psykers, along with Librarian Yanitara had removed the miasma. 

He remembered the look on Captain Brevane's face when he saw him -- pride. Inquisitor Yanis had commended him on the successful capture of Blacksworn. He had paled when he heard that praise.

_'How did he survive?'_ he protested in disbelief. 

_'Misinformation Astartes,'_ he said matter-of-factly, _'Blacksworn was not with this convoy afterall. He was a genius at breaking our communication lines, even you Astartes with the help of dark magic. Your attack here was on a decoy, it made him change coarse into the actual trap laid by another squad. Do not doubt your efforts Astartes, what you did here virtually led him to us.'_

Captain Brevane's eyes had told him everything he needed to know. Not that he needed to be told, had they been told it was a decoy they were hitting than Blacksworn may have chosen an alternative path instead of going around the promethium tank yards and they'd have lost him in the confusion. Somehow it didn't comfort him as he saw that three of his brothers were dead consuming by the same flames as sergeant Nov. Many others were wounded like himself, only one was unharmed.

The words of Inquisitor Yanis gave him no more comfort centuries later than it did the day he said them. Captain Brevane's apologetic stare the closest that stoic marine ever came to actual sympathy. 

Vermaas look at the porthole cover again seeing its dull metal as if for the first time before peering back at the stars. It was truly strange how the universe works that after such an event he should be alive while all the others died. Sergeant Nov and his battle brothers deaths were of coarse obvious but the others came much later. He later learned that Inquisitor Yanis was declared a traitor by his own order two decades after Killia and eventually hunted down and killed. Captain Brevane was slain in an incident of friendly fire in the heat of battle -- wrong place at the wrong time. A most unworthy end to such a worthy warrior. Librarian Yanitara died only a century and a half ago in a fight with a Chaos sorcerer. 

Surely the God-Emperor had a plan for him when so many others, so much more worthy than him of life died. Surely? Vermaas left the porthold uncovered as he walked back into the darkness of the depth of _The Heart._


----------



## Capussa

"We are still sticking to Izrael's plan. However, neither of you will know Zurick's position. I will, being the team lead. This may seem like bad coordination but trust me...its better if the two of you don't know where he is.” 

Once again he had been left out of the decision making. The only conversation he’d had with a member of the team was when Ryan asked him to join the exercise, this and the greetings received from the dreadnought and members of the other team made him uneasy about how he fit into the team. He had expected a more inclusion with the veterans, but the plan was becoming more fluid and less stable as the time went on.

At the sound of the buzzer team black moved out, all heading to their designated positions. Dymethus moved forward quickly, keeping low when necessary and using the available cover to keep out of sight. A quick check of lines of sight and he was off again to the next piece of cover, hoping everyone else would be in position at the right time.

‘Am I bait or a valued member of the team?’ he wondered as he arrived in position, briefly considering asking the question over the comms, but deciding against it. On route Ryan had stated that Zurick was in position, where ever that was. A quick appraisal of the location revealed Solaki, but no sign of the other team from here. This was unexpected, he’d expected to at least see some hint of a member of Team Gold, such an opportunity to claim the objective should not be passed up, but, was this an opportunity or a trap waiting to be sprung?

Fortune favours the bold. 

Only fools rush in. 

Both statements had been proven multiple times throughout the history of the Scythes and the Imperium in general. The plan did not involve the dreadnought, but it had implied greater teamwork than there appeared to be right now. A moment’s turmoil, before the decision, following orders had thus far gained him no glory, praise or respect above the fact he was a Scythe. Being a Scythe didn’t appear to be enough for some members to even acknowledge his presence. 

This was an opportunity to take a risk without major consequence, he would likely be berated by some of the veterans whether it worked or not, but if it worked there was the chance of praise and respect. He got up and launched himself into the courtyard heading straight for Solaki.

“Cover me, I’m getting Solaki.” he stated over the comms as he propelled himself forward.

Risking all to activate Solaki, Dymethus knew he was likely diving head first into a trap, as he’d had time to get to this position he knew Team Gold would have had the same chance. He was sure they considered him ‘Bait’ and he would love to see Solaki’s new weapons in action against a real opponent and work with the great armoured behemoth. To finish his move he dove into the cover provided by the dreadnought, dropping his chainsword and sitting with his back to against the dreadnought’s leg, he placed his left hand on Solaki’s foot while keeping the bolt pistol in his right hand ready for any movement.

“Time for you to join the fight, brother.” He said quietly as he leant back against Solaki’s leg.


----------



## unxpekted22

**EDIT TO THE UPDATE**

Kain reports his sighting of Izrael to the members of Team Gold.

The rest of the update can be treated the same, but now the three of you dont have to wait for ramo to post just so Kain can officially inform you of Izrael's position. This fact is now known and whatever you would have posted after finding this out you can post now. If multiple posts are needed from some of you thats fine, this is just to help keep things moving along a bit faster. We will surely be running over the two week period now so a few more days wont make much difference now, but we have a new player again so lets get writing so I can get them in!


----------



## dark angel

Cleomenes barked a laugh. 

‘There is little in terms of luxury beyond the Astronomicon, boy,’ He said, a knife-thin smile spreading across his bearded face. ‘In the dark, where thousand-limbed beasts, skin-wearers and heart-eaters lurk, there is only death. Old and cautious I may be - But tired I am not. Do not test my patience, Sergeant Scrious. This Chapter is far too small for personal grievances.’

The Polemarch reached down, grasping the Helm of Cassander, before lowering it down over his head. The heads-up display flickered, optical lenses bathing the world in a gentle teal, data dancing over his eyes. Cleomenes nodded at Raxan, scarlet plume bobbing, and prepared for the claxon.

Several seconds passed - Enough time for Cleomenes to check and recheck his Bolter’s firing mechanisms - Before a siren’s call sounded. The Space Marines burst into action, Sergeant Scrious and Cleomenes arching rightwards, Raxan and Raziel going towards the left. Tactical displays - Heartbeat rates and geographical readings - Filled Cleomenes vision. Of Team Black, there was no sign.

Something felt.. Strange. Out of the ordinary. _Unpleasant_. 

‘Keep alert,’ He voxed, after hitting a wall, Kain slamming into it besides him. ‘I do not like this.’

Sergeant Scrious leaned around the corner, bionic eye whirring, before pulling himself back in, somewhat abruptly.

Cleomenes’ vox-feed clicked. Sergeant Scrious’s voice flooded his ears. Contact. One of Team Black, on a rooftop, across the courtyard. 

_What to do? Wait, until Team Black made their move on Solaki? Or should he strike, preemptively, and take Solaki?_

Cleomenes was up and charging towards Solaki in the next heartbeat. 

‘Some fire support, if you would, Raxan,’ He transmitted, with a sly smile. ‘I imagine there’s a crosshair on my head by now - Keep an eye open for muzzle flashes, brother.’

Solaki loomed now, getting nearer with each thunderous footstep, inactive and unattended- 

_There!_

A glimmer of black, an arm, perhaps a leg. It was the youth, Dymethus, crouched behind Solaki’s massive form.

Centuries of indoctrination and hyper-condition kicked in - _Kill_.

Cleomenes raised his Bolter.

He squeezed the trigger.


----------



## Lord Ramo

Kain mutely put his helmet over his head as Cleomenes continued to rant at him, not particularly interested in what he had to say. Though he found Cleomenes to be incredibly taxing and annoying he knew that for the sake of at the very least the exercise that he would have to try and get along with him, even if it was a short while. He stayed silent as the two seperate fireteams made their way to the centre where Solakai was.

Kain allowed Cleomenes to be in front, he had planned the manouever with Raxan and knew the attack pattern better than Kain. It would be stupid and arrogant for Kain to try and assert his authority over the older marine, he knew that Cleomenes wouldn't listen to him at any rate. They moved quickly but cautiously to the centre, Kain reckoned that Zurick and Ryan were most likely cooking something nasty up for the marines, something they were very good at doing.

He kept pace as Cleomenes slammed into the wall of a small building, following suit before wordlessly looking around the corner. He had an advantage here over most marines, whilst their eyesight was excellent, and augmented by their helmets due to his bionic eye, and as such he looked around the corner. 

He scanned the area carefully but quickly, eye drawn upwards as he saw a flash of gold and black. It was unmistakably a marine, definatly on the opposing team though he wasn't sure which one. He slammed back into cover quickly, hoping that he hadn't been spotted. If he hadn't then the team had a distinct advantage over the others, though if he had the person would inevitably readjust their position and move away. A conundrum. 

He turned to Cleomenes and opened a vox to the rest of the squad, "One contact up high, definately a member of team black." Cleomenes barely waited a second before leaping out of cover and charging towards Solakai, Kain registering this quickly and leaping behind him.

He ran after Cleomenes, bolt pistol held high ready to fire and chainsaw held in a low defensive position. He needed to support Cleomenes and he held the chainsaw out of the pair so needed to be the one that got up close. Whilst it would have made more sense for Cleomenes to stay back and cover Kain knew that they were making a break for Solakai to ensure that the others couldn't do whatever they were planning on doing.


----------



## unxpekted22

Solaki, Kain, Cleomenes, Raxan, Raziel, Izrael, Dymethus:

_The hammer never strikes, and thus the anvil lay undisturbed._

As they often do with the Astartes, the battle unfolds in seconds. 

In his glorious armor, Cleomenes advanced, bolter raising in his arms with perfect form. Stock square at his shoulder, sights lined to his eye drawing a bead on the limbs showing behind the dreadnought's statuesque leg. His upper body was motionless, but his legs still strode forward with haste.

He was the first to open fire, black ink exploding over Solaki's mechanical shins.

Dymethus made his second brave move. He rose only slightly from behind his cover, raising his bolt pistol to return shots.

The pistol fired, but the round went high into the air as his head was knocked backward by the force of the pseudo rounds pummeling into it.

As the non-Sothan lay on his back behind the dreadnought, black ink covering his armor's upper features, the Veteran Sergeant's voice rang out, "*Dymethus is dead. Solaki is still offline.* 

Izrael with his back against the wall, a giant beside the large open window, heard the shots ring out and sure enough Ryan's voice was instantly in his ear, "_Fire on the Sergeant, now._

His long blonde hair flew in the air with the speed in which he turned, shouldering the windows edge. His eyes spotted the chainsword wielding Sergeant advancing behind Cleomenes instantly and his bolter sang its song. 

Sergeant Scrious and the plume helmed traveler went down in precisely the same manner, rounds flying through the ring of pillars from two angles, sending ink splashing into the pillars, the ground around them and of course most notably the gold sections of their armor.

"*Cleomenes and Kain have fallen,*" came the voice of fate once more.

Raxan's cover fire never came. He had moved forward toward the courtyard, the barrel of his weapon raised up to the window Izrael appeared in as Raziel moved into the building to their left to begin flanking. The signal to pull the trigger had just left his brain when something struck the side of his bolter, knocking it clean out of his grip. He glanced at the ground and saw a chainsword by his bolter.

The long-standing warrior roared and brought his right hand up in a fist to strike at what was surely coming. An opposing black gauntlet, its owner silent, caught his fist mid-swing. The ring of pain in his elbow barely registered as his faceplate was struck, and a knee flew into his gut making his nerves unsure of where to focus.

One strong arm wrapped around Raxan's collar bone and throat. A bolt pistol was raised over his shoulder.

Zurick bellowed a single word, "Raziel!"

Raziel turned at the doorway he had just entered at the top of a small set of stairs and received three rounds to the chest and head, black ink bursting out of the pseudo shells. He turned to see Zurick behind Raxan using his body as cover in a hostage position. Raziel had spent years in the deathwatch infiltrating an Ork empire (Jackinator's words), and had done so successfully.

In some degree of disbelief he remained still, standing at the doorway with the thick ink rolling down the crevices of his armor and watched through blotched eye lenses as Zurick turned his bolt pistol to the side of Raxan's helm and fired.

*"Team Gold has been defeated."*

Everyone exits the city block and the room comes back to life as the gears beneath the floor begin turning again, and the structures sink back into the flooring. 

-----

All eight Scythes of the Emperor walked silently past another falling world, crumbling to the ground. The New had indeed triumphed where the traditional had fallen fast. Perhaps an indication of the times, or more so than any of the Scythes might believe anyway, having no idea just how much the galaxy had been changing in the last twenty years while they were struggling for survival and vengeance. It would become apparent to them soon though, as would the truth of Cleomenes's last words to Ryan before coming to this training bay. 

Once the city has disappeared Solaki finally moves, coming over to everyone as they re-rack their training weapons. Tobias, still enacting controls for the complex room shouts from his platform, "We should do this again soon, I think."

What does your character say or do?


Vermaas Castus and Spurius:

Castus, walking about the near-empty vessel for his own reasons, was also completely alone in doing so for some time, until the blast doors down the hallway in the direction he was heading open with a hiss. Brother Vermaas walks through. Its been some time since he has spoken to the overly-modest zealot and its odd to run into him on such a random corridor of the ship when most of the chapter has stuck to the hangar, bridge, training bays, or personal chambers for the last two decades.

Vermaas is also surprised to see another marine before him as he walks through the blast doors. Who else would be wandering the ship like this? He quickly see it is Brother Castus, one he has not spoken with in quite some time. A fiery loyal individual who hardly has anyone left to be loyal to, some may say, losing so many squad mates in the past.

Castus, for whatever reason, decides to say little to nothing to Vermaas. But not long after, Vermaas comes across another marine, and one he is a bit more familiar with as of late, brother Spurius.

It is up to you two if your character tries to speak with the other. If you want them to just walk past, what are your character's thoughts? 

Multiple posts are of course allowed. I am giving a two to three weeks time frame for this one. I will be more specific when I know I can be.


----------



## Deus Mortis

*"Team Gold has been defeated."* Those ominous words rang out across the battlefield and Solaki could scarce believe it. The war-game had lasted only a few minutes. Between his return from in introspective thoughts and Team Gold losing, barely any time had elapsed. He had felt the cold touch of Dymethus on his thigh and had hoped briefly that the youth would be lucky and he would be activated. He would have liked to have participated. However, this was not to be. The moment he had seen Cleomenes and Kain sprint round the corner, he had known Dymethus was doomed. The announcement that the youth had been taken down was no surprise. What was, was the bolt shells that erupted with sudden ferocity and taken the sergeant and Cleomenes out of the war game. Solaki had assumed that both team would have covering fire, but no help came for the two members of team gold. No swift retribution, nothing. Kain and Cleomenes "died" alone and isolated. Like the rest of their chapter had. Elsewhere, unseen by Solaki, a trio of bolt rounds rang out, and then a final one signalling the end.

That had been it. Team gold had lost and it was four kills for one. Solaki wondered what had happened. As the city-scape dissolved back into the floor, Solaki voxed Tobias. "Sir, can you feed the pic-recording of the battle into my noosphere?" Tobias continued to tap away and did not respond, but the video came. While the landscape dis-assembled itself, Solaki watched the recording. He saw Ryan and Izrael climb up onto the roofs and the almost as soon as he was in position, Izrael climbed down. Pausing the vid and looking from a birds-eye view, Solaki saw where Cleomenes and Kain had been. They had line of sight, and both had seen the other. Izrael had not stuck around to be caught. *Smart kid* Solaki thought to himself. Then he watched what he had already seen happen, but from a variety of different angles. The moment Dymethus had fallen, Izrael and Ryan had gunned down Kain and Cleomenes. 

From this vantage point, it looked like Dymethus had been the bait to draw Cleomenes and Kain out, but Solaki couldn't help but wonder if that was all true. Could Ryan and Zurick have banked on Dymethus having been so reckless? Or had it been an order? Either way, Izrael and Ryan had a shot on Kain and Cleomenes before Dymethus had fallen. Why had they not fired sooner? Had Ryan chosen to let Dymethus die because he had been rash and was trying to teach him a lesson? Or was it simply that Dymethus had tried to return fire and if he had not, then no one would have died? There was no way that Solaki could be certain, but the possibility intrigued him. Either way, the plan had worked to deadly effect. Now he had to find the moment where the others had died. He scrolled over the map, looking for where Raziel and Raxan had been. 

He quickly found them. They had been just about to enter the courtyard to return fire. They had just seen the shots fly and would have hit probably one or possibly both of Ryan and Izrael. Then Solaki saw what happened. Zurick had appeared from no where and Solaki had to rewind the video to see how had had gotten to the same street. He had been operating independently like the hunter he was to get to where he was. From above, Solaki watched Zurick for Raxan into a body-shield, _much like Astelan had made Belial_, and fire three shots into the building where Raziel had just entered and then one shot at point blank range into the side of Raxan's head. Is was impressive to say the least. Zurick had taken down two seasoned marines and made them look like initiates. The whole thing looked easy from where Solaki watched. Team Gold had been torn apart with a cunning and efficiency which was distinctively lacking from their own plan. 

This was curious, Solaki thought as the last pieces of city-scape folded themselves away and Tobais shouted from his podium. Team Gold had followed Codex patterns, and Team Black had torn it apart. The difference was clear, to Solaki at least. The tyranids had learnt their techniques and torn the chapter apart in a similar manner. Ryan and Zurick had learnt that and adopted a small part of their adversaries. They evolved and did what was necessary to win. Still, a few things could have changed it. If Dymethus had not been rash, Kain and Cleomenes might not have walked into a killing ground. If Cleomenes and Kain had waited a moment longer until Raxan and Raziel were in position to assist before leaping out of cover, things might have gone differently. If Zurick had lost against Raxan. Critically, to Solaki, the difference which was most important between the two teams was the Team Black had eyes on the team mates at all times. Team Gold had split and so only had half the eyes to see with. 

One thing that puzzled Solaki was why, even after Cleomenes and Kain had seen Izrael, did they still charge into the courtyard? Did they think that the had to neutralize Dymethus before he had activated Solaki? That would be reasonable, but retrospectively Solaki could say that they should have hugged their cover and taken out Dymethus from behind cover. He wondered if Kain thought about the things which Solaki did, and wondered if he saw the faults in the plan before the fight started, as they happened or only retrospectively. Solaki opened a private channel to Dymethus "The difference between bravery and stupidity is the outcome. Your move was bold and paid off, but in a real fight, you won't be able to walk off a head wound like that. Next time, keep your head down, because if you had your move would have worked how you had hoped." From what he saw, Solaki believed that was true. Assuming that Izrael and Ryan had fired when they did, there was only a matter of seconds between Dymethus falling and Kain and Cleomenes following him. If he had not had tried to return fire, he would have stayed alive and could well have activated Solaki. 

He needn't tell Ryan and Zurick they had done well. They would either know or not care and did not need his affirmation. However, Solaki had not spoken to Izrael since Sotha and now seemed like a good time. He opened another private link "Brother, I must commend you on you marksmanship and sensibility in abandoning your position." There was a moment of silence before Solaki said anymore. He would not grovel, but did not wish to have bad-blood between him and another Scythe. "You were right on Sotha. It was right of us to retrieve the flag." Solaki left it at that. He stopped his mechanical voice from saying the doubts in his head about many saw him as unworthy and how at many point Solaki believed that himself. They consolation that Solaki admitted he was wrong he hoped would be enough to show the Scythe that he recognized an error in his actions and they could put it behind them. Thinking of nothing more he could say, he left his words at that and turned his attention to the rest of the group. He might be tempted to talk later about his thoughts on the battle, but having never been a brilliant tactician he was unwilling to launch into the conversation with criticism and potentially make a fool of himself. For now he was content to simply listen and see if anyone saw the same flaws as he had...


----------



## Jackinator

Beneath his helm Raziel's jaw tightened and his teeth ground together. It was a blow to his pride, it was true, but it was another lesson of war and he would take what he could from it, whether he liked it or not. He ejected the unfired magazine from the bolt pistol, it wasn't the first time hed had done that after a mission, but it was the first time he had done so without a kill regardless. He returned the weaponry to the rack and drew his fingers through the thick, glutinous paint, clearing his vision and leaving four stripes down the helmet like some horrific war wound, almost mocking the actual scars beneath.

He checked over the chainsword mechanism, making sure no paint had entered the robust machinery and then, satisfied, returned it to the rack. The basic maintenance and cleaning would be taken care of by the armoury servitors later, it was not his task. He turned, hearing Tobias shouting from his platform "We should do this again soon, I think."

He forced down his pride and looked up at the sergeant on his control podium."Yes, we should, it always does to learn lessons from our brothers."

He only hoped that the victory would not have such an effect on the pride of the victors as to cause a problem, though he would not be surprised if it resulted in a little senseless bickering. It was an interesting risk to take, Kain was young and clearly struggling in his command, Izrael's casual insubordination had been enough for that, to place the two on opposite teams was foolhardy in even the best possible light. What had Tobias been thinking? Perhaps he knew Izrael better than Raziel did though, having taught him as a novice would certainly pave the way for that.

He turned to the victorious black team and swallowed his pride. "Well done brothers."


----------



## Capussa

For a few seconds it seemed as though he was going to activate Solaki, then he heard the tell tail sound of bolters firing as Kain & Cleomenes entered the courtyard. A few seconds more and he’d be listed as a casualty and not claimed Solaki, had he been left alone without support or was he supposed to stay and be patient. Having no line of sight to members of either team he decided to attempt a quick glance and shot to determine the chances of suppressing the two veterans closing on him.

Upon spotting Cleomenes he unleashed a hurried shot in his direction and received a shot to the face in the same instant, Dymethus was surprised at the force of the impact and knew it had ruined whatever potential his shot had of hitting as he landed back against Solaki’s leg.

"Dymethus is dead. Solaki is still offline." Tobias announced 

The Ink splatter on his helmet obscured Dymethus’ view, though he heard the quick succession of shots from that was his covering fire from Izrael & Ryan. Could have done with that a second ago he though as Tobias announced "Cleomenes and Kain have fallen," then "Team Gold has been defeated."

So I was the bait, would have been nice to have been informed of this before we started. Dymethus thought as he cleaned his helmet optics, then rose and made his was way toward the weapon racks to turn his weapons back in. As he checked and replaced the weapons he heard ping of a private channel followed the voice of Solaki. "The difference between bravery and stupidity is the outcome. Your move was bold and paid off, but in a real fight, you won't be able to walk off a head wound like that. Next time, keep your head down, because if you had your move would have worked how you had hoped."

“Thank you venerated brother.” He responded “I believe I was expecting more than I got from this exercise.”


----------



## dark angel

_Kill._

The word rang out through his head once again, an axe-man’s order, as Cleomenes drew his crosshairs up, hurtling onwards. Behind Solaki’s immobile form - Naught but an ostentatious sarcophagus, Cleomenes reminded himself - Dymethus stirred. Ink splashed across Solaki, drawing the younger Marine into action. He brought his Boltpistol to bear - Squeezing the trigger ever-so slightly - And collapsed.

Cleomenes’ rounds struck home, snapping Dymethus’ head backwards, sending the youth into the deck with a crunch. Cleomenes smirked, commending his aim, watching the boy’s black-smeared form stir. 

‘Dymethus is dead. Solaki is still offline.’ Sergeant Tobias announced, his voice sonorous over the ship’s communications system.

‘Moving in on Sol-’ Cleomenes began, before something struck him. 

He tumbled, Bolter still held reverently, and bounced off of the floor. His vision was black - Foretelling Tobias’s next words - Cleomenes and Sergeant Scrious were both down. 

Cleomenes sighed, struck the deck with his palm, and rolled back onto his feet, crouching low. He did not see the next events - Obscured by a building - But sighed when Tobias announced that Team Gold had been defeated. The Polemarch stood, wiping ink from his armour, unbuckling his helm as he did so. The cityscape folded away, clanking and ticking, disappearing section-by-section; leaving the eight Astartes alone, together.

‘We should do this again soon, I think.’ Tobias said, when they regrouped. 

Cleomenes laughed bitterly. 

‘I would rather wrestle. Ink’s a bad substitute for blood,’ He shook his heard. ‘We were outmaneuvered by the..’ Cleomenes bowed theatrically to Ryan, Zurick, Dymethus and Izrael. ‘Luckier team.’


----------



## BlackGuard

Brother Vermaas began his trek back up from the bowels of _the Heart_, his introverted spell coming to an end. The moment had been calming and he knew he'd needed it but now he longed to be amongst his brothers again. The hydraulic doors before him hissed open and the light spilled out to meet him. It was unwelcome. He didn't mind the light itself but to him it somehow seemed to intrude upon him bringing with it the bright and vivid clarity of all the troubles he'd tried to leave behind when he went into the depths of the ship. He continued down the cooridors moving by instinct alone remembering vaguely a time when these very halls contained life.

He passed back a small, almost unnoticable dent in the wall and it brought back a memory. He saw Brother Quillion standing in the hallway his armor freshly polished his green eyes always seeming to stare into everyone's soul but his demeanour very friendly. He remembered the cause of the dent too when he'd been in one of his moments of self-doubt and reclusion and Quillion had slapped him on the back thinking him paying attention to a well intended joke. He wasn't and the wall suffered for it. The thoughts drew a smile though it was bitter. He couldn't remember the joke now, or maybe he'd never known? How many years had he been in such doubt and missed out on the companionship of his brothers. As he continued down the cooridor he idly wondered where Quillion died. Was it on Sotha? Was it during their revenge campaign against the Tyranids? It was sad that he couldn't even remember that.

As he came through one set of hissing doors he noticed another figure at the end of the hallway. Its proportions were definately Astartes. Within a handful of heartbeats he recognized it as Brother Spurius. Their communication over the last few decades had not been what Vermaas would have hoped but duties demanded certain things of them all. 

As they closed the gap to one another Vermaas gave a smile,_ 'Brother Spurius, it is good to see you. You are not with the others in the simulation? I'd have assumed you'd be the first to jump in.'_


----------



## William Siegfried

Spurius had for a while been hovering about the hangar, trying to find something to do just as the Chapter Master had ordered him to awhile ago. Sadly nothing was really required of Spurius other than to help with unloading some Chapter relics from a transport and such. Overall though there was nothing for him to do or help out with within the hangar, hence his current status of hovering about. Just as he began to walk through out the hangar he noticed one of his fellow battle brothers, one he remembered saving back during the retreat from their homeworld; of course the moment they're eyes met each other they were quick to smile and greet each other as brothers normally do. "Brother Spurius! What a rarity to find you down here in the hangars. Usually your off in the sparring cages honing your swordsmanship." His battle brother said as his armoured hand gripped Spurius, before releasing. Spurius smiled and chuckled, *"Good to see you again Brother, and yes... Being within the hangar during a rest period is rare, but I was ordered here by our Lord and Chapter Master, although as to why is still a mystery, but I'm not one to question the man I look up to."* Spurius replied as he began to walk forward, his heavy armoured footsteps echoing throughout the hangar. "Haha! Indeed, I guess that would be a good reason to explain your presence here." The smiling warrior agreed as he soon followed closely beside Spurius. *"Mhm. Right now I'm finally free from my duties here, so I'm actually headed to the sparring cages now, do you wish to join me brother? I hear there's a practice match about to take place too soon, should be something worth checking out, if not to see about joining it."* Spurius offered his friend. The Space Marine mearly shook his head smiling, "No, not this time brother, I have other things to do. I have to join up with my squad. My Sergeant believes we have to put more effort into training the young ones on how to be Angels of death." Spurius smiled and turned his attention in front of himself as they entered the hallways. *"I see, and understandable, I doubt I will be hovering around the hallways for long before I'm called to action once more... that or called to train a few new recruits how the Assault Marines were before the attack on our homeworld." *Spurius replied in a calm tone before he turned to his friend and brother. *"Alright... Guess its time to part ways here then. Hopefully we get to fight side by side with each other in the near future brother. Until then though, I'll talk to you later."* And with that the two went their separate ways. 

As Spurius began to walk towards the simulation room, he was soon greeted by a familiar voice that greeted him. Spurius gently turned his head to face the owner of the voice only to see one of the Chapters veterans, and a rather close friend he'd fought beside more than a few times. Battle Brother Vermaas, a good man, and skilled warrior. Spurius was quite pleased to see his brother again, more so in good health. *"Haha, good to see you Brother Vermaas! It's been too long."* Spurius returned the greeting with a smile, before patting his brothers shoulder. *"And... yes, well our Lord and Chapter Master had need of me in the hangar so I was unable to join our brothers in the simulation room, despite how much it pains me not to have had a chance to show my brothers how I've developed my skills with the blade."* Spurius replied to Vermaas' early statement. *"But forget about me, how 'bout you brother? Are you just returning from the mock battle or are in much the same boat as I?"* He asked curious to know if Vermaas was wondering the halls much as he was.


----------



## Midge913

Raxan stalked forward, almost into position, the looming form of Raziel off to his left a constant shadow in his peripheral vision. Kain had spoken, briefly, curtly, over the vox indicating that he had spotted movement on the rooftop of a building that overlooked the courtyard, a building that Raxan noticed had a good view of his current position. Ducking behind a piece of simulated rubble, he brought his bolter up, eyes scanning and sure enough they quickly found the signs that Kain had spoken of. But something was off, even the newest brother would not have allowed the slightest glimmer to remain visible, but yet the top of a black helm still peeked above the edge of the buildings parapet. A ruse, it had to be. Whoever it had been that Kain had spotted, they had already moved on, their helm left behind to draw attention. 

It was then that Cleomenes' voice flared in the vox, "‘Some fire support, if you would, Raxan,’ The smallest hint of a smile in his brother's words. ‘I imagine there’s a crosshair on my head by now - Keep an eye open for muzzle flashes, brother.’ And without further preamble the massive marine charged out into the open, his bolt pistol raised at the marine, Dymethus unless Raxan missed his quess, that took cover behind Solaki's leg. 

Raising his bolter, finger on the trigger, he made ready to fire. His finger twitched, the round in the chamber almost quivering with anticipation, Raxan's own energy filling his weapon with a life of its own. As his finger depressed, his mind, lungs, and arms already anticipating the recoil and rechambering motion of the weapon, but those things never came. A jarring impact forcibly twisted him to the side, tearing the bolter from his hands in a violent motion. Spinning quickly, eyes taking in the fact that an chainsword, teeth still roaring, lay next to his downed weapon. Tensing, something crawling along his spine he felt someone approach, their footsteps masked by silent practice, but years of experience enough to alert him, he spun, fist upraised, muscles tightened, shoulder waiting for the impact, his follow-up strike already planned. 

But it was over before he knew what happened, his elbow locked to the point he thought it would break, a knee colliding with his gut, the air knocked from his lungs, an arm, a vice grip locked around his neck. He barely registered the fact that his captor bellowed to Raziel, his friend's armor suddenly covered in inky goo, before his had snapped to the side, rocked by the impact of sound and force as a simulated round impacted the side of his helm. 

"Team Gold has been defeated." Tobias' voice, tolling like a dirge rang through the arena. Anger flooded Raxan's form, his pride wounded, but most importantly he saw the entirety of team black's plan. Dymethus had been bait, a sacrificial lamb, a distraction to allow Zurick to get into position with the rest of the team providing fire support. It galled him, those sort of tactics were abhorent. 

Tearing his helm from his head, he tossed his bolter back into the weapons rack as he stalked by it, his breathing hard, his mind seething at the way team black, most specifically Ryan and Zurick, had achieved victory. Tobias, all but beamed though as he joined them, something in his expression joyful despite the outcome of the match, "We should do this again soon, I think."

To Raxan's surprise, it was Raziel that answered first, his voice taught, controlled," Yes, we should, it always does to learn lessons from our brothers."

Taking in Ryan, Zurick, and Izrael, Raziel congratulated them on their victory.

Raxan could no longer keep his ire in check, "Lessons? What lessons did we learn brother? Hmm?"

He turned his blazing gaze toward Ryan and Zurick, "A lesson in stealth perhaps I did learn from Brother Zurick, but what allowed his stealth to be successful? They used Dymethus as bait, Raziel. They sacrificed one of their own, intentionally, without cause or necessity, to achieve their goal..... I would think that with our numbers standing where they do, that such tactics would be anathema to our goals. No.... That was not a victory brother... It was an all too unfortunate telling of where we stand as a chapter. If that was a lesson we needed to learn then we are truly lost." 

Turning his back on the group, Raxan stalked from the training hall.


----------



## BlackGuard

Brother Spurius' comraderie was welcome to Vermaas who'd become so use to the cold and regret that clung to so many of them since Sotha fell to the Tyranids. Perhaps there was a chance for the future of the chapter with more marines like this. Though as Spurius spoke, Vermaas could feel his chest tighten slightly. The mock battle was of no real concern to him -- he'd have performed just as well as any of his other battle-brothers. What concerned him was exactly why he'd not returned with his brothers to partake in the skirmish. Did we actually want to tell Spurius that he'd just mindlessly wandered around the ship? Aimless didn't begin to describe what he'd done and while he'd done it so that he could muster a moment of self-control and introspection ... it would come out like that. 

The Chapter maintained a Reclusium, even if it didn't always keep it as maintained as it should. Any need for prayer, meditation, or introspection regardless of the taboo behind it within the Astartes could be done there. What kind of an impression would he make upon Spurius if he admitted to becoming lax in his discipline? No. No he would not allow the Chapter's morale to sink any lower than the near rock-bottom standards it struggled to maintain now. Regardless of his own needs he would not let it drag another down.

_'Other duties brother,'_ he said calmly, not skipping a beat in the conversation, _'Deep within the ship itself actually. Someone has to go make sure the servitors aren't malfunctioning and the Tech-marines are far too busy trying to keep old Solaki in line.'_


----------



## William Siegfried

Spurius observed his friend and brother Vermaas as he spoke. After Spurius finished his greeting, he kept his eyes glued firmly upon the older Space Marine. He was more or less surprised by his reaction to him telling Vermaas how he'd basically been told to hover about, odd as it sounded, it was what he was tasked with. No sooner had he dismissed all thought on the matter and the questions within his mind he heard Vermaas speak. Spurius smiled as he listened to his brother's reply. Vermaas' other duties were not unheard of, and in truth he'd done the same thing a few times in the past, but soon it was Spurius' turn to speak as Vermaas finished. *"Ah... I believe me and a few recruits were tasked with much the same duties awhile back during the times you were off fighting with your squad."* Spurius paused for a moment to think, before he turned his attention to the Training hall's entrance, noticing a few of his previous team mates returning from their mock battle. Spurius' smile never faded, rather it grew a little brighter at the sight of his brothers. *"Hmm... Seems our brothers return now, a bit of a disappointment I missed the chance to see the training battle, wouldn't you agree Vermaas?"* Spurius continued, changing the subject quickly. 

As Spurius watched as his former teammates begin to exit the training hall he waved over at them, smiling still. Spurius was quite the odd Marine, and was for the most part the only one not letting the grim memories of Sotha's fall bother him, no matter how much they tore into his dreams at night.


----------



## Lord Ramo

Kain could hear the clanging of his and Cleomenes boots vibrate off of the deck as they charged forward towards Solakai. He could see one member of team black was already there, and would be about to touch it. Cleomenes would take him out, he needed to scan for other potential hostiles. His pistol raised as he ran forward, ready to fire if he saw anyone. However after Cleomenes had gotten a kill both marines were hit by fire, Kain going down as his lenses were covered in ink, weapons staying in his hands however. He couldn't believe how his brothers had used bait, it was unthinkable. 

It only took a few mere moments before the training simulation was over and his team had lost 4-1. He felt anger at how quickly he had gone down, it was ridiculous, as was the opponents choice to use one of them as bait. That was not how the Astartes operated, had they truly fallen so far? He removed his helm before placing his weapons on the racks once more, before Tobias voice rang out that they should do it again. Whilst his team voiced their disapproval most notably Raxan, his anger showing through as he barked angrily at his brothers Kain stayed silent, merely nodding to the victorious team and Tobias before leaving.

He headed to the Reclusium, passing by Spurius and Vermaas nodding to them before continuing on his way. Right now he needed guidance from the Emperor and the Primach most, he had to reflect on the words of his lord as well as the debacle just now in the training rooms. Times were changing, the chapter was changing but not for the better. No, they needed guidance now more then ever though he couldn't see that happening for a while.


----------



## Jackinator

(OOC: A collab between myself and Midge)



Raziel sighed at Raxan’s outburst, he had been surprised that of all of them it had been Raxan who had been affected most by the manner of Team Black’s victory. He pried the helmet from his head, there was a slight hiss as gas escaped from the locked collar as he removed it. He eyed the other Space Marines with a baleful glare, daring them to comment on Raxan’s dramatic exit, then turned and headed after his friend. Raxan was moving fast, and Raziel had to lengthen his stride to catch up, putting a hand on the Marine’s shoulder and applying a gentle pressure.

“Raxan! Brother.”

He span, the anger still clear on his face, but he remained quiet, saying nothing when he saw it was Raziel.

"What was that? Of all of us, you are the one who should not have lost your temper, Emperor knows I was tempted to act as you just did."

"I am so conflicted brother....." his voice was quiet, tempered, controlled, "Things were so clear, our path as a chapter evident and sure. We bide our time, conserve our resources, grow, then take the fight to our enemies." 

He shook his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts, "But since Sotha, since Cleomenes' return, I have noticed things, seen things that once I remained blind to. Things are not right with us brother."

Raziel responded with a fierce tone, but no less controlled than his Brothers. "No, but how will this help, they are young perhaps, foolish definitely. But would you even hesitate to give your life for your brothers? The loss of any Space Marine is a grievous toll."

He steps back and smiles bitterly, "at least you had the chance to fight for what we once were."

"No, Raziel, I would not hesitate to give my life for anyone of them, but nor would I sacrifice one of you to achieve my goal, regardless of the circumstance."

Raxan’s eyes narrowed at Raziel’s last statement, "That is where you are wrong brother, we all have the opportunity to fight for what we once were. Here and now, we make a stand. We train the new ones in the values of old. In the ways of honor and duty, we remind the old ones through our actions that we are not dead and dying, but alive and longing for rebirth. Zurick, Ryan, and their lot, think they have nothing to lose, no future to fight for. It makes their decisions dangerous, reckless. That is the sort of thinking that we must eliminate if we are to survive..... For I mean for us to survive..... Even if I have to carry each and every one of you on my shoulders."

Raziel stared bitterly out of the armoured window, and that bitterness was evident in his voice. "One hundred years brother, one hundred years spent in the service of the Inquisition, it changed me, perhaps not for the best either. And I returned to find my Chapter changed even more."

"And what do your eyes see Raziel?" The question was honest, probing, "What do you see when you look around this ship? When you meet the gazes of your brothers?"

Raziel took a breath and shook his head.

"Fear."

The word was simple, curt, brutal.

Raxan nodded his head, his agreement clear, but he stayed silent as Raziel continued to speak.

"Not of death, but of failure"

He smiled mockingly and the scar twisted it into a vicious grimace.

"We sacrificed everything, and it still wasn't enough, what do we have left brother? Our pride? A cruel shadow of what we once possessed. Our lives? The few that remain."

He stared into Raxan's eyes, "what more can we do?"

"While even one of us remains brother, as long as he stays true to his heart and his duty, we are not lost." He will gesture around the hallway where we stand, "We rise from the shadows, we stop hiding away in distant corners of the galaxy hoping that one day, far off, we will be able to rebuild."

Raxan pounded his fist into his open palm, the sound of ceramite on ceramite cold and empty in the empty corridor. "We seek out those within our ranks that would prove worthy of the Reclusiam."

Again his gauntleted fist struck his open palm, "We set aside our fear of the warp, we find recruits that will allow us to rebuild our Librarium with those we can trust to hold true to the way of the Imperium and the creed of the chapter. We must have those that can test the minds of our young ones, to make sure the taint of chaos does not exist in their minds and hearts."

His eyes became hard, "we stop hiding. We start acting like the weapons the emperor created us to be."

Raziel looked away, "true to his heart and duty? Are we even capable of that any more brother? I can see the purity in many of our brothers, but since Astelan each seems to be mocking the ideals the Reclusiam taught us all those years ago. We were created weapons, but without the purity of purpose we once shared what are we? What good is a weapon without the strength of the arm that bears it?"

"We must find that purpose once more brother. Too many of our brothers pine for the past, long for vengeance for a tragedy that happened many years ago. That purpose exists for us. Whether it is to take the fight back to the Tyranid menace, or combat other enemies that threaten the Imperium remains to be seen. You say that we fear failure? Well as far as I am concerned if we continue the way we have, we have already failed."

"I know brother, but I don't intend for us to continue the way that we have, the young ones have much to learn, the Chapel remains empty, there are few other than I that still observe the old rites. We might be a shadow of what we once were, but without our guidance the young ones will only hurtle ever faster into death or damnation. They show promise, but as it was with us centuries ago, it is raw and untamed, Lord Sotha knew what he was doing when he assigned us to their squad. We have to act as the guiding hand that the Chaplain's were for us, at least until another is selected."

"I agree, remember brother it is Lord Thrasius now." Raxan replied with a smile, "I think that is more significant than any of us want to admit. I think our Commander is starting to see the same things we are, I think that looking upon Sotha, it's desolation, has caused many of us to take a long hard look at what we are and what we wish to be."

"I refuse to forget it. He may no longer wish to honour our home, but we sacrificed our birthplace, not just our chapter, and I won't have it's name left by the wayside."

Nonetheless he nodded in agreement, "and you Brother? What do you wish to be?"

"I wish to be nothing more than what I was, what I am.... An honorable man and a marine that sees to his brother's and his duty."He looked at Raziel, sincerity in his gaze, "we have known each other a long time Raziel, you know that that is all I have ever aspired to. I am no leader of men, my friend, I simply see what I see. I try to provide an example that is true, honest. I just hope that is enough to see us through."

Raziel smiled then, it was a terrifying sight, but he meant it. He reached out and clapped Raxan on the shoulder.

"Sometimes Raxan, I wonder how you are still just a battle brother. Your modesty does you no credit."

Raxan smiled back with genuine feeling, "it is not modesty brother, it is truth. I am happy to fill the role that I do and I aspire to no other."

"I know Brother, I cannot see myself in any other role but that I occupy now, and I have too long a history to be deserving of any other. Perhaps your greatest virtue and your greatest flaw is your lack of ambition"

"We shall see... We shall see. I see a great change coming for us all brother. Who knows where fate will find us once we have weathered it."


----------



## unxpekted22

_The shaky whispers come first, shivering...

"Emperor guide us, shine your light upon us
We are your sons' sons.
Please...help me...fight on"

The prayer continues fading into the background as explosive bolter rounds ring out, shells falling onto power armor. Zooming out from the muzzle flares reflecting off of Kain's red bionic eye as he looks straight ahead, in his arms he holds his chanting brother. Dark red blood flowing freely over black and gold alike.

Giant legs encased in black power armor move all around them kicking up dirt, some with campaign markings, some without. 

Above two golden lions a roaring command parts from lips that lay between a salt and pepper beard, but it sounds so far away.

The noise of gunfire is maddening as the shivering words keep coming, "Emperor...your will be done....your sons' sons...

Another shout soon after from the grill of a battlehelm, this one clearer, "Where is the Chaplain!?"

Raxan holds his bolter steady, his form unwavering, his lips tight and face grim, the firearm rocking in his hands as the view pans away from him following his shots into shades of black and blue. _

Everyone:

The bay doors seal shut behind Raziel as he goes after Raxan, Kain having left as well, not saying a word and leaving Solaki, Cleomenes, Tobias in the distance, and all of team black still inside the room as the gears finished up their choir of groans.

Ryan's gaze having followed Raxan's with what may have been some form of contempt on his lips and a short sigh. 

"Luck had nothing to do with it," Zurick spoke through his helm's grill voxcaster, his head turned curtly towards Cleomenes.

Ryan continued, moving his focus along to Cleomenes as well, "No matter how good a team is, each individual must take some responsibility for their _own_ life. Dymethus could have lived, but we could not be there to hold him down in cover. I'm glad everyone stayed to chat though. Having the chance to explain to everyone that Dymethus rushing to Solaki was his own decision sure was nice, even if it was anticipated by some of us."

"_This_ is why the chapter needs a _new_ approach," added Zurick.

And with that, Ryan calls to Izrael and the three of them leave.


Several days later

Everyone:

Nearly all of the remaining Scythes stand in one of the ship's several Chapter meeting halls, hardly any of them in their power armor at the moment.

Thrasius is making an announcement.

"My brothers, for too long now the young recruits we have managed to acquire have had no one to inspect and guide their minds properly in the Emperor's light. Seeing as we must rebuild the chapter this, as you all know, is a very pressing matter. Of course, for reasons I need not speak, another chapter's librarian is out of the question. I believe I have finally found another means."

"The Black Templars, specifically those aboard the small fleet crusading the eastern fringe who we fought side by side with two decades ago on Tri'Vaa, sent an astropathic response shortly after we left Sotha. A few of us also fought with some of these brother-cousins during the Damocles gulf crusade. They are solid allies to us. We have spent the last several days discussing the issue and making plans to rendezvou."

The Templars are well known for their Chaplains. As they also have a hatred and mistrust of any psykers, they use their Chaplains to check for taint of the mind in new recruits rather than librarians. I intend to make that the norm for the Scythes of the Emperor as well, once we regain some Chaplains of our own. It is my hope that they can show us how this can be done without telepathy. 

They have agreed to send one of their strike cruisers to the meeting point. We make way back to Ferim shortly."

There is a sudden rustle and commotion starts to stir amongst several of the marines in the room. Thrasius simply lowers his head and raises his hands,

"There are several reasons for this. The first is that no chapter that either us or the Templars know about have domain over that region yet so we dont have to worry about running into any other Astartes. The second is that we are now familiar with that area of space. The third is that I and particularly Alexander feel obligated to check on Ferim's condition. After rigorous study of the tyranid genes we collected from the splinter fleet on Ferim's surface, and given the several oddities we have already witnessed in that strand of Xenos he is concerned of Tyranid forms reemerging there, specifically genesteelers, which is enough for me to agree to a scout. If war beckons again, we shall answer despite still not being anywhere close to ideally prepared. The Templars will be there with us, however, and though they have not agreed to fight Tyranids with us in advance, it is inconceivable that they would not."

"That is all for now my brothers. Prepare for Warp travel."

Thrasius then exits the room along with a few others. You can describe anything you wish your character to have done in the last several days if you wish, including any final reactions from the training match. Perhaps Vermaas and Spurius's reactions to discovering the outcome. Now here and with this news, be sure to tell us what your character thinks/says about it. You are all in a group standing near each other.

Solaki:

Sometime between the training scenario and Thrasius's announcement, you find yourself telling Laikus of your dream debacle. Not long after that, you are propped up again in the techmarine's lair, with huge cables coming from the ceiling, floor, and side walls alike to connect to various sections of your chassis with both Laikus and Apothecary Alexander standing in front of you. Laikus keeps his faceplate on, you're not even sure if he _can_ remove his headgear anymore. Alexander stands straightacked with a slightly cocked eyebrow as you recant the dream experience and explain the various possibilities you have come up with.

"I dont detect and levels of warp energy..."

Says Laikus as he scans over your form with a hand held device.

"Your systems seem to be normal." he continues, but drops the device and begins his own search for faults in any case, the spider fixing its net.

Alexander speaks next, "It could very well just be a dream. Everything you seem to have seen in it are from traumatizing events." He muses for a moment longer, "Though they are quite specific. Also the whispering at the end seems rather peculiar to me. Certainly, I have not inspected the minds of very many brothers encased in a dreadnought's body, not compared to the number I have inspected outside of such a circumstance in any case."

Both officers continue on with a few tests before anyone speaks further. Ultimately Laikus returns to a resting position on his feet beside Alexander and they come to a conclusion, which Alexander voices, "We can't find anything wrong with you physical of mechanical form. I think that all we can do for now is wait to see if it happens again. Even if it only happened once, it could still be some form of message. Think on it further. If anything comes to you, inform us."

You then felt your legs slowly dipping back toward the metal flooring as Laikus began to unhook you and lower the prop. 

From there, your update joins back in with Thrasius speaking.


----------



## Deus Mortis

Laikus asked him how the training scenario had gone. Solaki explained, somewhat distantly, they nothing much had transpired. Tobias had made him an objective which required activation and no one had, thus the whole scenario was rather boring from his perspective. Solaki wished he had been given a chance to test his weapons against foes which could actually try and deny him. Servitors made for poor practice. Almost as soon as he had finished his brief report of the recent activity, Solaki changed the topic of conversation to the one he had been thinking about during the training scenario. "Laikus, you remember you left me here in stasis, and yet I managed to follow you to the training hall?" Laikus nodded in acknowledgement, still working on some other project. He always was. "Well, whilst that is abnormal, there are stranger things to it..." Solaki proceeded to tell Laikus in excruciating detail about his dream, from the moment he had started to lose consciousness to the moment when he had woken up in the training hall. Laikus was either intrigued or deeply troubled, because he ceased all his other work and focused solely on Solaki's words. He also told him of his thoughts and possible origins of the dream. Since he had thought on it a bit longer, Solaki made sure he expressed them in a way that did not make him seem paranoid. The last thing the Scythes needed was a paranoid marine in a death-machine. 

Laikus stood almost motionless for a moment, his body still apart from his mechandrites bobbing slightly up and down, as if being blow by a strange breeze. Laikus said he would talk to Alexander and get him to come and investigate further with him when he could. Until then, Solaki would be placed in stasis, mainly to check whether or not he dreamed again, and hopefully Laikus would pick up something if he did. Solaki obliged readily, and slipped into the drug and psychosomatic trigger based 'sleep'. Solaki was almost disappointed when the next thing he saw was Laikus and Alexander staring at him two days later. Clearly, he had not dreamed. Alexander asked to be told what had transpired. Solaki was almost certain that Laikus had already told him a large portion of what had transpired, but he imagined Alexander would want to hear it from him, just in case Laikus had a different was of expressing it or had left something out.

So Solaki told them everything he had seen and heard. The Sotha child, the Scythe impaled on the wall, the shadow of the Great Devourer and the haunting voice. He told them in concerns, that there could be a fault in the electrical components, or he could have latent psychic powers, or something else. Alexander remained neutral all throughout Solaki's explanation, is un-helmed face stoic. Laikus broke in _"I dont detect and levels of warp energy..."_ As he scanned over Solaki with a portable device. _"Your systems seem to be normal."_ he continued, but dropped the device and began his own search for faults in any case, the spider fixing its net.

Alexander spoke next, _"It could very well just be a dream. Everything you seem to have seen in it are from traumatizing events."_ He mused for a moment longer,_ "Though they are quite specific. Also the whispering at the end seems rather peculiar to me. Certainly, I have not inspected the minds of very many brothers encased in a dreadnought's body, not compared to the number I have inspected outside of such a circumstance in any case."_ Both officers continued on with a few tests before anyone spoke further. Ultimately Laikus returned to a resting position on his feet beside Alexander and they came to a conclusion, which Alexander voiced, _"We can't find anything wrong with you physical of mechanical form. I think that all we can do for now is wait to see if it happens again. Even if it only happened once, it could still be some form of message. Think on it further. If anything comes to you, inform us."_
"I shall." Solaki replied. Alexander turned and walked out, presumably back to the Apothecarion. Laikus lowered him down and informed him that tomorrow Thrasius would be making a general address and that everyone had been told to assemble in one of the meeting halls before sending him back to sleep.

Only two days after his examination by Laikus and Alexander, Solaki was in one of the meeting halls with most of the other Scythes. As few were indisposed, but most of them were gathered here. Even seeing the remaining 50 Scythes gathered was an impressive sight, and made Solaki proud that they had endured so much and still stood tall, but sad that he feared the worst was no yet behind them. Thrasius stood up to make his announcement, his hands motioning for silence. _"My brothers, for too long now the young recruits we have managed to acquire have had no one to inspect and guide their minds properly in the Emperor's light. Seeing as we must rebuild the chapter this, as you all know, is a very pressing matter. Of course, for reasons I need not speak, another chapter's librarian is out of the question. I believe I have finally found another means."_ There was a universal murmur of acknowledgement. _"The Black Templars, specifically those aboard the small fleet crusading the eastern fringe who we fought side by side with two decades ago on Tri'Vaa, sent an astropathic response shortly after we left Sotha. A few of us also fought with some of these brother-cousins during the Damocles gulf crusade. They are solid allies to us. We have spent the last several days discussing the issue and making plans to rendezvou."_

Solaki remembered fighting with the Templars on Tri'Vaa. Solid allies indeed _"The Templars are well known for their Chaplains. As they also have a hatred and mistrust of any psykers, they use their Chaplains to check for taint of the mind in new recruits rather than librarians. I intend to make that the norm for the Scythes of the Emperor as well, once we regain some Chaplains of our own. It is my hope that they can show us how this can be done without telepathy."_ Solaki could hardly blame Thrasius for his suspicion of psykers. Being able to spot them but remain immune from their powers was a considerable advantage. One that would let the chapter start to grow again finally. 

_"They have agreed to send one of their strike cruisers to the meeting point. We make way back to Ferim shortly."_ Ferim. Solaki felt an impossible wind send shivers down his non-existent spine at the thought of the planet where he had lost his body. They would be returning, and Solaki, and many others, wondered what would drive them to return? Was Thrasius becoming obsessed with previous battlegrounds of the Scythes? First Sotha, now Ferim. Thrasius simply lowered his head and raises his hands, _"There are several reasons for this. The first is that no chapter that either us or the Templars know about have domain over that region yet so we dont have to worry about running into any other Astartes. The second is that we are now familiar with that area of space. The third is that I and particularly Alexander feel obligated to check on Ferim's condition. After rigorous study of the tyranid genes we collected from the splinter fleet on Ferim's surface, and given the several oddities we have already witnessed in that strand of Xenos he is concerned of Tyranid forms reemerging there, specifically genesteelers, which is enough for me to agree to a scout. If war beckons again, we shall answer despite still not being anywhere close to ideally prepared. The Templars will be there with us, however, and though they have not agreed to fight Tyranids with us in advance, it is inconceivable that they would not. That is all for now my brothers. Prepare for Warp travel."_ Solaki understood better now, but still could not say he was looking forward to returning to Ferim. Too many broken memories from that place had not yet settled for him to feel comfortable about it. Still, if Thrasius felt if best, the he would follow his liege even into the Eye...


----------



## Capussa

After the outbursts following the training Dymethus headed back to the Armoury to see if he was still needed by Laikus for anything. Upon arrival instead of finding Laikus he picked up a bolter and carried it to the Omnissian Shrine where he sat and methodically stripped the weapon as he meditated on the events of the day.

Ryan’s words to Cleomenes stayed with him, "No matter how good a team is, each individual must take some responsibility for their own life. Dymethus could have lived, but we could not be there to hold him down in cover. I'm glad everyone stayed to chat though. Having the chance to explain to everyone that Dymethus rushing to Solaki was his own decision sure was nice, even if it was anticipated by some of us."

After an hour’s meditation he returned the bolter and went to find Laikus for a list of work to be done, having resolved to meditate on how to stop him from becoming a true outcast among his brothers. 

A few days later Lord Thrasius summoned the remainder of the chapter for to one of the meeting halls for an announcement. Dymethus stood near the back near the bulk of Solaki as Lord Thrasius made his announcement. A return to Ferim, one of the few worlds upon which he had served as a battle brother of the Scythes and the start of him being an outcast. 

This was an opportunity to make a fresh start; it was like a return to the beginning, a chance to be a part of something special as Squad Scrious is in favour even with the return of Cleomenes. This is the time to stop being the new guy, the only non-Sothan and become the first of a new batch of Scythes, the first non-Sothan, an important part of the generation of Scythe.

The Black Templars would be an interesting meet; he remembered very little about them from previous meetings during their time on Tri’vaa & Ferim, as he had had no reason to deal with them personally and was rarely in a position to do so. But what really fascinated him was what their method of testing would involve that replaced the standard use of a Librarian, would this be some kind of tech, or something else?


----------



## Lord Ramo

Kain finished his prayer to the Emperor, standing from his kneeled position at the front of the Reclusium, his midnight armour matching the mood within the sacred chapel. Seldom few used this area still and it wasn't in the best of conditions with there being no chaplain to oversee it and to ensure that it was kept pristine. He turned to the door recognizing Vermaas standing in the doorway of the Reclusium, looking like he was waiting for Kain to finish.

"I am surprised that anyone still come's here brother Vermaas. The chapters fallen so far few seldom come here."

'It is not as abandoned as you might assume, sir. I spend, perhaps, far too much time in here myself.' The marine responded, his gaze on Scrious as he spoke, Kain glad that he wasn't alone in his prayers to the Emperor.

"Maybe your right Vermaas, and within these walls I am not sir but brother. The chapter is changing brother, and I am not sure that it is for the better. We have no one to watch over our spiritual guidance, no one to ensure we praise the Emperor. Perhaps if we had a chaplain Astelan would not have fallen, though should we blame ourselves for this failure? Even without a chaplain when we have gone on campaign we have had to look after our spiritual needs, perhaps this is one of the many failure's of our chapter."

'Astelan, the Emperor's vengeance upon his name,' said Vermaas, his voice Kain noted was firm and full of hate with tension lacing his voice, 'Was his own worst enemy. He let the corruption into himself. It is my firm belief, brother, that even if there were a chaplain next to him at all times he'd have fallen. Chaplains do not control the soul of a battle-brother, he does.'

His brother looked around the Reclusium, before continuing speaking. 'I heard about the mock battle,' he began, 'I do not agree with the tactics used by Zurick and the others, sound though they may be. But surely brother it is not tactics alone that brings you here?'

Kain let Vermaas speak, nodding as he spoke, his words did make sense. "I was next to Astelan brother on that cursed planet. I saw his fall first hand, I even sided with him to begin with as I was blinded by loyalty to him. I believe that if there was a chaplain there then it could have been prevented, or his heresy could have ended immediately."

He paused moving over to pick up a icon to the Emperor. He held it in his hands for a moment, staring at it before turning and placing it back where it should be before turning to his brother. "Whilst I don't agree with our brothers tactics I cannot fault them. They are young and headstrong and believe their way is right. I cannot be sure if they used our brother as bait or if he acted on his own." 

He moved over to stand next to his brother placing an armoured gauntlet on his shoulder, "You are right though it wasn't the loss of battle that brought me here, even if it did sour my mood a little. I came here to ask the Emperor's forgiveness once more, though without a chaplain to observe the proper penitence it has been more difficult. Why are you here brother? Are their sins you have to atone for or are you merely seeking to be closer to the Emperor?"

'God-Emperor,' the marine corrected Kain quietly, not wanting by the sounds of it to slight him Kain thought though it brought a smile to his lips.

'Despite the lack of a chaplain I still feel a duty to return here each day and make my prayer to him on Terra. I know my faith in the God-Emperor causes some of my brothers to remain distant from me. I am not sure if that is simply a sign of the desperate times we're in or of some bitterness they cling to over Sotha.'

Kain frowned as he mentioned Sotha, bad decisions had been made on their homeworld since they had returned, and Kain had played a role in the problems that had arisen. He had allowed his pride to clash with that of Cleomenes. 'I worry for the souls of my brothers,' Vermaas began again 'I worry for myself sometimes. I know Lord Thrasius has found no slight with my actions regarding Izrael but I wonder just how frayed we all are ... if it takes pulling a bolt pistol out to get someone as impulsive as Izrael to heel.'

Kain nodded a frown coming over his face. "It was... rash to pull out the pistol though I understand why you did it brother. The God-Emperor forgives us as long as we don't fall and become heretical. As to why you are here I agree, the chapter still needs this place, and I am glad that I am not the only one who thinks so."

'Cleomenes, he is not one of us.' Vermaas said, turning his head to lock his eyes onto the Sergeant. Kain saw the look in Vermaas' eyes. He had to agree with his brother though, it was true. "It is true brother, because Cleomenes has not been through what we have, has not seen how our chapter was defeated, because he didn't witness it he is not one of us. He believes himself to be our superior, to be the only marine who believes in the old way. Whilst I know we must move forward we cannot forgot our purpose, or our devotion to the God-Emperor."

Vermaas rounded on Kain, his eyes burning with fervor, 'It goes deeper than that brother. As you said he has not suffered as we have suffered. Where was he when Sotha was besieged? Seconded to a rogue trader? Off exploring the galaxy? Where was he when the Tyranids fell from the sky? Where was he whe-'

Vermaas cut himself off short and averted his eyes from Kain's steely gaze. 'I know you feel Zurick and the others were reckless but they are nothing compared to Cleomenes. When he attempted to subvert your command on Sotha -- it could have costed us the entire operation. An operation that was only suppose to be his safe recovery.'

Vermaas sighed, 'He will be a poison in our already thin blood, Kain. I call him brother ... but I cannot lay claim to the actual feeling.'

Kain looked at his brother as he laid his feelings about Cleomenes on the table. Kain paused a moment before meeting his brothers eye, "He is not one of us brother, due to the losses we saw. I do agree with you, his choice on Sotha was not ideal, and I'm glad that the squad had sense to not follow him in his vain glorious attempt to gain some command. He lives in the past, we must look to the future brother, and ensure that it is a future with our service to the emperor in mind."

Vermaas turned his face from Kain, 'Let us hope his arrogance does not get one of our brothers killed. Such an incident would be ... dire.' With that his brother left the Reclusium, Kain not having a chance to respond.

He turned and with one last look around the Reclusium he walked away, determined to seek out his brother Raxan.


----------



## Midge913

Dark thoughts ran through his mind, memories of battles long past overlapped recent experiences. The whole of it causing Raxan to grimace, to wonder why he could not center himself. He longed for the peace and calm, the surity of purpose and intent that had been there not but a few days ago. _"But then,"_ he questioned himself,_" Do I really long for that? Do I wish to turn a blind eye once more to the problems that need to be addressed."_ He shook his head once more, clearing the cobwebs, banishing from his thoughts things that could not be changed, thing that merely demanded acceptance. Some things you could not change, the death of Sotha, the breaking of his beloved chapter, the betrayal of Astelan. But he did know, he did believe that he could inspire change. To prevent those things from happening again, to stop like events from dragging himself or his brothers once more to the edge of defeat. 

The last several days had been uneventful, most of his hours spent in his quarters in solitary reflection. His actions and words at the training match haunted him, forcing him to go over them time and time again in his mind. Sometimes he convinced himself that he was in the right, that the things that he had said needed to be said. Other times he had seen the folly in them. He had set a bad example, he had tarnished his own reputation by losing his temper, a temper that until recent events had been mellow, easily contained, rarely flaring to anything but annoyance. Many things had changed and many things were going to change. He could feel that change brewing, coalescing around the Heart like thunderheads before a storm. 

The time he had not spent in his room had been in the cages, sparring against servitor and marine alike. Through the burning heat of combat he worked out his frustrations. Much to his displeasure he found that he was no closer to calming the feeling of unease and disquiet that tormented him. His thoughts ran furiously, considering the best way to approach the problems that plagued them. In the end, his musings brought more questions than answers. He had even found himself in the Chapel on more than one occasion, something that was more than a rarity for him even in the days where the Reclusiam was represented in strength. Nothing, none of it provided a remedy for his taciturn thoughts. 

It was in this frame of mind that Raxan found himself in the back of one of the meeting halls, his form draped in the shadow of the arches that spanned overhead and the columns that ringed the room, listening to his Lord and Chapter Master speak of his decisions. Wondering with unease if consulting the zealous Black Templars was the right course of action, wondering if returning to Ferim, so soon after the shock of seeing Sotha was going to do more harm than good. Raxan was glad that Lord Thrasius was finally taking action, the fact that his suspicions proving correct that his Lord was just as concerned with moving forward as he was about looking back providing a lifting of his spirits. The thought of Tyranids re-emerging on the surface of Ferim was also something that pleased him, odd thought that sounded in his head. Perhaps this would give the chapter something to wet its teeth with, to met out its vengeance in a manner that would provided catharsis for many. All in all, despite his reservations about joining with the Templars, Raxan's mood was much improved as he left his shadowy corner and approached his squadmates. Intent to speak with both Kain and Cleomenes, determined to find out about their thoughts on recent developments. Things were about to get interesting, the thunderheads were no longer on the distant horizon. The storm of change was coming and coming fast and Raxan knew that to weather it, he would need his friends, his brothers, and his squadmates to rally together. He was determined to be the one that see that happen, regardless of what it took.


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## BlackGuard

Vermaas swung the practice sword to his left, then back around to his right expertly blocking both swings by the combat servitor. He swiftly moved back as a third blade came swinging by him before moving in for another attack of his own which was parried. Vermaas' mind was reeling with dark thoughts, more so these days since he spoke with Sergeant Kain. He knew it was slowing him down, making his reaction time slower and it was exactly why he was here. Should duty ever call he would need to be at his best and could not afford such luxuries as doubt or confusion. Only by sweat, blood, and strain could a true Astartes clear his mind -- for there was no other state of being that felt more at home to them. For nearly a week he'd kept himself locked away either in the training cages, ruthlessly going through exercise after exercise, in the Reclusium in deep prayer to the God-Emperor, or in his private quarters meditating on the issues of the Chapter.

'Increase threat level,' he intoned, 'Maximus.'

The combat servitor came alive and swung like a wild beast with blades swing in all different directions trying to throw him off his balance with feints, thrusts, swings, and stabs. He felt the doubt in his mind begin to recede as his combat instincts took over and he came into his more pure state of a gene-forged killing machine. He blocked two of the servitor's blades on his practice sword, grabbed the cold metal of another sword-arm and kicked out knocking the machine back a few paces before quickly moving in to slam his fist into its metal body -- leaving a small dent. Blades flashed out and he dodged most and blocked the rest. The duel between man and machine continued for hours. Vermaas could have ended it at any time but it kept his attention and his mind on war, tactics, and combat instead of matters that were of no concern to him; such as the murky fate of his chapter.

'End,' he stated coldly and the combat servitor went from a raging mad machine to docile in a heartbeat. Sweat poured down his body and his muscles ached, the bruises of several injuries covered his body. As he exited the practice cages he made sure to robe himself in simple cloth, adorned in the Chapter's colors, before leaving.

It was some time later that he stood alongside the remnants of his Chapter before Lord Thrasius as he made his decree about the Black Templars and Ferim. He fealt uneasy as soon as he heard of the Templars. They were one of the very first successor chapters of the Imperial Fists and they were known to be vengeful of psykers of all kinds. He was unsure if the Scythes should adopt such a stance. He kept his council to himself though and disbanded back to the Reclusium to pray on the matter. 

Perhaps the Emperor would give him the wisdom he needed.


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## Jackinator

Raziel was in the chapel when Vermaas and Kain expounded their views of Cleomenes, he was knelt in a side alcove, all but invisible in the deep shadows and partially concealed by the drapes hung from the top of the arch. He stayed silent as they talked, considering his own dark thoughts in the safety of darkness. Where they had nought but shadowy company.

He smirked at their comments on Cleomenes, and raised a surprised eyebrow. True he felt much the same about the arrogant Space Marine, but he was amused that these two would discuss him so. He had always been the rebel in his youth, now these two appeared to be trying for the mantle, though he had to admit pulling a pistol on a brother was a new one.

He was rubbing the Aqulia clutched gently in his huge calloused hand, and bent his head back to it as footsteps echoed out of the chapel. He waited and before two long, Kain followed. Rising, he exited the chapel, made one last genuflection, before turning and going the way of his brothers.

---

The Black Templars. They were... interesting men. He had fought alongside one in the Death Watch, a fierce, unforgiving man who was terrifying in battle, he had ripped an Ork Nob limb from limb and then used those limbs to beat back another mob of orks. Though they could be, unforgiving, whether they would consider the Scythes as still pure when one of their number had fallen to Tzeentch. His jaw tightened. Only time would tell.


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## unxpekted22

(the parts that say 'everyone' at this time includes Solaki, Vermaas, Cleomenes, Raxan, Raziel, Kain, Dymethus, and Spurius

As Thrasius directed, the crew aboard _The Heart_ prepares for warp travel and soon enough the massive Flagship sails through the colorful demonic ocean.

Vermaas:

During warp travel You have a vision. Oddly, you cannot recall when you experienced it. Whether it was during prayer or meditation, battle practice or sleep...you just seem to have it in your memory now but it is as vivid as your own hands before your eyes. In fact, thats how the vision starts. Your hands open palmed and fingers half curled in their black gauntlets for a moment as if they are both holding something other than air. They seem to move forward on their own, your body with them. They suddenly take a strong grip upon two handles with large triggers attached to them. An Assault cannon mounted on a turret extends over a crumbling building wall, a few stories above the ground. Several bombed out structures fill your view beneath a gray smoke-filled sky. Below you in the street marches what must be at last a hundred men dressed to the Imperial Guard. They march toward your position. 

You cant see them, and you cant make out who the voices belong to, but you know that some of your brothers are near you on the building's rooftop. You open fire, see bright muzzle flare and distant sparks of dark red, and thats it.

Everyone:

If your characters had something to say to someone during the previous update but did not get to, it is during this time that they may.

_The Heart_ Makes good time, taking only eight days to reach Ferim's system. It takes about another days travel to reach where the Black Templar strike cruiser already awaits, not far from the orbit of Ferim's further of two moons currently designated only as M2.

All of what is effectively squad Scrious as well as several other Scythes of the Emperor.

As to seeing the moons designated as M1 and M2 Thrasius makes the comment, "It certainly is not like the Imperium to take its time in naming its territory...odd."

"The Black Templar Strike Cruiser _Indignere Iudex_ in view my Lord, both ships are en route to approach." says one of the dozens of piloting crew from his hunched, seated position; only turning his head to speak and exposing the cables attached to his head and chest that lead into the panels before him.

Within the next couple of hours, all of you are in the hangar bay area to accompany Lord Thrasius in his formal greeting. Alexander, Ryan, Zurick, Izrael, Tobias, and the remaining sergeants are also present.

By this time you are all well aware that Thrasius has two obectives in mind for the Templar Chaplain. The first is to inspect the new recruits for tainted minds. The second is to train one of the Scythes to be a chaplain and teach them how to detect taint without the use psyker powers. 

You all know you are among your Lord's favoured troops...

A black Thunderhawk swims though space toward the bay opening. It slips through the shields and gravity containment fields, going from a silent fish to an obnoxiously loud beast. As its engines whine and cool, you all come to formation behind your Lord. Your ears quickly mute most of the engine noise and pick up a new sound, one of heavy clanking coming from behind the blast doors. And before the thunderhawk's black doors open still, something slams into your sense of smell. 

As soon as the doors opne a dusty looking cloud of smoke pours out onto the metal floor and slowly up into the hangar air. The source of the smell: incense, and lots of it. From out of the cloud of incense first emerges a Black Templar with the chaplan's banner rising from his powerpack. Behind him come two Sword brethren in terminator armor....something your chapter has been lacking since Miral. One of them bears lightning claws, deactivated of course, and the other bears a power sword and storm bolter. Behind them emerges Chaplain Albrecht. His armor a more coal-like black than his brothers' jet-black. His helm sharply edged and all black as well, looking more like a skull than the usual MKVII helm. His red eye lenses also brighter than normal, but the light more focused to appear as pupils. Six more Astartes line up beside the banner holder. 

All of them have impressively decorated armor. Each suit is marked with several campaign markings of white and red. They bristle with iconography such as skulls, eight point stars, and litanies... not to mention weapons. Intricately designed blades of many sizes, chainswords with gleeming teeth, and so many chains and strips of parchment as if they were ribbon. All of them but the chaplain have their helmet's removed as a polite formality.

Thrasius and Albrecht approach, a warriors handshake between them and formalities spoken. The chaplain introdues the two terminators, each the sergeant of the two terminator squads under his command, one assault based the other standard.

"Brother Sergeant Ulric," he says waving to the one with lightning claws, "And Brothe Sergeant Roth," he says waving to the other.

"Have you had time to scan the planet yet Chaplain? I noticed the two moons haven't been formally named yet, which seems odd."

A harsh voice lashes out from the Albrecht's grill-vox "Despite this oddity, Ferim itself seems to be breeming with hive-city activity since when you last left, according to the information you sent me regarding its condition at that time. The section you are familair with, Vorspire, has increased more than ten-fold in size and population. Your chapter has been semingly out of contact with the Imperium for more than a decade now. I regretfully inform you, the Imperium is not what it was in the late 41st millenium. Th beginning of the 42nd has been unkind to say the least. We need a chapter like the Scythes o the Emperor back in the fight...thus, why I am so eager to offer my assistance on this day."

"I see," replies Thrasius, "Let's not wast time then. To the first order of business. Alexander, Tobias, I assume Brothr Niko has prepared the youths for the Chaplain's examination?"

Alexander begins to offer his affirmation when Albrecht interrupts, "Let's not waste time indeed, Lord of the Scythes. I am plenty capable of performing both tasks simultaneously. Lead me to them."

Though he doesnt explain how, and simply follows Thrasius. Alexander, Tobias, the other Scythe sergeants and the two terminator sergeants leave with them. This leaves the eight of you looking at the seven remaining templars...who all stare back with little to no emotion on their faces whatsoever.

But without warning they become alive. One who bears a long sword sheathed at his hip, with bright blonde hair and dark eyes moves forward pointing at Vermaas, "A brother-cousin I could come to like quickly I think." he then offers his hand to Vermaas.

The one with an axe and plasma pistol, a grim face like tree bark, brown hair and several service studs to boast speaks next,"Always so quick and brash Leonard..."

The largest one who carries te heavy bolter booms out in a loud voice that nearly echoes, heavily accented, "Well this is depressing. You Scythes were such a lively bunch in the Damocles."

One with a pistol and chainswod turns his head to one with a bolter and sword, both have dark hair and tanned faces, "Is this really all they have left?"

The second replies by adressing the Scythes, "Indeed? Are there less of you than what we saw on Tri'vaa? You took losses on the world we orbit? How did those tyranids escape Tri'vaa and make it all the way here? We bombarded the surface.... By the way, I am brother Zamiel my holy allies."

Another Templar holding a pistol and chainsword on his form remains still, but as more begin to speak the more you can pick up shaky muttering of some kind escaping his helm.

The one with the banner atop his powerpack cooly walks to Solaki, looks him up and down and asks, "What legendary veteran do I have the honour of standing in front of? I am not familiar."

The last one who has a bolter at one hip and what appears to be a short linked mace on the other stands with arms crossed, merely scanning.

Greet the Templars. I will make mini updates as necessary. That or I will PM replies. Other than that, post your charcaters reactions to the rest of the update as usual.


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## Deus Mortis

Solaki stood in the hangar bay with the rest of the remaining Scythes of the Emperor. He had been asleep for most of their transit from Sotha’s system to Ferim. Again, he had almost expected to dream, but he had not. Nothing was out of the ordinary and if he could only forget that he had ever dreamt in the first place, it would be like nothing had ever changed. He knew that Thrasius had gathered many of his favoured troops as well as his most senior staff to greet the Templars. Solaki could only assume that he was here to demonstrate that, in some capacity, the Scythes were still functioning normally. Well, almost normally. All they lacked was a means to detect psykers and a chaplain to nurture the spiritual health of the chapter as it recovered. But then, that was why they were here.

Solaki couldn’t help but go back in his mind to the last time they had been here, orbiting Ferim in high anchor. They had known their quarry was somewhere down on that planet, but had yet to find it. Him and Brother Devin had joked and laughed about his brother being able to kill the larger of the tyranid’s bioforms. They had bet and laughed and embraced. Then they had gone back down to that blasted planet and it had torn them apart. Their most hated foe had been more prepared than they anticipated. Solaki had not seen Devin aboard the _Heart_ since Ferim. It was possible that their paths had just not crossed, and that was possible. But it was also possible that he had died with too many others on that forsaken planet, and Solaki did not want to ask in hope only to have it crushed. Better to live in ignorance.

The black form of the Templar’s Thunderhawk eclipsed Solaki’s view of the planet he had almost lost everything on and snapped him back to reality. The Chaplain Albrecht waded through the fog of incense which swirled around their feet. There were two terminators which accompanied him and seven other marines. Each was ornately decorated, as to be expected of the Templars. However, it only served to accentuate the contrast between the noble, well stocked chapter that the Templars were and the struggling, barely recovering chapter that the Scythes were. If Solaki’s chest moved as he breathed in, he would have puffed out his chest in order to show he would not be cowed. 

However, he doubted the Templars would have been impressed. Solaki wasn’t sure if it was his own standing within the Templar chapter or the fact that the Scythes were barely larger than a half company of marines, but Albrecht seemed to only show the most base respect for Thrasius and even less for Alexander and the other senior members of the Scythes. Or perhaps that was just how chaplains were; they flaunted authority and need answer to no one. Honestly, Solaki could scarcely remember how chaplains were meant to behave or treat their brothers. The only half memory he had was Arx, but even then he was not a true chaplain. He just might have been, given the chance.

The Lord of the Scythes and the others apart from those in Squad Scrious lead the Chaplain and his terminator sergeants out of the hangar. For a moment, the Templars just stared at the Scythes. They were like Black Sentinels. They neither moved, nor spoke; they simply stared in casual indifference as the Scythes gathered before them. However, the moment both the leaders had left the room, it was like these men of obsidian suddenly ceased to be stone and became alive. One seemed to have taken a liking to Vermaas. Another identified the first as Leonard. _"Well this is depressing. You Scythes were such a lively bunch in the Damocles."_ said another. “A lot has happened since Damocles.” Solaki said.

_"Is this really all they have left?"_ said another. The one who identified Leonard agreed and identified himself as Berek. Solaki was sure they meant not offence by their words, but surely they were not dense enough to realise that the Scythes needed no reminders about their numbers, or lack thereof. The one with the banner approached Solaki and coldly assessed him. _"What legendary veteran do I have the honour of standing in front of? I am not familiar."_ Solaki hoped the Templar was not being sarcastic in how he spoke. Solaki did consider correcting him on the status he had bestowed on Solaki, but though better of it. The Templars did not need another reason to doubt the Scythes. “I am Solaki. I was on Damocles and Sotha, like many of those here. And who are you, cousin?” Solaki’s metallic voice rasped from out of his vox grill…


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## BlackGuard

Vermaas stood near Lord Thrasius has the Templar's thunderhawk passes the protection field, a thin membrane seperating them from the harshness of the void. Its loudy engines resonate around the bay, a thundering sound that would deafen mortals but his helm's auto-sensors detect the danger and immediately protect his ear-drums from the worst of the pain. Still, even with a suit, given his proximity and the restrictions of his suit there was a slight ache for a few moments. 

The craft lands and the loading ram hisses open and he sees only darkness. His nose, on the other hand, is assaulted by the smell of incense and he feels a moment of sorrow. Those same smells, not exact but close, use to premeate the Reclusium -- they use to drift around their own Chaplains to various degrees. Vermaas blinked as a question rose to his mind he couldn't answer -- who was their last chaplain? He found it disturbing that he, a veteran of three centuries, couldn't answer. Then the figure, a darker smother in the pitch blackness, emerged. He held aloft their Chaplain's banner and behind him came two more in tactical dreadnaught armor, something the Sycthes were grossly lacking. He eyed them as they marched in silence down the ramp but then caught the sight of the man himself. 

Chaplain Albrecht. Their supposed saviour. Vermaas was a righteous Astartes and while he felt his faith was not as strong as it needed to be he clung to it nontheless -- still this man struck him with a kind of arrogance. His walk spoke of authoritarian duty, of unyielding rigidity to an equally stoic set of beliefs. His skull-faced helm, so typical of Chaplains, glowed with a malevolent light those promised only swift death to those who fell short of those eyes and perhaps a slight compliment to those found true. It was not a balanced trade in Vermaas' eyes. But then nothing ever was.

Lord Thrasius and Albrecht approach has cousins and embrance like warriors. Vermaas eyes his chapter master wearily and begins to wonder why the Templars of all Chapters. He catches himself and purges the thoughts from his mind -- it is not his to question only to do. His attention remains on the conversation and his mood grows dark with each passing second. Who was this Astartes, a mere Chaplain, to disrepect Lord Thrasius? His grip tightened on his botler, held at a ceremonial 'at-the-ready'. He kept himself in check, even to the Templars it would only have appeared to be a slight rebalance. 

He did not move his head, kept it firmly forward like an statue as Thrasius and Albrecht left the hanger bay, surronded by their honor guards. Scarcely fifteen seconds later he noticed the other six Templars standing in front of them, each as unmoving and unspeaking as he. Suddenly one of them came alive. He had long golden hair and dark eyes with a sword at his side moves swiftly towards Vermaas.

_'A brother-cousin I could come to like quickly I think,'_ he says extending his hand.

Time slowed and Vermass' equilibirum felt suddenly off. He looked at the approaching hand of the Templar, his fingers slightly curled and black and then he remembered a vision. His mind reeled and fought against it for a moment -- how could he remmeber a vision? He hadn't had a vision. His eyes stare at the painfully slow moving hands of the Templar and he digs up this sudden memory from his mind. He stands with his hands wrapping around an autocannon, in the distance he can see the massed ranks of the Imperial Guard marching towards them, he can feel the chatter of the autocannon as he unleashes it into the distance. He remembers hearing voices, they sound so much like his brothers but yet too vague to pin a face to. What in the name of the God-Emperor could this mean?

Then he realized the hand was just stopping before him, at a respectful distance and the eyes of the Templar were wide and full of curiosity. He hesitated for maybe a heartbeat or two, before lowering his weapon and mag-locking it at his side and grasping the hand before him.

_'Like-wise brother-cousin,'_ he said, letting the title hang waiting for a name, it was given to him by one of the Templar's brothers, _'Leonard. I am Vermaas, how was your travel?'_

He felt conflicted. He dispised Albrecht but the one before him held none of the pomposity of the Chaplain. He dismissed the Templar Chaplain altogether -- perhaps it had truly been too long since the Scythes had one. Maybe their's had been just as arrogant and rigid and the memories were just dull in his mind.


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## Capussa

Standing in line with the rest of the Squad Dymethus felt, proud, awkward & worried. Proud that he had been chosen for this duty, to have risen so far so quickly was unexpected, even in a chapter as ravaged as they Scythes. Awkward because it was his first time as an honour guard for anyone or thing, and due to his sudden meteoric rise in station he had not yet formed a true bond with the rest of his unit. And worried that he’d make some error and bring dishonour upon the chapter and himself. He felt sure that there were other Scythes who should be here, there were some he thought would have made this kind of rise naturally in any chapter, though for one reason or another they did not make it to full battle brother.

During the journey Dymethus had taken to having discussions with the other members of the squad, with mixed success as several members were otherwise occupied with various duties.

The noise produced by the Templar’s Thunderhawk was overwhelming as it entered the hanger and bought Dymethus out of his revere, he listened intently to the various sounds of hearing the slight differences between the engines. Analysing this he determined that the craft was in perfect working order though the port engine had a stronger spirit than the others, a quirk that had developed over centuries or perhaps millennia of use.

The spectacle of the Chaplain’s arrival was almost enough to break Dymethus’ composure, he had seen anything like it before, not even during the feast days back on Radnor when the priests of the Imperial Cult put on dramatic and impressive displays of the power of the Emperor. The two terminators only raised the opulence of the spectacle, as the Scythes had no remaining terminators or suits of tactical drednought armour Dymethus had never had such a good look at a suit. The mass of additional detailing added told of the wearers deeds but did nothing to hide the sheer power and intimidation of the armour.

As Lord Thracius and Chaplain Albrect introduced each other and their closest, Dymethus remained in position awaiting the instruction to fall out and opportunity to see the Templars method of examination. He almost turned to follow his lord out of the hangar, but the lack of order held him in place. He now looked upon the Templars lined up opposite his squad, there was little else to do at this point. A few of the Templars started to introduce themselves to other members of the squad. 

One of them mentioned Damcoles, a campaign fought before the Adeptus Astartes were more than just a rumoured bogy man used by parent to encourage their children to behave. Another piece of history I am not a part of, but have to live up to, he thought.

Dymethus decided to take the plunge and pick a Templar to introduce him self to. Unsure about approaching any of them, he decided to just announce himself in the same manner as Zamiel. As he spoke he changed his mind and approached Zamiel offering his hand

“I am Brother Dymethus Galunus, of Sqaud Scrious.”


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