# The Halcyon Incursion



## Scathainn (Feb 21, 2010)

The Halcyon Incursion
A Space Marine Roleplay

_The tragedy of war is that it uses man's best to do man's worst. - Harry Fosdick

War does not determine who is right - only who is left. ~Bertrand Russell_​

High Chaplain Mikhail Jhonikov stood hunched over the podium staring at the assembled mass of his brothers around him. Seven hundred and sixty-four Battle Brothers of arguably the most terrifying chapter of Space Marines in the Imperium. Of the nine companies of full-fledged Battle-Brothers only the Fifth Company was not in attendance; their continuing conflict with the tyranids in the Zsaz'o quadrant meant that attendance of the Revelation of the Sacred Blood was impossible. But the host assembled here was fearsome nonetheless; seven hundred and sixty four space marines, armour deepest black flanked with grey like fog and crimson red. Each one coated in the blood of the slain and trophies from their honoured predecessors. If it weren't for the fact that he was assembled in front of the entire chapter, Mikhail would begin to weep.

He shook himself. He had a job to do; this was his first direction of the Revelation of the Sacred Blood, the most holy rite performed by any Chaplain of the Sin-Eaters. With the entire chapter, including the Venerable Brothers in their iron tombs and the assembled Chapter Council, watching his rites, he needed to get this totally right. He looked around at the building inside as the Battle-Brothers conversed quietly among themselves. They were inside the Obsidian Sepulcher, the tomb of the greatest heroes of the Sin-Eaters chapter. Built almost entirely out of rare obsidian from Holy Terra, the tomb was massive, easily fitting not only nearly the whole chapter but the hundreds of graves of honoured dead.

The ornate gilded chronometer high in the rafters amidst the stained glass windows began to click ominously. At once, the entire assembled host of marines snapped to attention and raised their right fist above their breastbone. The chronometer began to chime a deep bass twenty times. At each chime, every frater in the room slammed his fist into his chestplate, Dreadnoughts included. The combined sound of the ceremony was like listening to an immense meteor impacting on the surface of the planet. As the last chime faded into silence the assembled host stopped and stared directly at Mikhail. Although he was hesitant to admit it, Mikhail had never been more nervous in his life.

He took one last look around the room at the assembled host of marines before clearing his throat. The sound, magnified by the massive chamber and the silence of his brothers, was like a thunderclap. "Brothers," he began, "we are standing on a crossroads. Two paths, but one traveler, we are. As Space Marines in service of His Divine Omnipotence we are twofold. On the one hand, we are the shield of the Imperium. We are the defender of the weak, yet devout, servants of His Majesty. We are the bastion the frightened, sheltered masses of humanity cowers behind. We are the shield. And yet, on the other hand, we are also the sword. With bolter and blade we deliver sweet death to the heretics, mutants, and xenos scum that assails the Imperium from all sides. Even reduced to our bare fists and savage fangs we tear at the accursed assailants of this Holy Empire with a fury rivaling that of the so-called "gods" they worship. Two paths, one traveler."

He paused, whirring the Maw of Sanguinus anxiously as he did so. "And so we honour that duality today in this, the most holy ceremony in this Blessed Chapter's history. We honour the dual purposes of ourselves...and of our honoured dead." He waved the massive chainfist to one of the walls. "Observe, my brothers, the consequences of our dual purposes, for if we do not view our failings, we may never improve in His Holy Work of Death." With his other hand, he pressed a small button on the underside of the altar he stood at. Slowly, with a groan of shuddering metal, the inlain spade-like discs on the walls slid up to reveal hundreds of armaglas tombs containing the bodies of the Holy Dead. Some contained the bodies of fratres who were still in the condition of their death, unmarred by decay. Others, in the case of those battle-brothers who's bodies were unobtainable, bore simple plaques or personal belongings. None wore armour; the corpses were dressed in black robes and their eyes bound with blindfolds.

"This," intoned Mikhail, "is the price of the shield. Even we, the strongest and most fearsome servants of His Immortal Majesty, do not always succeed. Here lies the remains of the brothers who spent their most valued ammunition in service of the Emperor; their lives. Gaze upon the honoured dead, for they gaze upon us all in eternity, waiting for that day when His Glorious Emminence will walk mortal soil once more. Gaze, and hail the honoured dead." With one fluid motion, the entire assembled mass raised their right hand once again and slammed it into their chest. Returning once again to ordered ranks, the Space Marines turned back to Mikhail.

Mikhail then reached below the altar to the hidden golden lockbox and withdrew a small gilded vial. "And this," he whispered, voice automatically amplified by the sepulchre's speaker system, "is the price of the sword." At once the entire assembled company dropped to their right knee and bowed their heads, with the exception of Mikhail, who still held the vial. "The Sacred Blood," he breathed. "One of the most sacred relics in the entire Imperium. A single drop of the blood of our Blessed Primogenitor, Sanguinus himself. He was the ultimate sword. He gave his life to strike at the Arch-Heretic, the accursed Horus the Betrayer, and in doing so revealed to Our Beloved Lord the true intentions of his once-Favoured Son. Here we kneel in the presence of our Father. And now, just as we honoured our dead, we must embrace our father."

Walking slowly and deliberately, Mikhail strode down to the assembled crown, cradling the vial. Travelling up and down the ranks of the assembled host, he stopped at each and every Space Marine in the tomb. When the Chaplain stopped in front of them, the marine in question would remove his helmet and gently kiss the vial. Even the Venerable Brothers, entombed in their iron prisons, bent and touched their faceplate to the sacred glass. Stopping at the chapter council, Mikhail watched as the Chapter Master, Methuselah of the Bloodied Fang, bent and gently kissed the glass. Strinding once again to the altar, removed his helmet, and kissed the vial. Placing it gently back in the lockbox, he locked it deliberately with it's gilded key and placed his helmet back on. 

"Now, my brothers, go in the service of the Emperor." The host stood as one and stared at the altar again.

"So we go, our blood calling for the enemy, our souls whispering the Emperor's name," he intoned, along with the other marines. As Mikhail watched, the companies dispersed throughout the fortress-monastery, their commanders already returning their attention to the art of war.

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All - All of you, being veterans, are members of the First Company. However your Captain has no immediate assignments and so you all go your seperate ways, as described below...

Aurio Daverin - After the ceremony, you make your way towards the armoury to inquire with some of the Techmarines; your storm shield's power cells have been acting up lately. This has been your second time receiving the Sacred Blood; as you walk away you can still feel the cold glass on your lips, see the dried blood inside the vial, _hear_ the voice of the Primarch; faint and far away, but still clear. You ponder the ceremony as you arrive in the massive chamber, packed to the brim with weapons and vehicles. The chamber is cold. Cold like death.

((Converse with the Techmarine; small-talk really, or problems with your storm shield. Is it hard to fix, or a simple problem? What are your thoughts on the ceremony? How did it go for you? What about the honoured dead? Did you know any? Kind of a bad start, I know, but I'm only playing off of what you gave me.))

Cassius Scipio Augustus - You leave the ceremony in a sullen mood, headed for the drinking halls. As much as the new High Chaplain seems like a good religious leader, the ceremony reminded you of your dear friend Arkuliae. You miss him already, like a brother; the memory of the action on the sulfur fields of Jjojos are fresh in your mind. You can even remember the exact moment he died, pierced through the chest by a bright lance. But the final blow was the ruined shell of Arkuliae himself, entomed in one of the armaglas containers on the sepulcher wall, gaping hole still in his chest.

You grimace. Perhaps some heavy drinking of that delicious sanguine will clear your mind a bit. You enter the drinking hall to find it mostly empty. Grabbing a mug and filling yourself up, you sit and one of the long tables and nurse the red alchohol, thinking of memories past. 

((Think of memories you've had with Arkuliae. What did you like about him? What do you think about Mikhail? Also, what were your experiences with the ceremony. Like Aurio, this is your second time experiencing it. Did you recognize the dead among the tombs? How many were your comrades? And the Sacred Blood; what were your feelings about it?))

Michelangelo Mangano - You walk towards your personal quarters in the fortress monastery, strangely tired. You don't know why, but you are experiencing severe fatigue and a very bad headache. Then again, you did return from warp-travel only two days ago; perhaps some of the side effects of warp travel still lingered.

On your way to your quarters, you are stopped by two young Chapter Serfs; the oldest couldn't be more than ten, and the younger was only seven, by your estimate. Giggling at your presence, they hide behind a corner and watch you, huddled in their tiny black robes emblazoned with the chapter symbol.

((How does your headache feel? How tired are you? What happened in your Warp Journey? And the children. How do you interact with them? Do you politely converse with them, or shoo them away as you exhaustedly travel towards your quarters? Do you know them? Perhaps you've met them before.))

Tacticus Romus - You leave the ceremony eagerly. Before the rites, one of the more burly members of the First Company, a hulking squadmate of yours by the name of Aleksandr has challenged you to a friendly boxing match in the chapter arena. A few other squadmates of yours are tagging along to watch the fight. Stripping out of your armour, you enter the dirt arena and bare your fists at Aleksandr, who grins at you cockily.

"Maybe you might actually win this time, eh, Romo?" You grimace a bit. As much as you like Aleksandr, you hate that nickname. You're going to have to teach him a lesson...the hard way. You lift one fist in his direction threateningly. "I guess you'll have to find out," you laugh.

((Beat 'em up! Aleksandr's quite a bit stronger than you, being the squad's dedicated heavy bolter man, but you've got the edge in speed. He's gonna rough you up quite a bit but you'll eventually win. But what about the watchers? They may have been betting on the fight...did they win or lose? How did they react to the fight?))

Lucifer Octavius - You've left the ceremony to head to the firing range to practice with your plasma pistol. In your last mission, the pistol overheated three separate times, all three of which were due to personal error. You need more practice with it, and so you're resorting to simple shooting. As the targets slide out from behind the wall, you grimace as memories of the painful burns fill your mind. You'll have to reprimand that source of error.

((Sorry about the bad update, but there's not much to work with. How accurate are you? What exactly happened relating to your burns? When did they happen? Did they affect your mission? And what about the ceremony? How did it go for you?))

Brother Fenix Xentor - As you leave the ceremony, you head to the librarium in search of some reading material. When you enter, you're met by a very different story. Two elderly chapter serfs are sitting across from each other playing a game of chaz, one of your favourite games adapted from an ancient Terran pastime. As the two moved the various pieces one after another, they debate one of your favourite subjects; interplanetary moral code. 

"Do you mind if I sit here?" you ask the two. Startled by you, the two serfs nod and wave to a seat perpendicular from them. You sit and watch their game and listen to your debate.

((Watch the game; it is one of your favourite games after all. How is the game going? Perhaps you may want to challenge the winner. What about the debate? Perhaps you might want to interject at some point; what are your feelings on the subject?))

Vitus Cornelius Appirga - You leave the ceremony a bit shellshocked. Being one of the younger members of the First Company, this was your first rite of the Sacred Blood that you've ever experienced. Can you imagine? The Blood of Sanguinus was mere inches from your lips! You head to your quarters and sit on your bed, thinking about what just happened. The honoured dead, the Sacred Blood, the oath; all of it is a bit much for you.

However, that is by no means your only concern. As you remove your armour, you notice the paint of your armour is beginning to flake. You'll have to see the chapter heraldrist to fix it up.

((What are your feelings? The Ceremony was a truly awe-inspiring event, enough to break the hearts of even the bravest men, especially for one who's never seen it before. And what about your armour? You'll have to converse with the heraldrist to fix your armour up; perhaps you might want something enscribed on your armour (keep in mind your left shoulderpad is unadorned).))

Dominus Hasta - You leave the ceremony with creative juices flowing throughout your brain. The majesty of the sepulchre has really gotten some ideas flowing in your head. Heading off to your quarters, you immediately grab a sheet of paper and a pen to jot down some music. You remember one of the serfs mentioning earlier that the servitor choir needed some new songs to import, as the old ones were getting a bit old. Perhaps you might be able to get something new written up.

You scoff. Even if that's going to happen, you're going to have to get to work.

((What happened in there? How did the chamber inspire your musical abilities? What kind of music are you going to write up? And what about the rite itself? How did that go for you?))

Clodius Terentius Vulso - The ceremony has filled your heart with even more devotion to the Emperor, if it was even possible. Your whole mind is filled with the words of the saints of old and preachers of today, but unfortunately you have more pressing matters to attend to. Before the ceremony, you were asked to man the systems comms after the ceremony. You grumble as you head off to the comm chambers. The systems comms were famously boring, as nothing out of the ordinary ever showed up on them.

As you head to the access terminal and log in, mind still filled with faith, you at first fail to notice the almost immediate beeping sounds emminating from the terminal. Only after a solid three minutes of daydreaming do you come back to reality enough to notice the mass of red dots indicating hostiles a mere twenty light-minutes away.

((This one should be self-explanatory; the "Holy shit!" alarms have been sounded! What are you going to do? Can you access any files to see the defenses of the planet? Who will you alert first? Or will it even make a difference?))

((Let the games begin, everyone :victory: ))


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## Snowy (Jul 11, 2009)

Lucifer looked down-range, his eyes directly along the barrel of his pistol, he pulled the trigger twice and the two targets, thirty metres downrange and five metres apart, exploded in a hot, white flash, Lucifer grimaced, it reminded him of his last mission when he had nearly melted his own hand off and had come close to blowing his pistol up.
He fired off three more shots at three grouped together targets, in the end he only hit one of them.
Lucifer cursed himself and took more careful aim down the course, he popped off another shot which ripped the target from its railing. He then took aim at the next one and popped off two shots, one at the head, one at the body, both fatal. the one aimed at the head missed by mere millimetres, but the second shot impacted with the body and a hole was burnt throught the target.

He then turned away from the static shooting range.
_'Enough static shooting, time to practice my ability to fire on the move,'_ Lucifer thought as he walked up to the shooting course.

As he walked inside he was immediately scanned and the sensors attached to his armour glowed as they were activated.
He then stepped into the course and started sprinting down the narrow hallway, pistol up and ready, he remembered what had happened on his last mission, it was in a hallway not much different than this...

...Lucifer ran, pistol aimed down the narrow hallway, he ran hard and fast, legs pumping, he spun round a corner and there stood a cultist, Lucifer brought up his pistol and fired, the blinding flash that followed was suprisingly bright and starting to burn...
...his pistol was overheating.
Lucifer threw his pistol at the cultist, who caught it and immediately screamed, the overheating pistol melting his hands.
He fell to the floor and dropped the now cooled pistol at Lucifers feet. he bent over and picked up the pistol and while he did he broke the heretics neck with a small flick of the wrist...

...Lucifer shook off the memory, it made the burns on his hand sting, he thought of the ceremony to take his mind off it. He thought of the blood of his Lord, the purest drop of blood he knew, he thought of the cold touch of the vial and he remembered the look of the dried blood, even in death the Primarch still reviewed his subjects.

Lucifer ran down the hallway and spun round a corner, he dropped to one knee and aimed down the corridor, seeing no targets he got up and walked cautiously down the corridor, pistol at the ready.
He came to a door and without second thought kicked it open and walked through, instantly a loud beeping sound came from Lucifer chest, he looked down and saw one of his sensors was blinking red, he knew what this meant, he was dead, he had been shot through the chest by a weapon powerful enough to break his powerful body.
He threw down his pistol in disappointment and then picked it up and holstered it.

*'Looks like I may have to learn how to restrain my battle-lust,'* Lucifer said to himself as he started the course again.


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## Scythe Beast (Jun 22, 2010)

Fenix Xentor took the seat, resting his mighty form on the the seat fit for a marine, the debate was interesting to him, one's moral code. A gift from the Emperor to humanity. Putting his mailed hand over his mask's chin, his eyes fixed on the game in play and oddly he had not played in sometime as most marines refuse, that was the way of many Sin-Eaters. 

He wasn't as welcome to 3rd company as he had wanted as he was the replacement to a honored brother and they still morned his lose. some he though looked at him as a promotion hungry marine but that reason was false.
He liked being a brother, fighting with his fellow space marine shoulder to shoulder.

The Chaplain's sermon was beyond question, as always but the he couldn't shake the feeling that the Chaplain had something else on his mind...

back to the game at hand he watched carefully...the tip of victory was balanced on a sword's tip.


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## The Psyker (Jun 29, 2010)

_Clodius stood stock straight moments after the Revelation of the Sacred Blood. His mind had been occupied with this sacred rite months before it was to actually be performed. And at its conclusion he was right, The Emperor of Mankind and Sanguinius was still watching over them all. The chapter was alive and well, no shortage of recruits in these days of constant warfare. His mind was filled with the words of Mikhail, the entire sermon was memorized and catalogued in his mind. The words of other sermons also mingled in his thoughts, inspiring and filling him with even more devotion to his beloved Emperor._

Glory to Sanguinius and the Blessed Emperor... Throne I feel alive.

_Suddenly he felt the impact of a brothers palm on his shoulder, catching him off guard and making him sway just a little. He looked up and saw Brother Sargeant Tiberius' solemn face. He reminded him that it was his post in the Communications wing._

Brother Clodius, need I remind you that it is your post in the vox chapel? I will give you leiniency due to your pious nature, the ritual was inspiring indeed. Never have I seen a more promising age in our chapter... Now on to your duty.\par

Yes brother sargeant. The Emperor protects...

_He turned and began to make his way past the battle brothers that had began to return to posts and exercises. He saluted a few notable captains and sargeants as he passed, respectfully giving the sign of the Aquila to the various librarians and chaplains. Once he was out of the Obsidian Sepulcher he made his way up the various mag lifts and tunnels to the Communications Wing. The brother that manned the vox throne stood up and saluted him with the sign of the aquila before walking away. Clodius sat down at the vox throne and sat back a bit, resting his elbows against the stone arm. His mind began to drift off twoards the memories of his first Revelation of The Sacred Blood. The creeping cold that lingered on his lips, the smell of century old stone and the necrosis of the glorified fallen._

So long I have served in his name... This post humanity is a gift from the emperor, and I do feel gifted. So long as I draw breath I shall serve...

_Another vox chime sounded out, this time more urgent then the last. He looked up from his reverie and glanced down at the flourescent green sphere, at first he dismissed the flickering red lights as a glitch. The master vox system was centuries old and prone to rare malfunctions. He was about to drift back to his thoughts, that is until the hard white line returned the same reading. At that same time on the opposite side of the console a planetary vox screen began to show a flood of traffic on the outpost networks. After listening to three vox messages of confirmed sightings he immediately turned to the side panel and thumbed in the proper vox codes, suddenly claxons would ring out through the entire chapter facility. He then pressed another vox code and sent a general vox message through the entire planetary defense net, command grade code issued only to vox operators and select memebers of the chapter. With his other hand he worked the central control panel and brought up the orbital defense platforms, to his terror the entire orbital network was offline. His voice was filled with awe at the efficiency that the invaders used... NO! These were invaders, worthy of neither his awe or pity. He steeled his voice as he took up the vox caster and spoke with a most urgent tone._

Vox code Theta, Ion, Omega, Alpha...This is Brother Clodius Terentius Vulso of the Sin Eaters. We have multiple contacts by the orbital auspex network! Visual confirmation of drop craft and interplanetary vessles. PDF and Imperial forces are to switch to RED ALERT, I repeat RED ALERT the defense platforms have either been compromised or bypassed...

_He looked down and began to count the algamation of various sized blips but stopped knowing there were too many new contacts with every clockwise turn of the hard white line. Suddenly the Master at Arms burst in the room flanked by a retinue of aides that hurried to auxillary vox units, activating them and working feverishly to decipher the threat. The Master at Arms was an old and grizzled astartes, looking even more gaunt and macabre with his advanced age. Where his left leg should have been was a replacment bionic prosthetic that hissed and squeeked as he ambled over to Clodius' terminal. The grizzled marine studied the read outs and vox globe, nodding his head with Clodius' assesment._

You were correct in your actions Brother Clodius. You are to stay here at the vox terminal until called to your squad... This is most peculiar, how did these fiends manage to disable the orbital defense platforms? No matter we will turn back this rabble...


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

As soon as the High Chaplain had finished the rites, and every helmet had been replaced on their respective helmet, Tacticus and several other members of the moved out quickly heading straight to the training arenas. Tacticus was used to brawling, always being in the thick off fighting with his power fist Imperitor glowing and cackling in his hand as he smote the enemies of the Emperor. He had been challenged by one of his fellow brethren, Aleksandr, the squads heavy bolter carrier of the squad. He and Aleksandr had fought a few times before in the cages, and were normally evenly matched. However it was mainly due to Tacticus speed against the brute strength of his brother. He had lost the last bout and was determined to get revenge.

As they reached the cages the pair stripped out of their armour. Tacticus entered first and awaited for his opponent. _"Maybe you might actually win this time, eh, Romo?_" Tacticus stared at his opponent. He was trying to put Tacticus off his game but Tacticus wouldn't allow it. "_Yeah, maybe you will make it two straight victories in a row brother." _He raised his fist threatingly towards his brother and motioned for him to come forward. He watched as his brother moved straight towards him, before diving forwards. He smashed a fist forwards, scrapping the skin off his brothers face.

In return he received a black eye, and Tacticus stumbled back. He ducked underneath his brothers next punch and immediately lashed out with a vicious left uppercut. He smacked him on the chin and weaved to the side lashing out with his right. Unfortunately his brother saw this coming and blocked this before impacting on Tacticus' chest. Tacticus moved back, warily watching and waiting for his brothers next move. His brother charged forward like a rhino. It was a classic move from Alexsandr and Tacticus forsaw this. He waited till the last possible moment before impact, before leaping to the right, rolling to right himself and lashing out with his left fist. He impacted on the side of his cheek knocking his brother over with the force. The crowd around him gasped as they saw him fall, a fight between veterans always brought out a large gathering of brothers.

Tacticus bent over to his brother, both were hurt, both bleeding. He extended his hand to his brother who accepted it before grabbing Tacticus in a crushing bear hug. _"Well fought brother, I win this one." _He laughed with his brother who acknowledged his victory.


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

His ceramite encased fingers traced the slashes of emerald amniotic fluids in the giant silver blister which protruded from the obsidian wall, contrasting heavily against it. His furred cloaks, each rough with clumps of dried blood, pooled out across the ground behind him. Cassius Scipio Augustus was a large Astartes. His hunched shoulders and wide torso was hidden beneath the furs and partially obscured his form, although a single split along the centre allowed the crimson hued Aquila beneath to shine out. Pushing his hand flat against the rounded surface of the ball, Cassius smiled weakly. 

‘Arkuliae…’ Was all he managed as an handsome, puckered corpse bobbed into view. The chest was a pink mess of ripped flesh and strands floated free from it. A mane of now scraggly black hair floated above him like a splintered crown. Flecks of blood were spread across its torso and lower face, giving the dead Marine a leopard like face. Both of the eyes still clung to small orbs of blue, withered and glazed over.

‘A year….’ He muttered again, the opals embedded in his left cheekbone twinkling with an expelled tear. 

‘His loss was great one not felt by a sole Brother, Cassius. We all shared your pain’ The voice startled him, juddering his body and slowly the Space Marine turned with his arms curled across his chest, hands neatly tucked beneath his armpits. 

Behind him, in full segmented armour and draped in a shoal of vibrantly coloured feathers was Captain Casperius Valens of the Fourth Company. His studded armour was a swirling plate of red and jet, blood streaking down across his chest, which was formed into that of a naked mans. His single-horned helm was held in the crook of one arm, the cyclopean eye slit reflecting a dulling regal. His right hand was encased in a long clawed Lightning Talon that reached down to his knees, each of the curled adamantium blades sliding against one another impatiently. 

‘You cannot possibly understand the measurement of the pain which I have felt for him, Arkuliae and I were the closest of Brothers’ Brutally retorted the Marine, forgetting rank momentarily.

‘I just came to bide my respects Cassius, there is no need for such hostility. Can I not come here and pay homage to our glorious friend?’ Valens groaned, his fingers tapping loudly against the side of his helm.

‘I did not mean no disrespect Master of Marches. I was simply venting my-’ Cassius never finished and simply turned around, wrapping one of his hands around a bone-bearing necklace that festooned his thick throat. With one jerk it shattered and fell across the floor before him, skittering on the cold marble as it slipped in all directions. He rubbed a single finger on the opal-dwelled grooves on his face, feeling the smooth rocks push against his raw flesh, and turned away. At a haste he marched from the chamber, younger Marines scooping out of his angered way.

The Fortress-Monastery was a marbled jewel, one lined with riches and luxuries. Furled banners, tapestries and portraits lined many of the halls which Cassius moved through. The drinking halls were his destination, he wanted to rid the morose feelings which he had in a bathe of sanguine. When he came to the drinking halls, he found it remarkably empty. The long rows of oaken tables, lined with etchings of past victories and flanked by steeple chairs were all but devoid of life. He could see the odd rambling Scouts, the old leathered warrior, and the overeager youngling. 

One Scout was hopping backwards, a drinking vassal in hand, trying to impress his companions. He bounced right into the flank of Cassius, who growled warningly and gripped him by the chin, scanning his features. He tried to mutter an apology but the numbing fingers of Cassius would not allow his jaw to move, least he break it. Cassius ruffled his hair with his other hand, the red mane entangling with his fingers, and threw him away discerningly. He liked the youths, and they liked him, but he was in no mood to tell them a tale.

As the drinking hall furthered, it began to dip inwards until it was a gradual incline of marble and metal. Within it was a swirling mass of crimson, rippling with some strange submerged mechanical device. Drinking cups rimmed the steps around it and Cassius took one up into his grasp as he moved past. He went down onto his haunches, dipping the brim of the chalice into the bloody liquid and slowly submerged it entirely. It grew heavy suddenly and he yanked it back up, splattering scarlet droplets across the ground behind him, he however ignored this and stood, slowly advancing back to where the tables rested. 

He sat alone on one cold, dank looking corner, staring up at the golden bulbous atrium that protected the chambers from the harsh rain of the planet. The first swig he took tasted like Grox urine. No, worse even. It brought back a mind numbing flash of happy and terrible memories, of celebrations and funeral pyres. Arkuliae….Precious, dearest Arkuliae…..

‘To the Lost’ breathed Cassius, and calmly threw back his head and tipped back the chalice. All the while, streaks of crimson parted his alabaster cheeks and dripped back into his armour.


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

The high chaplain stood hunched over the podium, staring at the assembled lines of astartes arrayed before him. Seven hundred and sixty four battle brothers, more than three quarters of the chapters fighting strength all present at once, it was an awe inspiring sight for all to behold, be he a lowly serf, newly inducted initiate, or a veteran brother of the first company. The majesty of this very sight, that alone was enough to take Vitus's breath away, and yet it was merely the beginning. Of the Sin Eaters space marine chapter, these seven hundred sixty four marines represented eight of the chapter's ten companies, with only the fifth battle company and the scout company missing; their presence was a notable one, but even now the fifth fought against the menace of the Tyranids in the Zsaz'o sector.

Given the option, Vitus would have willingly given up this honour to be fighting alongside his brothers against the alien that even now beset worlds that rightfully belonged to the Emperor of mankind. In part, Vitus longed to fight alongside his brothers to protect the worlds of the Imperium and bring forth judgment upon its enemies; but another part, one steeped in barely controlled rage and blood-lust, it wanted to be with the glorious fifth company simply to take part in the slaughter. It would come to no surprise if any, or even many, fellow brothers felt the same way. The dark lust, the thirst as it was known by some, it was a curse bourne by all those who bore the geneseed of the primarch Sangiunius, the hero who gave his life so that the Emperor would be able to defeat the traitor warmaster Horus. There were others who suffered as well, like the Blood Angels, the founding chapter of all the successors of Sangiunius, who fought against the curse. Then there were those who suffered worse than all, like the Flesh Tearers; in his time with the deathwatch Vitus had fought alongside such a brother, the scars from what he had to do a reminder of the fate any of them could fall to.

But the choice was not for Vitus to make, first company was here, and the ceremony of the Revelation of Sacred Blood must be performed. No one, not even chapter master, Methuselah of the Bloodied Fang, was above the order and rituals layed down millenia ago. Since their return, none of the assembled brothers had removed their armour, none had scraped away the blood that each of them wore, the damage to armour had not yet been repaired. Despite the filters of his helmet, the scent of the blood pervaded Vitus's senses and he had to fight his own emotions to keep the red haze from engulfing his vision and his very being. Looking to either side, Vitus noted that there were some conversing in these moments before the ceremony began; that was until the chiming of the golden chronometer high above the obsidian sepulcher. In the instant of the first chime, every marine snapped to rigid attention, raising an armoured fist over ceramite plate and pounding that fist into the plate with each successive chime.

As the chronometer chimed one last time, there was silence and all eyes were on the high chaplain as he began the ceremony; intoning rights and preaching ancient lore spoken hundreds of times before. When the bodies of the honoured fallen, those heroes of the chapter who had given their lives in service to the Emperor, were revealed, the breath left Vitus and it was all he could do to keep himself from weeping on the spot. Then, the high chaplain revealed one of the greatest relics of the chapter, his voice amplified by hidden vox systems, the sacred blood, the blood of Sangiunius. Upon seeing the vial, Vitus and every other brother dropped to a knee and bowed his head. With this, the high chaplain moved away from the podium and down to each and every battle brother, when he came to Vitus, the veteran removed his helmet slowly before gazing at the vial for what felt like an eternity.

There were few greater honours than to take part in this, but something deep down screamed that Vitus was not worthy; the memory that still haunted him. Without thinking, without knowing, Vitus moved mechanically, pressing his lips to the vial and then drawing back before the chaplain moved on to the next brother, this time Vitus could not keep himself from weeping, but by then he had replaced his helmet so that he could bare his shame in silence. Upon his return to the podium, the high chaplain replaced the vial in its resting place and the assembled mass stood as one before being dismissed by the chaplain. Slowly, the assembled companies left, first company was the last of them to leave, and Vitus quickly returned to his chambers so that he could remain alone with his thoughts.

Sitting on his sparse cot, the metal groaning under the weight of his armoured bulk but holding, Vitus removed his helmet once again and looked into its lenses. He could see his reflection in the unlit reinforced glass, the shaved head with bleached splotches of flesh; the memory came back to him in full at this sight and he was only brought back to the now when he heard the clattering of his helmet on the stone ground. He had lost himself in the past enough to drop his own armour, but that was not what disturbed him the most; the state of his helmet, paint chipping and in need of repairing, to honour the former owners and the machine spirit. A quick inspection showed him that the chipping was not contained to just his helmet. Standing back up, Vitus quickly made his way to the arming chamber within the massive fortress the chapter called home, he would need to seek the heraldist.

Without a word, Vitus moved through the high corridors, ignoring other members of the chapter he felt; the rites of his armour had to be upheld above all others for now, nothing else mattered. It took him some time, he had been away from his home for so long, fighting, that he had needed moments for the familiarity; but after minutes he strode into the arming chambers and bade several serfs to him, making his desire known and moving himself to an arming bench where his armour could be worked on without trouble. The heraldist, and a small cadre of chapter serfs, approached Vitus and he closed his eyes while the rites were spoken and his armour was slowly removed. This process alone would take a fair portion of an hour, and repairing the paint would take a further two. Looking at his left pouldron, it was bare save for a single honour and his squad marking, signifying him as a member of first company and a veteran brother. The honour marking was a silver I with a skull in the center, the mark of his time with the deathwatch years ago. Each of those ten years felt like decades unto themselves; the things he had done, what he had seen, Vitus was sworn to secrecy of them all. Donning simple clothing, Vitus left the serfs to their work and slowly made his way to the drinking hall. He needed something to distract his mind from the past, perhaps listening to the tales of his fellow battle brothers and the glories of their own pasts might be able to help him.


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## Captain Stillios (Mar 8, 2009)

Aurio hefted his Storm Shield up onto his arm and checked the power pack and flinched as a spark flew up into his face, quickly he removed the burning power pack just as he entered the armoury.
Weapons and vehicles lined the room, to his left Aurio could see rows of bolters stacked on the walls, under them lay the storm boltrs and combi-bolters all surronded by crates of ammunition.
To his right rhino transports and land raiders were silhoueted against the darkness while blades of all types hung from racks above them.

At the far end of the room his old friend, Techmarine Agnotius, looked up from working on a Predator Destructor.
"Ah Brother Daverin, how can I help you my friend?" Agnotius asked when Aurio removed his helmet.

"If you are not too busy Brother, could you see to my shield, somthing keeps shorting the power-packs out" Aurio replied as he unstrapped Ilea from his arm and holding it out to Agnotius.

"Never too busy to help you brother, now, let me see..." The Techmarine held Ilea up with his servo-arms while he examined where the power-packs usually were, "Yes, I see, this isn't that bad, it should not take me long to repair"

"Good, I notice that you seem to want to say somthing, spit it out Agnotius" Aurio said

"Aurio, I have been...I have been told by the Master of the Forge that I shall be his eventual successor!" Agnotius grinned

"Well done my friend, you deserve it" Aurio grinned back as he drew Siloe and laid it on his hands examining it for nicks and marks, there were not many but one about three inchs above the hilt vas not a small nick and might cause the blade to shatter if it with enough force, while Agnotius worked on Ilea, Auro began on Siloe.


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## emporershand89 (Jun 11, 2010)

Mangano had a nasty headache that he couldn’t seem to explain, in addition to his growing fatigue. He had only just slept (battle meditation) two days ago and wasn’t due for another day or two. In any case, he was making his way to the Apothacarium where his long time friend Judas might be able to help him with his predicament.

Upon rounding the corner near the entrance to the Apothecarium, his advanced hearing spotted two very young serfs hiding in a corner down the hallway. They were both cracking jokes at him as well as amazing at the man himself. Mangano pretended not to hear until he was right next to them, then suddenly turned in his heel and confronted them. They immediately fell down before him; trembling before his hulking statute. Mangano pitied them, but in a stern voice said, “Young ones, you shouldn’t be here, return to your sacred tasks or else punishment will await you from your Taskmaster.” 

With that the two serfs bowed and scurried off like rats from a flame. Mangano continued, eager to get ride of this head splitting headache.


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## Scathainn (Feb 21, 2010)

Mikhail stepped down from the podium as the respective companies of the chapter left the massive sepulcher. The sounds of hundreds of armour-clad boots thudding monotonously on the obsidian floor sent goosebumps up Mikhail's spine. "Truly, we are gods among men," Mikhail whispered, his breath reverberating inside his skull-shaped helmet. Whirring his chainfist briefly in relief at the ceremony's end, Mikhail began to walk towards the other Chaplains to begin the preparation for the next round of prayer sessions.

"Mikhail!" a voice boomed from across the room. The High Chaplain cringed infinitesimally, recognizing the voice as that of the Chapter-Master of the Sin-Eaters, Methuselah of the Bloodied Fang. "Continue without me, brothers," murmured Mikhail to the other Chaplains, who saluted him and trodded off towards the reliquary. Mikhail readied himself for the worst as he walked towards the stern Chapter-Master, his thunder hammer leaning on the wall next to him and his arms crossing his chest.

"What can I do for you, Commander?" said Mikhail, removing his helmet to reveal his unnaturally pale features. "I wish to speak with you about the ceremony, Chaplain," replied Methuselah, his ancient eyes staring straight into Mikhail's. The High Chaplain shuddered briefly before replying; "Of course, Commander; what would you like to say?" The stern Chapter-Master held up his hand and looked around the room briefly; the plaques and banners of ages past covering the walls had evidently garnered his attention.

Finally Methuselah crossed his arms once again. "You did well, High Chaplain. Certainly the best of the three ceremonies I've seen as a Sin-Eater. Your words were moving, your actions reverent, and your humility...evident." The Chapter-Master reached over and patted Mikhail's shoulder forcefully. "You have done well in the eyes of your chapter, Mikhail. Sanguinus would be proud if he could see you honour him so." With that, the aged champion turned and strode out of the hall.

Mikhail stood dumbfounded as he watched the Chapter-Master walk out of the sepulcher. The full impact of his words had left him speechless, unable to comprehend what he had just heard. Naturally, then, it was a jolt of surprise when the voice of one of the chapter servitors cut into the main speaker system of the sepulcher.

_*szzkhrrkt* Chapter Attention. Alert Notice One-One-Seven-Alpha-Omicron-Seven; directive: Chaper-Wide. 

Long-Range Comms indicate hostile vessels in orbit of Planet -- *Asmodeus* -- practicing combat-type maneuvers. Sensors indicate potential preparation of orbital bombardment.

Message repeats.

Chapter Attention. Alert Notice One-One-Seven-Alpha-Omicron-Seven; directive: Chaper-Wide. 

Long-Range Comms indicate hostile vessels in orbit of Planet -- *Asmodeus* -- practicing combat-type maneuvers. Sensors indicate potential preparation of orbital bombardment.

Directive Achieved. Chapter Notice Out. The Emperor Prote---*szzkhrrkt*_

The rest of the message was drowned out by the ultra-loud sounds of lance batteries rending the Chapter-Monestary open, and a light brighter than any Mikhail had ever seen filled the room....followed swiftly by blackness.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

All: The Chapter-Monestary has just been lanced from orbit! Continue with your previous updates, but perhaps you knew about the bombardment before Mikhail; did you try to avoid it? Where were you when the blast hit?

((The game's afoot again, gentlemen :victory: ))


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## Snowy (Jul 11, 2009)

Lucifer jumped to the side as a lasbolt ripped past him, he rolled and brought his Bolter to bear, ripping his target to shreds with a burst to the head.
He looked around as he finished the training.
*Well that was easy*
he left the training room to go for a long run, he picked up all his equipment and loaded it, as well as taking a bag full of equipment and slinging it over his back, he then started to jog around the Chapter monastary, passing serfs and fellow marines, as he passed them he nodded in greeting and kept running, he finally got to his quarters and dumped the bag, a servitor then came and picked it up, then went off again to place it back in its designated space.

Lucifer walked into his quarters, all that furnished the place was a bed and a stand for his armour and weapons.
He had just taken his helmet off when he hearda great building sound before he saw the roof above him crumble and he saw a light that would have blinded normal men but because Lucifer threw his helmet back on it just was irritating.
*What the Throne is going on*


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## Scythe Beast (Jun 22, 2010)

Fenix's contraction was broken suddenly from the action and extreme care the surfs put into the game, as if the surfs were officer of the imperial guard before devoting them selves to the chapter? Emperor only knows for that matter as like him they serve him and the memory of Sanguinus only. To honor both Chapter and Humanity's greatest being. The loud bang opened his mind to reality as he turned his head back.

A careless surf, who has never held anything heavier then a simple pen in his his lifetime of service had dropped a tome on the ground as the dust from it's fall was still in the air it'self. Needless to say he forced his huge armored being up from the seat and approached the fallen tome of knowledge. although it almost a few miles away, a great show of the awe-giving size of the Librarium but to a space marine it was but a simple walk while speaks likely of the senses of a space marine to hear and see it. 

It didn't take long for the marine to have the tome at his feet as he knelt down to pick it up, it was a book of the common forces of chaos. An index on what a space marine would face when confronting his most hated of foes. beyond the traitors themselves it's words spoke of the demons and mutants in it's ranks. Horrors, Possessed traitor marine and even the demons known as bloodletters. the tome was holy as it showed only how best to destroy them and nothing of their lies. the marine's face turned to a small hint of fury as he walked up to a sheave. "Honorless Scum." was on his mind as he placed the holy tome of the Traitor's Doom back where it belonged.

His back to the surfs that were still playing the game, Fenix returned his gaze to them after the book was homed...only to see a bright light come down from the ceiling and time itself froze to a crawl. the image of the surf, who didn't even have time to react were slowly covered in a red light coming down on them. their skin being thrown off their bones before they too disappeared and turned to dust. the last thing that was in Fenix's mind was the image of the blast sending him back flying, crashing though the heavy book case as the tome's rained around him as he fell to the metal floor. the words "By The Em...." was on his lips but everything went black before he could finish.


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## emporershand89 (Jun 11, 2010)

Mangano was meditating in his chambers, trying to calm the storm that raged in his mind. The apothecaries had said that it was probably just an effect of warp travel, and to check back with them in a day or two. Still, Mangano felt it was more than that, and he was right. The headache had worsened considerably since he had eaten that night. Now he quietly meditating, trying to bring it under control, and remove it from his mind.

As he said the prayers of Warding, he felt his head go nuts, a massive spike of pain driving into his head, and he fell over onto the floor, screaming out loud, and tearing at his head. He saw a flash of a vision, a large ship, something bright coming from the ship…….a weapon??

It didn’t matter, for the next thing he knew, the roof above his started to cave in, and Mangano dove to avoid a falling piece of debris. The move had taxed his already exhausted body, and he fell backwards and blacked out…………………..


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## The Psyker (Jun 29, 2010)

*szzkhrrkt* Chapter Attention. Alert Notice One-One-Seven-Alpha-Omicron-Seven; directive: Chaper-Wide.

Long-Range Comms indicate hostile vessels in orbit of Planet -- Asmodeus -- practicing combat-type maneuvers. Sensors indicate potential preparation of orbital bombardment.

Message repeats.

Chapter Attention. Alert Notice One-One-Seven-Alpha-Omicron-Seven; directive: Chaper-Wide.

Long-Range Comms indicate hostile vessels in orbit of Planet -- Asmodeus -- practicing combat-type maneuvers. Sensors indicate potential preparation of orbital bombardment.

Directive Achieved. Chapter Notice Out. The Emperor Prote---*szzkhrrkt

_The Master at Arms grew tired of hearing the servitors voice, grumbling at he sharply ordered an aide to cut the vox feed from the servitors until he heard the telltale thunderclap of orbital lance batteries let loose with their deadly payload. Seconds later... impact. The very strata of the monastery rumbling as multiple lancer rounds sliced through rock and building materials as easy as a power sword through flesh. The force was so great that it wrenched a vox speaker from the roof and sent it atop two of the aides to Clodius' right side. Suddenly a great screech of metal against stone blared out from atop Clodius._

Brother Clodius!

_The Master at Arms pulled Clodius clear away from the vox throne as another one of the ancient sound producers fell atop the vox panel. Clodius, The Master at Arms and the aides all turned to flee from the collapsing vox chapel, only the two astartes making it out before the room caved in under the pressure of unsupported rock and building materials. Secondary explosions ripped through the walls behind them as the continued their frenzied pace back towards the sepulcher. Clodius hoped that they had not struck the most revered of areas in the fortress monastery. This hope was crushed as Clodius turned right into the enlarged entrance of the sepulcher. A groan of anguish resounded from his lips as he saw the destruction, the Master at Arms pushing past in a search for surviving brothers amongst the wreckage._

By the Emperor... These invaders will pay with every last drop of blood for this! DAMN THEM!

_After heaving a few rocks the old astartes swung his head back in Clodius' direction and bellowed for him to help his brothers who were still buried beneath the stone. The younger astartes nodded his head and began to search through the rubble, pulling a few of his brothers from broken rock and plasteel trusses. Every time he found a dead battle brother his rage increased tenfold at these dishonorable whoresons. After heaving a particularly heavy slab of stone off of a tangle of the foundation that had fallen in a cage like configuration over one of his brothers he would peer into the wreckage. He was alarmed to see High Chaplain Mikhail knocked out underneath the steel, with the help of another battle brother they freed Mikhail from the cage. Clodius crouched next to the chaplain and patted his cheek with his ceramite enclosed palm._

Father Mikhail! Wake up for we are under attack! HIGH CHAPLAIN! WAKE YOURSELF!


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

The walk to the drinking hall was a silent one for Vitus; many squads were gathered for firing or combat rituals. There were a few brothers here and there, but Vitus ignored them; rounding a corner something smacked into his leg and fell back. Pausing, Vitus looked down to see one of the younger serfs, one of two children that had been fleeing for something. The second serf gathered behind the first and both stared at him with eyes wide with fear. At this sight, Vitus could not keep his lip from curling in distaste; but it was not because they had run into him that he had been angered, they were just young serfs and had not been taught any better. What angered Vitus was fear, for it was nothing more than a weakness that evil used to prey on the weak, and a serf, like the chapter he served, must be anything but weak.

Kneeling down, Vitus loomed over the pair even while down on a knee. They shrank back from him, but Vitus simply held up a hand while shaking his head. _"Fear is for the weak young ones, only those who can do nothing need be afraid. You are not weak, you serve the chapter and its heroes; do not fear those you serve, for then you let weakness into your heart and risk failing in your sworn duties."_ He said while helping the first child up before standing to his full height. With a motion, Vitus bid a serf from the shadows to come take the two away. He knew that they were always there, the serfs, for it was their duty to remain in the shadows and serve the chapter. They were a silent force, and that was their duty, to silently serve the chapter in the only way they could after failing to become battle brothers themselves.

Shaking his head, Vitus continued on to the drinking hall without another incident; but the thought of the two young serfs and the fact that they had been running from something stuck in his mind. Perhaps after he had retrieved his armour Vitus would inquire what had gone on. Entering the hall, Vitus had to pause for a moment, like many places in the chapter fortress, the drinking hall did take his breath away. High arches held aloft by a mixture of onyx and ivory pillars chiseled into the likeness of heroes of the chapter. Long rows of mahogany benches reinforced by stone from deep within the world's crust contained groups of brothers and initiates in various states.

However they are not what caught his eye, a single brooding form did this. He knew this man, Vitus had fought alongside Cassius Scipio Augustus many times since his return to the chapter and induction into the first company. He was a strong man who did not seek the aproval of many, and though he did hold an air of arrogance about him at times, he was loyal and respectable; Augustus did not allow his arrogance to rule him like some did, earned or not. It was to Augustus that Vitus tread, obtaining a bottle of wine and a goblet for himself.

_"My brother, would the company of another be acceptable to you?"_ Vitus asked, placing the bottle on the table as he awaited an answer from Augustus.


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Tacticus and the rest of his brothers in the combat hall gathered around more fights, watching the other brothers and their companies as well as the first company. Tacticus was about to challenge another of his brothers when mason fell from the ceiling, cracking on the floor below. He stared up, and all the Astartes sensitive ears picked up the tell tale signs of an orbital bombardment. "*By the throne, who would dare bombard the chapter without one of our ships dealing with it when it had dropped out of warp?*" A brother asked as the rest stood in silence. 

Tacticus turned to his brother, _"Indeed it is a mystery, but I'm sure that it will be taken care of quickly."_ As he finished speaking the chapter batteries began their return fire at the ship, huge lances and missiles designed with this in mind. _"Come brothers, it will be taken care of. Let us get back to our combat practice."_ One by one his brothers returned to were they were though Tacticus now moved away from the main fights. He may need his Wargear soon, and it needed to be in pristine condition. He pulled on his armour and helmet and stood like a god of war.


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

The chalice, despite being the size of an human skull, felt rather insignificant in his Demi-God grip. It was a simple thing to Cassius, a bronze curling atop a rounded base and spindly neck. Jewels emblazoned the flanks, each rough and worn from an untold amount of years in service. Like four black, crooked minarets, his ceramite-encased fingers lifted up above the curled rim of the chalice. The crimson liquid within had thinned out so that it was a mere shimmering layer, the golden-brown curve of the cup casting its hue from beneath.

Gently he placed the chalice back onto the deck, disinterested in its contents. For a short period of time he sat alone, simply taking his fingers across the smoothed surface of the table, running them along rivets from the wood. A voice brought his attentions from his idling activities and he looked up with half closed eyes, staring at the face of Brother Vitus. Both were members of the same Squad, and while Vitus was younger than Cassius, he enjoyed his company nonetheless. However Vitus was a silent one, probably due to his time serving in the Deathwatch of the Inquisition. 

‘Ah, Vitus. It is good to see you, please sit. This drinking hall is rather boring today. I would be glad to have your company.’ He indicated the seat opposite him with one open gauntlet. 

Vitus sat and the pair gently conversed, remembering past battles and sharing experiences. Cassius was careful not to ask him about his service under the Inquisition. He knew that Vitus was bound to secrecy. Thus was the way of all members of the Deathwatch, Cassius knew this. While he had never been selected by the Inquisition to serve, those Brothers that had commanded his respect for doing such a thing. He almost viewed as being selected as a death warrant, knowing that the chances of returning were rather slim. He thanked the Emperor that a Marine of such capability as Vitus had survived.

And then Hell itself came to the drinking halls. The overhead atrium burst in a spear of fluorescent light, sending shards of amber glass upon the heads of those within. Cassius felt the skin of his forehead split and then heal, allowing a minute trickle of blood from the wound. The drinking pool ceased to be, transforming the liquid into a fine crimson mist that rolled over Cassius and Vitus, transforming them into bloody visages. Pillars collapsed towards one side of the vast hall, allowing the floor above to smash downwards and unleash a tide of flames.

A serf stumbled through the flames, flesh sloughing away, and Cassius felt his gauntlets clench tightly. He saw Scouts fall back, a pair of which were dragging an injured fellow who left a trail of gore on the deck. His hair was gone bar a few strands and a mask of gore covered the left side of his face, the cheek draped down so that crisped teeth could be seen. It was the redhead who had bumped into him earlier, his chest rapidly rising and falling. 

Some pang of regret hammered into him at that. Another First Company Veteran was bellowing orders, standing in the large access way and pointing the Marines outwards. The flames crept forwards, devouring wood with loud cracks and fizzles. He looked across at Vitus with anticipating eyes, his mouth gaping. The furs upon his shoulders had caught the odd ember and now miniscule palls of smoke lifted upwards around his face.

‘I will gut whoever did this…’ He growled, looking at the flames ‘I swear that!’ 

He slammed his fists into the table, sending the chalice skittering away, lost forever. He began to walk towards the entrance, behind him the room spewed dust downwards into the flames as compensators leaked water across the ground, however it came to no prevail. 

‘I think we shall collect our weapons now Vitus, we have something to kill.’ He shouted over his shoulder at his Brother and began for his quarters. He would reap bloody vengeance upon his fellows, oh so bloody.


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## Captain Stillios (Mar 8, 2009)

Aurio was hurled to the floor as a blinding light filled the armoury before going dark, his occulobe implant om s he could see the burning wreck of a land raider and other vehicles that had been caght in the blast.
Rising he sheathed Siloe and retrieved Ilea from the fllor where it had fallen then helped Agnotius to his feet.

"Get those fires out!" Agnotius bellowed as servitors moved to fight the fires which were blazing all around, "Aurio see if you can find Master of the Forge Marcellus" with that Agnotius ran off to help a fallen Techmarine.

Aurio quickly searched the armoury and found nothing but servitors and confused and dazed brothers, not a glimse of the Master of the Forge.
"Brother he is not here" Aurio called over to the kneeling form of Agnotius, as he neared Aurio saw that Agnotius was cradleing a shard of shattered power armour.

"You won't find him old friend, he was caught by the blast" Agnotius replied with sadness as he held up the name plate on the shoulde pad 'Marcellus'
"He will be avenged broth..." Aurio stopped as he felt a stabbing pain in his side, looking down he noticed a piece of shrapnel embedded just under his arm.

"Brother, are you alright?" Agnotius asked worridly "Lets get you to the apothicarien" Aurio slumped against him as they made their way to the medicalbay.
"You must get back to the amoury brother" Aurio gasped as he lay down on a bed and an Apothecary came over and began to treat the wound.
"Very well Brother, I hope you will be alright" Agnotius replied before sprinting back to the armoury.

Aurio looked around and saw that injured astartes were pouring in and that there were not enough apothecarys to cope, when he saw that the shrapnel had been removed and the wound patched he said "Brother, there are many worse wounded than I, aid them, I will live"

The Brother nodded then went to aid another brother with a gaping wound in his chest.

Aurio rose and headed for the drinking hall and encountered Cassius and Vitus.
"Brothers, do you have any idea what has happened?" He called


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## Scathainn (Feb 21, 2010)

Mikhail was lost in a sea of darkness. A strange vision was beheld to him and he heard dozens of voices whispering, some in Gothic, some in languages he had never heard before. Images faded into view slowly and then dissapeared; a golden figure whispering soft words to him; a strange skull-shaped rune dripping blood; and a shadowy voice laughing contemptuously as dozens of Battle-Brothers were torn apart by an unknown source. 

"No!" Mikhail wanted to scream, but he was deaf. He could only watch as the Space Marines were rent asunder, their limbs torn apart and their bodies disintegrating as the flesh sloughed off of their bones. Their armour wept blood only to be reduced to ash under the crazed eyes of the myserious voice. The Chaplain almost reached out to them but the image began to fade once again as he sunk back into dreamless unconsciousness....

The world returned to it's ordinary clarity slowly. Grey fog seemed to clear from his eyes in what felt like an eternity for Mikhail. As he woke, he could begin to understand words being spoken to him. They seemed slurred and fluctuating, like listening to someone speak while underwater.

_".....ather Mikhail! Wak.......der attack! HIGH CHAPLA........SELF!"_

With a rush of clarity Mikhail's eyes snapped open to reveal two Astartes struggling to remove him from the rubble. He recognized one as the Chapter's Master-at-Arms, the grizzled commander's mechanical leg straining to help him remove a slab of obsidian. The other Astartes Mikhail did not recognize; he only knew he was a member of the First Company, judging by his elabourated arms and armour. Both were straining to move a huge slab of obsidian trapping the High-Chaplain on the floor.

"Brothers! Thank the Emperor you are alive!" With as much effort as he could muster he helped the two Space Marines push the obsidian slab off of him with a screetch. The High Chaplain stood slowly, wobbling and clutching his head. Blood trickled down his cheek in a slow stream, the scent filling Mikhail's nostrils and the familiar sight tugging at his instinctive curse. "My thanks for your assistance, brothers. Who knows how long I may have laid under there withour your hel......"

The High Chaplain stopped in mid-sentence. The full force of the destruction around him hit Mikhail like an iron weight. The various pews of the Sepulchre were rent and cracked; vast expanses of the intricate ceiling were torn asunder, revealing the Asmodean night sky. The sepulchre's entire left wing had collapsed, spilling out the corpses of the honoured dead onto the ground as if they were children's dolls. The Chaplain allowed a single tear to drip down his cheek.

"What...what happened here? What caused this destruction?" the Chaplain asked, his normally stern voice thick with emotion. "Your Holiness," began the Master-at-Arms, "it appears the planet is under attack by a currently unknown adversary. Three battleships in orbit unleashed with lance batteries, two directed at our Fortess-Monestary, and the third directed at a yet-unknown target. Planetary communications arrays managed to detect landing craft emerging from the fleet before they were taken down. We've lost contact with the few PDF outposts on the planet and the Chapter Outposts are all silent. Orbital defenses are completely offline and our ground defenses registered massive attacks before they were either destroyed or went silent."

The Chaplain shuddered. "This is appalling. Where were the serfs manning the Vox-stations?" The third Astartes shrugged. "We found the vox-station unmanned, Your Eminence." Mikhail sighed and observed the Sepulchre once again; it would take months to repair this room, not to mention the other parts of the Fortess-Monastary. He shook his head; finding other Astartes was his immediate concern. "Well, brothers," mumbled the Chaplain, "we'd best get to work. If we are to begin to search for survivors, we must do it quickly. Excuse me for a moment as I fetch my personal vox; I left it up at the altar in case I received..."

He stopped again. Dread filled his eyes and his already pale face drained of blood completely. 

"The altar," he whispered.

Without warning, the High Chaplain bolted towards the gilded altarpiece. The other two Astartes stood dumbfounded for a moment before taking of after him. The three Space Marines raced across the broken rubble of the Sepulchre before reaching the altar, the broken obsidian crunching beneath their iron tread. Occasionally their massive boots would crush a piece of intricate stained glass, and the two Space Marines cursed and prayed softly for forgiveness. Finally, the High Chaplain reached the altar first, only to sink to his knees. The others raced to catch up to him, then stopped dead in their tracks, seeing what the High Chaplain had found.

In the High Chaplain's massive chainfist rested the broken vial of the Sacred Blood, it's gilded housing completely crushed and discarded a few feet away. The third astartes' HUD indicated 98.462% of the blood had been evaporated instantly in the lance attack, leaving only the tiniest dried fluid inside the shattered vial.

The High Chaplain set the vial down carefully with his chainfist, tears now flowing down his cheeks. Then, slowly, the black-clad figure clenched his fists. His soft weeping slowly became a droning growl, increasing rapidly in volume, and his clean tears of sorrow soon became bloodied tears of fury. Standing to his feet slowly, the Chaplain's eyes began to turn red with blood-rage. Finally, Mikhail leaned back and thrust his fists to his side, uttering a bloodcrazed roar of such apocalyptic volume it could be heard throughout the entire Astartes Fortress.

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Damage Report:
Here are the current statuses of the various areas of the Fortress-Monastary and their conditions after the lance attack:
*Librarium:* Most of the Librarium is in utter ruin, the books burnt to cinders and the ceiling collapsed on the precious databanks. The only exception is the lounge area which is relatively unscathed and the Reliquary which has suffered minor damage. 
*Sepulcher:* The sepulcher is moderately damaged; the left wing is totally collapsed and the ceiling is destroyed in some locations. The altar is completely crushed.
*Drinking Hall:* Almost completely destroyed; the ceiling has collapsed on the Sanguinite Pool and the precious liquid has completely evaporated. Fires have broken out across the hall due to cut wiring in the walls.
*Chapter Arena (of which the Firing Range is a part):* Relatively undamaged; parts of the ceiling have collapsed in a few locations but the areas that have been damaged are relatively unimportant.
*Armoury:* Most of the vehicle bay has been buried in rubble, although most of the tanks' armour is thick enough to survive the weight. The actual weapon racks and armour posts are undamaged.
*Apothecarion:* Completely unscathed with the exception of the rear entrance.
*Personal Quarters:* Variable levels of damage; some areas are utter ruin while others are barely nicked. 
*Communications Wing:* Most of the comms and voxes have been crushed but the Astronomicon choir is still operational.
*Serf Quarters:* Survived most of the attack; some personal quarters were destroyed but minimal casualties sustained.

Clodius Terentius Vulso: After checking to make sure the High Chaplain's bellow has not permanently deafened you, you set off with the Chaplain to find survivors. The Master-at-Arms leaves, mentioning trying to bring planetary communications online again. Following the muttering High Chaplain, you set off along with him, heading for the Reliquary.

Aurio Daverin, Vitus Cornelius Appirga, and Cassius Scipio Augustus: All three of you are now in the Drinking Hall's entrance room, attempting to put out the fires around you and saving as many survivors as you can. The fires are raging but not impossible to put out. Several Scout Marines have emerged relatively unscathed and are helping you put out the fire, while a few of the older Serfs in the area offer to fetch your wargear for you so that you may stay and free the trapped brothers from the rubble.

Tacticus Romus and Lucifer Octavius: Both of you exit your respective areas and meet outside the Chapter arena, then set off for the Apothecarion. Once inside, the High Chirugeon, a broad Astartes by the name of Leonid, directs you to the wounded bay, where your at-least intermediate knowledge of medicine can be used to heal the dying and retrieve the gene-seed of the dead.

Brother Fenix Xentor: Awaking after the attack, you run over to the two elder serfs who were playing chaz, both buried under a pile of tomes. Each of them have suffered some injury but they will live. The three of you begin to search the Librarium, both looking for survivors and saving particularly damaged books from destruction.

Inactive Participants: You are buried under rubble and unconscious!


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## Snowy (Jul 11, 2009)

Lucifer limped away from his quarters, they weren't especially damaged but a large piece of the roof had come down on his leg, trapping him until he mustered the strength to lift it off him.
As he saw the various states of destruction on his walk to the Apothecarion, a burning anger grew within him, he wanted to lash out at something, he just wanted to scream.
His thoughts were soon answered when he heard a massive roar of tremendous volume.
Lucifer dropped to his knees and roared too, nowhere near as loud as the other one but still of a large volume.
Lucifer stood back up, his tremendous height now fully revealed.
He started running as fast as he could, eager to help those that needed help.

He burst through the Apothecarion and looked around, an apothecary walked up to him and gave him orders to go to the wounded bay and help those who were wounded and recieve the gene-seed of those who could not go on. He bit back his tounge, he nearly burst out at the Apothecary that even though he was the master of his saction to order a member of the 1st company was despicable.

He walked into the wounded bay and started to care for those he had been assigned to.
It filled him with rage and sadness that such a glorious chapter as his was dealt such a blow with no warning.


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## The Psyker (Jun 29, 2010)

_Clodius felt a surge of triumph as they finally released the High Chaplain from what could have possibly been his own tomb. The next few moments would be remembered as a blur to him. The High Chaplain made his way to the Altar and found the holy vitae of Sanguinius shattered and all but evaporated. Clodius' felt his chest tighten, the loss of their Primarchs life blood sending him into a grief wracked rage. He lifted his hand and brought it down against the wooden back of an overturned pew. The sheer animal strength contained within his post human frame reduced the wood underneath his fists into a splinter crowned crater. He joined the High Chaplain in his roar of sheer anger, spittle flying from his mouth as he felt the tightness within his chest grow. The High Chaplain drowned Clodius' voice out with the sheer verbosity of his apocalyptic rattle of anger._

THIS WILL NOT STAND! HIGH CHAPLAIN! IN THE NAME OF SANGUINIUS I IMPLORE YOU TO CALL OUR BROTHERS TO BATTLE THIS MOMENT! WE MUST MAKE THESE FOOLS FEEL OUR PAIN!

_The Master at Arms placed a ceramite enclosed hand on Clodius' shoulder, his presence calming the enraged astartes. Clodius realized that the burden of the lost vitae fell on the High Chaplain and such an ill omen after his first sermon would be remembered throughout the chapters storied history. But in his mind he had no doubt they would rise from the ashes like the fabled phoenix of the old Terran legend. Minuets later the Master at Arms took his leave with the promise to find some way to restore planetary communications. The High Chaplain motioned silently for Clodius to follow, their iron paces especially loud in his ears as the blood continued to pulse as an accelerated rate through his body._

I am sorry Father Mikhail. Use me as your tool of vengeance and on my honor I will see the lost blood of our most beloved Sanguinius redeemed by shedding rivers of the enemies...


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

Pain lanced through Vitus's arms as he held up a slab of fallen stone, allowing for a scout to drag one of his brothers from beneath, his legs a crushed mess of blood and bone. Flames licked at Vitus's exposed arms but he pushed away the pain before dropping the stone and moving to help others escape this destruction. Noticing others working to try and put out the flames, Vitus looked for Cassius, instead spotting the form of Aurio amongst them in the hall. How had this happened? What had happened? Had they been attacked by something from space, a ship maybe? How powerful of an attack had this been to overload the fortress void shields, and more-over how much damage had actually been done?

There was no time to dwell on any of this, no time to see answers yet. They needed to get out of the drinking hall; he needed to get back to his armour. This cloth could only do so much, his power armour would be of more help to him and the rest of the chapter. Through the smoke and the howling of pain from others, Vitus distinctly heard someone speak to him; ramming a shoulder into another fallen stone, Vitus toppled it and allowed for others to move the rubble beneath in order to find another body, this one not as fortunate as the first. Turning to the voice, Vitus saw it to be a serf, saying something about his wargear. _"No, help the others here."_ He called over the other sounds surrounding them before rushing through the flames in search of Cassius and Aurio.

After a moment, he happens upon Cassius, bent down in an attempt to free a struggling serf from beneath one of the shattered pillars. Without a word Vitus jumps to his side, but despite the effort of both of them, the pillar refuses to budge. A hand grabs at Vitus's leg, and he looks down to see the serf, his features deathly pale and eyes jaded. Even if they free him, the man will be dead and soon. Letting go of the stone, Vitus kneels down to the man, taking his head in one hand and twisting it to end his suffering before returning to his feet and Cassius. _"I am sorry brother, there is nothing we could do; he would not survive and there are others who need our help. We nee.."_ Vitus was quickly cut off by a roar of anger from Cassius, managing to tear the pillar up through his rage and hurl it away.


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Tacticus moved quickly out of the sparring cages as more and more of the fortress monastery collapsed around him. He had seen from the view point what else had happened around the chapter. He almost knocked over his brother Lucifer in the process, who had evidently been trapped underneath some stone as he had a slight limp in his step. Tacticus quickly greeted him. _"Well met brother, we must get to the Apothecarion and help out. There surely will be a lot of wounded and dying from this sudden attack." _Lucifer moved in front of Tacticus, trying to get to the Apothecarion quickly so that he could help.

Tacticus sighed, and patted his bolter gently as he ran after Lucifer. As he moved questions filled his mind. Who would dare attack this glorious chapter? How had the long range sensors, or even the short range sensors not picked up the enemy? Why was the void shield not raised, it would stop them from returning fire, but we have a fleet. All these thoughts and questions raced through his head as he charged into the Apothecarion. It was carnage with casualties being moved around constantly. 

Tacticus noticed one of his brother space marines, a giant called Leonid. He walked up to him, _"Brother Leonid, what use can I be to the Apothecarion?_" Leonid turned to him and patted him on the shoulder, his giant hand could encase Tacticus and crush it if he wanted to. 

*"Brother Tacticus, it is indeed fortunate that you are unscathed, we are running out of room as you can see for yourself. I need you and Lucifer to collect the geeneseed from the dead, as well as any skills you have."* Tacticus nodded to him before moving off to the wounded bay. He scoured through his brothers, helping out where he could. He also had to collect the sacred geeneseed, the life force of the chapter. It was hard work, Tacticus was forced to take the seed from those he regarded as friends, but he moved on feeling his rage boiling inside him, hoping that it wouldn't froth over until he met the ones responsible for this destruction.


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## Scythe Beast (Jun 22, 2010)

Fenix awoken from the blackness with nothing but little pains and the taste ash and smoke on his lips. now his arms, trapped by a fallen part of the book sheath but it was thrown aside like it was nothing. He forced his powerful arms to push his body up and with his boots now flat on the scared floor. He approached the buried surfs. their skin was burned,scared and even chipped.

But they could help him once he had throw the buried books aside, it was sad so much knowledge was lost to the flames but some may still be saved from the demonic fires. With his efforts he saved a small pile on his own, more with the help of the surfs.

looking down at the devastated halls he almost was to feel sorrow but soon it was replaced with righteous fury at the attacks. be it Alien, Heretic or mutant he would kill them for this offense!

"Lo' thy the time is dark, my faith shines. those that dare destroy the gift of knowledge that He has given will feel the bite of blade!" he cried into the halls as if to throw a sword at the attacks, demanding that they show themselves and die by his hand.


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## emporershand89 (Jun 11, 2010)

Mangano awoke from a dream, a dream in which he had seen his home world, though he couldn’t identify it. It was a pleasant dream, floating in limbo, knowing nothing of the world. Then, as suddenly as it began, it ended, and Mangano found himself pinned down, buried under a pile of metal rubble. Pain shot up his left arm, and warning sensors within his helmet were ringing with increasing alarm as the weight on top of him beared down on his armored suit. He flexed, and lifted with his back, using his one free arm to clear away a space to breath. With a final push he threw the rubble clear off his back and stood up, gulping in fresh air into his stale lung. 

Looking around his heart filled with pain as he saw the place he had called home for so long was in ruin. Hab units demolished bodies everywhere, the distant gate was nothing more than metal shreds, and the Sanctuary had a gaping hole in it. Working his way across the destruction, he walked into the Sanctuary, bowing his head in trained reverence. It was then that he heard a sound, one filled with so much pain and anger that even the fearless marine felt a little uneasy. Moving further into the ruined Sanctuary he saw the High Chaplin roaring a cry of anger he had heard outside, flanked by two Marines who were in a similar state. Waiting till they had calmed down, he approached the Clodius and asked, “High Chaplin Mikhail, what has you in such pain?”


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

The embers floated around Cassius like glow-bugs, whipping around him in the breeze allowed from the rent in the ceiling. A pair of Serfs offered to gather his weapons in hushed, rasping voices but he simply waved them away, sending both of them to help in the carrying of limp forms to the Apothecarion. Slowly Cassius picked his way up a narrow mound of rubble, a crunching carpet of soot making his each footfall loud and ponderous. Shards of glass twinkled amongst the rubble, showing the crimsoned face of Cassius in hundreds of different angles.

‘Who could have done this?’ He mused quietly to himself as he turned the face of a broken Serf with his boot. The skull had caved in upon the other side, leaving a bloody imprint upon the shard of marble which had done so.

When he reached the apex of the mound, a jagged piece of gold which split into the air, he got a good look around him. Chalices, bottles and glass formed a reflective dotting the ground and rubble in all directions. The odd forms of Serfs lay twisted and mangled amongst or beneath shards of rock and steel, although Cassius did see a bisected form with a rather large jag of glass through him. And then he saw it, the bearded form of a Serf, grasping from beneath a substantial piece of pillar. Without thinking Cassius threw himself down the ramp, landing amongst flames and shouldering forwards.

Cassius went down onto his haunches when he drew near, looking at the pained features of the Serf. He mouthed something but the crash of a tapestry into a pit of flames drowned out whatever he had muttered, the fine material hissing as it contorted into a heap. The Astartes stood and gripped the ivory markings of the pillar and with a great growl attempted to heft it. The visage of Sanguinius which he gripped crumbled beneath his grip, thus was the force which he put upon it.

Within moments Brother Vitus was at his side. Cassius gave him a quick nod, his braids dangling heavily as he did so and Vitus gripped the pillar with him. Yet still it refused to move, bar a small creaking towards the rear of the massive thing. And then Vitus snapped his neck. Cassius felt the stifling rage building within, but not towards his fellow, but rather towards the fact that he could not save the Serf. He had failed the man, the loyal servant. 

A tremendous roar rumbled from his throat as Vitus spoke, cutting him off. Cassius threw himself back against the pillar and took it in both hands, heaving as he leaned back and lifted it into the air. With a twist towards the side and then back into his original position he tossed it through the air, trailing a tail of dust and crimson balls from where the Serf had been crushed. It landed upright and stood there for a moment, as though in salute, before slipping down vertically beneath the flames. 

‘I swear Vitus, on my own blackheart, that I will take to head of whoever did this! We must go and find Aurio. And then, well, my weapons…..They beckon me.’


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## Captain Stillios (Mar 8, 2009)

Aurio grunted as he lifted a pllar off of a fallen brother as Scouts fought the blazing fires.

"Who could of done this?" He wondered

He noticed a fallen scout and nudged him onto his side revealing a large piece of metal the size of Aurio's fist embeded in his chest, fury at seeing his brothers dieing around him filled him, whoever did this would die, slowly.

For now Aurio assisted the scouts and serfs in fighting the fires untill he saw Brother Cassius and Brother Vitus through the flames, Aurio finished exstigushing one last fire when he heard that Cassius was looking for him.

"Here Brother!" He yelled and leaped through the flames seperating them.

"Your weapons may have already been damaged Brother, I was in the armoury when the lance struck....Master of the Forge Marcellus was killedin the blast but brother Agnotius has taken his place" He flinched in pain as he strained his wound.


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

_"Your weapons may have already been damaged Brother, I was in the armoury when the lance struck....Master of the Forge Marcellus was killed in the blast but brother Agnotius has taken his place"_ Aurio yelled so that Vitus and Cassius could here them. Such news was a terrible blow, forge-master Marcellus was gone; taken by such an inglorious death at the hands of the Emperor only knew.

_"It is a chance and risk we must take brother; there is only so much that can be done here and we must still get our weapons and wargear if there is any chance of recovering them."_ Vitus said, straining his eyes through the smoke as he watched the few remaining survivors making their way out of the hall. _"We need to go, these fires are to much for us to battle at this time; there is nothing more that we can do."_ He said, not wishing to admit such a thing but knowing that someone must say it. Cassius and Aurio might be able to go on for minutes longer, for they were already clad in armour, but Vitus was not and to much exposure risked damaging the sockets and plugs that would allow him to interface with his armour, assuming it was not destroyed or unusable.


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## Scathainn (Feb 21, 2010)

Mikhail's face was stained in the bloody tears of the beginning stages of the Black Rage as he turned towards the Reliquary. He had to get a status on what in the Emperor's Divine Name was going on, and he knew that in the case of an emergency the Chapter Council would meet in the Reliquary. As he began to walk towards the enterance, the Astartes who's name he did not know shouted towards him. "THIS WILL NOT STAND!" he yelled. "HIGH CHAPLAIN! IN THE NAME OF SANGUINIUS I IMPLORE YOU TO CALL OUR BROTHERS TO BATTLE THIS MOMENT! WE MUST MAKE THESE FOOLS FEEL OUR PAIN!" The High Chaplain waved for the brother to follow him. "Precisely what I intend to do, brother. Come with me; we shall discuss this more at the reliquary." The other Space Marine nodded and sprinted after Mikhail, following about a foot behind the Chaplain.

As he walked, yet another Astartes meandered into the room. "High Chaplain Mikhail," he asked, "what has you in such pain?" Mikhail glared at the Astartes through his red-tinted lenses as he continued walking. "Look around you, frater; what DOESN'T have me in pain?" He sighed, and waved for the second Astartes to follow him as well. The newcomer also sprinted after the High Chaplain, and began to converse quietly with the other Space Marine.

The High Chaplain walked quickly towards the Reliquary, his heavy ceramite boots drumming a deep tattoo on the intricate floor of the fortress monastary. The dull light of Asmodeus shone dimly through the stern faces of the monastary's few intact stained-glass windows; their stern images seemed to gaze down directly at the Astartes as they hurriedly rushed towards their destination. As he walked he prayed silently to himself; he found that it was when he was most under pressure that he prayed the most fervently. Whether it was a massive battle or a particularly grueling meeting of the chapter council, Mikhail could be heard muttering prayers to himself, quietly and rushed. As he marched towards the Reliquary with the other Battle-Brother in tow, he whispered one of his particular favourites, St. Cryme's Seventeenth Rite of Tenacity.

"Divine Emperor, teach me to be tenacious.
Teach me to serve you as you deserve;
to give and not to count the cost,
to fight and not to heed the wounds,
to toil and not to seek for rest,
to labor and not to ask for reward,
save that of knowing that I do your will.
Divine Emperor, teach me to be tenac--"

His second repetition of the prayer was interrupted by the first of the two other Astartes. "I am sorry Father Mikhail," he murmured. "Use me as your tool of vengeance and on my honor I will see the lost blood of our most beloved Sanguinius redeemed by shedding rivers of the enemies..." Mikhail shook his head briefly. "Although this is an attitude I can appreciate, comrade, this is an attitude we can ill-afford. Who knows how many of our battle-brothers are left alive? We cannot afford to waste our lives to merely strike at the enemy foolishly. We must consolidate our forces...even the ones we are loathe to call upon." The other two brothers were confused by the Chaplain's last statement but nodded anyways and strode quickly after Mikhail as he entered the Reliquary. 

Inside the Reliquary was a massive obsidian table, on which lay a giant three-dimensional simulated map of the Fortress Monestary and everything within 200 klicks of it. Surrounding the table was the entire Chapter Council, the assembled heads of every department of the Chapter. The High Chaplain noted each of them. At the head of the table was the Chapter Master, Methuselah of the Bloodied Fang; his thunder hammer rested beside the table. Beside him going in a circle were the captains of the various companies; Armazd, Desya, Frodhi, Thrain, Yegor, Cadmus, Labhras, Quilinus, Frideric, and Kazimir stood around the table conversing with themselves; these were captains of the first through tenth companies, respectively. These ten were followed by the High Chirugeon, Leonid, the newly appointed Master of the Forge, Agnotius, and the fleet commander, Matvei. The most visible of the members of the table was the massive Venerable Dreadnought Dmitri; this ancient brother was the Chapter Master before Lukas, who preceeded Methuselah. Finally, there was a mysterious robed figure; he was the only one wearing no power armour, and his face was completely hidden. Yegor, the captain of the fifth company, Leonid, and Matvei were not physically present; their presence was instead simulated via computer imagine. Their appearance was hazy and flickering, and had a slight blue tint.

Methuselah looked up from the map to see the High Chaplain and the two battle-brothers enter. "Ah, Mikhail, it is good to see you are alive." He walked over to the High Chaplain and embraced him warmly, giving him a strong pat on the back. "Thank this brother, Lord," pointing to the first of the two, "he was the one who pulled me from under my obsidian prison." The Chapter Master nodded at the two. "So who am I thanking then, Mikhail?" This struck the High Chaplain a bit. "Well, Lord," he mumbled, a bit embarrassed, "I actually don't know their names." The first of the two chimed in. "I am Brother Clodius, my Lord." The other bowed slightly; "And I am Brother Mangano, Lord." Methuselah nodded again to them both, then strode back towards the table, bidding Mikhail and the others to follow. Mikhail then noticed a missing face. "Lord, where is Brother Timofei?" Armazd, the first company captain, bowed his head and replied. "The Chief Librarian and the other Epistolaries died during the Librarium collapse, along with several Codiciers." Mikhail nodded grimly, replying simply, "They will be missed."

"If you don't mind my bluntness," began Cloduis, "but what exactly is going on, my brothers?" The Dreadnought Dmitri nodded approvingly. "I like how he speaks," he growled through enormous vox-grilles. "He does not bother about with silly rules and regulations." "Agreed," replied Methuselah. "Well brothers, let us answer this question--or rather, series of questions." Mikhail then raised his hand to interject. "First things first, fratres...how many of our brothers are even still alive?" The table was silent for a moment before the image of Leonid began to speak. "Accordi---*shhgchrrk*---o my records the Apothecarion has so far received eight hundred Chapter Serf casualties. The Tenth company is almost completely obliterated; only 19 are in good condition, 38 are in severe or critical condition, six are MIA, and the remaining 37 are deceased. As for full-fledged Battle-Brothers, we have so far recieved 252 admissions to the Apothecarion. Of these over half are in seve---*shhgchrrk*---ondition or greater, and a quarter are dead. 160 brothers are listed as MIA; the remaining 352 brothers planet-side are in battle ready condition." Mikhail shuddered; over half the chapter was killed in the initial attack.

Matvei, the fleet commander, the stepped into the coversation. "The majority of the fleet has survived the Zsaz'o engagement relatively unscathed. All three of our battle-barges are in operable condition or greater, and we have lost only two frigates." Yegor then nodded briefly. "The fifth company currently stands at 89 battle-brothers in optimum fighting condition; if need be we could leave the quadrant within two hours and arrive within 48." The Chapter Master nodded. "Yegor, tell your men they leave in twenty-four hours. Do as much as you can to drive out the tyranid menace and then make haste for Asmodeus." Yegor and Matvei nodded, and their images flickered from view.

Methuselah then turned to Mikhail. "Now, High Chaplain, what news do you bring from the Sepulcher?" The black-armoured High Chaplain bowed his head, sitting in silence for a moment before talking. His voice was choked, as if he had swallowed a giant stone. "The Sacred Blood is almost completely destroyed, My Lord. The large majority of the Holy Vitae evapourated in the lance blast." The room became as quiet as a graveyard for a moment. Without warning, Venerable Brother Dmitri smashed his gigantic fist into the table, momentarily disrupting the rendered map. "WE CANNOT STAND FOR THIS!" he roared. "WE MUST CRUSH THESE INSOLENT DOGS!" Methuselah nodded. "I agree, brother. In fact, because the High Chaplain was the one guarding the Holy Vitae at the time, we should in particular lead the task to him." Mikhail nodded. "I would be honoured," he replied, bowing his head again.

The Chapter Master nodded, then pressed a button on the side of his gorget. "Attention," his voice boomed, reverberating through the Fortress-Monastary's speaker system. "All battle-operative fratres, meet in the reliquary and await further instructions. The Emperor Protects, but Never Forgives. Methuselah out." The Chapter Master then walked over to Mikhail, Mangano and Clodius. Placing his hand on Mikhail's shoulder, he adressed them all. "You know what you must do, brothers. And High Chaplain? I hope those you assemble are the best you can find." Mikhail nodded.

Finally, Methuselah turned to the mysterious robed figure. "You too know what must be done, Keeper.

Release the Death Company."

The diminutive serf reached for the gilded key hung around his neck, revealing the hideous mask he wore. It was like staring into the face of death itself, with a horrifying rictus grin of fangs and cold, souless eyes. Mikhail blinked silently to himself, hoping he would not have to see the actual visage of the Reaper anytime soon.


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Whew, long update, should give you guys plenty to work with!

Clodius Terentius Vulso and Michelangelo Mangano: The two of you stand beside the High Chaplain as he converses further with the Chapter Council. You have no idea what his plans are, but you have your speculations, which you discuss among yourselves. Perhaps he has some sort of attack plan, or rescue mission, or distress call? You contemplate the possibilities amongst yourselves.

Aurio Daverin, Vitus Cornelius Appirga, and Cassius Scipio Augustus: You three head for the Armoury to fetch your wargear after putting out as many fires as possible. Arriving at the massive hanger, you offer what help you can clearing the rubble from the vehicle bays, a fact the Techmarines greatly appreciate. You just finish finding your wargear when the message from Methuselah sounds over the speakers. Shrugging, you head to the reliquary, unsure what to expect.

Tacticus Romus and Lucifer Octavius: After helping Leonid with as much of the dead as possible, you leave the Apothecarion to return to the Chapter Arena to fetch your wargear. On the way, you meet the surviving members of Tacticus' squad, including Aleksandr, who you dueled. You then hear Methuselah's message and begin to head towards the reliquary like the others.

Brother Fenix Xentor: After finishing helping the serfs find any survivors, you retrieve your wargear from the armoury. On your way back, you come across Aurio, Vitus, and Cassius, who tell you about Methuselah's message (the speakers in the Librarium were destroyed). Together, you walk towards the Reliquary, awaiting the announcement from the Chapter Council.

Inactive Participants (aka Farseer): You are buried under rubble and unconscious!

Cheers and have a great week of RPing without me! :victory:

Scathainn


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## Snowy (Jul 11, 2009)

Lucifer finished at the Apothecarion and left stepped outside of it, he wished to gather his wargear. He walked to the Chapter Arena, the only piece of wargear he held was his Chainsword, and he didn't think that a single weapon would stop an invading army, no matter how strong or who wielded the weapon.
He turned a corner and was just about to pick up his weapons when he heard the message to report to the Requilary, he ran inside the Arena and saw some marines around the pile of rubble that used to be the wargear room.
Lucifer steeped forward, and with the help of a couple of Marines they lifted a slab of rock that had been covering the entrance away.
Lucifer immediately ran inside and grabbed his weapons, he felt like a father reunited with his lost children. After checking their condition and that they had a full clip in each he promptly turned and walked out of the arena and headed towards the Requilary


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## emporershand89 (Jun 11, 2010)

Mangano stood there, slightly stunned at the casualty figures that the venerable Brother Clodius was ranting off. How could that one ship to so much damaged, and especially to a Fortress Monastery? Were these places not built to withstand such thing that the warriors of the Emperor could focus their minds elsewhere?

These and other question permeated his mind as he thought about what was to come and what was to yet happen. Mangano stood there and listened as the Chapter Master and the others plotted a counter attack against this ungodly foe. When the meet was all said and done Mangano waited outside until the High Chaplin came out and then he approached him.

“High Chaplin, I need to have a word with you, in private if you please?”…………………………………………………..


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## Scythe Beast (Jun 22, 2010)

Fenix had left the surfs to their work but the attack was still on his mind, a whole chapter's wroth of knowledge now nothing but ash. It was an insult to the name of the Sin-Eaters and there must be retribution! he took his power axe in his hands, running his mailed thumb over the side of the blade. only seconds before he had checked the feeding of his bolter, no one like a jammed weapon. he grunted to his brother "The attacker, those cowards! they will know the Emperors Wrath! Even if i have to choke the life out of every single one!"


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

Leaving the shattered and broken drinking hall, Vitus fell in line with his brothers; passing by fires and the forms of the dead he could just barely contain the rage boiling within. Who had managed such an affront to the chapter and how had they been able to do this? With the bulk of the chapter present surely the fleet in orbit should have prevented such a thing from happening? There were many questions, and precious few answers to be had, and worse even less time for those answers at all. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Vitus nearly ran headfirst into another brother; quickly sidestepping to avoid causing the two of them to waste any time. He needed to get to the armoury, to obtain his armour and wargear and to become whole again.

Entering the armoury was like stepping back into the drinking hall but with fewer flames. The dead had been hauled away from the rubble as others worked to find more survivors. Grabbing a pair of serfs, Vitus waved Aurio and Cassius on; he needed his armour and until armed would not be as useful as he should be. Without a word, the trio began the task of encasing Vitus in his power armour. "_Cut out what rituals and rights you can, forgiveness shall be sought later; there are more pressing issues and not enough time."_ He said in an attempt to make this task that much quicker.


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Tacticus moved through the wounded area, staring at all his brethren that were injured. Some were beyond healing, others were not. He felt sorrow for those that were beyond his help. He felt anger well up inside him, threatening to push him over the limit. As another one of his brethren was wheeled in Tacticus couldn't take it anymore. He moved away from all the wounded and helpers, into a side room. He paused for a moment before he smashed his fist against the medical table. He would have continued until Leonid walked in. _"Brother you are no longer needed here, you should regroup with the rest of the battle fit brothers." _

Tacticus nodded to him before moving away, following the silent Lucifer. They moved into the combat arena, where the rest of Tacticus squad met up with them. It was fortunate that the 1St company veterans that Tacticus called his closest brethren had survived unharmed as such. He moved over to Aleksandr and clasped his gauntleted hand. "_Brother it is good to see you unharmed, unlike so many of our brethren that lie in the Apothecarion. Give me a moment to arm myself, then we can move down to the rendezvous point."_ He waited for his brothers to acknowledge what he said before moving over to his weapons, he didn't have time for rituals and would repent for it later. But now retribution was at hand. He would destroy the enemy that had killed so many of his brothers. He would spare none of them. He would destroy them.


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

The journey towards the armoury was a crude thing. The trio were forced to maneuver between objects that had collapsed, through burning galleries and across half-destroyed platforms. Cassius felt ponderous with each step that he took. Something within wanted to rip the walls around him asunder and the tang of blood within his mouth was unbearably strong. Yet he welcomed it. He licked the splits in his gums vibrantly, keeping them raw and drawing thick crimson. He felt regretful towards Vitus. The younger Brother was a capable warrior but was without his armour and thus he was all but useless, the flames too strong for his bare flesh to withstand.

The armoury came quicker than Cassius had expected. It was however, in a state of disarray. Several Brothers were clearing rubble from the venerable war machines, tossing away slabs of rock in rage. A Techmarine waltzed by, shaking uncontrollably and muttering binary from his face-engraved speech system. His crimson-clad bulk had accumulated various slashes and soot stains, however he seemed oblivious to the blood which had leaked from several and now congealed, simply caring about his equipment.

Cassius dispersed from the others, slipping across a pile of rubble and heading towards a half buried Rhino. Two Astartes of the Third were working to clear it, pulling rebar shards and rock from the angled front. The view screen was shattered inwards and a circular plate, doused with gore, was embedded horizontally across the surface. What Brother or Serf had befallen this shrapnel? He pondered on this for long moments walking towards the shard and taking it in his gauntlets. It was slick beneath his fingers and slowly he hefted it out, tossing it away like a discuss. 

‘Brother Cassius..’ One of the Marines said, looking at him with his pale-complexion strewn into a tight smile. Arches of wetness were spread out beneath his eyes and it was evident that he had been weeping previously.

‘Cicero?’ Asked Cassius, plying his memories to recognise the face. Yes, it was young Cicero. Cassius remembered him from when he was seconded to the Tenth for teaching matters, he could only have been raised to Brotherhood in the latest months.

‘Indeed. Brother, who has done-’ He began, before Cassius waved one gauntlet in the air and his mouth shut as though forced.

‘I do not know Cicero. Nor, apparently, does anyone. I will however make them pay, with fist and fang if I must do so.’ Cassius allowed this to come out in a thundering growl, quivering upon sheer rage. 

And then there was silence. Cassius lent his aid to the clearing of the Rhino, when the turret cupola was revealed however, Cicero scrambled up and popped the hatch, slipping into the Rhino and igniting the engines. Cassius raised his right hand in parting and turned, moving away at a steady pace. He needed to find his weaponry. He knew they were in his own armouring chambers towards the northern quadrant and he was clearing the armoury with great bounds, ignoring the plight of the Mechanicus around him. 

He stopped when he realised that the door was ajar and leaking bright light. Had someone taken his beloved weapons? Had they blindly took it? His hearts swelled and he moved forwards slowly, his fists bunched. He gripped the edge of the door and yanked it tightly, pulling it open to reveal the marbled interior. Murals of Sanguinius spread around the room, although originally, Cassius had been adamant in getting them removed. The Primarch had failed them in death. He had abandoned his sons.

Cassius was grateful that both _Nero _and _Titus _still rested in their berths. His Bolt Pistol was also there and he quickly took them all up, gripping _Titus _with dark intent. Now, he would fight.


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## Captain Stillios (Mar 8, 2009)

Aurio followed the others to the armoury and found Agnotius in a new servo-harness helping clear a land raiders assault ramp.
"Brother, let me help you" He said and stepped in to lift a fallen spar of metal letting Agnotius open the ramp and allowing several trapped brothers to climp free.
Aurio glanced around and saw Cassius hed for his weapons and noticed that he had lost his pistol somwhere, he saw it lieing not far away next to a burnt and broken corpse. He walked over and collected his pistol then rolled over the body revealing the name plate-Brother Sergeant Micheal-Aurio gasped, Micheal had been a close friend, he would be avenged. Aurio stood and let loose a bestial roar that was heard around the armoury.

"Who in throne's name did this!?" He yelled then looked down on Micheal's corpse "We are the Sons of Sanguinius, we should not be humiliated like this you will be avenged brother along with Master of the Forge Marcellus and countless others!"


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## Scathainn (Feb 21, 2010)

Mihail stood at the podium of the reliquary as he watched the various Sin-Eaters shuffle into the room, dazed and confused at their surroundings. Their appearances varied wildly. Some were mere scouts, freshly recruited and gazing in horror at the destruction wrought around them. Others were veterans of the first company, experienced in a thousand campaigns; to them this was simply another battle, and they shuffled into place next to their comrades wordlessly, like a well-oiled machine. All of them were completely silent, recognizing the dire situation that had befallen them as a whole. Wordlessly, the High Chaplain watched as they marched into the room painfully slowly; what was actually minutes seemed to take days to reach fruition*. 

Finally, the entire host of marines was assembled. Before him stood three hundred and seventy-four servants of the Emperor of Mankind, armed and armoured in full battle regalia. Company standard bearers hefted their flags high to proclaim the might of their company, their sacred standards bedecked with macabre trophies and symbols from past battles. A mighty host, to be sure, one that could certainly hold it’s own in an ordinary battle, but it was nothing compared to the host assembled earlier in the day, and with so little information available, who could tell if this was enough? Mikhail looked at them back and forth, his image displayed on a giant viewscreen above him. He seemed to stare into the eyes of each and every Battle-Brother.

Finally, the aged Chapter Master Methuselah waved his hand towards Mikhail at the podium. Clearing his throat, the skull-helmed High Chaplain leaned forward. “Brothers,” he began, emotion thick in his voice. “Today we gather in veneration of the Emperor for the direst of reasons. As you already know, the Chapter Monastery has been attacked from orbit by a currently unknown adversary. From what little we know, however, this enemy has come in force. Our fortified outposts have all been destroyed, and our orbital communications are silent. Both land-based and orbital defenses have been destroyed and the few PDF emplacements on the planet are not responding; we can only assume the worst. Obviously, fratres, this is precisely the reason we have called you here: to inform you all of the situation as we know it, and to begin our plan for a response. We haven’t much time so I shall be skipping the formaliti---“

At this point the High Chaplain’s microphone went silent and the gigantic viewscreen above him began to crackle ominously with static. The Chapter Council stood to their feet uneasily, staring at the screen. Mikhail continued to speak for a few moments, however, unaware the microphone had been cut, before a serf alerted him to the fact. Embarrased, he turned his head to stare at the viewscreen above him as a hazy image began to fade into view.

The static slowly faded to reveal the dark interior of an orbital battleship. Through the armaglas windows in the background, one could see the planet Asmodeus itself, it’s rocky surface spinning almost imperceptibly slowly. That, however, was the least noticeable thing they saw. For standing in front of the camera was a most disturbing figure. The first thing that Mikhail noticed was the ornate gas-mask he wore, twin tubing filters spiraling down his chest. Engraved into the mask’s forehead was an ornate rune to the heretical god Khorne, and perched atop his head was a vile parody of a commissar’s cap, the traditional aquilia replaced with a fist holding the eight-pointed Star of Chaos. He wore a fine greatcoat bedecked in cruel and sharp-looking medals, and one could see that one of the hands held behind his back was encased in a massive powerfist. The eye lenses of the mask shone with cruel precision as he nodded to the marines watching.

His accent, though understandable enough, was accentuated in the gas-mask that encased him. It came from a world the Chaplain did not recognize. He spoke icily and deep, like a glacier rumbling across a barren landscape. “Good day, members of Sin-Eaters Chapter of Space Marhines. As you must already know, we are ones who have perpretraded orbital attack upon your citadel. We do not hide our faces like cowards in night, we stand proud at what we have done. In fact, I am to be introducing myself.” He dipped his cap mockingly with his powerfist, bowing every so slightly. ““I am High Slaughtermaster Urza Vol, Kommander of Division 428-6 of the Blood of Ruin, commanding the 292nd Mechanized Infantry, the 81st Armoured, the 999th Infantry, the 103rd Veteran, and the 422nd Mechanized infantry. Please to be meeting you.” He laughed thickly through the gasmask. The Space Marines watching him clenched their fists at the sound.

Methuselah stepped forward as a serf moved in front of him carrying a vid-vox recorder. Mikhail noted then that the heretical general had offered the signal for a return answer. “What do you want, heretic scum? Is it not enough that you land your armies even now on our planet only to be defeated, or do you wish to gaze upon your doom?” The marines in the audience nodded approvingly, agreeing as one with the Chapter Master’s words.

Urza laughed again. “As much as you would like to be thinking that, sirrah, I am not contacting for simple pleasantries. I have contacted you to be making negotiations…negotiations of surrender.” He stepped back briefly and outstretched his hands. “Let me be showing you why I call.” Suddenly the video camera began to flicker to many different feeds. One showed dozens, if not hundreds of tanks aboard a landing craft, barreling down towards Asmodeus. Others showed a living tide of heretical guardsman swarming a Chapter Outpost. Still another showed a mass of skull-helmed veterans surrounding a group of PDF officers lined up as what looked to be another commanding officer imploded their heads one by one with a similar looking powerfist. The sights were altogether horrifying to behold.

The screen flickered back to Urza, hands crossing his chest. “See now then? You cannot be winning. But I am making you a deal now. If you do three things for my cause then I will not be harming you. Firstly, you will be not resisting my troops as we take command of planet. Second, you will be handing over all weapons on planet to my forces. Third, you will renounce your corpse-god and praise the All-Slayer, mighty Khorne on Skull Throne. You have this choice. You may accept, or you may die.”

The room went completely silent as the Chapter Council exchanged glances with each other, faces perspiring with worry. Amidst the silence, however, rose a commotion. In the very rear of the reliquary stepped forth a scout from the ranks of his company. His arms jittered nervously as he gripped his weapon, but he stared into Urza’s face with steely determination. “We are Sp-sp-space Marines, heretic scum. We will never bow to your demands!” A hearty cheer rose from the ranks of the Battle-Brothers, deep and imposing. Emboldened by his brothers, the recruit stood straight. “Space Marines!” he yelled. The assembled host stood to attention. Mikhail glanced at Methuselah, who nodded approvingly.

The scout cleared his throat. 
“What is your creed?” he cried.
The host answered. “OUR CREED IS BLOOD!”
“What is your code?”
“OUR CODE IS FURY!”
“What is your command?”
“OUR COMMAND IS OBEDIENCE!”
“What is your charter?”
“OUR CHARTER IS DEATH!”

The entire hosts raised their fists into the air, holding their weapon of trade. “AVE IMPERATOR!” they yelled, then broke out in cheers of defiance. Wordlessly, the communication was severed with static. The battle had truly begun.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

All: (Describe how you got to the reliquary and how you got your weapons and armour if you do not already have them). As members of the First Company, you are directed to assemble under the command of your Captain, Armazd, to await further instructions. By this time you are all armed and armoured fully, and you are ready to give the taste of death to your enemies.

Inactive Participants : You are buried under rubble and unconscious!

*See what I did there? :biggrin:


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## Snowy (Jul 11, 2009)

Lucifer yelled with the rest of the marines, it had been a terrible day for the chapter.
After the yelling had stopped and the brothers were calm Lucifer recounted how he had got to the Requilary...

...Lucifer jumped over a broken piece of rubble, but as he did, he felt a hand grab his ankle. Lucifer didn't fall, he just spun and raised his plasma pistol.
Only to find the culprit of this attack was a serf buried under the rubble. Lucifer dropped to his knees and lifted the piece of fallen masonary with a grunt of effort.
The serf returned to its feet and off it went. It had jobs to perform, just as Lucifer did. He continued on.

As Lucifer stood with his captain he saw the marines were all preparing for what seemed like their last battle. This would not do.
Lucifer lifted himself onto a piece of rubble and activated his helmet vox.
_'My Brothers, this is not to be our last fight, this is not to be the end of the glorious Sin-Eaters,'_ Lucifer waited for quiet again after the Marines roared various cheers at the mention of the Chapter. _'It is not our day to die. For we have the Emperor. No, it is not our day to die. It is the Chaos following Heretic scum. We shall kill the traitors, we shall burn their corpses for the Emperor, our armour shall not be covered in their blood because their blood is not worthy of being worn on our armour. They are mongrels. And we shall teach them their place. For the Emperor!'_


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

Minutes felt like hours, years even, despite the forgoeing of the ancient rites and prayers; it took all his effort to control his rage at this inaction. It was only a moment after Vitus opened his eyes that he came to realize the process had ended, the last five pieces of his wargear lay before him. Spaal and Perdition, the combat blade and bolt pistol he had received upon initiation to the chapter as a scout; Executioner, the bolter that he had taken up upon receiving the black carapace and the power armour that solidified him as a full battle brother; and finally Deliverance, the chainsword he had been given during his time with the deathwatch. All of these weapons held memories of times years gone past for him, and untold thousands of events from previous bearers.

The last of the five was perhaps the most sacred of them all, and it was with this that he would be complete again: the helm of his armour, the true mark of a space marine in the eyes of anyone else. Only after holstering or mag locking each of the four weapons did Vitus take up the helmet and seal it, runes previously red changing to green and targeting reticules tracking the movements of his retina’s. _“We are whole again.”_ He said in the confines of his armour, the external vox remaining silent while he stood there.

Snapping out of reverie, Vitus followed his brothers as they made their way to the reliquary. Time and again they passed the wounded or the dieing, this doing nothing but fuel the welling anger within Vitus. His only desire now was to be pointed at those responsible so that he could unleash His justice. Loong minutes of silent marching later, Vitus and others entered the reliquary and those of first company gathered to captain Armazd before the high chaplain began to speak. Without warning, the chaplain’s words were cut off and it was only after a serf worked the courage to speak up that Mikhail, the high chaplain, discovered this for himself. As if waiting for a cue, the viewscreen changed and Asmodeus could now be seen in the distance.

That was not the worst of such an affront though, no, for the one responsible for all of this soon came into view and it took all Vitus could muster in order to keep his vox unit off while he roared his anger. The only witnesses to his anger now were Vitus himself, the Emperor of man, and the spirit of his armour; and as one of the elite of the chapter that is how it needed to remain. Whatever the heretics words were, for he did not sully himself by bothering to take in their meaning the slightest, Vitus waited until he was cut off or rebuked by the high chaplain or the chapter master; but it never came. Looking to captain Armazd and the other veterans around him, Vitus watched as they stared into the screen, little if any anger on their features and all of them seemingly fixated on the image. Before he could cry out against this heretic and whatever blasphemous dribble he was spewing forward, an untried member of the tenth spoke up. The effects of his words were almost immediate, breaking whatever hold had been on others and they began to join him as the scout rebuked this bastard.

Vitus did not hold back, activating his external speaker and lending his voice in support of this scout. If the enemy wanted their home, than they would pay the price for thinking to cross the space marines and pay for that mistake with their lives. Once the feed had been severed and his brothers were roaring in approval and barely controlled battle lust, Vitus called out. _“Let the fools come and try to take this planet! Let them pay the price for their stupidity as only He would have it!”_


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## Scythe Beast (Jun 22, 2010)

Fenix sighed at the sight of the damage and no one dead enemy. In fact that was a source of discomfort for him as they do not know who was the attacker. he followed his brothers to reliquary where the rest of his sat waiting. he never left his bolter behind but the rest remained. 

it didn't take long to find his, but it was trapped by small fallen piece of ruble, so with a might effort he lifted the scarp and tossed it away. allowing him to get his wargear. pulling the helmet over his brow and locking in the place under his chin. Fenix was alway at awe at the design of the Mk.7 armor as he made sure all was ready for heated combat. Then it came to bearing his Axe once more. It was a fine weapon that has torn countless heretics asunder that he named it the Judgment of the unclean. 

Soon th marine was whole, Man and Wargear. Fenix rejoined his brothers, his rage bubbling his blood to the boil and his face twisted in rage.


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

_Sanguinius has failed us more in death than he did in life…_

Cassius thought this silently as he watched the twisted figure before him spit vile hatred through the screen, his fellow assembled Brothers all drawn upon it. He tapped the head of Titus affectionately, looking down at his mighty Thunder Hammer with a smile upon his broken lips. It had been several months, if not more, since it had last rendered body’s apart and spilled blood at his hand. Without a sound he continued to watch, his eyes narrowed. The blame of this was evident, it came to him easily..

_Sanguinius.._

Had he not failed in death, he could have prospered in life. The Primarch sacrificed himself, when so many others could have done so. Now, Cassius was forced to fight tooth and nail to save himself from the depriving of Chaos. From death, dishonour and rot. He bit down on his bottom lip, hard. Blood was drawn in a twisted crimson orb and he sucked it back into his mouth, rubbing it across the roof and his teeth, further lacerating his tongue. It did not hurt, however. He had grown accustom to the shedding of lifeblood, he cared not for his own pain.

Urza, the master of the enemy, would fall by his grip. He vowed that wholeheartedly, grinning as he etched it into his soul, weaving it with his thoughts. With a tremendous roar from within the depths of his lungs, Cassius Scipio Augustus joined in the chanting with his fellows, pounding his Thunder Hammer into the ground and beating his chest with his shield. Now, he would need to find the enemy. 

‘To the slaughter!’


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Tacticus and the rest of his squad rounded a corner. He looked at a stone statue of the Emperor that had fallen onto it's side when the bombardment began. He turned to his brothers his eyes ablaze with fury. _"These cowardly attacks cannot go un-noticed brothers, we must take our revenge soon. The Emperor wills it."_ The rest of the squad nodded with approval and slowly they made their way over to the statue. Tacticus and his brothers had to duck under it. Even with the whole squad they would not have been able to lift it, they would have to leave that task for another.

As they entered the Reliquary the high chaplain was starting his speech to the remaining marines, so few from what had previously been a thousand. The squad of brothers, several from other companies moved to their places, before the screen behind the chaplain went to static and his mike cut out. Tacticus frowned for a second before the screen showed the interior of a ship and a heretic guardsmen. He began showing them why they should surrender before a young scout stepped forward, nervous but still defiant.

“*We are Sp-sp-space Marines, heretic scum. We will never bow to your demands!”* A cheer rose through the room and Tacticus found himself bellowing with it. The young recruit now looked confident. 

*“Space Marines!”* he yelled. The assembled host stood to attention. Mikhail glanced at Methuselah, who nodded approvingly.

The scout cleared his throat. 
*“What is your creed?” *he cried.
The host answered. *“OUR CREED IS BLOOD!”*
*“What is your code?”
“OUR CODE IS FURY!”
“What is your command?”
“OUR COMMAND IS OBEDIENCE!”
“What is your charter?”
“OUR CHARTER IS DEATH!”
*
The room erupted into *“AVE IMPERATOR!"* As the host continued to chant. Together they would be victorious. Tacticus banged his weapons against his breastplate before he and the others moved over to their captain and waited for orders. _"They would need that many men just to take you down Aleksander, you wouldn't realise that you were hit by their weapons your so angry."_ Joked Tacticus and received a growl of approval from his brothers. *"I will kill them all Tacticus."*


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## Captain Stillios (Mar 8, 2009)

“We are Sp-sp-space Marines, heretic scum. We will never bow to your demands!” A cheer rose through the room and Aurio roared with it. The young recruit now looked confident. 

“Space Marines!” he yelled. The assembled host stood to attention. Aurio saw Mikhail glance at Methuselah, who nodded approvingly.

The scout cleared his throat. 
“What is your creed?” he cried.
The host answered. “OUR CREED IS BLOOD!”
“What is your code?”
“OUR CODE IS FURY!”
“What is your command?”
“OUR COMMAND IS OBEDIENCE!”
“What is your charter?”
“OUR CHARTER IS DEATH!”


Aurio roared with the rest of them but deep down he felt the stirrings of somthng terrible and feral, the curse of Sanguinius's blood line, The Black Rage, Aurio felt it and suppressed it but he was uncertain if he could again.
"AVE IMPERATOR!"

Aurio then marched to meet with his Captain.

"For the Emperor brothers, smite the filth that did this to us" He said quietly


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## Scathainn (Feb 21, 2010)

The First Company Captain stood in front of the assembled veterans as they filed in, and Mikhail stood slightly behind him. Their wargear was all very individualistic, and yet they all seemed so similar; their expressions were almost identical to each other. Their faces were etched with a stoic perserverance but Mikhail could tell beneath these stern visages lurked an unimaginable fury. Not even the combined thousands of years experience could control their bloodlust. They would soon be set upon the enemy, tearing the heretics apart with blade and fist and feasting on the remains. 

Armazd cleared his throat, and the assembled marines fell silent. It was an impressive host, a full sixty-one veteran marines, and yet it seemed so small in the face of the Blood of Ruin invasion force. There would have to be swift action.

"Brothers, I have assembled you today for an important task. With the Blood of Ruin already on the planet we must act quickly, so I shall be brief." He paused to lick his lips. "There is a station not far from the Chapter Monastary that was formerly an old PDF station. Based on intel we have archived from several years ago, the PDF station has a backup communications grid wired to it. If we can get to that station, planetary communications will be online. The ramifications for this would be immense; we can come into contact with remaining Planetary Defence Forces to consolidate our might, and we can use intersolar hailing to contact reinforcements in case of an emergency. Therefore, because of the importance of this mission, Chapter Master Methuselah has given me the approval to use the entire 1st company to achieve this goal."

There were hushed murmurs among the crowd before Armazd began again. "We expect heavy resistance, so we shall be coming in force, as can be expected. We have also recieved approval from the Armourium to afford armoured transport for each squad. We have been granted five Rhinos and two Razorbacks to lead the assault. You will be divided into five squads; six of the remaining will travel with High Chaplain Mikhail here, while the other five shall travel with myself."

Armazd cleared his throat again. "Finally, we have been given the request to have our Death Company bretheren assist us." A low gasp issued from the veterans, and Mikhail knew why. The Sin-Eaters had a Death Company, like other Blood Angels chapters; it was inevitable that some brothers would fall to the Black Rage. However, it was the manner in which they were treated that set them apart. Most Blood Angels chapters sent their Death Company on suicide missions, and mercifully executed the survivors. The Sin-Eaters, however, viewed this as a waste of valuable manpower. The survivors of the Sin-Eaters Death Company were instead retrieved, stripped of power armour, and imprisoned in a dungeon deep below the Chapter Monastary. In a completely lightless world, the bloodcrazed marines fight each other for supremacy, until only the strongest survive in the darkness. Before battle, their faces are painted in blood to arouse their fury, and they are suited up with power armour and familiar weapons such as the bolter and chainsword. 

Needless to say, it was as dangerous for the allies of these crazed warriors as the enemy, for they were only barely controlled by their Custodian squad leaders, and if their keeper were to die....

Armazd raised his hand to quiet the marines again. "You have your tasks. I dismiss you for now, but I shall be coming to you to divide you into squads. From here, report to the Armourium to recieve transport. The God-Emperor protects." The marines made a quick aquila and went about their way.


------------------------------------------------------------------------

A bit of a quick update but I want you to direct this one a bit...

All of you are (obviously enough) selected for Mikhails squad and head to the armoury. What happens there differs:

Tacticus Romus, Vitus Cornelius Appirga, and Cassius Scipio Augustus: Once inside the armoury, Mikhail asks you to assist him in a blessing of the transports for the strike force. You travel with him and a brooding Techmarine from tank to tank, helping the High Chaplain coat the vehicles in sacred oils and sigils, and press fresh purity seals onto them. The Chaplain calls upon each one of you to speak some words of blessing over a vehicle (Each of you come up with some kind of prayer for one of the tanks). Once the ceremony is done you are left to your own devices for an hour (Do not leave the Armoury).

Aurio Daverin, Lucifer Octavius, and Brother Fenix Xentor: You three are given the slightly tedious task of making sure the razorback you are riding in is in good mechanical condition. A techmarine wanders up to you and requests you assistance in the tank; the turret-mounted assault cannon has a clogged ammo feed and requires a few extra hands. Once that is complete, the techmarines gives you and the squad the Omnisiah's blessing and hands you a few small cog-shaped necklaces to distribute to your squadmates. As with the others, you are then left to your own devices for an hour (Do not leave the Armoury).


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## Snowy (Jul 11, 2009)

Lucifer balanced on the tank as he was handed up a hammer and a belt of ammo to slip into the Assault cannon.
He hit the Assault Cannons ammo feeder and heard a convincing whump as the former belt of ammo fell out of the Assault Cannon. He then quickly slipped into the Assault Cannon and closed the hatch, giving the Cannon a quick bang with the hammer to make sure the ammo feeder would work, he didn't want to be blamed for the Assault Cannon dying again.
As he jumped off the Razor back and gave the other Marines with him a quick nod to show him that he'd fixed the feeder and they could re-connect and re-mount the Assault Cannon.

After being awarded with the blessing of the Machine God and being given a cog necklace, which he threw over his head. He walked round the Razorbacks and other vehicles, admiring their armoured forms.


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

Cassius Scipio Augustus was alone, lost in his tumulus thoughts. His face was an hardened slab of flesh, encrusted with both ash and congealed blood. He did not bother to clean it away, it was just another memory to him. The briefing by the First-Captain had been relatively short, a staccato of orders and gasps from both Cassius and his fellows. He prodded his eyelid with one of his ceramite-encased talons, feeling perspiration mingle with the freshly made cracks. It stung for an instant before dissipating, his advanced senses easily compensating for the pain. 

Mikhail had sought them out, deciding that they were to be the ones who would accompany him into battle. Their task was the administering of seals to the vehicles that would bear the First forth, one which Cassius had grudgingly accepted. He was no Tech-Marine, nor did he know much about their strange ways. However he would gladly agree, though not for his own gains, but rather for those of his fellows. 

Cassius took in the smell of oils and lubricants as he entered the armoury once again. It was still in a state of disarray, the once proud Tech-Marines now brooding solemnly. A herd of Servitors shambled past, each of their skin in a translucent state, pulled tightly against their atrophied organs. One of them watched him with dead eyes, slack-jawed and guiltily weeping oil. Splayed across its back was an abundance of metallic components, shaped into serrated wings. Black wires slipped from its head like thick strands of hair, quivering in their own way.

‘Sanguinius..’ Muttered Cassius, staring at the distorted image before him.

He shook his head clear of such thoughts. Their Primarch was a failure, abandoning them in death at Terra. If he had not rushed into oblivion so willingly, he could have led the Imperium into a new state of prosperity. Instead, the Imperium was a breeding ground for cutthroats and brigands. It was a cesspit, a mere shadow of its former self. The Astartes needed to rule if it would survive, they needed command over the worlds.

The Sin-Eater collected a canvas of oils and other seals, slowly drifting towards a nearby Rhino. It was dented in the front, the metal inverted on itself deeply. He was sure he could hear the Machine Spirit howling in despair, thrashing against its mechanical hide. Cassius took a swathe of oils upon the tip of his brush and brought it along the viewing visor, wetting the edges slowly. He proceeded to do the same on every rivet, every bolt. It took him most of the hour, but when it was done, he was happy.

Upon the front, he had wrote; 

_Graced Emperor. Guide forth the Sin-Eaters, bring us into salvation. Our failures will be atoned in death, for they are too great to be done so in life. Gift us your Hammer and Shield, allow us to rend the enemy limb-from-limb. Hallowed be thy name, amen._


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

Without a word, Vitus tore his gaze away from the captain and instead to the imposing figure behind him. Resplendant in his jet black armour, Vitus had to fight hard in order to suppress the shiver of fear that ran down his spine. Not so much for any possible transgression he could have committed, more so for what the high chaplain represented: power, restraint, purity of soul and mind, clarity and faith. Only when the high chaplain spoke did Vitus notice those who remained with him, Tacticus Romus, Cassius Scipio Augustus, Aurio Daverin, Lucifer Octavius, and Fenix Xentor all stood to either side of him. Pride welled within Vitus as he ordered himself, Romus, and Augustus and he was thankful that the confines of his helmet hid the broad smile etched across his face.

The smile, however, quickly faded once the high chaplain spoke of what he wanted them to do. While the rest of the company prepared for battle, they were to act as an honour guard for the high chaplain and help him to bless the transports like an initiate or servitor! Vitus realized that these vehicles would need their machine spirits to be appeased, but he did not have to like it and the rage deep within tried to force itself out; turning what was an honour into a slight of some kind.

In silence Vitus followed the high chaplain and the group was soon joined by a tech-marine as they made way to each transport. It was at the second of the transports that Vitus stopped; something, possibly the machine spirit of the vessel, compelling him to remain and honour its sacred hull as the chaplain had instructed. Vitus kneeled down before the vehicle of war, dipping his armoured hands in the sacred oils and tracing lines along the vehicles hull. The lines slowly formed symbols, words long ago bombarded into his mind by the learning machines of the chapter, granting him the ability to read and produce ancient writings long since gone by. As he moved onward, Vitus fell into a trance of sorts, moving on from the ancient words of the Sin-Eaters and their successors to vows of protection and honour he had learned from those he had served with in the Deathwatch.

After nearly an hour of silence, Vitus finally stopped where he had begun; once again kneeling down before the transport with his head held low. He did not know of any blessings for the spirit of a war engine like this, for Vitus was no tech-marine. What he did know was the litany of protection, one he would often recite to appease his armour. What was a rhino but another form of protection? Another skin and part of a marine that would aid him in bringing death and justice to the enemies of mankind? Opening his vox speaker, Vitus began the litany, his voice no more than a whisper. _“Grant me this in my time of need. You are the skin that protects my flesh, the armour that augments my strength, that which gives me power to defeat those who would oppose His will and sully His worlds. Bear me forth upon wings of flame or armour of ceramite and adamantium so that I may be His weapon.” _


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Tacticus and the rest of the 1st company received their orders. They would retake a communication outpost from these heretics, in doing so would re establish communications with loyal forces on the ground, and hopefully send out a request for aid to their brothers in the stars. They would push these heretics back, one bloody step at a time. Mikhail stood close by, and suddenly said the Death Company wished to join them. This brought a smile to Tacticus' face, his brothers from the Death Company weren't to be trusted but the amount of fear and retribution they would bring with them would run the planet red with Hertical blood.

Tacticus, Vitus and Cassius were chosen by Mikhail to act as an honour guard into battle, but also to bless the vehicles that would carry them into the heart of battle. Tacticus knew little about blessing vehicles, and it seemed like a task for a mindless servitor or a young scout rather than a veteran of the first company. Nevertheless he followed the Chaplain obediently from vehicle to vehicle, watching as his other two brethren performed the rites on a vehicle. The group stopped at a Rhino APC and at Mikhail's indication Tacticus moved towards it, sacred oils in one hand.

He dipped his hand into and began to move his hand over the rhino, as the chaplain and a a techmarine blessed the vehicles. This seemed to be a techmarine's job to Tacticus but he continued to run the oil over the vehicle. Once he finished he spoke a blessing over the vehicle as well, a prayer to the machine spirit that inhabited this APC. _"Immortal Emperor, bless this steed with the speed and strength that will be required of it in the forth coming battle, let it carry its charges to the battlefield safely and intact, ready to burst forth and release your bloody vengence on those that betray you."_


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## Scythe Beast (Jun 22, 2010)

Fenix stood silent and still as if frozen for awhile, the Death Company was something he had both repeated and shuddered at the though of, The mindless rage and the need to kill all those in their paths as it's victims believed themselves The Primearch reborn, a sad fate he had once witnessed on a long forgotten battle, a Battle Brother he had once called a friend was among them after losing himself to the Black Rage during battle. a sad fate to be told to take your brother's weapon from them and send them to a cold dark prison. the only pride in it is if they were lucky enough to be called and die in battle. then all was well. He awoke from this state when a battle brother's shoulder hits his. The Marine then went off to the Razorback, climbing on top to see what could be done but only after he'd wrapped his bolter's strap around his right forearm, so even if it was knocked out of his hand. he'd never lose it.


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## Captain Stillios (Mar 8, 2009)

"Brothers, I have assembled you today for an important task. With the Blood of Ruin already on the planet we must act quickly, so I shall be brief." Armazd paused to lick his lips. "There is a station not far from the Chapter Monastary that was formerly an old PDF station. Based on intel we have archived from several years ago, the PDF station has a backup communications grid wired to it. If we can get to that station, planetary communications will be online. The ramifications for this would be immense; we can come into contact with remaining Planetary Defence Forces to consolidate our might, and we can use intersolar hailing to contact reinforcements in case of an emergency. Therefore, because of the importance of this mission, Chapter Master Methuselah has given me the approval to use the entire 1st company to achieve this goal."

'The entire company?' Aurio wondered in his head 'Or more like what is left of it'


"We expect heavy resistance, so we shall be coming in force, as can be expected. We have also recieved approval from the Armourium to afford armoured transport for each squad. We have been granted five Rhinos and two Razorbacks to lead the assault. You will be divided into five squads; six of the remaining will travel with High Chaplain Mikhail here, while the other five shall travel with myself." Armazd went on.

'Land Raiders must have been hit badly if we cant use any of them, not even one for the Captain' He mused

"Finally, we have been given the request to have our Death Company bretheren assist us." 
Aurio gasped then grinned, Death Company, well the enemy were in for a storm....

_________________________________________________________________

Aurio stood back as his brothers worked on the Razorback, while the others were not tech-marines they at least knew the basics of repairs while Aurio seemed to always break any part of a machine he touched. The cog necklace that he was given he wrapped around his right wrist.


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## Scathainn (Feb 21, 2010)

The armoury was abuzz with activity as battle-brothers, servitors, and techmarines hustled about. Distantly, thrashing sounds and horrifying screams could be heard as handlers forced the Death Company into their Rhino transports, and the battle-brothers in the main area shuddered and continued on their way. Each squad soon formed up in front of their vehicle; all seven squads stood proudly before their armoured transports, each one resplendent in battle gear and weapons at the ready. Captain Armazd and High Chaplain Mikhail paced in front of them, observing them as they waited for the techmarines to wire the last few servitors into their Predator escorts and calm the machine spirits of the battle tanks for the coming engagement. Finally, the Master of the Forge nodded to Armazd, signaling that the task was done; the armoured fury of the chapter was primed and ready for engagement. He raised his head as if he was about to speak when, suddenly, he was interrupted by a massive thudding noise from afar.

Mikhail turned his head quickly to see the source of the sound. On the far side of the armoury, the wide doors stood ajar and before them stood an awesome sight. Three armoured battle-brothers from ages past stood in the open doors, each one a venerable brother from the first company’s past. Their hulls were bedecked in purity seals and campaign badges from a thousand worlds, the plaques covering their body telling of the great deeds of the past. But behind them still another five brothers stood, their armoured hull distinctively belonging to the Death Company. Their hulls, though once white in some distant past, had become so stained with blood, gristle, and gore that they had instead become an brownish-red colour, their surface mottled with semi-coagulated sanguine fluid. Thick adamantine chains stretched from the front of the death company’s sarcophagi to the venerable brother’s massive fists; these deranged metal behemoths had their main neural cores deactivated. For now they were shambling hulks, unable to act or perceive the world around them as they were confined to writhe fruitlessly in their shells. They plodded forward slowly, and the venerable brothers had to literally pull them along with the metallic chains to get them to move.

The host of giants strode to the main room and ground to a halt. The lead dreadnought, pulling two death company dreads behind him, bowed his embedded helm ever so slightly. His vox-grille hummed slowly as the helmet that once was his in life stared at the captain through cold autosensors. “Hail, Captain. We have been tasked to report to you and guard your convoy on the way to the communications outpost. The prisons of the Deranged Ones have given us these eight weapons with which to destroy our enemies.” He gestured to himself and the other two venerable dreadnoughts. “I am Frater Furioso Vladimir, and these are Fratres Furioso Leon and Boris, respectively. We bring Fallen Brothers 15203, 14937, 16667, and 14126.” Armazd nodded at the three venerable dreadnoughts and saluted them with his fist. 

“We welcome your arrival, brothers in iron. If each of you could take a position in the convoy along with your charges – three in the front, two in the middle, and three in the rear – we could achieve a perfect defense when coupled with the two predators we bring.” Vladimir nodded, and the eight dreadnoughts took up positions by the parked vehicles. Finally, Armazd turned to the assembled host. “Brothers, our time is short; so shall be my words, then. We go to defeat our enemies, and we will do so. If you cannot slay your foes with cannon today, do so with bolt. If you cannot do so with bolt, do so with blade. If you cannot do so with blade, do so with fist. And if you cannot do so with fist, then you are not worthy of the Sin-Eaters name, and death at the hands of these heretics is what you truly deserve.” He raised his sword to the air. “Board transports!” he barked.

Mikhail turned to one of the venerable brothers, Leon, before he boarded the Razorback with his squad. “Venerable Frater,” he asked, “I deeply appreciate your coming with us, and I ask the Emperor’s blessing upon your iron body and that of your brothers and charges. But I must know…why were the Fallen Brothers-in-Iron given numbers instead of names?” The massive armoured behemoth chuckled as he turned to fall into line. “Holy one, it is the number of the confirmed kills they owe to.” The High Chaplain stood as the thought sunk in for a moment before entering the Razorback and shutting the hull door.

The squads quickly turned and embarked on their transports. The doors shut swiftly, and soon the sound of engines rumbled through the air. The convoy leader honked his horn twice and turned to emerge out the armoury hanger bay. The massive bay door slided open, grinding and slow, and the vehicles formed a line and slowly exited the Chapter Monastary. Outside, the weather of Asmodeus was starting to show it’s fury; the wind was biting and the temperature cold, as it always was on the mountainous planet. There was a good chance it would snow later; only fitting, as the mood inside the armoured ferries of the Adeptus Astartes was as icy as the weather outside.

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Convoy Positions (front to back)



Armazd’s Razorback
Vladimir + 2 DC Dreads
Rhino 
Rhino
Rhino
Death Company Rhino
Mikhail’s Razorback (YOU ARE HERE)
Leon + 1 DC Dread
Rhino
Death Company Rhino
Death Company Rhino
Rhino
Boris + 2 DC Dreads



All: The mood inside the Razorback is cold and silent, and the bay is very cramped. Vitus, you have been tasked with manning the assault cannon; the rest of you are sitting in the troop bay. What are you thinking before the battle begins? How do you feel about the death company joining you? Do you try to converse with some of your squad? Do you pray?

(Wow, that was the fastest update ever! Also, heads up guys: The five minimum sentence rules more specifically refers to five ORIGINAL sentences; copy-pasting parts of the update don't count! I'm looking at you, Stillios :grin: )


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## Snowy (Jul 11, 2009)

Lucifer looked out of one of the few vision slits the Razorback had, it was dark and eerie in the Razorback, so Lucifer was looking for some escape from the confines of the transport the occupants were dead quiet. Lucifer nearly laughed at the irony, why should they be quiet like the dead, the amount of death about to be dealt should be more than enough to make his brothers hapy, he knew he was.

_'Brothers, rejoice, for we shall soon be spilling the blood of traitors to the Emperor, rejoice, when we win we shall have time for mourning,'_ Lucifer paused and slapped his shoulder pauldron.
_ 'we shall make our mourning by killing these traitors, we shall be redeeming the deaths of our brothers with every stroke of Blade and every shot of the Bolter, we shall cleanse these traitors with holy vengance and shall make them wish they had never turned to the Dark Powers.'_ Lucifer looked at the faces of his brothers, he wanted to make them feel like they were fighting for a cause. _'For the Chapter brothers, for those lost in battle, for the Emperor!'_ Lucifer yelled, slamming his fist into his chest.

After his speech Lucifer turned and looked out through the slit again, it was snowing, that would make it very easy for the traitors to see them coming, and they could prepare for a proper death. They will prepare for a proper death, the Traitors aren't worthy of a proper death anyway.
Lucifer laughed, soon they would be covered in the blood of traitors who thought they could beat them.
He turned back to his comrades and gave each one a nod of his head and an offer of a Warriors handshake. They were all brothers and warriors, that filled Lucifer with a pride that powered him. They would cleanse these mongrels, they would kill them all, they would show them no mercy, none of them should be allowed to live, all of them should already be dead.
Lucifer grabbed his weapons and made sure each was ready to kill at least ten traitors each, they would pay for such treachery.

Such a blashphemy would not continue.


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

Returning back to his full height, Vitus scanned the armoury for the others. As he panned his helmet around, he could see more of the company entering; they would be off soon. Good, the chance to meet the enemy head on and meet out some revenge sallied forth to the fore of Vitus’s thoughts and the edge of his vision began to change to a red hue. Shaking his head, Vitus chanted the litany of self-control to himself in order to return his sight proper. The lust could fuel his fighting when there was an enemy before him, and not a second until then.


Light suddenly burst into the chamber as giant figures made their way in, the very ground shaking at their footfalls. They were ancients of the chapter, dreadnoughts, who had seen countless centuries of fighting before being interred in armoured weapon platforms so that they could live and fight on eternal. They were the things of legend, heroes who had chosen to live on but were forced to shed their mortal coil and a portion of the humanity a marine possessed.

Averting his eyes, Vitus made way to the razorback, taking up the mounted heavy weapon as others gathered within the transports confines. He did not like it down within, enclosed and cramped and unable to do anything until he was released from the vehicle. At least here, or even forward controlling the pintle mount, a warrior could be free of the confines and do something. It was not to long before the high chaplain joined them and the armoured column bade to its objective, half a dozen armoured constructs joining them in this.

Panning the assault cannons around, Vitus was able to take in the surroundings. His helmet read a drop in temperature as the wind began to pick up about the mountain. The change meant nothing to Vitus, his armour sealing him away from such things; not that he could not ignore them on his own. Making a full turn of the heavy weapon, Vitus finally settled the sights forward, his own vision taking in the black armoured form of the rhino where the death company waited. Without any warning or control, something from deep down within his mind tried to batter its way forward; some facet of the rage that only ever reared itself at the sight or thought of the death company. It was all Vitus could do to keep in control of his own body.

Some looked to the death company as if they were a doom, some torturous punishment that only the weak could succumb to. But what of those like Lemartes of The Lost? He had been taken in by the rage and mastered it if the rumours of the Blood Angel hero were true. There were things far worse than the rage, Vitus had seen one such thing in his life and been told of another. He had been there, seen what Edgtho had become; been the one to pull the trigger to silence those pained howls of regret and sorrow. There are fates far worse than falling to a lust for battle, your body turning you into something inhuman, a way of fighting that made you dead to anything else. Given the choice, Vitus would willingly take in the rage, as he had nearly done oh so many years ago.


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Tacticus stood slowly from his sacred task before moving back over to his squad and his transport. He felt a wrath burning inside him that needed to be checked, lest it would overcome him and force him to succumb like his death company brethren. He would not allow that he vowed silently to himself, he may hate the foe but he needed to be weary, all the sons of Saguinus were vulnerable to this terrible curse. The Captain and Mikhail stood in front of the first company, all seven squads were arrayed in front of their respective transports, each looking like the angels of death that they were. Tacticus was proud to serve with them, they would succeed he was sure of that. No matter the cost they would prevail.

The ground beneath him shook, and he could hear the sound of metal as it marched over the concrete. A huge hanger door opened and three tremendous figures moved into the light, soon followed by another five. The forward three were venerable dreadnoughts, hero's of the chapter that fought on even when death gripped them. They were forced to spend their remaining time in their shells however, as they were injured beyond repair. Behind them they pulled the other five, dreadnoughts of the death company. There armour was covered in blood, and they were brought forward unable to do anything.

At Mikhails word the assembled host mounted up, the image of the Death company still playing on his mind. The Razorback shuddered into life before the convoy moved forward. Tacticus was sat next to the doors, he would be the first to meet the enemy head on, and if the Emperor willed it he would be the first to destroy one of the filth utterly. He looked around the rear, his brothers tended to themselves, it seemed deathly quiet. Tacticus was fine with this and his thoughts drifted back to those huge death company forms, they were in the Emperor hands now. They were ruthless warriors and he was sure that they would annihilate all that stood in their way, never ceasing for a moment always attacking. They would strike fear into all, and Tacticus would follow this up with retribution.


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

He had been handed a Sigil of the Mechanicus. It was a grinning skull, cogs extending from the bulbous cranium; electrified wires running thickly between them. A rosary-like bead kept it fastened to his wrist, each of the silver blows connected together via melded strings of metal. The ruby eyes of the skull watched his every movement, mocking him. The teeth were wide-set, as though laughing at his inner plight. Cassius Scipio Augustus sat in the rear of the bustling Razorback, near to the door. Even through the thick armoured hide of the transport, he could hear the freezing wind of Asmodeus. It was a great howling, akin to some feral, gargantuan wolf. 

The Squad were sat around him, each in a state of anticipation and concentration. They knew that the fury of battle would soon be upon them. They wanted the heads of the enemy. They wanted to moist sensation of gore, the coppery stench of satisfaction. Most importantly, they wanted revenge. The enemy had struck a grievous blow to the Sin-Eaters, one which if all went wrong, could be the end of them. The sound of the shattering atrium still ran rampant in his ears, as did the cries of the Scouts.

Cassius rested his head against the quivering hull of the Razorback. It was a cool feeling, whipping through his every nerve and muscle. And yet, it felt oddly warm. The presence of the Dreadnaughts unnerved him somewhat, but they promised him protection. Interred-Brother Leon was advancing behind Mikhail’s Razorback with one of the crazed Death Company Brother’s, their thuds muffled by the grumble of engines and the snowcapped ground. 

Slowly he removed the Mechanicus’ pendant. It was tiny in his monstrous gauntlet, and with one curl of his fingers, completely encompassed. He clenched his hand tighter and tighter. The sound of crunching metal was loud, as was the whirring of servo bunches and his power pack. After a minute or so, he turned his hand on the side and a thin falling of crumpled metal slipped free. The pair of ruby eyes clattered on the decking, and he looked at those around him solemnly. Some had turned their heads towards him, the sound of the crunching Sigil having brought them from their meditations. He didn't care, however. He was no longer one for the caring of his Brothers. He was running on pure rage. 

‘I need no such thing.’ He grumbled, his voice leathery.


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