# Kill-Team 'Tinderbox'



## BlackGuard (Sep 10, 2010)

_'It is with honor in mind that we send you brother,'_ said the black-armored Space Marine. It did not feel like honor to him it felt more like punishment. Konrad could remember the words now, spoken to him by his sergeant on the eve of his departure to the Black Ships. Why had they chosen him to serve when so many others had committed more grave failures? Konrad remained kneeling on the ground before the icon of the God-Emperor of Mankind his head bent in silent prayer, but in this moment it was meditation that drew his attention. It was suppose to be a routine interaction with the Holy Orders of the Imperial Inquisition, the Black Templar fleet had caught the ship in a scan on the outer regions of the system moving inward on routine pysker-culling operations. They had only welcomed the inquisitor onboard out of kindness or so he had thought. Two days after his arrival, Konrad had been summoned before his captain and his sergeant and informed that he would be leaving immediately to serve with the infamous Deathwatch.

Deathwatch. The word rolled around in his mind awkwardly and he still was uncomfortable with it. He had never heard of it before and that unsettled him more than he liked to admit. As the word crossed his mind again he thought on all the information that he'd recieved over the past few weeks, almost a month actually, since his departure from his chapter. The Chamber Militant of the infamous Ordo Xenos, the branch of the inquistion responsible for handing the foul threat of the alien. It was an understanding of sorts between the Inquisition and the Astartes Chapters that had given the Deathwatch birth and supposedly it had existed for centuries. Dozens, if not hundreds, of Black Templars had served in it since its existance. Why had he not encountered anyone in his chapter who'd served? 

The thought troubled him but his attention suddenly turned to the vox installed in the wall of his chambers as it buzzed to life. _'Brother Konrad, I hope your chambers meets your expectations.'_

He found the question to be unneccessary. Comfort was not a requirement of an Astartes. 

_'It suffices. Have we reached our destination my lord?'_

_'No,'_ came a clipped reply, _'We have encountered ... complications. I will require your immediate presence on the bridge.'_

_'Of coarse my lord,'_ said Konrad before he close the vox-link and rose from his meditation. The thought of some complications actually suited him right now. He looked down at himself drapped in his jet black over-garments worn only outside of his power armor. He was of average size and build for a Space Marine, for a Black Templar. In fact, he was so common in both stature, size, and ability for the Black Templars that his sergeant had often boasted him up at the benchmark for all recruits to be required to achieve. Despite all of his training, combat experiance, and everything else he could only boast modest skills -- sharp, precise, merciless, but at the end of the day average.

The vessel was called the Tinderbox. A bold name but one that Konrad thought was needlessly fatalistic. He'd been on vessels that'd become tinderboxes and seen his fair share of battle-brother cooked alive in the churning mess of void battles. Pushing ahead he went down the straight well widened corridors of the vessel passing only a very smell number of mortal servants with most of the 'crew' being mindless servitors often hardwired into their stations. He felt uneasy at the presence of so many machines and too few mortals. He'd never found servitors to be as intelligent as normal mortals, but often-times far more brave even if it was a programmed bravery. This chaffed at his beliefs for even though mere humans were fragile and prone to cowardice they were alive. They had souls, they could and would be judged by the God-Emperor and found either worthy or wanting. What kind of judgement could a half machine have? 

Konrad came to the primary spinal hallways of the Tinderbox the only true route to the bridge. He found that the vessel was simplistically designed with little thought given to counting boarding actions. It was because the ship wasn't designed to be boarded in the first place. He was no void captain and though he could command a ship of required there were many more in his Chapter better suited to the task; he could tell a pattern when he saw one. The Inqusition must have requisitioned the ship with the belief that either it would eliminate all potential targets before they got close or be able to outrun any vessel it encountered.

His thoughts were disrupted by the a part of figures in the distance. Their size and height betrayed them for being post-human and their pose suggested tension. My would-be battle-brothers, he thought mildly. As he came closer he was better able to distinguish both of them. The one of the left was tall and broad his chest a barrell. His rusty red hair raged out of his scalp and down his back someways before being terminted into a braid. Even from his distance Konrad could notice the slightly elongated mouth and nose and the feral look inhabiting the flinty grey eyes of the Astartes. A Space Wolf, he determined. The emblem would no doubt be on his other paulderon, the one facing him was solid black.

The one standing across from his was almost a polar opposite -- short and large (but not as large as the son of Russ). His hair was covered by a cowl that was pulled up and over his head but his emerald eyes could be seen peering out beneath the heavy cloth. A grin had formed across his features which were pale and paritican in nature leading Konrad to initially believe him a son of distant Ultramar but the emblem on his pauldron proved him wrong. The green and white emblem a winged sword spoke of his allegiance to the Dark Angels, sons of the Lion. His poise was not as belligerent as the Space Wolf's but it was clear he was ready for anything. As Konrad approached it was the Dark Angel that broke off the tense staring contest and looked him over. 

_'Brother,'_ he said jovially, _'How do you fair? It is a pity we have not been introduced until now.'_

Konrad was taken by surprise by the openness of the Dark Angel their chapter has a notorious history of reclusion and distance, _'It is,'_ he said slowly at first, _'I am Konrad of the Black Templars.'_

Before Konrad could state the obvious alliegance the son of the Lion must have felt obliged to finish it for him, _'Namaan, of the Dark Angels.'_

The Black Templar gave a respectful nod to Namaan and turned towards the Space Wolf to await his greeting but the Fenrisian only nodded at Konrad and said one word, _'Skif'_ and turned and continued to walk down the spinal corridor. Konrad glanced back at Namaan who if he knew what that had been all about kept it to himself -- carefully hidden behind a sarcastic smile. Konrad did not banter any further the Space Wolf's terse greeting already grating him further. This place was clearly a sump pit for misfits of other Chapters.


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## BlackGuard (Sep 10, 2010)

I stare at the back of the one called Konrad. His personality seems to fit the description of his Black Templars -- calm, cold, and stubborn. His very walk seems to be almost automated and pre-recorded. I casually wonder if this attitude was bred into the Templars by the Fists, their genetic ancestors, or by the indoctrination. I knew of the Imperial Fists, the regal sons of the Primarch Dorn, and had fought with them during several engagements in the Segmentum Solar during the Yorgan Suppressions. At times when I am alone I still see their burnished golden armor marching across the killing fields, the very same fields that had denied the Imperial Guard for over a decade -- implacable behind their shield wall. 

I know the Black Templars were something far more unusual than the already abnormal Imperial Fists. Where the Fists were stubborn and stoic because of their genetic nature the Templars had turned this genetic quirk into religious fanaticism. The genocides of the Black Templars in the name of the so-called God-Emperor are numerous and well-told. I decided it would be a good idea to keep this in mind as I interact with Konrad. I look over Konrad's shoulder to catch of glimpse of Skif, the Space Wolf with whom I have delicate history. Even with his back to me I can sense his hostility it is palpable as if it is apart of the air. A reckoning shall come between him and I, I am sure, but when?

We passed by a section of the spinal corridor that noted that the armory was down a the hall to our right, it sudden branches off almost randomly and the elevation drops slightly. I has never made sense to me in my entire stay on this poorly named vessel. I also note that we are close to the bridge since we're passing this hallway and soon my so-called battle-brothers will meet their new commander. I'm sure they will find him just as welcoming as I have.

The hydraulic door that bars our access to the bridge is unguarded and slowly hisses open as we approach it. The light in the corridor is bright and reflects off the adamantium walls nicely. The light within the bridge is another matter entirely as the sickly green illumination spills forth like some viral disease. I've never actually been on the bridge, but have come up to the doors on a number of times to find my escort waiting for me, of the Tinderbox most of my encounters with my new commander were in the practice cages or the reclusium.

The son of Russ enters first completely uncaring of the sickly illumination and disappears into the half-darkness. Konrad doesn't hesitate either and enters right behind him. This light does not off-set me but the fact that I've never been allowed access until now does make me hesitate at the threshold for a heartbeat before plunging in after the other two. My eyes instantly catch the large size of the room, obscured from the corridor by the poor illumination. It is a large domed room with cogitators, control panels, and other technical equipment lining the outer edges of the dome's walls -- servitors are hardwired there forever enslaved to their tasks. In the middle of the room there is a three-tired platform bathed, like everything else, in sickly green light and it gives off an eerie glow because of it. The bottom tier is the biggest by far and it inhabited by many more servitors, again slaved to their machines and work-stations. I notice after a few moments that some were spitting out information on a normal basis while others spoke randomly and of things which made no sense to me at the time. 

The second tier is considerable smaller and to my surprise is occupied by no more than twenty humans. Nearly all work deligently at their work-stations with only limited movement between them. Two mortals walk amongst the work stations occassionally issues a command in a near silent voice. The final tier catches my eye as soon as I grow bored of the human interactions. It is the smallest only large enough for one command throne. Atop that command throne sits a warrior who despite the bridge's lighting I can tell wears the same all black armor that I do. Something is not right about him. I can feel it as soon as my eyes settle upon him. He is wearing his helmet on the bridge? This seems odd to me and I take note of it.

_'Astartes,'_ says a harsh voice that I am all too familiar with, _'Next time when summoned you shall arrive sooner.'_

I force back a grin that is already half formed on my face as I catch the bulk of my, and now our, new commander as he comes around from the other side of the bottom platform his hands clasped behind his back. I take note that by stroke of luck or by design, I am inbetween Konrad and Skif -- directly in his line of sight.

I heard the low growl of the Space Wolf but it was Konrad who replied first, 'We are in an unfamiliar vessel, my lord.'

_'I did not give you permission to speak,'_ I heard the new Astartes say bluntly, _'I am Watch Commander Averon. I am your new commanding officer. You will meet my expectations and you will not hide behind excuses.'_

I stand still but my eyes shift over to Konrad who moves uncomfortably as if even being here is unsettling to him. Skif looks angry as ever. Only when I turn my gaze back forward do I notice that I am under Averon's scrutiny as I have been since being picked up by the Tinderbox a month back.

_'Brother Namaan,'_ he states bluntly, _'I expected better of you.'_

I could protest I know but I decide to hold my tongue, _'My apologies lord.'_

Averon is a relentless task master. He hails from the War Bearers chapter whose recent history is uncertain and whose past is completely unknown in all of the Deathwatch's databanks. All my attempts to find out more on my new commander have ended in failure and I've becoming increasingly convinced he as fabricated his entire past just to keep me guessing. 
When the Tinderbox came for me I was given to them by my brothers in the Dark Angels. My skills within my squad and arguably my entire company were unmatched, it was my arrogance and openness that chaffed my sergeant and captain. They told me that our chapter had much to be proud of but it was not our way to be arrogant -- for it leads to the path of heresy. 

They called it arrogance. I call it understanding my abilities. Still when they came to me about joining the Deathwatch I could not refuse the chance. I heard the rumors the day before my departure that I was being sent to be tempered in the flames of war and the discipline of the Deathwatch to bring me to heel and to keep my potential unlocked. I can half-believe it, but it is still unnecessary. 

Averon begins to speak again and brings me back from my thoughts, _'Excuses,'_ he puts more vehemence into the word than our actions warranted, _'We will work on these failings but right now we have more pressing matters. Captain Killian, if you please.'_

No order was given that I heard nor any sudden movements made but the hissing of hydraulics and the whine of machines above my head forces me to look up. On the ceiling there is a large holo-projector device which swivels around until it positions itself inbetween myself and Averon. The space between us turn a bright blue before shapes begin to gradually form. I see two spheres, one larger than the other. Significantly larger. The smaller one begins to slowly orbit around the larger one. Beneath the mass of the larger sphere the word 'Castolel' appears and the smaller orb is granted an idenfitication marker calling it 'Tantalus'. 

_'Castolel is a hive world in the far rimward side of the Jericho Reach. For the past year the world has been under a brutal assault by the Tyranids of Hive Fleet Dagon.'_

The name of the hive fleet catches my attention. My stay on the Tinderbox was not entirely spent in meditation and my chambers but as stated before was in the practice cages and in the ships very small archives chamber. I was explained that I would be serving in the Jericho Reach as apart of the ongoing Achilus' Crusade. My post-human brain recalls several facts about the various salients and their unique fates. Castolel was a world that had survived seperation from the Imperium and had eagerly rejoined following liberation. When Dagon arrived it smashed the salient's forces and began a wholesale slaughter of the worlds in its path. Castolel was one such world that was resisting but against the Tyranids no single world could hope to stand against them.

_'Castolel is not our objective,'_ says Averon, _'Despite its grim circumstances it is not our problem. Our goal is on the orbiting moon of Tantalus.'_

The blue hologram zooms in quickly on Tantalus, pushing Castolel out of the scene altogether. I find myself doubting the Deathwatch's competence already. Why would we ignore the pleas of a major hive world under direct assault by a xenos? Tantalus is only a moon and surely must be doomed already. I muse over these facts as Averon continues.

_'Tantalus in and of itself is of no importance to us. Our arrival here is simply coincidental and we are the closest Deathwatch force that should be reached. Two hours ago we were suppose to recieve a transmission from Magos Biologis Zardos Vyakai. The magos has been conducting a series of experiments involving the Tyranids that are of critical importance to the Ordo Xenos. We never received the transmission we expected. Instead we recieved this ...'_

_'Requesting emergency extraction ... this is Magos Biologis Zardos Vyakai. My conveyance has been fatally damaged by xenos assault and has been forced to crash land. I have survived, the datacore has survived. The crash site is unsafe, xeno threats noted and incoming to my location. I will seek shelter within the facilities until extraction can be attempted ... message repeats ... '_

I nod slowly has I begin to understand what our objective will be. I wonder if Konrad and Skif understand as well. The door behind us begins to hiss open yet again and I turn to see a human standing there in a dirty brown longcoat. Despite the dim lighting I can see underneath is wears a black body suit, his left eye is replaced by a cybernetic one that glows a very dim red. The icon that hangs around his neck by a silver chain is wha interests me the most. To mortals it is a symbol of dread and even to the Adeptus Astartes is causes some discomfort for it is the symbol of the Inquisition. The eternal purgers of heresy for the Imperium.

_'Inquisitor Elixion,'_ I hear Averon say.


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## BlackGuard (Sep 10, 2010)

I would appreciate any tips or complaints you have about my writing so far. I am not very practiced in first person persepctive.


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## Dave T Hobbit (Dec 3, 2009)

The story is engaging and the characters seem to have depth.

The main issue I had with Namaan's segment was that it is filtered instead of direct perception. For example, he says his post-human brain recalls facts; at the time he would not be thinking that he is thinking or how he is doing it, so this makes it seem like he is reporting events that have happened (possibly) to someone who does not know the capabilities of a Marine.


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## BlackGuard (Sep 10, 2010)

Good point. I'll need some practice in first person. There are a number of different styles I've read. The direct approach, as I call it, that is like him recalling the story to someone. There is also the report-style, kind of what I imagined the Esienhorn or Ravenor series to be about.

Character depth is something I always struggle with as I have a very colorful discription and personality in my head but it always falls short when put into words.

Thanks for your comments thought. You wouldn't happen to have any suggestion when writing in second person? I'm considering doing Skif's portion in second person.


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## Dave T Hobbit (Dec 3, 2009)

BlackGuard said:


> You wouldn't happen to have any suggestion when writing in second person? I'm considering doing Skif's portion in second person.


Second person is, to me, the hardest of the POV to sustain. If done well it could make the reader experience events more intimately; however it can also break the suspension of disbelief completely. 

If it were me I would practice it in a stand alone piece first rather than risk this ongoing narrative with your first attempt.


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