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Tales of the Eighth Legion. (Action Thread.)

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23K views 172 replies 16 participants last post by  Nightlord92 
#1 ·
Everyone:

Within a spartanly furnished and almost entirely dark room, with little more than a metallic bed on which to sleep and a weapon stand on which a large ornately crafted sword hangs along side a dust covered bolter, sits an Astartes in complete silence and the only sounds that can be heard within the room are the low dull rumbling of the ship the room itself is seated in and the scratch of a quill upon parchment. After several long minutes the Astartes stop writing and places down his quill before he lets out a breath that escapes from between his lips in the form of a small sigh before he reaches down and picks up the book that he was writing in to read all that he has written.

“My name is Xandrek Kealisar. Once Captain of the Night Lords Fourth Company, Known as the Lord of Lies by my brothers and Father, Commander of the battle barge: The Maiden of Sorrow and son of a broken god. Now I am little more than a leader of a band of traitors, murderers and psychopaths that are happy to murder their way throughout the galaxy until they themselves are killed.

I write this so that those who will find this book will read and understand what it is that I am trying to do. All men should be remembered for the deeds they have done be they good or ill and while personality I do not care if I am remembered or not after my death I write this so that it is my closest brothers are the ones who are remembered from the times when they first turned from the Corpse-Emperors ‘Light’ to when they fell into the darkness of Death.

I guess then that I should start at the beginning but those are times that we would much rather forgot as the shame of our legion is for us to remember and us alone. So I shall start at the turning point of history when an empire fell into civil war, where brothers turned against brothers, where mortals ascended and gods fell. So my dear reader I shall start at a place you may well know as Isstvan.

Isstvan V...The site of the greatest massacre of Astartes through out the rebellion, orchestrated by a single man and when I say ‘Man’ I use the term quite wrongly. Horus Lupercal, the Warmaster, Primarch of the XVI Legion…The Arch-Traitor himself. He lured three of his brothers and their legions to their deaths upon this world where they had no idea upon landing to confront Horus that they would be betrayed by those who called themselves their brothers.

Upon Isstvan V the traitor legions of the Sons of Horus, Death Guard, World Eaters and Emperors Children battled their brothers of the Iron Hands, Salamanders and Raven Guard to a bloody stand still while four other legions tore their way through the warp to add their battle weary brothers. We, The Night Lords, along with the Iron Warriors, Word Bearers and Alpha Legion, were to arrive at the drop sites cleared by our brothers the Salamanders, Iron Hands and Raven Guard to reinforce and resupply them before crushing the four traitor legion for the glorious Imperium and the Emperor.

That of course is a lie.

Yes we made planet fall in the drop zones cleared by our ‘brothers’. Yes we took up defensive positions where the Salamanders and Raven Guard then began to fall back to. But we did not come to aid them, we came to aid Horus as our ‘beloved’ Fathers had secretly joined him in rebellion and now was the time to show our true colours

But before I get ahead of myself and tell you the bloody details of the Drop Site Massacre itself. Allow me to introduce our ‘heroes’ of this tale, my dear Brothers who even now make ready for yet another battle field in which to bloody their blades. So I shall begin the tale of our ‘Heroes’ several ours before making planet fall with the rest of the legion and who better to start with than my sword-brother, my right hand, my companies blade. Azrael.”

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

“Azreal Metun, my Sword-Brother and personal Company Champion. Of all those I call my brothers he is only one of two who come from the Throne-World itself and isn’t considered a Son of a Sunless World and for this he, like Fundae and a few others within my company are hated for not being Nostraman in birth. But what Azreal lacks in ‘birth right’ he makes up for in loyalty and skill with a blade. Although I will never tell him I would never choose any other warrior from within the rank of my company to be my champion for I know when all others fail, he won’t.”

Azrael: You are currently stood in the near-dark hold that makes up the training hall of the Maiden of Sorrow overseeing the fights of your fellow battle brothers and the last batch of recruits that had come from Nostramo just before its destruction not that long ago but while you watch your other brother’s train, mainly the ‘Young Blood’ fighting against Sergeant Xho Zhen of Fifth Claw you can’t help but think how the destruction of Nostramo has affected Xandrek as you have barely spoken to him save for receiving your orders and he has rarely left the bridge or removed his armour. Clearly he has either been deeply affected or he is too focused on what is going to happen at Isstvan, sighing to yourself you look back to the ‘Young Blood’ as he puts Xho on his back at third blood with his deactivated lightning claw and wonder if you should give the young brother some advice or try your luck with going to find Xandrek.

- - - - - - - -

“Jaekal Sarn, Fourth Companies resident Chaplain and member of First Claw. Like me he was from Nostramo but unlike myself and most of my other brothers he is far more zealous and has more in common with those pathetic Word Bearers with his constant preaching and sermons. For now he is tolerated by the rest of us for he is a fierce fighter and can for the most part, be counted on to rally those elements of my company who would rather run to fight another day after the death of their sergeants rather than carrying out there duty.”

Jaekal: You are currently stood at the front around sixty of the newest members of Fourth Company preaching to them about how the False-Emperor will be replaced by the true leader of mankind, Horus. Fifty pairs of pure black eyes matching your own stare at you in mild awe as while these recruits have only had the first few implants that will make them into Astartes they are the future of the company and therefore the legion so it is wise to have them utterly and fanatically loyal to the Primarch and Warmaster and you smile inside of your helmet as you think of how you are in a way undermining Xandrek’s command over these future warriors. After finishing your sermon that lasts another hour you dismiss the recruits to return to their normal training and those who are ready for the next stage or implantation towards the Apocatherion where you have no doubt Veptus is busy carving up fellow battle brothers who are injured for the fun of it. Now you have some free time on your hands to do with that you wish which includes visiting any fellow members of First Claw so what do you do?

- - - - - - - -

“Veptus Szland, the Corpse-Master, Primus Medicae of Fourth Companies Apocatherion and First Claws own Apocathery. Perhaps the most feared Astartes onboard this ship other than myself and Azrael and it is he who always puts us back together after every battle and every war that we fight in under the orders of our Primarch. If it was up to me and I had the power I would change the meaning of the word Madman to include the name and picture of Veptus though while he isn’t as bad as that bastard Fabius Bile he loves nothing more than to carve up any Astartes that he can get his hands on. But without Veptus it is a definitely that myself and many other members of my company would of died many years ago.”

Veptus: You stand in the Apocatherion smiling to yourself as you work on adding the next several organs needed to turn some of the latest recruits into Astartes to replenish losses that will occur during the next battle on Isstvan V. You currently stand wearing only black fatigues with a blood stained white medical apron and sterile elbow length medical gloves and you can’t wait to see if Xandrek allows you to gather up some wounded Astartes from other legions to experiment on and see what the difference between each legion. While you continue to work on the young recruit infront of you, your attention shifts to Battle Brother Shen currently writhing around on the slab at the end of the Apocatherion as he is badly burnt and missing both his legs below the knee’s and his entire left arm and while other Apocatheries could be working on him he had his gauntlets painted red for failing Xandrek and the Captain has told you Shen has not earnt the right to die and therefore has earnt himself a walking tomb which makes you smile even more. (Finish up on adding the latest organ to the recruit infront of you and it’s your choice of which organ, and then feel free to go see your brothers or start on Shen.)

- - - - - - - -

“Corvis Sejanus.” Xandrek smiles to himself. “The Young Blood, the youngest member of First Claw he lacks the ability to bond with his brothers to gain atleast their loyalty and he would have been better off in the recon squads always ranging out alone without the aid of others just doing what was require of him and that ever else he desired. The Young Blood definitely has much to learn even though he is almost eight decades old he still has plenty of time in which he could improve his dismal social skills and increase his skill with a blade. I often wonder that if he had the correct mentor within the company he might be able to accomplish something great with his life but for now I see him simply as another tool to be used in war.”

Corvis: You stand in one of the many training pits in the training hold of the Maiden of Sorrow which as usual is in near darkness as your deactive lightning claw raises and falls to parry and lash out against the Sergeant Xho of Fifth Claw who is as usual wielding his two-handed chain-sword as the bout is to third blood and so far Sergeant Xho has wounded you once slicing part of your cheek away and you have wounded him twice by having punched the four blades of your gauntlet into his left shoulder and then having carved four red lines down the front of his chest. You smiling to yourself as you match strikes against the Sergeant of Fifth Claw as all those gathered around the pit shout encouragement to you and the Sergeant to not only carry on with the fight but to turn it into a Murder Duel where one of you would die however you know that Azreal would step in if such a thing were to happen and no-one within the training hall can beat him with a blade. Sergeant Xho then swears several times in Nostraman as you manage to side step his sword and hammer your lightning claw into his chest sending him crashing down onto his back with blood pouring from his chest as the gathered crowd erupts into cheers and roars of approval. Turning from Xho you see Azrael standing there watching you for the moment. (If Azrael approaches you then feel free to work out a conversation with him through PM’s, if not then you may do what you wish.)

- - - - - - - -

“Jallus…where do I start with the warp-tainted psyker? Our legion has no love of Psykers, something which we share with the World Eaters, Death Guard and even those feral Space Wolves though as much as we hate them their otherworldly powers do come in useful when you need them to conjure up terrifying images of hell-spawned beasts or make defenders spontaneously combust amidst their own forces. While none of First Claw could say they like Jallus, he has his uses so he is tolerated by Myself and the others though I can’t help by get minor head aches within his presence and not even Veptus can figure out why.”

Jallus: You are currently knelt in what serves as the Librarium aboard the Maiden of Sorrow as you meditate and prepare yourself for the coming slaughter of Isstvan V and while you meditate your fellow brother librarians do the same either next to you or are different points within the chapel like room. Taking a deep breath you then exhale before opening your midnight black eyes to look at those around you who are still deep within meditate and of all of Fourth Company you feel more kin-ship to these fellow battle brothers than you do the rest of First Claw and you know that it is because all others regard you as warp-tainted and avoided at all costs unless absolutely necessary. Pushing yourself from your sitting position you move to retrieve your weapons from your weapons locker to the right of the room as all librarians within Fourth Company may only live within the Librarium instead of having their own cells. After retrieving your war-gear you decide that you should go and find Xandrek and the rest of Fourth Claw having sensed the Maiden will actually arrive ahead of most of the Eighth Legions fleet.

- - - - - - - -

“Zhasal is a battle brother who never should of risen as far as he should of, He is far to independent and hardly ever listens to the orders that he is given so I have found that it is often best to point him in the general direction of where he needs to go then just leave him to it, while he runs off on his own I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets wounded or killed one day for not staying with his battle brothers but for now Zhasal has his uses in that he always gets the job done one way or the other.”

Zhasal: You are currently stalking through the darkness of the lower decks that has been turned into the labyrinth by legion tech-marines under the order of Xandrek to give his warriors something to do while travelling between systems and battles which involves hunting down what ever prey has been captured and released within. The blades of your lightning claws are sheathed for now as you hunt the fifteen man strong unit of imperial guardsman who were just unlucky enough to be near Xandrek, Azrael and Veptus during the last battle you served in under the guise of being a loyalist. Smiling to yourself you can’t help but think of capturing some Astartes during the up coming battle and releasing them within the Labyrinth to give yourself and your fellow battle brothers an actual challenge during your hunts which you do not get from mortals. Stopping before turning around a blind corner you hear the terrified and quiet voices of the guardsman echoing along the corridor as you home in on your prey.

- - - - - - - -

“Raskreia like Azrael and Veptus is perhaps one of the few members of First Claw that I would consider a true ‘brother’ of mine as since his elevator to First Claw he has been a loyal brother as any son of Nostramo could be called loyal and it is he who carries the company standard into battle which often marks him out as a high priority target for who ever it seems we are to be fighting. So when ever you see Raskreia in battle holding the standard high you will often find myself and Azrael near by aswell as that is where the fighting will be bloodiest. However though I find Raskreia talked too much and I have often though of having Veptus remove his tongue and vocal cords and not have them replaced something I know which will greatly please the Corpse-Master.”

Raskreia: Sitting within your assigned room you are once again painstaking and carefully etching and painting on yet even more lightning onto your armour, this time onto the edging of your right shoulder pad and as you look up from the piece of armour in your hands to the far wall where the rest of your armour and war-gear hangs you smile as you see the company standard leaning against the wall. A banner of black cloth depicting a Night Lord stood upon a pile of bones with lightning splitting the sky in the background. Turning back to the piece of armour in your hands you finish adding the lightning before donning your armour and gathering up your war-gear including the Company standard which you then use like a walking cane as you make your way to find Xandrek, who you know is obviously on the bridge of the Maiden like he usually is, and on the way you may find yourself walking alongside Company Champion Azrael. (IF Azrael is heading to the bridge aswell then feel free to work out a conversation with him via pm’s before posting.)

- - - - - - - -

“Var, or in full: Varius Montangro. Tech-Marine and least trusted member of First Claw, We often think that all failures of our wargear happen because of some perceived slight against Var but so far none of us have been able to find any evidence of him sabotaging our war-gear, quite the opposite is usually found however as he is perhaps the most gifted master artificer within Fourth Company having repaired bolters and armour which other tech-marines would of consigned to the scrap heap into full working order within a matter of hours or days. And it is for this gift that I elevated him to First Claw though as much of an asset that Var is to this company and squad I will continue to keep an eye on him as I trust him as much as I trust Veptus not to carve up a freshly discovered corpse.”

Var: Sat deep within the vaults of the Maiden of Sorrow that serve as the armory of Fourth Company and surrounded by servitors, brother tech-marines and the Tech Adepts of Mars you stare at the schematics of the plasma gun on the board infront of you before your eyes drift down to the mangled and half melted mess of the weapon infront of you as you decide whether or not it is actually worth trying to save a weapon that has half been destroyed due to overheating and a subsequent explosion that took Brother-Sergeant Theng’s right arm and eye from him and thinking of the Brother-Sergeant your head turns to the half built bionic arm and eye to your left which were commissioned by the ‘Corpse-Master’ Veptus. Shaking your head you decide to leave the bionic replacements for that idiot of a Sergeant until after the battle of Isstvan and return your focus to the plasma-gun infront of you as your four servo-arms raise up with the barest thought to help you try and repair the weapon but before you can even start you hear the familiar voice of Fundae behind you. “Var, I hope you have repaired by flamer by now.”

- - - - - - - -

“Fundae, my heavy weapons specialist and like Azrael one of the few terrans left within the Fourth Company and if it wasn’t for him then the Ork Warboss Gragsnask would of ended my life and service to my Primarch just over thirty years ago. Fundae is a pyromaniac without compare who I always seem to find charging into some of the thickest fighting and incinerating anything within range before finishing off those unlucky enough to still be alive with that brutal double headed chain-axe of his.”

Fundae: You are currently stalking through what passes as Fourth Companies armory to find the Tech-Marine of First Claw: Var, who has since the burning of Nostramo been repairing your beloved flamer after having most of it destroyed when the fuel canister ruptured when a stray found hit the fuel line during the last loyalist engagement and if it wasn’t for the ‘Corpse-Master’ and your own reinforced armour you would of likely lost your life or maybe a couple of limbs. Kicking one of the scurrying minor tech-adepts out of the way with your boot which elects a smile from you as he yelps as you break his left leg you see Var at the far end of the armory hunched over the half melted remains of a plasma-gun and after getting within a few feat of him you decided to find out if your beloved weapon has been repaired. “Var, I hope you have repaired my flamer by now.” (Feel free to work out a conversation with Var via pm’s before you post up.)
 
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#2 ·
Killing could never be described as fun, especially not this type of killing. This, this was merely something to keep him occupied.

He hunted by only hearing, focussing on the drumbeat of the mortal's hearts rather than listening or seeing where they were. It would have been over too quickly if he had used all of his senses. The majority of his kills in the last few hours had been from any pieces of his body but his talons, utilising his feet, knees and shoulders to deadly effect. They were un-powered and completely clean of gore, yet the rest of his form was covered in blood.

The occupants of the Labyrinth were becoming tiresome now. Imperial Army troopers were boring sport. They always did the same thing, which was herding together and attempting to restore some vague notion of hope to the group. It actually made him pity them. Their fear was palpable, from the way they smelt to their very internal functions. They still thought they could survive and kill the Night Lord. How quaint...

The hunt had been going on for a dozen hours now and no one had been killed for at least four of those hours. It only made them more and more trigger-happy. Occasionally las-rounds rang out, simply jumping at shadows. Fear was an astounding thing to behold. Yet, alas, this little diversion was coming to an end. Dropping from the ceiling to land several metres ahead of the group, letting himself make a loud thudding sound that was soon accompanied by the crack of fifteen las-rifles on full auto. Obviously, they hit nothing, for Zhasal was already gone. Steps could be heard all around them, most of them echoes.

Ruby bolts flashed out in all directions, some hitting the huge columns that held the roof up, but most slashed into the darkness, yet hit nothing at all. The cattle eagerly shouted out if any one had gotten him and soon started to reload in quaking hands. Once more dropping from directly above the group, this time landing silently, the Night Lord lit his talons and moved into action.

One. The sergeant's neck is slit by a simple stroke from a talon, as well as three troops are merely skewered on the energised fingers.
Two. Zhasal turns as he leaps towards the largest knot of solders, slicing four major arteries of four separate targets, letting them bleed out in a matter of seconds afterwards.
Three. Five heads roll from the terrified bodies, all sliced in a blur of horizontal swipes.
Four. The last two troops attempt to fire their weapons on full auto at the monster, but find themselves held aloft by talons penetrating their necks, killing them a second after Zhasal drops them to the floor.

Within a matter of mere seconds, fifteen bodies lay broken on the floor. He could have most likely done it faster if he had his eyes open. That would have been far too easy however.

He knew he was being watched, either from cameras, or brothers waiting in the rafters. He did not care. Zhasal had never asked to be what he was, yet others did not like him. Was it because he did not 'bond' with them often, as others did? Were they jealous of the leniency the Captain gave him, or his skill with the Talons? The Night Lord, in all honesty, did not care. Some had tried to kill him, but had never laid a finger on him, all of those whom attempted to murder Zhasal ended up a corpse.

Killing him was not easy feat, for he had found no Night Lord that could best him in combat, except for at least three. The first had been Sevatar, whom he had learnt many techniques from, yet had never beaten in the ring before. The First Captain was simply staggeringly fast. Zhasal was lightning quick, but the Captain floored him every time. The other two were Captain Xendrek and his Champion, Azrael. He had never fought them, nor was he particularly bothered about it. He wouldn't refuse a duel alongside the Terran, but it would have to be with their own weapons. His skill with a blade was significantly less than with his Talons.

There were others outside the Legion he had faced before and lost to. They were all amongst the best in the Space Marines, for any less would be too easy. A captain by the name of Lucius had proved a staggeringly good duel, yet the swordsman's arrogance had soured the aftermath, as well as was a fight against a World Eater by the name of Delvarus. The Space Marine was crazed, yet a deadly efficient killing machine with his meteor hammer. All World Eaters were deadly, but Delvarus was the most deadly. There was one Space Marine that Zhasal could never even lay a finger on, or even get close to. A Raven Guard captain by the name of Nykona Sharrowkyn. He was, simply put, the most deadly warrior in the galaxy. He doubted even Sevatar could kill him.

Finding his way to the exit of the Labyrinth, he opened a comm link to Azrael. "We need more mortals. They die too fast." He sent, thinking that the Champion may know of any other places where Imperial Troops were being kept, or at least provide him with a distraction. "I am on my way regardless, any news from the Captain?" Zhasal queried, his voice flat and casual as he simply powered his Talons up one last time, letting the blood sizzle and burn from them.
 
#3 ·
“…and after that…” Veptus chuckled loudly as he paused in his story. The youth whose insides he was fiddling about with was unconscious and could not hear a word he was saying, but it didn’t stop Veptus’s speaking. He always had a habit of talking during his ‘procedures’. But that was to be expected of a master of the torturing arts. “…we splayed their bodies across the city’s entrance. Oh their moaning went on for days! It was a beautiful symphony and it was the tune to our victory march as we declared another world compliant. But, you’ll know about that soon enough my young boy.”

A fresh wave of the scent of blood wafted up into Veptus’s nostrils, and he savoured it like the scent of a fine wine. He loved that smell. It was like home to him and it made his work so much easier. He had been in a few of the other legions Apocatherion. They had them all clean and sterile. It smelt of alcohol and disinfectant and Veptus couldn’t stand it. Many of them would have washed and scrubbed their aprons by now. They would have made them all nice and tidy and clean. Veptus however let the white apron become discoloured and stained with the blood of his patient.

Veptus finished implanting the omophagea into this initiate. Now it was just the multi-lung left and he would stitch this young boy up and send him to rest for a while, allow the implants to take hold fully. Veptus gently moved aside the original lungs of his patient and noticing a collection of scar tissues on the lungs. From the width and length of the scars Veptus hypothesised that they were sharp force trauma wounds from a gang fight. It wouldn’t be unusual. Veptus reckoned he had several of the same on his lungs, although he had never opened himself up to check.

He worked efficiently, his mind occupied on the battles to come. They were en-route to Isstvan V. Their deluded cousins thought they were being reinforced, but they were so wrong. They would be crushed and massacred, but that was not what occupied Veptus’s mind. With three less legions, the Imperium would be on the back-foot in the coming civil war, but that wasn’t what occupied Veptus’s mind either. Neither was it finally being able to “throw off the shackles of the False Emperor” as Jaekal preached at length about. Veptus never had much time for sermons. He was a practical man and empty words meant naught to him. No, what occupied Veptus’s thoughts was being able to ‘acquire’ members of the deluded legions and bring them to his Apocatherion to practice his art on. Perhaps, if he could be craft enough about it and the Lord of Lies let him, perhaps members of the other legions might find their way there too.

As he finished up his procedure, Veptus started to acknowledge the groans coming from the end of the row of slabs. “I’ll be with you in a minute my friend!” Veptus called in a jovial tone which was totally at odds with the mental and physical anguish he was about to put the Astartes through. “Some people are just so impatient.” He remarked humorously to the initiate as he sewed the boy’s torso up. With a click of his fingers, two heavily augmented servitors lifted the prone frame of the boy who would be a Night Lord, put him on a stretcher and moved him to the waiting room to heal up and be returned to the other young bloods.

Veptus picked up a data-slate as he walked over to the marine one the end table. His bloodied medical gloves left red finger-prints as he read the memo from Xandrek. Apparently, this brother, Shen as he was known, had committed a betrayal against Xandrek. On the field of battle, he had usurped his sergeant’s command, gone against Xandrek’s orders and managed to get seven members of his squad killed and caused Xandrek to lose face in front of the other members of the legions command echelons. For that, he wore the red gauntlets of shame, and for that he was to be interred in a Dreadnought instead of given the peaceful cold embrace of death. There was a small note at the bottom from Xandrek himself; Make him suffer. Veptus smiled and put the data-slate down. Oh, he would make sure Shen suffered indeed. His last memory of flesh would be of pain and suffering and that would turn him into a wild warmachine that could serve the legion better than he did in life.

As Veptus turned to loom over the Night Lord, Shen stopped his writhing. It was obvious he was in great pain, but he did not want to seem weak before the Primus Medicae of Fourth Company. Perhaps Shen thought that if he showed strength now he might be granted death. He would not, but it was always going to have been a forlorn hope. “Do you know why you’re here?” Veptus asked, his voice calm and controlled. Shen avoided eye contact and remained mute. Suddenly Veptus’s face contorted into one of mad rage as he drove his nails into one of the burnt stumps of Shen’s legs and brought his face mere inches from Shen’s. “I SAID…” Veptus roared as Shen cried out in anguish “…DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU ARE HERE?!”
“YES! YES!” Shen cried in between his moans of pain.
“LOOK AT ME WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU!” Veptus commanded
“YES I KNOW! IN THE NAME OF THE PRIMARCH STOP!” Shen screamed as Veptus twisted and pulled at the nerve endings in his legs and blood pooled as Veptus opened up the charred scabs afresh.

Veptus let go of the Astartes leg and drew back. “Good.” Veptus voice became jovial and light again and he continued as if nothing had happened. Such wild swings in mood were disconcerting to most victims and it was a routine Veptus liked very much. It allowed him to indulge other artistic areas. Let the pompous Emperor’s Children have their paintings and sculptures, Veptus preferred this theatre to act in. He chose to make his canvas out of the skin of those on his operating tables. “So, you’re aware then…” Veptus picked up a scalpel and began to walk around Shen. As he spoke the scalpel twirled it’s way around his fingers. “…that you are here because you disobeyed orders?” Now Shen looked at the Corpse-Master with what might be confused with fear in his eyes. It was more the look of hope that if he obeyed Veptus’ commands that he would suffer less. That had more to do with Veptus’ mood than with the way Shen acted.

“That you are here because you shirked your oaths to Xandrek and the Primarch? That you are here because you cost the legion seven Astartes?”
“They were idiots and fools.” Shen muttered. Veptus spun on his heels and instantly Shen regretted his words.
“What was that, boy?” Veptus said with venom thick in his voice. Shen held Veptus’s serpentine glare for several long moments before he couldn’t stand it any longer. In an instant the Corpse Master had his scalpel imbedded into Shen’s good shoulder. The sharp blade was driven into the Night Lords ball socket and again the anguish of the Night Lord filled the Apocatherion. Instead of yelling, Veptus drew next to Shen’s ear and whispered “Go on, speak up son. A veteran like me can sometimes be hard of hearing.”
“I said they were idiots and fools!” Shen stammered in between ragged breaths, trying to hold back the pain tremors. Veptus nodded.
“That’s what I thought you said.”

Veptus pulled the scalpel down and severed most of the tendons and muscles in the arm as Shen’s Astartes physique started to stem the flow of blood. Veptus knew he had just about paralyzed Shen’s arm when he pulled the scalpel out, covered in viscera. Shen screwed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, trying to stop himself from yelling out again. “Do you know your punishment?” Shen swallowed but didn’t answer. The smile of a mad-man crept across Veptus facial features. Shen had heard of the Corpse Master’s reputation, but only now was he realising that the stories he had heard were the censored tales; the ones Veptus had allowed to circulate so that, when he exceeded them, his victims were even more terrified.

“Xandrek has decreed that you should suffer the rest of your miserable existence in the cold coffin of a metal sarcophagus. Now, I am fair minded man I think…” Veptus stood above Shen’s head and held the blade of the scalpel against the soft flesh of Shen’s throat. A droplet of blood welled up where the sharp blade bit into the skin. “…and I think that you should be given the chance to die. So, all I need you to do, is grab this scalpel and slit your own throat. Can you do that?”

For a moment Shen looked relieved. He would not have to live in eternal torment. All he had to do was grab the blade and end his suffering himself. He could do that. He would gladly do it than endure which was to come. Shen went to move his arm and his joy soured into grief. His brain sent the message to his one good arm to move, but only the forearm twitched and came a few centimetres off the tables before it slammed back down. Veptus lip curled into a cruel smirk as Shen tried twice more, each time his arm failed him and his pupils grew wider in horror. “Come on Shen, just grab it and this can all be over” Veptus spoke in a fatherly tone, as if he were genuinely trying to help Shen. This was false of course, and both men knew it. Shen tried again. He stared at his arm, willing it to rise and grab hold of the blade already pressed to his throat. But again, it failed him and Shen knew he was doomed.

Shen looked up at the Corpse Master’s pale face which hovered above him like a wraith. His eyes grew misty. Their inky depths spoke of the knowledge of the fate he was doomed to suffer and begged for such a terrible cup to be taken from him. “Please…”
“Do you desire the Emperor’s peace my brother?” Veptus said as he had to many other brothers in Shen’s position.
“Yes.” Shen’s voice came, slightly pitched and quivering. Veptus smile a warm smile, as if he were about to grant his brother’s dying wish. There was a long pause where Shen could do nothing by stare at Veptus marble white teeth and jet black eyes.
“No.” And with that, Shen’s last hope died.

Veptus stood upright, the blade of the scalpel still to Shen’s throat. “Well, this has been fun and I believe that Xandrek will be satisfied, or he will be when he sees the pict-recording of this…” He said pointing to the camera which was above Shen’s head, embedded in the ceiling. “…but now we have to prep you for you incarceration. But first, a souvenir. For me.” Veptus’s smile was no longer warm, but had turned into one of a professional killer and one who enjoyed his work at that. The sharp blade slid around Shen’s face and then underneath as Veptus peeled off Shen’s face. When he was done, Veptus dangled the dripping patch of flesh over Shen’s permanently open eyes. “You wanted to see the command echelons, and now you will.” Veptus’ jovial tone taunted the prone figure on the medical slab. Veptus clicked his fingers and two more servitors, it may have been the same as before but he hadn’t really been paying attention enough to confirm that, appeared with ammonic fluid bath. “Unfortunately, I am unable to complete the process right now, as I have more pressing matters to attend to. But, this will be your home for, well, as long as you suffer for. I hope you find it…comfortable.” Veptus smirked as he said the last word.

Veptus injected a powerful sedative which would keep Shen asleep until Veptus could complete the process of melding Shen to the MIU at which point he would turn him over to the tech-marine Var. If he still had eye-lids they would have closed. As it was, his body simply went limp and the two servitors lowered him into the ammonic fluid and carried the casket away. Veptus however had other work to do. He stripped the underside of the face of all unnecessary scraps of muscle. There wasn’t much as it was a very clean flaying. It was a shame really. It was much more satisfying when they hadn’t given up already. Then he put it in preservative fluid, so it would be ready to sew into his cloak soon enough. He was sure that would irritate Azrael to a satisfactory degree. He rolled off the medical gloves and tore off his bloody apron. He tapped the vox-caster in the corner of the room and keyed it to broadcast to Xandrek’s personal line. “My Captain, the preparations have been made for Shen to be interred. I think…” Veptus smiled to himself again as he looked at Shen’s flayed face suspended in the preservative fluid in front of him. “…you will be very pleased with the results. Is there anything else you require?” Veptus waited for the response, if there was any. Xandrek had been a bit reclusive of late. Still, even if Xandrek had no tasks for him, Veptus could find ways to amuse himself…
 
#4 ·
The armoury. The very heart of Maiden of Sorrow. Without it, the Space Marines on-board would be left defenseless. And deep within the armory, is Var. But he is not just within the armoury, he is the armory. He shares a bond with each and every tech-adept, Tech-Priest and Servitor working within the armory, and indeed the ship at large. To him they are all intricate pieces of the vast machine that is Maiden of Sorrow.

Var himself is hunched over a worktable, shadowy and mysterious as he always is. Around him his Servo-arms move fluently, almost as if they are living. They react to his every whim, before he even commands them to do so. They are one and the same, the bond between them is so close that the barrier that once existed, ceased to and they formed into the same being.

On the worktable is the mangled shape of what was once a plasma gun. It is all but wrecked, the once proud weapon, wielded by an Adeptus Astartes, now nothing more than a molten heap of metal upon the bench before him. Bile rises in Var's throat. To see any machine wrecked through ignorance sends lances of anger through his fiery mind.

Overheating. Or at least, that is what they told him when they brought him the mangled weapon. Blew Brother-Sergeant Theng’s right arm off and melted his eye from its socket. Only a fool could overheat his weapon, only a fool could not feel the burning beneath his fingers, only a fool could not hear the screams as the machine died. Fools. All of them.

Var turned away from the plasma gun and looked towards the bench beside him, where there lay the bare skeleton of a bionic arm, intended for the very Sergeant that had destroyed the weapon that lay before Var. Commissioned by Veptus Szland, the "Corpse-Master", Primus Medicae of Fourth Companies Apocatherion and Apocathery of Var's own claw. Titles, just as words, are nothing but wind. The Apocathery spent too long working with the flesh, too long working with the weak. Var was proof that machine was stronger than flesh, metal stronger than bone.

But Var could not voice this. Not when so many around him had been helped by the Corpse Master. But not here, not in the armoury, where all those around him had taken the path of the Omnissiah, the right path. Many had been given the gift of machine by Var himself, making them stronger and more able to serve the Machine-God.

But Var had to leave his place, he had to go to battle with those that called themselves his Battle-Brothers, those that considered him one of their own. Var was not one of them, they were weak, their flesh easy to rip, their blood easy to spill. Not Var. Var was strong, he was machine, and machine was him.

Turning away from the beginnings of the bionic arm, Var focused once more upon the molten weapon before him. His bionic eye, another gift from the Deus Mechanicus, focused and detected areas of damage and rupture. Var's Servo-Arms paused as he surveyed the damage, analyzing the information flowing into his brain.

But this process, his thought pattern, was shattered by a bolt of pain. Var's fists clenched and his jaw clamped shut as he felt one of the pieces of machinery, one of his Tech-Adepts feel pain. Pain was for the weak and the un-pure. But something had harmed a part of the machine, and whoever it was would suffer a thousand times the pain that Adept had felt.

A voice broke through the throbbing of the armoury, a voice that Var recognized as belonging Fundae Ignescunt. Another fool who cared nothing for the weapons and armour that kept him alive in battle. It was not skill at arms, or tactics that made a warrior great, rather his weapons. It was not his endurance or grit that kept him alive, rather his armour. The Night Lords flamer, brought to Var as nothing more than a mound of molten metal, resembling nothing of the great weapon it once was. A fractured fuel canister, his own fault. In fact, Var would have preferred it if had been Fundae that had lost his arm, better to wipe that smile from his face and show him what pain and defeat really means. Var knew pain. He never forgot the days of constant agony so long ago upon his homeworld.

"Var, I hope you have repaired my flamer by now.”

Rage built within Var, and it took all his strength to beat it down. It would not be right for Var to kill the marine here, within his inner sanctum. Var needed to be part of the Night Lords, for them to take him to his final destination. And that meant avoiding driving his 'tail' through the Space Marines throat and watching him bleed like the weak flesh he was. When Var responded his voice was metallic. But it was low and dark, any of even average intelligence would be able to detect the hatred unsaid.

""You cannot rush my work. Be grateful you still live, and let me deal with your weapon"

Var turned back to the plasma gun resting before him, expecting the Marine to leave his armoury and leave Var in the peace. But instead the fool spoke again, his voice joking, the voice of a weak idiot.

"Forgive me scrap head. I thought you were the fastest Tech-Priest in the Company."

Now the rage that surged upon Var could not be held back. Var turned upon the impudent Night Lord, his eyes blazing with pure, unbridled fury. Var's 'tail' whipped around at the whim of its master and hung, poised a few meters from where the Astartes stood. When Var spoke now his voice was a roar, one of anger and rage.

""You forget your place. Veteran you may be, but accidents happen, and they can be fatal. NOW.GET.OUT.OF.MY.ARMORY"

The last statement was accompanied by Var grabbing his Axe from where it rested beside him and placing his feet in a solid stance, the idea of a fight obvious.

However the Night Lord seemed to realize his mistake, as he turned from Var and stormed off down the corridor once more, returning to the world that existed outside of Var's own. Var let a breath escape him, his 'tail' relaxing and sliding back to where it rested behind him. He placed his axe down once more the floor and turned once more to the mangled weapon on the bench before him.

Fools. Weak fools.
 
#5 ·
Morning prayers. Jaekal Sarn, Chaplain of Fourth Company and member of First Claw relished every chance he could get to praise the Warmaster's vision. This time was no different than the rest, except that he was surrounded by fifty recruits fresh from their first round of bio-implants. It was his task now to continue their formation into true Astartes, true Brothers of the Night Lords. Closing his eyes, he raised his hands aloft, invoking the ceremony. "May that we here always remember our place in the Universe... to bring the terror of death upon those who know it not!"

Stepping from behind the altar at the head of the convocation hall, Jaekal retrieved his Crozius from his hip. Fifty sets of pitch-black eyes stared in unison at his immense form, in full battle regalia. From the bleached-white of his skulled helmet to the lightning bolts enscribed on his grieves, the recruits were indeed awed by his presence. Jaekal laughed to himself, thinking of how he too was in there position not long ago.

"Today's lesson, my children, is in the ways of our enemy. The false-emperor, the deceiver-king! His treachery knows no bounds, his minions mindless peons worshipping a pitiful fool! Warmaster Horus, and the Legion, is where your loyalty should be placed. For who has given you this new life? Who has shown you the truth?"

As Jaekal paused for effect, he paced the dais. The roar was cacophonous and Jaekal could not help but smile under his helm. These fresh Night Lords had promise and his message was taking hold quite firmly.

"Soon Brothers! Very soon, indeed, we shall crash upon those still loyal to the false-emperor. Soon you will bestow upon them the gift He has given you. With bolter and blade, we shall give them the full measure of the truth. Savour it! Remember it! As they stand on the doorstep of death, you shall throw their broken bodies into the void, screaming in terror at the truth of it!"

The Chaplain continued on, spouting his own interpretations of the Litanies of Hate as well as several colorful anecdotes of those Brothers who had proved unworthy in battle. "Know this, initiates. As I guide you now in the ways of terror, remember that I will not hesitate to vaporize any one of you who proves a traitor to the Primarch or Horus! Do not ask for mercy, as there will be none from the enemy or myself!"

Closing the morning prayer-indoctrination, Jaekal dismissed those gathered to their daily duties. "Initiates, you are dismissed. Those of you who are to continue implantation, make haste to Brother Veptus in the Apothacarion. The rest of you, return to your daily training."

As the hall emptied, Jaekal reflected on these new recruits. How many of them would be ready for the upcoming combat? Not only in body, but in mind and soul? He had long ago taken it upon himself to steer those he could towards loyalty to the Legion and the Warmaster above all else. He knew that if they saw the truth as he did, they would be unswerving in their loyalty and truly give themselves to the terror of the night.

...

Returning his Crozius to his hip, Jaekal left the hall, making his way to the Apothecarion to both visit with Brother Veptus and observe the transformation of the flock from fragile humans into full Astartes. Nearing the entryway to the surgery room, which smelled more of a charnal house than a medical facility, Jaekal turned the corner to find Veptus standing amidst the medical equipment that was his trade. Looking past Veptus, Jaekal could see what appeared to be a face suspended in fluid. Hailing the Apothecary, Jaekal queried the surgeon. "What unfortunate did that belong to? Looks vaguely familiar, though I can't place the face." Jaekal let out a laugh at the irony of his question as Veptus replied it belonged to Shen, who upon shaming himself had been sentenced to internment in the carcophagus of a Dreadnought. "I trust it was painful? Regardless, I am not here to pry on your personal amusement. I must ask how the recruits are taking to their implants, have there been any complications or psychoses induced as of late?"
 
#6 ·
"What unfortunate did that belong to? Looks vaguely familiar, though I can't place the face." Veptus turned around from the vox caster to confirm what his ears already told him.
"Jaekal, as always it's a pleasure to have you in my Apocatherion." Veptus picked up his surgical apron and gloves and tossed them in the disposal unit. If he had any more work to do he would put on fresh robes and would have to bloody them again. "That face, until a moment ago belonged to Brother Shen..." Veptus smiled cruelly, still revealing in the pain he had visited on Shen moments before. "He was a tempestuous youth who shamed himself and Xandrek. Fortunately for us, his injuries were sever and Xandrek decreed him to be put to use as a Dreadnought, amongst other tortures." Veptus chuckled darkly as he began to clean his surgical instruments.


"I trust it was painful?" Veptus turned his head and cocked his eyebrow. He knew his reputation as a torturer without peer preceded him, and Jaekal knew it too. The look was simple to give the Chaplain a gauge of just how painful, rather than if it had been. "Regardless, I am not here to pry on your personal amusement I must ask how the recruits are taking to their implants, have there been any complications or psychoses induced as of late?" Veptus sighed. *Why is he getting involved?* He thought to himself. Jaekal cared for the recruits it seemed, but people butting their noses where the had no expertise was incredibly infuriating, a thought Veptus knew he shared with several other masters of their field such as the tech-marine.


"As much as I am wounded by your disinterest at my pleasure..." Veptus said mockingly as he dried his hands. "...I very much doubt that you must do anything besides tend to your flock. Just as I must worry about the physical needs of our company." Veptus held Jaekal's gaze evenly. He had said enough to tell the Chaplain that he should not demand knowledge in area's which where not his to meddle in. Veptus blinked, the connection was broken and he continued to make himself busy around the Apocatherion. "Hopefully you do not think that Our Lord named me Primus Medicae for nothing, as so have every confidence that I can implant initiates with our legion's genetic heritage." Veptus let the rhetorical question hang for a moment. He did not let Jaekal answer, but it served to remind the Chaplain what he had clearly forgotten; that Veptus was in charge of the entire Apocatherion and therefore seasoned in the process of implantation and gene-forging boys into Astartes.

"However..." Veptus continued as he picked up a data-slate in case he received new orders from Xandrek or was otherwise called upon. He beckoned Jaekal to follow and lead him through to the wing where the newest initiates were still sleeping off the anesthetic Veptus had given them for their implantation operations. "...since you ask I shall do you the courtesy of answering. Thus far the operations have been without complications or fatalities..." Veptus walked around the room, checking all the medical readings of the multiple machines wired into these boys for abnormalities as he continued to talk. "...Most of these have just had their Preomnor, Omophagea and Multi-lung implanted. What will follow is several courses of psycho-indoctrinated training to use the new organs before we start with the next set, most of which are centered in the brain and so carry a greater level or risk."

All the readings seemed normal as Veptus checked each one in turn. Jaekal stayed silent, seemingly content to simply watch Veptus work and allow the Corpse Master to explain the procedures which were taking place. "Of course these are not all the recruits. Some are still to receive those implants, but we are through most of the newest batch at this point. They won't be ready for Isstvan, which will be a shame, but they will be able to replace a large number of the losses we will incur almost immediately after, meaning it will appear to our foes as if we have not lost a single man." Veptus was sure Jaekal would appreciate the morale crushing notion that anyone's foe was simply not losing numbers, no matter how hard you fought against them. Such a thought was certain to wound the heart of any foe and inspire fear into mortal at the notion of an 'immortal company' which never lost men. "Now..." Veptus turned to face the Chaplain "...I trust that answers all your questions and assuages all your fears?" Veptus stared indifferently at Jaekal. Hopefully this nosy preacher would finally stop bothering him and allow him to return to his duties...
 
#7 · (Edited)
"...I very much doubt that you must do anything besides tend to your flock. Just as I must worry about the physical needs of our company." Veptus glared for a moment at Jaekal before returning to his work.

"I admire your style, Corpse-Maker, and meant no offense with my intrusion" replied Jaekal flatly. Veptus continued, "Of course these are not all the recruits. Some are still to receive those implants, but we are through most of the newest batch at this point. They won't be ready for Isstvan, which will be a shame, but they will be able to replace a large number of the losses we will incur almost immediately after, meaning it will appear to our foes as if we have not lost a single man."

The ability to appear immortal to one's foes... Jaekal was impressed even further with the Corpse-Master's skill and ingenuity and this new revelation gave the Chaplain the answer he was looking for in his visit. "I trust that answers all your questions and assuages all your fears?" Veptus staring indifferently at Jaekal, was noticibly perturbed. "Oh yes, Brother Veptus, this visit has been most educational. I see that the flock is in your capable hands, and as you have your duties to attend to, I will be on my way." Leaving the room, Jaekal thought to himself as he returned to his sanctum. Though the medic was indeed the Primus Medicae, the matters of the immortal soul were Jaekal's domain. Smiling to himself, Jaekal laughed as he wondered how well the medic could operate if his arms were torn from their sockets? Subduing the thought, he entered the corridor leading to his chambers before retiring to his meditations.
 
#8 ·
Nostramans by nature are predators given the chance, and Corvis was no exception. In the near total darkness of the training hall, Corvis felt his blood sing as he raised his lightning claw up once again to block Xho's sword. What felt like a mountain hammering into him sent him reeling backwards, but unblooded still. Between the two of them Xho was definitely the bigger; no doubt a fact the fool thought would ease his victory as he swaggered into the arena with his two-handed chainsword. Corvis knew Xho had more muscle than brain, he could tell by the Nostraman markings on him, Probably once an enforcer he thought nonchalantly as they both prepared for the duel to begin. Still, Xho thought himself better than Corvis, and that was an insult in and of itself. A duel to third blood it would be, and Corvis promised himself he would make this particularly painful for those in 5th Claw who were watching.

Once again Xho swung his sword in an arc hoping to drive Corvis further away from closing in on him. Twisting his gauntlet Corvis caught the sergeants blade in between several of his talons and pulled his sword downward into the cold steel of the training deck. Before Xho could rip his sword free of Corvis' talons, the Young Blood slammed his left fist into Xho head, sending him reeling backwards. Seeing an opening, Corvis released his grip on Xho's sword and sank his claw into the meat of Xho's shoulder. Even in the near absolute blackness of the training hall Corvis' eyes could see the bright red liquid pour from the sergeants open wound and he could not hide the smile etched on his face. "That's one Xho, try not to let this look too easy for me" Corvis taunted as he backed away from the sergeant. As Xho gripped his sword with both hands Corvis slowly paced back and forth like a predator judging his best angle of attack. Ignoring the jeers and insults of the 5th claw Night Lords watching him, Corvis savored the look of disbelief and rage on Xho's face. With more arrogance than confidence Corvis took a running start and leaped at the Night Lord, his claw aimed to rake across the sergeants face. Unfortunately Xho saw the hungry look in Corvis' eyes, the desire to mercilessly destroy the opponent and feed off the fear. A heartbeat away from the cold steel touching his face, Xho brought his sword up and batted Corvis's claw away as he landed. Trying to leap out of the way, Corvis was unable to block the savage kick from Xho that sent him reeling back. Not wasting any time Xho roared as he swung his sword in a downward arc.

Cold steel bit into his cheek. Instantly Corvis could taste the warm, metal smell of his own blood as it poured freely from his wound. Reaching his left hand to his face, Corvis could feel the meat of his face and swore under his breath at the impudent wretch. "No more screwing around then" Corvis stated as he rose to his feet and brandished his claw once again. This time both combatants charged head long at each other, the sparks of the steel blades connecting giving the only brief illumination in the arena. As Xho thought himself a mountain to bring crashing down on Corvis, the young Night Lord was a predator. He would match this fool blow for blow, and show him how inferior he was to Corvis in martial might when his target slipped up in even the slightest way. Bobbing under a hasty cut to his melee arm, Corvis brought his knee slamming into Xho's midsection. Briefly off balance, Corvis grabbed Xho by his good shoulder and spun him around to face Corvis. Letting no time get away Corvis swiftly raked his talons across the sergeants chest, four fresh wounds weeping blood from the second hit. Corvis wanted to relish the moment, he wanted to savor the look of frenzied hatred in Xho's eyes as the thought of defeat became a real possibility in his mind. However, Corvis needed to win. Biting his tongue against any mocking jests or insults Corvis gritted his teeth and charged once again at the lumbering Night Lord.

.."Make him bleed Corvis!"..."Cut the Young Blood down to size Xho!"..."Kill!".."Victory for 5th claw!"..."Show the old murderer how to fight Young Blood!"..."Kill!"..."Kill!"..."Kill!". The spectators to the duel were roaring for more. They wanted more than just a fight to third blood. They wanted death. A Murder Duel was uncommon en route to a war zone but even Corvis couldn't deny the appetite for claiming Xho's life. Still, Corvis didn't need any Warp-touched powers of Jallus' to sense Azrael's presence on the training deck. The Blade Master was not one to tolerate a killing by one of his Claw not sanctioned by Xandrek, or himself. The Night Lords in attendance would just have to wait for Istvaan V to slate their blood thirst on astartes. By now both duelists were drenched in sweat and blood, their astartes physiology stemming the blood flow from their wounds as they continued attacking. Corvis could feel the throbbing in his face as his body fought off bacteria and began healing the wound. He could only brace against the pain and use it to exert himself to victory. Xho appeared to be holding together though he was staggering ever so slightly, not enough to be an easy victory but enough to not be a hard threat. "I will break your spirit Young Blood" Xho spat as he took the charge. As they met each other again in the middle of the arena talons met chainsword and the two of them locked eyes for the briefest of seconds, and that was all Corvis needed to know Xho's next move. Feinting a break from the combat, Corvis smiled one more time as he saw Xho raise his sword up bring it crashing down. Had it connected it would have easily split his coller bone in two and probably have gauranteed Xho victory. As it was, Corvis knew this was what Xho planned, and as the Night Lord brutally brought his sword down, he saw Corvis twist his body just a hairs breadth from the teeth of his sword. Without any mercy Corvis drove his claw once more into Xho's chest, sending him slamming backwards onto the cold steel of the arena. Calmly, Corvis walked over to the semi-conscious sergeant and smiled his murderous smile. "And that's three" he mocked.

The audience of Night Lords cheered and roared. The entire training hall echoed their raucous cheers at a duel worth watching. Corvis paid them no heed. He had already left the Xho and the arena floor while they were still laughing and yelling their approval. Pouring ice cold water over his face, Corvis exhaled and finally let himself enjoy the victory he won himself.

"Well done Young Blood, but remember not to become complacent after you have drawn first blood. It is when he has been wounded that your foe is at his most dangerous for he will not underestimate you again as you learned today. You are lucky you dodged, Xho's chainsword would have split your collar bone as well as cutting your face had you not. Learn these lessons and eventually you'll come away without a scratch from a fight such as this. Also, be wary of Xho. Before he joined us he was a murderer of the worst sort and I wouldn't put it beyond him to jump you in a dark corner.". Corvis knew that voice before he had even said the name Young Blood. He had heard it a dozen times or more, always in that same chiding tone that seemed to Corvis as patronizing as it was arrogant. Still, Azrael was Xandrek's champion for a reason, and Corvis would not be the fool to openly provoke such a sure defeat. Turning to face Azrael, Corvis smiled his ever empty smile and acknowledged the Champion with a nod, "Perceptive as ever Sword Master. Your Terran masters must have taught you well before the Night Haunter's gene-seed was gifted to you" he said. ""But you do not need to warn me about Xho. He is a fool who thinks his shadow greater than it is. Had you not been here this would have become a Murder Duel very quickly and 5th Claw would be needing a new sergeant. If Xho is foolish enough to try anything from the shadows, then the Corpse-Master will receive a fresh astartes corpse to cut open."
 
#9 · (Edited)
The heat, the roaring heat.Deep within the Maiden of sorrow lay the armory, a forge manned not by blacksmiths and apprentices but by priests and once-men. Fundae liked this place, the warmth was intense and filled him with joy but that was not why he was here.This was the den of that iron bat Var,Tech-Marine of Fourth company and Tech-adept of the claw. The Nostramon was untrustworthy was untrustworthy even by night lord standards and if it weren’t for his knowledge and skill then he would by dead long ago by his enemies or his “alies”.Fundae marched through the corridors with haste, his horned astartus helm under arm and his double edged chain axe slung along his back. He came to a medium sized dark room, biotics and weapon parts hung from the walls and hunched over a table at the far end staring intently at some blue prints was the tech-marine.

“Var,i hope you have repaired my flamer by now” Called Fundae gaining the tech-priests attention.

“you cannot rush my work.Be grateful you still live, and let me deal with your weapon.” He was right, the last engagement had a stray round rupture its fuel canister badly injuring Fundae but thanks to the corpse-master he was ready to fight once more.Upon further inspection Ignescunt could see what lay on the table. It was the wrecked remains of an over heated plasma gun not his flamer, that was it..

“forgive me scrap head.I thought you were the fastest tech-priest in the company”

Something snapped, the mechanical arm attached to Var’s back whipped around barely missing Fundae. var turned on his heel staring down Fundae before graspng the handle of his axe. The voice that tore through the helmet of the raging legionaire was like a demonic scratching, its anger brought a slight smile to Ignescunt’s mouth.

“You forget your place. Veteran you may be, but accidents happen, and they can be fatal. NOW.GET.OUT.OF.MY.ARMoRY!”

Fundae was not happy now, the Marine was showing the same disrespect to him as they recieved from the other legions still loyal to the false emporer. Fundae cought himself reaching for the axe slung over his shoulder but he stopped, as much as he hated it they needed Var and he wanted nothing more than to tear that Tech-Adept’s head from his twisted body.

The weapon specialist thundered off barging over a servitor and splintering a tech-adept’s thigh and hip as he exited the armory.
 
#10 ·
In the centre of the vessel insulated as much as possible from the imaterium, shrowded in darkness, was the Librarium. The central repository for knowledge and reports of battles long past. Sitting silently with his legs underneath him, Jallus sat facing the large door of the inner librarium. Two other Librarians spread out forming a semi circle of sorts. On Jallus's right was Librarian Antallus Zartis and to his left was Indrick Taelos. Using forbidden powers the librarians communed with each other reinforcing their mental strengths with practised exercises.
It would have been a full circle if the Night Lords produced more librarians or 'psykers' as many marines in the chapter called them. The time was fast approaching for exercises to stop and war to begin. War against fellow Astartes. Jallus relished the thought. To test his metal against those whose strength could match his own gene enhanced physic. He had been meditating for around 2 hours, sending barbed mental attacks at his fellows while reinforcing his own mental barriers. 2 hours of thinking. 2 hours of scheming while he waited. He sensed that the Maiden would in fact appear at Isstavn V slightly ahead of most of the night lords fleet.
Jallus exhaled. It seemed to take an age to fully breath out. His mind emptied of thought as well as his lung of air. He finely opened his black midnight eyes. Looking around the shadowy room he could see the other doing the same.
"What is wrong brother" said Indrick
"It is nothing. Go back to mediating and I will return shortly.'
With that Jallus rose from his position and walked over to the weapon rack. He collected his force axe and bolt pistol. The axe still felt great in his hand as if it was an extension of his mind. He pushed some power into it with his mind feeling the radiance of psychic power bleeding of the blade. It was was thrill to use if battle, much more than it should have been he knew.
He walked to the main doors of the librarium, passing over it's hold and immediately feeling the power of the imaterium. Outside of the sanctuary there was less psychic shielding and now there was just the thin geller field between his mind and the raging warp. He must be quick to warn the Captain that would arrive earlier than anticipated.
Turning towards the bridge Jallus paced towards the bridge, confident he would not be held up. Nobody wanted to talk to a psyker unless they needed too. The low lights of the ship made him feel at home, he preferred this dark half light. Step through the bulk head door. Up ahead he could see Raskreia, carrying the company standard. Jallus disliked being near him in battle and spent as little time in his company out of battle. But there was nothing for it. The speediest route to the bridge was the same route as Raskreia.
'Hail standard bearer' Jallus voiced as he came up behind the marine.
 
#11 · (Edited)
Sitting in his room aboard the Maiden of Sorrow Raskreia was hunched over the right pauldron of his armour in his left hand carefully etching yet another line of lightning around the edges of it with his right. Dropping the knife to the hard bed Raskreia picks up a small brush dipping it into a small container of paint he carefully applies it to an area he had just etched out. Continuing with this pattern Raskreia carefully and artistically applied yet another layer of his favorite lightning he looks over the opposite wall. Looking at his armour Raskreia's lips pull up at the corners of his mouth in an imitation of a smile as his teeth become bared in a predatory aspect as he takes in the intricate lighting he has etched and painted onto it before moving his eyes over to the Banner of the Fourth in pride of place. The thick black cloth split with lightning above and behind a lone Night Lord standing atop a veritable mountain of bones both of humans and xenos, right hand holding a gore covered blade tilted downwards and towards his right side with some spilling of onto the small skull of a human infant while the left holds a bolter out stretched as if firing from it towards the enemy itself.

Looking back down at his pauldron Raskreia carefully follows the etching allowing the paint to settle before going over it once more to fully accentuate it. Standing up and crossing over to the wall he slowly puts the pauldron on the table before turning to his battle plate and starting the process of encasing himself in it. Taking particular pleasure in his left shin and right thigh as he places those pieces onto himself Raskreia turns to his chest armour and slowly rubs his left hand along it for a few seconds before gripping its edges and turning it around and placing it upon his chest and calling for a serf to help with the last parts of adorning himself in his armour before taking his helmet in a loose grip with his left hand and stroking the cloth of the standard before taking it up with his right hand. Stepping out into the hall Raskreia walks towards the bridge where Xandrek most likely is biding his time until planetfall and the slaughter that will follow.

Walking down the corridor Raskreia uses the standard as a crutch hitting the deck with it in time with his right foot causing a break in the steady thumping of his footsteps with a dull clang. Raskreia hears a voice behind him say, "Hail standard bearer" Turning his head Raskreia sees the psyker Jallus approaching him. Lips pulling into a small snarl at the approaching figure Raskreia replies, "Hail witch, on your way to report something of import from the bowels of the warp? Or just deciding which brother to inflict your presence on?" with barely held disgust coming from his every word and stance. Raskreia didn't wait for a response before turning his head away and resuming his measured pace for the bridge the standard raping an angrier sound as he did not like being near the psyker anywhere other than the battlefield where he could be distracted by fighting with Azreal and Xandrek, most often in the thickest of it. Thinking of this Raskreia hears a voice again calling out to him, "Hail Raskreia, on your way to our lord?" Spinning around Raskreia sees it is the Company Champion and not the Psyker. Leaning on the standard a bit Raskreia smiles slightly as he looks at him appearing to be set for war as well as a willingness to be at Xandrek's side. Responding Raskreia smiles openly, "Hail Azrael, yes and judging by your own appearance and general attitude that is also where you yourself are heading correct? If I may, why do we not head to the bridge together?" lightly before fidgeting with his helmet slightly. Should I tell him about the psyker or wait and let him deal with it? Maybe warn Xandrek about him approaching and let the Captain sort it out? Ah well maybe that should be best, sit back and let him get executed by himself as no one in the Legion likes them.

"It would be a pleasure brother" Azrael replies. Raskreia nods in acceptance of this before motioning with his left hand for Azreal to take the lead. "Well brother let's not keep our Lord waiting. Though he does seem to be rather distant and tense as of late though. Maybe he has been hanging around the Young Blood to much recently or maybe even the Chaplain Jaekel and his sermonizing which I gather would put even the Word Bearers to shame.Raskreia adds with a slight laugh. Walking in silence waiting for a reply Raskreia kept a step behind Azrael in deference to his lethality and position in the company. Upon reaching the bridge doors Raskreia pushes them open with his left hand seeing Xandrek turn his head to look before returning to gaze at a nothing.

Walking into the bridge Raskreia noticed Xandrek’s shield was resting against the throne like command chair. Xandrek’s personal motto writ bold in a blood red Nostramon writing on a flyer of flayed skin saying I am the Lord of Lies. I know only the truth. below he winged skull of a Nostramo with a black blade impaling it from top to bottom with blood dripping from the tip in 1 blood drop. The shield itself a massive piece of adamantium and ceramite reinforced with powerful shielding turning it into a veritable movable fortress while allowing Xandrek to wield his sword in the other hand. Coming to a stop just outside of blade range Raskreia offers a respectful nod towards Xandrek saying "Captain, pleasure seeing you. Though I think that pleasure will be greatly diminished as the psyker Jallus is most likely on his way here."
 
#12 · (Edited)
I was stood in the darkness of the Maiden of Sorrow’s training hold, watching the dance of blades in the practice cages. Though there were many duels taking place, it the one in the one furthest to my left was the one that drew my attention. It was an honour duel between Young Blood and Sergeant Xho Zhen of Fifth Claw. Young Blood seemed to have the better of the duel, for Xho had only struck him once whereas Xho himself was bleeding from two wounds, a cut down his chest and punctures in his left shoulder where Corvis had caught him.

The chants of the gathered marines meant nothing to me; they were fools if they believed I would let this descend into a murder duel. Or if they thought this would end with Xho the victor.

Corvis was letting his anger drive him into the attack, letting fury and hatred cloud his mind. Still he was restraining himself, no doubt having seen me standing watching his fight. Corvis knew me, knew that if I even thought there was a risk of this turning into a murder duel I would step in and both would be humiliated. Corvis would be angry, but he had the brains to understand he couldn’t beat me. Xho was a different matter entirely. If I stepped in I might have to knock the fool out cold to make him halt. They could fight to Xho’s inevitable death after the campaign was over.

Xho was completely enraged by now and I heard his voice as he spat at Corvis. “I will break your spirit Young Blood.” I shook my head. Corvis’ spirit was long since hardened beyond whatever punishment Xho could meet out.

I spent the next minute watching the movements of the fight, studying the skills of the two of them and their weaknesses. Corvis had a tendency to extend his arm too far when he lunged with his claws, giving a fast opponent a split second opportunity to slice his muscle. That I wouldn’t tell him, I kept something back from all those I had taught except Xandrek, should I ever be forced to fight them myself. But I decided I would tell him the error that had let Xho slice his cheek, how he had become complacent after he first struck Xho. Telling him of that error would never hurt me, he wouldn’t have the ability to strike me.

“Well done Young Blood, but remember not to become complacent after you have drawn first blood. It is when he has been wounded that your foe is at his most dangerous for he will not underestimate you again as you learned today. You are lucky you dodged, Xho’s Chainsword would have split your collar bone as well as cutting your face had you not. Learn these lessons and eventually you’ll come away without a scratch from a fight such as this. Also, be wary of Xho. Before he joined us he was a murderer of the worst sort and I wouldn’t put it past him to jump you in a dark corner.”

Corvis gave his empty smile and acknowledged me with a nod as he spoke.

“Perceptive as ever Sword Master. Your Terran masters must have taught you well before the Night Haunter's gene-seed was gifted to you" he said. ""But you do not need to warn me about Xho. He is a fool who thinks his shadow greater than it is. Had you not been here this would have become a Murder Duel very quickly and 5th Claw would need a new sergeant. If Xho is foolish enough to try anything from the shadows, then the Corpse-Master will receive a fresh Astartes corpse to cut open.”

I left the training hall shaking my head in tiredness. Corvis was being foolish again, taking my advice as an insult.

“We need more mortals. They die too fast.” Zhasal’s voice came over the vox. My face twisted into a scowl. The arrogant fool thought himself an excellent warrior. He refused to fight any who were not among the Imperium’s finest Space Marines and he lost to all of them. He had even challenged Nykona Sharrowkyn, the finest Space Marine warrior in the galaxy, even greater than Captain Lucius of the Emperor’s Children. "I am on my way regardless, any news from the Captain?"

“No news from our Captain Zhasal and if you want more mortals, find them yourself. I have better things to do with my time than waste it on your pathetic amusement.”

I kept moving and on my way I saw Raskeria, my closest brother besides Xandrek himself. He was not even Terran, but I did not care. I preferred his company to Fundae’s who was from the same world as me. "Hail Raskreia, on your way to our lord?" I called to the Standard Bearer. Raskeria spun, then he smiled and leaned on the Standard. He waited till I reached him and gave me a moment to bow my head and give a fist-to-chest salute to the Standard. Raskeria then spoke, saying. "Hail Azrael, yes and judging by your own appearance and general attitude that is also where you yourself are heading correct? If I may, why do we not head to the bridge together?" After he had finished speaking he fidgeted with his helmet slightly.

I dismissed it and replied to his query. “It would be a pleasure brother.”

The Standard Bearer nodded in acceptance and motioned for me to take the lead. “Well brother let's not keep our Lord waiting. Though he does seem to be rather distant and tense as of late though. Maybe he has been hanging around the Young Blood to much recently or maybe even the Chaplain Jaekel and his sermonizing which I gather would put even the Word Bearers to shame.” Raskreia added with a slight laugh. We walked in silence for a while, during which time I thought of a reply. Raskeria was a step behind me, walking in that position. “He does indeed seem to be distant and tense, the destruction of Nostramo hit him harsher than most of us. And brother, there is no need to stay behind me, we are equals.” Raskeria smiled and stepped slightly faster

Raskeria pushed open the bridge door and we walked through. My eyes were drawn to Xandrek but as usual, I couldn’t ignore his sword that rested in a scabbard at his hip. She was a beautiful piece of workmanship. A bastard sword, one of the finest examples of a Paragon Blade I’d ever seen. It had his motto written in silver in Nostramon on the dark silver, almost black blade. The blade was double sided and straight, more than five foot long. The hilt was wrapped in black leather with silver thread. The guard was formed of the winged skull of Nostramo with wings themselves forming the cross bar. The pommel was a silver skull.

Xandrek himself was stood at the far end of the bridge in front of the view screens with his hands clasped behind his back under his black cloak. I could see the silhouette of his helmet’s dark iron crest of bat wings. As we approached his head turned to the right before returning to the screens “Captain, pleasure seeing you. Though I think that pleasure will be greatly diminished as the psyker Jallus is most likely on his way here” Raskeria said. I scowled for a moment as I heard Jallus’ name, the only member of the First Claw I wouldn’t give my life to save.

“Corvis has made another enemy and Zhasal wants more people to hunt, the disgusting animal. But enough of the troubles of the rest of the First Claw. How are you Xandrek?”
 
#13 ·
Azrael and Raskreia: As the two of you step onto the bridge and give your reports the silent and motionless statue of Captain Xandrek finally turns to face the both of you with his arms still behind his back and you smile at the imposing sight of your Captain as even among the Legion itself Xandrek cuts a terrifying figure with his bat wing crested helmet, lightning covered armour, blood red eye lens and rusted chains from which the flayed skulls of both human and aliens hang from. As the Captain’s blood red lens regard the two of you his deep yet sophisticated upper-hiver voice leaves his helmet in a deep growl which stops several of the mortal crew members in their tracks. “Azrael, Raskreia. It is good to see you my ‘brothers’”, some how no legionary can say ‘Brothers’ with as much venom as Xandrek can but you both know the malice and hate in his voice is not directed at you. “I am the same as I always am, Champion. If there was something wrong with me im sure the Corpse-Master would have notified you.” Xandrek then unclasps his hands from behind his back before he makes his way over to his command throne and settles himself in as you two ascend the raised dais to stand before him. “As for the psyker making his way here…that is unfortunate. Azreal if the witch-kin comes within twenty paces of me but a bolt through his helmet and should he speak without be giving him permission, Raskreia. Feel free to remove his tongue using a rusty blade.” The Captain then lets out a growling vox laugh which you two join in before he stops and then removes his helmet to reveal his paper white aristocratic features and shoulder length black hair. “Now my brothers, let us see what news the psyker has for us.” And you both turn as Xandrek raises his left hand to motion to one of the doors as not only Jallus but also the Chaplain Jaekal enter the room. Clearly this is going to be interesting.

Jaekal: As you make your way to your personal chambers you glimpse several of your brothers of First Claw making their way to the bridge: Azrael, Fourth Companies Champion. Raskreia, Fourth Companies Standard Bearer….and oddly Jallus one of the companies librarians though Jallus is much further back than his two brothers. Obviously the other two want to be nowhere near the psyker and you shiver ever so slightly as the witch-mind passes by you aswell though none of them have noticed you with your black armour in the near lightless corridors of the Maiden. Turning back to resume your walk back towards your quarter you get a message over the vox from one of the bridge crew telling you on Xandrek’s behalf to prepare for the upcoming battle then to come and meet him on the bridge ready. As you are already in your full wargear you turn to face the direction of the bridge and set off at a brisk walk until you end up catching up with Jallus. You must now decide if you walk with your brother, psyker he may be, to the bridge to meet the captain or to either fall back slightly or rush ahead of him to get out of his presence. It is up to you what you wish to do though if you walk with Jallus then feel free to work out a conversation with him.

Veptus: You let out a small breath which you had not been realizing you had be holding as Jaekal stalks out of the Apocatherion back to his own chambers and you turn to right as an apocathery minoris, Brother Xheng, approaches you and lowers his head slightly before speaking, his helmets vox speakers rending his already inhuman voice into a slurring growl “Master, a message from Captain Xandrek”. You follow Xheng’s outstretched and pointing finger towards the vox terminal where there is a simple message from Xandrek which you realize has also been sent to all other members of fourth company: “Viris Colratha Dath Sethicara Tesh Dasovallian. Solruthis Veh Za Jass.” Which makes you smile as you read its meaning: “Sons of our father stand in midnight clad. We bring the Night”. Which as you know, having grown up with Xandrek on Nostramo means you should prepare yourself by gathering your wargear but as you turn away from the terminal you see another message flash up: +Veptus. Come to the bridge+ It seems that your captain has called for you and you now have time to gather your wargear before heading to the bridge to meet him, what else you do is up to you.

Corvis: You watch Azrael leave the training hall to go and find the Captain while those that had gathered start to move away to either return to their cells or train against one another while the rest of Fifth Claw leave Xho laying on the floor to let his Astartes physiology catch up with the four deep wounds in his chest from where you had impaled him with your lightning claw. Deciding to return to your own cell you finish armoring yourself with the help of two of your slaves who bolt the last of your armour in place as you lightly probe the wound in your cheek which Xho gave you. The wound is a rather deep one that has now opened up for all the galaxy to see some of your jaw bone and teeth which you decide needs to be sealed before Isstvan so it is best to go and see the Corpse-Master Veptus though when you arrive in the Apocatherion Brother Xheng tells you that the Corpse-Master has gone to see the captain and if you wish he can see to your cheek. What do you now do is up to you, do you let Xheng tend to your facial wound or go and demand Veptus deals with it while going to see what the captain is also up to? If you remain with Xheng then feel free to converse with him.(So pm me and ill do all of Xheng’s talking for you to post up.)

Jallus: You stop in your tracks at the venom pouring from Raskreia’s mouth but not because you are shocked by the disgust in his voice but because you begin to smile under your helmet at the annoyance and anger you inflict on your brothers when in their presence, especially the Captain who barely seems to tolerate your presence most of the time you are near him but before you can reply to the Standard Bearers question he stalks off with the butt of the companies standard rapping against the metal floor as he uses it like a staff. Following him but keeping your distance you obviously can message him over the vox with your reply to his question before you notice the standard bearer stop up ahead at one of the junctions and see Azrael join him before they both head off to the bridge together. You don’t seem to be too concerned about the Champion joining the Standard bearer though you do stop slightly when you sense the presence of Jaekal coming up behind and wonder what it is that the chaplain is up to. Perhaps you should ask him or will you simply make your way to the bridge and give the Captain your report?

Zhasal: Azrael’s voice cuts across your vox as he simply tells you he doesn’t care about your amusement and if you want to mortals to kill then you must go and find your own. Growling slightly at the champion’s dismissive tone you decide to stalk the lower decks that are filled with mortal slaves though you need to be careful with which slaves you decide to hunt as some are property of other legionaries of Fourth Company or slaves that actually have some value. Stalking along the almost lightless lower decks you step out into one of the several slave living quarter habs which seems almost full as they barter with each other for the meager scraps that they can find but as soon as you step foot in the large relatively open space all becomes silent as all the mortals turn to regard you. It is now entirely up to you what you now do as you have all of the mortals attention. Though you must remember that killing too many of the crew will clearly earn the ire of Azrael and Xandrek but what do you care if two of your ‘brothers’ get annoyed with you at killing pathetic mortals?

Var: Returning to the mangled half melted piece of scrap metal back on your work table you give it a final glance over and decide that it is too far gone to be ever fully repaired into working condition so you begin to harvest what parts you can for repairing other plasma guns in the future. After you finish stripping the remains of the plasma gun you hand the rest of the mangled metal to a servitor to have it melted down to be used for other parts later before you turn your attention to Fundae’s heavy flamer hanging on the wall to your right. Even though he was disrespectful to you and had injured one of your tech-adepts…twice, he will need his weapon before the legion lands on Isstvan to begin slaughtering loyalist scum. Easily picking the heavy flamer up off of the wall you begin your work on repairing it while you think of all the salvage you could gain from the massacre that will soon be taking place where it will be very easy to restock the Maiden’s storage holds with all the spare parts for Astartes armour, weapons and vehicles that will you could ever need. Though to do so you will need to stay in Xandrek’s good books for now and that means completing your work here. Once you finish repairing the heavy flamer you should take it to Fundae and then head to the bridge to inform Xandrek of what you will want to acquire after slaughtering the loyalists.

Fundae: You decide to return to your own cell and check your chain axe is still in perfect working order ready for slaughtering loyal Astartes scum to the so-called Emperor and while you are sat on the edge of your metal cot running your fingers over the teeth of the chain-axe you begin to wonder what it will sound like to hear a chain weapon biting into ceramite and power armour followed by the shouts and potential screams of Astartes, something that has never been heard before as who could of thought of Astartes fighting Astartes? You smile to yourself before feeling at a loss without your Heavy flamer and perhaps the only way to get Var to hurry up and fix it is to get Azrael or Xandrek to tell the bastard of a Tech-Marine to work on your flamer instead of melted pieces of scrap. Though if you do so by walking to find either the Captain or Champion to ask them or simply send a vox message to them is entirely up to you and what else you do with yourself for now is up to you, perhaps you should go hunting down in the lower levels to see if Zhasal is still there?
 
#14 ·
Var turned back to the mangled metal that rested upon his worktop. But it was of no use. That ignorant follower of the flesh had shattered his concentration. Roaring aloud Var grabbed the weapon from where it lay and flung it across the forge.

You call out for a servitor and ordered the creature, more metal than man, to disassemble what was left of the once proud weapon before melting it down.

Var turns away from the Servitor as it clanks down the hall, away from it's seething master. Var closes his eye, just for a moment. For a moment he breathes deeply, fighting to regain the calm. It takes little more than a second before Var opens his eyes once more, his eyes focusing on the Heavy Flamer that hangs from the wall. The Flamer of that fool. Of that idiot.

Yet fool and idiot he may be, the weak body that goes by the name of Fundae, is a member of the First Claw all the same. And in the coming conflict, Var will need as many Marines who owe him a favor as possible. And the less enemies he has the better. Although he had threatened it, Fundae was too important to Var's plan to crush the pitiful life from his weak flesh. Just yet.

Without a though one of Var's servo-arms snaked out and brought the Heavy Flamer to rest before Var. The Flamer itself was only superficially damaged, easy to fix. It took the expert Tech-Marine only moments to fuse the fuel line and repair the outer casing of the weapon. Finished with his task Var turned away from his workbench.

Calling for Servitor 19KA-6I Var allowed himself a smile as he entrusted the repaired Heavy Flamer to the Servitor and sent it on it's way to return it to it's owner. Servitor A9KA-6I had been constructed, born even, by Var's own hand and often served as the Tech-Marines personal bodyguard when he went into battle. The Servitor was huge, almost eight foot in height, and almost entirely crafted of cold steel. One hand was a black spike that bared strong similarities to Var's own tail. The other hand was a mechanical claw capable of crushing a battle tank.

Tested upon a thousand battle-fields, Var was confident that Servitor 19KA-6I would be able to handle anything that the Weapon Specialist might try.

Confident in his plan Var turned and strode from the forge, each step ringing out through the underbelly of the ship as the imposing figure made quick progress to the bridge.

The doors sliding open before his approach Var moved into the bridge without pause. He barely registered the other Space Marines gathered in the bridge, instead moving directly to where the figure of Captain Xandrek stands with a handful of others.

Cutting through any conversation that may have been going on between the Astartes Var spoke.

"I hope you remember my requests Captain. Every weapon, every piece of armour, every tank, must all be collected and utilized. I expect aid from the main body of the Night Lords so that the process is quick and efficient. We do not know how long this war will be, and we need every piece of equipment we can."
 
#15 ·
Walking down the corridor to his berthing, Jaekal paused for a moment, his superhuman senses detecting the tell-tale approaching sounds of a group of his fellow Night Lords. As he stood in the corridor, he was nearly indiscernable from the blackness of the walls in his power armor. Motionless, he thought to observe at first, and only make himself known if appropriate. Azrael, the hand picked Champion of their Company entered the corridor from a hatch several meters behind, with the Company Standard Bearer Raskreia quickly on his heels. They passed him without notice, incredible as he was in his full battle armour. This meeting must be of import Jaekal thought silently to himself, as why else would the Captain summon his entire honour guard? Jaekal soon saw the apparent reason for the others' haste, as Jallus was several meters behind them, apparently heading to the bridge as well.

Turning on his heel to resume his journey to his quarters, a voice came over his helmet's vox unit.

+++Chaplain, Captain Xandrek requests your presence on the bridge immediately+++

Having no need to prepare himself, as he was already in full battle gear, Jaekal made haste to catch up with Jallus. Though the psyker gave him an uneasy feeling, he was still a Night Lord, bearing the gene-seed of their Primarch and as such, was still in some way his same blood. Catching up with Jallus, Jaekal met him with a greeting. "Hail, Jallus. I trust your studies go well? Any inclination as to what this meeting may hold?"
 
#16 ·
Corvis watched Azrael leave the training hall shaking his head. It wasn't until the automatic doors shut behind the Champion that Corvis heard the Night Lords who were watching the duel slowly drifting away, either to retire to their own cells or to enter the training arenas themselves. Even those of 5th Claw had left the stands, leaving their sergeant unconscious on the floor as his metabolism tried to compensate for the deep wounds in his chest and shoulder. Taking a moment to think, Corvis contemplated following Azrael towards the bridge to see if any update had arrived yet but decided against it, he still needed to don the rest of his battle armor and the raw wound on his face was pulsing with soreness as his body worked to stem any further blood loss. Letting out a sigh of annoyance at the careless mistake he made fighting Xho, Corvis decided to leave the training hall as well and make for his own cell before deciding anything further.

The utter blackness on the interior of the ship was broken by static light emplacements for the crew. The mortals inability to process anything in the darkness amused Corvis, and the scent of fear the pours out of the new arrivals when they realize what their new home is always puts a smile on his malicious face. Still, for all their shortcomings, the mortals did serve a useful purpose. The Night Lords themselves could not run every aspect of the ship day to day, they needed the humans to make up for this. However, the teachings of Night Haunter kept the mortal crew in place and those who were blessed with being able to serve a Night Lord were lucky indeed among the light less halls of the Maiden of Sorrow.

"Lets see you try and scrape dried blood off this pauldron and not chip away at the paint then you half-handed grox-hound!" the slave shouted not bothering to turn away from his work as Corvis walked into his personal cell. "Lord Corvis desires the trigger mechanism checked in his plasma pistol and then to have the inks blended and prepared to tattoo into his flesh after he returns from combat, I do not have time to waste trying to do your duties as well as my own Secundus!" the other slave hurled back without turning around, lost in trying to find the right balance for the trigger to be tightened so as to not be too loose or too tight to squeeze. "If the duties assigned to you both are too much for you, simply tell me and I shall find new serfs" Corvis said with just enough steel in his voice to cause them both to wince as they noticed their master in the room. "My lord, our apologies" Primus quickly stammered keeping his head down. Echoing his counterpart, Secundus kept his head down as well before speaking. "I am finishing up cleaning the last segment of your armor lord, we may outfit you in just a moment." he said quickly before returning with more haste to his work.

Corvis decided against informing them he was joking. Better to keep them on their toes anyway he decided. Both of the slaves were Nostraman born, giving them a bit better sight in the darkness then those taken aboard not of the now destroyed world. Primus had come from Nostramo Quintus as a young hoodlum hoping to receive the Primarch's gene-seed. However, he had been found wanting and had failed his training but had survived the ordeal. In exchange for not becoming a mindless servitor, he had accepted servitude to the Night Lords and had grown to adulthood aboard the Maiden of Sorrow. Secundus on the other hand was one of the of the last waves of slaves sent from the homeworld, evidently sentenced to serve the Night Lords after trying to have the head manager at whatever adamantium factorum he toiled away at killed. Corvis had picked both of them out himself, feeling a connection to the two of them. Corvis would somtimes consider that, if not for passing his trails, he would probably have shared either of the killers fates; it was a sobering reminder of what awaited failure.

Still, the two humans took to their duties well and Corvis found the gutter talk between the two of them nostalgic of his old life. "How fare things among the crew decks?" Corvis asked them. They both knew not to feign ignorance, they had learned by now that their master knew of their power plays among the human crew. "Nothing of true note my lord" Secundus stated as he blew off flakes of dried blood. "Xnema and his lot are trying to extort food from the agri-workers and Remus and several of his boys recently killed one of the merchants who ran a stall selling used battery packs across from our distillery." Primus followed up with quickly. "We had hoped you would not mind us taking action against the two fools" Primus asked, feeling his master in a good enough mood to pose the question. "Do either of them serve one of the Legion?" Corvis returned. "Remus serves a Night Lord of 3rd Claw I believe, but Xnema is a nobody who thinks he is still on Nostramo" Secundus stated flatly as he finished with Corvis' armor. "Hold still if you don't mind my lord and we shall fit your armor onto you" Both servants rose from their work tables and began fitting their master. "Find this Xnema and teach him the lessons of the Night Haunter and his sons. This Remus though must simply be warned by the remains of Xnema. I already have enough of my "battle-brothers" seeking my head" Corvis said, venom lacing his words. "It shall be done my lord" they both spoke as they continued fitting their master."

Attaching the gauntlets into place, both servants backed up as Corvis tested the armor out on himself, feeling it just as responsive as when he left it here. Only one piece left, Primus approached his master and offered his helm. Before taking it though, Corvis moved his hand up to his wounded face and called for a mirror to show him how bad his wound appeared. Shining a dim light on it, Secundus could barely look at his master's face, the entire side of his cheek had been torn away, leaving exposed muscle and teeth shining against the bleak light. "My lord, I would see to a surgeon about this." Primus stated, his stomach used to the grisly wounds the Night Lords would come back with. Putting his helmet on one the hooks adorning his waist, Corvis nodded in annoyed agreement. Before leaving his cell he returned to regard his servants. "Finish what preparations you have left to do and take care of this problem on the crew deck." He said before leaving for the apothecarium. "It shall, my lord" they both replied as their master left the room. Turning to regard each other, both of them could make out the malicious smiles that came across both their faces.

Walking through the sleek doors bearing the sigil of the Apothecarium, Corvis breathed deep the smell of iron rich blood that permeated the entire room. Looking around Corvis could make out splayed out bodies of dead or wounded Night Lords around the triage center. Still, he could make out no sign of the Corpse-Master. Whether or not that was a good thing was usually dependent on the situation. Walking through the Apothecarium Corvis eventually found one of Veptus' minions, Apothecary Zheng.

"Hail Apothecary. I've a wound needing treated. Is the Corpse-Master available or is it just you here?" Corvis asked."

Having notcied Corvis walk in, Zheng finished his work with the dead Night Lord on the table before withdrawing his narthecium, the sharp hiss-click sound signaling it retracting. "The Corpse-Master is with the captain, what is it you require Brother Corvis?" Zheng stated

Turning his head to show Zheng the exposed muscle and teeth from his wound Corvis attempts a smile that seems more macabre than sincere. "I sustained a wound against "brother" Xho of 5th claw. I'd rather not have to worry about this when we set down on Istvaan and would ask your help on the matter. That is if you aren't too occupied at the moment" he says gesturing towards the dead Night Lord Zheng had been splicing open

Corvis smiled as the Apothecary simply pushed the corpse of the Night Lord off the table and had one of his servitors pick up the body to be disposed of. Sitting on the now empty table, Corvis watched Zheng examine his wound before he gripped his head firmly and, mumbling to himself most of the while, took a scalpel and began cutting away the rough edges of the wound, causing Corvis to wince slightly. That wince soon turns into a sneer as Corvis feels Zheng stitch up his wound and applying synth-flesh to cover it.

"That should do the trick, try not to smile too much Brother or you may reopen the wound but your own bodies healing capabilities should take care of it, though you may have a nasty scar. Should you re-open it during Isstvan then make sure you come find myself or the Corpse-Master after the battle."


"My thanks Apothecary. I appreciate the assistance." Corvis says as he begins to leave the apothecarium. Before he reaches the door Corvis will stop and slowly turn about. "There is one more matter I would speak with you about brother-apothecary. A matter I would trust you would keep between you and I. Istvaan will be a momentous event for the Legion. Every astartes on this ship craves the chance to kill those loyalist dogs. It would be a mortal mistake to miss such a battle as this. And it would also appear that my list of enemies is growing. Sergeant Xho Zhen of 5th Claw will be coming here soon once he regains consciousness. His wounds were severe when I left him and I gather he will need treatment here. I would not risk the Captain's wrath by trying to kill him before we go to battle. However, if his Sus-an Membrane was somehow stimulated to induce a catatonic state, then Brother Xho would sadly miss the action on Istvaan. In so doing, he would be as worthless as an Imperial Oath after we returned from battle. I would be...indebted to you brother if there was any way you could assist me in this regard." Corvis coldly says as he stares into Zheng's eyes

The red eye lens of Zheng's helmet regard Corvis coldly and silently before the helmet inclines ever so slightly into a nod. "I shall see what I'm able to do Brother Corvis. Also if you hurry you may be able to catch up with the Corpse-Master while he makes his way to the bridge to meet with our esteemed captain." Zheng turns away to walk into the cells that are holding the last batch of recuits from Nostramo before it was destroyed to obviously check on how they are taking to their latest implants.

Taking his cue to leave, Corvis steps out of the Apothecarium and into the light less halls of the Maiden of Sorrow. Setting a brisk pace, Corvis began making his way through the pitch blackness to the bridge, wondering if it would be good fortune or bad that would bring his path crossing with Veptus as a low deep chuckle came from the thought.
 
#17 · (Edited)
Veptus watched Jaekal stalk out of the Apocatherion. His pitch black eyes followed the Chaplain until he turned the corner and disappeared from sight. A hiss escaped through Veptus’ clenched teeth. He had been holding his breath. It wasn’t that he disliked the Chaplain. Jaekal was amicable enough and Veptus could get along with him better than some of his brothers. Veptus just detested anyone questioning his work. Even Xandrek didn’t have the gaul to come in here and openly question his methods. Observe yes, and allow Veptus to explain procedures and progress reports, but never had he yet questioned Veptus. Veptus snorted derisively to himself as he turned to resume his work. The arrogance!

Veptus turned and saw his Apothecary Minoris, Xheng. “Ah, Xheng my boy!” Veptus greeted his underling warmly, opening his arms as if he were about to embrace him. Veptus was sometimes warm, but more consistently with the other Apocatherion staff. That’s what made him so terrifying. Veptus knew the madman he looked like and played it up. He knew there were whispers of him being erratic or simply insane. In truth, his mental stability was never in question. He just enjoyed watching the others squirm.

The vox speakers rendered the thick Nostraman voice of brother Xheng in to a growl which resembled the gurgling of a clogged drain. “Master, a message from Captain Xandrek.” the Apothecary said as he inclined his head as a mark of respect. Xheng gestured towards the vox terminal. Veptus placed a fatherly hand on Xheng’s shoulder “Carry on Apothecary Minoris.” Veptus walked over to the vox terminal and chuckled as he read the message that had been rolled out to the whole of the Fourth Company “Viris Colratha Dath Sethicara Tesh Dasovallian. Solruthis Veh Za Jass.”. “Ave Dominus Nox” Veptus whispered darkly to the mute vox terminal.

Veptus went to turn to dress himself in his armour when a second, private message flashed up on the vox terminal. +Veptus. Come to the bridge+ Veptus cocked an eyebrow. He was summoned to his master’s chambers. “Xheng!” Veptus called out. Xheng came round the corner he had disappeared round and bowed slightly.
“Yes Master”
“The Captain has summoned me. If you require assistance, you know where to find me.” Xheng bowed and took his leave. It needn’t be said that if Xheng bothered him for anything less than an emergency, there would be hell to pay. Apothecary Minoris were difficult to replace, but not impossible.

Veptus walked calmly back to his chambers. Unlike some others within the legion, Veptus only kept one servant and refused to take the name from the mortal. Her name was Naomi and she wore a blood red double helix on a chain round her neck. She was sat comfortably in a plain chair trawling through a medical text Veptus had lying around. “Naomi my dear, always studying.” Veptus stood in the doorway and smiled like a doting father. Naomi smiled warmly back, inclining her head and placing the tome on the desk to the side of the chair. “My lord” When she had first come to the Thirteenth Legion, she had been a frightened girl, barely fourteen summers. She was shaking like a leaf. That look of fear still glowed in her eyes, although she was good at hiding it. Veptus was one of the only Astartes she spoke freely in front of.

“Lord Xandrek has called for his Sons to be clad in midnight, and for my presence on the bridge.”
“Best we make you look your best, m’lord.” Veptus chuckled. The mortal was amusing and more competent than many he had met.
“You always do.” Veptus allowed himself to be armoured by the mortal woman, testing each armour joint at it was a fixed in place. The skulls on his knees chattered in an eerie chorus of glee. Naomi fixed the chest-plate to his chest and Veptus caught a scent only an Astartes would know, and only an Apothecary would likely know what it was.

“Naomi.” Veptus’s voice was cold now. Naomi broke her concentration in the armour to look up at her lord’s fierce eyes. “Don’t mate until we leave the Isstvan system.”
“I…” Veptus cut straight across her.
“You are ovulating. I’m no sorcerer, but I know enough from Jallus and others who ought to know that something is happening here. There’s no telling what would happen to any child you might have while we’re here.” Veptus knelt down, letting the chest-plate hang loosely open where it was not properly affixed. “Your child must be healthy if it wishes to serve the legion, either as you do or as I do. Do you understand?” Veptus’s words were kind, but his voice was savage. Naomi was reminded she was a tool of the legion, and they would use her as such, no matter how gently they held her. She nodded in compliance and the giant of an Astartes tussled here hair in and disturbingly kind gesture.

The rest of the armour fitting passed without incident. Veptus picked up his weapons and mag-locked his axe and Volkite Serpenta to his thighs and strapped his sniper rifle across his back. Naomi clipped the lavish cloak of faces to her lord’s shoulders. Such thing would make any other mortal quiver in disgust, but Naomi had since become accustomed to such displays of cruelty from these Astartes. Veptus went to leave but turned back. He walked over to his book-case and picked up a book with a worn leather spine with a faded gold inscription. “Here, this should keep you going for a while.” Veptus said as he passed the book to his serf. The warm smile returned to her face, even if the words of her master still burned in her ears. And then he was gone, on to his legion duties and she was left alone in the darkened study, alone.

Veptus arrived at the bridge in a lull of conversation. “My liege.” Veptus purred as he bowed with full ceremony but without a hint of irony. He turned to regard the others. “Champion Azrael.” He said inclining his head, although nowhere near as far as he did for Xandrek. Such a mistake would be dangerous to make. “Bearer Raskreia.” Another bow of respect, not of seniority. “You will be pleased to hear…” Veptus continued talking to Xandrek. “…I have begun with Shen’s ‘interment’.” Veptus chuckled cruelly and mirthlessly, remembering Shen’s howls. “I’m sure…”

Veptus was about to continue informing Xandrek when the techmarine Var burst into the bridge. Whereas Veptus’s entry had been respectful and considerate, Var’s had no respect for his brothers or their captain for that matter. "I hope you remember my requests Captain. Every weapon, every piece of armour, every tank, must all be collected and utilized. I expect aid from the main body of the Night Lords so that the process is quick and efficient. We do not know how long this war will be, and we need every piece of equipment we can."

Veptus turned and spoke first. “Ah Var, how nice of you to join us. I was beginning to miss you brazen contempt down in my Apocatherion.” Veptus turned back to Xandrek, continuing as if Var had not even arrived. No doubt such blatant disregard for his presence would infuriate the tech-marine to no end, but that was why Veptus did he best to maintain his own weapons and armour and not let them anywhere near that viper. “As I was saying, I’m sure you’ll be pleased with his suffering. He begged for death in the end, and I will make him beg again before his final interment.” Veptus turned back to Var. “Now you can speak. A little courtesy goes a long way you know.” Veptus cocked his head mockingly, his voice rife with sarcasm. At least if Var snapped, Veptus knew that at least two other Astartes in this room would support him, and one was their captain…
 
#18 ·
Jallus turned his head to the Chaplain.
‘Greetings Brother Chaplin, I have information for our Lord Captain.’ He said to Jaekal
‘ My studies go well, but I have been hindered the restirctions that were placed upon members of my order. I look forward to our next engagement changing this state of affairs.’
Jallus did not break stride as he said this and continued to follow the 2 members of first claw leaving the Chaplain to keep pace if he wished.
Entering the bridge after Azrael and Raskreia the librarians pace slows. Knowing better than to speak out of turn, Jallus stops 25 paces from the command throne atop the dias.
Bowing deeply from the waist, keeping his eyes on the Captain, Jallus says nothing. Although this breaks the normal protocols, he had learnt that even speaking to Xandrek without leave was not advisable. This ‘privilage‘ was extended only to Jallus. Straightening the psychic waits for permission to address his Lord.
 
#19 ·
“Corvis has made another enemy and Zhasal wants more people to hunt, the disgusting animal. But enough of the troubles of the rest of the First Claw. How are you Xandrek?” Azreal says. Heh so Corvis wants even more enemies now does he? How many does he have exactly at this point? Over fifty or was it seventy? Zhasal is a fool. How did he even advance into the First Claw at all? Raskreia thought to himself before Xandrek turns to face him and Azreal his hands still clasped behind his back. Breaking into a wry smile at the sight of Xandrek in full battle-plate crossed with lightning, rusted chains hanging from his waist and bat-wing crested helm with blood-coloured lenses staring at us before saying in his upper-hiver accent growl, “Azrael, Raskreia. It is good to see you my ‘brothers’”. Smirking slightly at the malice and hatred inherent in the word that none, either within or without, the Legion can match though none directed at Azreal or I. I am the same as I always am, Champion. If there was something wrong with me I'm sure the Corpse-Master would have notified you." the sheer power of his voice stopping several of the bridge's mortals in their tracks.

Unclasping his hands Xandrek marched towards his throne before settling himself into it as Azreal and I ascended it as well coming to a before it with Azreal on the right and myself on his left as he says “As for the psyker making his way here…that is unfortunate. Azreal if the witch-kin comes within twenty paces of me but a bolt through his helmet and should he speak without me giving him permission, Raskreia. Feel free to remove his tongue using a rusty blade.” growling laughter brought to an inhuman distortion from the vox before me and Azreal joined in. "Well what if merely stands insolently? Remove his left or right leg Captain? Though it is good to see you laugh again as you have been gloomy lately, almost as if you were part of the Raven Guard My Lord." Raskreia says as Xandrek reaches up to his helmet undoing the seals and removing it exposing his paper white aristocratic skin and all black eyes with his shoulder length black hair. "Now my brothers, let us see what news the psyker has for us.” as he motioned for the doors to be opened and Jallus enters with Jaekel. Oh! This is certainly going to be one interesting informal conference with the both of them here now. Raskreia thinks to himself almost hoping Jallus would say anything or step within twenty paces where Jaekel himself approaches as the witch-kin both bow and immediately adopt a waiting atmosphere.

Watching the Jallus intently Raskreia hears the doors open again this time permitting Veptus to enter. Taking his eyes away from Jallus Raskreia simpy looks at him to ease his eyes and for something new to stare at as Veptus says, “My liege.” practically purring the words as he bowed with full ceremony but without a hint of irony. He turned to regard the others. “Champion Azrael.” He said inclining his head. “Bearer Raskreia.” As he offers a of respect. Inclining his head in the same manner Raskreia says "Corpse-Master a definite meeting." “You will be pleased to hear…” Veptus continued talking to Xandrek. “…I have begun with Shen’s ‘interment’.” Veptus chuckled cruelly and mirthlessly, most likely remembering what he put the fool Shen through. “I’m sure…” Though whatever he had wanted to say was interrupted by the hulking mass of machinery that was Var plowed through the conversation like a World Eater hacking into an enemy. "I hope you remember my requests Captain. Every weapon, every piece of armour, every tank, must all be collected and utilized. I expect aid from the main body of the Night Lords so that the process is quick and efficient. We do not know how long this war will be, and we need every piece of equipment we can."

Eyes widening at the sheer audacity of the marine Raskreia asks Xandrek quietly, "I know he is important for now but may I take his tongue and vocal cords with a rusty, and hopefully poisoned, blade Lord?" “As I was saying, I’m sure you’ll be pleased with his suffering. He begged for death in the end, and I will make him beg again before his final interment.” Raskreia focuses back on those gathered in front of the throne as the Corpse-Master turns to Var, “Now you can speak. A little courtesy goes a long way you know.” "Well said there Corpse-Master. Though maybe if he didn't spend so long down in the bowels of the ship with his fetishes maybe he would know some proper Nostramon courtesy." Raskreia says before fastening his helmet to his waist and dropping his hand surreptitiously to his axe.
 
#20 ·
I smiled as Xandrek turned to face us, his hands still clasped behind his back. The captain was a fearsome sight in his lightning crossed battle-plate. Rusted chains hung from his waist and his bat-wing crested helm’s blood coloured lenses stared at me and Raskeria. “Azrael, Raskeria. It is good to see you my ‘brothers’.” The word ‘brothers’ was so loaded with malice and hatred that my smile spread into a wry grin. I knew of it was directed at me after all. Then Xandrek turned his focus to me. “I am the same as I always am Champion. If there was something wrong with me I’m sure the Corpse-Master would have notified you.”

Unclasping his hands Xandrek marched to his throne and settled himself on it. I am Raskeria ascended it as well coming to a halt with Raskeria on his left and myself on his right. Xandrek spoke again, this time speaking of Raskeria’s news that Jallus was on his way. “As for the psyker making his way here…that is unfortunate. Azrael if the witch-kin comes within twenty paces of me but a bolt through his helmet and should he speak without me giving him permission, Raskeria. Feel free to remove his tongue using a rusty blade.” He laughed, a growling sound inhumanly distorted. I joined in, as did Raskeria.

"Well what if merely stands insolently? Remove his left or right leg Captain? Though it is good to see you laugh again as you have been gloomy lately, almost as if you were part of the Raven Guard My Lord." I chuckled at Raskeria’s words until he mentioned Xandrek’s gloominess lately at which I fell silent and looked at my captain with a considering gaze. Xandrek removed his great helm, exposing his paper white skin and black eyes the colour of his shoulder length hair. The Lord of Lies spoke. “Now my brothers, let us see what news the psyker has for us.” Jallus entered the bridge a moment later with Jaekal. I turned to face them and my left hand, unseen, reached up behind my back to my bolter, ready to draw, aim and fire at a moment’s notice.

The psyker bowed and Jaekal approached. The atmosphere took on an edge of tension that had not been there before. Watching Jallus with all the plain intent of a hunter watching his prey I nearly missed the opening of the door as Veptus strode into the bridge, flesh cloak flaring out behind him. I smiled at the Corpse-Master but my smile slipped from my face at his cloak though I held myself in check. Had I not it is likely I would have torn the thing from his neck, friends or no. The Apothecary’s voice was almost purring as he spoke to us. “My liege,” he said with a bow to Xandrek before straightening. “Champion Azrael,” he said, bowing only his head. I returned the gesture of respect. Except for his habit of wearing flesh cloaks, Veptus was one of my closest battle-brothers in the company, second only to Xandrek and Raskeria the latter of whom Veptus turned to last. “Bearer Raskeria,” he said in the same manner as he had spoken to both Xandrek and me, inclining his head.

“You will be pleased to hear…” Veptus continued, talking to Xandrek. “…I have begun with Shen’s ‘interment’.” The Corpse-Master chuckled cruelly and without mirth, undoubtedly remembering what he had put the marine through. He began speaking. “I’m sure…”

Whatever Veptus was sure about would have to wait it seemed as Var ploughed through the conversation like Zhasal through civilians. "I hope you remember my requests Captain. Every weapon, every piece of armour, every tank, must all be collected and utilized. I expect aid from the main body of the Night Lords so that the process is quick and efficient. We do not know how long this war will be, and we need every piece of equipment we can." I controlled my sudden anger though my right hand tightened on my sword hilt. It was the only sign of anger I gave.

I heard Raskeria murmuring to Xandrek and my enhanced hearing picked up what he said. "I know he is important for now but may I take his tongue and vocal cords with a rusty, and hopefully poisoned, blade Lord?" I smiled grimly, speaking to them myself. “I hope you will at least grant me the pleasure of watching, if not doing the deed myself.”

Veptus, smooth as always, simply continued as if nothing had happened. “As I was saying, I’m sure you’ll be pleased with his suffering. He begged for death in the end, and I will make him beg again before his final interment.” Veptus turned to Var and when he spoke it was in a condescending tone. “Now you can speak. A little courtesy goes a long way you know.” Raskeria spoke in agreement with Veptus. "Well said there Corpse-Master. Though maybe if he didn't spend so long down in the bowels of the ship with his fetishes maybe he would know some proper Nostramon courtesy."

I walked up to Var and used my height to stare down at him. “I’ve never liked you Tech-Marine,” I said quietly then my voice rose and became firm. “But I respected you. The least I expect from you is that you return the respect. We all fight the foes of our Primarch and some have suffered more than you could ever dream. But it is not they who march in here and assume themselves above all others already gathered. When this war is over, I will face you in the cages and we will fight, but till then I will have respect, not only for myself but for Xandrek, for Raskeria, for Veptus, for Corvis, for Fundae, for Jaekal. Even for Zhasal and Jallus.”
 
#21 ·
The Librarian, Jallus, met Jaekal's greeting with his own. ‘Greetings Brother Chaplain, I have information for our Lord Captain.’ Interesting, Jaekal thought silently. Not pressing further, he let the Librarian continue. ‘ My studies go well, but I have been hindered the restrictions that were placed upon members of my order. I look forward to our next engagement changing this state of affairs.’ Jallus did not break his stride as he spoke, and hurried to the bridge. This did not phase Jaekal, as he was used to the idiosyncrasies of the members of First Claw. "Sanguine as always, Brother Jallus," Jaekal said, half under his breath, as the Librarian was well out of earshot by the time he made his statement. Jaekal let Jallus gain some distance before he proceeded to the bridge, not wanting anything to be misconstrued by those of First Claw.

Jaekal was well aware of the tension brewing on the vessel, something made manifest as he entered the bridge. The Corpse-Master was eagerly explaining the interment of Shen, something Jaekal had been witness to not long prior. Just as he was, Var barged into the conversation, asking, nay, demanding the Captain remember to salvage what they could from the soon to come battlefield. Jaekal oft thought impropriety must be another aspect of the Machine-God, worshiped by those of the Techmarine cult, but Var's actions seemed rash, even for him. Not wishing to entertain any of the side conversations underway, Jaekal stood silently, awaiting the address undoubtedly to come from the Captain.
 
#22 ·
The room trembled as the door slammed into place almost without giving the handle mechanism chance to close. Fundae roared as he did so trying to vent some frustration, it did not work. No matter how hard he punched the door his anger at that tech-adept would not go away. He sat back on his cot the concrete foundations of it almost cracking with the weight of his power armor. He unslung the chain axe from his back grasping it in front of him.

the weapon had a thick ceramite shaft engraved with icons of skulls and fire. The plasteel case on too mimicked a pair of bat wings with a fanged skull at the centre which contained the motor. Running along he under side of the batwings were the razored fangs that would soon bring he screams of his once brothers. He wondered what it would be like, the weapon crashing down on the breastplates of Astartes cracking ceramite and spraying gore over his armor, it brought satisfaction. The thought washed over him a feeling of joy and he wanted it so much. He thought for a second, some of these at my kinsmen, Astartes recruited from holy Terra himself but it left as quick as it came. Hey may side with the war master but that didn't mean they fought for the same cause,once the imperial palace was decimated to rubble his "sons of horus" would be prey like everyone else for the night hunter was death incarnate.

He missed his flamer, the promethium launcher was like apart of him.his very soul he felt was in the hands of an abomination of man and machine, why be machine he felt when you can be mortal. It was true that astartes were no mere mortals but still the thought that death could be around any corner comforted him but still he would not rest till he was at the heart of a galaxy in flames.

He rose to his feet sliming the weapon over his back again. Placing his helmet on his head again he blink clicked the vox signal in Azreal's armor opening a voice link to the company champion.

"I swear if bright eyes doesn't finish my flamer soon then ill rip off his stinger and hang him with it." The channel closed.

He started the descent into the ships dungeon like lower levels were Zhasal was still located,if he had to comment on anything it would be that he knew how to enjoy himself. Ignescunt now longed to decapitate a few of those captives but not before he set them loose and hunted them.
 
#23 ·
Everyone on the Bridge: There is a long moment of complete and utter silence after Azrael makes his promise to Var with the only noise coming from the background rumbling of the ship itself in the warp and the breathing of the mortal crew members who now stand in complete silence watching the gathering of their lords and masters. The silence is then finally broken as Xandrek leans forward on his throne to stare directly at Var as he speaks:

“Var, as fourth company’s chief tech-marine and as a member of First Claw I allow you permission, like all my other ‘brothers’ standing here to speak your mind and speak requests. But remember that you are on MY ship, you are apart of MY squad and I am your CAPTAIN, you will show me some respect when speaking to me and will never demand anything again or you will find yourself bolted to a slab in the Apocatherion while myself and your brothers in First Claw observe as the Corpse-Master” Xandrek motions with his right hand to Veptus standing a few feet away “Finds out just how much of you is still flesh and blood before I eject you from an airlock directly into the warp. Is that understood?” Xandrek then leans back on his throne and awaits Var’s answer before turning his attention to Jallus.

“Now then Witch-Kin, I believe it is because of you we are having this merry gathering of brothers. Speak now and tell us what secrets you have pulled from the warp.” With that the room once again falls silent as Jallus says what he has to say as each of you then digests the new in silence lost within your own thoughts before the Xandrek speaks once again. (Jallus don’t forgot to put in your post you about the Maiden arriving before most of the legion.)

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

“I see…Arriving ahead of the rest of the legion could throw out Father’s plans completely out of the window. Jallus go to our dear Navigator, Corwin, and see if there is a way for him to bring us back to arriving with the rest of the legion. Should this now be possible Jaekal gather all Claws and lead them to the embankment decks and have them ready for planet fall as soon as possible. Var, return to your forge and make sure all our ‘honored’ brethren who sleep within their metal tombs are awoke ready for the coming battle and that the Revenant (First Claws Thunderhawk) is fully fueled and armed aswell.”

“Corvis go into the lower decks and find where in the name of the Primarch, Fundae and Zhasal have gotten to before the three of you meet up with Jaekal and the others by your transports….Veptus, Azrael, Raskreia. You three remain here as we have some matters to discuss. Go, you are all dismissed.” With that those of you have been ordered to leave the bridge do so as attempting to stay would obviously incur Xandrek’s ire and punishment at the end of Azrael’s blade.

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

Azrael, Raskreia and Veptus: The three of you remain on the bridge and watch the other members of First Claw disappear off down separate side doors to carry out Xandrek’s orders before you all finally turn to the captain who is looking between the three of you before he lets out a small sigh. “It seems that our dear tech-marine forgets who is in charge here, and while he is a member of First Claw and our artificer I trust him about as much as I would trust one of the Third Legion not to do his hair and make-up before going out onto a battle field.” If this small joke elects a smile or small laugh from you then it is your choice before you return to listening to the captain. “You three are perhaps the only members of my First Claw who can be trusted to carry out my orders without any complaints or demands. So tell me my dear Brothers, what do you suggest we do about our way-ward insubordinate brother tech-marine? I have a few thoughts on the matter myself but they require heading over to the Nightfall or the Covenant of Blood when we drop out of the warp.” The mention of the legion’s Flagship and 10th companies strike cruiser give you some pause while you try to think of what Xandrek’s plan is but now is your chance to suggest what could be done about Var.

Jaekal: Leaving the bridge and the Captain behind you start to make your way down to the hanger decks which will take you roughly twenty minutes as you also start to issues out orders over the general vox to all claws save first claw (the exact orders you give are up to you) and on your way down to hanger decks you wonder what exactly it is that Xandrek, Azrael, Raskreia and Veptus could be talking about in private and why you, as fourth company’s Chaplain, are not included. As you walk Jallus is currently walking with you though you know that he will soon be heading off to go and talk to the ships Navigator so if you engage him in a conversation than it is up to you, for now you have time to reflect about the up coming battle on Isstvan though when you arrive on at the hangers you will need to make sure each claw is near-full strength and all their equipment is fully operational.

Corvis: After leaving the bridge you start to make your way down towards the Labyrinth where you believe that Zhasal and Fundae are currently hunting those mortals that have been captured though how you will convince your two brothers who rarely listen to orders unless Xandrek directly orders them himself to do anything will be somewhat of a challenge, well atleast you can always force them to do what you want if you need to and as you smile at the thought you feel the stitches in your cheek stretch at the moment of your facial muscles and quickly stop smiling should you re-open the wound. Remembering your facial wound you start to plot on how you will repay the Brother-Sergeant of Fifth Claw for the injury and though you have Xheng’s help it wouldn’t be as satisfying a punishment if you didn’t dish it out yourself…perhaps you could injure him and then give him over to the Corpse-Master as a gift?

Jallus: Inclining your head respectfully to your Captain you turn and leave with Jaekal to go and see the ships navigator Corwin, who’s sanctum is located near the middle of the ship in his own tower that is part of the ships structure but it will take you a good forty minutes to get there so while you walk with Jaekal towards your destination you have time to engage him in conversation if you so wish. Though should you decided to remain silent it gives you time to reflect on the upcoming battle but not also that but you have time to try and work out why Xandrek seems to hate Psykers so much. You know that when ever a psyker gets near him he gets more aggressive and that you have discussed with Veptus before that the captain experiences severe head-aches in the presence of you and your brethren…perhaps you will have to discuss with this the Corpse-Master after Isstvan?

Zhasal: You still need to post from the previous week, So im not sure what im going to put here for you. I would suggest you post for the previous update and then figure something out with Fundae as you are both in the lower decks.

Var: Leaving the bridge your thoughts are turned towards the potential punishment that Xandrek might put on you if you demand something from him again, and a part of you wants to see if this is all talk from the Lord of Lies or if he will actually go through with it. The more logical part of your mind though quickly turns all your thoughts towards the coming battle and the fact that the Captain wants all of Fourth Companies Dreadnoughts up and about for the battle on Isstvan V which in itself will be no small task even for one such as you given you don’t have long to oversee all the correct Rights of Awakening and re-equip the Revenant for the journey down to the planet so you must decide on which task you focus on and which task you will assign to those tech-adepts and servitors under your command before getting on with your selected task.

Fundae: Stepping down into the darkness and passed automated defense systems and legionaries that make sure none of the captains find their way out it doesn’t take you long to pick up the smell of dead flesh and after a couple minutes of walking in the complete darkness you find Zhasal’s trail of corpses which eventually lead to the marine himself but before you even have a chance to start a conversation with him he disappears off down one of the side quarters to continue hunting prey to the starboard side of the ship so you decide to head to the port side where the main prisoner cells are housed knowing that there are atleast still three ork’s still wandering the Labyrinth which will prove to be a fitting distraction. It is up to you how long it takes to find the orks and how you dispatch them.
 
#24 · (Edited)
"I know he is important for now but may I take his tongue and vocal cords with a rusty, and hopefully poisoned, blade Lord?"

Var did not move his eyes to where the voice came from, but he recognized the speaker, the Standard-Bearer, no doubt trying to stir up the Captain into condemning the actions of Var himself. And then the voice of the Company Champion.

“I hope you will at least grant me the pleasure of watching, if not doing the deed myself.”

Their belief in their abilities was amusing to the Techmarine and he allowed himself a slight smile, although the hideous metal jaw transformed it into a snarl.

Var could feel his insides turning as the self-confident voice of the Corpse-Master cut through the silence. The fool was weak, he spent to long with the imperfection of flesh, in fact his very armour screamed with love for the stuff, the rib cage splayed from his chest, the very colour of it, as of dried blood, made Var’s servo-arms flex subconsciously. But despite the fact that Var would enjoy nothing more than driving his ‘tail’ through the Apothecary’s throat and proving that his belief in flesh was false, Veptus held an esteemed place within the First Claw, and Var could endanger his time here anymore than he had already. And so the Techmarine turned from the Captain and faced the Corpse-Master as he spoke.

“Ah Var, how nice of you to join us. I was beginning to miss you brazen contempt down in my Apocatherion.”

Continuing to watch on, his face displaying no emotion or reaction to the blatant insult, Var watched as the Corpse-Master turned and spoke to the Captain, continuing a conversation that Var had obviously interrupted with his arrival.

Veptus turned back to Var. “Now you can speak. A little courtesy goes a long way you know.”

Var’s remaining eye narrowed, reading the Apothecary’s face. Although it had been a long time since Var had felt any emotion but hate and anger, the mocking expression plastered across the Corpse-Master’s pale face was unmistakable.

It was clear that the Corpse-Master was not afraid of the wrath that he was building within Var, for around him were other brothers who, though they may bear Veptus no love, would leap at the opportunity to bring down the Techmarine. Refusing to give them the satisfaction of snapping, Var simply twisted his metallic jaw into a twisted smile and nodded in the Apothecary’s direction. If his memory was right, Veptus had a ‘pet’ in his chambers, a weak human by the name of Naomi. Var was sure he could find time to pay her a visit and use her to teach the Corpse-Master some courtesy of his own.
But it seemed that Var’s ‘battle-brothers’ were not done, the voice of Raskreia, the waver of the flag as it were, Var saw the Veteran as pestering, over talkative and weak. And yet again Var knew that to the Astartes around him, the scrap of cloth that Raskreia carried was important, and so although it was tempting to crush the Night Lord until his bones crumbles beneath the Servo-Arms moving impatiently behind Var, it would mean the end of his service, something that Var could not afford.

"Well said there Corpse-Master. Though maybe if he didn't spend so long down in the bowels of the ship with his fetishes maybe he would know some proper Nostramon courtesy."

They dared to talk of Nostramon custody, the thought made Var shake. He had experienced Nostramon courtesy, yes he had experienced it first-hand, they had torn away his skin, burnt his flesh and turned his very body into a hulk of metal, and they had torn apart his life, his body, his very soul and thrown him upon the streets. Nostramon courtesy had transformed him into a monster, a nightmare, and over time Var became that monster, embraced the nightmare. Var had not always been Var, sometimes the memories surfaced before he could push them down, he used to be human, a boy called Varius Montangro, until Nostramon courtesy had taught him otherwise. His body was still burning with pain, the pain that would never leave him, that he would never let leave him, it was what reminded him of those that had wronged him, those that he would find and tear apart until their screams echoed across the galaxy.

Var looked on with empty eyes, watching as the Standard-Bearer dropped his hand to rest upon his axe handle, the unsaid threat clear. And then the figure of the Company Champion, the vain Azrael, stepped in front of Var, attempting to use his height to intimidate the Techmarine. But Var didn’t feel fear anymore, in fact he barely felt, he simply raised his head to look the Champion in the eyes, meeting his stern gaze with a steely one of his own, one whose message was clear, that one wrong move would result in three feet of cold metal becoming acquainted with Azrael’s internal organs.

The armour presented no challenge, Var knew the things weak points and ****** so well he could have built the thing, in fact the very armour that the Champion was wearing had probably passed through Var’s forge a hundred times before, he knew it like he knew his own.

“I’ve never liked you Tech-Marine, but I respected you. The least I expect from you is that you return the respect. We all fight the foes of our Primarch and some have suffered more than you could ever dream. But it is not they who march in here and assume themselves above all others already gathered. When this war is over, I will face you in the cages and we will fight, but till then I will have respect, not only for myself but for Xandrek, for Raskeria, for Veptus, for Corvis, for Fundae, for Jaekal. Even for Zhasal and Jallus.”

Respect. They did not respect him, they hated him, and why shouldn’t they, he hated them just as they did him. He could understand the Champion naivety.

But the talk of suffering was a blatant disregard to how Var came to be standing where he was now, the pain that he had felt, the torture that he had lived through would tear apart the Astartes that stood before Var, standing tall and thinking himself so big and strong. Who had suffered more than him, Var’s gaze dared the Champion to give a name. No-one in the room for sure, in fact he doubted anyone on the entire ship had felt the flesh peeling away from their bones, liquid metal searing away their nerves, their insides being turned from flesh to machine as they looked on. Var had, he knew the pain, he knew the suffering he had endured.

But the words the Champion spoke next caused the Techmarine to smile, Var would happily meet the Astartes in a duel after the war, fighting corpses weren’t much of a challenge.

Var turned his back on Azrael and moved towards the Company Captain, even as Xandrek leant forward from his throne and addressed the Techmarine.

“Var, as fourth company’s chief tech-marine and as a member of First Claw I allow you permission, like all my other ‘brothers’ standing here to speak your mind and speak requests. But remember that you are on my ship, you are a part of my squad and I am your Captain, you will show me some respect when speaking to me and will never demand anything again or you will find yourself bolted to a slab in the Apocatherion while myself and your brothers in First Claw observe as the Corpse-Master finds out just how much of you is still flesh and blood before I eject you from an airlock directly into the warp. Is that understood?”

Despite the anger within, Var simply met eyes with the Lord of Lies and nodded in agreement. He kept his tongue, although only just. His hands clenched into fists and his ‘tail’ twitched as the Captain turned his attention towards the Librarian Jallus.

Var barely listened to following conversation until he heard his name, whereupon he raised his eyes once more to meet Xandreks gaze and registered his orders.

“…return to your forge and make sure all our ‘honoured’ brethren who sleep within their metal tombs are awoke ready for the coming battle and that the Revenant is fully fuelled
and armed as well.”


Var was no serf to be ordered around, but as it was, he did not think he could cope being upon the bridge for even a moment a longer and turned to leave even before his dismissal, his early departure a last flair of defiance.

As the ferocious figure of Var stormed down the corridors of the “Maiden of Sorrow” his mind was elsewhere. He did not doubt that even as he returned to his forge, the three Astartes that remained beside Xandrek were pouring ideas for the Techmarine’s punishment into his ear. But Var would not be found unprepared, even at the thought Var’s ‘tail’ twitched and a nearby serf staggered back in surprise and shock.

Var turned to the stunned serf and roared in anger, his ‘tail’ driving through the weak flesh surrounding the things throat. Var was moving again even as the lifeless body slumped to the ground and the blood began to pool upon the floor.

It took little time for Var to reach his forge once more; he knew every corridor within the ship, every shortcut and every chamber, every hidden compartment.

Upon arrival within the heart of the ship once more, Var paused for a moment to allow his thoughts to settle and his mind to become calm once more. The Techmarine instructed a handful of servitors and tech-adepts to begin the refuelling and rearmament of the Revenant in preparation for its departure as he moved towards the vaults within which the Company’s Dreadnoughts resided.

Var pushed open the heavy doors of the chamber with little effort, causing the few servitors moving around within to turn towards the doors. Var ordered them to inform the Techmarine’s that the Dreadnoughts must be awoken and allowed himself a smile as they hurried off. In his forge, no-one talked back to him, or assumed they were better than he was. In his forge he ruled, and he loved the taste, the feel, of ruling.

Var drew to a halt at the foot of the oldest Dreadnought within the Fourth Company. A hulking metal Contemptor-Mortis Pattern Dreadnought, a veteran of the Great Crusade and thousands of years of war. Var raised his voice, the motors within his throat amplifying voice.

“Honoured Brother Antipholus. War is upon us once more, and I must call upon you to meet it with your Brothers”

There was a moment of silence before the eyes of Brother Antipholus slowly grew brighter and the Dreadnought turned to look at the Techmarine standing before him. His voice was rich and powerful.

“What year have you awoken me?”

“The sixth year of the 31st Millennium Honoured Brother”

“It has been a long time since I was last awoken, who do you desire me to face in battle?”


Var paused for a moment, many of the oldest Dreadnoughts would not know of the Legions betrayal; in fact they may well stand against it. But Var must push forwards.

“We are going to war against our fellow Astartes. The glorious revolution against the Emperor has begun.”

There was silence as Var continued to look up into the face of Brother Antipholus. And then the voice of Antipholus echoed around the chamber.

“It will be my honour to fight for the Legion once more.”

Var nodded in agreement, his lips already moving.

“May your weapon be guarded against malfunction, as your soul is guarded from impurity. The Machine God watches over you. Unleash the weapons of war. Unleash the Deathdealer.”

Tech-adepts were already clambering over Brother Antipholus, preparing him for the approaching conflict. Var turned away and watched as a steady stream of Techmarine’s, dressed like he was himself, moving around the Dreadnoughts resting within the chamber and waking them. Var’s attention was gripped by the raised voice of a Techmarine and the rumbling roar of a Dreadnought.

Quickly locating the source of the turmoil, Var moved over to where Techmarine Egeus stood at the foot of the still dormant form of Honoured Brother Oberon.

Egeus turned as Var approached and quickly bowed his head when he recognized the form of the Frist Claws Techmarine. Egeus hastily explained what had happened and waited for Var to issue his orders.

“Brother Oberon refuses to fight against his brother Astartes. He fell into a slumber and I cannot reawaken him”

Var bore down the more junior Techmarine with a glare of steel before turning to look up at the figure of Honoured Brother Oberon.

He wasted no time in turning to a handful of Servitors and Techadepts clustered nearby and ordering them in a sharp tone that begged someone to try and disagree.

“Dismantle Honoured Brother Oberon and melt him down, he is of no more use to the Legion.”

Var turned away and moved quickly from the chamber. The First Claws departure was approaching and he must be ready for when they did.
 
#25 ·
Veptus met Var’s narrowing eyes with a mercury look of his own. Light and shadows reflected and contorted within Veptus’s eyes and emanated to regard Var with a mixture of amusement, confidence and daring. Var’s metallic visage contorted into a parody of a smile, a symbol of an emotion which Veptus knew was neither within Var nor was it one that suited him. Bitter narcissists like Var never did suit happiness or pleasure, unless it was of their own design.

Others began to speak and the nervous twitches of Var’s servo-arms told Veptus that the tech-marine’s ire was reaching boiling point. Most humans, even Astartes, struggled to keep the bodies impassive and not betray emotion in moments like this. Veptus could only imagine that Var’s job of controlling every part of him was made more difficult since he had more limbs to worry about. Still, Veptus hardly needed to be an expert in psychology to know that Var despised his brothers and even being around them made his blood boil.

What caught Veptus’s attention was the shudder that Veptus traced across Var’s metallic form at Raskreia’s mention of ‘Nostramon courtesy’. There was something in the word. A thought. A memory. A lingering sensation of who Var had been and what had happened before he had transformed himself into this cold metallic beast. Veptus’s constant half smile betrayed nothing as he silently stored away that information. Even if it was just a scrap, there was something human in Var. Something in the techmarine still felt fear, still felt pain. Veptus knew what he could do with a scrap. He knew he could take the smallest ***** in a warrior’s psychological armour and tear it open into a gaping chasm that pulled the rest of them into a world of darkness and pain.

Throughout the whole discourse and Azrael and Raskreia echoing the accusations of disrespect Veptus had raised. To his credit Var faced down each accuser with unflinching eyes. Veptus pondered for a moment if he understood the precarious position on which he rested. Three of the most prominent members of the First Claw warned him against further disrespect and, whilst Veptus’s eyes never moved from Var, Xandrek was surely incensed by such blatant disregard for respect or loyalty. Clearly the techmarine knew nothing of the Night Haunter’s teaching. Those who could not submit would be punished until they would. Or they would be disposed of and someone more ‘compliant’ found.

Even if he could best one of them, Var could not take the whole ship and overthrow Xandrek by himself, and between the captain himself and the other allies of the First Claw, Var would find himself largely on his own. One man could not flaunt the traditions of the Legion and the Primarch and expect to continue indefinitely. Yet Var seemed to rest on the cold assurance that everyone was beneath him and could be crushed like a bug if he would only exert the slighted modicum of effort. Such an illusion of power would have to be shattered if Var was to remain useful.

The moments of silence ticked over painfully slowly. Veptus’s eyes wandered from Var and to the bridge crew. Many of them stood in stunned awe. Veptus imagined how curious is must look to these mortals to see these gods-amongst-men arguing and disputing respect, such a human notion. Veptus’s obsidian gaze met a few and they understood they had other duties they should be attending to. Even if they didn’t, they should find some.

The creak of Xandrek’s armour drew Veptus’s attention back to the matter at hand. Var faced their lord with the same mechanical ease he had faced everyone else, more proof of his arrogance. “Var, as fourth company’s chief tech-marine and as a member of First Claw I allow you permission, like all my other ‘brothers’ standing here to speak your mind and speak requests. But remember that you are on MY ship, you are a part of MY squad and I am your CAPTAIN, you will show me some respect when speaking to me and will never demand anything again or you will find yourself bolted to a slab in the Apocatherion while myself and your brothers in First Claw observe as the Corpse-Master…” Xandrek’s right hand gestured at Veptus without looking at him “…finds out just how much of you is still flesh and blood before I eject you from an airlock directly into the warp. Is that understood?”

Veptus’s mouth still hung in its half smile. Watching an Astartes nod in acknowledgement of a threat from the Lord of Lies had never seemed so satisfying to Veptus as it did watching Var in that moment. Such submissiveness must be paining Var greatly. Xandrek began to talk to Jallus as to why they were all gathered here, but Veptus’s eyes lingered on Var a moment longer to watch one of his mechandrites twitch and his fists curl into balls. Var definitely needed to be watched carefully, or else disposed of at the earliest convenience.

“I see…Arriving ahead of the rest of the legion could throw out Father’s plans completely out of the window. Jallus go to our dear Navigator, Corwin, and see if there is a way for him to bring us back to arriving with the rest of the legion. Should this now be possible Jaekal gather all Claws and lead them to the embankment decks and have them ready for planet fall as soon as possible. Var, return to your forge and make sure all our ‘honored’ brethren…” Veptus slowly chuckled at the thought that Shen would soon join the unfortunate souls cased in their cold metal coffins. “…who sleep within their metal tombs are awoke ready for the coming battle and that the Revenant is fully fuelled and armed as well. Corvis go into the lower decks and find where in the name of the Primarch, Fundae and Zhasal have gotten to before the three of you meet up with Jaekal and the others by your transports….Veptus, Azrael, Raskreia. You three remain here as we have some matters to discuss. Go, you are all dismissed.”

Veptus stood in silence until his comrades had left the throne room, although he doubted Xandrek would ever term it as such. There was a moment of tension as Xandrek waited for all blast doors to close; he held his inner council in eager anticipation. The Lord of Lies lightly sighed and the tension dissipated like mist. “It seems that our dear tech-marine forgets who is in charge here, and while he is a member of First Claw and our artificer I trust him about as much as I would trust one of the Third Legion not to do his hair and make-up before going out onto a battle field.” The joke at the 3rd legion’s expense elicited another chuckle from Veptus’s throat and his half smile spread into the full toothed grin of a psychopath.

“You three are perhaps the only members of my First Claw who can be trusted to carry out my orders without any complaints or demands. So tell me my dear Brothers, what do you suggest we do about our way-ward insubordinate brother tech-marine? I have a few thoughts on the matter myself but they require heading over to the Nightfall or the Covenant of Blood when we drop out of the warp.” The mention of the Primarch’s personal vessel caused Veptus to cock an eye-brow. +Interesting notion, for certain.+ was Veptus’s thought. The mention of Covenant of Blood was also interesting. Veptus knew of an Apothecary called Talos who dwelt there. Favoured by the Primarch. Given the chance, Veptus would want the chance to meet this infamous member of the Apothecary cadre which tended the legion. Perhaps Var’s disrespect would give him a plausible reason.

Veptus scanned the room in the silence. Azrael and Raskreia kept their council for a moment and the mortals all avoided his piercing gaze. Veptus addressed Xandrek in Nostramon. High Gothic would normally be reserved for an Astartes of Xandrek’s rank, but his inner council spoke freely in the native tongue of the Legion. Azrael adapted with the ease and speed as was to be expected of a Terran blade-master. Despite his fluency, the regal tone of his Terran roots bleed through the harsh Nostramon syllables. Veptus had wondered, since they had discarded their questionable oaths to an Imperium which neither acknowledged it needed them nor appreciated their efforts in the dark so they may live in the light, how Azrael would respond to watching his home-world burn.

“Captain, that Var should be punished for his insolence is sure, and something I’m sure my ‘brothers’ here agree with.” Veptus arm moved through the air to motion at Azrael and Raskreia as if he were dissecting it. “He believes himself to be emotionless, to have purged himself of the flesh. But he nearly struck you when you put him in his place, and he flinched when Raskreia mentioned ‘Nostramon courtesy’. There is a memory there; one, I would guess, of blood and fear before joining the legion. That can be used as leverage I believe.” Veptus paused. Thus far he had simply offered his observations on the Astartes himself, not what should be done. He was certain Xandrek would appreciate them, but he asked for solutions and a council which could offer nothing was of no use to him.

“In my opinion, Xandrek,…” Veptus invoked his lord’s name carefully. Only those he had gather could call him by name and hope to survive unscathed. His pace had become less frantic. His words were measured and applied carefully and with precision. His voice was soft like a scalpel sliding into wet meat. “…Var believes you to be weak, and we much show him otherwise, as is our father’s way.” Again, more information Xandrek likely already knew, but no solution. The unasked question still hung over Veptus, begging an answer; what was an appropriate show of force? “My suggestion would be to remove one of his mechandrites, preferably that spike he seems to have such an affinity with. Each one is like a limb to him, and so it would send a message as surely as cutting of an arm or any other First Claw. Plus it serves no purpose save prowess in combat, so his skills as our artificer would be unimpaired. That is my council, do with it as you will.”

Xandrek nodded slowly, as if mulling over Veptus’s words like a particular vintage. Veptus had kept his tone respectful, even if his words were informal. Despite being a trusted brother and Apothecary Primus, Veptus could still find himself in Var’s position, with a council debating his fate. The subject at hand was Var insolence. It went without saying that Var’s request for all possible munitions, armour and artillery would be gathered. Such a request was sound and they all realised that. It was the manner in which the request had been presented which had earned Var Xandrek’s ire. If Xandrek honoured Veptus’s council, it had the obvious benefit of allowing Veptus the chance to carve up Var. Now there was specimen he hoped he would have a chance to open. So, Veptus’s soft, surgical voice fell silent as the Lord of Lies awaited the council of his other two brothers…
 
#26 ·
“gghhhhhhhh!” the gurgled noise of the orks throat overflowing in his throat was so pleasing.The orks limp body tumbled to the floor a huge tear in his chest from were fundae’s axe had struck him before sending the xenos tumbling over his own intestines. when the weapon specialist had walked along the cages a lot of the slaves had already been slaughtered nearly all that were left were 3 orks who atleast would go down attempting to fight. Ignescunt had let them loose before setting off and he just killed the second.The hulking warrior liking a demonic barbarian in his modified plate patrolled the labyrinth listening and watching for any sign of the greenskin.

A sound a few paths along brought Fundae into a run. The familiar sound of ceramite soles on metal decking rang through his ears and he knew that the ork would investigate aswell. Sprinting along one of the corridors he could see the Ork right in front of him but there was a junction before then and the ork was running for it to try and catch who ever was to the other path.

The mechanical churning of his chain axe whirred into action moments before he arced it upwards colliding with the orks jaw and exploding the xenos’s skull.

“brother Ignescunt. are you so bored that you must hunt creatures too dumb to know they are prey?” spoke Corvis mockingly.

Fundae smiled and shrugged as he took off his helmet to speak with his nostraman battle-brother.

“our illustrious captain orders us to prepare for embarkation to istvaan. I am to collect you and Zhasal. speaking of which, where is that upstart?” asked Corvis with one eyebrow raised.

“of course,the lighting of the blaze is finally at hand. Corvis came down here not long ago and he had killed almost all our slaves,the orks were of the few left. As to his were abouts good luck, tried to strike up a conversation and he had split before i could even open my mouth.” Fundae looked at the astartes in front of him, the frustration on his face wasn’t well hidden and Fundae knew he might be searching for hours.
“ill help ya look if you want. I think i have an idea what direction he headed.”

Coirvis regarded Fundae with an icy look. “we both have hunted the laberinthe long enough to know these winding paths brother. But yes, i will accept your help.” Corvis started along the corridors again. “Tell me broher Fundae, does it trouble you that Terran Astartes are about to die by the thousands?”

It was clear that Corvis was trying to pose the question like a knife against Fundae’s throat and try to bring an emotional response from the terran born night lord. Fundae pondered the question in his head a little. true he was their kinsmen and he was about to kill them, also true that he was slightly upset to have his brothers die by his own hand but that was all. “A slight.i remember little of home and hat which remains is little more than pain.my brothers back the father that cares not for their lives and spends them like a gambler spends coin. They desrve what’s coming to them and i will take great pleasure in bringing it. Besides my sanity would be disgusted and sad by my kinsmen dying but i think we both agree i have not left.” smiled Ignescunt as he patted Corvis on the pauldron.
 
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