Join Date: May 2010
Location: Folkestone Kent UK
Both sides of the coin
Word count: 971
I bless my ancient armour for giving me the strength to go into battle against the ancient enemy. Oils cover my body and incense around me heighten my body’s awareness of what is happening around me.
My armour is placed around me and they dare not falter for my love of my armour would mean their deaths if they drop even one part of it. In Lorgars name my armours battle spirit chants to me and I join him in the chant.
This armour I wear has been worn by countless other sons of Macragge going back centuries. Some of the wearers of this mighty armour have fought against the ancient enemy and died. I am the instrument of their revenge.
I flex my muscles and the armour responds, this ancient suit of blue armour is ready to go into battle, his spirit is placated and as I speak the words I know off by heart to our most sovereign father and our most powerful grandfather the spirit joins with me. This is for Gulliman, the emperor, and Macragge.
My bolter, the same one I have gone into battle with for over ten thousand years by the accursed imperial time is ready. I have disassembled it and reassembled it. The spirit within growls to spill the blood of the ancient enemy, I join it in the need for revenge.
The slight has never been forgiven and we, the true embodiment of faith and righteousness will never forget the insult given to not just us as a legion but the master of the word. This battle will be all that we can give and like my blessed bolter I will kill many more sons of the accursed Gulliman, for Lorgar, for ancient Colchis and Sicarus.
My bolter is ready. I have adjusted the line of sight, after my last battle it was a little off but my weapon has been blessed, the war spirit within is ready. I can feel the hunger to slay more enemies of the emperor. They have come here to this world, a world of Ultramar to slay and enslave.
Our war with them will never end just as their hatred of us will never end, it is ongoing, never has an enemy inspired more hatred then the sons of a traitor. I know the stories, the tales told to me in my days as a Novice. The old feelings will never fade. They came here to enslave we will stop them and their insane father. For Macragge and honour is our courage, for Gulliman and his strength is our weapon and for the emperor who watches over his mighty sons.
The dark apostle has spoken. The gods have blessed our battle; we roar affirmation to our father and our gods for vengeance is in our hearts. The portents are good and the hatred flows, there will be blood spilt this day and this battle is one more in a line destined to bring our father back to lead us.
I long for the day that our father will once more walk amongst us but until that holy of days and that blessed of hours we will fight in his name. The citizens on this world the ancient enemy call Delphi, they will know what the true meaning of faith is, and they will be ours in death or slavery they will be ours.
We are here now and we will deal with this affront to our territories. I see their monstrous beasts. To see a once noble legion fall so far gives me pause for thought. I recall the history lessons, their fanatical worship of the emperor turning to something darker.
The demons they have in their bodies and in their employ come towards us and we shall meet them, the full might of the Ultramarines with our successor brothers, Lord Calgar sent the call out and they all answered, the hatred flows. No surrender, no retreat.
I clash with a son of the accursed Gulliman, I remember still in my memory the day we were forced to kneel before him and that so called Sigilitte, the shame burns deep in my heart and my soul. His head crashes into mine trying to throw me off balance, I stand firm; my armour stands firm in the sight of the heretics.
He roars his affirmation for his father, I laugh in his face, he throws a punch that connects but once again my armour forged in the armoury of mars but blooded in the fires of hatred stands firm against this mechanical soldier of the false emperor. It is no good appealing to him, he is brainwashed into the service of the rotting corpse if it is death he seeks then I shall give him death and my blessed bolter snarls his hatred.
This son of a traitor is stronger then I thought, his archaic corrupted power armour is more then even I thought it would be. This armour was forged millennia upon millennia ago and he is certainly bigger then me but that is nothing when I have the spirit of blessed Gulliman in my veins.
His words of hatred wash over me but my eyes sting from the sigils that adorn his armour, I manage to loosen his helm and send it crashing to the ground but what greets me is a sight I never thought I would expect. He is a son of the arch traitor in all the countenance that one would expect from such a son, he is handsome but his eyes are ugly, they burn with religious fervour. There is no reasoning with one like this and as I push him off me my bolter barks.
And the sound of thirsting gods fills the air.