Thanks for all the kind words folks! Here's the next part
Good luck and good gaming,
Agmemnus found his dreams troubled. Instead of heading back to the wall, he decided that rest was needed. He was exhausted from his battle and he knew that he would do no good if he were to falter in his duties because of weakness. An astartes was a tireless foe but even he realized he needed to sleep in order to maintain his health and there were others who could keep the troops' morale up while he rested.
He had made his way to the billet set aside for the Imperial Fist contingent and once there found his cell. Upon entering, he was greeted by his personal servant who saw to his needs. Bowing, the young man stepped aside so Agmemnus could enter. The room was sparsely furnished. Save for a desk, a stool, a book shelf that bowed under the weight of the many tomes, his armor rack and his cot there was little to be seen. The walls were a dull gray rockcrete with a single slit of a window that allowed the sun's light in to chase away the gloom. The floor was tiled in the pattern of the Imperial Aquila; its wings outspread to encompass the whole of the room. Making his way to the armor rack on the wall, Agmemnus set his hammer and shield into their recesses. Once that was done, he took a seat on the stool and looked to his serf. "Trius, please help me remove my armor."
Agmemnus placed his helm on the sturdy desk and with the help of Trius, began the process of taking off his armor. While the terminator armor offered it's wearer near-invulnerability, Agmemnus found it stifling. He wondered idly why he had accepted the heavy suit in favor of his Mk V powered armor. He chuckled to himself, the sound making Trius raise his head in question. "Nothing lad", Agmemnus said, "Just an old man pondering the folly of accepting certain 'gifts'."
Once the armor had been removed, each piece was laid out before him on the floor with care. From the desk, Trius removed a rag, unguents, and oils. He handed each in turn to Agmemnus who began the tasking of cleaning. The blows he had received from the traitor chaplain would need seeing to soon. The armor was still solid but he would take no chances. Fate had a way of making the inane into the complicated. "Trius, please see that these are taken to the forge while I rest." The young servant nodded, leaving with the damaged pieces of armor in tow.
As the serf left, Agmemnus moved to his cot and began the process of clearing his mind in preparation of sleep. He allowed his body's metabolism to slow, his twin hearts winding down until there were several seconds between each beat. He entered a deep, restorative sleep.
It was rare for an astartes to dream, or at least it was in the case of Agmemnus. When he did, he found them to be fleeting memories of his past, long before he had been granted the honor of fighting for the Emperor's crusading legions. This time, however, he found himself standing on the walls surrounding the Imperial Palace. He could see traitors as they stretched far into the distance. Massive titans in service to the Warmaster strode across the plain before the walls, their mighty weapons belching smoke and plasma as they tried to break their way through the Imperium's defenses. Each bore marks of corruption, from fierce bestial heads that roared the praises of dark gods to boils and pustules which wept pus and infected blood. The sight was terrifying. Agmemnus found the sun blotted out as a great shadow crossed before it. Looking up, he believed he saw the great primarch Sanguinius once again, flying over the battle, exhorting his legion to take the fight to the heretics. Realization hit him like a hammer blow as the thing came closer. What had been the noble primarch was now some terrible parody. On multi-colored wings, the beast descended, its serpentine neck ending in a bird-like face with glowing eyes and a wickedly sharp beak. As it landed the daemon let forth a booming screech, shattering the walls around Agmemnus with coruscating bolts of lightning and flame. He found himself falling, pieces of the wall surrounding him as he plummeted towards the ground. He smashed into the ground, the beast landing on his chest. Agmemnus looked into its eyes and found only madness. It leaned its avian head in close to the chaplain and from its mouth a whisper came. "My master has sent me to tell you this. The wall will fall and the Warmaster will be triumphant. When it comes down you will die, on your knees, begging for my Lord's mercy!"
Agmemnus bolted upright, his body covered with a thick sheen of sweat. Wiping it from his face, he rose from his cot and made his way to the desk. He plunged his hands into the bowl of cold water that sat there and washed his face. Looking into the rippling vessel the beast's words slipped into his mind once again. "When it comes down you will die, on your knees, begging for my Lord's mercy!"
Rage filled the old chaplain. He lashed out, sending the pewter bowl crashing into the wall with a ringing clatter. Turning, he reached for the golden aquila that adorned this armor. It was said the sigil was a ward against warpcraft. Deep inside, he found himself hoping such was the case. He returned it to its resting place and picked up his hammer. He turned the weapon over and over, taking in the craftsmanship that had been worked into relic. "Never..." he found himself whispering. Agmemnus raised his head, looking to the ceiling. "NEVER! DO YOU HEAR ME? NEVER!" he roared as he lifted the hammer higher....