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Ancient Ties


The killer made his way through the mountain pass, the Snow Wolves trotting along by his side. It had been easy to bend their loyalty to him and they had feasted on the steaming carcass’s that had been their former masters.

Now they were truly his to command.

He stopped as he exited the valley and surveyed the area around him with eyesight that was far more acute then any normal human but then he was far from human.

He perched on a rock ledge and slowly his mind cleared of the fog that had shielded it for so long. The last thing he remembered was falling through the air and landing on this rock.

His enhanced genealogy had sent his body into the healing sleep but he supposed with the cold it had merely frozen him into full sleep and now he had come to awakened state with a hunger that he had not felt since his battle with his enemies.

He patted the head of the largest of the Wolves and the creature seemed to be pleased with the attention of its new master.

He would need to hunt again soon not just him but the beast that he shared his body with, that was a hunger that was never sated and when he could find a way off this forsaken rock then he would finally have his revenge, against the one who had left him to die.

He got to his feet and letting the Snow Wolves lead the way he made his way back along the migration trail with murder in his heart.

The Village was nothing special. A few huts scattered around a big hall. The Killer knew what this was, just like the ancient halls on Terra of the Nordfrick peoples lands of ancient times the hall of the chieftain and his family and his warriors.

Set around the river that flowed through it the villagers had a clean and ample water supply. There were the children of the populace playing without a care in the world and like there was time for nothing else except play and fun.

How typical of these humans, had they grown up on Holy Colchis they would have known a different life, a life of piety and prayer and a life of devotion to the gods. He allowed his memories to rush up and envelope him, trying to find comfort in them.

He had been a young boy when Lorgar had shown them the true ways of Colchis, he had fought alongside him and Erebus and Kor Phaeron when the Urizen had stormed the Covenant and killed all the monks within ending the Holy War that had enveloped their world for six long years.

When the Emperor came he had embraced the vision after all this was the god that Lorgar had spoken off. His arrival had vindicated the Urizens words and that was good enough for the inner circle.

No what did these young know of hardships and duty. His actions would be a blessing to them to end their lives so that they go to a place where the true gods exist and not the god that they would be forced to follow if they allowed their pathetic beliefs to come to fruition.

He was aware that the warriors halls would be where the populace would sit with their chief and discuss the coming day only this day their chief would not be coming back he had killed him.

He scanned the area for any threats but what warriors they had would not be able to defeat one such as he.

He saw the warriors milling around the village, arms round women, drinking from their flagons and armed with bows, swords and axes. He supposed they would be effective against rival tribes but they would not be any use against him.

Nothing would and he almost felt sorry for them, almost but not quite.

The beast within began to raise its ugly head but he quelled it with a vicious command. He would decide when to let the demon rise and not before. He commanded it not the other way round.

He would wait for nightfall and then he would lay waste to all that was within that human infested fleapit. He would need the sustenance and the strength if he were to find his long lost brothers.

He settled down to watch the village and await the setting sun.

It was going to be the last time any of them saw the sun and he was gracious enough to allow them that luxury.

The warriors of the Host waited as they had been doing for the last two days. They would be in Imperial space in a few more days but they were not waiting for that, they were waiting for their leader and they did so without making a sound.

Tor Panarl stayed at the front but one step lower then the top. His face handsome and cold was set in stone and woes betide any who moved. If it was going to be a few more hours or a few more days then so be it no one would move from their place or step out of line. To do so invited a punishment that they would not like very much.

His Anointed ringed the raised dais, as their standing dictated, the best warriors of the Host and the personal guard of the Dark Apostle. He was lost in his own thoughts, his master had been perplexed when he had brought the message from the Choir and for the briefest of moments he thought he saw true fear in the eyes of the Dark Apostle at the mention of that planet but he had dispelled that thought.

The only thing that his master feared was a bad judgement from the dark council that would condemn his soul to an eternity of torment at the hands of the dark gods and that was enough to unnerve even the most stoic of warriors.

Eventually the doors opened and the Icon Bearer Andarl entered leading the honour guard who surrounded the black armoured master of the 47th Host. Every warrior moved to one knee and bowed their heads.

Mar Felan looked resplendent in his black armour with his Accursed Crozius beside in his right hand. At his left side sat the demon sword Ar’can’tha a prize that he had taken when he had killed a warrior of the Alpha Legion and the demon within had acquiesced to his will. His Holy Bolter was carried by a young novitiate his eyes cast down.

The Bolter was a work of art the muzzle a serpents head that writhed with arcane power of it own.

Its holy blessed ammunition immolating all who felt its touch and had been a gift from the long dead former Dark Apostle. Mar Felan was indeed a blessed individual for there had been many a time that Dark Acolytes had designs of grandeurs of their own against their masters but Mar Felan was a loyal Acolyte and he had learnt much from his blessed master.

Tor Panarl followed suit and waited as his master ascended to his proper place. Mar Felan nodded once to his Coryphaus and the war commander barked an order that had the Host standing to attention once more.
He turned to face his men as the Icon Bearer took his place to the left of the War Commander and one step lower.

To stand on the same level, as the Coryphaus would instigate they were equals, whilst the Icon Bearer held a position of authority they most certainly were not equals.

“My Sons” the Dark Apostle laid the book of Lorgar on his podium and moved round “Stand easy” The host moved as one “now we are to travel to the world of Pratis Majoris and there we are to recover a brother who was lost to us.

Do not be fooled into thinking that he will be an easy quarry to catch for he will not and once we have him here we are to transport him to Sicarus itself where he will be – looked after by the Dark Council and our blessed Primarch in his name be”

“In his name be” The Host murmured.

“Nothing is to stand in the way of the safe recovery of the lost brother and if the accursed lackeys of the false god come to stop us then we will deal with them as must always be done, in his name be it”

“In his name be it”

Jubal raised his eyes upwards to see a swirling mass of Cherubim flying round the hall. It struck him that if he had seen them in his human life then he would have thought they were small cute angels of the gods.

However they were far from cute. They moved out the room and returned as his master concluded his talk with a couple of screaming women between them taken from the slave holds and brought here especially for this moment.

“Let the gods dictate to us how this will be” Mar Felan raised his accursed Crozius in the direction of the Cherubim and lowered it.

The Women stopped their screaming, as the cute little child like faces seemed to hypnotise them. They swayed a little in a certain rhythm and the women began to sway at the same time. When they were certain their spell was working their faces altered and gone was the angelic faces in their places were faces of such horror that it would have plagued children’s nightmares for all eternity.

Razor sharp teeth emitted from their mouths, delicate fingers turned into razor sharp claws they tore the faces off the women and then all of them set about the bodies showering blood and guts onto the assembled warriors.

“The Gods will bless this holy mission brothers, lets not disappoint them”

The roar of affirmation from the host was loud enough to drown out the sucking of bone marrow from the demonic cherubim.

The war commander dismissed the host save his four captains and their sergeants when the door was closed the Dark Apostle bid them all to follow him.

Jubal fell into line behind the Icon Bearer and wondered why his master wanted him and the other sergeants as well as his captains.

Silence sat around the Dark Apostles stratagem as they waited for their master to speak. He sat himself in his throne of skull, made from the remains of a Tyranid that he had personally killed on Dagmar Six four centuries ago.

He set his Crozius on his knee and looked at his Captains. Aside from Tor Panarl there was Garakan the captain of the Possessed. He had been with the Host since its inception and when it came to infiltration there was none better.

His features like all Word Bearers pale and noble but a criss cross of scars that lined his face showed his centuries of warfare and he wore his marks like badges of honour. He was not as heavily built as his brother captains but his strength was his spirit and there was none more devout to the teachings of Lorgar within his inner circle.

Beside him stood Captain Rar Kane captain of the assault squad. His face set in stone and he never smiled not even in the camaraderie of his squad. He was a well built man that had the utter devotion his assault squad and who’s cries to the great gods always brought him great victories and honour to not only his squad but to the Dark Apostle himself.

Then there was Captain Sadrocos, a giant of a man with hands like shovels and who took the lives of his foes with his bare hands. The Commander of the Berserkers he had the utmost loyalty of his squad and those that failed him were more then happy to send their skull to the skull throne.

His dark eyes were always brimming with self restrained fury and his body seemed to quiver with it two giant tusks came from either side of his jaw and Mar Felan was in doubt how much blood he had shed in the name of the dark gods.

Finally there was Elarka Marchan the Captain of the Tactical Squad. A noble handsome man who was not as big as Sadrocos but bigger then Garakan. He had been at the Siege of Terra and he had witnessed the Warmonger and his cadre assault the walls with honour.
His left hand ended in a large lobster claw a gift from the gods when his own hand was lost to a Thousand Sons automaton son.

He cast his eyes over his sergeants. All standing just to the left of their Captains. Sergeant Harkan was Marchans trusted right hand man and the two shared a brotherhood that went back to the training halls of Colchis. He was a giant of a man and a single horn sprouted from the middle of his forehead like the unicorns of myth.

Sergeant Jassia was Sadrocos’s right hand man and like his master his sheer force of will tempered his self-contained fury. When the time was right he would unleash the berserker in him and lay waste to all his enemies.

He had come from the demon world Galtos and had beaten all his rivals to become a Word Bearer, that had been some thousand years ago and he had been Sadrocos’s favoured warrior since the battle of Henthax where they fought the Angels Sanguine and had taken the head of their captain as a prize.

The skull of which he had personally gifted to the Blood God.

Then there was Sergeant Jarka recently elevated to the spot of favoured by Garakan when he took the head of the Ultramarines Chaplin Arcaseus in a battle on Fords Creek.

His demon was happy to share the body of the sergeant as long as he was given plenty of blood in the battles that they encountered.

Finally there was Jubal. He was relatively young in the service next to these men but he had risen to prominence in the Anointed and Tor Panarl trusted his sergeant. He was a favoured of the highest echelons in the Word Bearers and the Primarch himself knew him and that in itself was an honour.

His battle strategy was similar to that of Kor Phaerons Coryphaus but then again that was to be expected and he had a knack of seeing things that occasionally Tor Panarl missed and whilst he never embarrassed his captain he would discreetly point it out in private.

He believed that when the time came for his Coryphaus joined the Gods and their blessed Primarch then Jubal would be the next one in line.

Next to Jubal were the Icon Bearer and commander of the Honour Guard. Andarl had been the Icon Bearer for over six thousand years when the previous Icon Bearer tried to usurp the power of Mar Felans master.

A tall proud well built man who’s eyes sparkled with the knowledge of the epistles of Lorgar it was known that he was ambitious but not to the point of recklessness and besides Mar Felan did not mind competition in the ranks, it kept the strong and weeded the weak.

“We are to get Balthazar,”

he said quite suddenly and all his captains and two of his sergeants’ faces darkened at the mention of the name.

Jubal looked around him taking in the darkened expressions and bowed his head respectfully

“Forgive me Lord, who is Balthazar?”

Andarl’s lip curled in a sneer at the unprecedented break in protocol but a sharp look from the War Commander made his face straighten once more. It was obvious that Jubal was in favour and he stored that nugget of information.

“You are young Jubal and you will not know the name”

Mar Felan rose from his seat

“Balthazar was once a great warrior. One of the first to be Possessed and one of the favoured of our blessed Primarch.”

“Glory to his name” The warriors murmured.

“Indeed.” The Dark Apostle moved round to the front of the table and stood before his warriors. “He had been amongst the chosen men who had accompanied our beloved father when he broke the heretics on Colchis and had served as one of his inner circle although he was not as favoured as the Black Cardinal himself or Holy Erebus he was still one of the favoured and had command of the 8th Company.

He would also follow Lorgars word to the letter and never doubt his master. When the Lodges came into our Legion he was the first to sign up and became our Lodge master and during the siege of Terra his devout piety brought him the greatest reward. He became one of the first possessed.”

The Dark Apostle drew in a heavy breath for a moment then continued

“When we were driven from Terra and into the Warp he started mutterings that perhaps our Lord was weak and was not as he thought the favoured son of Chaos, talk which was deemed heretic and blasphemous but he had the blessings of the gods so many could not move against him without fear of reprisals from the gods plus his host was one of the most feared.

Made up entirely of possessed warriors including their Dark Apostle.
He was sent further afield where it was deemed that his ravings could not harm our Lord but that was not far enough and shortly before Lorgars Ascension he tried to move against our father and usurp his power.

He failed but I was sent along with our host to teach him a lesson and we hounded them to the world of Pratis Majoris where we battled them in space. His vessel Demonicus Ascendant was destroyed and all among them and we believed that he had died with it but it seems that he has survived and if this is the case then we are ordered to bring him back to Sicarus dead or alive.”

“Surely Lord,” Garakan spoke “It would be better to kill him, such a man would not have lost his thirst for power and if he is still alive then he would be attempting to do what he failed to do and that would make him more dangerous”

“That is true Kalneth” Mar Felan nodded “but I know him, I know him better then any man here and he needs to accumulate his power before he will attack and that is why I want 6 men of your companies only.

The strongest in faith and devotion only those that cannot be corrupted by such power and who’s loyalty to our father is not in doubt.”

“As you will it My Lord” Garakan bowed his head

“Chose your men and have them ready for when we reach this world. I want this dealt with before the Dead Emperors Lap dogs get to hear about it.”

His captains left except his Coryphaus and Jubal who remained at the request of the Dark Apostle.

“Jubal I have seen your power many times I want you to spend your time in prayer and pray to the gods that they will make it strong enough to defeat this heretic”

“As you wish my lord”

The Dark Apostle turned to his Coryphaus and told him to have a battle plan drawn up and ready and to use the old texts on the world as reference.

When they left him he turned to the window and watched the warp rush by.
He closed his eyes and steadied his beating hearts. It had been a long time since he last heard the name of Balthazar and he had hoped never to hear it again.


The moon had risen over the village over an hour ago and in that hour the warriors had nervously watched the hills that the hunters had taken two days ago.

They should have returned by now but of yet there was no sign of them, nor would there be but they weren’t to know that.

Their minds had told them that their Chieftain may have gone to the halls of the gods at the claws of the mad snow beasts or ice monsters that lurked in the never ending white tundra.

The watching killer waited for the moon to dress itself in cloud so that he would not be seen until it was to late for them to do anything about it and then when he was ready he struck.

The screams turned from shock to horror as the great beast within him was released and none escaped his blood driven wrath. Men tried to protect the women folk but were beheaded in one stroke as the whirr of red and grey moved through their village like some great demonic tornado.

The snow wolves, bent to his will attacked the children and carted off the youngest for a good meal he finished them off. He toyed with them and played with them he was enjoying this battle against the cattle of the carrion god.

When he fond women trying to protect their young he made as if to spare them then at the last minute disembowelled them with a vicious swipe of his talons.

He was unstoppable;

a force of the nightmares made real and his armour was drenched in gore and viscera from those he slew.

When the slaughter was over he stopped and admired his handiwork, forcing the demon down within him. The fresh virgin snow was now stained red and the river itself was swallowing the blood that fed into it.

He switched to his demon sight and saw only the wolves feeding on the carcasses of the young. Good once they had the taste of blood they would want it more and he would give them it for there were no better hunters then wolves in his opinion and their loyalty was assured as they saw him as the alpha.

He made his way into the great hall and smiled as he saw the ruined bodies that lay within. It had not taken him long to slay these pathetic servants of the dead god and it had felt good. He sat at the throne of the Hall and felt it creak under his immense bulk but it held.

Reaching out he grabbed the hind leg of the roasting stag and ripped it clean off then stuffed it into his mouth. The meat and juice dribbled down his chin. He had fed the demon and now he fed himself. Not that he needed such food but it felt good to the pallet.

As he ate his memories reasserted themselves and he recalled with the clarity of one who had had his mind hidden from him for long periods of time.
He remembered why he was here.

He had dared to voice the opinion that the Urizen was weak, he had dared to blame the Urizen, the Prophet of Colchis of complacency in swaying the Warmaster and for acting too soon in his quest for immortality.

For were they not immortal already?

The word had been that the Emperor had desired divinity for himself but in truth all the Primarchs wanted it those that sided with the Warmaster and those who professed otherwise.

He tore another chunk of meat and savoured the taste and then reaching over he grabbed a tankard that looked pathetic in his giant hands but washed his meat down with ale.

His enhanced taste buds savoured the flavour. For humans this was not a bad brew, once long ago he had partaken of the meade of the Space Wolves and this was a poor second but not bad.

He returned to his broodings.

He should have been the Black Cardinal for was he not one of the first to be given the gods boon, the gift of possession that would see the Sons of Lorgar victorious. His rivalry with Kor Phaeron went back to their childhoods on Colchis.

Neither man had liked each other and he liked even less the idea that the subtle and power driven mind of the former First Captain was considered to be among the Primarchs closest friends.

He had little time for the First Chaplin but when it came to politics and guile there were none better then Erebus.

When news reached him of Lorgars ascension he was enraged. The man had not delivered his promises, he had allowed the loyalists to win and Horus did not sit on the throne of Mankind.

He had been sent to the furthest reaches of the eye, away from the world that was now the new home of the Word Bearers. But he was not ready to be dismissed so easily. He had taken it upon himself to become the new Urizen and to dismiss Lorgar as nothing more then a failed Warrior who should bow down to him.

As his memory put everything back into place he tore at the carcass once more, every rip of his teeth showed his blackened mood.

They had sent the 47th Host after him and his brothers. In his eyes there was no other betrayal greater then that. That the Urizen would dare send his own battle brothers to bring him to heel.

The battle had lasted for weeks. A space battle that saw several of the ships of the 47th lost but when his beloved Demonicus Ascendant was boarded and his brothers slaughtered by the 47th it had been the straw that broke the camels back.

He allowed the demon that possessed him, Her’cal’na to rise up and take many brothers to the warp but it was not to be. He was confronted by the 47th Dark Acolyte Mar Felan and to his eternal horror the warrior ignored the ties that bind them both and struck him with fist, head and finally bolter and ordered his men off the ship. Shortly after fire from the loyalist Word Bearers the Demonicus Ascendant was destroyed.

His battle brothers’ all dead, his loyal crew all-dead and he had survived. It was not luck that had allowed his enhanced body to survive what his brothers had not. It was divine will that had brought him back to this place.

The gods were not yet finished with him and that was all he needed to know and he hoped that Mar Felan was still alive. He would teach him what it meant to fight the chosen of the gods and what it meant to be a brother betrayed.

He had expected his battle brothers to not agree with his actions they were but sheep to Lorgars word but he had expected better from his own kin, his own genetic brother.

The fires of revenge burned deep within him and as he ate more of the Stag he began to plot his revenge.

The Demonicus Infernos entered the warp with a roar and a scream, the rip in real space shuddering as the great strike cruiser made its entrance once more into the realms of men.

Her bow seemed to stretch forever until real space settled around her and she began to adjust to the difference between the Imperium and Empyrean. Mar Felan stared at the world before him.

It was beautiful in its own way and it had changed since he last saw it. When he had seen it last there were patches of green to show landmasses but all he saw were white land and he assumed that something had happened to the world in the last eight thousand years to turn it from what he had known to what he saw now.

Still that was the way of worlds, not every planet ended up how it started when it had been given life and he was not to wonder why.

He had received a transmission from Sicarus before they had entered the Imperium and the message had been quite clear. Deal with this heretic or suffer the fate that would have been his.

He had spent the last few days in his rooms reading the portents, the sacrifices and the musings of the gods and so far they seemed to be saying victory but they were not telling him who to.

Some parts of him supposed that the gods in their wisdom would sit this one out and watch the outcome with the glee and expectations of men at a gladiatorial fight. Whoever won this fight would have the favour of the gods and he was determined that it would be him. Not as long as he was able to fight with the fervour of an orator of Lorgar he would not allow this heretic to win.

Jubal cast his eye over his squad. Six of the finest men in the Anointed and Tor Panarl had been pleased with the choice his sergeant had made. Six men, staunch of faith and never wavering in their duties to the Creed of the Holy Father and the Gods.

The Coryphaus had taken Jubal to one side and told him to watch the Icon Bearer, he was ambitious and it was no secret that Jubal was a favoured of Sicarus.

He warned him to keep to his duty and that duty was to keep the Dark Apostle alive, everyone knew the penalty for those who failed to keep the spirit of the host from harm.

The War Commander had chosen the place to land, a large valley that gave access to all areas of the planet and he had briefed them on what he knew.
The world was populated by humans who had long since reverted to the old ways, forgotten by the Imperium many records keepers he was almost certain that none of the Carrion Lords lap dogs had been alerted to such a presence as the one that Balthazar had given off and if they were to arrive then they would be dealt with.

Their duties were two fold. One to obviously deal with the heretic and the most important one keep the Dark Apostle safe, follow is guidance and his rules but allow no harm to befall him.

It wasn’t just the War Commanders neck on the line and that of his warriors but each and every Captain such was the way that failure of that magnitude was repaid. They would work together until such a time that the War Commander deemed it nessercary for them to go the way of his attack preference.

It was called the Trident. A variation of the spear tips but with the powers at their control then they were more formidable then any spear tip. Get in there and do not give the enemy time to regroup it had worked for him countless times and it would work again.

Jubal was confident in his Captains prowess but something inside told him that this would be a test for him too. A test to see if his loyalty to the 47th Host was complete. He had seen the envious looks the other Anointed had given the men he had chosen.

A mix of Envy and pride. Pride that their brothers were chosen to do this and envy that it was not they.

It had been the same across the Host and as such it would make the unchosen all the more determined to be chosen next time this sort of battle was persecuted.

Jubal had the feeling that he was going to meet his destiny here. For five hundred years he had proved his loyalty to the Word of Lorgar but this would be the ultimate test, where he made his name in this Host and where he would learn his fate, to be the second to the Coryphaus and his favoured Sergeant or if he would fall to nothing.

He had harboured some doubts over the centuries the events on Torsons Reach still fresh in his mind as if it were only yesterday. He almost wished he had managed to save his brother and his sister for they would be worthy warriors in the ranks of the true Astartes but it had been the Gods that had decided and they had chosen him.

He had been paying their generosity and patronage back ever since and as grateful and proud as he was to the true gods he was also well aware of how fickle they could be.

They would sometimes show their hands and stick by it and other times they would show a hand raise the ante and then change their hands when they felt like it. It was a fool who ever underestimated the Dark Gods and as pious a Word Bearer as he was he was no fool.

He had been raised in a pious home, albeit to a god that would have destroyed his soul to feed his own fading powers or a slave to an Inquisitor. He was well aware of the duties of those bound to the priesthood he had seen his father do it all his life.

Since his glorious awakening to the true gods he had seen how wrong his father had been. How deluded all sheep of the corpse god were but his father had told him once after attending some accident at one of the fishing towns that even the Emperor was fickle with his affections.

That was the way of Gods, they choose their rising stars and they put the lights out of those who they no longer wanted. They chose the strongest over the weakest and Jubal was certain that no matter what his blood-strewn fortunes would be he would never be weak. He would rather die then ever come under that banner.

He knew what the Icon Bearers feelings were towards him. He considered him a whelp unsuitable to wear the armour of a Warrior of Lorgar let alone stand in the same presence as the inner circle of the Host. He was not one of the Ancient brotherhood and he was not a native or bloodline of Colchis.

The Blood Angels had founded his home world and to the Icon Bearer that was as much a blasphemy as his own existence. Jubal was well aware that the politics of Chaos went that way and the Dark Apostle encouraged the rivalry as long as it did not usurp his power.

This sort of thing gave him the chance to see whom he could trust and who would turn against their brothers if the move was right and the rewards great enough. He had seen it done many a time and assassination of a Captain was not unheard off if his Coterie believed him lacking in faith.

Jubal did not want to be the Icon Bearer but he knew he had as much right to wear the armour of Lorgar as much as the Icon Bearer and he was not about to allow the sneering and mutterings of an ambitious warrior put him off.

His duty was clear and to his mind that was all that concerned him anything else he would deal with when it was required.

The chosen men snapped to attention as the Dark Apostle came in with the Coryphaus and Icon Bearer and fell to one knee before him.

“Let us Pray Brothers” The Dark Apostle nodded at the Novitiate who handed him an ebony bowl filled with blood.

“To our Primarch the favoured son of the Gods and our mighty father in spirit an blood we swear this oath on the blood of those honoured to die in his name to grant us the courage, honour and skill to defeat the foe that would dare to challenge the authority of the one true son of chaos. In his name be it”

“In his name be it” They intoned

“We ask the powers of the gods of chaos undivided to ensure that we are victorious and we are the rightful victors of this battle and bring more souls to the true gods of the universe in their names be it”

“In their names be it”

He walked along each of the Warriors dipping his fingers in the blood of the sacrifices made that morning and drew the mark of Chaos amongst each of them, intoning words from the epistles of Lorgar as he did so.

When he was finished he handed the bowl back to the novitiate and offered the youth a meaningful look.

“Look upon these warriors Novitiate for one day if found worthy you will be amongst them”

He did not require an answer and the youth bowed his head, spared a brief look at the warriors then took his leave, his head still bowed until he was out of sight.

“The gods know your names let us bring this wayward son back to the fold” The Dark Apostle boarded his Stormbird and the warriors filled to their
transports, within a few moments they were once again in the space of the enemy.
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