Shinova wrote:Some chapters that don't really follow the Codex Astartes, like the Dark Templar and Space Wolves, can have more companies or different rank structure, but most chapters, like the Ultramarines, follow the Codex more or less to the letter.
*calmly removes one glove*
*SLAP*
That's Black Templars. Dark templar are xeno scum. Mix it up again and you get a plasma bath.
Stravo:
Minor note: chaplains fight using a powered weapon resembling a staff usually topped with some relavent insignia (such as the double eagle or chapter logo) called a crozius arcanum that doubles as their symbol of the chaplaincy. Not that it's impossible for one to fight with a different weapon, but that's generally the accepted one.
And your Ultramarines were well done. Not my favorite chapter, but you portrayed them well, and in classic Ultramarines fashion. My personal favorite was the one punching the Carnifex through the eye with his grenade. That's Ultramarine to the core.
I liked the description of Mordred. Most Ultramarines wouldn't get away with such ostentious ornamentation, makes one wonder what the hell he did to earn the right to walk around like that without being censured by the high-ups.
But other than that, go Ultramarines! Courage and honor!
I like the fic and check in on it as much as I can. I have been a long time 40k fan and hobbiest. I just recently started into the fan fiction though and am in the middle of getting my first fan fic up. Anyway you are doing an excellent job. I will try to help with some minor notes just to get the story a little better.
Another posted stated that there would be no 19th company and he is correct. The chapters have only 10 companies, and the tyrannic veterans would most likely be from the 1st company. However individual units like tactical squads and assualt squads may have their own name like 'Sergeant Tallin's Striking Tigers'. On their left shoulder the ultra maines symbol would stand and then their squad insignia would be represented along with company number on the right.
Now being that this group you are portraying are Tyrannic war veterans you could say that the Ultramarines are currently building up troops to start another successor chapter and that these Tyrannic war veterans are being picked to lead it. It wouldn't be un-reasonable for them to still fly the Ultra-marine Omega symbol because of their memories from macaragge and their pride as Ultras. The starting of a Tyranid hunting chapter is not un-heard of. There is even a trait in the codex: SM to help create a chapter like this. "Suffer Not the Alien to Live" and the trait even tells you to model your army with trophies and such of their preffered enemy. Hope I was a help and look forward to reading more.
Maybe these veterans in Stravo's Ultramarine Company are just a handful, while the rest of the Marines are dudes who, while not veterans, are still pissed off at the 'nids.
It makes sense to scatter a few veterans to the other companies, not concentrate them into the 1st Company only. So experience and wisdom get dispersed and shit. Besides, if all the vets are in the 1st, what'll the other companies do when they meet Tyrannids? They'll be absolutely clueless!
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Once again any critiques on character, interactions between services and instituions, the universe's 'feel' in general are more than welcome.
Chapter 4: Hard Sell
In the bowels of the troops ship Cerberus, home of the 502nd Cadian light Infantry Division, the sound of laughter drifted up through the deck plates as soldier found respite from the grim surroundings and the uncertainty of their destination and even their future.
A small gaggle of guardsmen were gathered around a makeshift table that upon closer inspection revealed itself to be a plate of armor from one of the Leman Russ tanks that were stowed away in neat rows behind them. The plate was supported by four helmets on each corner and the assembled guardsmen were all sitting cross-legged around the table holding a battered set of filthy playing cards in their hands.
Some were smoking and watching the others over their respective hands with intense eagle eyes. Others were drinking from cold metal cups, some that had seen better days and many were stained with the dirt and mud of other worlds. The laughter, though genuine, was subdued for fear of bringing down the wrath of their officers or worse, Commissar Lazar.
Sergeant Sejanus watched the men playing cards and took a drag from his cigar. He should have been rousting them but he was a firm believer that no matter how disciplined an army was it needed some form of release and running from the Tyranid horde and being cooped up with two other units in cramped conditions did not help the morale of the men. So he turned a blind eye to the violations playing out before his eyes.
General Jinn despised gambling and frowned upon drinking among his men. But the general was young and not Cadian. His father had immigrated from one of Cadia’s sister systems when Jinn was a child so the General missed out on some of the bonding that went on among young Cadian boys before they were drafted into service.
Cadians fought hard but also played hard too. The general could never understand that. He bought into the whole hard discipline and single mindedness of the Cadian Guardsmen. The concept of a Cadian not being allowed to die on the battlefield unless he was directly ordered to was a cornerstone of Jinn’s outlook on his troops and his style of leadership. It was up to the junior officers and non coms to soften the general’s approach.
But Jinn’s attitude did not matter much to the troops. They loved him. He fought hard for them to get them the best equipment, rations, assignments and medical treatment. They were more than happy to chew dirt and kill xenos for the man.
But morale also lay in the little things and Sejanus understood this all too well.
“You’re looking serious.” The woman’s voice broke through the laughter and his inner reflections immediately and snapped him back to the here and now.
He looked up and smiled.
“What dragged you away from a nice warm berth on your ship?” Sejanus asked coyly. The woman standing before him placed a hand on her hip and the other waved casually around her.
“And miss all of this luxury and splendor?” She replied with a wink.
Dianna Kilraven was the commanding officer of the 502nd’s heavy lifters and fighter support craft. She could fly anything from a bulk freighter to a state of the art Imperial interceptor. And in her varied career she most likely did. An adventurer of sorts she fell in with the Imperial Guard out of boredom.
Sejanus never got the full extent of her history, frankly he enjoyed the air of mystery that surrounded Dianna and didn’t feel like probing too hard. All he knew about her life before joining the guard was that she had been a rogue trader plying trade routes out in the deep sectors by Tau territory. How she could have been bored doing that was beyond him. Yet here she was.
Beautiful and dangerous like a Sister of Battle he had once seen long ago at a military parade celebrating some long forgotten victory she moved her sinewy body with a sublime grace that promised violence at any moment. Her flaming red hair was kept short, almost a military crew cut and one of her striking blue eyes was lost on some long ago adventure replaced with a black eye patch proudly displaying the division insignia framed by thunderbolts.
He tried not to stare too intently. It would be unseemly of him.
The players all stopped for a moment to gawk or gaze lustfully but none dared make a comment or insinuation as she glided by them. The last guardsmen to try anything with Dianna couldn’t fire his las rifle anymore and was on his third restorative surgery. She, like the weapons she flew, was not to be trifled with.
She eased up closely to Sejanus and scanned him up and down like a stalking panther. She smiled and it was cold yet enticing.
“So, my young sergeant.”
“I’m not that young.” Sejanus protested playfully.
“Hmmm.” She chuckled deep in her throat. “You’re but a babe in swaddling clothes in my eyes but let’s not get into age here because I’ll never tell.”
Sejanus shook his head ruefully.
“Mysteries piled upon mysteries.” He muttered.
She winked at him and leaned up against the pile of ammunition crates Sejanus had parked himself against. She was at his side and watching the game as well.
“My girls are a little antsy with all these new men on board.” She noted casually.
Sejanus continued watching the game, one hand at his chin as he watched Malicki playing out a particularly weak hand against the others.
“You don’t say…”
“Artillery men. Tankers. I hear the new Inquisitor is rather handsome and dashing.”
“Some people think he may be certifiable.” Sejanus added.
“Heresy, brother Sergeant. Heresy from thine own lips.” Dianna gasped in mock outrage. Sejanus smirked but kept his attention on the game, trying as hard as he could to ignore the gorgeous woman standing next to him, keeping her single eye on him with a delightfully bemused expression.
“So, with all these new men on board they want to go out and see the newbies.” She concluded.
“Are you asking me for permission to let loose your foxes on my poor men? Are you asking me to condone fraternization, Commander?” He asked her nonchalantly, finally looking at her.
She smiled and it was like the sun bursting through the clouds for him. There was a streak of black grease across one of her alabaster cheeks. He couldn’t see any way how it might have detracted from her beauty.
“Oh, of course sergeant, we all know how you are about fraternization.” She replied still smiling.
“You know as well as I do that General Jinn has been looking to transfer your team out to one of the female divisions for months now. He doesn’t like the…interaction at times.”
“General Jinn doesn’t like women I think.” She shrugged. Sejanus’ reply was drowned out by the groans of outrage and disappointment at Malicki’s victory with a hand that should have folded out long ago. He eagerly swept in the bent and rusted credits into his corner of the makeshift table.
“It’s not old!” A high pitched voice protested.
A trio of figures trailed by several officers like ducklings following their mother quickly walked past the players. One was the 502nd’s Chief Tech priest and he was obviously arguing with several officers from the Basilisk Artillery battalion and the Steel King tank crews.
“Well, it has been in the service of the Emperor for over 300 years.” One tanker calmly explained.
“I don’t think I’ve ever ridden anything that old before.” One young officer commented looking around as if he were in a museum.
“Are you kidding? I didn’t think anything that old could fly.” An artillery man added.
“Shh!” The Tech priest suddenly stopped short. “Do you want it to hear you, fool?”
“Huh?”
“The machine spirit. Do you want the Cerberus’ machine spirit to hear you and be insulted?” The Techpriest replied sharply looking from each young officer to the next. He motioned around him with wildly gestating arms. “Do you have any idea what could happen to us if it became offended enough to actually cease functioning? The Cerberus has been very good to us, it has served the Cadian military in over 65 campaigns and hundreds of Military Operations. I won’t have you…stowaways mucking that up with your flippant attitudes.”
“Alright, alright. We’re sorry.”
“What would you describe the Cerberus if not old?” The young artilleryman countered.
“Venerable.” The techpriest replied without hesitation.
“So…this venerable death trap my men are flying in –”
“This is no deathtrap!” The Techpriest shouted. The players and other nearby troops paused in the action to regard the Techpriest with barely concealed amusement. He glanced around nervously and adjusted his robes.
“Now, if you will excuse me I have things to tend to.” He huffed and strode away. “And Emperor help you if the machine heard that.” He clucked over his shoulder.
There was little time for laughter at the frantic Techpriest’s words.
“What in the name of the most Holy Emperor on his Blessed Throne and the Collective Blessings of all the High Lords of Terra do I see before me?” A voice boomed down the long cargo bay, echoing off the silhouetted tanks.
The table and assembled troops stopped short, some looked hang dogged and embarrassed.
Colonel Durhan Dunnegan was commanding officer of the Steel Kings, the unit of heavy armor attached to the 502nd for this deployment and the tall bulky dark skinned man cut a dashing figure with a black cape draped across his left shoulder of his immaculately pressed uniform, bright golden buttons shone under the naked bulbs dangling overhead and his boots were polished to perfection so that they were mirrors at his legs and feet.
A cavalry sword sheathed at his belt rattled softly as he moved ferociously towards the table, black eyes darting between each man sizing him up in moments and clenched firmly in his mouth was a thick brown cigar, his meticulously groomed handlebar mustache draped over part of the cigar. His right foot tapped on the metal grated deck plates impatiently.
“Answer me promptly and quickly guardsmen.” He growled down at Malicki.
“Sir?”
“Is this a card game I see before me?”
“Yes…sir…it is.” Malicki replied hesitantly as the large man loomed over him like a Martian Titan.
“And do my eyes deceive me or are you playing Cadian Stripes?”
“Yes?”
Dunnegan’s eyes narrowed and his head leaned in closer to the smaller soldier.
“Deuces wild?”
“Yes.”
“Then answer me this one question guardsmen and you better be quick and truthful or you will be standing tall before the Emperor.”
“Sir!” Malicki sat up ramrod straight and looked into the larger man’s eyes.
“Why the hell was I not invited?” He asked menacingly.
Malicki glanced back from Dunnegan to the other players then right back at Dunnegan.
“Because you’d win?” He replied in a near whisper.
Dunnegan’s laugh reverberated through the cargo hold and he slapped Malicki on the shoulder. The Guardsmen bit back a yelp of pain.
“Serve me up damnit and be quick about it.” Dunnegan ordered and with a dramatic flourish of his cape quickly placed himself at the table not caring that he nearly squashed two other guardsmen as he did so.
“And his men haven’t fragged him yet because…” Dianna sighed.
“I don’t know. I like the guy. We can use some flamboyance sometimes.” Sejanus countered.
Dianna said nothing for a moment, pursing her lips in thought.
“I’ll be getting back to my ships.”
“Oh?” He replied neutrally going back to watching the game.
“I’m taking the scenic route back.” She continued slowly easing herself off the stack of ammunition crates.
“Truly?” A shadow of a smile that he quickly hid by placing a hand on his chin in thought again.
“There’s a relief station on deck C, right by the main coolant exchange.”
“I do believe I know the one.”
“It will be empty.” She noted with a curious shake of her head as she began to slink away.
“Funny that.”
“If I walk by there and nothing stops me I will be a very sad and frustrated woman.” She added with scowl.
“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?” He sighed in a bored tone.
“And we shall never speak again.” She finished with a smile and vanished around a corner.
Sejanus waited quietly watching the game for perhaps 10 seconds before he suddenly bolted and raced into another corridor opposite the one that Dianna entered.
General Jinn and Commissar Lazar said nothing but kept exchanging glances as Inquisitor Malagaunt waited patiently at the communications monitor. The upside down omega symbol on a field of august blue remained on the screen as it had been for the last hour.
“So, Inquisitor, is this normal for them to keep such an esteemed person as yourself on hold for so long?” Jinn asked. Lazar said nothing. The general was too young to realize what a dangerous game he was playing. The thought that this man walked into the Eye of Terror with two other Inquisitors and came out again alone kept haunting him.
Malagaunt’s angelically perfect face and intense eyes regarded the young general for a moment before answering.
“You will find General that patience is one of the most vital virtues of an Inquisitor. Perhaps if you had a little more experience under your belt you might realize that discretion as well makes for a good General.”
Jinn frowned.
A face flashed on the monitor. It was a young man with a shaven head in ceremonial robes.
“Please hold for Brother Captain Mordred De la Croix, Inquisitor Malagaunt.”
“May the light of the Emperor shine on you in all the dark places you walk, Inquisitor.” The young page added and Jinn took it as a sort of general blessing. The reaction on Malagaunt’s face for the briefest moment betrayed a sense of utter bitterness and grief. It was there. Jinn was sure of it.
“And may his blessings shine on you brother.” Malagaunt replied mechanically.
The face vanished again and this time the proud features of an Ultramarine looked back at them. A white scar ran down from his brow to his lower jowl on the right side of his face twisting his polite smile into a leer.
“Inquisitor Malagaunt. It has been three years.”
“Indeed, you remember me Brother Captain. I cannot help but be touched.” Malagaunt replied with a curt nod of respect.
“Let’s dispense with the pleasantries, my good Inquisitor. The only reason you’re calling me and not another Adeptus chapter is precisely because you meant to be remembered three years ago.” Mordred’s polite smile/leer never faltered as he spoke the words.
Malagaunt did not seem fazed at all by the sudden shift in tone. In fact, by his body language alone Jinn suspected that Malagaunt expected this behavior. Jinn had never even met a Spacemarine before but he found himself more drawn to the Inquisitor than Mordred. He wanted to see the too beautiful Inquisitor handle this Spacemarine.
“You are quite perceptive, Brother Captain. Those Blood Angels I worked with on Altair were wrong about the Ultramarines. You’re not fanatical single minded killing machines.”
“Funny that. I could say the same about my brother Blood Angels.” Mordred leaned forward closer to the screen. “But we’re not here to discuss Blood Angels or my perceptive abilities. You want something.” He concluded.
Malagaunt smiled. It made Lazar’s blood run cold. What happened to those other two Inquisitors? Lazar wanted to ask him. And will you be taking us there as well?
“The Emperor has need of your services.”
“The Emperor?” Mordred sneered. It was not an expression twisted by his scar. It was an honest sneer.
Malagaunt made a dismissive motion with one hand.
“For all intents and purposes I am the Emperor’s Will as far as the Imperium is concerned. My requirements are his requirements.”
Mordred nodded slowly.
“I see.” He stated slowly. He casually began working some buttons off screen. “Well then Brother Inquisitor I will forward you the com codes for three other Ultramarine Companies closer to you and more willing to follow the vague assertions of an Inquisitor.”
Malagaunt was suddenly not so casual and dismissive.
“I will be landing on Tyrial in three days time and I will be recovering an artifact of great value for the Imperium.”
“Tyrial?” Mordred’s eyes darted upwards as he thought back about the name. He looked back at Malagaunt and frowned. “Orks. There are Orks on Tyrial, Inquisitor.”
“I assure you these are particularly heretical and vile Orks if it assuages your conscience, Brother Captain.” Malagaunt replied with a soft smile. Jinn wondered what game the man was playing, because from where Jinn stood it didn’t look like the Marines were coming and yet Malagaunt seemed to be almost toying with Mordred. As if the end result of this exchange were a foregone conclusion in favor of the Inquisitor.
“We are Tyranid hunters. Our Company has been dedicated to the extermination of Tyranids wherever they may be found. By the Emperor, what do I care for Orks? They are common vermin as far as I am concerned and an absolute waste of my Company’s time and talents. Find someone else.”
“There is no one else I want, Brother Captain.” Malagaunt stated sternly. “Tyranid hunters you say? Don’t make me laugh, Brother Captain.” Malagaunt chuckled with barely concealed contempt. The Ultramarine Captain stiffened. “While your vaunted skills and talents were being honed on Nineveh a genestealer cult was busy infesting and subverting your population. How soon, hmmm, how soon before they would have taken over your world? I rooted them out. I put them to the flame.” Malagaunt slapped the comboard for emphasis as he spoke.
Mordred said nothing for a long moment. He pursed his lips and spoke slowly.
“So, let us be clear then. You are calling in a favor?”
“Absolutely not. I eradicated that cult out of my sense of duty to the Emperor and His Imperium. A sense of duty I see is lacking in your Company.”
Mordred’s eyes narrowed and Jinn saw the anger burning like red hot coals in his eyes.
“Have a care Inquisitor…” he warned.
Malagaunt seemed to be heavily debating something. He turned and looked at Jinn and Lazar then back at Mordred.
“I realize this is a hard sell so what if I were to tell you that in my extensive travels in the service of His blessed Imperium I came across a Dreadnought?” Malagaunt asked quietly.
Mordred was suddenly cautious.
“I have one standing behind me, Inquisitor. Hardly a revelation to be so proud or secretive of.”
Malagaunt nodded as if chastened by the revelation.
“An unclaimed empty Dreadnought.” He added.
“Impossible.” An electronically filtered voice off screen and behind Mordred protested.
“Assure Brother Godric that I am not one to lie.” Jinn noted the brief look of surprise on Mordred’s face at Malagaunt’s knowledge of his men. “This dreadnought I believe was in the Service of a Company of Iron Fists. A Company no longer with us I am afraid. Their legacy seems to be this blessed empty warsuit.” Malagaunt nodded knowingly. “A Warsuit that could very easily find a home in your Company.”
Mordred shook his head in disgust and sat back.
“So, Inquisitor, you move from favor currying to outright bribery, and clumsy ham-fisted bribery at that.”
“Call it what you will, Brother Captain. I see a servant of His most Holy Emperor reminding another servant of the duties he has carried out that benefited the other and simultaneously informing this most reluctant servant of an item he is aware of that is worthless to him but vital to the other. We can all play games with our words.”
Mordred watched Malagaunt intently for a long moment.
“Beam the location of the dreadnought over to us and we will begin preparing to rendezvous with you.”
Malagaunt snorted.
“I would were I a fool. No, Brother Captain, I will tell you on Tyrial.”
“Are you suggesting –” Mordred began to protest.
“We are already underway and will arrive on Tyrial in three days.”
“Wait a moment, do you have any idea how far out from Tyrial we are? Wait for us and we will be able to better protect you and—”
“Three days Brother Captain. If we are not on Tyrial in three days then we might as well never arrive. I trust in the Emperor and may He bless your astropaths to find a way to meet us there.” Malagaunt paused. “A copy of this transmission has been encrypted and forwarded to the nearest Inquisition base. So, if you are thinking that Malagaunt the fool will die on Tyrial and we can claim he never contacted us you will find Inquisitors at your door asking about this and the other dogmatic irregularities I found when rooting out the Genestealers on your homeworld.”
“You vindictive little bastard. Do you have any idea whom you are addressing? I was serving the Emperor when your grandparents were shitting themselves, cur.”
“Good. Then you can tell me the rest on Tyrial. In three days.” Malagaunt nodded politely and switched off the transmission.
“You are playing a dangerous game.” Lazar said in shock. “He’s not some Imperial Guardsmen or hick world general. That is an Ultramarine Company Captain.”
“We haven’t sent any copies to anyone.” Jinn noted.
“Nor shall we. After all, I just tried to bribe a Company of Spacemarines to do my bidding. Hardly reflects well on me, don’t you think?” Malagaunt replied with a soft smile.
“Three days to Tyrial?” Jinn added with concern. “The Cerberus wasn’t built for speed.”
Malagaunt rose from his seat.
“Then your Techpriest better teach this old dog a new trick, General, because we WILL be on Tyrial in three days.” Malagaunt replied without hesitation and strode off the bridge. He did not have to add any more. The threat was more than implied as to what would happen if they did not get to Tyrial in three days.
“I hate that man.” Lazar sighed darkly.
“I have sense, my friend, that this is merely the beginning.” Jinn snapped sullenly.
Malagaunt paused at the airlock between the Cerberus and his ship the Iron Genesis. His bodyguard was waiting obediently at the airlock but his face was troubled.
“What is it?”
“She says that Tanis is on the move.” Dorian stated grimly.
“Let the Emperor’s Light shine upon me in all the dark places I walk indeed.” Malagaunt whispered in a fury and punched a wall panel. His fist dented the metal panel with a sharp shriek and the Inquisitor with the face of an angel stormed away with the fury of a demon burning in his heart.
Wherever you go, there you are.
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Pretty good, but there were a few points that I think were inaccurate to the setting.
First off, the men playing cards on the plate of tank armour. While it certainly wasn't frontal armour, remember that the Imperium's number one operating procedure is "Throw more at it" so all the armour is likely to be thick and bulky and I don't know if four helmets would cut it, but that's the lesser part of the problem there. The larger part of that scene is that it could be construed as being disrespectful of the tank's machine spirit. In 40k it is believed that all pieces of technology have a machine-spirit, including relatively inanimate things like lasguns and the like, and are thus treated with superstitious awe. For the men working with the tank to use a piece of its skin like that would probably not go over well and even if they weren't concerned, the Techpriest that walked in would probably be pretty pissed too. But this is the least of the concerns and easily written off.
Second, in the Imperium, old means better, and 300 really isn't that old. They have been in a technological backslide for thousands of years and some of the best elements of their space fleet come from the Great Crusade over 10,000 years in the past. 300 would still be considered far from old, to say nothing of venerable. Add an extra zero behind the age and then you're talking venerable.
Finally, and this is the biggest one, I'm fairly certain that face-to-face communication at long ranges is impossible. In order to send an FTL signal you require an Astropath, an actual person, to recieve the message (usually coded) and then transmit it to another Astropath. Thus the best you could get would be something similar to say communication between telegraph operators. Now I know that that conversation was essential to the story, but for the setting I'm almost certain that it was physically impossible. I'm sure someone with more 40k knowledge will correct me if I'm wrong, but this one is pretty big.
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Maybe the tank was in on the game too. Guardsmen deal an extra hand, that goes to the tank as a show of respect. Or maybe the tank gets 1/10th of the pot. Or maybe they pulled the armor for repairs and the crew started a game while they waited.
And he's right about the long range communications. The only way around this I can think of is if you had a pair of Astropaths cyborged into the ship's systems to serve as long range transmitters. And that just seems a tad out of character for the Imperium. They aren't smart enough to figure out how to do that.
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I had no idea about the communication issue. That really does make it extremely difficult to do what I wanted to do in that scene. I can't think of any other way to do it without the crucial interaction there. I'll have to thibk about that one.
On the issue of the machine spirits I was afraid of going overboard on the whole "every machine has a spirit" thing that I've gleaned a bit from the fluff. Now I see I didn't go far enough. I will readjust that portion and keep it in mind for the future.
In terms of Techpriests are they actual priests in the sense that they pray over machines to get them to work or are they really mechnics and engineers without realizing that they are? For example are they actually praying to a machine spirit to coax it to do what they need or do they carry out holy rituals by rote that are actually repair techniques cloaked in religious symbolism and ritual?
Is this view of machines having spirits limited to the Imperium or do other races like Orks have a similar outlook?
The age of the technology never ceases to amaze me. Ships and equipment thousands of years old considered a good thing. I have to keep in mind the orders of magnitude here.
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Stravo wrote:In terms of Techpriests are they actual priests in the sense that they pray over machines to get them to work or are they really mechnics and engineers without realizing that they are? For example are they actually praying to a machine spirit to coax it to do what they need or do they carry out holy rituals by rote that are actually repair techniques cloaked in religious symbolism and ritual?
The latter, although traces of the former can sometimes be found. To anachronize a bit, consider your PC - if a Techpriest were to kick the tower, well, that would be a grave offense to the machine spirit, and likely make it angry. Or as we might call it, jar sensitive electronics loose, potentially force drive heads into the delicate disks, sever cables, and generally make it not work.
When programs lock up, we hit alt+F4, alt+tab, ctrl+alt+del, and when all else fails, dig around for the hard reset button. It's easy to see how that can become ritualized and mystified - computer illiterates don't even know those key combinations, nor what they do, and when 99% of your population is computer illiterate... well, gotta call in the Techpriest to perform the proper rituals of consecration to appease and soothe the angered machine spirit.
Is this view of machines having spirits limited to the Imperium or do other races like Orks have a similar outlook?
Certain Eldar gadgets use wraithbone, and Chaos stuff is often directly possessed by a daemon, but other than that, it's a largely Imperial point of view.
Orks possess an innate knowledge of basic Orky tek, and the Mekboyz even more. Building a shoota out of a metal pipe, some spare parts, and a bunch of bullets is instinctual and there is no real mysticism involved.
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1337 posts as of 16:34 GMT-7 June 2nd, 2003
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Sometimes, the Orks can build things that, when examined, obviously should NOT work but do because the Orks think they do. Orks think red makes things go faster, they paint something red, it goes faster.
"DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source) shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN! Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people - PeZook Shroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
Actually, about the whole kicking computers thing, that actually is a form of lesser ritual to try and appease the machine-spirit, often given to non-Techpriests that have legitimate reason to be around certain machines. I remember quite distinctly the general in The Traitor's Hand being described as "hitting it like a Techpriest", with regards to a holoprojector that was giving a fuzzy picture. And now I can see the line "I'd hit it like a Techpriest hits X" (where X is some form of tech) being used in the cruder populations of the Imperium.
Also Stravo, with regards to the Techpriests, they have completely ritualized the construction and maintenance of all technology in the Imperium, also adding on numerous religious components, such as consecration by oil, the burning of incense, long prayers between steps, etc. The reason that the AdMech can get away with the ritualization is because of the Standard Template Constructs, which are ancient "things" (seems to vary what exactly their physical form actually is) that carry precise blueprints for all the technology the Imperium uses. While the Techpriests have never actually recovered an entire STC (I think) they have found enough scraps and pieces to base the entire tech base of the Imperium around. This means that while a product made on Mars might be of higher quality than the same design made on Backwater Shithole Secundus, the steps you take to repair and maintain them are identical. This is one of the big reasons for the tech backslide; innovation is heretical because it would fuck up the entire system of control the AdMech has set up (why teach people how to properly troubleshoot based upon first principles and risk the guy at the top giving up power when you can teach people by rote how to fix things?). This is also why xenos tech is verboten. Aside from associating with filthy aliens to get them in the first place, the designs don't follow any STC pattern.
And to answer your question about if alien tech have machine-spirits, they can't because machine-spirits are meant to serve humanity (or possibly the other way around depending on the Techpriest you ask) and therefore they couldn't possibly work for non-humans, and if they do then the filthy xenos have defiled the noble machine-spirit with their touch. Of course, the thing to remember is that with the exception of actual AIs (which are typically only found on starships [so the Cerberus might very well have been able to hear the soldiers complain], Land Raiders, Titans, and in advanced computer systems that typically on the AdMech is allowed to touch), machine-spirits are just superstitious mumbo-jumbo to keep the Techpriests in control.
I love learning. Teach me. I will listen. You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
Academia took care of most of the issues I noticed, though I feel the need to stress the 'older = better' mentality of the Imperium's machines. Some of those ships are literally millenia old and are considered pinnacles to aspire to.
In addition, the '3 days to Tyriel' line threw me. In the warp, 3 days of travel means you are practically on someone's doorstop. Even travel to nearby systems of the same sector can take multiple weeks or more, let alone travelling from another sector or even Segmentum.
In addition, there were two things about Malagaunt's conversation with Mordred that shouldn't have happened. First, the dreadnought shell. Think of how Tech-priests look at machines and multiply it by ten. That's how high of esteem the marines hold dreadnoughts in. No company would dare take another chapter's dreadnought and if they did, they would most certainly provoke a fratricidal bloodbath. Especially not the Ultramarines, the zenith of the lawful chapters. Quite frankly, De La Croix should have switched off the line in disgust as soon as Malagaunt made the offer. The only reason he would come to get it would be to return it to the Iron Hands.
Tying into this, Malagaunt's attitude towards De La Croix was entirely too cavalier to be believable. Remember, marines are the only warriors in the Imperium who act with no higher supervision or oversight. They can and will tell even an Inquisitor to fuck off if they don't like his attitude.
“While your vaunted skills and talents were being honed on Nineveh a genestealer cult was busy infesting and subverting your population. How soon, hmmm, how soon before they would have taken over your world? I rooted them out. I put them to the flame.”
The last time I saw an Inquisition agent speak to a marine like that, he nearly strangled her to death.
Even the Grey Knights, the only chapter utterly dedicated to fighting alongside the Inquisition, take great pains to remind themselves that they are an independant chapter that chooses to work with Inquisitors because therein lies greater gain. Six Dark Angels can force four entire regiments to dance to their tune rather than the other way around. That's how great their influence is. Really, treating a marine captain the way Malagaunt treated De La Croix would provoke one of two responses, one being a dead line, the other being the marines coming to beat the living snot out of you for your insubordination. Even Inquisitor Stele, a man who literally spent years travelling and fighting with the Blood Angels always acted humbly and deferred to them (granted, he had an ulterior motive, but still).
Please check out my revised Chapter incorporating many of your suggestions. Please let me know if this works better.
Chapter 4: Hard Sell
In the bowels of the troops ship Cerberus, home of the 502nd Cadian light Infantry Division, the sound of laughter drifted up through the deck plates as soldier found respite from the grim surroundings and the uncertainty of their destination and even their future.
A small gaggle of guardsmen were gathered around a makeshift table that upon closer inspection revealed itself to be the smooth top of one of the innumerable cargo canisters stacked around the enormous cargo hold. The metal frame was supported by four helmets on each corner and the assembled guardsmen were all sitting cross-legged around the table holding a battered set of filthy playing cards in their hands.
Some were smoking and watching the others over their respective hands with intense eagle eyes. Others were drinking from cold metal cups, some that had seen better days and many were stained with the dirt and mud of other worlds. The laughter, though genuine, was subdued for fear of bringing down the wrath of their officers or worse, Commissar Lazar.
Sergeant Sejanus watched the men playing cards and took a drag from his cigar. He should have been rousting them but he was a firm believer that no matter how disciplined an army was it needed some form of release and running from the Tyranid horde and being cooped up with two other units in cramped conditions did not help the morale of the men. So he turned a blind eye to the violations playing out before his eyes.
General Jinn despised gambling and frowned upon drinking among his men. But the general was young and not Cadian. His father had immigrated from one of Cadia’s sister systems when Jinn was a child so the General missed out on some of the bonding that went on among young Cadian boys before they were drafted into service.
Cadians fought hard but also played hard too. The general could never understand that. He bought into the whole hard discipline and single mindedness of the Cadian Guardsmen. The concept of a Cadian not being allowed to die on the battlefield unless he was directly ordered to was a cornerstone of Jinn’s outlook on his troops and his style of leadership. It was up to the junior officers and non coms to soften the general’s approach.
But Jinn’s attitude did not matter much to the troops. They loved him. He fought hard for them to get them the best equipment, rations, assignments and medical treatment. They were more than happy to chew dirt and kill xenos for the man.
But morale also lay in the little things and Sejanus understood this all too well.
“You’re looking serious.” The woman’s voice broke through the laughter and his inner reflections immediately and snapped him back to the here and now.
He looked up and smiled.
“What dragged you away from a nice warm berth on your ship?” Sejanus asked coyly. The woman standing before him placed a hand on her hip and the other waved casually around her.
“And miss all of this luxury and splendor?” She replied with a wink.
Dianna Kilraven was the commanding officer of the 502nd’s heavy lifters and fighter support craft. She could fly anything from a bulk freighter to a state of the art Imperial interceptor. And in her varied career she most likely did. An adventurer of sorts she fell in with the Imperial Guard out of boredom.
Sejanus never got the full extent of her history, frankly he enjoyed the air of mystery that surrounded Dianna and didn’t feel like probing too hard. All he knew about her life before joining the guard was that she had been a rogue trader plying trade routes out in the deep sectors by Tau territory. How she could have been bored doing that was beyond him. Yet here she was.
Beautiful and dangerous like a Sister of Battle he had once seen long ago at a military parade celebrating some long forgotten victory she moved her sinewy body with a sublime grace that promised violence at any moment. Her flaming red hair was kept short, almost a military crew cut and one of her striking blue eyes was lost on some long ago adventure replaced with a black eye patch proudly displaying the division insignia framed by thunderbolts.
He tried not to stare too intently. It would be unseemly of him.
The players all stopped for a moment to gawk or gaze lustfully but none dared make a comment or insinuation as she glided by them. The last guardsmen to try anything with Dianna couldn’t fire his las rifle anymore and was on his third restorative surgery. She, like the weapons she flew, was not to be trifled with.
She eased up closely to Sejanus and scanned him up and down like a stalking panther. She smiled and it was cold yet enticing.
“So, my young sergeant.”
“I’m not that young.” Sejanus protested playfully.
“Hmmm.” She chuckled deep in her throat. “You’re but a babe in swaddling clothes in my eyes but let’s not get into age here because I’ll never tell.”
Sejanus shook his head ruefully.
“Mysteries piled upon mysteries.” He muttered.
She winked at him and leaned up against the pile of ammunition crates Sejanus had parked himself against. She was at his side and watching the game as well.
“My girls are a little antsy with all these new men on board.” She noted casually.
Sejanus continued watching the game, one hand at his chin as he watched Malicki playing out a particularly weak hand against the others.
“You don’t say…”
“Artillery men. Tankers. I hear the new Inquisitor is rather handsome and dashing.”
“Some people think he may be certifiable.” Sejanus added.
“Heresy, brother Sergeant. Heresy from thine own lips.” Dianna gasped in mock outrage. Sejanus smirked but kept his attention on the game, trying as hard as he could to ignore the gorgeous woman standing next to him, keeping her single eye on him with a delightfully bemused expression.
“So, with all these new men on board they want to go out and see the newbies.” She concluded.
“Are you asking me for permission to let loose your foxes on my poor men? Are you asking me to condone fraternization, Commander?” He asked her nonchalantly, finally looking at her.
She smiled and it was like the sun bursting through the clouds for him. There was a streak of black grease across one of her alabaster cheeks. He couldn’t see any way how it might have detracted from her beauty.
“Oh, of course sergeant, we all know how you are about fraternization.” She replied still smiling.
“You know as well as I do that General Jinn has been looking to transfer your team out to one of the female divisions for months now. He doesn’t like the…interaction at times.”
“General Jinn doesn’t like women I think.” She shrugged. Sejanus’ reply was drowned out by the groans of outrage and disappointment at Malicki’s victory with a hand that should have folded out long ago. He eagerly swept in the bent and rusted credits into his corner of the makeshift table.
“You need to be more careful!” A high pitched voice protested.
A trio of figures trailed by several officers like ducklings following their mother quickly walked past the players. One was the 502nd’s Chief Tech priest and he was obviously arguing with several officers from the Basilisk Artillery battalion and the Steel King tank crews.
“No need to be so emotional, my friend. This vessel has been in service to the Emperor for some time. She can handle this load and more I wager.” One tanker calmly explained.
“8,000 years to be precise.” The techpriest countered snidely. “This vessel can handle more than anything we know. The machine spirit of this vessel is strong and not to be trifled with. Many a servant of Chaos discovered this much to their chagrin when they tried to bring her down during her innumerable campaigns for the Empire and Cadia.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever ridden anything that old before.” One young officer commented looking around in awe.
“I wonder how she holds up to the truly ancient vessels back on Holy Terra?” An artilleryman commented.
“Shh!” The Tech priest suddenly stopped short. “Do you want it to hear you, fool?”
“Huh?”
“The machine spirit. Do you want the Cerberus’ machine spirit to hear you and be insulted?” The Techpriest replied sharply looking from each young officer to the next. He motioned around him with wildly gestating arms. “Do you have any idea what could happen to us if it became offended enough to actually cease functioning? The Cerberus has been very good to us, it has served the Cadian military in over 365 campaigns and thousands of Military Operations. I won’t have you…stowaways mucking that up with your flippant attitudes.”
“Alright, alright. We’re sorry.” The tanker held up his hands in a warding gesture.
“Now why is it that you don’t want the equipment stacked in that rearward compartment? No one else is using it and my Basilisk gunners need somewhere to stow this spare ammo. Have you ever tried to sleep next to an earth shaker round? Not comfortable I assure you” The young artilleryman explained.
“I do not wish anything in that rearward compartment because that is where my staff and I pray and meditate.” The techpriest replied matter of factly, stopped at a flickering bulb encased in mesh. He gently tapped the mesh and as he did so he inclined his head towards the bulb and whispered a devotion. The light bulb ceased flickering.
“Thank you Cerberus.” The techpriest smiled.
“Where will my men sleep then?” the artilleryman pressed.
“You sleep where you can but as far as I am concerned that back room is off limits to everyone. We need a private space to commune with the machines of this place if we are to maintain them. Believe me my friend, were we to fail in our rituals and devotions out here in the void or worse while traversing the warp the last thing you will be concerned about is sleeping.” The techpriest sounded like a teacher lecturing a particularly slow student.
“But why must—”
“There is no why! There is only do. As in you will do as I say. Is that clear?” The Techpriest shouted. The players and other nearby troops paused in the action to regard the Techpriest with barely concealed amusement. He glanced around nervously and adjusted his robes.
“Now, if you will excuse me I have things to tend to.” He huffed and strode away. “And Emperor help you if the machine decides to teach you a lesson in humility.” He clucked over his shoulder.
There was little time for laughter at the frantic Techpriest’s words.
“What in the name of the most Holy Emperor on his Blessed Throne and the Collective Blessings of all the High Lords of Terra do I see before me?” A voice boomed down the long cargo bay, echoing off the silhouetted tanks.
The table and assembled troops stopped short, some looked hang dogged and embarrassed.
Colonel Durhan Dunnegan was commanding officer of the Steel Kings, the unit of heavy armor attached to the 502nd for this deployment and the tall bulky dark skinned man cut a dashing figure with a black cape draped across his left shoulder of his immaculately pressed uniform, bright golden buttons shone under the naked bulbs dangling overhead and his boots were polished to perfection so that they were mirrors at his legs and feet.
A cavalry sword sheathed at his belt rattled softly as he moved ferociously towards the table, black eyes darting between each man sizing him up in moments and clenched firmly in his mouth was a thick brown cigar, his meticulously groomed handlebar mustache draped over part of the cigar. His right foot tapped on the metal grated deck plates impatiently.
“Answer me promptly and quickly guardsmen.” He growled down at Malicki.
“Sir?”
“Is this a card game I see before me?”
“Yes…sir…it is.” Malicki replied hesitantly as the large man loomed over him like a Martian Titan.
“And do my eyes deceive me or are you playing Cadian Stripes?”
“Yes sir?”
Dunnegan’s eyes narrowed and his head leaned in closer to the smaller soldier.
“Deuces wild?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then answer me this one question guardsmen and you better be quick and truthful or you will be standing tall before the Emperor.”
“Sir!” Malicki sat up ramrod straight and looked into the larger man’s eyes.
“Why the hell was I not invited?” He asked menacingly.
Malicki glanced back from Dunnegan to the other players then right back at Dunnegan.
“Because you’d win?” He replied in a near whisper. Dunnegan’s eyes glowered. “Sir!” Malicki added desperately.
Dunnegan’s laugh reverberated through the cargo hold and he slapped Malicki on the shoulder. The Guardsmen bit back a yelp of pain.
“Serve me up damnit and be quick about it.” Dunnegan ordered and with a dramatic flourish of his cape quickly placed himself at the table not caring that he nearly squashed two other guardsmen as he did so.
“And his men haven’t fragged him yet because…” Dianna sighed.
“I don’t know. I like the guy. We can use some flamboyance sometimes.” Sejanus countered.
Dianna said nothing for a moment, pursing her lips in thought.
“I’ll be getting back to my ships.”
“Oh?” He replied neutrally going back to watching the game.
“I’m taking the scenic route back.” She continued slowly easing herself off the stack of ammunition crates.
“Truly?” A shadow of a smile that he quickly hid by placing a hand on his chin in thought again.
“There’s a relief station on deck C, right by the main coolant exchange.”
“I do believe I know the one.”
“It will be empty.” She noted with a curious shake of her head as she began to slink away.
“Funny that.”
“If I walk by there and nothing stops me I will be a very sad and frustrated woman.” She added with scowl.
“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?” He sighed in a bored tone.
“And we shall never speak again.” She finished with a smile and vanished around a corner.
Sejanus waited quietly watching the game for perhaps 10 seconds before he suddenly bolted and raced into another corridor opposite the one that Dianna entered.
General Jinn and Commissar Lazar said nothing but kept exchanging glances as Inquisitor Malagaunt waited patiently at the communications monitor. The upside down omega symbol on a field of august blue remained on the screen as it had been for the last hour.
“Forgive me for saying this, Inquisitor, but I felt that you were a bit…confrontational in your plea for help. We are after all asking them to help us. They are under no obligation to do so.” Jinn commented quietly looking at the back of the man’s head. Lazar said nothing. The general was too young to realize what a dangerous game he was playing. The thought that this man walked into the Eye of Terror with two other Inquisitors and came out again alone kept haunting him.
Malagaunt’s angelically perfect face and intense eyes regarded the young general for a moment before answering.
“You will find General that knowing precisely how to deal with an opponent through guile, sweet words or even confrontation is one of the hallmarks of an Inquisitor. Perhaps if you had a little more experience under your belt you might realize that discretion as well makes for a good General.”
Jinn frowned.
Lazar wondered what the Spacemarines would think of the Inquisitor’s request.
“So, this is it, eh?” Mordred asked seriously as he checked the disk, properly encrypted and sealed with an Inquisitor’s rosetta mark. It could not get more official than that from an itinerant Inquisitor.
“I’m sure he will be all sugar and honey, Brother Captain. You know how they can be when they need our assistance.” Jericho sighed.
“I’m not so certain.” Chaplain Mortus grumbled. “He was not one to grovel or supplicate himself. He was too comfortable with his Inquisitorial authority.”
“Didn’t he travel with two other Inquisitors?” Mordred asked casually as he slipped the disk into his machine. It buzzed and hummed as it prepared to read the message.
“Yes, I believe so but he was definitely their leader. They remained in the background, almost as if they were not interested in being here.”
“Whatever the request, we should be ready to assist if it is in the Emperor’s Will.” Godric added in his deep electronic bass. The mighty dreadnought was hunched down in order to fit into the alcove where Mordred chose to listen to the Inquisitor’s entreaties for assistance.
“This man will not be asking for the Emperor’s Will.” Mordred frowned as Malagaunt’s beautiful angelic face appeared on the screen.
“May the Emperor’s blessings be upon you my brothers in faith.” Malagaunt’s message began.
Jericho shook his head softly. Another example of the Emperor’s faith being used so commonly. It disturbed him.
“I find myself in a situation where I must call upon your august persons to assist me in an endeavor positively vital to the Imperium and one in which the vaunted Adeptus Astartes can pay a vital role in guaranteeing victory.”
The assembled marines said nothing.
“I am in the midst of a recovery operation for an artifact deemed too dangerous to allow to remain where it currently resides and I have been tasked with recovering it in His name. Unfortunately my mission is in serious danger due to the presence of xenos filth on my target world.”
“He must mean Tyranids. Why else would he contact us?” Jericho noted.
Mordred spared the young sergeant a glance. “This man is contacting us precisely because he helped us three years ago. Brother Mortus checked and there are three other Spacemarine companies closer to his transmission point than we are.”
“I am currently enroute to Tyrial and request your company’s presence there to provide security during the operation.”
“Tyrial?” Mordred was thinking for a moment, running the name over in his head and comparing it to the myriad military briefings he was privy to. “Orks.” He suddenly concluded. “There are Orks on Tyrial.” He spat in derision.
“He can’t be serious.” Mortus growled.
Mordred was watching the too beautiful man on screen and nodded knowingly.
“Here it comes.” He asserted dryly.
“I always have fond memories of your home world, Nineveh, and its many architectural splendors and to know that my efforts spared your population of a massive Genestealer cult warms my heart and reminds me again why I am in the Emperor’s service. I can only hope that in the future his blessings come upon me as well.”
“Bastard.” Jericho spat.
“One such as he is a warning against the erosion of faith in the face of personal gain and power.” Godric lectured. Mordred smiled to himself. The old one was a font of wisdom and assurances always. It helped that he could simultaneously kill anything the Tyranids fielded while he tended to your spiritual needs.
Malagaunt made a motion as if to shut off the recorder and his eyes lit up as if he suddenly remembered something.
“The man is a gifted actor.” Mortus gave him credit.
“Ah, before I forget, brothers.” He leaned in closer to the screen and his voice became more intimate and subdued. “In my travels for our most blessed Emperor I stumbled across an unclaimed Dreadnought. I believe it may have belonged to the Ironfists, I am not certain but the markings and style denoted pre heresy era.” Sergeant Jericho was stunned by the revelation. “I’m certain that the war machine should be recovered, its spirit undoubtedly wishes to serve again but I had no way of doing so. Perhaps you most noble Spacemarines have use for such information. I will gladly share it with you. On Tyrial. In three weeks.”
“Three weeks?! Does the man have any idea how far out we are?” Jericho protested.
“So, our most esteemed brother Inquisitor moves from favor currying to outright bribery, and clumsy ham-fisted bribery at that.” Mordred noted in disgust.
“Let us be clear my brothers in faith that I will be on Tyrial in three weeks. If I am not on Tyrial in three weeks then I might as well not be there at all. And if you are not on Tyrial in three weeks then I will de dead.”
“Good riddance.” Mortus sneered.
“Should I die however I will make sure that a copy of this transmission is sent to the nearest Inquisitorial chapterhouse along with an appended report on my findings on Nineveh concerning certain…irregularities of dogma found rampant on your world. It would pain me to do so but as I will be dead I have my duties to attend to. I eagerly await your reply. Please note that no matter the answer I am already en route to Tyrial.” Malagaunt smiled warmly sitting back in his seat. He held up his hands in a blessing. “May His blessings be upon us all and this most holy venture. Inquisitor Ezekiel Malagaunt out.”
The screen winked off.
Mordred sat back and was suddenly wracked by a coughing fit that shook his massive frame to the bone. Jericho placed a restraining hand on Mordred’s shoulder as his commander rode out the coughs and found peace again. He wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth and nodded a thanks to Jericho.
“Let him land on Tyrial without us.” Mortus snapped.
“Do you think he could be lying about the dreadnought?” Jericho asked.
“If he is I will tear him apart limb from limb and feed him to the Orks – while he still lives.” Godric growled and his pistoned limbs rumbled like jackhammers.
“There really is only one way to find out.” Mordred answered. His voice sounded as if he were out of breath, but his resolve was in his eyes.
“Brother Chaplain, prepare reading materials for the men. All excerpts from our battle bibles on the Orks. Also required reading will be verses from the Codex Astartes regarding Orks and fighting against overwhelming numbers. Your hypnotherapy should focus on making sure these lessons stay at the forefront of their thoughts.”
“Of course, brother Captain.” Chaplain Mortus replied with a bow of his head.
“You, my young brother sergeant will focus on drilling the men on Ork tactics during out transit.” Mordred continued as he rose from his seat, all signs of weakness had fled the massive frame.
“It shall be done in his name.” Jericho replied with a respectful bow of his head.
“Brother Godric, I want you to meet with our local techpriests. Judge which ones are the most gifted in dealing with your systems and machine spirit. We may need them if what I suspect is true and Malagaunt will be using us to recover that dreadnought sooner than expected.”
“Of course, my brother captain.”
“And I fully expect you to keep to your word Brother Godric. If that man is lying you are to teach him the folly of such actions.” Mordred explained darkly.
“Of that you will never need to doubt.” Godric replied and they could tell he was smiling beneath his armored carapace.
Mordred placed a hand on the massive dreadnought’s arm.
“Can you pray with me tonight, Brother? Mortus will have his hands full.” Mordred’s voice was strong but still short of breath.
“Of course brother Captain. There is never a need to ask.” The dreadnought’s voice softened.
Jericho and Mortus promptly exited De la Croix’s private chambers to prepare the Adeptus Astartes for battle.
Malagaunt’s com screen blinked.
Jinn and Lazar immediately came up behind the Inquisitor, eager to see the response.
Malagaunt smiled at both men.
“Have no fears, my friends. This invitation has been accepted. It could have not happened any other way.”
“You seem certain of that.” Jinn noted suspiciously./
“You should have discovered by now, my young general, that when it comes to my plan I am certain about everything.” Malagaunt keyed the compad.
The proud features of an Ultramarine looked back at them. A white scar ran down from his brow to his lower jowl on the right side of his face twisting his polite smile into a leer.
“May the light of the Emperor shine on you in all the dark places you walk, Inquisitor.” Jinn took it as a sort of general blessing. The reaction on Malagaunt’s face for the briefest moment betrayed a sense of utter bitterness and grief. It was there. Jinn was sure of it.
“And may his blessings shine on you brother.” Malagaunt replied mechanically.
“Inquisitor Malagaunt. It has been three years since last we met and I have not forgotten the services rendered to our home world and our order. I have heard your request and am deeply troubled that you have chosen our Company when we show at least three other companies far closer to you that could have responded to your request for aid. I also note that Tyrial is swarming with that vermin we know as Ork. My men are hard chargers and we fear no man, xenos or warp spawn. But frankly you waste our time killing the green skins when my company can continue to do what it has been dedicating itself to since Macragge – hunting Tyranid filth.
However in light of your situation and the circumstances of our relationship I reluctantly agree to meet you at Tyrial even though we find it nearly impossible to reach it in time for your arrival. I could ask you to wait for us. Even a day may make a difference but I know you well enough to suspect that you would not wait even an hour.
But know this Inquisitor Malagaunt, should you be trying to entangle our company in whatever webs you weave you will find that our wrath will not be as easily sated as those you tangled with in the Eye of Terror.”
Malagaunt pursed his lips.
“Oh yes, we have our sources as well, Inquisitor and the tale they tell is not so kind concerning your endeavors. We will discuss this more fully on Tyrial. Brother Godric is eager to test your veracity. May the Emperor’s Blessings be upon you and yours on your journey brother Inquisitor.”
Mordred’s face vanished.
“A hard sell but they reacted precisely as I thought they would.” Malagaunt declared. “We have reinforcements on the way.”
“You are playing a dangerous game.” Lazar said in shock. “He’s not some Imperial Guardsmen or hick world general. That is an Ultramarine Company Captain.”
“We’re not sending any copies of this transmission if we die to anyone are we?” Jinn noted.
“Nor shall we. After all, I just tried to bribe a Company of Spacemarines to do my bidding. Hardly reflects well on me, don’t you think?” Malagaunt replied with a soft smile.
“Three weeks to Tyrial?” Jinn added with concern. “The Cerberus wasn’t built for speed.”
Malagaunt rose from his seat.
“Then your Techpriest better teach this old dog a new trick, General, because we WILL be on Tyrial in three weeks.” Malagaunt replied without hesitation and strode off the bridge. He did not have to add any more. The threat was more than implied as to what would happen if they did not get to Tyrial in three weeks.
“I hate that man.” Lazar sighed darkly.
“I have sense, my friend, that this is merely the beginning.” Jinn snapped sullenly.
Malagaunt paused at the airlock between the Cerberus and his ship the Iron Genesis. His bodyguard was waiting obediently at the airlock but his face was troubled.
“What is it?”
“She says that Tanis is on the move.” Dorian stated grimly.
“Let the Emperor’s Light shine upon me in all the dark places I walk indeed.” Malagaunt whispered in a fury and punched a wall panel. His fist dented the metal panel with a sharp shriek and the Inquisitor with the face of an angel stormed away with the fury of a demon burning in his heart.
Wherever you go, there you are.
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Awesome, truly awesome. I especially enjoyed the revised Techpriest section, the line of "There is no why! There is only do!", really captured the essence of their dogmatic order.
I love learning. Teach me. I will listen. You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
First off, Dreadnoughts are big. They stand around 4 meters tall, and maybe 3 meters wide. Moving him around a starship would be... difficult.
Second, they are among a company's holiest of relics. Dreadnaughts are kept in shrines, and treated with the respect of the relics of a saint--all the more venerable because this saint can still speak to us.
They also tend to sleep a very great deal. They are awakened for times of battle, or for giving their ancient wisdom when the Chaplain and Librarian cannot manage. Towing one around like a particularly senior verteran sergeant is not appropriate. Think of them kind of like Ents. Holy, robotic, violent Ents, with really big guns.
I would suggest replacing his character in this chapter with a brother-Librarian. He would be a character as respected and fearsome as the one you are currently writing as the Dreadnought, while being consistantly awake and lucid. I don't think you'd need to change the passage at all, besides substituting the Librarian's name for 'Godric' and the word "Librarian" for "Dreandnought".
I think that a constantly active Tyranid hunting unit might keep their Drednaughts up and running more than is usual, if just for the simple reason that they can crush much shell. The scale of imperal ships is easily large enough to keep a few corridors more open than is normal, athough it seems like any way a Dreadnaught can get in is a way that a Carnifex ccan get in.
And it's possible he's an insominiac. It can happen, especialy if he's still got that Space Marine organ that lets you sleep parts of your brain and not others. If it's not a direct contradiction of cannon, it's probably happened somewhere in the WH40k'verse
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I was somewhat sad to see that instead of something new we get a revamp. But I actually liked this one more. Godric has already managed to become a favorite just off of this chapter. Don't know why, but he has. I say keep him as he is. After all, there are always exceptions in the Warhammer universe.
The bit with the Imperial Guard was also very nice, depicting the very normal guardsmen in comparison to the demi-godly beings that are Inquisitors, Space Marines, and practically everything else in the universe has been done very well.
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About the whole Godric thing, I don't find it odd at all in that a Dreadnought is a 5 metre tall walking avatar of death capable of picking a fist fight with a tank and winning, inhabitated by a guy who recieved a "Badass Motherfucker Award for Outstanding Lifetime Achievement while surrounded by other Badass Motherfuckers". Tell me, if he wants to stay awake to see what's happening, who is going to stop him? Besides, the sleeping out the centuries waiting for a battle worthy of their presence thing is considered a priviledge earned by the Dreadnoughts for being so badassed, so I somehow doubt they would actually want to force one to go to sleep.
I love learning. Teach me. I will listen. You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
What's weird is that I thought face to face real time was the only way to pull this off but damn if it didn't feel better writing it this way and it reads better as well. I of course have the true fans to thank for giving me the insights I needed to revamp this chapter. Keep your critiques coming with the new chapters as you obviously see feedback gets positive results.
On the Librarians, I'm not sure how they function and where they fit in in the Marine structure. That's one of the reasons I've held off introducing a librarian. First of all does a Company have to have a librarian in the first place? Are all librarians psykers? How are their combat abilities in comparison to other spacemarines absent their psyker powers? What sort of psionic feats are we talking about from a particularly potent librarian? And where do they fit in the pecking order? Above Jericho as a sargeant. On par with a Chaplain?
And I'm glad no one is pissed that Mordred is obviously chronically ill and weak. I thought I might get some criticism for that but it is part of the way I always envisioned his character. Stubbornly holding on to life out of duty.
And does Mordred's threat hold water? Can he summarily execute Malagaunt with little threat of retaliation from the Inquisition?
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Librarians are by definition psyker Space Marines, so yes all Librarians are psykers, to my knowledge. They're also tasked with maintaining the chapter's records. Knowledge stuff is in a Librarian's alley. Also, because of their nature as a psyker, most of their fellows tend to stay away from them. Librarians are still respected, of course, and treated as full brothers. But they're psykers, so they have that sort of, "oh he's a psyker......ehhhh..." and sort of keep your distance kind of mentality toward librarians. Of course, this is just a general attitude among space marines in general.
Librarians have two major jobs when not on the battlefield. The first is to screen for psychic mutation amongst recruits and guard the Chapter against the depredations of the Warp. The second job, as befitting the name, is to take record the Chapter's exploits and such. Both these jobs and their considerable psychic skills make them valuable advisors to the Captains, and since they can actually take on a leadership role I would say that a Librarian of rank Codicier or above would have roughly the same authority as a captain, although they technically exist outside the standard Space Marine command structure. The thing is though that since they are all psykers and thus by definition mutants, something all Space Marines are taught to hate, many regular Marines have at best mixed feelings about them. For the Ultramarines though, I would say that the Librarians would probably be seen as well respected advisors, although only the commanding officers would associate with them, everyone else leaving them alone.
I love learning. Teach me. I will listen. You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
I like it! But I still say the Guardsmen should've played on a piece of Leman Russ armor. With an extra hand of cards dedicated to the tank. It would've been cute
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