Feil wrote: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.
I think the 40K fluff has largely retconned this bit. In 'Conquest of Armaggeddon' and 'Deathwing,' we see deadnoughts walking around both performing normal tasks, speaking to other marines, and even showing up unexpectedly to participate in a mission. And in 'Iron Hands' one of the leaders of the Iron Hands chapter is a dreadnought who participates in a council. One would hardly expect him to sleep the majoritiy of the time!
First of all does a Company have to have a librarian in the first place?
No. In fact, the Black Templars chapter functions entirely without them.
Are all librarians psykers?
Yes.
How are their combat abilities in comparison to other spacemarines absent their psyker powers?
Equal if not better. They need to defend themselves better since they are often targets on the battlefield.
What sort of psionic feats are we talking about from a particularly potent librarian?
Think Sith lightning, blasts of energy, telekinesis, telepathy...Librarians are very much Jedi on crack.
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.
It is possible to poison a marine, it's just very difficult. And I have no problem with it since it adds to his badass aura.
And does Mordred's threat hold water? Can he summarily execute Malagaunt with little threat of retaliation from the Inquisition?
It could be touchy depending on what light Malaguant's colleagues view him in, how high ranking he is, and whether they knew he was on a critical mission or not, but yes, essentialy Mordred could execute Malagaunt if he wanted to.
Feil wrote: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.
I think the 40K fluff has largely retconned this bit. In 'Conquest of Armaggeddon' and 'Deathwing,' we see deadnoughts walking around both performing normal tasks, speaking to other marines, and even showing up unexpectedly to participate in a mission. And in 'Iron Hands' one of the leaders of the Iron Hands chapter is a dreadnought who participates in a council. One would hardly expect him to sleep the majoritiy of the time!
I stand corrected. Are they still super-holy, or has familiarity dulled the effect?
I have no further criticisms for this spectacular story.
I have been inspired. Feeling this story its just coming out so enjoy the inspiration and as usual all comments and critiques are welcomed to make this a better story. Always want to hear where I get things right and wrong in terms of the feel of the universe.
Chapter 5: Tanis
The soft grunts were barely audible over the deep bass humming of the air processor over the refresher station. The back wall against the bulkhead inside the refresher was thumping to a passionate drumbeat of body against body. An occasional groan or hot whisper of encouragement was offered in between the drum beats.
Commissar Lazar stepped through a hatch way and made his way down the corridor towards the refresher station. He paused and placed a vox to his lips.
“All officers and noncommissioned officers please report to the briefing room in precisely 15 minutes.” He announced neutrally. He did not relish having to tell the men what was to come but the duty was theirs and they had to fulfill that duty. He just wished that it didn’t have to be at the whims of a man such as Malagaunt.
He stopped short when he realized his voice had just echoed out from the interior of the refresher station.
“Who’s there?” he demanded.
“Uh…” He could hear fumbling inside the refresher. His eyes squinted trying to make out the shape through the frosted transparent plate.
“Is that you sergeant?” Lazar asked curtly.
The shadowy silhouette paused.
“Yes, Commissar it is.” The reply was almost sheepish.
“What are you doing there?”
“Well, isn’t it obvious, sir?”
Lazar frowned.
“Are you trying to be smart, sergeant?” he asked dangerously.
“No! No, sir. It’s just that…well… I am sort of in a state. If you know what I mean.”
Lazar smirked and eyed the silhouette suspiciously.
“It looks as if you’ve gained weight Sergeant.” He noted casually.
The silhouette behind the frosted pane raised its arms in a big shrug. It was obvious a smaller silhouette was nestling in close to the larger one giving it girth.
“Rations must be kind to me, sir. You can thank the General for me.”
“Oh, I’ll do that, Sergeant.” Lazar nodded and crossed his arms.
“Uh, sir…if you don’t mind.”
Lazar smiled darkly.
“Oh, but I don’t mind at all sergeant. You look like you’re done in there so why don’t we head to the briefing together. I want to hear your plans for troop deployment with our additional guests on board.”
The silhouette looked around for a moment.
“Sir, I’m not really done yet.”
“No worries, sergeant. I am a patient man.” Lazar could barely contain himself. The secret that the Commissar kept to himself was a simple one. He was well aware of the foibles of his men. He knew precisely who was cheating at cards, who was a thief, who was a liar and who was a fool and of course who was sleeping with whom. All of these could effect morale in both subtle and not so subtle ways.
Lazar learned a long time ago that the discipline that he was responsible for was a very fragile thing and it wilted most under the iron boot of constant punishment and grinding orthodoxy. He was a stern man, he had more than once summarily executed men in this unit for cowardice in the face of the enemy and once, without much remorse or regret, because he frankly thought the soldier was poison to morale by his very existence.
But one did not wield discipline like a club but rather like a scalpel. There was no need to club his men over the head with his authority when the mere threat of action was usually more than enough. The general’s view of fraternization amongst the ranks was well known.
If it was up to Jinn, the 502nd’s air support wing would have been transferred out in favor of an all male squad. But Lazar had made sure the paper work was too thick, the red tape too restricting and the trouble too much for Jinn to push the transfer through easily. Not because Lazar reveled in the power he had or that he felt that the men needed to have the women in their team (and the morale benefits were not lost on Lazar), but simply because they were some of the best pilots he had ever seen.
During a battle on some mote of a world on the edge of the Cadian gate against a Chaos incursion his unit had been cut off by a cultist wave attack. The landers and fighters fought their way through thick air defenses and made a nearly suicidal extraction of his unit from enemy clutches in the teeth of their defenses.
He never forgot that. So he made certain such talented and valorous pilots remained in his unit for any future actions that would require similar feats of daring.
However that did not mean he would allow rampant undermining of the general’s overall orders forbidding fraternization. The sergeant’s little adventure would have to end. The situation was becoming too obvious for his tastes. Sejanus was a good non com. Tough, brave and disciplined. He did not need him to be distracted during combat or worse, have Jinn find him in this state and force him out of the unit.
“Sergeant Sejanus, I am going up to the briefing room and I fully expect you there in three minutes. Now, if I were you I would think upon the chance that has been given to you at this moment. I could be far less kind.”
He could sense the confusion in the frosted panel framed silhouette.
“In other words, sergeant, I am giving you a chance to say your final goodbyes because if I see, hear, smell or even suspect that you are in a similar state as you are now with the fine Commander Kilraven I will break you both down to buck privates, hand you a laz pistol and send you to the draftee divisions on a world so distant from Holy Terra that they will never have heard of it.” Lazar leaned in slightly towards the frosted pane. “Am I making myself absolutely clear? To both of you?”
“Yes sir.” The replies were almost in stereo.
“Remember where both of you are. This is a Cadian Division of the Imperial guard not a brothel.” Lazar snapped and spun on his heel and stalked towards the briefing room.
“Well that went well.” Sejanus sighed and leaned against the frosted pane and began banging his head in a slow rhythm of defeat against the door.
“You know. Three minutes is just about enough time for me to finish.” Kilraven cooed, her roughly calloused hands running over his shoulder and roughly pulled him away from the door.
The Iron Genesis was a relatively young vessel, certainly not from the same generation of the much more venerable Cerberus. However the innards of the vessel felt like an ancient tomb. The crew were quietly going about their duties preparing for the transit into the warp and the long journey to Tyrial.
A young man snickered as he watched Cassandra very reverently placing objects of power onto a small altar in the corner of her room. She turned her head on her long elegant neck and regarded the young bedraggled man with one pale blue eye and a milky white one.
“I won’t ask you.” She stated quietly, almost shyly before returning to reverently filling out the shrine. Her bed was not on the frame, instead the mattresses were balled up in a corner and the blankets were scattered around the bedding like a rat’s nest. The rest of the small quarters were bare and untouched. All save for the small altar placed in the corner where Cassandra
“What won’t you ask me, tainted one?” Ivan taunted then giggled.
Cassandra said nothing, did not react to the taunt and instead gently nudged a figurine into a position in the center of her small crystal altar.
“Surely you know this is the end for us. If he finds it.”
“Unlike you, I look forward to it.” Cassandra replied softly.
Ivan’s eyes widened slightly and he scuttled on bent long legs over to her side. He leaned in close to her but she didn’t seem to care.
“Do you really believe that? I know where he brought you from, tainted one. I know the fate that awaits those like you when you die.”
“You know much so why ask me these questions?” she asked and spared him a glance.
“Because I want to know damnit!” he shouted and suddenly stood up towering over her lithe frame. She did not flinch.
“I do not think you really want to know.” She countered nonchalantly.
“I have touched the warp like you, yet it does not ravage you as it does me. It does not tear through your mind like pack of hungry dogs leaving behind the blood and gristle of all its victims to settle in my dreams.”
Cassandra scanned him from head to toe for a moment, ignoring his wild eyed stare.
“Indeed, you have touched the warp and touched it too long I fear.” She noted pity in her voice.
Ivan shot back down to kneel beside her like a supplicant.
“What is it then? What awaits us? Do we share the foul Inquisitor’s fate?”
“Foul?” her eyes narrowed on the young man. “There is nothing foul about that man.” She protested, voice tight with emotion.
“Are you blind, tainted one?”
“I see far more than you could ever imagine young one.” She countered darkly.
Ivan crossed his arms and pouted like a child.
“Was he foul when he pulled you off the line of those to be fed to your God Emperor?” she asked gently.
“Was he kind when he left my sister behind?” Ivan countered angrily. “I still hear her screams in my dreams. I don’t sleep anymore. I can’t remember the last time I slept.” He sighed.
“He does what he thinks is best for all of us. Trust in him. He has a plan.”
“You sound like a cultist.”
“Silence.” She spat anger crossing her face like storm clouds and her will snapped out like a whip and struck the mad young psyker forcing him back against the bulkhead and snapping his mouth closed so hard that his teeth audibly clicked and nearly severed his tongue.
Ivan’s surprise lasted for several heartbeats then he began to launch himself at her, screaming in a rabid frenzy “I’llkillyoudamnyoubitchtaintedcuntwhore”
Began. Because Dorian’s fist planted itself firmly in his chest and the young psyker stopped short as all the air fled his lungs like refugees and he dropped to one knee gasping in shock and pain.
“You do not touch her. Ever.” Dorian stated grimly. He interposed himself between Cassandra and Ivan.
“Enough.” Malagaunt stated simply. His voice cracked the anger and tension like ice. He stood in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back. He motioned with his head to the corridor beyond the door.
“Show Ivan to his bunk, Dorian.”
“Yes, Inquisitor.” Dorian obeyed and simply slung the young scarecrow like figure over his shoulder. He began to exit the small cramped quarters.
“Do you even know what awaits us there?! I know. I’ve seen it. Its hungry and waiting for us. It has waited for us a very long time.” Ivan cackled madly as he passed Malagaunt by. He locked his eyes on the Inquisitor for a brief moment. “It will consume you.” He vowed.
“I don’t doubt that my young friend.” Malagaunt replied with a shrug and entered Cassandra’s quarters.
“Dorian.” Cassandra called him softly, her voice like a soft rain on glass.
“Yes, maam.” Dorian replied with a polite bow of his head.
“Whatever you do, do not ask him.” She directed. Ivan howled angrily.
“Why? Why do you do that to me?!”
“Your punishment, Ivan. I will not suffer your accusations all day long.”
“Ask me.” Ivan whimpered to Dorian. The stoic giant smirked and continued walking with his charge on his shoulder.
Ivan cackled madly as he was led down the corridor.
“Ask me damnit!!” he demanded and then the doors to Cassandra’s quarters slid shut bringing blessed silence back to the room.
Malagaunt eyed the bed with some distaste.
“I did not bring you from there to see you nesting here too, sweet Cassandra.” He stated gently but there was too much sternness in his voice. Malagaunt had seemed to forgotten gentleness. He was visibly uncomfortable with the softness in his voice.
Cassandra turned obediently and watched him intently like an idol. She was bent low in a half bow as if in supplication.
“You can take me away from the darkness but I carry it with me, my lord.”
“Indeed you do. I should know better should I not?” Malagaunt replied darkly.
“You are too kind to me, my lord. You can be cruel if you wish. Release all your anger on me.” She seemed to be pleading with him.
Malagaunt frowned and looked past her at the altar and the assorted figurines.
“What is this heresy?” he asked suddenly angry and peered over her directly onto the altar. She slid in under his chest like a snake and gently reached out and touched the figurines like children.
“What do you know of the old gods of man? The ones before the God Emperor and his Crusades of faith and fire?” she asked innocently.
“There are no other gods, Cassandra. This stinks of the warp to me and I will not be kind if this is so.”
Cassandra shook her head dutifully.
“No, my gentle lord, these are not warp gods…well at least not anymore if they ever were.” She smiled sweetly at Malagaunt and then back at the figurines. She touched the head of a bearded man hunched over in pain carrying a crucifix of razor wire and steel.
“This one gave his life for the sins of man. He rose from the dead and vanished into our dreams.” She touched another. “This one led his people through the sands and dusts of time, splitting oceans and seas to find the land promised to them by an angry god of the desert.” She ran a finger along the altar touching another figurine. “This one was strangled by an angel of light and fire and brought the faith of supplication and five pillars” She paused over another. “This one found enlightenment and freed himself of desire and the chains of this world.”
“I will hear no more.” Malagaunt snapped.
“Be angry with me my lord, if you must, but be not angry with the gods I brought with me. They were my only hope in the darkness.”
“The God Emperor of man should have been your hope.”
“And what could I know of him where you found me. How could I know of his light in the darkness of the Ey—”
“Enough.” Malagaunt swept his arm over her in a cutting motion.
She was instantly silent.
“Rest.” Malagaunt chided as gently as he could. “I will have need of you more than ever on Tyrial.”
“Ivan is correct you know. It will want to consume you.”
“And Tanis? Dorian told me you felt it.”
She looked frightened for a moment and then steadied herself.
“Tanis will be waiting for you on Tyrial.”
Malagaunt seemed to slouch slightly as if worst fears were confirmed.
“So be it.” He whispered. He started to walk out and paused at the door. “I do not wish to see those false gods again. Is that clear? They have been cast down and forgotten. There is no other god but the Emperor of Man and we are his servants.”
“I live to serve you.” She replied and without hesitation whipped out one hand and knocked the figurines off the altar with a crash and clatter. “Your will is mine.” She added and smiled innocently. Malagaunt did not want to acknowledge the chill that ran down his spine.
Brother Sergeant Jericho was reverently placing his weapons in their storage cases for the crossing. The war barge was being prepped for immediate launch. There was not much time for anything else, barely even time for prayer.
But there was time to worry.
He was concerned for his Captain. Mordred de la Croix helped found this company from the remnants of Tyranid veterans and those driven to hunt the vile creatures for their predations on the Imperium and the losses inflicted at Maccragge. Jericho had missed the battle of Macragge. His youth made him feel out of place at times for such a highly responsible position but Mordred was like that.
He chose men not for their years of experience or status but those that he could trust and mold. Jericho had no doubts that Mordred had plans for him. Big plans. Chaplain Mortus had slowly begun introducing Jericho to more commentaries on the sacred texts of the Chapter. The commentaries of luminaries among the Ultramarines and their interpretations of the Codex Astartes.
There was only one reason why a sergeant would be exposed to the more complex and difficult dimensions of strategy and tactics, in particular learning at the feet of one such as Mortus who had been Chaplin to three other Captains in his lifetime.
Mordred was grooming him for Captain.
The thought was astounding yet simultaneously exhilarating. One so young as he when there were other veterans amongst the Company. But Jericho knew that Mordred had gained such respect and loyalty from his men that hey would honor his request.
His dying request. Jericho shook his head. Why did it have to be Mordred? The xenoplague had taken him as surely as it had slain three others from their company when they entered the chaos crypt on Demeter. But Mordred was simply too stubborn to die and now the plague was devouring him from inside and time was no longer on the Captain’s side.
Jericho would have gladly given up his chance at the Captaincy if it would allow Mordred to live.
He paused. There was a message blinking on his personal com board. That was odd.
He examined the screen and noted it was marked private and sealed with an Inquisitorial rosetta.
He hesitantly flicked on the reader.
A florid hand written note scrolled down the screen. The script was elegant and cultured, this was obviously written by a highly educated person. One used to writing and making his script like art work.
Brother Jericho,
He would never even consider it so I leave the idea to the young and intrepid such as yourself. A dreadnought’s shell is a glorious thing indeed, it allows you space marines to fight on even after death and touch the face of immortality. When the time comes you may need to act for the good of the Company and your Captain. Think on it my young ultramarine. Mordred need not die.
E.G.
Jericho switched off the reader and fervently slapped the erase key.
The planet Tyrial was once a windswept world of plains and farms, hives could only be found at key locations while farm land spread out for thousands of kilometers. Tall stalks of corn and wheat would sway in the strong winds that would sweep down over the flat earth. Tyrial produced so much food that it was considered the bread basket of many of the star systems surrounding it.
When Tyrial fell to the Ork Waagh starvation suddenly gripped dozens of worlds and spurred the Imperium to retake the world. The monuments to the three attempts at such a venture were scattered around the landscape like fallen leaves in the autumn. Drop ships rested in craters that were still smoking from long forgotten fuel cells and ammunition packs. A heavy cruiser torn in half, one jutting out from a jagged gouge in the packed earth and the other bobbing gently in a lake stained with lubrication and blood. Space marine drop pods were cracked open like eggs, an occasional armored limb draped over the opening holding a rusting powersword or cracked bolter.
The graveyard of the failed attempts of man to reclaim this world were like an amusement park to the Ork Waagh that lived on this world. Orks strolled among the ruined corpses of man’s champions and happily stripped what caught their eyes to add haphazardly to adorn their weapons or armor. One Ork wore a space marine helmet on a spike driven into this back another sported an Imperial guard’s banner as a stained kilt while he plundered more from the wastes.
Drums could be heard thundering through the valleys of the small mountain chain that cut through these plains. Drums that called the Orks to dance like mad dervishes and cry out their victory chants. Drums to remember Mork and GOrk. Drums to scream Waagh!!
In one such settlement banners of the clan fluttered in the wind, the bleached skulls of their human enemies lined up in slap dash manner underneath each barbed metal pipe, wind chimes craved from rib bones clinked their cacophonous sounds in welcome to the winds.
War boss Grokmar Gilgamesh Morn grunted in disgust at the sight of the campaign map on his wall.
“Dis not the way I thought it wood be. This waagh killed too many of dem humies before da boyz could have any real fun.”
“Da humies will try to take us on again. Den we can get stuck in.” his chief Nob Grishnak asserted angrily snapping his power claw for emphasis.
“We’s Orks!” Grokmar shouted and slammed his fist on the nearest gretchen turning it into a pulpy jelly. “We shouldn’t be waitin’ for dem humies to come ta us. We should be takin’ the fight to ‘em. We should be killin dem and squashing dem not sitting here like old gretchen and waitin’ for the fight. I wanna get stuck in NOW. I want heads for me pointy sticks. I want blood to grease da treads of our tanks.” Grokmar grabbed Grishnak by the chest plate of his Nob armor and lifted him up with one hand. He shook his Nob with a frenzy of an angry warboss in search of more war. “Can ya give it ta me!! Can ya bring the Waagh to the humies?”
“I can try boss. But the mech boyz. Dey say all our ships are kaput. They willna fly unless we get more partz.”
“Der’s a whole valley of partz, Grishnak” Grokmar whirled around still carrying his Nob in one thickly muscled veiny arm and jabbed him out of the hut towards the outside.
“But boss, dos partz don’t work. We blew ‘em up but good.”
“We did didn’t we.” Grokmar chuckled gleefully for a moment, his eyes glazing over in a sweet reverie of blood and screams. His eyes suddenly darkened. “Dat ain’t no excuse, Grishnak. Now you get me some partz or don’t come back!” Grokmar growled and flung his Nob out into the mud and grime of the mechyards beyond.
Grokmar shook his head and turned back to the campaign map in frustration. He was an Ork and he wanted nothing more than fight and destroy but now he was bound to this world because his mek boyz weren’t as smart as they were supposed to be. Maybe he could give them proper incentive, feed one or two to his pet Sluggoth. He chuckled darkly. Oh yes, that would be fun.
He felt a breeze at his back and the flutter of the hide leather flaps of his hut being parted.
“Wat I tells ya Grishnak!” Grokmar snapped as he turned then stopped short. There were a pair of small human figures standing in his hut. They each wore a deep crimson cloak that covered every inch of their bodies and the hoods were drawn up over their heads.
“I don’t know what ya think yer doing here humies but I’m in the mood fer killin’.” Grokmar growled low in his throat as he stalked towards them.
“Hold.” One held up a feminine hand and her voice was sweet like an angel’s.
“Hold.” The masculine one whispered like an obscene chorus.
“We have a proposition Grokmar.”
“A proposition Grokmar.”
“We bring gifts.” The male now spoke. His voice was a deep bass and a perfect counterpoint to the sweet feminine lilt of the other.
“We bring gifts.” The whisper repeated.
“Ya think you can buy me? I’m da boss here. I make the rules. I calls the shots and right now I think I gots two more heads for me pile o’ bonez.”
“Ships.” The female asserted directly.
“Ships.” The male whispered seductively.
“Whatzdat?”
“Over the valley, through the forest of dead Guardsmen from Guderan, at the mouth of the river you will find ships.”
“You will find ships.” The female whispered like a lover. They both swayed in time with one another.
“Dis smells like a trick. You humies think yer smarter dan us.”
“No tricks.” The female asserted.
“No tricks.” The male repeated.
“We only want one thing.”
“One thing.”
“Yeah, wat?”
“There is an Inquisitor coming.” The male spoke quietly as if holding back a need to scream.
“Inquisitor coming.”
“What do I care? Huh? I kill anyone dat comes here. This here is my world now. It belongs ta da Orks.”
“Malagaunt.” The name rolled off the woman’s tongue like that of a lover.
“Malagaunt.” The male repeated like an admiring brother.
The twin figures glided over to the campaign map. The female gestured to a mountain chain on the map. Suddenly the harsh worked parchment seemed to catch fire at one point at the foot of one of the mountains. The fire burned a neat round X into the mountain.
“he will come here with many humans.”
“Many humans.”
“Imperial Guardsmen with which to test your metal.”
“Test your metal.”
“Imperial Guard?” Grokmar belly laughed and slapped a nearby table with the open pal of a beefy hand. A leg spun away from the crudely fashioned table with a resounding crack of tortured wood. “We eat dem fro breakfast, pick their bones for lunch and shit them out for dinner.”
The male swayed slightly as if listening to a far off song.
“And space marines.”
“Space marines.”
“Ultramarines in proud august blue.”
“Ultramarines.”
Grokmar’s eyes grew smaller as he focused more closely on the robed twins.
“Space marines, huh? Deys fight good. They killed a lot of me boyz last time.”
“Malagaunt must die.”
“Die.”
Grokmar strode up to the smaller female and towered over her eying her frail form beneath the crimson blood stained robes.
“Ya stink of Chaos.”
“Does it really matter?”
“Does it really matter?”
“Chaos boyz like ta stab ya in the back.”
“We bring you gifts. We bring you ships, we bring you guardsmen, we bring you space marines and we bring you an Imperial Inquisitor. Does any of this matter now?” the male sighed softly as if speaking to a child.
“Does any of this matter now?”
“Yer bringing dem humies ta me Waagh and yer givin’ me ships to bring da Waagh to the other worlds…I guess that means I won’t be killin ya…today that is.” Grokmar smiled wolfishly.
“Malagaunt. Do not forget Malagaunt.”
“Do not forget Malagaunt.”
“Yeah, Yeah, I heard his name enuf times. And yer names?”
“We are Tanis.” The female replied with an ecstatic joy
“We are Tanis.” The male whispered in agony.
Wherever you go, there you are.
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Very good. I am quite curious as to who Tanis is. A fallen Inquisitor? Either way, now that the Orks know they're coming, this is assured to be a good waagh.
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Spectacular. Absolutely spectacular. You have really captured the feel of the universe, and plot and characterisations are excellent. I think I'll have to go read your other fiction now.
Stravo wrote:Jericho switched off the reader and fervently slapped the erase key.
This smacks of routine use of a machine, like it's a simple piece of technology. Perhaps replacing 'key' with 'rune' would help.
--
And, to second Kuja (-and thereby to third myself?-), it's a Battle Barge.
--
I don't think an Inquisitor would refer to a Marine as 'Brother'--at least not unless as part of a full title (Brother-Sergeant, for instance)--and even there I would not be sure. The terminology of Brother, when used between Space Marines, is far more than a title used because of their membership in a monsastic order: each Space Marine bears the chapter gene-seed, and his family is his chapter. To my knowledge, the Emperor doesn't take on an all-father role, so I don't see a reason for the use of the term 'brother' unless they really mean it.
*Waits for Kuja*
[EDIT-added 'an Inquisitor would'. Subjects can be important to sentences, from time to time]
Last edited by Feil on 2006-05-25 12:24pm, edited 1 time in total.
Feil wrote:I don't think refer to a Marine as 'Brother'--at least not unless as part of a full title (Brother-Sergeant, for instance)--and even there I would not be sure. The terminology of Brother, when used between Space Marines, is far more than a title used because of their membership in a monsastic order: each Space Marine bears the chapter gene-seed, and his family is his chapter. To my knowledge, the Emperor doesn't take on an all-father role, so I don't see a reason for the use of the term 'brother' unless they really mean it.
I don't see why 'Brother' wouldn't be used. And it certainly sounds better than 'Initiate,' which to my knowledge is the only other official title for a rank-and-file Marine.
If you're refering to the "Brother Jericho," message bit, then in that case it would more proper to address him as "Brother-Sergeant Jericho."
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1337 posts as of 16:34 GMT-7 June 2nd, 2003
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...I LOVE Tanis. That's just....crawly, and that's just the effect for Chaos. If I wasn't already hooked, I'd be now.
But yes, Battle Barge.
Chronological Incontinence: Time warps around the poster. The thread topic winks out of existence and reappears in 1d10 posts.
Out of Context Theatre, this week starring Darth Nostril.
-'If you really want to fuck with these idiots tell them that there is a vaccine for chemtrails.'
I liked this part with Tanis, and I'm intrigued to see what kind of daemon Tanis is or Tanis is being posessed by. Just a couple notes to help with your future chapters.
The unclaimed dreadnought, if from a traitor chapter would have to undergo many rituals on Mars before it was ever allowed to be used in imperial service. Unless Malagaunt has gotten it from Mars somehow, I doubt the Ultras would even consider doing anything with it other then turning it over to be un-tainted. Perhaps this Dread was recovered from an old ruined chapter fortress which the traitor legions forgot about or was not able to get back too? I guess the mystery of this Dread also adds to the suspision of the fic. I'm guessing only time will tell.
Also it would not be jericho's decision to place Mordred in the tomb, even if he was to be made captain. It would be up to the Chapter Master and the others high in the pecking order. So Malagaunt's 'private' message just seemed to be a little off, but it could have an all together different motive. I some how doubt that Jericho was the only one to see it
A side-note on whole Dreadnoughts sleeping thing. Yes they do tend to sleep for years and years on end in their chapels, but since brother Godric has currently been awakened he won't enter this sleep again until his duty is finished. He was obviously wakened up for help against the 'nids and since he is awake he is going to see to the end of this business.
We'z gonna squish dem humies good, datz what we'z gonna do! Cuz we'z Orkz! WAAAAAGH!
"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!
That's a nice fiction going on here. That makes me restrain my desire for more Starcrossed. And if this is going to be on the same scale, the better for us.
The stuff with Malagaunts guys is very interesting, what's going on? What the hell is Cassandra? And then there's Tanis... Nice touch with the 'false gods' as well, they're easily recognisable for who they are but sufficiently altered to fit with the setting (except Buddha, he seems to be pretty much the same).
Oh, and...
Waaaaaaggggghhhh!
Post Number 1066 achieved Sun Feb 22, 2009 3:19 pm(board time, 8:19GMT)
Batman: What do these guys want anyway?
Superman: Take over the world... Or rob banks, I'm not sure.
Looks like a big fight is in the works. Here's hoping the Imperial Gaurd give a good acounting for themselves. We've seen the Bravado of the tankers, and the perpetually pissed off General Jinn. I'm interested to see what sort of officers the Basilisk Artilery has. I'm also wondering what type of sergeant Sejanus is. Maybe he is the senior enlisted man in the Division, or at least in a company. He is attending major briefings and was basically commanded a large formation on his own earilier. I'm eagerly anticipating the next chapter. Stravo, keep up the good work!
And I have to say Stravo you got the Orks down PERFECTLY, they are actualy not that easy to write without sounding either stupid or just completly wrong...you got it perfect.
Regarding Tanis - my theory (aka total shot in the dark) is that he/she/it/they consists of the two Inquisitors who went with Malagaunt into the Eye of Terror and didn't come back.
Chris OFarrell wrote:And I have to say Stravo you got the Orks down PERFECTLY, they are actualy not that easy to write without sounding either stupid or just completly wrong...you got it perfect.
Thanks so much Chris. I really wanted to make sure I didn't blow their portrayal since they're the main antagonists for this part of the story. However I welcome input on the Orks, for instance the Kult of Speed I know virtually nothing about. Is this a faction that these Orks should have among them and what does it entail? And does it matter what Ork clan I make them?
I also need some help with the Eye of Terror. There's going to be some upcoming scenes taking place in there (villain dialogue, etc) and I wanted to capture the essence of the Eye. Is the space of the Eye the same as normal space in the rest of the 40kverse or is it warped and crazy? And the worlds within the eye are they just like regular worlds save perhaps blasted and twisted a bit. Or do I go all out depicting pools of blood and corpses all over the place?
As to the worlds within the Eye are they all considered Crone Worlds by the Eldar or are only certain key worlds within the Eye Crone worlds and I guess the better question is WHAT is a crone world?
The Chaos Space Marines I get the sense sort of stake claim on certain worlds as bases. If they relegated to a few key worlds I need to know that. Can I make up a world or are all the worlds in the Eye catalogued in the fluff? And what Chaos Marine Faction is the best matchup for Ultramarines? By that I mean what is the Ultramarine equivalent among the Chaos boyz.
Sorry for all the questions but as you can see from the chapters your input is definitely reflected there. Thanks.
Wherever you go, there you are.
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Da Kult o' Speed iz der 'cuz da Boyz luv t' go fasta. Da kraziest, fastest, an' speediest Orkz getz togetha and dey buildz da kraziest, fastest, an' speediest trukkz, buggiez, wagonz, dethkoptaz an' grotbommz around. Den deyz paint 'em red ('cuz red'unz go fasta) and drive dem real fast, so deyz get in da fight first!
The Eye is a mixed bag. You can find virtually anything inside, being touched by the Warp as it is. Wartorn wastelands to full-out daemonworlds straight out of classical Hell to deceptively serene yet fundamentally wrong places, as long as it's twisted and evil somehow it's probably fair game. To my knowledge there are no set fluff restrictions on un-invented worlds (as there would be on, say, Second Founding Chapters for example), other than a few that have been established already.
Word Bearers are an Undivided legion and have run into the Ultramarines before (Chaos Gate). World Eaters are hard to go wrong with, being lunatic Khornites. The rest of the legions are of course perfectly plausible, but may be more difficult to write (not that I doubt you, mind, just something to be aware of).
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1337 posts as of 16:34 GMT-7 June 2nd, 2003
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Stravo wrote:I also need some help with the Eye of Terror. There's going to be some upcoming scenes taking place in there (villain dialogue, etc) and I wanted to capture the essence of the Eye. Is the space of the Eye the same as normal space in the rest of the 40kverse or is it warped and crazy? And the worlds within the eye are they just like regular worlds save perhaps blasted and twisted a bit. Or do I go all out depicting pools of blood and corpses all over the place?
The Eye of Terror includes some of the most screwed up landscapes in fiction. On some worlds, the Warp and the physical universe combine; it is Hell made real. Physical laws are bent and ignored; time flows at erratic rates; conservation of energy and matter are shot all to hell. Beings of the warp enter and exit freely, without the need for a powerful sorceror to summon them. Death is in everything: the skies rain blood and fire, the stench of rotting flesh fills the air. Perverted life is in everything: the landscape moves of its own accord, shapes like living things trapped inside the ground ripple at the surface, the sound of screams and groans and demonic whispering seeps from the twisted earth. Fires burn and writhe of their own accord as currents of the warp drift through reality, bearing with them the souls of the damned. The sky is stained a sickly reddish hue. It is the bastion of Chaos, and it lives up to its name.
[EDIT: Of course, as Brother Gaius says, this is only in some worlds.
Might I reccomend the Thousand Sons? The Orks pretty well manage the 'screaming hordes of monstrous beings'. A Tzeentch chapter, however, would seem to fit very nicely into this story, and be particularly fitting with regards to evil plots and deceptions.]
Crone worlds are worlds that used to be Eldar territory before the Fall. The various craftworlds still have to make voyages there for materials to make their soul stones.
Setzer wrote:Crone worlds are worlds that used to be Eldar territory before the Fall. The various craftworlds still have to make voyages there for materials to make their soul stones.
Technically almost all the worlds inside the Eye were Eldar worlds, it was the heart of their empire after all.
Crone worlds are simply the planets that are a source of soulstones [in the eye as you said]
Photography Genius is always allowed some leeway, once the hammer has been pried from its hands and the blood has been cleaned up.
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The Eyes population is at least equal to the Imperiums, according to some sources, so I don't think it would be possible to catelogue all the worlds inside it.
I think the chaos equivalent of the Ultramarines is probably the black legion, they're the archetypical chaos marines in the same way as the Ultramarines are the archetypical loyalist ones.
Post Number 1066 achieved Sun Feb 22, 2009 3:19 pm(board time, 8:19GMT)
Batman: What do these guys want anyway?
Superman: Take over the world... Or rob banks, I'm not sure.
Basically, if you can imagine something horrible, it's probably to be found somewhere in the Eye. The laws of physics need not apply. For instance, I recall seeing references to worlds shaped like discs, or stacked like wedding cakes, planet-sized Bloodthirsters chopping ships apart, etc.
Re: Chaos Space Marines - as speaker-to-trolls said, the Black Legion are probably the closest match to the Ultramarines, as they're the only Legion I know of that doesn't have a specific "shtick". E.g. the World Eaters, Emperor's Children, Death Guard and Thousand Sons are all devoted to a specific Chaos God, and embody that God's philosophy; the Night Lords specialise in terror tactics; the Iron Warriors are masters of seige warfare; the Alpha Legion emphasise the use of spies and secrecy, and the Word Bearers are missionaries*. The Black Legion are the only ones who lack such a specialisation, much like the Ultramarines lack the specialisations of many of their fellow Space Marine Chapters.
* They were, however, the main enemy fought by the Ultramarines during the Horus Heresy, and I doubt either has forgotten this. You could get a lot of mileage out of that sort of enmity. They also tend to summon a lot of daemons pre-battle to serve as meat shields and shock troops, allowing for more variety in their forces.
EDIT: On further research, the Alpha Legion also appear to have a particular grudge against the Ultramarines, and they like subtlety and secrecy. They don't operate from the Eye, though, so if you wanted to include that, you'd be better off with another Legion.
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And if this is going to be on the same scale, the better for us.
