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#Post#: 4980--------------------------------------------------
Jarosh the Techpriest - Victoria aut mors - Part 2 of 2
DIR By: Apothecary Meros
Date: May 28, 2016, 1:01 pm
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Criticism welcome, of course.
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Despite having seen it many times, the scene of the open
Manufactorum still stunned the priest. Golden radiance of the
sun shone through armour-glass windows into a cathedral size
building. Countless priests and even more servitors attended to
house sized mechanisms and conveyor belts carrying Bolt-gun
barrels, Conversion Field personal shield generators and treads
of the behemoth sized Leman Russ battle tank. He had emerged on
a gantry high above the assembly lines, observing like the
audience of a play. No theatrical production could match a scene
of this magnitude however. Unfortunately for him he could not
bask in the holy sight, instead he was searching. He advanced
from a calm gaze to frantic glances all around the room.
Now he had them.
Three priests, all in the same crimson drab he wore himself,
each with the same design of axe and a trail of servitors behind
them, walked gently across the metal floor. They seemed
inconspicuous; nothing really made them any different from the
other priests around the room, nothing but their destination.
Almost directly opposite where Jarosh stood he could see the
golden threaded crimson robes of Sachiel. Mixtures of anger and
concern boiled within his gut as a fountain of cascading wine
filled an aureate goblet encrusted with emeralds and thin
scrolls of litanies and prayers drooling from the sides.
Returning both his biological and surgically enhanced eye,
Jarosh spied one of the Techpriests drawing a palm sized metal
plate from beneath the folds of his robe. Enhancing his bionic
vision it became apparent it was a Data-Slate.
These devices were used as digital notepads, storing endless
banks of information and programs to link the user with the
world around them. Slates could be used to send text and oral
messages, issue commands to servitors, direct machinery, and a
multitude of other useful commands. The priest hovered a steel
finger over the screen as another plugged himself into the
console of the blast doors leading to Sachiel’s abode – much
like how Jarosh had entered the Manufactorum hall in the first
place, only he was actually allowed to open the door he passed
through. What the other priests did was treason in itself. The
hazard striped steel opened with a shrill cry, and they drifted
inside. Jarosh worked his mind with swiftness, putting all the
pieces together. The realisation came. Data-Slates had an
additional usage on the battlefield.
Remote detonation.
He arched his head to the right, to the assembly lines, and
picked out three high explosive charges buried within artillery
shells, grenades, and stuck to the half assembled chassis of a
tank. Still, he was confused, there were normally four on a
single circuit. He was angry too – he was never confused. Their
placement was far away, they wouldn’t scratch the armoured
plating where Sachiel sat. Curiosity led Jarosh down a staircase
to the right of him, down to the floor, amongst the machines. He
could defuse the charges, if he wanted. At his best estimation
it would take no more than five minutes to disable all three,
although as the three priests disappeared through the blast
door, he knew they would reach Sachiel before he had a chance.
Approaching the tank – its treads missing and a majority of the
armour plating still being manufactured – Jarosh found one of
the charges stuck carelessly on the side. Carved onto it in
crude lettering was Victoria aut mors. The words has appeared so
many times they’d lost all meaning. The phrase itself was no
more tiresome than what Sachiel spewed out on a daily basis.
Would their conquest over him really make so much difference
then? Sat beside a tank (specifically, a ‘Punisher’ variant of
the Leman Russ) he pondered, in a prayer like state. The looming
Gatling cannon over his head protruding from the turret, calling
to him.
Victoria aut mors.
Victory or death.
“Death it shall be, then” He spoke, his voice quiet yet roaring
with conviction, as with a furious grip he clambered away to a
hulking crate. Tearing away the lid with his axe, Jarosh
received a snake like belt of ammunition, which he immediately
dragged over to feed into the Gatling cannon. Sliding through
the hatch in the top of the turret, he felt the machine’s
thirst, and slotted the end of the belt into the chamber.
Satisfied, he glanced around. Two tiny boxes with chairs and
triggers marked the sponsor guns. Downward was the driver’s seat
– Jarosh didn’t need to move the tank though. Behind him were
the turret controls. Even in the 41st millennium, axle grease
and levers were still against eldritch sorcery and superior
alien technology the likes Jarosh could never even begin to
understand. Grabbing a two handed hold of a valve, he turned the
Gatling turret to face the church like windows through which a
gold lined scarlet silk figure was met with three metal faced
priests in drab crimson. He peered through the tank’s optics as
the middle priest slammed something on the ornate wooden table.
Jarosh grimaced with what remained of his facial muscle
structure. It was the fourth explosive. He was unable to hear
the interaction, but he knew Sachiel was scared like a child
waking up from a bad dream. Jarosh had never liked children.
Even so, it was far from a way to justify their murder. Latching
his talons onto another valve he increased the elevation of the
turret to point square at the trio of priests. He stopped, still
for a single moment, and tentatively lowered himself into the
gunner’s seat, watching the spectacle unfold through the misty
optics.
“You serve not the Imperium, only yourself.” The priest cackled,
his original vocal chords twisted with implants.
“I provide it more service than you will ever achieve, you wish
to raze this installation to the ground!” Sachiel retorted, his
timid voice just as gusty as when he was a juvenile, even now he
was face to face with a motley crew of his would-be assassins.
“See the error of your ways, Ba’koph, and stand down.”
“The error of our ways? You work us like dogs!” The priest with
the Data-Slate yells, his voice deep and scorn.
“We rise up in the name of the Emperor and the Omnissiah!” The
third exclaims, stamping the hilt of his axe into the ground.
Jarosh observed, pacing his breathing. Fire too soon and he
would risk hitting Sachiel with the volley of fire from the
eight barrelled canon above him. Fire too late and not only
would Sachiel be torn apart in the blast from the explosives,
but the charge on the outside of the tank would tear Jarosh into
an indistinguishable pulp of fleshy ribbons and torn robes.
“You are blinded, brothers. Blinded by rage and madness!”
Sachiel yelled, his eyes wide from the noise of a distant crash
– the facility was already being destroyed by more of these
maniacal villains!
“You are the blind one, Sachiel,” Ba’koph began. “Blind toward
your own stubbornness and blind to your tyrannical leadership!”
“If you take my life, at least preserve the ancient workings of
the Omnissiah!” He pleaded.
“We shall – we need only to destroy you.” The priest replied,
drooling with insanity.
Momentarily confused, he remained speechless as another, closer
noise, took his attention away. It came from above.
The priest with the Data-Slate took a long, exaggerated stride
forward. “In the name of the God Emperor of Mankind and his holy
Imperium,” He circled the button on the screen to detonate the
explosives. “I pronounce you heretic, Sachiel! Now burn, burn in
his righteous fla-“
Moments away from slamming his balled fist on the button,
flaring tracers of laser beams tore through steel and bone
alike, burning and charring the robes of the three identical
priests standing there. Glass fractured over the cauterised
wounds from the super-heated projectiles. Ba’koph and his
fellows toppled like dominoes in pools of leaking oil and trails
of slashed robes.
Jarosh thrust himself back into his seat in unparalleled
surprise. He had not even touched the trigger. For a hopeful
moment he thought he may be so in tune with the machine spirits
he had fired the weapon with sheer willpower alone. However, the
smoking barrels of the troopers descending on roped from the
gunship above the glass ceiling seemed to prove otherwise. The
manufactorum fell into a frenzy now. Those secretly loyal to
Ba’koph turned away from their stations and met the new arrivals
with savage force. Jarosh identified the sealed carapace armour
and Hot-Shot ‘Hellguns’ they bore to belong to the Militarum
Tempestus. The Imperial Storm Troopers. Power axes rose and
fell, cleaving through limbs while elsewhere rounds flickered
from chromium barrels into the spines of fleeing priests, with
little regard for where their loyalties were. Jarosh leaned back
inside the tank, his frantic experience had been enough to tire
him out. Grenades bursting razor thin shrapnel and combat knives
slitting throats all around, Jarosh did something he hadn’t been
able to do for almost six centuries working for Sachiel. He gave
himself the luxury of passing out.
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Think this is DeviantArt worthy?
#Post#: 4987--------------------------------------------------
Re: Jarosh the Techpriest - Victoria aut mors - Part 2 of 2
DIR By: Old Man Sanders
Date: May 28, 2016, 5:14 pm
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Good, but one question:
Where's Brokeback bane blade?
#Post#: 4992--------------------------------------------------
Re: Jarosh the Techpriest - Victoria aut mors - Part 2 of 2
DIR By: Apothecary Meros
Date: May 29, 2016, 1:42 am
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Soon, Mister Falco, soon...
#Post#: 5010--------------------------------------------------
Re: Jarosh the Techpriest - Victoria aut mors - Part 2 of 2
DIR By: Old Man Sanders
Date: May 29, 2016, 5:43 am
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Hurr Hurr
#Post#: 5018--------------------------------------------------
Re: Jarosh the Techpriest - Victoria aut mors - Part 2 of 2
DIR By: senera2000
Date: May 29, 2016, 6:24 am
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The Emperor approves!. A good read.
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