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#Post#: 8107--------------------------------------------------
The Brotherhood of the Lost: Legio XII, The Wardens of Light
Chapter One - Part II
DIR By: Apothecary Meros
Date: October 13, 2016, 4:59 pm
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The following is a short story about the third legion of the
Emperor's Adeptus Astartes during the Great Crusade. However,
this is no normal crusade. The twelfth legion here are no World
Eaters, they are the sons of Gwalchavad - The Wardens of Light.
The Imperium is a different place in this alternate universe.
The Interex and the Aurelian Technocracy have been absolved into
the Imperium by Warmaster Alexandros instead of destroyed by
Horus. There is no massacre at Isstvan, but there is a heresy -
an insurrection by the Primarch Icarion - and just like the war
set in motion by the evils of Chaplain Erebus, it cripples the
Imperium to the very brink of annihilation.
The full story is 6841 words (39,358 characters) in length, so
due to a post limit of 20,000 characters this shall be split
into 3 parts.
Note: The legion here are referred to as the Apostles of War -
the name given to this legion by the Emperor prior to
Gwalchavad's discovery.
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“I exist to serve.” She turned and hurried down a passage to the
Astartes armoury, her tracks emitting a low hum over the sounds
of distant training cages as the motor span within her pelvis.
The movements inside her were a cause of immense pain, a feeling
which would have driven any sentient creature to insanity over
the course of her long service to the Apostles of War legion.
She wouldn’t complain. Or rather, she couldn’t complain. The
conscious part of her mind was a captive within a cell of flesh
and bone – a prison engineered by the Legio Cybernetica for her
crimes against Imperial rule. Her father had told her to pursue
a career in the Imperial Army, instead of petty theft and
addiction to narcotic substances – to be like her brother in the
Expeditionary Fleets, claiming the galaxy for the Emperor
alongside his Space Marines. If only she had listened, and
avoided the lure of anarchist rebels and cults who didn’t like
to pay their taxes, she would have avoided the desolate and
torturous fate within which she was trapped. True, she served in
the Fleets with the Astartes. However, this was not the way her
father had imagined. Distraught, he had hung himself from the
lume-lamp in the living room of the family’s hab-block, unable
to find out where he had gone so wrong.
But she knew that not.
Captain Valten dismissed the servitor with a slight nod of his
head, keeping his focus on the passage ahead. His only concerns
were the maintenance of his beloved war-axe, Agony, and the
destruction of those who opposed the will of the Emperor. It was
no secret that he urged the warriors under his command to
embrace the calling of close quarters battle. He was the
physical incarnation of that doctrine. Those with the honour of
fighting by his side give their wholehearted support to that
claim, one of whom approached him now, with the familiar rhythm
of purpose.
“You come to me directly, sergeant?”
“I sought admittance to the training cages sir, although I did
not doubt the possibility of finding you here.” An emerald iris
glimmered in the dull light. Grey hair swept across the left eye
shimmered. The ends scratched at the skin of his lips while they
flexed into a sly grin. “Apologies for the disturbance; you seem
deep in thought.”
“Thoughts about the best way to beat some sense into you.”
Although his superior’s eyes gave nothing away, Kelenteil knew
the humour had been returned in what would have otherwise been a
threatening gesture. “Besides, I wouldn’t be heading to the
training cages right now if I were you, I’m assembling the
company on the muster deck for delivery of Lord Amalasan’s
orders.”
“I’m fully aware of that, captain. Just as I am aware of his
orders,” He paused, looking up with the same distrustful smirk.
“Now, I’d like to commence my own preparation for the coming
battle.” He slowly cocked his head to the left side, the swathe
of hair jumping a centimetre before settling over his eye again.
Muttering a curse under his breath, the twenty first captain
shifted to one side. Kelenteil’s grey armour brushed gently
against the ceramite of his captain. There was plenty of room to
avoid the contact. A deliberate move. A seed of annoyance
planted itself in Arngrim’s mind as the sergeant was enveloped
in the shadows behind him. It simmered in his mind as an
immediate thought came to his lips.
“I wish I had more men like him.”
***
The Firebrand, in all its majesty, was only one steel warship
amongst the sizeable mass of adamantium armour and broadside
cannons which called itself the Eleventh Expeditionary Fleet.
The Astartes warships didn’t come close to making up half of the
fleet’s numbers. Approximately five thousand Astartes covered
eight barges and cruisers that lay in formation with a tempest
of Imperial Army craft of all sizes. With the Imperial Army
soldiers making up for their biological inferiority with sheer
numbers, the manpower easily exceeded ten thousand personnel.
Despite the stunning figures, it was dwarfed by the countless
millions of Orks which now plummeted in their crude scrap metal
dropships to the rocky surface of Batu, keen to escape from the
jaws of the Emperor’s naval warmachines, in front of Cervantes’
crystalline orange eyes. The unique trait did little to dissuade
the youth’s peers and commanders alike that he was no more than
a hothead and in the words of his sergeant: ‘so reckless that
he’ll get the disrespect shot right out of him’. At least,
that’s what it said on the dataslate he has procured from said
officer’s records. It was their fault really, for leaving it in
such plain view – the locked door, however, should have
dissuaded him. It was an unfortunate casualty of the slate’s
retrieval that, from what he could gather, was unavoidable.
Acceptable losses.
His squad leader had never taken kindly to Cervantes De Leon,
not since their training on the ancient plateaus of Basques.
This world was a common ground for recruiting tithes of new
recruits and slowly whittling them down to a fraction of the
size. For the nomadic citizens there, life consisted of trying
to find a source of water and not getting picked off by packs of
carnivorous birds.
“This is it, eh? Months of labour in the Apothecarion and these
scrawny children are what we call a success? They look like they
can barely lift a Boltgun, never mind drive an Assault Bike.”
The grumble paused, surveying the line of stone faced neophytes
standing firm on the arid rocks. “Prove me wrong, sergeant
Moragh.”
I rolled my shoulders back, trying and subsequently failing to
find comfort in the officer’s presence. “I can assure you that I
shall, lieutenant Valten.” I said, stifling a harsher response,
glad for the helmet masking my displeasure of my officer’s
somewhat unnecessary, yet dishearteningly accurate deduction of
the half a dozen faces looking my way.
Crackling soil underfoot sang while painfully slow steps took
the Lieutenant back to his Land Speeder. The neophytes waited
until the powerful din of the engines blended with the desolate,
whining wind. Slightly relieved, I made an effort of stalking my
way along the line of the newly engineered Astartes – not a bad
number considering the multiple risks which geneseed
implantation presented, not to mention the staggering number of
aspirants who died before even reaching that stage. Venomous
memories flashed images before my eyes of a human form swallowed
by the inescapable maw of a ravine in Basques’ icy northern
continents. The lad did not scream, so at least some honour was
preserved in death. I suppressed subconscious twitch of my left
eyelid as my mind’s eye pictured another young aspirant impaled
on a nightshade pillar of stone, the auburn strands of his hair
pockmarked with scarlet.
While I methodically marched my way down, one neophyte dared to
shuffle his sandal bearing feet, the heat of Terra’s single star
burning the bare flesh on his back and areas of the neck
unprotected by the blanket of blond hair that cascaded down like
liquid gold.
“Struggling with the heat?” I immediately rounded onto the
fourth man in line, towering above him like Goliath over David.
“When you’re a space marine you’ll need to walk over rivers of
fire, wade through volcanic seas, and wield the element of fire
itself to smite the enemies of mankind in righteous fury!” I
barked, my over-exaggeration clearly hitting some emotional
chord when the closest two flinched slightly, although it did
brighten my mood to see them keeping their resolve. “You won’t
achieve that if you can barely handle the light of a distant
star. The difficulties in life to concern yourself with will be
not getting shot, and shooting everything you see that doesn’t
wear an Aquila.” My target shrank slightly, although I was swift
to realize it was only the result of my firm hand pressing down
on the human’s shoulder. Content I had suitably shaken the
brightly haired youth, I carried on, glaring as deep into their
souls as my lack of witch-sight would permit me, scouring the
muscle movements of their faces and studying the flashes of
emotion behind their eyes for something else I could give them a
lecture on. I felt another burst of rhetoric brewing
nevertheless, so spinning on my feet at the end of the line I
spoke once more. “To be an Astartes you must know no doubt, no
regret, no hesitation” I brought my feet together with a minute
clank which echoed while I prolonged my declaration, “and above
all you must know no fear!” I slammed my right hand against the
golden eagle on the front of my armour with a deep clang.
Despite their plainly visible discomfort the aspirants follow
suit, although their bare skin gave a sound akin to meat being
tenderized.
“And they shall know no fear!” They cried in a brutal harmony of
harnessed rage and savage enthusiasm for slaughter. They did not
need such rage at the moment, they weren’t sent here to kill.
Although, that would not lessen the risk of dying, as time would
shortly tell.
“It’s quite a view, isn’t it brother?”
Cervantes turned quickly, but relaxed at the sight of alabaster
white armour and an Apothecary’s narthecium. “I told you to stop
sneaking up on me like that, Alexandre.”
“It’s not my fault you’re more paranoid than an Imperial tax
collector in a Hive city.” The white-armoured figure stood
alongside him. “Besides, your reaction was quick, something I’d
hope for from a jetbike pilot.”
“Sergeant Moragh would rather see me with Sergeant Jorus in the
Heavy Support Squad. At least that way I can’t crash into my
squad mates,” He smirked in response.
“Sergeant Jorus has had a full squad since the Crusade began.
I’ve only seen his name on my medical records once before and
that was when he was having his geneseed implants. I’ve seen
yours so many times I’m surprised you’re not half adamantium.”
Abruptly they both ceased conversation, sensing a newfound
tension and averted their eyes to the twinkling universe beyond
the armour-glass window.
Cervantes carried on reading for a few minutes more, only
slightly aware of another presence having a look over his
shoulder. He opened his mouth again at last, shattering the icy
barricade between them.
“How’s the arm?”
“You’ve all lived on the streets of Holy Terra. You should know
how to start a bike,” I began, as the trainees braced against
great gouts of sand as a result of the snarling updraft from a
landing Storm Eagle, “and I would hope you know how to get one
past one or two obstacles.” I hoped they could, I was on bad
terms with the Apothecarion as it was and giving them more
indistinguishable lumps of meat on a morgue slab to sort out
wouldn’t brighten their mood.
Had it not been for myself scheduling the Storm Eagle to arrive
at this time I might’ve put a bolter round through the cockpit.
Our loud prayer had masked the sound of its arrival entirely.
However, I was too focused on trying to discreetly slide my
pistol back into its holster to be impressed by the Apostles of
War junior choir.
A string of brisk orders and the refreshing aroma of promethium
disturbed the atmosphere for the briefest of moments, before
five expectant Astartes found their mechanical steeds. I was
tempted to start another string of barbed orisons until I
realized it was the light haired one from my previous onslaught
and came to the conclusion that he didn’t deserve another bout
of verbal abuse in the space of five minutes.
“I don’t know what the captain might have put you up to
previously, but I can assure you that you’ll have a much harder
time with me.” With that remark I waved them away to drive off
into the horizon. Of course, they knew what they were doing –
mostly – I had given them the general instructions during
transit to the surface, although I had left this part out due to
fears of cracking a smile during the briefing. I hurried into
the back of the Storm Eagle as the rear door rotated to a close
and slid open the cockpit door.
The pilot serf nodded as I took my place in the other seat. “A
pleasure to see you, my lord.”
I returned the sharp head movement and observed six sand trails
dissipating in the humid atmosphere through the glass, double
checking that there wasn’t a bolt sized hole in it before
positioning my hands on the control panel. My vox crackled as it
linked to the device in the pilot’s ear. “Swiftly, pilot. These
young ones seem to have discovered where the accelerator is. I’d
like to reach them before they find out where the triggers are
to their Boltguns and we lose a few good bikes.”
“I think those two have already, my lord,” He hinted with a
joyful expression and pointed at a pair of metallic shapes which
sailed out far beyond the others – a staccato of muzzle flares
briefly flashing in the dunes, followed by a small explosion of
yellow grains further away.
Without words, I glared at him for a few seconds until he
received the message.
“As you wish, my lord,” He responded, pale faced. We lurched
skyward, levelling off when their bikes seemed equivalent to the
size of my hand. I felt a joystick appear between my clasped
hands. Looked like I’d found my own trigger.
“It’s not bad. How’s your ego; still bigger than the Sol
System?” The view of Alexandre’s tablet-device was blurred for a
moment while he chuckled. Facing away from his companion to lean
on the mithril railing that separated them, he flicked the page
down and began to read.
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