“You are sons of Nocturne! Warriors born of fire and rock, forged by Nocturne's volcanic wrath and Vul'kan's adamantine will. You must strike with the molten fury of the Firedrakes who dwell within mount deathfire, face your foes with courage in your hearts & the Emperor's name on your lips....”

In the assault bay of the vanguard cruiser 'Khalkeus', Chaplain Kar'dem intoned the familiar sermon through both his helmet's speakers. Many, if not all of the force's veteran brethren had already heard this pre-battle speech before or a variation of it, and so they merely half-listened while performing final checks on their wargear and armour seals.

But not all the brethren of this strike force were centuries old battle brothers, And the Chaplain's pre-war sermon was not meant for the ears of brothers who had heard it's like scores of times before. But for the new 'little brothers' amongst their ranks who would not have heard it's ilk nor ever been subject to the organized havoc of an astartes strike force preparing for drop assault.

“Know these words, and know that this is what it means to be a Salamander! By your strength we will prevail, by your strength will the citizens of this world be made safe again.”

A squad of new recruits joined the strike force for this campaign. A squad of fresh faced warriors without a single honour-brand between them would now be tempered in the fires of battle for the first time. These un-blooded warriors knelt in a circle around the skull faced chaplain while the more veteran brothers waited patiently for the tech priests and lay-serfs to finish the rituals that would calm the drop pod's machine spirits. The stench of the oils and incense temporarily overpowered the stale odour of recycled oxygen while they performed their rites.

Chaplain Kar'dem waved his crozius over the head of each kneeling neophyte in turn as if to invoke a blessing or appeal for the safety of each in the name of the chapter's ancestors and the Emperor's watchful gaze.

“Do not pity the creatures we are about to kill for they are nothing. Mere tumors that infect the Emperor's realm like a cancer. They are deserving of neither respect nor mercy. They terrorize the Emperor's subjects, they defile the soil of a world claimed in his name! The citizens of this planet live in anguish, Their sons and daughters have died by the thousand to hold back the green tide. Though they are but men their sacrifice is great and their courage commendable, but now they have called out for their Emperor to protect them as is their right!” The chaplain's voice deepened into a harsh intimidating growl as he spoke on mankind's enemy, like the sound of volcanic rocks grinding and colliding. “And in the name of Vul'kan we will answer!”

Chaplain Kar'dem lifted his skull-faced helm from his young charges towards the waiting drop pods. Techmarine Agasus who had been overseeing the rituals of preparation had now deemed the machine spirits sufficiently appeased & given his blessings for the armoured warriors to board. Scout sergeant T'phor was also waiting patiently, or impatiently (it was hard for even a chaplain to read him) for the sermon to finish and to take back control of his charges again.

“The time has come to prove yourselves. Remember these words, remember your training and remember that you are scions of the XVIIIth primarch, the blood of the Emperor's own son beats through your veins. The honour of the chapter and the lives of millions depend on you. We will not fail because we cannot fail.” Kar'dem swept his crozius towards an empty drop pod that scout sergeant T'phor was climbing into.

“Now go, let yourselves be shaped by the anvil of war! And may the xenos break against our fury!”

COME FORTH

… what am i?

CREATION
YOU ARE THAT WHICH MUST BECOME

… what must i become?

THAT IS YOUR CHOICE

*you are assailed by visions of great war machines, smoke and fire, but also individual moments of creation, of inspiration and yes, of generosity, each path branching out lead by great creatures clad in emerald green with a white symbol on their shoulders, then you see a singular creature, cut down by strange weapons and laid low… his genius expended and his endurance suffocated… he breaths his last breath…*

*then you see an agricultural worker, tending to green leaves, producing as much as his natural willpower will let him… you see a bowel filled with steamed meat, and a flask of some drink… you see a family embrace him and then… in old age you see him laying on a bed of straw… passing silently.*

… i choose the path of fire and flame…
… so that others may not have to…

LET IT BE SO…
LET IT BE…
LET IT BE…

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Flash Back: The past

You are thrust into a large room filled with thick smoke. Smoke clouds drift from flank to flank in rivers so dense it becomes impossible to see in front of you. You are aware that there is fire burning as it lights up the smoke from many directions, and from within the smoke there are sounds of metal being hit, over and over again.

“Step forward neophytes” the voice was dry and almost a whisper with a sound like creaking wood.
“Today is the day of your first implantation… a great day to be celebrated…” the scratchy voice continued louder this time.
“But there is no time to stop… to temper your rapidly changing bodies great physical exertions are required… only then will you be worthy of the vision laid out for you..."
“Step forward one who is named Jek…”
Jek stepped forward into the smoke unsure of what might happen to him, his feet laid down in front of him delicately, his boots starting to warm to the metal underfoot… one foot, then the second, he persevered… forward…
then two gigantic hands appeared behind him as if from nowhere and clapped him on both shoulders… they were huge and warm and held him still. His young heart skipped a beat in his diminutive chest…
The gigantic robed figure spoke with that same creaking voice… “today you will be the creator… give life to steel, give form to the formless…”
The huge hands twisted young Jek off balance and around and pushed him inexorably toward one of the fires… the heat grew as he got closer and he felt the sweat on his face begin to evaporate…
The hands stopped him, and in front he could see a massive anvil almost as large as a man.
One hand gripped him as though a walking stick and the other left his shoulder.
A huge skeleton of metal lifted from a position hanging clanged onto the top of the anvil. The hands gripped a large cutting tool which hummed to life with vibration. It sheared parts of the skeleton until one large lump was freed and rested on the anvil almost reverentially.
“What do you see before you?” the voice croaked
“Salamanders steel…” Young Jek replied.
“True” the voice creaked
“But this is to be armor for a scout, tell me, what is it that makes Salamanders armor an improvement over that of Mars?”
“Salamanders Armour is crafted by the Emperors angels…”
“That does not make it better, young neophyte, as you will learn…” the voice crackled
Young Jek swallowed some saliva, still dealing with the fear in his system from earlier and the unbearable heat.
“it is also grown from a single crystal of plasteel… this… makes it stronger” Jek continued
“True again… but you miss much, little brother”
“Being made this way the plasteel will spread heat out through its entire volume”.
The huge robed figure picked up a large pair of tongs from beside the anvil and thrust them at the young Jek who took them. He then indicated that he should hold grasp the plasteel lump laying in front of him with them. Jek understood the gesture and did so.
The huge figure then grasped a hammer from somewhere in the gloom and hefted it high.
The first blow came down and shook the bones of the young Jek… he even briefly let the tongs slip before quickly regaining control of it. The next apocalyptic blow came down on the surface of the plasteel and spat sparks off at Jek which landed on his robe. It was very difficult not to close his eyes as the sparks shattered off of the surface of the metal, but somehow Jek squinted through his eyelids. The sound was deafening as the hammer hit over and over again at the metal. The tongs shaking with each blow which continued for what seemed like an age.
In between hits the voice explained: “mundane ballistic weapons used by our enemies strike armor through kinetic impact…”
“this kinetic energy is converted into heat…”
“spreading the heat throughout the volume of the metal reduces its strength”
“thus the armor is stronger”
Young Jek began to wonder how long he could grip before his hands slipped. But just as soon as he began to tire the hammering stopped.
The robed figure took the tongs in one hand and lifted the entire metal piece and brought it closer to Jeks’ face. Before him he could see a single pauldron of infiltrator armor, gleaming in the firelight…
“This takes one of the forge-brothers mere minutes to produce… but for you it will take the best part of a day… now it is your turn, little brother” the voice rasped.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Present Day: Present Time.

Kar’ad Jek listened to the Chaplains' speech attentively while knelt with his brothers beside him. He liked the Chaplain, he felt that it was only fitting for someone to observe the smaller details of faith and piety while the rest of the chapter was otherwise occupied with the pragmatisms of war and the day-to-day conduct of a chapter.

As he was bid to leave by the Chaplain, their acting commander, he rose and walked towards the drop pod and Brother-Sergeant T’phor. As he hefted the weight of “Validator” over his shoulder his enhanced mind multi-tasked. He recalled, as if in slow motion, the rite of field stripping Validator and checking all of its components with the anointed maintenance kit. He did not need to complete another check as, in the case of this neophyte, his memory was crystal clear and in slow motion. After completing his mental check he adjusted the rope he had slung diagonally over one shoulder, should they need to scale any mountains or impassable terrain at haste once deployed. He did know that they'd be fighting a defensive battle, at least in the first hours, by the planet's spaceport... But plans change.

Then his mind turned to his enemy. He knew of the Orc, a fierce green skinned Xeno who relied mostly upon its strength and toughness. How ironic it was that the Salamanders chapter, who were ALSO renown for their strength and toughness… even amongst Astartes… should be forced to confront them. At least they should have the advantage of home-ground as they defended the agricultural world of… what was its name? Ontium. He thought of what it would be like to meet the Ontium people, what was their government? What were their military strengths? And what, of all things, did the Ontians produce on their agricultural world that was worthy of redirection of the Emperors chosen? Then he remembered the Chaplains words... "as is their RIGHT"... All these thoughts excited him and he became eager to battle.

As he approached Brother-Sergeant T’phor he bowed his head slightly then asked:
“Brother-Sergeant! Can you illuminate us as to the best way to dispatch the Green Tide? Will we break them by comparing strength alone, like a blade questing for a chink in the armor… or is there a more nuanced strategy at work?”