It had be days since Pontius had been nearly killed in the combat pens. He could hardly recall how he survived, only vague memories of Apothecary Haeron treating his wounds and the overwhelming shame of his defeat were left with him. His mind was racing with thought. “I have failed…again, I am going to be sent back to Ultramar. I am the shame of the Ultramarines.” He drifted in and out of consciousness from the sedatives administered by the Apothecary. His dreams were wrought with memories of Tarsis Ultra. Vivid, visceral scenes of the Orbital Station played out in his mind’s eye. When he was awake he poured over the pages of his Codex, mostly out of habit, hoping maybe it is in the pages of this historied tome he could glean some insight on how to proceed.

Finally the silence of his room was shattered with the sound of bulkhead door sliding on stone-face. Pontius strained to see who entered his cell, the wound in his neck only permitted the slightest shift of his head one way or another. As Chaplain Archomedes entered, the highly polished skull adorning his helmet clearly shone with the reflection of Pontius’ wounded body staring back at him. The Chaplain broke the silence that hung heavy in the air. “You have been tested, brother. The Apothecary made sure your body was pure. The Watch Captains confirmed your spirit. I am here to weigh your very soul.” His voice is light with a gentle cadence to his inflection. It was not what Pontius had expected. He’d convinced himself so surely that he was going to be sent back to his Chapter, a failure of the Watch, that he’d never even considered the alternative.

Before Archomedes could continue, Pontius met him with his own question. “Am I being sent back to Ultramar?” The Chaplain stayed silent for a few moments letting Pontius weigh his own question. Finally Archomedes replied, “That depends Brother Pontius, first tell me of your service on Tarsis Ultra.” Those thoughts still heavy in his mind he began to recount his deployments. “What of your lost squad?” Archomedes suddenly interjected in Pontius’ recounts. He paused for a moment, weighing his thoughts. Finally he began the tale, the Chaplain stayed silently the whole time, his skull mask’s expressionless stare seemed to question every detail. Pretty soon Pontius could not help but pour every detail he could into his recounting. He practically relived each visceral moment of that deployment, detailing how each of his brothers were lost, how he lost his limbs, and finally how he had been flung from the Orbital Station by the initial explosions and left to drift the void and witness the Hive Fleet descend upon the remaining forces attempting to retreat. After his tale ended it was followed by an awkwardly long pause. Yet again Pontius was the first to break the silence, “Why was I spared in the combat pens?”

Archomedes let his question hang in the air for a while before finally responding, “It is clear to me that the Emperor’s guiding hand saw fit to affect you destiny that day, just as it did the day you survived the Great Devourers endless maw. You have a higher purpose young Ultramarine, do not cloud your mind with the loss of your Brothers for we as Astartes all know that it is our ultimate duty to die in service of the Emperor. I cannot tell you why your fate has been altered so frequently, I can only tell you that the Emperor has plans for you that are not yet clear, and that Deathwatch could use an Initiate with your ability to survive.” With that comment, the Chaplain rose from Pontius’ bedside, reached into one of his satchels and hands you a black hooded robe. “It is almost time, brother. Don the black and meditate on our words. You will be summoned.” His faith and duty reaffirmed by the Chaplain’s words, Pontius changed into his new robes, ignoring any pain he previously felt, as soon as the Chaplain left and waited for his summons.

After a while his summons came, Pontius followed the servitor into the grand hall and he took his place amongst his soon to be Brothers, his eyes caught sight of the Watch Commander, a massive bear of a man. If you could even call this giant a man, more of an Astartes monstrosity than anything. He stood and listened to his speech, feeling his pride and zeal course within his veins. Then it was Pontius’ turn to approach the recently produce pyre and swear his oath. He strode confidently between his fellow Deathwatch, knelt before the Watch Commander and Chaplain. Locking eyes with the Giant Astartes he began to swear, “By the name of the Emperor, I swear to purge all enemies of man and uphold the brotherhood of this fraternity without prejudice or ignorance. I pledge to honor all doctrines, laws and secrets; and I swear my loyalty to the Deathwatch for as long as I am needed or until fate deems my service fulfilled by death.” As if to punctuate his sentence for him the Chaplain pressed the brand to Pontius’ flesh. He hardly felt the brand, recalling the Chaplain’s words to him. “A great purpose I must serve”, he thought to himself. He rose, to join his fellow Deathwatch as equals now. Proudly returning the salute he received from his peers.

Soon after the ceremony was finished Pontius set himself to purpose and strode through the massive doors on the far side of the room. “Time to see what they’ve done with my armor”, he thought to himself. As he entered the room he saw his set of “Heresy” pattern armor, now modified to Deathwatch standards. The once missing studs, common to the Mark 5 suit were now repaired. The black paint did well to conceal the damage it had received through its years of service, yet the blast marks of the explosion that sent him tumbling into the void still pockmarked much of its surface, the visage that once reminded him of his losses now reaffirmed his duty and zeal. The right arm and leg of the armor missing to fit his cybernetic implants. The left arm now forged in ornate runes and silver of the Deathwatch. The Techmarines of the Watch went so far as to leave the Laurels of Leadership painted on its helmet, now in silver instead of the Ultramarine standard of white. He donned his armor, proud of its apotheosis, and determined to match it with his own evolution into this new service. He let his pride coarse through him, feeling his lost squad smiling down on him from the Emperor’s side amongst the Heavens.

With his wargear stowed in its proper places, lastly he took his Cingulum from the servitors aiding him, the only piece of his former life still bearing its original colors. He strapped the knee length brown leather straps around his waist, letting the gold emblems of Ultramar that adorned the end of each strap fall and lightly clang against his armor. He was now ready to depart, and made his way to the Thunderhawk. To join his fellow Deathwatch and begin his Vigil. Strapping himself in amongst what he could only assume were his new squadmates, he remained quiet and listened to them batter amongst themselves, waiting for takeoff.

RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION pt.1 #3
Inquisitor Darkhour stared wearily at the piles that covered his desk. Dataslates, scrolls, books and loose parchments cluttered every inch of visible surface space. Multi-pronged candelabras line the perimeter of the room creating deep shadows and flickering pockets of light. With a groan, the Inquisitor rises from his chair and reaches for another dataslate. As he begins reading he walks a casual path around the circumference of his. He snaps his twice, quick, sharp noises that shatter the silence. Almost instantly a blank-faced servitor, its legs replaced by triangular treads, rolls out of the shadow, presenting a silver tray holding glasses. ice and a bottle of Amsec. He momentarily stops his patrol to fix himself a drink and then, glass in hand he resumes his combination of pacing and reading. Hours go by in the same manner, Inquisitor Darkhour only stopping to switch out dataslates. For each new dataslate, a fresh drink in hand. Finally, he reaches the end of the last report, disguarding it with a toss, he slumps back down into his chair with a contented sigh. He had finally come to a decision, perhaps the most important decision of a 1000 lives over a 1000 lifetimes…he had chosen his Kill-Team.

He had not come to this decision lightly, he had browsed through hundreds of worthy candidate profiles. He had been selective to the point to suspicion, or so some of the other members of the Inquisition thought. Darkhour had even delayed the deployment of the Righteous Indignation twice since the repairs had been completed. So long had she sat idle, the servitor-crew had time to repair most of the nonessential damage as well, the signs of any kind of imperfection now invisible to the human eye. Watch Fortress and Stations from across the cosmos had sent him progress reports and personnel files on hundreds Astartes and he had diligently combed through all, looking for the secret traits in each he desired.

Looking over the list of names one last time he slowly nodded his head in acceptance. Grabbing his glass from the desk Inquisitor Darkhour quickly drained its contents with a toss back of his head, slamming the empty glass down in satisfaction. Leaning back in his chair, the antique wood frame creaks as he shifts his weight, he begins to speak with the confidence of one who knows his commands will be explicitly followed. His blue eyes sparkle in the flickering light and a thin smile creeps across his lips as he speaks.

“Kill-Team, report to Hanger Bay A. Some of your brothers are coming to stay with us for awhile, do show them a proper welcome.
Captain Black, to me. I would have words with you before your team arrives.”
((#1)) ((#2)) ((#3))

<deleted; posted wrong thread>

Lazaros stepped into the spartan room and was mildly suprised to see a chaplain of all people waiting for him. He had meditated much on his previous few cycles within this fortress. Of the trials he endured that brought back memories of his first days within the Blood Ravens. Mental stress and physical endurance limits were pushed and pushed again. And now it seemed as if he had one further task ahead of him. But was this the last one? Or was this man here to declare his failure?

“You have been tested, brother. The Apothecary made sure your body was pure. The Watch Captains confirmed your spirit. And we have scoured your mind for corruption. Now I am here to weigh your very soul.” Lazaros raised an eyebrow but said nothing He mearly gave a short bow of respect to the Chaplain and awaited whatever it that needed to be done. When he did not see any servitors, needles or other medical equipment enter the room as was common when one checked for the 'purity' of psykers. Lazaros was further suprised. And as the silence dragged on and Lazaros ran out of details on the Chaplains armour to take note of he decided to cut through the silence. “Can I assume that this test is already in effect?” Once more Silence filled the air. Eventually the Chaplain saw fit to speak.

“Why are you here brother?” The way it was spoken was far from simple. That short sentance was layered thickly. “I am here because my chapter and Emperor wills it to be so.” He could tell even as the last word left his mouth the good chaplain was expecting something more. But he hardly wished to divulge his chapters reasoning for sending him here. It was only a matter of time before word reached of his chapters fate but he still had time. Or at least he assumed he had time. With the nature of the inquisition he couldn't be sure if rumours had already started to fly. By the stone cold stare and emotionless face he knew that at the very least snipits had begun to leak as they gunship brought him to this fortress.

He sighed heavily and just decided to go out with it. “If I may be so bold brother chaplain. Please make whatever judgements you wish to make. I assume you already spoke to those who escorted me to this place?” The chaplain seemed to mull this admission over for an excruciating length of time before speaking again. “Your chapter lies in ruins.” he said bluntly and Harshly. “It was so deep with corruption it tore the Blood Ravens apart from the inside out..... There are those who are not suprised by this.” He spoke of the many thousands of rumours that filted around chapters about the Blood Raven's questionable history. Some suggestions were outright treasenous but they were mostly made by those chapters who feared psykers and intelligence as a whole on a truly staggering scale.

“Have these accustations not been proven true? Will your chapter even survive or will the remainder mearly be consumed by chaos like the rest of your traitor brothers. That threatened to make Lazaros twitch in anger. But through sheer force of will he composed himself. “With all due respect brother. Unless you can prove to me that none of your chapter ever turned to the dark gods, Then I can make the same accusaitions of corruption can I not?” If this affected the Chaplain at all he did not show it. He mearly continued to ponder his questions and responses. “Is your chapter beyond hope brother? This is just the latest incident. In the last few centuries no less. Will this be the final blow for the Blood Ravens.... NO!” the last word was nearly roared by Lazaros. The the warp with decorum at this point “The Blood Ravens will rebuild and endure, We will accept a black mark on our banner but that does not condem the rest of us to damnation!” It as only during the silence that followed when Lazaros noticed how heavy his breath had become. He forced himself to calm his hearts and his breathing. “We will Endure, And we will Continue to fight in the name of the Emperor. IF he wanted the Blood Ravens to be no more, I would not be here now.” The chaplain seemed to accept that response readily enough. Or at least Lazaros assumed. It was impossible to tell what the Silver Skull was thinking as his facial expression had not changed at all during this exchange.

After yet another eternity of silence the original question came back to him. “Why are you here.” He spoke calmly, As if the previous outburst had never happened. “To prove that my Chapter is still loyal and still capable of service to the Imperium. Just like you, And every other brother here.” With that the Chaplain simply turned on his heels as a servitor brought yet another new robe for him to wear. “Meditate on this coversation brother, When you are ready, you may follow the servitor.” And with that he was once more left alone. He sighed heavily and dropped his head into his hand. He wordlessly grabbed the fresh robe and changed himself before kneeling to give a quick prayer to the Emperor. “Take me.” he told the Servitor.

He used the walk to think about his words with the chaplain. He hoped he did not damn his chapter or cement any of the rumours into that mans mind. Well, there was nothing to do about it now.

The ceremony that awaited him was far more populated that he would have guessed. Until now everything he had done was done alone to minimize the chance of him killing everyone around him with a psykonicly induced killing spree. And to top it all off was the largest Space armine he had ever seen. And whoever did make his armour did a masterful job of constructing it to his size. He was almost as large if not on par with some of the rumoured brothers of the Black Dragons chapter.

He took his place beside the Six other Brothers that he assumed because of their positions, were all applicants to the deathwatch like himself. He tried to take stock of their faces but the Massive Space wolf was beginning to speak.

“One unbreakable shield against the darkness. One last blade forged in the defiance of fate…the All-Father spoke these words during the creation of the his legions. Heh, how have things changed. That whores-son Horus saw to that.” He said with a dark chuckle.

Heavy, resonating steps that send reverberations through the ground steps possibly the largest Space Marine you have ever seen. Even without his ancient Terminator armor he would have easily stood several heads above the tallest of the Astartes gathered. His head is shaved, save for a warriors-stripe of hair, grown long and braided back, left to dangle behind his shoulders. Faded runic tattoos pepper both sides of his head. A long white beard reaches down to his chestplate, framing a mouth featuring canines so large it never fully closes. In his gauntleted hands he casually holds a massive double-bladed Frost Axe. As he speaks his fingers gently move across the rune work engraved on its haft.

“The Second Oath, brothers, is more significant than you can yet comprehend. Your individual trials have been intense – a time of testing mind, body and spirit. Our doctrines are a hard thing to learn, old grudges not easily forgotten.
But it is today that you are truly Deathwatch! Take pride in what you are: first amongst equals! You were Space Marines, Angels of Death, but now we surpass even that. Think on how few, even among the greatest ever known, get to bear this honor.
All-Father willing, we will all return to the Chapters we hail from; ready to strengthen our brothers from what we have learned, more adaptable to their needs, all because we were Deathwatch!
You will have stood as a bulkward against the never ending dark. It is in our strength that mankind finds it salvation. They will never know, there will be no thanks. We have stood the Watch for over ten thousand years, and if the Throne needs, ten thousand more. Accolades should matter little to us, for we fight in the shadows and so in the shadows we must remain.”

“Once you pass through these doors,” - gesturing to a set of massive doors behind him-“there is no going back. You will be bolted into power armor. You left shoulder will bear the icon of our holy order. The right will remain the icon of your Chapter. Your service honors both and betrayal is a betrayal to both. The rest of your armor is black, expect for left arm, made silver. You don the black to cloak yourself in darkness, for the shadows are your ally. Think on that a moment.”

Two servitors shamble in from the shadows. One is carrying a tripod stand of black iron, the other a dish filled with red-hot coals. They placed these things nearest Chaplain Archomedes before disappearing back into the dark. From his belt, Chaplain Archomedes pulls out a steel rod with the skull-and-bones icon of the watch and rests the tip in the fire.

The Watch Commander continues to speak, his golden eyes locking with yours…
“Do you swear your loyal service to the Deathwatch for so long as it is needed?
Do you swear to stand tall beside your fellow Space Marines, no matter their Chapter, no matter the scars of the past, to fight against the xenos threat side-by-side at the cost of your life?
Do you swear to pledge your soul to the holding of this order’s doctrines, laws and secrets?
Swear now and hold these above all else, or lose all memory of your time here and returned to your Chapter a disgrace…”

When it was Lazaros's time to give his oath He offered his forarm, raised up to accept the brand willingly and happily. “In the name of the Imperium which houses me, In the Name of the Chapter that binds me, In the name of the Primarchs who Sired me and in the name of the God Emperor who Rules me I do swear serve loyally and without fail to the Service of Deathwatch which will guide me and my actions until it no longer needs me.” Though not his first Branding it was definatly no more enjoyable. Still he kept his face straight and simply starred down at the newest mark of service to be added to his body. When the Brand was finished his chest swelled with pride as the steam faded and the symbol could be clearly seen. He stopped admiring the mark and proudly returned the salute given to him by his new brothers before Moving to be donned into his new armour.

Like the Massive greatwolf outside Lazaros was also accustomed to having difficulty being equipped with the appropriate amrour and wargear. Though while it was because of the Greatwolf's massive size that he had trouble. It was Lazaros's shorter than normal stature that was his problem. He asssumed his old armour was stored if not already taken back to the chapter, he hoped so. The Blood Ravens could scarce afford to lose any piece of wargear at the moment.

He waited patiently, tapping his foot as the Techmarines and servitors were still bringing out a suit that they said would fit his frame. He wasn't expecting anything new, or really anything was wasn't going to be a complete cannabalism of various parts. What he did receive oddly enough was an old suit of corvus armour that was brought before him. It was perfect for his size he had to admit. And it was well used, that was plain as well by the battle scars that dotted its otherwise smooth surface. He slowly ran his hand over the black paint for this last chance to observe exactly how different he would be looking as opposed to his usual chapter hereldry. It would be a strange change. He noticed that the shoulder pad was already painted into his chapter symbol. Whether it was repainted from its previous colour or taken off a different suit and fitted to this one was hard to tell. And the Helmet was re-painted into the familiar blue that marks all Astartes Psykers apart from their brothers. It was the only part of his armour apart from the shoulder pad and his knee caps which were also painted the Psykonic blue and embolsed with the Horned skulls of the Librarium.

Wether it was because as a techmarine he could respect the admiration of such a fine display of Imperial ingenuity, or because He was sympathetic to the thoughts and senses that were overwhelming Lazaros so soon after accepting the mark of service that he came up behind him silently and laid a hand on his shoulder. No words were said but Lazaros knew that he must move on and don the suit instead of starring at it. “I am ready Brother Techmarine.”

He had to admit. The suit was very comfortable. He felt the familiar surge of superhuman strength and fortitude pump into his veins and went through the opening targeting displays of his helmet as it became adjusted to its new wearer.

Maybe it was the machine spirit or the suit was just made a little bit lighter but it moved easier, There was less of the resistance that one usually encountered with a suit fo power armour. But the suit itself seemed willing if not, Well eager to get itself moving. The joints and muscle responses seemed to adjust and compensate for even the smallest of movements. Anything form simply shifting the wight from one foo to teh other while standing or full on running. The suit just moved smoothly.

While he was marvelling at his suprising dexterity the Armourer and his servitors came bearing his new weapons that would be used in the near future if he had any guesses. Nothing out of the ordinary, A Brand new bolt pistol fresh from the forge worlds and some basic munitions. He fitted each of the grenades the his belt as well as the pistol.

What was next was as breathtaking as the suit of armour. The plain force staff that rested in the hands of the servitor. Its shaft of precious wood that was undoubtedly centuries old and was worn smooth by the grip of a dozen different hands over those venerable years of service. The head of the staff was carved from the rare probably illegal ivory of a beast he could not hope to name from some corner of the Imperium he would probably never see in his life. But the craftsmanship was marvelous all the same and it had the tests from his Chapters Librarium that he first brought with him to this place, wrapped around the staff just underneath the horned skull. It was the Same Ram horned skull as he wore on his armour's chest and knee pads. He picked up the valued staff and let its power course through him as he did when first donning the armour. The dapening implant was already lifted from him during the giving of his oath. SO now he felt whole again with his mind and his talents back at his finger tips. He breathed deeply through his Helmet's grill and Bowed to the Master of the forge. With his new weapons it was time to gather with the rest of his brothers in the gunship.

Of all the activities one might find themselves occupied with, Cadmus had always found standing at attention to be the most serene. Nothing quite came close to the tranquility and direct isolation that came from standing motionless, facing forward, for Terra knows how long. No, nothing came close; except for perhaps a productive bolter drill. He always found that instead of being caught up in the rhetoric of the Chaplains, or intently listening the battle speeches of his commanders; he'd instead be inside his mind imagining bolter drills. Such blatant disregard for scripture and Codex would be a condemnation on any Astartes and doubly so for one hailing from the ranks of the Ultramarines, but Cadmus had always been a clever one for eluding scoldings from the Chaplaincy; and his skill with bolter and chainsword had insured him against any further mutterings.

So it had been, that Cadmus Antigonos Varus had served amply and ably for three Terran centuries alongside his battle-brothers in the Ultramarines. However, it was truly hard to tell, so much time had passed since his days as an acolyte in Parmenio. He'd lived a happy life among his brothers in the columned halls of Ultramar's primary training world; days of bloodshed and camaraderie forged underneath the heat of that planet's sun....all fleeting now, like dust. In fact, many of those distant memories from his first few decades of service; let alone any of the life he may have had before Ultramar, and the Astartes was nothing but vapor in the air now. The following centuries were a jumble of horrific terrors and triumphant victories, like any Ultramarine he saw his fair share of xenos, heretic, and mutant. Never far from the front Cadmus found a new kind of serenity in the ordered combat of his battle-brothers. From one collective campaign to the next he became less aloof and more pragmatic; finding more time to understand the value of rhetoric and the precarious nature of morale. Perhaps that was why, standing at attention in a foreign hangar, daubed all in black, he found it hard to not look back on his service in the Ultramarines with pride.

Of course, he knew the rules; so he hide that pride under a veneer of stoicism.

It was dark everywhere, black on nearly everything. The Deathwatch was as mysterious and foreboding as he remembered it, and their pitch black color spoke volumes of the organization. Those same colors would alter a Space Marines' soul....twisting it, breaking it, resetting it; much like one would a broken limb. Each day spent in service to the Emperor while carrying the Oaths of the Watch upon ones back, was another day of titanic accomplishments passed. The trials laid before the Kill Teams were always colossal and with their fair share of real risk. However, should a man survive for a time in the Deathwatch, and emerge truly alive and reforged...then he will never be the same to his Chapter and peers again.

Cadmus had learned this the first time. He had returned to his Chapter a hero, but he never truly felt like one. The shadowy years of his first term within the Deathwatch were a pall of darkness on his memory. He became visibly disturbed and noticeably quiet compared to his younger self. The Chaplaincy found reason to be concerned that a veteran of the Second Company would be so beleaguered and lost. By their suggestion, in an attempt to reconnect him with the Chapter, Cadmus was effectively stripped of his rank as veteran sergeant and abruptly elevated to the Honour Guard. The Captains, Chaplaincy, and Librarium all agreed, that if Cadmus Antigonos Varus were ever to serve honorably like a true Ultramarine again, he would have to experience battle aside the Chapter's finest, for the honour of them all.

---

"Teklon IV! This is Teklon V! Do read, copy?"

Mykias immediately jutted up in his crash harness, smoke clouding his vision. He fumbled around for the vox-trigger, meekly, finding it wedged in between his seat and sparking data-panel. Clicking the red button on the end of the trigger he heard an audible, "Beep!', and coughing began to speak into the smoke around him.

"Teklon V! This is Teklon IV! Solid copy! Shit, Wendel I think I broke my leg in the crash!", Mykias sputtered the words out as a sharp pain jolted up his thigh.

"I...I...I've got you Myk, don't you die on me down there! A...a... retrieval teams already on their way! C'mon buddy...just think about slush cakes! Yeah, back at Yarda's in the Hive!" Wendel's voice crackled through the vox every word drenched in uneasiness.

"Y'know I hate slush cakes, they taste like garbage; and not the good kind like they feed us in mess. Heh.", Mykias stifled out a chuckle.

"Just keep being a smartass, that'll get you through....I know it.", Wendel paused for quite some time, "Hey..um..buddy....I'm dropping out of vox range, I need to refuel and get help. Stay safe, Emperor Protect You."

"Fly straight Wendel, I'll see you back on base," The static on the receiving line gave Mykias the impression he was alone now.

He dropped the vox-trigger suddenly feeling his fatigue set in; there was no one on the other end anyways. He and Wendel had been assigned to survey a 400km span of forest that had somehow sprouted and matured within the span of a season. The survey was to hopefully uncover the reason behind this, but they hadn't even been over 10km of the mess before Teklon IV got shot down. Flying unmanned Vultures, Wendel had no weapons and no wing-man and instead was forced to flee back to Imperial HQ, on the opposite planet-side. Effectively, Mykias was therefore grounded and staying put for quite some time.

Two minutes of painful shifting allowed Mykias to jostle the cockpit release open. With a pneumatic hiss the Vulture's cockpit hatch popped off and slammed into something solid a few metres away. The smoke began to immediately dissipate and Mykias' eyes flung fully open drinking in the dark green forest light around him. The clearing that sprawled around him was like something from a fairy tale. The trees bent ever so softly in the breeze, waving back and forth on the perimeter of the glade, small ponds and flowers dotted the space, while large beautifully eroded boulders stood silent like sentinels over it all.

In the center of all this beauty sat the crash of the Teklon IV, it's wings smashed to smithereens and it's primary fuel container nowhere to be seen. Mykias gripped the edges of the devastated wreck and with great care lifted himself up and out of the sparking cockpit, and to the semi-stable remains of the wing-plane. He patted around on his Imperial Navy jacket, searching for his emergency transponder; his chrono had one, but it'd been destroyed in the crash.

"Don't activate that beacon Guardsman! We don't need more of your kind blowing our cover." The voice was aggressive and direct, but there was a certain manner to it that made Mykias freeze where he sat with his hand on his jacket.

"I....I...uh...", Mykias moved his hand slowly away from the jacket pocket, darting his eyes around the corners of the clearing, he began to slowly turn.

"...and don't you dare turn around...we don't need-", The aggressive voice was immediately silenced by another.

"That's enough, Avenion. Keep up with the unwelcome chatter and I'll be kicking you back to the Scout Company before you can recite Guilliman's Prayer. Telion will shorten your tongue with a few midnight patrols." This voice was much more commanding, stern even; it cut through the other man's voice like a knife, and froze Mykias where he sat.

"Form a defensive perimeter around the clearing, facing outwards at 45 degree angles. Keep your eyes open for any movement. I'll greet our 'friend', we may as well see if he knows anything..." The voice was coming closer, from directly behind Mykias; it's gravelly pitch getting deeper as the speaker came nearer.

Mykias felt like his heart might leap into his throat as he heard heavy armored boots approach him from behind; and he nearly relieved himself of his lunch when a large mailed fist came down and pulled him up by the shoulder, flinging him like a child onto the figure's back. It all happened so fast that Mykias didn't even catch a single detail of his aggressor, save for the fact that he was immensely large and shaped like a man....or rather, a giant. Instead, he bobbed, helplessly on the giant's back, his vision blocked by a large crimson cape as he was carried away from his wreck and into the twilit under-boughs. There the monstrosity dropped him and for the first time Mykias truly saw them.

Gathered in a tight circle, ever vigilant and nearly hidden from view despite their massive countenance, were at least ten legends, no....myths. Mykias had only heard of such things in stories, and though he knew there was always truth to stories, he was shocked to find Space Marines alive and breathing before him. The man who had grabbed and carried him like a child stood tall before him resplendent in his armor. He looked down on Mykias with deep brown eyes set into a face of granite, his hair was cropped in a traditional military cut, framing his anvil jaw and unflinching stare. His armor was blue-and-gold like his compatriots, save it was far more ornate; the pauldrons and helm emblazoned with ostentatious Aquila and eagle insignia. Hanging from his side was the largest rifle Mykias had ever seen, and clutched in the marine's other hand was a massive bearded axe, just as intricate as the armor, the weapon seemed to hum quietly with some unknown energy.

"My lords.....forgive me I didn't know..." Mykias dropped his head in shame and fear.

"I suppose I should be happy that you didn't spot my brothers, it is a testament to there training. I am Veteran-Brother Cadmus Antigonos Varus, and these are the loyal men of the Ultramarines. The Emperor may have been smiling on you when you crashed so close to us today, Guardsman; for you are deep in enemy territory, and judging by your gear you didn't know that.", Cadmus spoke calmly but with great authority.

"Enemies....my lord? I mean, I figured I had to be shot down by something, but I figured it was a rogue agri-drone flown into my engine or something....It's all a blur, I'm sorry I broke my leg in the crash.", He realized just how stupid and feeble he sounded as the words left his mouth.

The Ultramarine smirked. "Very well, then perhaps it's best if we secure you a-", gunfire erupted suddenly as a marine closest to the pair suddenly fell over motionless, a trailing line of smoke arching from a large hole in his helmet's visor.

"Sniper fire! Xenos! Take cover, and return fire!" Roared Cadmus as he snapped on his helm and rushed to the fallen marine suddenly forgetting about Mykias and his broken leg entirely.

Mykias crawled up into a ball, wincing through the pain as he forced his ruined leg to come closer, in an attempt to become all but invisible. Gunfire barked loudly from the massive firearms the marines carried, lighting up the shadowy realm underneath the trees in a blitz of lights and sound. Beams of dazzling energy of different shades and varieties responded, followed by a withering hail of silvery discs that cut through the trees and stones like cardboard. It was all Mykias could do to stay alive, but in the chaos of it all he saw the giant named Cadmus running back and forth among his men; barking out orders and shooting off salvos one-handed from his rifle.

"Fear not death, brothers! For we are the angels who deliver it!" Cadmus shouted over the din of battle.

The marine was a whirling cavalcade of devastation, pointing at barely visible lithe foes on the horizon with his axe, only to moments later put them down with a single round from his firearm. He would then dart away to assist his brothers where the line began to falter, only to dive headlong into close combat with the foe when they surged forwards. The battle continued in this way for what seemed like hours...until finally there was what seemed like a lull.

The marines, battered and beginning to show signs of actually having fought, regrouped at the tree where Mykias sat huddled and stunned.

"You beat them all off!" Mykias exclaimed, shocked beyond caring about sounding like a child when he said so.

Cadmus nodded in turn, "Yes, but they will be back and in greater number; the xenos scum are convinced this forest and planet is their's.They couldn't be more wrong. However, we can no longer dally here; as we speak they make for a "tunnel-of-sorts" they have hidden deeper in the forest, and we must regroup with the rest of our company. To join our strength to theirs, before we assault it."

"I...I understand....so where does that leave me?" Mykias swallowed as he finished the question, dreading the answer. He avoided the stares of the gathered marines

There was silence among the ranks, as all the remaining Ultramarines looked to each other in question.

"I alone will stay with you until your transport arrives, you are not my brother's burden to carry any longer.", Cadmus spoke and all the Ultramarines listened, save one.

"We cannot risk losing you to some damned extraction mission Brother!" The aggressive one named Avenion stepped forward once more; his eyes ablaze with anger. "We already lost Dethalos protecting this crash site and this speck of human scum!" The marine stepped forward pointing a finger at the corpse of the fallen Marine and his firearm at Mykias threateningly.

"Dethalos died in the heat of battle against an Eldar sniper, protecting this quadrant; which was our mission, not the crash. If you believe anything else Avenion then you are delusional and clearly need time with the Chaplaincy as well as the Scout Company." Cadmus stepped directly in front of the other marine as he said so, putting himself between Mykias and crazed man.

"Very well, brother. I bow to your veterancy in this matter; far be it from me to deny you your suicide mission." Scowled Avenion as he began to form up with the others.

"You may have heard, brother. I'm quite found of them." Replied Cadmus with a smirk, as some of the other marines passed off what could have been chuckles.

Within moments the tactical squad had disappeared into the mist, their fallen Brother carried off with them, leaving the two alone among the alien dead. Flies and other carrion creatures began to gather, as Mykias stay huddled in his tree shelter, the massive marine standing watch just metres away. He passed the time flitting his eyes around the glade, to the destroyed and yet elegant bodies of the xenos, or the gorgeous gems that lay encrusted in their armor, or perhaps the Space Marine, or rather his back; for he never turned around from his vigil. Seconds bleed into minutes and minutes turned to hours, before Mykias knew it he had drifted off to sleep.

A branch breaking snapped him from his slumber. His eyes flew open terrified to find the marine squatting before him.

"Be very quiet Guardsman. I turned on your transponder while you were out....it's time to go, but we need to be quiet as Hive rats." Cadmus was unnaturally quiet for his size as he motioned to a group of lithe figures, similar to xenos they fought earlier moving on the other side of the clearing. With his axe the marine motioned to a trail that beat off in the opposite direction.

"Two kilometres that way is your ticket home. I told them to land away from the crash so as to avoid more casualties. I will hold the xenos at bay." He turned without another word.

"But, wait....", The marine stopped momentarily, "You saved me, when the others thought it wasn't worth the time, or resources, or whatever. How can I repay you?" A strange mix of anxiety and fear began to creep over Mykias as his eyes darted down the trail he was supposed to follow and back to the man before him.

"You'll be fine, just live and I'm sure you'll make it all worthwhile. After all, the Emperor seems to be watching over you,". With that the marine slammed on his helmet and began firing rounds off at the direction of the xenos, charging fearlessly, his axe held high.

Mykias scampered into the forest, tripping and limping for dear life. Every few metres he turned back to see the flashes of light as the marine dashed back and forth among a myriad of figures that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Mykias stood and watched in awe as the Ultramarine, with inhuman speed rushed from tree-to-tree firing off rounds and felling xenos in a single swipe of his axe-blade. The aliens fell before him like so many blades of grass and then they were suddenly in full retreat. The marine turned and looked one last time in Mykias' direction, seemingly seeing him clearly from so far away. Then the man turned a berm chasing after his foes and disappeared from sight. The chaos bled out of the evening suddenly like wildfire, the only reminder in the distant barks of exploding rounds and muffled xenos screams.

---

Cadmus was pulled from memories of a distant battlefield, near a distant star with the all-encompassing hiss of a hangar door opening to the void. As the portal opened entirely, the marine braced himself as the gravity momentarily shifted; his mag-boots locking in automatically. Through the cavernous threshold glided a jet black Thunderhawk, carrying what Cadmus could only assume would be his remaining battle-brothers for this term. He prepared to remove his helm as soon as the Thunderhawk landed and the hangar re-pressurized and sealed. It was time to meet his brothers in death.

((Still have to cover my cell and some other minor details, but I really didn't want to hit you guys with a massive novel for the first post))

Validus stood at attention with his Brothers, his beaked Corvus helm held under an arm, baring his pale skin and short mahogany hair, darkened at the roots. Weathered features would show the Raven Guard Astartes of the Deathwatch who had many years of experience. Well maintained power armor shone to a brilliant black, yet contrasted with signs of years of use in war, it seemed to match it's owner well in that regard. The attached Jump Pack and Chainsword at his waist would leave little doubt as to this Space Marine's purpose. Three small avian skulls hand from a chain opposite the chainsword, a curious collection to be sure.

This world was new to him still, after so many years of service in the Raven Guard, finding himself in service of the Deathwatch brought him into strange and unfamiliar territory. Gone was the training of which he had grown accustomed, and gone were the Brothers he bled beside. But this was his purpose now, the Emperor’s Hand saw fit to place him here, he thought to himself, standing there in the silence. “It matters not the where or the who, if this is my place then so be it, I will break the enemies of man in one fell swoop, and I will fly on Raven's Wings.”

Those words rang in his head, and brought him back to a time not so long ago but it felt as if a thousand years had passed since those days.

The rain came down in torrents, drenching the world of Veron III in it's bitter embrace. The ruined Hiveworld was a twisted labyrinth of steel and jungle. Fires burned as far as they eye could see, marring the sky even further, the black smoke twisting with the clouds, forming a dreary haze over the city. It seemed in man's absence, nature had begun to retake the empty streets, among other, less desirable things.

The rain did not bother Validus or his Brothers, nor the smoke or poor visibility. The sheets of rain and plumes of smoke were cover for their advance, the thunder a mask for their movements. The Astartes of the Raven Guard kept their vigil high on the roof of a derelict building. As one of the few standing in the area, it gave the five an excellent vantage of their objective.

Orks, hundreds of them in a mess of twisted steel, flame and sound, their haphazard vehicles and formations making up more of a mob than any sort of organized force. Still, the brutish creatures were dangerous, if that were not the case there would be no reason for the Raven Guard to be here. Clad in their black Mk 6 Corvus Power Armor, the five watched and shared looks, all except Sergeant Avaratius, who fixated his gaze between the greenskin horde, and his Auspex Sweeper in his gloved hand.

The coms crackled to life over the rainfall “They're on the move, we can reach them before they even hit the General and his Regiments,” noted Kyvax, the youngest and as Validus noted, most rash of the group. “We have their flank, with some well placed explosives we can turn them before the Guardsmen's Advance is stalled.”

“More like to excite or enrage them, Orcs are not such a predictable foe,” replied Cor'vun, a more seasoned veteran yet still younger than Validus by many years. “I doubt we'd even have the time to set demolition charges, given the speed of this Warband. By my predictions they will be on the General's Flank in 10 minutes.”

Validus shared a look with Kil'ros, the veteran who had been his Battle Brother through many wars and battles, the count of which Validus had lost long ago. Through their helmets it was difficult to tell what Kil'ros was thinking, but a glance to Sergeant Avaratius quickly confirmed his suspicions. We would place our faith in the Sergeant, as we had for so many missions before.

“What would you suggest, then?” said Kyvax. “The nearest squads are kilometers away. By the time the Thunderhawks and Drop Pods can be readied for a counter assault, it may already be too late. My plan has merit, orks can know fear I have seen it in their eyes before, we rip the will to fight out of them before they can do damage.”

“We can't coordinate a demolition in 10 minutes, we should wait for the Battle Barge to deploy the Drop Pods and strike in sequence with our brothers.”

“There's no guarantee the Guard will last that long.”

“And there's no guarantee we won't be throwing our lives away in a brash quest for glo-”

“Validus.” The Sergeant spoke, all were silent. “What do you think?” The realization struck Validus with force. The Sergeant did not have a plan, only five against hundreds, and while each could hold their own against a group of Orcs, the greenskins numbers and heavy armor would easily overwhelm them should they be bogged down in battle. Perhaps there was no one correct answer this time, no plan that was foolproof. This however was not the time for doubt, what mattered was the objective, the Orcs must be destroyed, the Imperial Guard's Advance must not be stalled, else the campaign may drag on for many extra months.

Validus spoke “We strike at their command. We let the Guardsmen do their duty as we do ours, wait until our foe has placed the focus of their attention on the Guard's flank, then strike hard at the ork Warboss. Without their leader, the ork ranks should dissolve into infighting and the Guard, though disorganized should be able to repel them.”

“Cut the head from the serpent and leave it for the carrion?” Validus could hear the amusement in the Sergeant's voice. “Very well, look to your Jump Packs brothers, we fly on Raven's Wings.”

The plan was hastily constructed as the Assault Marines made their way from vantage to vantage. Validus and Kil'ros would strike from one direction, while the Sergeant, Cor'vun and Kyvax would strike from another. The goal being to rip at the monstrous ork's vitals and bring it down in one fell blow, using the confusion to make a tactical withdraw into the surrounding structures. Even then, Validus knew it would not be so easy to escape from the clutches of a greenskin warhost.

It was his 329th year in the Raven Guard, but few missions were ever as dire as this. The Raven Guard's 7th company had been operating on the planet for some time now, waging a lightning war against the ork invaders to weaken their fortifications, however the arrival of the Imperial Guard some weeks ago was still met with stiff resistance. A destroyed city made moving heavy armor difficult, coupled with the poor weather conditions, made the retaking of Veron III a slow, violent process. When the word had reached the Raven Guard of the ork force that had shattered the thin Northern Flank and was making it's way around to threaten the entire supply line, the only available squad in the area that could respond in time was Sergeant Avaratius and his Assault Marines.

As the group split, Validus' doubts drew at his mind. Even if the plan was coordinated well, there was no guarantee the hulking brute could be brought down. Heavily armored and possessing the strength of near a dozen Orcs, a Warboss could easily toss groups of ordinary men aside, and once he had even seen one turn a Chimera on it's side. There was also the issue of locating the beast, but Validus knew that would be a simple task. Large and loud, the savages made no attempt to conceal themselves. Still his thoughts went back to the Sergeant, why did he leave the decision in his hands?

Kil'ros, as if reading his mind, spoke. “You think too much Brother, there will be time enough for that after the ba ttle. We need to find this Warboss and relay the coordinates to the Sergeant's squad.” To that, Validus could only nod. Kil'ros was correct, there was no going back now, it was time to place faith in his Brothers and his wargear, as he had so many times before.

As the two navigated twisted ruins with their Jump Packs, the sounds of the ork's advance became more and more thundering, until glimpses of the green horde could be spied gaps in the concrete and rebar. The bombed out Domicile offered them ample cover and places hide and lose pursuers, but use of their Jump Packs was limited in the tighter areas. A well preserved guard's tower served as the two's perch as they planned their next move, the Ork warband laid out before them at last.

Chaotic, was the first thing that came to his mind. Groups of Orks marched in roughly the same direction, shouting jeers to each other and firing guns into the air carelessly. Larger ones, identified as Nobs barked orders and beat the slackers while ramshackle Ork vehicles, likely cannibalized Imperial assets lumbered forward spewing plumes of thick black smoke into the air.

“They're like a locust,” observed Kil'ros, as the two searched for their target amongst the horde. “A glorious day the Imperium will have when we've finally destroyed all these green savages”

“It will be, and perhaps afterward we will extinguish the stars themselves,” Validus mused, adjusting his optical sensors as she scanned for the giant. “This won't be anything like Ceradus, we'll strike as lightning, and make our withdrawal just as fast. We can break this force here.”

Those were words Validus had wanted to believe himself, refocusing his thoughts on the present he found himself back in the Hangar Bay, awaiting the Thunderhawk, and what he knew were to be his new Battle Brothers. Wherever the Deathwatch needed him, he would be. Striking swift and with force from the sky or shadows. That much at least, he knew.

((Had to cut it a little bit short here, taking plane trip tomorrow so i'll be on and off making edits and hopefully adding the rest of my story!))

RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION pt.2 #4
It does not take long for the last of the Kill-Team to arrive aboard Thunderhawk, it whined and screamed as quad core extra-atmospheric engines primed and warmed up for take-off. Brother-Librarian Lazaros, being the final member to board casuses the soft spoken conversations to momentarily pause. As Lazaros makes his way to an open seat, Watch Captain McGarrack acknowledges the Librarian with a slight nod of his head before continuing.

“You may not be the best with a chainsword or a bolter, my tech marine friend, but you sure as hell could always talk me to death in those training sessions,” the Watch Captain says to the Astartes sitting beside him. “Haeron always told me about your talks and how that big old brain of yours would do well for the Deathwatch. Glad to see you made it to us.”

“An honor to be here.” replied the Guardian of the Covenant.

The seated Astartes extends his forearm in a warrior's shake, this newcomer now as close a battle brother as any of the Wardens of his company back on Sacris.

"Neither," he says responding to the question of which title he should be addressed.

"Call me Daelon. Well met. Storm Wardens, 2nd Company, 4th Tactical Squad." He gives the Techmarine a once over and nods in approval. To a Storm Warden, Techmarines were always a boon to have on a squad. He was glad that they would have that level of technical support on their missions. "We are brothers now, but I prefer to keep things simple." A first name basis was how Daelon preferred it; each brother was now reliant on the other and the mission would change considerably from how they were used to training. The closer the faster the better.

A robed marine bearing the white helm of the Apothecary sits next to a Battle-Brother bearing the markings of the Mechanicum. Opening up his Narthecium, he started to tinker with its inner workings, making sure they were all up to his standards, and hopefully had not been tinkered with by that near insane Marine Errant. First the Reductor…then the drill…then the diamantine tipped chainswords whirred faintly. Clicking his tongue, the Apothecary reached for a set of tools he habitually kept on himself, but could not find. Looking over to the Techmarine, he hmmed thoughtfully.
“Brother…may I trouble you for some assistance?” he asked through his armour’s Vox-speakers as he continued to fiddle with the diagnostor and the various syringes and drugs that made up his Narthecium.

"That is quite a Narthecium you have there, brother. How did you come by it? If you require my assistance, I will be glad to help. These whistles and bells aren't just for show!" He chuckles, as he begins to assist his new brother.
His mechadendrites and various gears whir and whiz about, ready to obey their master.

In the cockpit the servitor-serfs finish communing with the Machine Spirit and Captain Kyros dismisses them with a silent jerking nod of his head. The Watch Captain enters the cockpit and closes the door behind him.
“A miserable bastard...” Captain McGarrack comments just as the door slides shut. “But no finer pilot is there to be found in all the Imperium, lads.” Shifting in his seat to face the seated Dark Angel his cheery voice amplified by his helm vox-speakers.
“Ho there, Brother Alaric! There is hushed talk that you met Kyros in single combat and prevailed victorious! If this is true, I salute thee! I have dueled the Death from Dark Waters many a time, each to a stalemate. You should consider yourself privileged; it is not often Kyros spars with anyone who does not share the brotherhood of command. Perhaps someday we shall see how we match up against each me, a true champion of the Watch!”

Suddenly, a large shadow fell across the open Thunderhawk access hatch, ceasing all conversation. The bulky form blocked out most of the light, the few stands broke through, giving outline to the heavily armored yet slightly-bestial form.
“Commander Strombjorn…I did not expect you to see us off personally!” Brother-Captain McGarrack says startled but before he has a chance to rise the growling-bass voice cuts him short.

“Sit, Caeden! No need for formalities.” the Watch Commander said as he learns in to the Thunderhawk. In the low light his eyes reflect golden, like the predatory canine that share his Chapters namesake.
“It is rare for Brothers to not spend some time aboard the Watch Station after their training is complete. Reforging the bonds of brotherhood, refamiliarizing themselves with their beloved tools of war. It is to my regret that I did not get more time to spend with each of you, learning more of your heroic sagas. Though, should the All-Father see fit, I’m sure when we meet again, you will have far grander tales to tell” he said with a rumbling laugh.
“I cannot tell you much about your new command, as often with the Inquisition, there is little to tell,” Commander Strombjorn continues with a roll of his eyes. “Shortly, you will depart Watch Station Eternia aboard this Thunderhawk Gunship. Watch Captain Kyros will serve as your pilot and second the command of Captain McGarrack. You will then be transported to the Dawnstar, a Rogue Trader vessel that has been commissioned to discreetly insert you further into the Canis Salient. Do not leave this Gunship. An inglorious first command, I know brothers, but fret not there is always plenty of time for bloodshed amongst the Watch. The hunter does not stand upwind from his prey.”
“Immediately upon entering real-space the Dawnstar will open the hanger doors and jettison you and this Thunderhawk into the gravitational pull of a passing asteroid belt. You will remain here until the arrival of your command vessel, a Gladius Class Frigate, Righteous Indignation. From here you will bring death to the enemies of the All-Father under Inquisitor Darkhour.” His eyes narrow to thin slits as he continues in a hushed tone.
“Remember your Oaths. We shall meet again. In this life or at the End Times, at the side of the All-Father.”
After a brief pause and a respectful bow of the head to the assembled Astartes, the Watch Commander leaves. His departure is accented by a loud clank as the reinforced side access hatch slid shut.

The overhead vox speaker and a raspy voice crackles overhead.
“Clearance authorized. Departure in 5…4…” as the Thunderhawks engines roar to life “3..2..1.”

With a slight lurch the gunship leaves the hanger, hurtling towards Dawnstar and the unknown it brings with it.
((#1)) ((#2)) ((#3))

RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION TECHNICAL
Deathwatch Gladius Frigate

Dimensions: 1.6 km long, 0.3 km abeam at fins approx.
Mass: 6 megatonnes approx.
Crew: 26,000 crew; approx.
Accel: 4.5 gravities max sustainable acceleration.
Assets: Thunderhawk Gunships, Deathwatch Land Speeders, Deathwatch Kill-Teams, Classified Inquisitorial assets

The Gladius Class Frigate is part of the Space Marine Fleet, fulfilling a role similar to that of the Sword Class Frigate in the Imperial Navy.

The ship is crewed mainly by chapter serfs, with only a few squads of 5-10 Space Marines onboard, commonly found on the bridge, in their cells, combat-pens, or at other command posts around the ship.

The Gladius is armed with a mid-sized weapons battery, much like the Sword class, but its engines are about twenty percent more powerful than the Sword. This enables the Gladius to take advantage of the enemy's movements, darting into holes left in the battle line, and using its weapons batteries to good effect.
The ship is shielded as well as any other escort, but due to the nature of its role in combat, has an excellent turret array for its size, comparable to that of a standard Imperial Navy cruiser.

Its laser-based weapons batteries provide equivalent fire power to those of the less reliable plasma-based alternatives, and are able to fire to both sides, or forward with full strength. Its engines are powerful, yet simple enough to be maintained by an artificer with minimal training. They are regarded as reliable even in extreme conditions.

Being an escort, the Gladius is expected to come under fire, and so is designed with this in mind. Its bulkheads are thicker than would be expected, and the beams and supports that hold the ship together have redundant copies nearby, that will take the load if the primary beam or support fails. Due to this, the Gladius can take more punishment than would be expected for a ship of its diminutive size.

The Righteous Indignation has been heavily modified with many classified and experimental elements.

The comment from Watch Captain McGarrack him aback, but Alaric barely showed signs of it under his helmet as borrowed some of the Techmarine's tools to tighten one of the valves within the Narthecium's structure. He looked up slightly for a second and, despite the Storm Warden's boasting, simply nodded in reply, but offered no verbal confirmation. The hushed talk was all lies. He had not bested the Carcharodon. He had simply endured. Hwever, the Dark Angels of all people knew what a reputation could do when in the right, or wrong, hands, and so if they believed that he had bested Kyros, he had no reason to say otherwise. Suddenly, a large shadow was cast over their Thunderhawk, the access hatch darkened by the appearance of a humanoid figure, and from its sheer size, Alaric had his suspicions of who. Watch Captain McGarrack confirmed this a second later as he greeted the figure with an iconic Space Wolf name. The Dark Angels barely paid it any heed. For all the psycho-indoctrination and oaths he had undertaken, the Space Wolves and the Dark Angels were rivals first and brothers later. When the Space Wolf actually started addressing them, however, Alaric turned his gaze away from his tinkering and focussed on the massive Wolf, his deep maroon eyepieces reflected in the glowing lupine yellows of his counterpart.

As Alaric had thought, they would be under the command of an Inquisitor. He inwardly grimaced. Many a time, Inquisitors had accused the Dark Angels of bearing some sort of horrid secret, but few dared to act on it, for those that did had a terrible habit of disappearing. Nevertheless, Alaric made careful note of the plans, and his Corvus helmet listed the order of the mission, until they came into contact with the Righteous Indignation. With his departing words, Alaric bowed and slammed his breastplate with his armoured fist. "Praise be to the Emperor," his vox crackled out as he bowed his head in reverence, "may he find us worthy of his protection." With that, the reinforced hatch slid shut, and there was a hiss as the internal compartment pressurised. Ovrhead, Kyros' voice crackled through the comms, counting down until their departure. With little other recourse, the Dark Angel twisted the panel in his Narthecium shut and lightly tapped it with his palm, resealing it as he moved his fingers. He grimaced under the helmet. It still wasn't calibrated exactly to his liking, but it would have to suffice. Just as Kyros' voice read 2, Alaric slipped into his crash webbing and cnapped it shut, tugging the straps to tighten himself into position. Whoever had occupied this seat before him had either been a devastator or a terminator.

As the artificial gravity of the watch station fell away, Alaric could feel his body start to rise in the zero gravity, held only in place by strict discipline, mag boots and his crash harness. Leaning his head downwards, he let the hoo fall further over his helmet, until the only thing left visible was the white beak of his corvus helmet. Despite his catalepsean node kicking in, Alaric was rather tired from his trials and experiences over the previous few days. With finally nothing left to do, Alaric found his body slowly drifting into the sweet embrace of sleep...and would have, if it weren't for his iron discipline. Shaking off the vicious talons of slumber, Alaric remained conscious and vigilant, his mouth slowly moving in catechisms that would release stimulants into his body, stopping the feeling of sleep deprivation from coursing through his body. He could not afford to show weakness to his future brothers, not even for a second. Emperor save him, he would not let others misinterpret his drowsiness for weakness. As the hood floated off of his helmet, Alaric started to look around the chamber. Individually, he assessed each of the marines, and determined their parent chapters, or in the Storm Warden's case, known genetic faults. As an Apothecary, he was responsible to maintain his Brothers' health and genetic purity. The problem, however, was that he still ahd very little experience in dealig with the genetic stock anyone other than Dark Angels or their successor chapters, the other Unforgiven. Unconciously, his eyes drifted back towards the Guardian of the Covenant sitting beside him, his helmet hiding his gaze as he blankly stared at the Guardian.

With a sudden jolt, Alaric fell back into his seat, artificial gravity once more gripping his body and forcing him down. "It seems we have reached the Dawn Star, brothers," Alaric said as he Sank back into the plastic seat, removing his helmet. "Smoothest ride I've had so far."

Daelon watched the interactions of the others. The Guardian of the Covenant seemed eager to serve and knowledgeable to boot and best of all, he was already forging the bonds of brotherhood. The Dark Angel seemed quiet and reserved to which Daelon immediately interpreted as a pompous elitism he often found among their ilk, perhaps only beaten by the Black Templars themselves.

That is the problem with first impressions, he thought, you only get to make them once.

He brushed the thought aside. It didn't matter. They were all here because they were deemed the best and had proven themselves to be so. He couldn't imagine a scenario in which any of them had failed in their duties previously or while at the Watch Station. He had been forced into a situation that left no shadow of a doubt as to the difficulty of the decisions they would be forced to make and the ramifications of their new responsibility. For better or worse, they were now all in this together and he now knew that each and every one of these Astartes would be relying on him for support, just as he would be on them.

He nodded to each member of the team as they boarded the craft. It was a diverse group and Daelon could already feel the mixture of headstrong personalities crashing, even if nothing had yet been truly said.

This is going to be fun.

He spoke briefly with McGarrack, mostly concerning news from Sacris that Daelon had brought with him. It had been some time since the Watch Captain had seen home and Daelon was glad to be able to bring mostly good tidings. Brothers had been lost since the Watch Captain had worn a shade other than black, but that was the duty of an Astartes; Astartes did not get the benefit of dying peacefully of old age. Their place was in the midst of battle and their ultimate duty was to die in defense of the Imperium of Man.

Amid talks with McGarrick, a sound like thunder rumbled toward the Thunderhawk, breaking through the wine of its idling engines. The gargantuan form of the Watch Captain made his way to the loading bay of the ship, feral features accentuated by the length of his canines and gray of his mane. Orders were issued and Daelon was glad of it. It was time to do what he was created to do, everything else was simply a precursor to the mission. The mission was all that mattered, and it appeared that first they would meet an Inquisitor after some transfers in the Void. It came as no surprise. Daelon knew that Kill Teams worked in tandem with the Inquisition and that Inquisitors often called on the teams to do the hard hitting jobs, but Daelon instinctively disliked the nature in which the Inquisition carried out its missions. Subterfuge, intrigue, deception, these were the tools in which the Inquisition waged its wars. The spook game had its place in the galaxy, but the Storm Warden much preferred the ground shaking charge of his enemies as they came forward to their deaths.

Alas, it was time for things to change and change they had. The mission stood: rendezvous with the Rogue Trader ship Dawn Star, maintain seclusion within the Thunderhawk until transpo to the Inquisitor's Frigate Righteous Indignation. It would be done.

Daelon made the sign of the Aquila to the mighty Space Wolf as he took his leave, pondering for only a moment on whether or not they would ever cross paths in this lifetime again. It mattered not; they would see one another at the Emperor's side. Strapping himself in, he prepared himself for the journey ahead. As the bird began to lift, Daelon recited ancient words, vows that were as natural to the tribesmen of Sacris as they were to an Astartes. It was a list - a list of every enemy whose only fate was to die by the hands of a Storm Warden. The words played over and over again on Daelon's lips even as he "slept." Astartes never slept, not like mortal humans. They simply made areas of their brain go dormant in various patterns so that they may maintain alertness while gathering the needed rest and recuperation that all human beings needed.

As the Thunderhawk met with the Dawnstar, Daelon "awoke" well-rested and ready to complete his first mission.

The mission was all that mattered.

Makradon finishes tinkering with the modified Narthecium strapped onto the arm of his new brother. He had never seen anything like it before, but trusted in his own knowledge of machinations that he would be able to help adjust it to its' rightful settings. Maybe not on the first try, maybe not on the second, but eventually he would be able to get it in working order. He watches his brother Dark Angel inspect it a bit, having a feeling that perhaps he has gotten the settings wrong. No matter. It always took extra work to get things moving in the right direction. In fact it mirrored the new brothers arrayed around him in the vessel. The bonds of brotherhood and dare he say friendship would take more than one try. More than one tinkering. No, with this group of characters...this will take some time indeed.

Makradon sits back in his seat and watches silently as the Space Wolf Commander makes his way to the front of the craft, casting his large shadow over it. The Space Wolves were rivals to the Dark Angels and thus somewhat rivals to the Guardians of the Covenant. Silly, really... Markradon didn't involve himself in such trivial matters as rivalry and whose was biggest. He had fought on countless battlefields and even alongside the Long Fangs and Blood Claws of the Space Wolves before. Many had died by his side and even one so many countless years before had saved his life on some backwater planet fighting a xenos race that none had ever heard of. And none ever would... No, the Space Wolves were not ones that should be scorned and hated, rivaled and berated. No, they were brothers. Just like all of those sitting before him. The bond of brotherhood came before petty disputes. For it was all a Space Marine had. To break it, well that was heresy. Chaos. We all know what happened before...let us learn from it, so that it never happens again.

The knowledge of the Inquisitor and their new detail with him was no surprise to the Guardian. The Inquisition had its' secrets, but not so solidly hidden that Makradon hadn't found some of them in his extensive years of study and research. It would be his first time working with one for at least a century, but that didn't matter. The wealth of information from one such as them was of great importance in his mind. Nothing pleased him more than knowing that he would be taking in a great deal of knowledge in his new adventure. And knowledge...is power.

The Space Wolf said his farewells to the Kill Team and Makradon signed the Aquila like those around him, feeling the tension of the Dark Angel next to him. This young one must learn to let go of the hate and rivalry...lest it consume him. The giant Astartes left the proceeding and in no time the spacecraft set off, bringing Makradon closer to yet another mission. How many was it now? Inside his internal memory, Makradon could recall everything from the past, every death of a brother, every bolter round gone astray, every enemy downed. He smiled beneath the helmet, his cybernetic eyes whizzing about in what could only be construed as glee. It was time for another one.

As the engines heated and the craft took flight, Makradon pushed himself into a self-induced shut-down, resting and preparing for the trials to come. He was not one to be completely shut down though and so his mind filed through the many items he stored there. Studying. Never resting in his search to overcome the weak points in his mind. A simple miscalculation and one would find themselves at the Emperor's side. Death is not the worst thing that could happen, though.

Eventually the craft met with the Dawnstar and Makradon brought himself back to life. He looked out and saw the ship's docking bay surround the Kill Team's vessel.

At last...it is time.