Ollumhammersong — Roleplayer Guild

The voice and face of the Celestial Falcon's Lord commander may have betrayed his youth with their vigour and tone. But neither of those things had an ounce of niavete in them. They belonged to a man who had been alive for nearly three hundred years, and spent nearly all of them in hard combat or training for hard combat. It was a voice that demanded the attention of those who heard it. As well as the silence of those who might think to interupt. Call it confidence or the authority of youth. Either way Tormon Vosk was not to be denied or stopped once he began. 

In the massive tactical room were cunningly wrought stone torches carved to resembled the Falcons for which chapter they served. In their talons were glow-globes that shone brightly, filling the room with ambient light which in turn put focus on the equally bright and very newly sewn banners belonging to the chapter. One for each of the ten companies hung between the high arched windows, identical save the white Gothic numeral against the black body of the Falcon which marked their future owners. Their strong colour reflecting the light of the room to create a dazzling brilliance. Each banner was pressed and new, totally void of any battle honours, blemishes or bullet holes earned from the battle field. Still it was hard not to feel a swell of pride in ones breast at the sight of them and the unity they would come to represent between brothers. In time they would become magnificently laden with brooches and embroidery commemorating the fine actions of those who would fight beneath them. At the head of the room hung the chapter banner. Currently its only unique marking was being void of any numerals but in time the Lord Commander aimed to change that as well. He just needed to find a suitably  grand excuse. 

His eyes, as sharp and black as a raven's ran over all of the assembled brothers before him. His interim chief librarian, Senior Apothecary, Reclusiarch, Forge master and those few captains he possessed. All arrayed across the desk from himself. Even the ship's master. A mortal human male plucked from the ranks of the Imperial Navy to provide the naval expertise in captaining the battle barge that his chapter currently lacked. He was a man that had frequent disagreements and disciplinary infractions despite holding the rank of captain. Many reports indicated he was a impulsive and reckless man. Prone to taking great risks in the name of furthering his own glory. Tormon's experience talking to the man gave him a different perspective. It was the reason he was chosen for the honour of captaining an astartes battle barge. Vosk did not see a rash glory hound in this human. But rather a calculating and intelligent officer. One willing to take a great risk to achieve a greater outcome against the Emperor's foes. Each of those risks was calculated and each proved his sense of initiative and strategy right in the end. 

Tormon rather liked the man actually. 

“This world is officially designated Alpha-122.” At a subtle queue given by the Lord Commander, a slaved servitor suspended from a pillar overlooking the astartes war council performed whatever arcane commands required of it to produce a large holo of a verdant world with two orbiting moons. The world and the moons flickered and fuzzed in the pale blue of the holographic light.

“The Imperial guard who are currently stationed there call it ‘Havoc’… among other things.” He added dryly. “It is a primitive world, mostly covered in thick arboreal landscapes and mountainous crags. Initial surveys suggest that the potential mineral wealth of this world is staggering, and it was declared an ideal world for colonization and industry development. Why this concerns us is because those initial surveys also reported that there were no hostile or advanced forms of life when the exploration fleet arrived weeks ago. They were wrong.” He finished bluntly.

The image of the globe and its moons faded out and was replaced with an image of a large hulking creature. It seemed to be part animal and part stone its hide was so thick. It was a brute of a creature that looked nearly as tall as an astartes and as muscled as an ogryn. Vaguely resembling the hideous monstrosities known as trolls in ancient Terran folklore. Even in the monotone blue colouration it would have been terrifying to a normal mans eyes, much less the terror one might need to overcome to face an enraged one in combat.  

“The tech priests of the Biologis have yet to assign the creature a designation. As I understand Imperial forces have simply taking to calling them ‘Trogs’.”  He personally found the name fitting for a creature of their physical nature. Not that giving them a name would matter in the long run.

“Unlike most of the animals on that world these creatures display a modinom of intelligence and represent a clear and hostile threat to the Imperial designs for this world and its future. They have been officially declared a hostile Xeno species, and will be exterminated as such. THAT brothers…”  Emphasizing heavily that first word to drive home his point. “Is our purpose is in this conflict."

More fiddling with the holo map produced a semi detailed view of the planet’s surface. Notably the makeshift Imperial military fort thereon and the surrounding landscape. “We have received a plea from the ranking officer in command of the planets forces to help cull their numbers in that new province, and possibly the rest of the planet.”

Despite his best efforts to remain grim faced he was certain his excitement was still palatable. His plated knuckles gripped the sides of the holo table tightly enough to creak against the beautifully wrought wood. Knuckles turning as white as the right half of his armour. This was their first request for aid as a chapter, and this would be their first campaign as a chapter. His first test in leading it as it’s master. His excitement was understandable.    

“We will arrive in orbit in three days. So I ask you to report, Is our chapter ready for war? Are we prepared to baptize ourselves in blood and fire?”

“Commanders!”  Eyes zeroing in in on the three men who represented what passed for actual command staff for the chapter. Black  orbs scanning over each in turn. “Are your divisions ready?"

“Forgemaster,”  turning now the revered techmarine that served as his master mechanic. “I know your fellow techmarines are few, but will our war machines be ready in time?”

“Reclusiarch.”  Now his gaze settled on the elderly chaplain that perhaps represented his greatest challenge to overcome, in terms of changing mindsets away from the traditional thinking of the Raven Guard ways. A defiant rock clinging to past ways and standing defiant against the torrent of change. “How are our brother’s spirits?"
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