FIRST OATHS #1
Through your deeds you have gained countless honors and distinctions; your commanding officers have found you worthy, you have been selected. Though you all walked separate paths to your destination, the Emperor’s divine providence has brought you here…stepping off a Thunderhawk into the hanger-bay of an unknown ship.
The pilot’s voice abrasively cuts in over the ships speakers “This is where you get off Brother. May the Emperor protect you.”
As you exit the craft, the doors slam shut and the Machine-Spirit of the engines begin the familiar sounds of idle rest, waiting for the proper authorizations to depart.
At the far end of the hanger a solitary blast-door opens. Five Adeptus Astartes, clad in holy power armour, crisply march into the room. They move in a protective tactical formation; 2 in lead, 1 in middle, 2 protecting the flank. Though they are all armed, they are not aggressive towards your arrival.
The armour and helms are the color of the darkest depths and blackest nights, save for the left arm and pauldron. The left arm shone brightly of polished silver, leading up to the shoulder-pad, which boasted the familiar effigy of the Inqusitorial “I. This “I” was different to ones you have seen before. This “I” was mounted with a death’s head and crossbones. Around the icon you can faintly see passages from various devotional texts. As they approach, your genetically enhance sight is able to pick out one of the engravings…the Catechism of Xenos. By instinct, your mind recalls the holy scripture…
To be Unclean
That is the Mark of the Xenos
To be Impure
That is the Mark of the Xenos
To be Abhorred
That is the Mark of the Xenos
To be Reviled
That is the Mark of the Xenos
To be Hunted
That is the Mark of the Xenos
To be Purged
That is the fate of the Xenos
To be Cleansed
For that is the fate of all Xenos
The Marines halfway across the hanger they stop midmarch. After a moments pause the lead Marines to your right steps forward, he raises his right arm in greeting and waves you forward. You see his right pauldron painted a field of white, a bold blue shield at its center stamped with a white bolt of lightning. A proud symbol of his Chapter, the Storm Wardens. His chest-plate is adorn with Purity Seals, trophies of past victories and ranks of office awarded; a Captain of the Watch. Over his shoulder peaks the intricately engraved hilt and pommel of a greatsword, his left hand rests casually on a Storm Bolter maglocked to his hip.
As you move within footsteps, the Marine on your left, also a Watch Captain, takes a step forward . A ancient but deadly looking lightning claw soft clinks against the bolt pistol at his belt. He signals, both hands firmly gripping his Boltgun, to stop. As he steps to the side to allow passage for the middle Marine, you clearly see the unmistakable black-on-white shark icon of the Carcharodons.
A strong, clear voice with a soft High Gothic accent is slightly distorted through power armor speakers…
“I am Librarian Archilochus of the Novamarines…”
“This oath you take today, will forevermore affect your destiny. Secrecy is law. Those who dare break this oath will be hunted down and suffer the penalty of death. No excuses, no exceptions. All who came before you understood this and each of your Chapters swore to uphold them when they signed the Old-Accord. You will find no friend amidst Brothers, no aid amongst kin, aiding renegades is a crime and its punishment equally decisive. Do not dishonor those who have sent you. Do not dishonor the memory of those who came before. Do you swear now, this First Oath of Silence?”
((#1))
After the Oath is sworn, Librarian Archilochus continues…
“Any Battle-Brother serving in the Deathwatch is by definition amongst the most experienced of xenos-fighters in the entire galaxy, yet he cannot possibly be as well-schooled in the matter as a veteran Watch Captain or Commander. You may have experienced combat against a hundred different alien races, but there are many thousands more you have not. The Watch takes it upon itself to pass on every shred of knowledge possible to its warriors.
First, the newly recruited Brothers will be subjected to a grueling regime of hypno-indoctrination and invasive medical exams.
During which your implants are thoroughly checked, your physical conditioning pushed to its limits and subconscious mind filled to overflowing with the details of every known intelligent race, and many classed as mindless, yet highly dangerous animals. This process merely lays the groundwork for further schooling and study, which unlocks the full potential of a Space Marine’s superior mental capacity.”
“From here, Battle-Brothers Octavius and Gregor will escort you to the Apothecarum. There Apothecary Haeron will begin the next step in reforging you into a weapon of the Watch. We will not cross paths for some time. I pray we shall meet again, the next time as Brothers in the Watch!”
The Librarian gives you a warriors salute with his Force Staff and makes a sweeping pointing gesture towards the now open blast-doors. Battle-Brother Octavius of the Ultramarines takes the lead with the confidence that confirms his heritage.
As you move to follow, Brother Gregor smoothly falls in behind. Chains softly clink against the black ceremite armor and gently rattles around his wrists, where they connect his blessed chainsword and sanctified bolt pistol to his wrists. His iconography confirms his identity as one of the zealous warriors of the Black Templars. A look back reveals the Watch Captains and Librarian observing your departure unfold, impassive as statues.
((#2))
After a short trip through a wildly twisting series of corridors carved into the earth and surrounding rockface, you arrive at the Apothecarum. The door slides open with a sharp mechanical scrape. Your escorts moved to either side of the doorway, facing outward into the dimly lit hallway.
A voice, deepened and hollowed by age beacons from within...
“Enter Brother! I’m not getting any younger and I’d prefer to die with a sword in my hand, not waiting around for some green-gilled Initiate to play will he/won’t he!”
The man responsible for the voice was an ancient looking Marine. The majority of his skull, left eye and cheekbone were all replaced with cybernetics. The little flesh remaining on his face was darkly tan and leathery, faint scars of various size peppering his skin. His remain organic eye was milky white and dead, a jagged scar bisecting his face. In contrast, a neatly manicured goatee, stark white, frames his thin lips that firmly clutch the handle of a scalpel, as some lesser man do with a toothpick. His armor is painted in Watch black, dried viscera faints speckles the contrasting silver of his arm. His right pauldron is weathered and well-worn with age, the chips on the edges, proud reminders of battles long past. Despite the paint bearing the marks of an extended service in the field, the Chapter symbol stood clear. A yellow comet buring with a bright white core, buring across a blue sky- Marines Errant.
All around him servitors worldlessly scurry, tirelessly working at unheard commands. Some servitors gather materials and check vials around the large table at the center of the room. Others silently approach you, various tools and diagnosticators at the ready. They pause their heads in a moment of reverence. Black hooded robes rendering them deceptively formless, their identities forgotten behind silver faceless masks. A red “I” on their foreheads emits a dull throbbing glow.
As they begin to remove your power armor, Apothecary Haeron speaks again…
“Fear not, Brother! You will see your precious armaments again! And just like you, they shall be the same…but different! Rehoned. Refined! REEplenished! RESPLENDANT!” He accentuates his final words with soft jabs of his needle enclosed fist in the air. ((#3))
When the servitors are finished it is time to take your place on top of the examination table.
“Hypno-indoctrination is but the lesser part of preparation, however, and you will undertake constant training in the methods required to combat specific enemies. While much of this training is theoretical, of course, some is very real indeed! Now…enough chatter. Lay back and relax. This may sting a little...” ((#4))
Later, you awake on your cot in your living cell. You are clothed in plain grey flightsuits, the only adornments three embroidered patches. On the left should is sewn the all too familiar “I”. On the right your Chapter is proudly displayed. On the left brest, a singular simple square. Now engrained in your DNA is some of the knowledge of what is to come…
Your first several cycles will be a brutal regime of solo evaluations. Hours of hypno-data uploads, followed by hand to hand combat sessions with Captain Kyros, constant strength and endurance training with Captain McGarrack, more tests from Apothecary Haeron, hours spent isolated in your living-cells awaiting that moment when you would take your Second Oath and once again be welcomed into brotherhood.((#5))
Finally you are deemed fit, you will now be required to enter a sealed slaughter-chamber in which a captured alien combatant is entrapped. You are not allowed to exit until you have killed it.
You are armed with only your combat knife and without any armor.
Only when Brother’s Watch Captain is satisfied will you be authorized to take place in a Kill-team and undertake your real training as a member of an elite squad. ((#6))