WNxHasoroth
2008-07-29, 11:31 AM
Chapter One - A Meeting
A burning cheroot illuminated the figure in front of me for a brief moment. Strong jaws clamped down on a smouldering stub. Scarred remnants of an aquiline tattoo dotted his right cheek and a thin tapering ridge of dead tissue ran down from his temple and across his right eye. Some old war wound I guessed.
I was nervous, to tell the truth. The mysterious person in front of me faded back into darkness as he let loose a ring of smoke. Gripping the hand rests of my oldwood chair tightly; I tried to maintain a facade of calm, as I waited for the man to speak.
Heartbeats passed in the ornate, dark room, so favoured by officers of the Commissariat. It enhanced their stature, kept them aloof from their fellow soldiers. Fear was the most important motivation in the hands of these political-officers and loathe as I was to admit it, as a seven year veteran, even I felt the icy hands of terror on my neck.
Turning to look for something, anything else to look at other than the Commissars smoking figure I settled on an ornate sabre, wrought of gold and neo-steel, mounted on a sword-stand forged in the image of two Space Marines, kneeling under the weight of the antique weapon. Next to the power-sword was a small desk-lamp, green and cast in the shape of some monstrous death-world flower.
A cough suddenly sounded, and I turned to return my gaze to the Commissar.
“How many foes of the Imperium have you sent to the Emperor’s final Hell, lieutenant?” whispered the Commissar. I blanched at the man’s oddly disconcerting effeminate tone and question. It was a question I’d heard often enough, but not from one such as this high-pitched executioner. From courtesans often and even my fellow officers with a bottle of amasec being shared; it was a bawdy question, used to slake the warrior’s lust for glory.
“I am not accustomed to repeating myself Lieutenant Larion. How many foes have you sent to their deaths?” barked the Commissar.
I gave a little jerk. How had I managed to get lost in thought as someone who held the power of life and death over me asked a question? I gave myself a mental shake, to steady my nerves. How had the man learned my name?
“Seventy-two confirmed kills Sir! Seven years of glorious service in the 18th Colonial Marines Sir!”
I was barely aware that I had risen to a parade ground perfect salute. But by the Emperor it felt good to stand with my back straight instead of squirming in the aged brown chair, tapping my feet on the green, felt carpet.
Unfazed by my sudden regal bearing, the Commissar continued on with his questionings. I suddenly noticed how the Aquila embroidered on his cap seemed to have an evil glint in the dull light of the cheroot.
“And in these seven years of service, how many times have you served with Imperial forces other than your 18th?”
I paused for a moment to think the query over. Naval Commissars were notoriously adept at rooting out heresy and betrayal, but employed a heavy hand and a long reach in dealing with such problems. Many an innocent comment had been met with death at the hands of the Commissars.
Choosing my words carefully, I began to answer.
“In my beginnings, as a freshly drafted Naval rating, I had the honor of serving alongside the Terrax Guard, when the troop carrier “Signa” was boarded by Ork reavers.” I pulled up the cuff of my dress-uniform to the bicep, exposing the scar that roped across my forearm “It is how I earned my first scar.”
Smoke hazed around the Commissars brow, obscuring his face as effectively as any holo-field. I caught the barely perceptible nod of the man’s cap and I guessed it to be a signal for me to continue on with my recall.
“Three years later, I served with the 16th Colonial Marines aboard the Exorcist Grand Cruiser “Malleus Neo”. We had ranged from Port Maw on a long patrol run before coming into contact with the forces of the Arch-Enemy. The 16th saw the majority of the action in the engine rooms, whilst my 18th fended off mild offensives from traitor Astartes towards the bridge.”
I gulped. I had under-exaggerated the conflict. The 16th had been purged by shadowy Inquisitorial representatives who had appeared, as if by some foul sorcery, on the Mallus Neo. My comrades had been exposed to the raw hate of Chaos and the risk of corruption had been far too great for the Inquisition to ignore.
I remembered the face of Sergeant Ellias, screaming for mercy as a figure, as terrible as the followers of Chaos, dragged him from our communal bunks.
The Commissar gave the first sign of discomfort and shifted slightly. The stub hanging from his mouth dropped nonchalantly to the floor, briefly illuminating his name plate.
I placed a name to the figure interrogating me. Stygian.
“Tell me of the events of last year, in the Ultramar system?”
Ah. That.
“Seven forty five. A portentous year. The 18th were serving on Dominus Astra. The battle was won of course, or I would not be here, Commissar Stygian.”
A further sign of discomfort as Stygian tapped his fingers. I didn’t know when my summons had turned into a clash of personalities, but it seemed that this was what my meeting had devolved into.
“The Ultramarines took the fight to the Tyranids above their world, Maccrage. We detonated our warp drive reactors in the centre of the xeno scum. All hands were ordered to abandon ship as Rath, bless his soul, triggered the suicide switch.” I rasped.
It was theatrical I knew, but my eyes glazed over as I remembered the chaos of evacuation, of soldiers being shorn of heads and arms, as Tyranid bio-weapons started to enfold the doomed ship. Red lights were my dominant memory, warning klaxons triggering the lamps bloody glow.
“My life-pod barely escaped the reaches of the good Admiral’s last sally forth. We’d taken the enemy in the heart, but for a terrible price.” I finished, letting out a breath I had not realized I was holding in.
Silence reigned in the Commissar’s room for what felt like hours. I was still standing straight at attention.
“Tell me of the Ultramarines, Larion.”
I was silent, not out of fear, but mute respect. Those warriors, anointed by the Emperor, had given my men hope when all else, anger, fury, hate, had failed them.
I turned my gaze upon Stygian and I suddenly felt an intense loathing for this figure who dabbled at fear. What a fool I’d been to have felt trepidation in this office. I had faced the Tyranids and the Black Legion. I had broken the spines of Goff Clan Orks and fought alongside the Adeptus Astartes. I did not deserve this treatment.
I grunted in reply to the Commissar’s question.
“The Adeptus Astartes are the finest warriors I have met in battle Commissar. Why do you interrogate me so?”
The personal battle between me and the foppish Commissar before me had turned around in my favour. Damn this man for trying to instil fear in me.
Smoothly removing his black leather gauntlets from his hand, Stygian placed one dainty finger on his wrought iron desk. A second passed before light flooded the baroque office, revealing unseen portraits of generations of Fleet Captains, Admirals, Petty Officers and their Commissars. Urns and Bolt Pistols dotted small alcoves to Stygian’s back wall.
“Lieutenant Larion, a party of Subjugator Space Marines will arrive in Port Maw by the next day cycle. I require you, as the senior most officer with experience in dealing with the Adeptus Astartes, to act as our ambassador to them. The Subjugator’s Chief Librarian” At these words, Stygian’s lips curled in a snarl “Has relayed a message forward to us. The ship of their First Company has taken damage in their last war zone, and an advance team of the Space Marines require transport to Cadia, where supposedly trouble is brewing.”
I nodded slowly, starting to understand the Commissar. The “Feral Argentum” was the only vessel in the great port ready for war. It also happened to be the ship my 18th were based on for the time being.
“You require a guide, to keep the Astartes away from the crew and vice versa do you not?” I inquired.
Stygian nodded.
“It would not do for the crew to mingle with the Subjugators. Who knows what awesome powers the Astartes wield? I would not have the mighty Space Marines infuriated by the queries of mere galley slaves.”
Again I nodded. Although the chances of a Space Marine walking into, and then conversing with a Naval rating long enough to be pestered were slim, I could understand the Commissar’s agitation. From my little experience with the Ultramarines, they had not enjoyed the company of normal Imperial soldiers and the ire of the Space Marines could be a terrible thing indeed, if it was levelled at say, a Commissar who did not keep his troops a respectable distance from the war gods.
By appointing me to the post of liaison, Stygian achieved two goals. If any cross-cultural tensions should rise, I would take the blame, and the invariable fall, for it. If I successfully steered my charges away from the crew, the effeminate arse could claim the credit. Who would argue with a Naval Commissar?
I sighed. I had no other choice.
“I accept, Sir.”
---
Some constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated!
A burning cheroot illuminated the figure in front of me for a brief moment. Strong jaws clamped down on a smouldering stub. Scarred remnants of an aquiline tattoo dotted his right cheek and a thin tapering ridge of dead tissue ran down from his temple and across his right eye. Some old war wound I guessed.
I was nervous, to tell the truth. The mysterious person in front of me faded back into darkness as he let loose a ring of smoke. Gripping the hand rests of my oldwood chair tightly; I tried to maintain a facade of calm, as I waited for the man to speak.
Heartbeats passed in the ornate, dark room, so favoured by officers of the Commissariat. It enhanced their stature, kept them aloof from their fellow soldiers. Fear was the most important motivation in the hands of these political-officers and loathe as I was to admit it, as a seven year veteran, even I felt the icy hands of terror on my neck.
Turning to look for something, anything else to look at other than the Commissars smoking figure I settled on an ornate sabre, wrought of gold and neo-steel, mounted on a sword-stand forged in the image of two Space Marines, kneeling under the weight of the antique weapon. Next to the power-sword was a small desk-lamp, green and cast in the shape of some monstrous death-world flower.
A cough suddenly sounded, and I turned to return my gaze to the Commissar.
“How many foes of the Imperium have you sent to the Emperor’s final Hell, lieutenant?” whispered the Commissar. I blanched at the man’s oddly disconcerting effeminate tone and question. It was a question I’d heard often enough, but not from one such as this high-pitched executioner. From courtesans often and even my fellow officers with a bottle of amasec being shared; it was a bawdy question, used to slake the warrior’s lust for glory.
“I am not accustomed to repeating myself Lieutenant Larion. How many foes have you sent to their deaths?” barked the Commissar.
I gave a little jerk. How had I managed to get lost in thought as someone who held the power of life and death over me asked a question? I gave myself a mental shake, to steady my nerves. How had the man learned my name?
“Seventy-two confirmed kills Sir! Seven years of glorious service in the 18th Colonial Marines Sir!”
I was barely aware that I had risen to a parade ground perfect salute. But by the Emperor it felt good to stand with my back straight instead of squirming in the aged brown chair, tapping my feet on the green, felt carpet.
Unfazed by my sudden regal bearing, the Commissar continued on with his questionings. I suddenly noticed how the Aquila embroidered on his cap seemed to have an evil glint in the dull light of the cheroot.
“And in these seven years of service, how many times have you served with Imperial forces other than your 18th?”
I paused for a moment to think the query over. Naval Commissars were notoriously adept at rooting out heresy and betrayal, but employed a heavy hand and a long reach in dealing with such problems. Many an innocent comment had been met with death at the hands of the Commissars.
Choosing my words carefully, I began to answer.
“In my beginnings, as a freshly drafted Naval rating, I had the honor of serving alongside the Terrax Guard, when the troop carrier “Signa” was boarded by Ork reavers.” I pulled up the cuff of my dress-uniform to the bicep, exposing the scar that roped across my forearm “It is how I earned my first scar.”
Smoke hazed around the Commissars brow, obscuring his face as effectively as any holo-field. I caught the barely perceptible nod of the man’s cap and I guessed it to be a signal for me to continue on with my recall.
“Three years later, I served with the 16th Colonial Marines aboard the Exorcist Grand Cruiser “Malleus Neo”. We had ranged from Port Maw on a long patrol run before coming into contact with the forces of the Arch-Enemy. The 16th saw the majority of the action in the engine rooms, whilst my 18th fended off mild offensives from traitor Astartes towards the bridge.”
I gulped. I had under-exaggerated the conflict. The 16th had been purged by shadowy Inquisitorial representatives who had appeared, as if by some foul sorcery, on the Mallus Neo. My comrades had been exposed to the raw hate of Chaos and the risk of corruption had been far too great for the Inquisition to ignore.
I remembered the face of Sergeant Ellias, screaming for mercy as a figure, as terrible as the followers of Chaos, dragged him from our communal bunks.
The Commissar gave the first sign of discomfort and shifted slightly. The stub hanging from his mouth dropped nonchalantly to the floor, briefly illuminating his name plate.
I placed a name to the figure interrogating me. Stygian.
“Tell me of the events of last year, in the Ultramar system?”
Ah. That.
“Seven forty five. A portentous year. The 18th were serving on Dominus Astra. The battle was won of course, or I would not be here, Commissar Stygian.”
A further sign of discomfort as Stygian tapped his fingers. I didn’t know when my summons had turned into a clash of personalities, but it seemed that this was what my meeting had devolved into.
“The Ultramarines took the fight to the Tyranids above their world, Maccrage. We detonated our warp drive reactors in the centre of the xeno scum. All hands were ordered to abandon ship as Rath, bless his soul, triggered the suicide switch.” I rasped.
It was theatrical I knew, but my eyes glazed over as I remembered the chaos of evacuation, of soldiers being shorn of heads and arms, as Tyranid bio-weapons started to enfold the doomed ship. Red lights were my dominant memory, warning klaxons triggering the lamps bloody glow.
“My life-pod barely escaped the reaches of the good Admiral’s last sally forth. We’d taken the enemy in the heart, but for a terrible price.” I finished, letting out a breath I had not realized I was holding in.
Silence reigned in the Commissar’s room for what felt like hours. I was still standing straight at attention.
“Tell me of the Ultramarines, Larion.”
I was silent, not out of fear, but mute respect. Those warriors, anointed by the Emperor, had given my men hope when all else, anger, fury, hate, had failed them.
I turned my gaze upon Stygian and I suddenly felt an intense loathing for this figure who dabbled at fear. What a fool I’d been to have felt trepidation in this office. I had faced the Tyranids and the Black Legion. I had broken the spines of Goff Clan Orks and fought alongside the Adeptus Astartes. I did not deserve this treatment.
I grunted in reply to the Commissar’s question.
“The Adeptus Astartes are the finest warriors I have met in battle Commissar. Why do you interrogate me so?”
The personal battle between me and the foppish Commissar before me had turned around in my favour. Damn this man for trying to instil fear in me.
Smoothly removing his black leather gauntlets from his hand, Stygian placed one dainty finger on his wrought iron desk. A second passed before light flooded the baroque office, revealing unseen portraits of generations of Fleet Captains, Admirals, Petty Officers and their Commissars. Urns and Bolt Pistols dotted small alcoves to Stygian’s back wall.
“Lieutenant Larion, a party of Subjugator Space Marines will arrive in Port Maw by the next day cycle. I require you, as the senior most officer with experience in dealing with the Adeptus Astartes, to act as our ambassador to them. The Subjugator’s Chief Librarian” At these words, Stygian’s lips curled in a snarl “Has relayed a message forward to us. The ship of their First Company has taken damage in their last war zone, and an advance team of the Space Marines require transport to Cadia, where supposedly trouble is brewing.”
I nodded slowly, starting to understand the Commissar. The “Feral Argentum” was the only vessel in the great port ready for war. It also happened to be the ship my 18th were based on for the time being.
“You require a guide, to keep the Astartes away from the crew and vice versa do you not?” I inquired.
Stygian nodded.
“It would not do for the crew to mingle with the Subjugators. Who knows what awesome powers the Astartes wield? I would not have the mighty Space Marines infuriated by the queries of mere galley slaves.”
Again I nodded. Although the chances of a Space Marine walking into, and then conversing with a Naval rating long enough to be pestered were slim, I could understand the Commissar’s agitation. From my little experience with the Ultramarines, they had not enjoyed the company of normal Imperial soldiers and the ire of the Space Marines could be a terrible thing indeed, if it was levelled at say, a Commissar who did not keep his troops a respectable distance from the war gods.
By appointing me to the post of liaison, Stygian achieved two goals. If any cross-cultural tensions should rise, I would take the blame, and the invariable fall, for it. If I successfully steered my charges away from the crew, the effeminate arse could claim the credit. Who would argue with a Naval Commissar?
I sighed. I had no other choice.
“I accept, Sir.”
---
Some constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated!