Chapter One: Starfall

[Trish_the_Nugg_Queen]

War has come to the Ork Empire of Ullanor, in the single largest military campaign of the entire Great Crusade. Many legions have been called upon to raise their banners, with the Luna Wolves, White Scars, and Ultramarines, rallying nearly their entire host to the front. For thousands of years, the orks have been among the most dangerous and widespread of xenos threats to the supremacy of the human race, murdering, enslaving, and eating the populations of entire worlds, with Ullanor being the largest and most powerful gathering of their kind. As the Great Crusade reaches further across the numberless stars of the Milky Way, it has become increasingly clear that either Ullanor or the Imperium must die once and for all, for coexistence between the two empires is laughably impossible.

Knowing this makes it all the harder to have been called away from the front, yet here you are, for you cannot forsake explicit orders, especially not those from the Emperor himself. While others among your battle-brothers fight and die for the cause on dozens of greenskin-infested worlds below, you stand in the Gothic halls of the Imperator Somnium, one of the Emperor's three shining golden flagships, waiting listlessly for further commands like a common infantryman. Around you, there are a half-dozen other astartes, all of different legions from yourself and each other; this varied group seems unusual, but you've been told nothing about your orders except to report to the Imperator Somnium.

Around you, naval midship crew bustle about in carefully-decided paths to avoid getting too close to any of you, carrying documents in their arms or typing away at glowing consoles. Every so often, some of the more curious among them brave glances at you, before nervously looking away once more.

[Maester1216]

Vorticar Seraddon

Characteristic Bonuses: Str +10, Tgh +8, Ag +3, Int +4, Per +3, Will +4, Fel +5

Wounds: 22/22

Movement: 4/8/12/24

Armour: Body - 10 (Front)/6 (Back), Arms - 7 (Front)/6 (Back), Other Locations - 9 (Front)/6 (Back)

Pain Suppressant Doses: 8/8

Current Ammunition: N/A

Fate Points: 3/3

---

Helm removed and clipped to his side, Vorticar cast an appraising glance over the interior of the Imperator Somnium. He had no words - whether in High Gothic, Low Gothic or the ganger-slang of Cthonia - that could appropriately encapsulate the grandeur that glittered within his eyes. Even to the uninitiated one could see that this ship was a marvel of engineering; as he had gazed upon it while his shuttle rendezvoused the ship dwarfed even the greatest of Imperial battleships, with Volkite Storm Accelerators bristling in anticipation of unleashing their fury upon the hated xenos. More than simply being powerful however the Somnium was beautiful as well, for its golden exterior glittered against the brightness of Ullanor's star. A light to illuminate humanity in the darkest reaches of the void...

And here he stood. A mere Astartes upon the Emperor's flagship, waiting with baited breath for the command that had brought him and his kinsmen here. A fine journey for a menial dreg from the lower hives... and a sign yet of how high he may yet rise.

Vorticar turned his gaze to the assembled Astartes. For his part he cut a commanding figure, his armour freshly polished just as the blade at his side was. He had the craggy features and narrowed gazed one would expect of a Hive Worlder, but also a smile that was by turns inviting and disarming. Any midship officers who meet his gaze are met with such a smile... even as his gaze does not hover over long. After all, best not appear overly friendly with common soldiery.

"An auspicious meeting, would you not say cousins? I have no doubt glory will follow wheresoever we are bidden to."

Vorticar holds his right hand to his chest and bows his head in greeting.

"I am Vorticar Seraddon. Luna Wolves - XVIth Legion, 10th Company."

Edited April 17 by Maester1216 (see edit history)

[Ayeba]

Zoreal Eludian

WS 43 (+4)	BS 39 (+3)	S 40 (+10)
T 46 (+8)	A 44 (+4)	I 50 (+5)
P 44 (+4)	WP 47 (+4)	F: 42 (+4)

Movement: 5/10/15/30 | Armor: Body 9, Rest 7

Wounds 19/19 | Fate Points: 3/3 | Pain Suppressant Doses: 6/6

 

As Zorael took in the surroundings, he felt a weird sense of déjà vu. Surely he hadn't been here before? Was this from one of his predecessors' memories?

It didn't matter. He was here now, and he was already writing inspiring sermons for his brethren in his head. The Imperator Somnium lives up to the stories. Fight hard and survive, my brethren, and you too will have a chance to gaze upon its magnificent halls!

He visually examined the members of the other chapters, idly looking for signs of mutations. They were like his distant cousins; unfamiliar, but still part of the family. He would be remiss in his duty if he were not to watch over them as well as his brethren.

One of the crewmembers looked in their way and met Zorael's eyes. He gave him a kind smile in return. It costed him nothing, and might inspire him to work even harder to serve the empire.

7 hours ago, Maester1216 said:

"An auspicious meeting, would you not say cousins? I have no doubt glory will follow wheresoever we are bidden to."

Vorticar holds his right hand to his chest and bows his head in greeting.

"I am Vorticar Seraddon. Luna Wolves, 10th Company."

"An auspicious meeting indeed," Zorael returned the greeting in kind, giving him a bright smile, "I am Zorael Eludian, sanguinary priest of the ninth legion."

He looks towards the other Astartes gathered.

"It is quite the honor to be called upon by the Imperator Somnium. Whatever he asks of us, we will uphold the Empire's glory."

Edited April 16 by Ayeba (see edit history)

[luctius]

 

Degei Bajan (Stormseer)

Characteristics: WS 45, BS 41, Str 43₈, Tgh 42₈, Ag 53, Int 41, Per 48, Will 55, Fel 39, Psy 3

Movement: 5/10/15/30 Awareness: 58(Sound,Sight)/48

Wounds: 20/20 Fate Points: 4/4

Degei's radiates a calm as he observes the flurry of activity within the grand halls of the Imperator Somnium. With a nod here and a smile there, he acknowledges the curious glances of the naval crew, his actions speaking volumes of the respect he holds for all who serve the Imperium.

When an midshipman stumbles and spills her load of data-slates, Degei moves with instinctive grace, and he swiftly bends to assist, gathering the scattered slates with a nod to the young crew member. In the exchange, his eyes convey a silent message of encouragement, reassuring her of solidarity among those who stand united in service to mankind.

Returning his gaze to the assembly of his fellow Astartes, Degei experiences a faint sense of being underdressed, a feeling that is attenuated with the grandeur of the resplendent halls of the Imperator Somnium. The Stormseer is clad in the traditional garb of Chogoris, a white and yellow deel expertly adorned with the Lightning Bolt insignia of the White Scars. A large purple sash, emblazoned with the Storm insignia of his brotherhood, drapes across his form. Despite the simplicity of his attire compared to the ornate armor of his comrades, Degei's presence commands respect, his bearing a testament to the strength of his character and the depth of his devotion to the Emperor and the Khan.

He introduces himself with a guttural voice, "Degei Bajan, Stormseer of the Fifth Legion," he declares as he puts his palms on top of each other with his elbows outwards, a gesture of his nomadic heritage. "In whatever task lies before us, I am confident we shall forge a path to glory for the Emperor and the Khan."

Edited April 17 by luctius (see edit history)

[8bitWizard]

Madoc Mannaw

Characteristics: WS:71 (+7) | BS:38 (+3) | S:51 (+12) | T:52 (+10) | A:44 (+4) | I:34 (+3) | P:42 (+4) | WP:38 (+3) | F:36 (+3)

 

Movement: 5/10/15/30 | Armor: Body 9, Rest 7

 

Wounds: 21/21 | Fate Points: 3/3

Among those gathered, there is at least one seemingly unimpressed by the grand opulence around them, nor the cautious awe of the midshipmen bustling about. A weathered Astartes sits to himself, far more preoccupied with keeping the edge of his knife sharp than gawking at any ostentatious displays. As far as he was concerned, he had no need for art or decor. He was a weapon, nothing more, and the sooner the rest of them realized that simple fact, the better their odds of survival would be. As the chatter begins among his fellow gene-warriors, Madoc can't help but scoff under his breath but quickly recomposes himself.

They're just lads. Can't judge them too harshly. He was like them once, bright-eyed and eager to seek glory in the name of their Emperor. A part of him wished he could still share in that barely suppressed excitement, the enthusiasm to be selected in this special assignment. He had seen too many battle-brothers just like them fall before and knew that his summons meant only one thing: he was here to keep the rest of them alive.

The old guard clears his throat, sitting up and leaning on his crimson-capped knee. He offers what he thought was a smile, but the twist of his scarred lips comes off more like a sneer. "Madoc Mannaw. Scout Sergeant, Fourteenth Legion." He introduced himself with coarse voice. For a brief flash, a thoughtful look crossed his face. Not so much with the scouts anymore, was he? No matter, he didn't feel like correcting himself, and resumed the slow, methodical scrape of his whetstone across steel, eyes focused on the mono-edge. He'd leave the flowery words of inspiration to the priest, and those who needed to hear them.

Edited April 18 by 8bitWizard (see edit history)

[Ayeba]

Zoreal Eludian

WS 43 (+4)	BS 39 (+3)	S 40 (+10)
T 46 (+8)	A 44 (+4)	I 50 (+5)
P 44 (+4)	WP 47 (+4)	F: 42 (+4)

Movement: 5/10/15/30 | Armor: Body 9, Rest 7

Wounds 19/19 | Fate Points: 3/3 | Pain Suppressant Doses: 6/6

 

Zorael greeted Degei Bajan as well. He could see a similar eagerness as himself.

Madoc Mannaw was the odd one out. While he looked old, his eyes were anything but dull. His lack of decorum didn't bother Zoreal at all; he had plenty of experience with veterans, and knew that many preferred actions over words. No, wait, that wasn't his memory. Well, the principle still held.

"I believe you have much experience to teach us youngsters," he addressed the older man, "I would be most grateful for any advice you have that may increase our odds of survival. After all, only by staying alive can we continue to serve the empire."

He smiled to the others as well.

"That applies to all of you. While age tends to correlate with experience, there are plenty of fools among both young and old; people unwilling to learn from others' experience. If you have something you can teach others, please speak up."

Edited April 16 by Ayeba (see edit history)

[8bitWizard]

Madoc Mannaw

Characteristics: WS:71 (+7) | BS:38 (+3) | S:51 (+12) | T:52 (+10) | A:44 (+4) | I:34 (+3) | P:42 (+4) | WP:38 (+3) | F:36 (+3)

 

Movement: 5/10/15/30 | Armor: Body 9, Rest 7

 

Wounds: 21/21 | Fate Points: 3/3

Madoc looked away from his whetstone to glance up at Zorael, his coal-dark eyes unreadable as he took measure of the apothecary. The Blood Angel hardly looked any older than Madoc's age when he was first made into a legionnaire, but youthful visage was hardly a means to assume the age or experience of a son of Sanguinius. He didn't respond immediately, rather taking heed of Zorael's words. Damn charming those angels, and now Madoc felt a fool for brandishing a weapon, no matter how small, in the halls of the Emperor's most sacred flagship. Here in this gilded war palace, the risk of sudden ambush was impossible; old habits die hard.

With grunt, Madoc rose to his feet and sheathed his knife, standing a good few centimeters above his red-armored gene-cousin. "You want advice on staying alive, youngblood?" His gruff voice still lilted with a particular Terran accent, a relic of the Old Night. "Don't die."

The wrinkles around his eyes creased in smile, breaking the stare with a rough chuckle. "Make no mistake--we would not be summoned here to the Imperator Somnium were any of us the least among our legions. None of ye are fools. The Emperor would not suffer them aboard his flagship." Madoc was cautious not to flatter them too much; being a teacher, he could tolerate, but the last thing the old sergeant wanted was for them to look up to him as their leader before the mission was even known. That responsibility would be far better suited for another, such as...

He turned to Vorticar, the shrewd-eyed wolf among them, and felt an odd sense of relief at his presence. The Lupercal's scions inherited his natural talent for command, and Madoc knew he'd feel far more comfortable serving as second, or even third should another prove more fitting. Madoc nodded at the man, a measure of respect offered to few.

Edited April 18 by 8bitWizard
fixing tense (see edit history)

[Harding]

Vulker Grievius

Salamander Tech Marine Rank 1

Wounds: 20/20 | Fate: 3/3 |SB: 8 (+10 in armor) |TB: 10 (+2 to head, legs, arms)

---

BS	WS	S	T	Ag	Int	Per	Wp	Fel
49	42	66	50	43	53	44	43	39

Damage resistance:

Body: 10 + 10 from armor (-1 armor if injured/dirty) Head: 12 + 8 from armor (-1 armor if injured/dirty)

Arms: 12 + 8 from armor (-1 armor if injured/dirty) Legs: 12 + 8 from armor (-1 armor if injured/dirty)

---

From a corner of the room stood a peculiar figure—a green-armored Astartes with obsidian-black skin and a fiery red beard, meticulously tending to a heavy piece of machinery amidst scattered armor components. To the uninitiated in the rites of the Machinus Cult, it might have appeared as mere mechanical work. However, his actions involved burning incense, anointing the device with sacred oil, and offering prayers in a distorted voice akin to vox static, all while deeply engrossed in his task.

As other Astartes entered the room and introduced themselves, the green-armored marine sensed that the machine spirit was duly appeased. He then began to assemble the device he had been working on—a long, mechanized arm that responded to his touch, aiding him by passing plates or holding them in place for bolting and soldering. The process was executed with practiced precision, suggesting a familiarity honed through countless repetitions. Finally, utilizing a nearby hydraulic winch that seemed to move of its own volition, he affixed a mechanical arm to his left shoulder, completing his attire—an immaculate Crusader armor adorned with a distinctive green scale pattern and the Mechanicus symbol prominently displayed on the torso, near the navel.

His right eye blinked intermittently as he surveyed the room, his demeanor one of stoic observance tempered by a keen interest in his surroundings.

"I am Vulker Grievius, Techmarine of the Salamanders, Eighteenth Legion," he announced in a monotone, vox-modulated voice. Then he gave his perspective on the Blood Angel Astartes question by citing the teachings of the Promothean Cult. "Wisdom lies in heeding both fool and sage, setting an example by refining them both, sons of Sanguinius. Each strike of the hammer shapes your own blade, and from trials and errors, true lessons are learned."

His gaze did not fixate on any one individual, suggesting that his words were meant for all present, himself included, as a reminder of the eternal pursuit of knowledge and mastery.

 

 

 

Edited April 16 by Harding (see edit history)

[IndyKophen]

Edryc "Shadow" Morrigan

Characteristics: WS 50 (+5), BS 44 (+4), S 35 (+8), T 38 (+6), Ag 49 (+5), Int 36 (+3), Per 44 (+4), WP 44 (+4), Fel 39 (+3) Movement: 14/28/42/84 | Armor: Body 9, Rest 8 Wounds: 20/20 | Fate Points: 3/3 | Pain Suppressant Doses: 6/6   "Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—"

 

Morrigan remained in the shadows cast within the deep recesses of the towering Gothic halls and watched the eclectic group from afar. Each of the half-dozen Astartes sported the livery of different legions, with specialties just as varied. Morrigan spied another Assault Marine like himself, as well as a pair Tactical Marines, an Apothecary, a Mechanicus-enhanced Techmarine, and a psychically "gifted" Librarian. At the very least, Morrigan concluded, they had not been singled out for their conformity.

When ordered to report to the Imperator Somnium, Morrigan, succumbing to his dark and brooding nature, had feared the worst. Unconsciously, his hand gravitated to the recovered Corvia of his fallen Dark Fury Battle-Brothers, all chained together and hanging from the Assault Marine's belt. Now, amongst the bustle of naval activity aboard of one of the Emperor's shining golden flagships, he... lessened his apprehension.

"Make no mistake--we would not be summoned here to the Imperator Somnium were any of us the least among our legions. None of ye are fools. The Emperor would not suffer them aboard his flagship." The wisen words of the veteran Death Guard cut through Morrigan's calculating demeanour. Internalizing the situation would only get him so far. The Raven Guard quietly stepped forward.

Taking a cue from the Luna Wolf, Morrigan removed his beaked helm to reveal his rather stark complexion. As a result of the Raven Guard Melanchromic Organ's unique mutation, Morrigan had ivory white skin, eyes of gleaming black orbs, and hair the colour of raven feathers. Once fully exposed, he was left with no other recourse but to announce himself. "Edryc Morrigan. Nineteen Legion." The Raven Guard was not one for protracted conversation, preferring the economy of brevity when possible. Though in this particular exchanging of introductions, he felt he should add, "There are those in my Legion who call me Shadow." Morrigan did not elaborate further.

Edited April 19 by IndyKophen (see edit history)

[DarthAnthrax]

 

Elyas Zelman - Dark Angel

---

WS 42 ♦ BS 57 ♦ S 63 ♦ T 47 ♦ A 48 ♦ I 55 ♦ P 45 ♦ W 47 ♦ F 40+25 when dealing with other Space Marines

Movement 5/10/15/30 ♦ Carry/Lift/Push 900/1800/3600

---

Armor Body 9, All Other 7 ♦ Wounds 23/23 ♦ Fate 3/3 ♦ Pain Suppressor Doses 6/6

---

Awareness 50 ♦ Scrutiny 22 ♦ Command 50

 

"Quite the strange gathering indeed...soldiers from all legions and all kinds of tactical specialties...curious indeed. Though I guess command would not have pulled us away from active duty without good reason. I only hope it will be revealed soon..."

Elyas had been pondering the reason for his summons ever since he received them. To pull a handful astartes from their respective deployments during an ongoing campaign of this magnitude...there had to be a very specific reason. He was familiar with the traits and tactics of the various legions, even though he had never actually served with someone outside his own legion directly. While most military units thrived on conformity, and dedicated units to fill various roles, a unit formed from a mix of everything the legions had to offer could be...interesting, to say the least.

Standing up from his seat, he pulled back the hood of the dark green cloak he was wearing under his black armor, revealing his dark hair and piercing orange eyes. It was always interesting to see how new people reacted to them, and he was well aware of the eerie appearance they gave him. Even standing up though, he was still noticeably shorter than the others. Not by much, but enough to notice.

"Elyas Zelman of the First Legion, Soldier of the Firewing. Pleased to meet all of you"

[luctius]

Degei Bajan (Stormseer)

Characteristic Bonuses: WS 45, BS 41, Str 43₈, Tgh 42₈, Ag 53, Int 41, Per 48, Will 55, Fel 39, Psy 3

Movement: 5/10/15/30, Awareness: 58(Sound,Sight)/48

Wounds: 20/20, Fate Points: 4/4

Degei observed the conversation silently though the hint of a small smile appeared on his face. Mostly because of his own awkwardness and inability to carry a normal conversation. Something he noted especially with these cousins-in-battle. But even with his own battle-brothers he noticed the same thing. Degei sometimes marveled at the conversations the legion serfs had, concerning basically nothing. That was something he was almost unable to do, and he noticed the same in many of his brothers. The training of an Astartes was long, hard and grueling, but did not incorporate training in idle conversation.

 

He wanted to continue this conversation with an idle-remark, something about the halls they were in, or an attribute one of the other Astartes was carrying, but failed in finding a suitable topic. It was then that he noticed the eyes of the battle-brother whom introduced himself last. 'Interesting', he thought, but it hardly seemed like a suitable topic of conversation.

 

'Back to business it is then...'

 

"Has any of you received more information regarding our assignment?", He asked in his gutteral voice, "It must be something interesting to go through the trouble of requisitioning such a diverse squad". This was an assumption. Several in-fact, but he deemed all of the assumptions to be rather safe.

 

He hoped for something planet-side. Any planet would do, though a planet with plains, forest and wind would be preferred. The travel here had been long and he missed feeling wind and rain. The Arboretum of the ships helped somewhat to cure his restlessness, but were no substitute for the real thing. In addition, the spirits of this place felt cold and .. hollow, leaving a constant taste of copper in his mouth.

 

[Ayeba]

Zoreal Eludian

WS 43 (+4)	BS 39 (+3)	S 40 (+10)
T 46 (+8)	A 44 (+4)	I 50 (+5)
P 44 (+4)	WP 47 (+4)	F: 42 (+4)

Movement: 5/10/15/30 | Armor: Body 9, Rest 7

Wounds 19/19 | Fate Points: 3/3 | Pain Suppressant Doses: 6/6

 

11 hours ago, 8bitWizard said:

"You want advice on staying alive, youngblood?" His gruff voice still lilted with a particular Terran accent, a relic of the Old Night. "Don't die."

Zorael laughed at the presumed joke. Joke or not, it was words he already lived by.

11 hours ago, 8bitWizard said:

"Make no mistake--we would not be summoned here to the Imperator Somnium were any of us the least among our legions. None of ye are fools. The Emperor would not suffer them aboard his flagship." 

"Only in hindsight will it be clear who the real fools are," he countered, "And even people who aren't fools can act foolish if they're not careful."

His thoughts went to his own primarch and the massacre at Anahktor, and Sanguinius' decision to let an enemy envoys get close to their fleet. Believing in his enemy's honor had cost them 152 of their brethren. He could still remember the pain his second predecessor experienced when all air was sucked out of his lungs as the ship ruptured.

9 hours ago, Harding said:

"Wisdom lies in heeding both fool and sage, setting an example by refining them both, sons of Sanguinius. Each strike of the hammer shapes your own blade, and from trials and errors, true lessons are learned."

Zoreal turned to the techmarine as he spoke. The Salamander gave him the same impression as other tech priests he had met; someone well versed in knowledge far outside his own skill set. It was the empire's blessing that they had a vast array of talents to draw from.

"That is good advice, Vulker Grievius. While I would phrase it differently myself, I can wholeheartedly agree with the message; learn from failures and successes, both your own and others'."

If this techmarine was as proficient as it seemed, perhaps he could ask for advice on his armor later. The core would act up at inappropriate times. It had saved his life once, so he didn't want it fixed, just ... moderated. It would be quite the embarrassment if it happened while they spoke to the Imperator Somnium.

9 hours ago, IndyKophen said:

"Edryc Morrigan. Nineteen Legion. There are those in my Legion who call me Shadow."

"Well met, Edryc Morrigan," Zorael gave his greetings. The man looked a bit unhealthy, and Zorael regretted not having his Diagnostor Helmet with him. It would be a sign of disrespect to point that out without proof, so he held his tongue on that matter.

"I have heard rumors about your legion and their skills in the art of infiltration. If you have been dubbed Shadow by your own brethren, I have no reason to doubt your skills. I will admit I am curious about the origin of that nickname. Perhaps a story you will be comfortable to share with us later?"

7 hours ago, DarthAnthrax said:

"Elyas Zelman of the First Legion, Soldier of the Firewing. Pleased to meet all of you"

The last astartes gave Zorael even more pause. Were those eyes natural, or a result of a mutation? He wouldn't be here if he was tainted, but still... If given the chance, he would certainly like to examine them.

"A pleasure to meet you as well," he greeted back, regardless of his apprehensions.

3 minutes ago, luctius said:

"Has any of you received more information regarding our assignment?", He asked in his gutteral voice, "It must be something interesting to go through the trouble of requisitioning such a diverse squad". This was an assumption. Several in-fact, but he deemed all of the assumptions to be rather safe.

Zorael shook his head.

"I am as much in the dark as you are," he affirmed, "But I can make some assumptions, and I'm quite certain 'interesting' is not a wrongful description of the task ahead of us. 'Dangerous' is almost certainly appropriate as well, but that's not saying much. When have the Astartes ever been assigned to a task that was not inherently dangerous?"

[Maester1216]

Vorticar Seraddon

Characteristic Bonuses: Str +10, Tgh +8, Ag +3, Int +4, Per +3, Will +4, Fel +5

Wounds: 22/22

Movement: 4/8/12/24

Armour: Body - 10 (Front)/6 (Back), Arms - 7 (Front)/6 (Back), Other Locations - 9 (Front)/6 (Back)

Pain Suppressant Doses: 8/8

Current Ammunition: N/A

Fate Points: 3/3

---

Vorticar returns Madoc's nod with one of his own. An old Astartes... a rare sight indeed, for good or ill. The Blood Angel's talk only sharpened that notion in his mind; what good was a thousand years of service - or even five hundred years - to simply wither away inside your power armour he wondered? Sooner or later even an Astartes body slows down under the weight of time, and what duty is there for you then? Warriors such as that are poor fodder for the Remembrancers, and poorer fits still as Dreadnoughts. His mind wandered for a moment to old Iacton Qruze, Captain of the 3rd Company of the Luna Wolves: cantankerous and stubborn, but still a wellspring of knowledge after centuries of service. Would Madoc of the Death Guard be the same he wondered? Best keep him close if so... and even if not he may provide a lesson in spite of himself.

He listened as the others made their introductions, quickly putting names to faces before responding in turn. "Whatever our charge, I anticipate a great many Greenskins in our path... and great glory in turn as we cut them down. I sense advancement at the end of this campaign for us all; perhaps even a Captaincy for every Warboss head we deliver? 'Lord Commander Seraddon' has always rung well in my ear if I were to speak plainly."

A laughing tone slips past, but a momentary tightening of the lips and tensing of the jaw betrays a flash of emotion on Vorticar's face. The thought of killing Orks seems to elicit a strong response from the Luna Wolf.

Vorticar turns aside to Degei. "For a mere Lord General in the Auxilia I would agree. But the Sons of the Emperor are not so easily swept aside by the vagaries of bureaucracy - least of all when the Master of Ultramar is involved. No, it is as Madoc says. Our presence here is at the behest of no lesser personage, which brings responsibility - and opportunity - in equal measure."

[IndyKophen]

Edryc "Shadow" Morrigan

Characteristics: WS 50 (+5), BS 44 (+4), S 35 (+8), T 38 (+6), Ag 49 (+5), Int 36 (+3), Per 44 (+4), WP 44 (+4), Fel 39 (+3) Movement: 14/28/42/84 | Armor: Body 9, Rest 8 Wounds: 20/20 | Fate Points: 3/3 | Pain Suppressant Doses: 6/6   "Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—"

 

"Well met, Edryc Morrigan. I have heard rumors about your legion and their skills in the art of infiltration. If you have been dubbed Shadow by your own brethren, I have no reason to doubt your skills. I will admit I am curious about the origin of that nickname. Perhaps a story you will be comfortable to share with us later?"

Morrigan politely returned the Blood Angel's greeting, despite finding him uncharacteristically optimistic for a Space Marine and antithesis to his own personality. "The rumors you speak of about the XIX are most certainly true." Morrigan spoke loudly, proud of his Legion's reputation and exploits in the service of the Emperor. "As are my particular skills," he added, not as a boast, but rather, a statement of fact.

"I have many stories to share, as do, I'm sure, we all." Morrigan glanced around at those assembled. Though they appeared foreign from one another, he imagined all Astartes shared similar trials and tribulations just to become a Battle-Brother. "Raven Guard Aspirants must prove themselves worthy in a series of trials. The Trial of the Watcher. Trial of Justice. Trial of the Wraith." When recounting, he paused in between, reliving each terrible, yet ultimately enriching experience in turn. "But it was upon completion of the Rites of Shadow, I earned the status of "Shadow" - a title that holds great respect within the Legion." As he concluded, Morrigan instinctually brought his hands together and made a sign in Corspake, a form of sign language taught to all members of the Raven Guard, which allows them to communicate on the battlefield without having to risk exposure from speaking or using Vox technology.

"Within the Raven Guard, I am not alone in holding the title of Shadow." He was poignantly reminded of Zorael's fabled rumors. "You could even say... we are a Legion of Shadows."

Edited April 17 by IndyKophen (see edit history)

[Harding]

Vulker Grievius

Salamander Tech Marine Rank 1

Wounds: 20/20 | Fate: 3/3 |SB: 8 (+10 in armor) |TB: 10 (+2 to head, legs, arms)

---

BS	WS	S	T	Ag	Int	Per	Wp	Fel
49	42	66	50	43	53	44	43	39

Damage resistance:

Body: 10 + 10 from armor (-1 armor if injured/dirty) Head: 12 + 8 from armor (-1 armor if injured/dirty)

Arms: 12 + 8 from armor (-1 armor if injured/dirty) Legs: 12 + 8 from armor (-1 armor if injured/dirty)

---

Vulker listened in silence as each marine spoke, acknowledging their words with nods and grunts. When Brethen Vorticar voiced his desire for glory against the Orks, Vulker usually composed marine's demeanor shifted dramatically. Vulker's calm mask shattered, revealing a wrathful expression as he expressed his burning desire to exact retribution upon the xenos who had maimed him.

"To oblivion the prizes and glory! I will find no peace until I have torn these xenos apart! They owe me a leg, an arm, and an eye, and many lifes of good Astartes from my Legion, and they will pay for it a thousandfold," Vulkar angrily growled, punctuating his words with a furious strike against the nearby wall, leaving a deep cavitation and causing many servants and crew members to coil in fear or flee the scene from this outburst of violence. The acidic venom from his betcher glands was dripping from his mouth, emitted fumes that seeped into the deck.

Realizing the intensity of his emotional outburst, Vulker swiftly regained control of his temper. With a humble nod, he addressed the gathered marines, his voice now calm and tinged with a robotic precision.

"My apologies for the outburst. I'll try to keep my wrath for the Greenskins from now on...," Vulker concluded, his words echoing with a chilling resolve.

 

 

 

Edited April 17 by Harding (see edit history)