Ok, this is my first foray into writing fluff so bear with me. It's come about as I wanted to write up a bit of a background for a Chaplain kit-bash I created, but kind of grew into a short story the more I got enthused with it. Having said that, this is just a first draft so please feel free to point out any mistakes, canon errors (although it is just fan-fic obviously) and as usual feel free to suggest developments as I don't have the ending completely set in stone... it's more like soupy magma at the moment
Oh, I should also mention that this is a
Salamanders short story.
Without further ado then, here's the intro an first section:
The Obsidian Angel
With a roiling burst of purple light and the screaming of hellish warp entities, the hideous nightmare that was the ‘Eternal Damnation’ pulled itself free from the warp and into real space. A horrifying amalgamation of melded ships, their hulls fused together into a crude parody of Imperial Glory, for the past ten millennia it had languished within the corrupting realms of the warp, occasionally returning to haunt Imperial space, but never remaining long enough to be caught. For nigh uncountable centuries many had attempted to purge the monstrosity, only to fall prey to its myriad chambers and the foul denizens that dwelt deep within its darkest reaches...
However, on this occasion of exploration it would be different, for this time it was the visitors were no mere salvagers, chancing their luck for the recovery of arceo-tech. Nor were they simple pirates or Xeno life forms looking for a new home, from which to continue their assault on the ailing Imperium of Man, for this time it was the Fireborn who had come, Astartes of the once-legion Salamanders – and they had come to claim their rightful heritage...
•••
A series of rolling thumps reverberated throughout the battle-scarred hull of the Strike Cruiser ‘Nocturne’s Inferno’ as a slew of runes, scrolling into view upon the many holo-screens clustering the bridge’s command consoles, announced the departure of the boarding party. Glancing down to check the status of each of the 3 torpedoes’ support systems, Techmarine Telamon punched into his console the coordinates for the target situated deep within the hulk’s twisted interior. Following a brief delay the vox burst into life with the crackle of static and a voice, so abyssally deep that it left him in no doubt of whom he was being addressed by, boomed through the speakers ;
++Ark’han to Bridge, coordinates received, closing to target.++
Outside, in the freezing expanse of space, 3 blooms of plasma blossomed as the boarding torpedoes accelerated and roared their way across the void towards the leviathan that was the ‘Eternal Damnation’. Enclosed within the foot thick layers of adamantium, plasteel and ceramite that formed the armoured shell of the torpedo, Chaplain Hyperion Ark’han, a stalwart veteran of countless bloody battles fought in the name of the undying God-Emperor, waited patiently, the armoured digits on his gauntleted hand rapping ceaselessly against the haft of his ancient, but no less deadly, Crozius Arcanum.
“Nervous, Chaplain?”, chuckled an Astartes seated across from Ark’han, his bulk half shrouded by the shadows that lurked in the torpedo’s recesses. Flexing the fingers of his chainfist, Veteran Sergeant Vor’san, a mischievous set to his features, looked up to find the Chaplain staring intently out of the occuliport of the boarding torpedo at the unfathomably large vessel looming into view. Turning to Vor’san, Ark’han sighed patronisingly, the light from his burning red eyes penetrating the lenses of the leering skull-faced helm that was the privilege of only the Chaplaincy to wear, casting an eerie glow over his immense black battle plate. Clad as he was in a suit of the chapter’s revered Terminator armour, specifically designed to survive the harsh conditions, and harsher fighting, that can occur within a space vessel, to any lesser human the Chaplains gesture alone, not to mention his imposing appearance, would usually have intimidated them into silence, however Vor’san was no mere human, nor were any of the torpedo’s other occupants.
“I’m sure, Zarnath,” murmured the Chaplain, “that were I to be nervous you would be the first to recognise it, for I am lead to believe with a nervous disposition comes with a propensity to talk inanely and without intelligence. Perhaps, however, you’ll know more on the matter than I?”
For the briefest of moments, an icy cool pervaded the atmosphere of the torpedo – the Sergeant was known for his quick temper, and the Chaplains acerbic sarcasm was sure to have fired it. A low growl filled the compartment, growing to a hearty laugh as it reached it’s apex. A smile splitting his grizzled, scar-etched face, Vor’san turned to the rest of the squad clustered in the torpedo’s hold. Firedrakes all, veterans of the Salamanders revered 1st Company, the squad knew the value of such joviality in the face of the arduous task ahead;
“By the Emperor he’s quick!” Vor'san announced. Turning back to the Chaplain, Vor’san nodded respectfully, “It’s good to have you with us Hyperion, we will need to gird our souls with faith to survive the trials ahead.”
“Likewise Brother-Sergeant,” replied Ark’han soberly, “this mission promises to be difficult, but the rewards could prove to be of the greatest importance to the Salamanders.”
Glancing up from the maintenance of his weapons, Vor’san’s voice dropped to a more respectful timbre and his face grew sombre as he focused on the task ahead. “Indeed Brother-Chaplain, a vessel from the days of the Legion no less – we can only hope the warp has been kind.”
“It is not warp-damage that I fear Sergeant, but damage of an altogether more mundane nature,” returned the Chaplain, “They tell me it was there...”
Vor’san’s expression grew dark, his eyes downcast, “A world of fire, blood and betrayal...”he whispered, "The sundering of a brotherhood and the fall of a Primarch... Isstvan.”
“Indeed Brother,” replied Ark’han, with a tone that spoke of deep pain and regret, “With the exploration of the
‘Firestorm’, we may gain some insight into the fate of our Primarch.”
“Have you any last changes to the assault plan?” asked Vor’san, checking the magazine of the twin-barreled storm bolter gripped in his other hand.
“No,” Ark’han replied, pointing to the holographic projection set between the harnesses holding the Terminators in place, “We shall breach the ‘Eternal Damnation’ through the upper gun deck of the Lunar Class Cruiser
‘Invictus’. Following consolidation of the extraction point, we will proceed via the hold of this,” he indicated on the hologram, “Galaxy Class freighter – the
‘Sarouter’, to the armoury of the
‘Firestorm’. Once in position, we will form a defensive perimeter around the bulkhead and allow Techmarine Serafino to analyse the contents of the armoury. If anything of worth presents itself, we will load it onto the servitors accompanying Brother Serafino and, once completed, extract back towards the torpedoes. Squad Tul’
sa will defend the initial breach whilst we escort the Techmarine and his servitors to secure the armoury.”
“Very well Chaplain,” said Vor’san, his voice taking on a clipped metallic tone as he fitted his helmet, which was cunningly wrought in the form of a snarling reptile. Around him, the rest of Squad Vor’san followed their Sergeant’s lead and made ready for battle.
Mere moments later, across the vox-speakers of all three torpedoes, the automated guidance system chimed the countdown, the arid tones of the servitor slaved to the system filling the torpedoes compartments with a monotonous drawl;
++Impact in Ten seconds... Five... Four... Three... Two... One... Impact.++
With an apocalyptic crash the boarding torpedo slammed into the side of
Invictus, tearing through armoured plate as though it were nought but parchment and dismounting enormous weapons batteries with little effort, flinging them down the gun-deck like a child’s forgotten and discarded toys. For a moment the gun-deck was awash in flames as ruptured fuel lines sprayed burning promethium in wild arcs across the cavernous area that made up the deck. A whirlwind of metal tore through the chamber, gutting the deck of anything approaching soft cover, tearing great swathes out of the walls defacing it's once noble lines. An acrid smell spiked through the deck, a mixture of charred metal, stale atmosphere and the burnt flesh of the numerous eviscerated corpses of
Invictus' long dead crew. Into this maelstrom of whirling shards and roaring flames, throughout the deck echoed the hiss of pneumatics heralding the opening of the torpedo hatch and, emerging from the mist produced by severed high pressure pipes and the now guttering flames of fuel, the Salamanders strode forward onto the gun-deck.
Ita finis primi pensionem
Bit of a disclaimer here, but if there are any grammatical/spelling mistakes please point them out, I have proof read this numerous times, but a god I am not so there may be some left. Also, I apologise if the dialogue isn't formatted correctly, but it's the best I can do. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it, I look forward to any suggestions!
