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Chapter One - Unremarkable

Hyaphis Minoris was Unremarkable for many reasons.

The backwater moon was inhabited by a small population of Unremarkable tribespeople, largely untouched by the rest of the Imperium. The natives knew the barest amount of the Imperial Creed, about the Sky-God and his war against the forces of 'Knowledge' and 'Ambition' - that was all the Ecclesiarchy told them, to prevent them developing past Unremarkable crossbows and leather armours. Better that they didn't interfere elsewhere. Other than that, the natives lived, hunted, and died on their moon, and their Unremarkable lives continued.

Most attention was diverted to it's brother, Hyaphis Majoris - an agri-world producing quintillions more grain and grox for the Imperial war machine. An Unremarkable message called the Hyaphisians to war - adding Guardsmen to their quota of exports. Seeing an opportunity, the Prospector-Governess called for the native tribespeople on her moon to be called to arms too, to join in the war against 'Knowledge' and 'Ambition' - and happened to keep many of her farmers and labourers in her fields. And so it was that farmer and hunter were united in arms, toting threshing scythes and spears alongside lasguns.

The farmers told Unremarkable stories about their families, their work, their hopes, dreams and expectations.

The tribesmen spoke of the Remarkable unseen guardian of their village.

They spoke of a great being in the valleys around their settlement, living in a vast torchlit hall, surrounded by the mountains of skulls of the monsters he had slain.
They spoke of unnatural, magically sharp blades in the warrior's hands, of fire shooting from his arms, of the being's immense strength that could split a log in twain with a single strike, which he used to defend their homes every night from monsters in the wilderness.
They spoke of how the being walked like a man, moulded like any of them, but more in every way - faster, larger, cannier. The tribe's best huntsmen had tried many times to get a closer look at their guardian, but could find nothing in the valleys, barring the freshly shredded corpses of great alien beasts.

They spoke only of half-truths.

In the valley, surrounded by a small hand-crafted picket fence of twisted branches, lay an Unremarkable house. Dry stone walls blended seamlessly with the dull flanks of the valley, the lichens creeping along the stone betraying it's age. Decapitated heads of foul aliens leered from the posts of the fence, a grim allusion to the strength of the house's Remarkable resident.
Behind the slab of granite that formed the doorway into the house, there was no mountain of skulls, no torchlit hall.

Just a small pile of furs and a sleeping man.

And something rather Remarkable was on Hyaphis Minoris to meet the Remarkable man.

The man's ears pricked in his sleep, hearing something faintly in the distance he hadn't heard for countless years.
Something Remarkable.
The man needed no light to see. When he stirred, like some ancient beast, from the bloody mass of hide that formed his bed, his eyes saw just fine in the pitch darkness. His head just brushed past the sagging roof as he rose to both feet. He would have towered over a tribesman, had they been in the house too. Alone in the darkness, the giant surveyed his possessions.

Perched on rusted iron hooks, knives the size of a normal man's shortsword awaited their master. On a shelf next to them, a massive rifle, more like some kind of heavy weapon to anyone other than the man who owned it. A form of sadness glinted in the man's eyes as he ignored the gun and took the knives, sliding them into a pair of handmade scabbards set on his waist. Upon feeling his bare hands brush against his barely clothed body, his invisible eyes darted towards what stood slumped in the corner.

Had a Hyaphisian seen it in the daylight, they would have called it a statue first, seeing the impossibly flat and imposing flanks of resolute material. All colour had drained from it, now a stony grey, embellished by trails of moss and lichen. But as the man began to put the slabs on his herculean body, it's purpose became far more clear.

Two eye lenses pierced the gloom. A rattling sigh rumbled through the helmet's vox-grille, alive for the first time in years. Long seized-up servo-motors groaned with the weight of decades as the Space Marine pulled aside the slab door to his home and set foot outside.

He barely had time to shut the door behind him when a great bulky aircraft skimmed into the valley. He recognised its design instantly, having heard it flying over the area. He waved a hand, greeting the aircraft. It saw him. Upon spotting him, it swooped down, bending the bristly bushes and scattering small stones with its draught. Slowly, the engines died down, and five figures descended from a frontal exit hatch. The man watched the newcomers with trepidation. Save for one, the new arrivals looked identical to him, barring the natural ornaments on his armour. Otherwise, their flesh was also cased in granite-grey, with impossibly smooth, slab-like armour.
Astartes power armour.

The grey warriors stood in silence. Statues in the valley. Something Remarkable on an Unremarkable moon.

The leader of the newcomers spoke first.
"Keeping yourself busy, I see."
He gestured to the ork heads on the fence, their swollen tongues lolling from their bestial jaws.

"Can't stop helping." the Astartes said. "The locals wouldn't have survived a night raid. So I give the aliens the fight they want. Every night, the ferals come here instead of the town, and every night I drive them back. It never changes."

"Not for much longer." Another of the newcomers spoke up. This one wore the red helix of an Apothecary, emblazoned on a grey gauntlet. "You are wounded. Unable to fight at optimum efficiency." The man shrugged. He didn't realise they could see his slumped shoulder, the savage bite of an ork's crude axe.

"I ran out of ammunition three days ago. Misjudged my supplies. An ork rushed me, and I tried to shoot. I couldn't dodge in time."

"Where was your power armour?"

"I stopped wearing it one year in. It was getting torn to pieces."

The Apothecary sighed with the weight of knowledge. "You will die here."

"Then I will die here."

"It doesn't have to be this way."

More silence. The Space Marine spoke again.
"How did you find me?"

The sixth Space Marine replied, a deep booming voice. "The locals. We encountered them and their legends of you."
This Space Marine was different to the others. Still encased in great slabs of Astartes ceramite, this one towered over his fellows - bulky, indomitable, fearsome. The Terminator gave a grating laugh. "You're famous, brother."

"Don't 'Brother' me." The man spat. "You don't know what I've been through. I don't care about the Imperium, the Chaos Gods, the Long War, any of it. I just want it to end."

"Actually," the leader began, "we do. We were like you. Disillusioned weapons of war."

"What do you do?"

"We do what you do. We make a difference. We make the end just a bit brighter. We protect."

"I make no difference. I stopped doing that a long time ago."

"Tell that to the locals." The leader sighed. "We were made to do one thing. It's in our nature. We have been controlled, set loose, ordered into battles we didn't choose. It's time we followed our own nature."

"I have a duty to these people. This is my nature."

"And you'll die for that? When you are defeated, the orks will march over your bones and destroy their settlement. You said it yourself."

"Or not." the Apothecary said. "The tribes have been recruited into the Imperial Guard now. They are capable of defending themselves. They need not rely on their guardian. Of course, their guardian is free to die for them in due course, if he desires that."

Silence crept in as the man weighed up the decision.
"They're safe without me?"
The Apothecary nodded.

The man shrugged. "I haven't any ammunition."

The leader tossed him a magazine. Fully loaded, the Astartes noted as he caught it neatly. "Do with it as you will."

The man entered his home, and retrieved the bolter from it's mantle. The magazine slotted in, the weapon hungrily devouring the offering. Hungry for death. Hungry for war. He returned into the light. This time, he met the newcomers with deference, not resistance.
"Before I join you, tell me your name."

The leader of the Astartes stood forward. "I am Alpha Lupi."

"Is that your real name?"

Alpha Lupi laughed. "Of course not. None of us use our real names. No-one needs to know who you were or your Chapter. That's why we strip off our Chapter colours. You don't even have to remove your helm around us. We don't ask questions. We don't care about how you lived. We only care about how you die."

"I accept this." The man knelt before Alpha Lupi, and bowed his helmed head.

"When you rise, anything you once were is irrelevant. Will you join us, and serve humanity, fighting against the threat without - the alien, the threat within - the heretic, and the threat above - humanity itself?"
The man nodded.

"Do you forsake all that you were, your name and brothers, to take a new name and brothers?"
The man nodded.

"As Alpha Lupi, I bid you stand, and choose your name."
The man rose, the joints of his power armour growing more relaxed with the movement. He sieved through names in his head, testing them on his tongue. One settled, and it burst from his lips.

"Orpheus."

Alpha Lupi nodded in approval. "Brother Orpheus, welcome to the Grey Sentinels."

-----------------------------------

The Grey Sentinels, and their newest member, slipped silently into the void. Unnoticed. Unseen. Unremarkable.

Orpheus didn't look back the Unremarkable moon. Only briefly did the Unremarkable tribe cross his mind. If had had looked back at the Unremarkable tribe, in their Unremarkable settlement, on the Unremarkable moon, he may have seen the Remarkable pillar of smoke and flame billowing out of their village.

Amazing story you've got here, Smudge

These Grey Sentinels sure sound like an intriguing lot...are there any more stories about them coming, or is this a one-off?

 Ezra Tyrius wrote:
Amazing story you've got here, Smudge

These Grey Sentinels sure sound like an intriguing lot...are there any more stories about them coming, or is this a one-off?

Hopefully more - I have plans for these fellows, but it's just a case of getting there.

Either way, glad you enjoy this snippet!

Is this the Unremarkable story of all the unpainted Space Marines sitting on my shelf?

So are we going to get origin stories for all six of these guys? I'd read them all.

Aye, I agree. Intriguing stuff. Your main character is an interesting one along with who he once was and how he ended up on the moon protecting tribesmen from feral Orks. But the real hook is the grey Sentinels themselves.
Hope you do flesh it out as would like to hear more about this new take on a chapter.

Chapter 2 - Lux Finitum

The Stormraven Gunship jinked and weaved through the small asteroid clusters above the moon, a grey ghost in the darkness. Orpheus continued to fix his gaze on the exterior pict-feed, searching for a sign of the Sentinels' ship. Alpha Lupi saw this and laughed.

"Relax, Orpheus. You'll see it soon enough. It won't be impressive, but it suits our needs."
Orpheus took his gaze off of the screen. Instead, he scanned the other occupants of the ship. The first thing that struck him as he studied them properly was the armour. It was unmistakably power armour, but cannibalised, jury-rigged, scavenged. Here, a Mark III shoulder pad, there a Mark VI helmet. The only thing similar about their armour was the unpainted ceramite, giving them their titular grey. Repair cement filled in the more obvious bullet holes. He wondered if they had been suffered by the current wearer, or their previous owner.

The pilot's voice called back from the cockpit. "Approaching the Lux Finitum now, commander."

"The Final Light?" Orpheus mumbled. "Your ship?"

"The very same," Alpha Lupi said. "Coming up on the screen now."
As he said it, the vehicle swam into view.

The Lux Finitum was certainly smaller than Orpheus expected. Slightly smaller than a frigate, it hung like any of the other asteroids around it. Unlike most Imperial vehicles, the Lux was devoid of finery and the grand gothic arches - instead smooth and sleek with purpose. Twin cannons jutted from the prow, like fangs bared, but aside from a meagre array of ordnance along the side and scant point defence batteries, they were it's only weaponry.
As their Stormraven drifted closer, Orpheus saw patchwork scars, weld lines, stamped rivets; the angular letters and punctuation marks of great battles and stories tattooed onto the Lux's hull. There was no way that this ship would be classed as functional in any Imperial armoury.

"We found this ship when we were first operating as Sentinels," Alpha Lupi said. "It looked far worse than this, I can assure you. You'd be surprised at how many stations will repair a ship as soon as they see a Space Marine."

Two hatches at the side of the ship forced their way open, admitting the grey Stormraven in to the hangar bay. Orpheus looked at the vast maze of crates and supplies covering the floor of the hangar. Hundreds of them, nearly formed into rows of vast scale. The sigils on the various crates varied in mark and style - Orpheus recognised the seals of the Adeptus Mechanicus, Departmento Munitorum, and other organisations on the crates. A large pile of other crates stood aside from the others, obviously new to the batch.

The front hatch of the Stormraven dropped, and the warm air of the troop bay was extinguished by the frigid cold of the cargo hold. Alpha Lupi sauntered to the lip of the hatch, and shouted down over the din of the engines.
"How's that new cache doing?"
An Astartes, also in grey, peered out from behind a mountain of scattered crates.
"Well, I've not organised them yet - you could have done that before I did an inventory check." Annoyance was laced in his voice. "Otherwise, another standard Munitorum shipment, commander. Some fresh heavy bolter magazines I can scrap for our own needs. Plenty more power packs. No rations this time."

"How's our stock of them?"

"Acceptable. For now. Current projections imply that we will need to start rationing soon. And you know how I feel about rationing."

Alpha Lupi laughed, and dropped easily from the ramp. "My apologies, Borodai," he smirked. "We'll have more ease in the future. Our ranks have swelled."

The Stormraven descended, hovering scant feet above the ground. The Sentinels still on board hopped out, landing neatly and lazily forming up behind Lupi. Orpheus joined up, tailing behind. "Quartermaster, allow me to introduce our newest member, Orpheus."

The grey brethren parted, and Orpheus was ushered forwards to Borodai. The Astartes was short, only slightly, but easily greeted Orpheus with a grabbed wrist.
"Well met, Space Marine," the quartermaster spoke. "But you could have chosen a better name." They all laughed. "I jest - nothing could be as bad as Ferrum."
More laughter.
"Oh Ferrum," chuckled the Terminator. "I remember when he bade me throw him into that Gargant?"

"Or when he destroyed the generator back on Seraphix? What was it he said when he got back on the transport?"

"'Proper Astartes don't look at explosions.'" the Apothecary added.

"Ferrum," laughed Borodai. "Wasn't he with you when you joined, Sep?" The laughter started to die down. All eyes were on the Apothecary.

"And Markam and Garviel." he said. Any emotion had drained from his voice. "I'm the last one now. And my name is Septus, please."

"My apologies." Borodai said. Septus responded.
"No need. Death comes to all. I just postpone it for the rest of us."

Alpha Lupi broke the uncomfortable silence. "Orpheus, allow me to allocate quarters for you. You are free to spend your spare time as you will, until we mobilise again. Speak to someone if you want anything."

Alpha Lupi and Orpheus walked down a corridor to the newest Sentinel's room. The hulking plates of their power armour barely fit into the walkway, clearly built for humans, and not Astartes. Every so often, Orpheus saw scrapes where the narrow walls had grazed power armour. Lupi turned left into a smaller chamber, and gestured inside.

"Your quarters," he flourished. "They're empty for now, but feel free to customise it how you will. There's enough room for your weapons here, and a firing range to use them down the corridor. Just go easy on the ammunition."
Orpheus nodded, and closed the door behind him. Once he felt safe, he popped the seal on his helmet, and discarded it, placing it on the door control panel. The cold, recycled air of the Lux brushed past his skin, and Orpheus padded around the chamber.

It was certainly empty. The walls were unmarked plasteel, the floor cold metal. Power cables ran exposed, like bursting veins, into the halogen strip lighting above. The remnants of a shrine or hearth sat squat in the long side of the room, opposite a spartan slab that represented Orpheus' bed. A series of alcoves set into the bulkhead begged Orpheus to place his armour into the slots: they looked like they had been chiselled into with a chainsword. Orpheus thought that was probably the case. Slowly, warily, he stripped off his armour, and placed it into the set holes in the wall. As he removed his breastplate, he winced as he exposed his wounded flesh to the cold air. His Larraman cells had sealed the wound, but the bone and tissue would need to heal in a safe environment. He cursed the ork, and cursed his own bolter before stopping in his tracks. In a heartbeat, Orpheus reached for the gun and apologised softly, wiping a smattering of dust from it.
"Not your fault," he whispered. "Not your fault. Not your fault I didn't have enough ammunition for us. My fault, not yours. It'll be okay now - we're not alone, are we?"

He placed the bolter on the mantle above the hearth, and his two knives followed suite. He backed away from his weaponry, muttering apologies and forgiveness, until his back scraped up against the cold plasteel wall of the chamber. He slumped down to the floor, his loincloth trailing. Orpheus lowered his voice, so his weaponry wouldn't hear the doubt in his voice: even if they were able to.

"We're not going to be alone again. Aren't we?"

Intriguing, indeed!

Brother Ferrum seems like a swell dude, by the way

I'm going to give more criticism than some of the other commentators. I liked this a lot actually. You're a good writer Sgt_Smudge. I just believe that constant criticism is important. I'll look at part two later when I have more time.

 Sgt_Smudge wrote:
Chapter One - Unremarkable

Hyaphis Minoris was Unremarkable for many reasons.

The backwater moon was inhabited by a small population of Unremarkable tribespeople, largely untouched by the rest of the Imperium. The natives knew the barest amount of the Imperial Creed, about the Sky-God and his war against the forces of 'Knowledge' and 'Ambition' - that was all the Ecclesiarchy told them, to prevent them developing past Unremarkable crossbows and leather armours. Better that they didn't interfere elsewhere. Other than that, the natives lived, hunted, and died on their moon, and their Unremarkable lives continued.

Most attention was diverted to it's brother, Hyaphis Majoris - an agri-world producing quintillions more grain and grox for the Imperial war machine. An Unremarkable message called the Hyaphisians to war - adding Guardsmen to their quota of exports. Seeing an opportunity, the Prospector-Governess called for the native tribespeople on her moon to be called to arms too, to join in the war against 'Knowledge' and 'Ambition' - and happened to keep many of her farmers and labourers in her fields. And so it was that farmer and hunter were united in arms, toting threshing scythes and spears alongside lasguns.

The farmers told Unremarkable stories about their families, their work, their hopes, dreams and expectations.

The tribesmen spoke of the Remarkable unseen guardian of their village.

I understand what you're doing with the words Unremarkable and Remarkable, but I'm conflicted. It feels like you're using it to excess, and some of the instances seem a bit strained. I've italicized the two examples where I feel it doesn't work.

Beyond that, I do like it. I especially like the shift from the unremarkable stories about their lives to the remarkable visitors, so you've succeeded in that sense.

Also, in the second and third paragraphs, there are a lot of medium-to-long sentences in a row. Varying sentence length is important. Without it, the prose can seem monotonous. You've probably already read this, but here's a brilliant explanation as to why.

 Sgt_Smudge wrote:
They spoke of a great being in the valleys around their settlement, living in a vast torchlit hall, surrounded by the mountains of skulls of the monsters he had slain.
They spoke of unnatural, magically sharp blades in the warrior's hands, of fire shooting from his arms, of the being's immense strength that could split a log in twain with a single strike, which he used to defend their homes every night from monsters in the wilderness.
They spoke of how the being walked like a man, moulded like any of them, but more in every way - faster, larger, cannier. The tribe's best huntsmen had tried many times to get a closer look at their guardian, but could find nothing in the valleys, barring the freshly shredded corpses of great alien beasts.

They spoke only of half-truths.

I understand why you're beginning a lot of sentences with "They spoke" in a row, but I feel it doesn't work here. As I've said earlier, having a bunch of long sentences in a row can sometimes seem monotonous (not always, but sometimes). Combining that with repetition takes it a little too far. Others might disagree though. I'm kind of conflicted about this, just like I was conflicted about the use of Unremarkable/Remarkable.

 Sgt_Smudge wrote:
In the valley, surrounded by a small hand-crafted picket fence of twisted branches, lay an Unremarkable house. Dry stone walls blended seamlessly with the dull flanks of the valley, the lichens creeping along the stone betraying it's age. Decapitated heads of foul aliens leered from the posts of the fence, a grim allusion to the strength of the house's Remarkable resident.
Behind the slab of granite that formed the doorway into the house, there was no mountain of skulls, no torchlit hall.

You're just barely misusing the word allusion. It comes extremely close to meaning what it means in that sentence, but the word isn't quite there, and that throws the sentence off. I would suggest replacing it with the word 'testament' or something along those lines. Also, the italicized sentence needs to be changed. It's basically just two sentences combined by a comma. I would either fully separate them, or rewrite them to integrate them.

 Sgt_Smudge wrote:
Just a small pile of furs and a sleeping man.

And something rather Remarkable was on Hyaphis Minoris to meet the Remarkable man.

The man's ears pricked in his sleep, hearing something faintly in the distance he hadn't heard for countless years.
Something Remarkable.

Once again, I feel like you're using the Unremarkable/Remarkable thing too much. Also I would try to avoid adverbs when you can.

 Sgt_Smudge wrote:
The man needed no light to see. When he stirred, like some ancient beast, from the bloody mass of hide that formed his bed, his eyes saw just fine in the pitch darkness. His head just brushed past the sagging roof as he rose to both feet. He would have towered over a tribesman, had they been in the house too. Alone in the darkness, the giant surveyed his possessions.

Perched on rusted iron hooks, knives the size of a normal man's shortsword awaited their master. On a shelf next to them, a massive rifle, more like some kind of heavy weapon to anyone other than the man who owned it. A form of sadness glinted in the man's eyes as he ignored the gun and took the knives, sliding them into a pair of handmade scabbards set on his waist. Upon feeling his bare hands brush against his barely clothed body, his invisible eyes darted towards what stood slumped in the corner.

I strongly, strongly, strongly would advise against using the word sadness. I recommend against any of the emotion words: fear, sadness, happiness, love, and so-on. The old cliche'd piece of writing "show don't tell" applies to this. Show the audience that the character is sad, or ideally show the audience why the character is sad, but don't outright use the word "sad".

 Sgt_Smudge wrote:
Had a Hyaphisian seen it in the daylight, they would have called it a statue first, seeing the impossibly flat and imposing flanks of resolute material. All colour had drained from it, now a stony grey, embellished by trails of moss and lichen. But as the man began to put the slabs on his herculean body, it's purpose became far more clear.

The italicized part sounds awkward. I would suggest reading it out loud, then rewriting it. Also, I disagree with using the word slabs to describe the components of power armor. Slab implies rectangular and angular in a way that power armor isn't. Most power armor is smooth, curving surfaces. Maybe your Space Marines have unique armor, but if they don't, I would recommend against describe it as a bunch of slabs covering a guy's body.

 Sgt_Smudge wrote:
Two eye lenses pierced the gloom. A rattling sigh rumbled through the helmet's vox-grille, alive for the first time in years. Long seized-up servo-motors groaned with the weight of decades as the Space Marine pulled aside the slab door to his home and set foot outside.

He barely had time to shut the door behind him when a great bulky aircraft skimmed into the valley. He recognised its design instantly, having heard it flying over the area. He waved a hand, greeting the aircraft. It saw him. Upon spotting him, it swooped down, bending the bristly bushes and scattering small stones with its draught. Slowly, the engines died down, and five figures descended from a frontal exit hatch. The man watched the newcomers with trepidation. Save for one, the new arrivals looked identical to him, barring the natural ornaments on his armour. Otherwise, their flesh was also cased in granite-grey, with impossibly smooth, slab-like armour.
Astartes power armour.

The grey warriors stood in silence. Statues in the valley. Something Remarkable on an Unremarkable moon.

The leader of the newcomers spoke first.
"Keeping yourself busy, I see."
He gestured to the ork heads on the fence, their swollen tongues lolling from their bestial jaws.

"Can't stop helping." the Astartes said. "The locals wouldn't have survived a night raid. So I give the aliens the fight they want. Every night, the ferals come here instead of the town, and every night I drive them back. It never changes."

"Not for much longer." Another of the newcomers spoke up. This one wore the red helix of an Apothecary, emblazoned on a grey gauntlet. "You are wounded. Unable to fight at optimum efficiency." The man shrugged. He didn't realise they could see his slumped shoulder, the savage bite of an ork's crude axe.

"I ran out of ammunition three days ago. Misjudged my supplies. An ork rushed me, and I tried to shoot. I couldn't dodge in time."

"Where was your power armour?"

"I stopped wearing it one year in. It was getting torn to pieces."

The Apothecary sighed with the weight of knowledge. "You will die here."

"Then I will die here."

"It doesn't have to be this way."

More silence. The Space Marine spoke again.
"How did you find me?"

The sixth Space Marine replied, a deep booming voice. "The locals. We encountered them and their legends of you."
This Space Marine was different to the others. Still encased in great slabs of Astartes ceramite, this one towered over his fellows - bulky, indomitable, fearsome. The Terminator gave a grating laugh. "You're famous, brother."

"Don't 'Brother' me." The man spat. "You don't know what I've been through. I don't care about the Imperium, the Chaos Gods, the Long War, any of it. I just want it to end."

"Actually," the leader began, "we do. We were like you. Disillusioned weapons of war."

"What do you do?"

"We do what you do. We make a difference. We make the end just a bit brighter. We protect."

"I make no difference. I stopped doing that a long time ago."

"Tell that to the locals." The leader sighed. "We were made to do one thing. It's in our nature. We have been controlled, set loose, ordered into battles we didn't choose. It's time we followed our own nature."

"I have a duty to these people. This is my nature."

"And you'll die for that? When you are defeated, the orks will march over your bones and destroy their settlement. You said it yourself."

"Or not." the Apothecary said. "The tribes have been recruited into the Imperial Guard now. They are capable of defending themselves. They need not rely on their guardian. Of course, their guardian is free to die for them in due course, if he desires that."

Silence crept in as the man weighed up the decision.
"They're safe without me?"
The Apothecary nodded.

The man shrugged. "I haven't any ammunition."

The leader tossed him a magazine. Fully loaded, the Astartes noted as he caught it neatly. "Do with it as you will."

The man entered his home, and retrieved the bolter from it's mantle. The magazine slotted in, the weapon hungrily devouring the offering. Hungry for death. Hungry for war. He returned into the light. This time, he met the newcomers with deference, not resistance.
"Before I join you, tell me your name."

The leader of the Astartes stood forward. "I am Alpha Lupi."

"Is that your real name?"

Alpha Lupi laughed. "Of course not. None of us use our real names. No-one needs to know who you were or your Chapter. That's why we strip off our Chapter colours. You don't even have to remove your helm around us. We don't ask questions. We don't care about how you lived. We only care about how you die."

"I accept this." The man knelt before Alpha Lupi, and bowed his helmed head.

"When you rise, anything you once were is irrelevant. Will you join us, and serve humanity, fighting against the threat without - the alien, the threat within - the heretic, and the threat above - humanity itself?"
The man nodded.

"Do you forsake all that you were, your name and brothers, to take a new name and brothers?"
The man nodded.

"As Alpha Lupi, I bid you stand, and choose your name."
The man rose, the joints of his power armour growing more relaxed with the movement. He sieved through names in his head, testing them on his tongue. One settled, and it burst from his lips.

"Orpheus."

Alpha Lupi nodded in approval. "Brother Orpheus, welcome to the Grey Sentinels."

I like this whole section. It's well written. My only complaint - and this is a very nitpicky complaint which most people won't care about - is that the dialogue can be a tiny bit too casual at times. It sounds like a conversation human soldiers would have. But these are indoctrinated supersoldiers who have just met. I don't know. I'm aware I'm being very nitpicky. As I said, I liked this section.

-----------------------------------

 Sgt_Smudge wrote:
The Grey Sentinels, and their newest member, slipped silently into the void. Unnoticed. Unseen. Unremarkable.

Orpheus didn't look back the Unremarkable moon. Only briefly did the Unremarkable tribe cross his mind. If had had looked back at the Unremarkable tribe, in their Unremarkable settlement, on the Unremarkable moon, he may have seen the Remarkable pillar of smoke and flame billowing out of their village.

Damn. One hell of a dark note to end on. I like it. I can imagine Rod Serling narrating it actually.

LoneLictor - Thank you very much for taking the time to go over it and point out what worked and not. Much appreciated.

The whole Remarkable/Unremarkable theme was something I felt at places needed a reminder, but as you say, they just don't feel right in certain areas.
I'm very well aware I have a nasty habit of long sentences and trying to cram everything in. I'm glad you pointed that out.
I can see what you mean regarding long sentences and the repeated opening. If it had been shorter, would it have worked out better, do you think?
Oops, my bad on allusion!
Yeah, I can agree with show, don't tell - thank you for pointing that out.
I think it's just to me, power armour feels very flat and slab-like, but if the angular imagery comes to mind, then it's obviously not a good word to use.
With their dialogue, I was more trying to go for the idea of Space Marines as very forward, so would speak freely to another one if rank wasn't an issue. But again, if that didn't work, I understand.
My thanks on the darker ending. I wasn't sure if it had come across well enough, but if so, wonderful! That will be touched upon later as well, there's more to that story than meets the eye.

This reads really well, Smudge you're very talented. I can't wait to read more of your work

Chapter 3 - War Wounds

"I said it before, the answer is no, Apothecary!"

The raised voices from down the hallways were growing louder. Two angry Astartes voices echoed down the hall to Orpheus' ears. It was only natural that the newest Sentinel would act on it. Grabbing his bolter and clad just in a loincloth, Orpheus stalked down the corridor. As he crept closer to the Apothecary's station, more of the conversation fed back to him.

"You've been here thirty nine weeks. I can't let you continue to ignore this."

"Can't, or won't, Septus? I won't do it. It's my responsibility, not yours."

"I've served the Grey Sentinels since before you were discovered, Severan. You were still stranded on that space station when I was saving far worthier lives than yours. Everyone else trusts me, even the Commander himself."

"He's no commander to me. Just a comrade."

"Should I tell him of this? No? Now tell me, what are you hiding?"

"What makes you think I am?"

"Everyone hides something, brother. This doesn't have to be one."

"If you want it, come and take it."
There was the savage hiss of a blade being drawn from a scabbard. Orpheus broke into a sprint and smashed down the door. His bolter pointed accusingly at a Space Marine holding a blade to Septus' throat.

His dark eyes flinched at Orpheus' bolter. Orpheus gestured with his weapon and the Space Marine withdrew his blade. Orpheus continued to hold the bolter at his head.
"My... apologies, Septus." the Grey Sentinel said through gritted teeth as he unceremoniously rammed his blade into a sheath over his chest. "I believe this concludes our... lovely little chat." He attempted to move past Orpheus. Instead, he found Orpheus' bolter pressed into his head. Dark eyes looked at Orpheus' ice-blue ones, daring him to pull the trigger. Septus gave Orpheus a nod, and the recruit cleared the doorway. The Grey Sentinel moved past Orpheus, his face locked in a tight grimace, and disappeared down the corridor.

Septus beckoned Orpheus into his chamber. "My thanks, new blood. I would hate to spill blood in here - I cleaned it yesterday."

"Who was that?" Orpheus said, resting his bolter on a side desk. "What was that all about?"

"That," Septus sighed, "was Brother Severan. He used to be the newest recruit, until you: he joined just before Ferrum fell."

"And your- altercation?"

"Gene-seed. From the time of his entry, Severan has refused to allow me to extract his progenoid glands. Every other Astartes has allowed me to take them, in case we ever need them, but Severan alone refuses." Septus toyed with his narthecium. "I've petitioned Alpha Lupi to enforce it, but he maintains that we should be given the freedom. I would normally accept his judgement, but I cannot help but feel that Severan is... withholding something."

Before Orpheus could say anything, Septus had risen up and examined the large gash on Orpheus' shoulder. "An ork choppa, you say?"

"Aye. Caught the full force of it."

"How unfortunate." Septus reached for a chest of medical supplies. "I could patch that up, if you wanted?"

Orpheus nodded in the affirmative, and the apothecary began applying medi-gel and stapling the wound shut. As the medic tended to his wounds, Orpheus scanned his room. Fragments of power armour, too small to be reused, littered the walls. Beside each one, an inscription carved into the stone.
Garviel.
Markam.
Ferrum.
And a fourth name - but this one was scored out, torn away by the teeth of a chainsword.
"Who's the fourth one?" Orpheus asked.

"Ah," began Septus. "That would be Jorge."
He spoke as he worked on his patient.
"Those four Astartes were my first comrades. We were stranded as part of a crusade in the Eye of Terror, our Chapter wiped out and nameless. Heresy accusations, of course. Alpha Lupi rescued us.
I didn't know Alpha Lupi until we met on a daemon world where most of the Astartes forces had been fighting. He had commandeered a small void-capable ship, and was looking for survivors. He found us, all five of us, holding off an onslaught of daemons. Our armour had been scorched grey by the balefire, our bolters running dry. He got us out of there. We salvaged the Lux, and translated back to realspace. Since then, we all swore we would never be beholden to the Imperium again. Nor the Chaos Gods that defiled our brethren."
He paused, swallowing hard.
"Of course, we thought that Chaos had taken it's fill - either on the treasonous curs we once called brothers, or our fallen allies. We were wrong. Jorge betrayed us, wounding Alpha Lupi and some other Grey Sentinels and taking the helm of the Lux. He led us into an ambush. World Eaters. As their Ursus Claws tore into our ship, I was forced to execute Jorge for his actions. I committed fratricide with my own hands. I erased his name from this wall with the blade I used to erase him."
Septus continued.
"The World Eaters were only able to get one party of their berserkers on board. Before we had to deal with them ourselves, one of their own number betrayed them, cutting down his frenzied kin. Our unexpected saviour had enough lucidity in him to surrender his services to us. I patched his wounds up, and now he serves the Grey Sentinels. He's capable of limited self-control around us, but on the battlefield is where he shines. Apt that he calls himself the Red Angel." Septus laughed. "You'll find him in the sparring hall. Be careful. He never goes easy, and I'd hate to stitch you back up."

The apothecary moved away from Orpheus to survey his handiwork.
"That'll do. You're combat ready, so long as you avoid getting your armour punctured there. Don't be afraid to hold back."

Orpheus smiled. "My thanks, Apothecary."

"The name's Septus, Brother."

Orpheus started to leave. "Anything I can do for you?"

"Whilst we're at it, would you object to me extracting your gene-seed?" Septus looked at Orpheus with expectant eyes. Green blue eyes.

Before Orpheus could say anything, alarm bells and klaxons echoed down the hallway. Septus jumped from his seat, and for his helmet. Red power armour lenses covered the green blue eyes as he stormed past Orpheus.
Orpheus called after the Grey Sentinel.
"What is it?"

"Battle, Orpheus. Time to go to war."

I'm enjoying all the hints, green blue eyes, red lenses in the helmet, little subtle clues that lead to the histories and past connections these guys have. Nothing too obvious, just notes that remain that might be something or nothing at all.

I'm really enjoying this series Smudge, keep up the good writing

Chapter 4 - Sanctum Sanguilis

Debris crunched underfoot as Orpheus and his fellow Grey Sentinels advanced through the ash wastes. Scraps of long abandoned transport rigs and plate metal littered the ground. A thick dust storm shrouded the Astartes; Orpheus was glad for that, given the otherwise emptiness of their surroundings. His boot scuffed against a sheet of metal. He looked down and saw the greeting sign.

Governor Moghatin welcomes vigilant citizens to Ghalagrod
Orpheus chuckled with bitter irony.

According to Alpha Lupi, an open distress call had been intercepted from Ghalag, an industrial hive world, detailing an unknown assailant. Their reasons for intervening were many. Some, like Borodai, were interested in the material wealth they could plunder from the dead hive. Food and ammunition were valuable resources. Others, like Septus, said it was for the humanitarian aid. If so much as one human was able to make it off Ghalag, it wouldn't be a complete loss. Regardless, the Grey Sentinels had mobilised, and set down in the flatlands outside of a dust storm sweeping over Ghalagrod, the main hive.

Boots crunched behind Orpheus. He turned around, and looked into the helmeted eyes of Severan. Orpheus resisted the reflex to grab his bolter and smash the Sentinel's face in, and instead returned the gaze.
"It appears we got off on the wrong foot, new blood," growled Severan. "No hard feelings. I just advise you think long and hard about why you're here, and then why everyone else is. Do not think for one minute that you are safe around us. None of us are."
Severan tapped his cuirass twice and left Orpheus in the dust, wondering what he had meant.

-----------------------------------

The massive gate into Ghalagrod was shut. Sealed tight against the storm, it loomed over the Grey Sentinels like a mountain. Undeterred, Alpha Lupi sauntered over to a speaker grille and pressed the pad.
"Astartes responding to your distress call. Open this door so we may provide assistance."
Silence.
Alpha Lupi crushed the speaker with his free hand. "Spread out, find a way in."
The search was short, the brief silence broken by a shout from Brother Myashiro. He was behind the rest of the team, covering their backs with his stalker bolter from a number of metres behind. The lighter-armoured Sentinel pointed out an access door set into the wall. He wiped a layer of dust from his stalker bolter, and rejoined the squad.
"Brother Bastian, take the door."

"With pleasure, sir." The Terminator squared up to the locked access door, and with a sigh of apology to the door's machine spirit, he drew back his power fist. The punch ripped clean through the lock, and with a savage motion, he disabled his power field and pulled the door from it's hinges as he withdrew his fist. The squealing metal was no match for an Terminator, and soon the Grey Sentinels were in the hive. Ghalagrod was breached.

The interior of Ghalagrod was no more inviting than the exterior. Aside from the blood red wash from the emergency lights, it was dark as night in the hive. Orpheus saw no trace of life, living or not. It was as if the citizens had just vanished. No signs of a struggle, no sign of a fight - a ghost town even the ghosts had deserted.

As always, it was Myashiro who found something. The keen-eyed scout jogged over to a pile of rubble, before hauling the debris away.
"There's someone here." He muttered over the vox. Sure enough, the crushed and bloody form of a PDF trooper lay rasping at the Sentinels' feet. Septus was first to offer aid, injecting various serums into the man as he spoke.

"What happened here?"
The man retched and gagged, and from his broken face and lips, he spoke.
"The Emperor," bloody spit bursting from his lips. "The Emperor is here..."

"What do you mean?"

"He is here... He of a Thousand arms... The Emperor is h-" The trooper's speech was cut off by a surge of vomit. The Astartes recoiled, covered in the mess. As Orpheus went to wipe it away, he realised there were body parts in the bile. Chunks of dissolving flesh dripped off of their armour as they watched the dying PDF soldier, his organs liquefied and dribbling from his mouth. Severan was first to act. He raised a ceramite boot and stomped on the convulsing man. They died quickly. Severan wiped the remnants of the man off his boot like a man wipes mud off a shoe.

Borodai addressed the team.
"That," he said, gesturing to the stain that used to be the PDF trooper "is not natural."

"On the contrary," Septus interjected "it is quite natural. I'm detecting no synthetic objects within the host, purely organic compounds."

Borodai jerked his head sharply towards Septus.
"Yes, brother, but the means of his death? It's not right."

Alpha Lupi spoke. "What do you propose, Borodai?"
"I propose that we plunder what we can, and make off this rock. This is a dead place."

"Not until we check for something." Bastian, the Terminator, declared. "If there's someone out there, we help them."
Alpha Lupi nodded. "We won't be frightened off by a corpse. We are Astartes. We do not run." He gripped Borodai's arm. "We'll get our supplies, don't you worry."

-----------------------------------

Like the rest of Ghalagrod, the cathedral was similarly abandoned. The red emergency lighting outside streaked in through the broken glass window, and the pews lay unused and upturned. However, there was a stark difference between the cathedral and the desolate streets outside.

"Blood," Bastian announced. "Plenty of it."
The stuff oozed through the dusty crack and channels in the floor. It dripped from the altar and pews. It permeated the church and sucked in all the grim light for it's own scarlet hue.

"But no bodies." Severan announced. He stalked through the aisles, his bolter tracking for prey. "Something has been here before us."

"Spread out," Alpha Lupi barked. "Find answers."
The Grey Sentinels scoured through each row, each column, for something. Their efforts were fruitless. It was just blood, gallons of the stuff, staining the cathedral red. Even the gargoyles on the walls were blood red, their clawed feet dripping with the stuff. Their lifeless eyes watched over the statue-like warriors below.
Orpheus crept up to the altar and reached for a shard of glass that lay on the altar. It used to be blue, he noted. Orpheus held up the shard, and watched as Severan peered out of the shattered window. The Space Marine turned to look at Orpheus, and gave a grunt of contempt. Orpheus tossed aside the blue shard. Suddenly, Severan stiffened, and reached for his bolter. Orpheus fumbled for his own, his finger on the trigger as he brought it up to his shoulder.
Severan was ready.
His bolter angry and cold in the red light.
His stance sure and true.
His finger pulled on the trigger.

Something alien screeched from behind Orpheus, and warm ichor sprayed over his back. He knew in that moment that Severan had saved his life. Dead, chitinous claws skittered on the marble floor behind Orpheus. He stared at Severan's smoking muzzle, with Severan staring Orpheus dead in the eye.

"Genestealers!"

Bolter fire rocketed down the aisles. Horrific, talon-limbed creatures sprung from their perches on the walls and alcoves - the 'gargoyles'. The 'gargoyles', stirred to life by the death of their brood-kin, shed their stony visage and plunged at the Astartes below. Bolter rounds punched into their alien flesh. They hit the bloody floor with a sickening splash, and scrabbled to their feet to attack the Grey Sentinels.
Orpheus raised his bolter and opened fire.

No need to apologise. No need to rush. Its all good.

Awesome chapter smudge. This is shaping up to be a fine tale indeed. keep up the good work. the story just keeps getting better and better.

Chapter 5 - The Bulwark, The Butcher and The Blade

Bastian grunted as another chitinous claw was yanked out of him. The limbs of half a dozen genestealers were lodged in his Terminator armour; some genestealers were still attached. It was an oddly humorous sight: the Terminator stomping through the blood, trailing limp alien abominations behind like a macabre cloak. Now that the ambush had been fended off, the last of the 'gargoyles' decapitated by Borodai's power katana, they set about helping Bastian.

"Last time I ever hold them off for you all," laughed Bastian. "I'm too good for all you filthy cretins."

Borodai smirked. "You wouldn't know what to do, brother." He yanked a twitching claw from out of Bastian's shoulder. "You can't help helping."

"I just-"

"And you're a sentimental bastard." Severan grinned. His short sword cut through dead chitin, and a genestealer slid from Bastian's back with an ugly squeal. "How many have you got in that suit of yours?"

"Forty two. Soon to be forty three." From a pouch, Bastian withdrew a small pexiglass vial. "If you'll excuse me, I'll be a moment." The Terminator plodded down the aisle, and pushed out of the creaking cathedral door. Lupi caught Orpheus' eye and explained.

"Bastian's a curious one." Alpha Lupi leant against a chipped column. "He keeps a record of everything. He's our protector of history, our archivist. Won't let the present go unrecorded. So everywhere we go, each planet we visit as Sentinels, he takes some of the planet with him. A memento, if you will. It's usually things like a patch of earth, a bit of stone, a leaf. Enough to remember. Our bulwark against the sands of time."

"Why?"

"We don't know. Don't ask, don't tell."

Orpheus caught Severan staring at him, keenly watching him from behind red lenses. He opened his mouth to say something else, when he heard shouting from outside the cathedral. Loud, angry, shouting. They grabbed their weapons. Astartes boots splashed through the blood into the street.

"For the last time, stand down!" The Terminator's voice carried far. "Stay back, or I will use lethal force on every one of you ploin-fethers!" Bastian stood alone on the steps. Below, the streets were far from empty. Dozens of soldiers, garbed in scavenged armour, toting equally shoddy rifles, thronged around Bastian. Now, with seven more Astartes backing up their companion, they seemed to shrink back. The militia mirrored their gear, Orpheus thought, as he rushed to cover the Terminator. They were brothers in bandages, bullet wounds and bloodstains. From sheer number of bodies and bullets, this force might be considered a possible threat to any other force.
For Astartes, they were merely an inconvenience.

"You're outnumbered!" screamed one in what must have been the closest to a complete armour set. PDF flak armour and a shock maul hung off the small man's frame. "Surrender your resources to us, and leave Ghalagrod alive!"

Alpha Lupi amplified his helm vox, and spoke. He didn't need to raise his voice. The slightest word caused the militia to quail in pain and fear.
"You are in no position to demand, mortal." he boomed. "We are Space Marines. We are the Angels of Death. We are the scourge of the Impure, the Heretical and the Wicked. A trail of dead worlds leads to us. Leave us, or test our fury."

The crowd seemed to pull away, until another wave of soldiers barged to the front. The leader held his mouth to a clarion horn and spoke.
"Challenge! We demand a challenge!"

Silence fell on the crowd. Borodai pulled out his bolter, and racked the slide.
"A challenge?" he exclaimed. "Challenge thi-"

"No." Septus moved swiftly in the way of Borodai. "We honour their terms. We'll win anyway. Beat their champion to a pulp, and sent them back. It's not like we're savages."
Borodai looked at Alpha Lupi, who nodded. Grumbling, he lowered his bolter.
"Who will it be this time then?" he said. "The Butcher or the Blade?"

Severan and another Astartes shuffled forward. Flakes of dried blood washed into the recesses of his battered armour. He barely lived up to the title of Grey Sentinel. Blood permeated him, covered him far better than the armour on his back. The power armour was chipped, cracked; the Aquila on the breastplate broken in two. The stone-like stillness of the other Astartes was not present in this one. His laureled helmet, jammed onto the rest of the armour, jerked about. His limbs were stiff, gripping the axes chained to his wrists. The cracked lenses of the helmet looked at Orpheus for a second, and Orpheus realised with dread who he was looking at.

The Red Angel shook with barely suppressed rage.
Septus laid a hand on the berserker, and rooted him to the earth. Like electricity caught by an earthing rod, the Angel halted, now just quivering.
"Can't kill their champion," Myashiro said. "Poor show. Not even a worthy challenge."

Septus nodded. "Agreed. We need to make a good impression on these survivors. Perhaps they have information. Or resources we can acquire. No killing."

"Acceptable." Alpha Lupi asserted. "We win, we do not destroy. That is the path of the Imperium and Chaos. We are more than that."

"That rules out Red, then." Septus said. His grip tightened on the berserker's pauldron. "If we let him loose, there'd be nothing left of their champion, and most of their ranks too." He turned to Severan. "Looks like it's your turn, Sev."

Severan stood before Alpha Lupi, giving Septus a harsh glare. The Apothecary ignored him. "You want me to leave him alive, sir?"

"Please," the leader said. "Do what you do best."

"With pleasure."

Alpha Lupi addressed the milita delegate. "We will honour your terms of combat, and accept your conditions. Send forth your Champion."

The sea of soldiers parted. A mass of Arbites carapace armour and metal plating shuffled into the space, and joined the Astartes on the plinth. A veritable giant by human standards, their champion nearly reached eye level with Severan. A mining hammer was gripped tightly in his right hand and shock maul in his left. His unhelmed face spoke volumes before he even opened his mouth. A massive, oversized jaw, replete with jutting teeth and a brow as heavy as lead, slavered through his beard. Multiple scars criss-crossed his head. Orpheus could see some were self-inflicted, the ritual markings of pit fighters across the galaxy. His arms bulged like balloons, fit to burst. His dull eyes betrayed a dull mind. When spoke, streams of saliva fell from the waterfall of his mouth.
"I'm Czarl. Who'm I fighting."
It was less of a question, more a boast. The swagger in Czarl's walk indicated he clearly had no idea what he was walking into.

Severan chuckled. He unsheathed his power sword, and tossed it to Alpha Lupi. "Won't be needing that," he said. "Get Septus on standby." He squared up to Czarl. The pit fighter shrugged in his cannibalised plate armour, hefting the weight of the two weapons in hand. He guffawed as Severan drew his short sword from his chest scabbard, the blade dwarfed by the mining hammer and shock maul. "An' who are you then?"
Severan shifted his weight. "My name is Severan," he began, "champion of the Grey Sentinels. You only need to know me as 'victorious'." Czarl lunged forward, swinging his shock maul first. Severan lazily turned the blow aside, and dodged the swing of the mining hammer. Czarl lurched back, and Severan launched his shoulder into Czarl. Against a normal human, the sheer impact would be fatal. Not for the native. He staggered away, winded, but unharmed. The two champions pulled away, re-evaluating their plans. Severan decided to switch tactics.
"Who was it - your mother or father?"
First confusion, then anger darted over Czarl's lumpen face. Czarl roared, and charged at Severan. He neatly sidestepped the hammerblow, and delivered a stab into his opponent's arm. Czarl reared away, howling. The shock maul dropped from his hand, alongside a shower of blood. The brute lashed out with the crippled arm, but it swung through empty air. Severan was already at a safe distance.
"Probably your mother then. What a shame for her. A half-breed, born to an Ogryn mother."

"I am not shame!" Czarl retorted. "I serve Emperor well!"

"So did I, half-blood." Severan sauntered as he spoke, casually wiping the half-Ogryn's blood off of his blade. "And look where I am now. He cannot be relied on. He is a false power. Look at yourself." He gestured with the blade's point to Czarl's wounded arm. "You fight in his name, and your dilute blood is no match for mine. The blood of the first Space Marines pumps through my veins. I am closer to your Emperor than you ever will be, yet I do not fawn in his shadow. I make my own destiny."

Czarl stomped forwards, raising the mining hammer in both hands. He broke into an unstoppable sweep, right at Severan's waist. The Space Marine hopped back, and picked the discarded shock maul in his free hand. Czarl went for a second swing. Severan hurled the shock maul like a javelin into the man's chest. Powerful shockwaves pulsed through Czarl, halting him mid-swing and knocking him to the floor. Low electric current pumped through his nerves. He spasmed on the plinth floor, clutching at the mining hammer that clattered uselessly next to him. Severan was on top of him, kicking the hammer from his grip and holding the half-Ogryn down.
"Yield."
The spasming brute gibbered something. Severan removed the shock maul and held his blade to the man's multiple chins. "Say it louder."

"I yield!" The pit fighter yelled. "I yield." Tears were beginning to roll from the man's eyes. He began to mumble a prayer. "Oh God-Em-prah, in your grace and in-fin-ut glory, please take mercy on your subject and-"
"You're fine." Severan interrupted.
"He won't punish you. He's harmless. Say the words if you want, or not. It doesn't matter. Even if he did care, I doubt he'd hold this against you. I've fought far worse than you, half-breed. Don't take it personally. But I've fought bigger than you and they put up less of a fight than you. You can say you survived against an Astartes. Be proud of that, half-breed." Severan removed his blade from the man's quivering throat. "Which hand is your main?"
The man gulped and nodded to his right. Severan nodded. "Noted. Unfortunately, ritual must be followed." He brought the blade down on the half-Ogryn's left hand, severing the smallest finger from the meaty paw. Czarl howled in pain, clutching his hand. Severan took the bloody finger, and got up off of his opponent. Septus immediately went down and patched up his wounds. Healing salve and synth-skin were applied instantly, the Apothecary working fast. Severan turned away from the other Astartes, and lifted his helm slightly. He lifted the finger to his lips and devoured the bloody trophy. His helmet shut again, and he turned back to the others.
"Tradition dies hard." He shrugged. "Besides, he's fine. Beaten, but fine." He strutted to Alpha Lupi, and prized his sword from the leader's stunned hands.

As Severan rejoined the Grey Sentinels, Orpheus watched him dubiously. It hadn't been a duel of champions, Orpheus thought. It was a show. A warning. Severan glanced at Orpheus. A cocked head, open posture, blade in hand - if his helmet had been off, Orpheus would have bet he was grinning. A warning indeed. Not for the milita. For the other Grey Sentinels.

Severan sheathed his blade, and stood in formation.

Excellent piece, as always!

Also, I'm getting the distinct impression that Severan is going to bring some bad news for the Grey Sentinels at some point...

Another fine addition there, smudge. this is shaping up to be quite the tale you have here.
As always, keep up the fine work.