(no subject)
Now dance, fucker, dance
Man, I never had a chance
And no one even knew
It was really only you
And now you’ll lead the way
Show the light of day
Nice work you did
You’re gonna go far, kid
The feasting hall of Coldfire Citadel was rather more noisy than usual. Though the hall was filled on most nights with the buzz and clatter of hundreds of Space Marines conversing amongst themselves and consuming their evening meal, today conversation seemed a bit more boisterous, the hum and clatter more erratic. The vast tables that seated the third company, colloquially known as the "Stonecallers," was particularly raucous. Alcohol was flowing freely, and Sergeant Blasko seemed to be leading the chaplains in a rousing hymn.
"... should we do something about them?" asked Sergeant Mordenkrad, watching the display from the safety of the first company's tables. Beside him sat the vast bulk of Dominus Talus, Captain of the first company and Grand Master of the Executors Space Marine chapter. His dark eyes were furrowed in annoyance, but he simply shrugged and made an approximation of a chuckle, his voice a harsh mechanical buzz when he spoke.
"No point. Besides, they deserve a chance to celebrate. Brother-Captain Robertus was a good marine and his death has been felt by us all. If Third Company is this pleased with his replacement then so much the better."
"By the Emperor, that's the fifth time they've sung that song!"
"I am sure that somehow we shall all overcome."
Truthfully, the Stonecallers were starting to wind down. Celebration or not, they only had about fifteen minutes before it was time for night firing exercises. Brother-Captain Tempesta was still seated, however, picking at his food. The marines around him seemed not to notice their new Captain's reluctance to join in the festivities and carried on. If one took a hard look at Tempesta one might be compelled to describe him as nervous. What an eight-foot supersoldier has to be nervous about few could say, but under the canopy of his messy black hair, Tempesta's slightly sunken eyes scanned slowly up and down the tables that held his men, as if searching for something.
Then Brother-Captain Turin Glasgow of 5th Company slapped him on the back so hard that it propelled his face into the haunch of meat he was supposed to be eating.
"Buh!? Wha? Turin!?"
"Brothers!" Captain Glasgow seized Tempesta around the shoulders and pulled him upright, waving a large mug of ale to attract attention. "I propose a toast!"
Third Company seemed amenable to this proposal, and they indicated such with a raising of mugs and table-rattling cheer.
"What are you doing?" laughed Tempesta.
"I propose a toast!" Glasgow continued, ignoring his fellow captain's protest, "To the fallen, those who have come before us and given everything including their lives to protect humanity from the alien, the malign, and the dark forces of Chaos!"
The Stonecallers cheered.
"I propose a toast to those who will come after us! May they be deserving of the legacy that we will leave for them!"
The entire hall shook as the other companies began to rise to their feet as well.
"I propose a toast to us! The soldiers of the present! That we should be worthy of the legacy that has been left to us by our forebears and that we should leave such a one ourselves that those who follow are sorely tried to improve upon it!"
The Executors roared.
"For the God-Emperor of man!"
"For the Emperor!"
"For Lion'el Johnson!"
"For the Lion!"
"For Brother-Captain Tempesta! May he lead wisely and well!"
The entire citadel may have echoed with the force of the chapter's agreement as the marines drank their toast and headed to their barracks to suit up. Tempesta tried to turn around to gives Glasgow and earful for that toast, but the press of bodies made it impossible to follow the laughing man back to his own company. Shaking his head ruefully, Tempesta let the river of humanity carry him, slowly drifting to the back of the crowd until he was striding down the halls several yards behind his men. He sighed and took a moment to rub the bridge of his nose, stress lines forming over his face as he grimaced.
"The first day is always the worst," Grand Master Talus buzzed very nearly in his ear.
"Gnyah! I mean sir, yes sir."
Dominus chuckled and briefly clutched Tempesta's shoulder in his enormous hand. "I won't tell you not to be nervous, Rogan, but try not to be so obvious about it. You are a Space Marine! And highly reccomended, as well. Brother-Captain Glasgow thinks very highly of you, you know. He was the one who suggested you for the position."
Tempesta grinned. "I know, he's only told me about a dozen times. I appreciate his support, but I can't help but feel a bit overwhelmed by the responsibility. These men... we've grown up and served together as brothers, and now suddenly all of their lives are in my hands. Losing Captain Robertus was bad enough... but... I don't know if I could stomach losing men under my own command."
"Don't be stupid," said Dominus, not unkindly, "you're going to have to stomach it. And you'll get used to it quickly, if you want to survive. Let me give you some advice, Rogan. Don't get too attached to the men under your command. You're not their fellow soldier anymore, you're a commander. Sending them to their deaths in battle isn't an occupational hazard, it is the entirety of your job. They know the risks. Don't deny them the right to make the ultimate sacrifice for the Imperium. They deserve it."
Brother-Captain Tempesta slowly came to a halt and watched as the Grand Master continued down the hallway. He was left alone for a few moments until a Techmarine came up behind him, accompanied by the constant whirring of joints and servos.
"Brother-Captain Tempesta. How are you this evening?"
"...I am... a bit overwhelmed, Reddon."
"Responsibilities beginning to sink in?"
"I... I think so... the Grand Master just told me that getting my men killed in battle was my job, Reddon. Am I crazy or is that just a bit... ah, drastic?"
The Techmarine paused to tap the chin of his helmet with his mechanical arm before answering. "Do you know how the Executors were formed, Captain?"
"The founding? There used to be about four other Dark Angels successor chapters, weren't there? But after the last Black Crusade they'd sustained so many losses that they couldn't rebuild their strength and so they banded together into one chapter, right?"
"Precisely. Coldfire Citadel was once the Fortress-Monastery of the Iron Angels chapter. Grand Master Talus was captain of the first squad before Chaos attacked. His company was ordered to one of planet Judecca's larger settlements so that they could conduct geurilla warfare against the Traitor Legions from there, and to keep the Scouts alive until they could have their black carapaces implanted and finish the transition to full Space Marines."
"Grand Master Talus was the Captain of a Scout Company? I... can't really see it."
"I am given to understand that he very much enjoyed the position, and that he cared deeply for the men under his command. When a warband of the World Eaters surrounded the settlement, Dominus had his Scouts dig in and prepare to siege rather than risk fleeing without the aid of air support. They managed to hold off the traitor marines for over three weeks."
Tempesta smiled proudly. "Well done, that. And the traitors got what was coming to them when backup arrived."
"Oh, no. After three weeks they were overrun and slaughtered to the last man."
Tempesta's smile wiped itself off his face with amazing speed.
"Dominus was the only survivor, and only because the traitors assumed he would die slowly from his throat wound and left him to suffer. Every single one of his scouts was tortured to death in front of him and their geneseeds harvested by the forces of chaos."
"I... I didn't... but..."
Reddon patted Tempesta briefly on the shoulder.
"Understand, Captain, the Grand Master does not seek to depress you. He simply does not wish to lie. We are the Imperium's first and often only line of defense against a galaxy full of enemies. We are beset on all sides by alien creatures too horrific to contemplate and armies of monstrous warriors who all seek our destruction. The very Warp that we travel through is iminicable to the existence of ordered life. Four gods of madness and terror seek to destroy us and tear down all that we have built. Even elements of our own species seek to unseat our Emperor and take the Imperium in their own names. The deaths of your men, and indeed your own death, that of the men who will follow you, and the destruction of all that we seek to protect, is inevitable. The most that we can hope to do is to fight for more time, and delay the annihilation until another day."
Tempesta's eyes were haunted as he turned to look at the Techmarine.
"... then why do we even bother?"
The Techmarine simply shrugged and slowly walked away.
"What else would you have us do? We are, in the end, still human... and in the face of destruction, humans know nothing but to struggle, though the struggle itself only prolongs the agony..."
The clatter of ceramite boots on the hallway's floors slowly died away, leaving Rogan Tempesta very alone.
Depression is writing a short story and having already planned out how 90% of the characters involved will die.
Man, I never had a chance
And no one even knew
It was really only you
And now you’ll lead the way
Show the light of day
Nice work you did
You’re gonna go far, kid
The feasting hall of Coldfire Citadel was rather more noisy than usual. Though the hall was filled on most nights with the buzz and clatter of hundreds of Space Marines conversing amongst themselves and consuming their evening meal, today conversation seemed a bit more boisterous, the hum and clatter more erratic. The vast tables that seated the third company, colloquially known as the "Stonecallers," was particularly raucous. Alcohol was flowing freely, and Sergeant Blasko seemed to be leading the chaplains in a rousing hymn.
"... should we do something about them?" asked Sergeant Mordenkrad, watching the display from the safety of the first company's tables. Beside him sat the vast bulk of Dominus Talus, Captain of the first company and Grand Master of the Executors Space Marine chapter. His dark eyes were furrowed in annoyance, but he simply shrugged and made an approximation of a chuckle, his voice a harsh mechanical buzz when he spoke.
"No point. Besides, they deserve a chance to celebrate. Brother-Captain Robertus was a good marine and his death has been felt by us all. If Third Company is this pleased with his replacement then so much the better."
"By the Emperor, that's the fifth time they've sung that song!"
"I am sure that somehow we shall all overcome."
Truthfully, the Stonecallers were starting to wind down. Celebration or not, they only had about fifteen minutes before it was time for night firing exercises. Brother-Captain Tempesta was still seated, however, picking at his food. The marines around him seemed not to notice their new Captain's reluctance to join in the festivities and carried on. If one took a hard look at Tempesta one might be compelled to describe him as nervous. What an eight-foot supersoldier has to be nervous about few could say, but under the canopy of his messy black hair, Tempesta's slightly sunken eyes scanned slowly up and down the tables that held his men, as if searching for something.
Then Brother-Captain Turin Glasgow of 5th Company slapped him on the back so hard that it propelled his face into the haunch of meat he was supposed to be eating.
"Buh!? Wha? Turin!?"
"Brothers!" Captain Glasgow seized Tempesta around the shoulders and pulled him upright, waving a large mug of ale to attract attention. "I propose a toast!"
Third Company seemed amenable to this proposal, and they indicated such with a raising of mugs and table-rattling cheer.
"What are you doing?" laughed Tempesta.
"I propose a toast!" Glasgow continued, ignoring his fellow captain's protest, "To the fallen, those who have come before us and given everything including their lives to protect humanity from the alien, the malign, and the dark forces of Chaos!"
The Stonecallers cheered.
"I propose a toast to those who will come after us! May they be deserving of the legacy that we will leave for them!"
The entire hall shook as the other companies began to rise to their feet as well.
"I propose a toast to us! The soldiers of the present! That we should be worthy of the legacy that has been left to us by our forebears and that we should leave such a one ourselves that those who follow are sorely tried to improve upon it!"
The Executors roared.
"For the God-Emperor of man!"
"For the Emperor!"
"For Lion'el Johnson!"
"For the Lion!"
"For Brother-Captain Tempesta! May he lead wisely and well!"
The entire citadel may have echoed with the force of the chapter's agreement as the marines drank their toast and headed to their barracks to suit up. Tempesta tried to turn around to gives Glasgow and earful for that toast, but the press of bodies made it impossible to follow the laughing man back to his own company. Shaking his head ruefully, Tempesta let the river of humanity carry him, slowly drifting to the back of the crowd until he was striding down the halls several yards behind his men. He sighed and took a moment to rub the bridge of his nose, stress lines forming over his face as he grimaced.
"The first day is always the worst," Grand Master Talus buzzed very nearly in his ear.
"Gnyah! I mean sir, yes sir."
Dominus chuckled and briefly clutched Tempesta's shoulder in his enormous hand. "I won't tell you not to be nervous, Rogan, but try not to be so obvious about it. You are a Space Marine! And highly reccomended, as well. Brother-Captain Glasgow thinks very highly of you, you know. He was the one who suggested you for the position."
Tempesta grinned. "I know, he's only told me about a dozen times. I appreciate his support, but I can't help but feel a bit overwhelmed by the responsibility. These men... we've grown up and served together as brothers, and now suddenly all of their lives are in my hands. Losing Captain Robertus was bad enough... but... I don't know if I could stomach losing men under my own command."
"Don't be stupid," said Dominus, not unkindly, "you're going to have to stomach it. And you'll get used to it quickly, if you want to survive. Let me give you some advice, Rogan. Don't get too attached to the men under your command. You're not their fellow soldier anymore, you're a commander. Sending them to their deaths in battle isn't an occupational hazard, it is the entirety of your job. They know the risks. Don't deny them the right to make the ultimate sacrifice for the Imperium. They deserve it."
Brother-Captain Tempesta slowly came to a halt and watched as the Grand Master continued down the hallway. He was left alone for a few moments until a Techmarine came up behind him, accompanied by the constant whirring of joints and servos.
"Brother-Captain Tempesta. How are you this evening?"
"...I am... a bit overwhelmed, Reddon."
"Responsibilities beginning to sink in?"
"I... I think so... the Grand Master just told me that getting my men killed in battle was my job, Reddon. Am I crazy or is that just a bit... ah, drastic?"
The Techmarine paused to tap the chin of his helmet with his mechanical arm before answering. "Do you know how the Executors were formed, Captain?"
"The founding? There used to be about four other Dark Angels successor chapters, weren't there? But after the last Black Crusade they'd sustained so many losses that they couldn't rebuild their strength and so they banded together into one chapter, right?"
"Precisely. Coldfire Citadel was once the Fortress-Monastery of the Iron Angels chapter. Grand Master Talus was captain of the first squad before Chaos attacked. His company was ordered to one of planet Judecca's larger settlements so that they could conduct geurilla warfare against the Traitor Legions from there, and to keep the Scouts alive until they could have their black carapaces implanted and finish the transition to full Space Marines."
"Grand Master Talus was the Captain of a Scout Company? I... can't really see it."
"I am given to understand that he very much enjoyed the position, and that he cared deeply for the men under his command. When a warband of the World Eaters surrounded the settlement, Dominus had his Scouts dig in and prepare to siege rather than risk fleeing without the aid of air support. They managed to hold off the traitor marines for over three weeks."
Tempesta smiled proudly. "Well done, that. And the traitors got what was coming to them when backup arrived."
"Oh, no. After three weeks they were overrun and slaughtered to the last man."
Tempesta's smile wiped itself off his face with amazing speed.
"Dominus was the only survivor, and only because the traitors assumed he would die slowly from his throat wound and left him to suffer. Every single one of his scouts was tortured to death in front of him and their geneseeds harvested by the forces of chaos."
"I... I didn't... but..."
Reddon patted Tempesta briefly on the shoulder.
"Understand, Captain, the Grand Master does not seek to depress you. He simply does not wish to lie. We are the Imperium's first and often only line of defense against a galaxy full of enemies. We are beset on all sides by alien creatures too horrific to contemplate and armies of monstrous warriors who all seek our destruction. The very Warp that we travel through is iminicable to the existence of ordered life. Four gods of madness and terror seek to destroy us and tear down all that we have built. Even elements of our own species seek to unseat our Emperor and take the Imperium in their own names. The deaths of your men, and indeed your own death, that of the men who will follow you, and the destruction of all that we seek to protect, is inevitable. The most that we can hope to do is to fight for more time, and delay the annihilation until another day."
Tempesta's eyes were haunted as he turned to look at the Techmarine.
"... then why do we even bother?"
The Techmarine simply shrugged and slowly walked away.
"What else would you have us do? We are, in the end, still human... and in the face of destruction, humans know nothing but to struggle, though the struggle itself only prolongs the agony..."
The clatter of ceramite boots on the hallway's floors slowly died away, leaving Rogan Tempesta very alone.
Depression is writing a short story and having already planned out how 90% of the characters involved will die.