Story 1 - The Iron Souls

Lielk decided hanging around after Zariah had left was not a good idea, he wasn't sure what the others thought, but they had minds of thier own, and if they used them they would follow. So he began chasing Zariah, but not before he picked up an enemy shield.

Faustus quickly ran back to the Thunderhawk with a child in each arm, one with severe burns, most likely warpfire, the other unresponsive. He carefully placed them down in the corner of the rear compartment.

Faustus turned around to again survey the palace grounds. Since landing he had began the process of Triage within his mind, loading only those he couldn't help immediately into the Thunderhawk, where they could receive proper treatment aboard the chapter's Battlebarge in orbit.

Having filled the Hawk to its maximum capacity, mentally accounting for two or three scout marine casualties, Faustus only now realized that the others were gone.

He remembered them storming off in the direction of the palace, leaving him and four others to guard the ship, but at the time Faustus was distracted with the wounded surrounding them.

Now that he had done what he could Faustus began to crave a good fight. In the last two hours since their arrival only three attempts to take the landing site were made. Compromised of only a few dozen chaos cultists each they were easily dispersed by the other scouts. Faustus busy at work.

Faustus had half a mind to follow the others into the palace, but the vox had been silent for the last hour, indicating they had run into a sizable force and had most likely moved away from their last reported location.

At that thought the vox suddenly came to life with a muffled static followed by the sounds of gunfire. Zariah's voice immediately rose above the roaring battle. "Did you get any readings on that teleportation?" Faustus mentally tuned out the remainder of the chatter, patiently waiting for his next destination.

"...in the Eastern Manufactorium."

Faustus began to sprint toward the nearest access point followed closely by two other scouts.

If he had neglected to study the maps of their insertion point Faustus would have been undoubtedly lost. There were a few minor cities on his homeworld, not that he had been to any during his lifetime.

Faustus rounded the corner in time to see a group of cultists crowding the narrow corridor. Instead of using his weapons Faustus simply ran even faster. He slammed into the first, knocking the cultists to the ground, only to be trampled by Faustus a second later. The others didn't even have time to process what had happened, they suddenly flew into the air and into the walls surrounding them.

Faustus emerged into a large clearing filled with cultists surrounding a statue of an Iron Souls Chaplain at its center. The entrance to the Manufactorium was on the opposite end of the clearing, and standing in the doorway was an unspeakable being held together only by the bronze armor it wore.

The scout to the left of Faustus sent a volley of bolter fire into the crowd of cultists. Their attention was quickly redirected towards the poor soul and in less than a minute he was completely overrun. Faustus moved to the marine's aide drawing his trusted sword. What was once light enough to be held in one hand was now like holding a feather. After completing nearly a dozen swipes into the riot in record time, Faustus continued to press forward clearing a path towards the bronze creature.

The creature looked down at Faustus with what Faustus believed to be an amused smirk. It jumped down a few feet in front of Faustus crushing several cultists beneath its bulk.

Faustus stabbed his sword into a soft spot between the creatures torso and thigh. Faustus had neglected to realize that this warpspawn would not have the same anatomical structure as even the most tainted human. The creature laughed and lunged at Faustus with unthinkable speed. Two golden brass blades had suddenly appeared as out of nowhere, jutting out of its forearms. Faustus was suddenly pinned to the ground by his left arm. The other had barely missed his neck, clearly attempting to damage his Progenoid glands. Faustus punched into the creatures neck, administering the Emperor's Mercy. Purple ichor spatted out of the creatures neck, sadly staining Faustus' white armor.

The creature was not yet vanquished, but for the moment very distracted. Faustus jumped up in time to see a purple flash strike one of the scouts that had joined him in his fight. The marine simply blinked out of existence as a piercing scream entered Faustus' mind. Faustus spun toward the center of the clearing where an armored figure stood holding a Bedlam staff. Faustus began to charge with his Bolter drawn, only to be tackled by the bronze creature yet again.

Zariah was charging headlong down the tunnel, his pack of scouts following close on his heels. He could feel the glowing spark that was Faustus up ahead. It was slightly disturbing that he had not noticed Faustus' absence.

Faustus was directly above them now. Zariah planted his feet. Using so much psychic power so quickly was draining, but it was the only expedient way of getting into the manufactorium, and Zariah could sense the Sorcerer above aswell. He began to focus.
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Faustus was grappling with the Familiar. It was strong, far stronger than it looked. It was slowly forcing its blade towards Faustus' neck when suddenly the ground exploded outwards in a great maelstrom of energy, sucking the familiar into the center, where it was ripped into a fine ethereal mist.

The Sorcerer let out a shriek of rage.

The members of the group accompanying Zariah charged out of the hole and into the fray. Lielk threw his commandeered shield like a disc, decapitating one of the Cultists, before he let into them with his chainsword.

Zariah crawled out of the hole, though his steps were slightly unsteady and steam was coming off of his armor. He was weaker than he had felt in a long time, but he wasn't defenseless, having drawn his sword. He nodded at Faustus, walked over to him, and helped him to his feet.

Spoiler:

Faustus stood up slowly, blinded and weak. The blindness subsided rather quickly but he continued to tremble slightly, having looked directly into a conduit of the warp. He looked over at Zariah once more and immediately regained his balance. Faustus picked up his Bolter and quickly scanned the immediate area.

It was strange, the death of the warpspawn must have acted as a beacon for all the cultists that resided within the hive. From every corridor and passageway into the courtyard, even the entrance to the tunnel Zariah had so theatrically created, was now swarming with cultists. There were perhaps half a dozen traitor marines leading their own private armies, not including the Sorcerer.

The Sorcerer!

Faustus again looked out into the battlefield, carefully examining each towering hulk amidst the sea of taint. The Sorcerer was nowhere to be found. Faustus spun around toward the entrance of the Manufactorium in time to see the Psyker slip unnaturally through the doorway into the darkness.

As Faustus renewed his pursuit he noticed a faint glow in the middle of a rather large group of cultists. It took all but three seconds to realize it was his old sword. Somehow it had stayed in the material realm after the Familiar's sudden demise. Faustus neglected to question how and instead unloaded his Bolter into the crowd creating a small path to his sword.

When Faustus reached down to pick it up he noticed a strange glow that seemed to radiate from the blade. Faustus assumed that Zariah's psychic assault on the familiar had somehow ensorcelled the blade. In addition Faustus only now realized that he could only fit two fingers through the hilt, and although the blade was made of one of the strongest alloy's of his homeworld, it would do no good against the power armored chaos marines. For the moment however, cultists were easy prey.

Faustus gripped the sword as best he could, and with ease, slashed his way to the steps of the Manufactorium. With each kill Faustus could feel a slight tug on his mind. He felt as if his consciousness stretched from his body, through his arm, and manifested itself within the blade. His movements were timed perfectly, and the sword seemed to decide the best vantage point of its next strike.

In mere seconds the cultists were gone, and Faustus found himself at the steps leading up to the entrance of the Manufactorium. Faustus looked down at the blade, still glowing, and placed it back into its sheath on his hip. Faustus was no psyker, not like Zariah anyway. He had not been powerful enough to be drafted as a Librarian. However after much training and practice, Faustus had learned to create even more superior defensive barriers within his mind. His powers were purely defensive, and he felt comfort in knowing that his thoughts were his own. Somehow his blade had amplified his power, or at the very least, channeled it.

With that final thought, Faustus reached the top of the steps, looking into the darkness through his lenses he could see down the hallway. There was only one place the Traitor could possibly be going, and Faustus was determined to salvage some honor from his first engagement. He would kill this heretic, even if it proved to be his final act. Faustus considered death as a warrior of the Emperor to be among the most honorable of deaths. Especially if his end meant the end of a Traitor. "Fear not the psyker," He quietly began to recite to himself, "and suffer not, the witch to live." Aiming his Bolter towards the end of the hallway, he charged into its murky depths.

"For the Emperor!"

Spoiler:

And don't you worry I thought you did great... Even if I was rushing you. :P

Lielk had walked into chaos, turmoil, and destruction. He had always felt dafe around Zariah, but now he didn't know. Multiple chaos marines and thousands of cultist had congregrated around them, and Zariah had to of been weakened from breaking through the ground in such a display. This fight was going to be grand, but he felt a tinge of sadness that it might be his last, for then he would have less time to serve the emporer. He figured remorse was not the course, so he would simply take as many down as he could before he himself fell, and who knew. If the emperor was truly with him he may just survive.
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He didn't think he could ever get tired of killing cultist, purging the world of the unclean, or serving the emperor. He knew now why training had been so testing, why the excersise so extreme. He simply fell back into the mood he had when exercising, a simple escape. He varied his fighting stiles every fifteen minutes or so, using other muscles to split the strain.

Every now and then he would be forced to come to reality as a cultist almost got through his methodical defense, and then he would feel his muscles burning, but he took no time to ponder when he would recieve a rest, he simply kept blocking, parrying, and ending the tortured cultist lifes, sendin the corrupted souls to the bloody warp where they belonged.
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It was victory. It was the sound of coins dropping to a jew. The smell of food to a starving man. Sleep to an insomniac, it was knowledge to a nerd, violence to a demon, it was the sweet taste that all people crave in different ways. What he heard meant rest, saving, and a meal in his stomach. He heard a thunderhawk.

The old saying he always heard had finally come through. It was the last thing his father said to him, in a language long dead. Dios contigo. God go with you. It seemed blasphmous to think of somthing more powerful than the emperor, but he knew it was out there.

But nothing could have ever sounded better than that thunderhawk. That thunderhawk meant allies, respite, and many other things besides. Just as he thought it impossible to be more estatic, he realized it wasn't a single thunderhawk, but many. At least 20 were converging around, dropping scouts and space marines alike. They dropped turrets, which techmarines began constucting, and then the cultist felt the true might of the space marines. And Lielk felt the true meaning of ecstasy.

Taktikos had taken up a high vantage point in the manufactorium. He was on a cat walk that ended in a waist high metal wall. There was only way to get to him, so any cultist that made it near were easy pray. He was raining down shots, nearly splitting cultist in two with every round. Though he shells couldn't pierce the chaos marine armor, a shot to the top of the helmet was more than enough to stun the warped beings long enough to be cleaved to death by another nearby scout. At some point Faustus ran off down a hallway, and Taktikos covered the entrance for a while. Eventually the cultists stopped trying to run into the narrow corridor, and Taktikos went back to sending shots souring down through bodies all throughout the crowd. A few cultists tried to make it up the ramp to reach him.

'I love it when they run at me. Center of mass shots are so much more fun.'

Taktikos came the closest to fear when one of the hulking chaos marines found his way to the ramp. He fired a few shots at the marines helmet, but the just crumpled on impact, and stunned the thing for a moment. It was Lielk's chainsword that ended the thing.

"I'll find some way to make that up to you some day."

Lielk was already fighting again.

'Did he even hear me?'

It didn't really matter.Taktikos swung back into his firing position, and sent more shells down range.

the fight lasted a long time. Taktikos knew his ammo was running short. He had moved past tunnel vision into something of a tunnel syndrome. He didn't hear or feel or know anything past the fight, especially not when he had his scope pointed down range. The roar of the approaching thunderhawks was a dim hum in his ears that he only barely noted. He just kept fireing counting down his rounds.

'15...14...13...12...'

A pile of dead surrounded Zariah. Even weakened, he was formidable, and he still had the mental strength to channel his will through the Force Sword. With power like Zariah's even a faint nick with such a blade was fatal.

Zariah closed the link on his vox. He had called in a fullscale purge. His brothers were coming in force to clear out the chaos infestation. How the problem had gotten so bad so quickly was unknown, and irrelevant. The governor would most likely have been executed for incompetence at the end of the day, if he hadn't already been assassinated.

He scanned the crowd. Once again Faustus had ran off, and Zariah had been too distracted by the battle to take note of his position.

Zariah had seen Lielk and Taktikos work together to defeat a Chaos Marine, impressive for a couple of scouts. They would go far.

Just as this thought crossed his mind, Zariah heard a shout and something huge crashed into him. Careless, distracted.

Zariah fell to the ground, grappling with a Chaos Marine. The foul thing was huge, and in the fashion of its kind, had huge spikes jutting from its armor, which it was trying to impale Zariah with. In the brawl, Zariah had dropped his sword, and was forced to use his fists.

Zariah, wanting to reserve his mental strength, opted to win this battle with skill and knowledge rather than his holy gifts. In one glance, Zariah had noted that the Chaos Marine was a wearing suit of mark four power armor, an "Imperial Maximus" suit. Extremely old, and one of the few things in this world that did not improve in quality with antiquity. The major flaw of the Mark IV suit was that its power cables, though lightly armored, were located outside the suit, crossing the chest.

Lightly armored means nothing to a member of the Emperor's Own. In the midst of their struggle, Zariah grabbed the cabling on the monster's suit and pulled with all his might. He could smell the thing's foul breath through the grill of his helmet. With a groan, the cables came free, and suddenly the beast's movements became sluggish.

With a yell, the thing began to beat its now un-powered arms against Zariah, but it's movements were clumsy. Zariah slung the beast onto its back, and straddling it, began to pound its helmet in with his fists. With a cry of righteous fury, Zariah delived a final blow, crumpling the thing's helmet and releasing a spurt of blood. It stopped moving. Zariah grabbed his sword as he stood, just in time to see several other Chaos Marines charging him, chainswords and chainaxes bared. That electric blue glow began to emanate from Zariah's helm, and he charged to meet them.

Faustus continued to run down the corridors lined with powered down servitors and conduits leading to the main production level.

There was a warm glow radiating from the opposite end of the passageway. Faustus slowed his pace down so as to carefully examine the room ahead. He stepped out onto a raised platform overlooking the entire production lines of the Manufactorium.

Faustus was shocked to see such a facility in working order. Out side chaos, both literal and figurative, plagued the hive world. In here however, everything worked in perfect harmony. The room itself was possibly even larger than the courtyard he had just came from. Great looming and sparking unidentifiable machines were being constructed, ironically by other machines. They appeared to be some sort of transport tanks perhaps for the local guard, or for the Iron Souls chapter.

There was movement down one level on what appeared to be the factory floor. The sight that greeted Faustus filled him with both anger and revulsion.

The Chaos Sorcerer had his back turned to Faustus and was surrounded by a small group of cultists. The Traitor had taken to sacrificing his own kin, for what purpose Faustus did not wish to know.

Without turning, the Sorcerer's sibilant voice slithers through the chamber. "You should not have followed me mortal." At that very instant and without hesitation cuts the throat of a cultist standing next to him with what appeared to be some sort of sacrificial knife, and pushed the former cultists body forward into a growing pool of blood.

"Soon this portal to Tzeentch's domain will open, and more of my brothers shall come to vanquish the blind followers of the False Emperor." The Sorcerer stood and turned to look upon Faustus with its tainted eyes. The Sorcerer raised his staff, now cackling with bright purple energy. "And you shall be the final Sacrifice!" At that moment the Sorcerer raised his left arm and bolts of purple energy were sent flying through the air towards Faustus.

They hit Faustus with unmatched speed and sent him flying off of the catwalk. He was slammed into the outer walls and sent crashing down on top of a group of servitors equipped with lifters. All the while barely staving off a constant stream of mental assaults.

As he stood up Faustus couldn't even think. He couldn't remember where he was or why he was there. There was nothing. No thoughts or stimulation. "Faustus?" He mumbled to himself. He knew his name, that was a start.

He looked ahead in time to see an armored figure laughing while four strange looking men were charging towards him. Faustus felt a tugging sensation in his mind. It moved down his right arm and when he looked he found he had drawn the sword that was sheathed on his side. It was glowing with a very brilliant blue and Faustus Immediately came back to reality.

Faustus later hypothesized that a combination of his untrained and latent defensive abilities and his astartes physique allowed him to quickly regain his composure.

The cultists, seeing Faustus draw his unique blade, stopped in their tracks and one turned back towards the Sorcerer with a confused and terrified expression. He was the first to die.

Faustus sliced through the nearest cultist severing him in half just below the end of his ribcage. The other cultists began a hopeless charge screaming praises to the ruinous powers. Their zealotry was somewhat admirable, but overwhelmingly misplaced. Faustus stabbed another and spun full circle to launch the corpse at another that was following farthest behind. A cultist had managed to reach Faustus and pathetically attempted to lunge for Faustus' chest. Moved his left arm into the blade's path which dug deep into the armor Faustus was wearing. The cultist desperately tried to pull his sword free, tears streaming down its face. Faustus, almost amused at the display, simply kicked the traitor in the stomach with his armored knee. The force was too much for the Cultist's extremely frail body, and therefore was instantly reduced to a still twitching blob of flesh lying on the floor.

The last cultist had again stood up, dropped his sword, and armed himself with a tainted sidearm. The laserbolts singed Faustus' armor, but did nothing to slow his charge. Faustus tilted his head downward to ram into the cultist. The effort was not in vain for the cultist seemed to simply part out of Faustus' path, leaving behind a bloody paste flying through the air. The Sorcerer had foolishly turned his back to Faustus again, and had only now realized his mistake.

Faustus continued his rampage and again prepared to use his bulk to ram himself into the traitor marine's side. The impact barely moved the Sorcerer, who was clad in tainted power armor. However this was not Faustus' target. With his sword still drawn, Faustus met the Sorcerer's Bedlam staff with the blade. The Reaction caused random bolts of lightening to crash into various machines surrounding them.

Faustus was easily tossed aside into a half completed tank. Machines were sparking around them, and some began to explode under the strain. The Sorcerer prepared to strike Faustus with the staff again, but Faustus had one advantage, his speed. Without power armor, Faustus rolled aside in time to avoid the strike which instead struck the tank causing it to instantly implode. The resulting vacuum pulled the Sorcerer down to the ground next to Faustus.

Faustus noticed a small exposed slits in the Sorcerer's helmet, too small for a typical chain or powersword to penetrate. In a quick motion Faustus rolled on top of the Sorcerer and pinned it down onto the floor. The Sorcerer was wearing Mark III power armor and the combined weight of the front plates and Faustus' bulk was just enough to keep the Sorcerer from jumping up in time.

Faustus gripped his sword with both hands and shoved the thin end of the blade into one of the helmet's small breaches. It took some effort but the blade broke through the underlying layers and the Psyker instantly unleashed a psychic wave sending Faustus flying into yet another incomplete tank.

The Sorcerer managed to stand and attempted to remove the blade from his helmet. His attempt simply broke the sword in half and moments later the traitor collapsed in convulsions before breathing its last.

Faustus was propped up against one of the many unfinished APCs scattered throughout the complex, and noticed a pool of blood forming under him. The bleeding stopped rather quickly but Faustus continued to grow weak. He opened his eyes to look upon the dead marine in front of him. He took time to scan the room, the once harmonized machinery was now spitting sparks and flames, and there was a small explosion every minute or so. Faustus again looked at the corpse of his most recent foe as he gave thanks to the Emperor. As he finished his prayer the world around him slowly grew silent, and darkness clouded his vision until at last everything was silent. Faustus at last found peace.

The head of the last Chaos Marine in Zariah's vicinity bounced off the ground and rolled away. Zariah sheathed his blade. He had already deferred command of the purge operation to Chaplain Keros via vox, and the good Chaplain had already teleported to the battlefield to lead with his usual gusto.

It was time for Zariah to tend to his scouts. He focused for a moment, casting his mind about the field. He quickly found Jebediah, Lielk, and Taktikos. A moment later he found the slippery gleam of Glurch's spirit. He did not feel Faustus. Frowning, he cast his mind farther.

Zariah finally found Faustus' spark. It was in the Manufactorium, and it was dim. With a sense of urgency, Zariah entered the Manufactorium, quickly striding down its halls and cavernous production wings.

He eventually found Faustus in one such cavern, though one could hardly guess at its original purpose. Destroyed APCs littered the area, and construction machinery was twisted wherever one looked. He sensed Faustus up ahead, but there were several mangled APCs in his way, and giant broken servo-arms kept Zariah from going around them.

The APCs were only partial constructed, and lacked the armor plates that would have been attached a few steps later and the massive engines that would have carried them into battle. Zariah walked up to two of the conjoined APCs and planted his feet. He slammed his open hands into the crumpled fissure where the APCs were bound and began to pull the metal plates apart. With armor servos whining and the groan of tortured metal, the two APCs slid apart. For a moment, just a moment, Zariah paused and looked at his hands. "The blessings of the Emperor are manifold," he whispered, before looking up and seeing the wounded Faustus.

He walked over to Faustus, grabbing the Medicae scout and throwing him over his shoulder with a grunt. He looked over and was genuinely surprised to see the corpse of the Chaos Sorcerer laying a short distance away. Zariah set Faustus back down and walked over to the Sorcerer's corpse.

Sticking out of the thing's helmet was a broken blade. It was striated as though energy had channeled through it into the Sorcerer. Its armor was thoroughly corrupted, such a shame, Zariah thought. Mark III suits of armor were a venerable and well made series, heavily armored in the front, and suited for assaults. The Sorcerer was dead, but that was not the only source of evil in this place.

Zariah reached down by the Sorcerer's side and picked up the Bedlam staff. He could feel the daemon inside it, sending whispers into his head. "I shall suffer no trespass," he sent his thoughts directly into the staff, immediately followed by a surge of his will.

His psychic exertions of the day were nothing compared to what he was endeavoring to do now. His will surged against the Daemon's. It was powerful, a bound creature of Tzeentch. Their wills collided and struggled against each other, fighting for purchase in each other’s defenses, trying to overwhelm the other.

It searched for doubt, weakness, fear, anything to breach Zariah's defenses, but they simply were not there. At every attempt it found its mind scalded with visions of a shining Imperial Aquila. It recoiled from Zariah's defenses, and they both knew it was defeated. With one last surge of effort, Zariah's will crushed that of the Daemon, flooded its very existence, and extinguished it.

Back in the physical realm, Zariah looked at the staff in his hands. The squirming sigils on it were gone, and the arcane etchings on it seemed empty, impotent. He walked back to Faustus, threw him over his shoulder and walked towards the surface. He sent out a message to the recovery teams, "See what is recoverable, bring the Sorcerer and his staff to the Librarius to be studied, and burned."
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In the cold void of space hung the planet Thruen Secondus. Above it hung a ship of massive proportions, the kind not seen since the days of the Dark Age of Technology. This was the Iron Fist, one of the largest ships in the Imperium. How it came to be the Fortress Monastery of the Iron Souls is unknown, but it is often grumbled in certain circles that a ship of such power should not be controlled by a single Chapter. But such grumbling was irrelevant, as no force in the galaxy could wrench the Iron Souls from their beloved ship, whose dark iron plating and brutal design they so thoroughly identified with.

A cruiser suddenly shot out of the warp, dangerously close to the planet, obviously going in for an extraction run. It was painted with a riot of colors and was festooned with spikes and other grim decorations. Under normal circumstances it would have been a formidable ship, but in comparison to the leviathan sharing the space near it, it was nothing.

If it was possible for a ship to convey fear, this cruiser would have. Upon seeing the Iron Fist, the Chaos cruiser attempted to take evasive action and brought up its shields. Several bright flashes lit up along its side as it fired all its weapons at the giant: lances, missiles, and shell-canon. The shots impacted on the void shields of the Iron Fist, though for all their effects, they mine as well have been firing blanks.

With almost casual effort, the Iron Fist lazily turned through space, bringing its guns to bear on the cruiser. Guns designed for the destruction of worlds opened up, and in an instant wiped the Chaos Cruiser from the face of the universe.

The Iron Fist returned to its geosynchronous orbit with Thruen Secondus.
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Zariah sat at a workbench in his study, tucked away in the Librarius of the Iron Fist. He was doing his best to purify the suit of armor the Sorcerer had worn. It was a personal hobby of his to try to make clean the unclean. So far it was slow, and large portions of the armor were corrupted beyond restoration.

He had let the scouts roam freely throughout the ship. Their black carapaces had finally been implanted and they would soon be issued their first suits of power armor. After the recent debacle on Thruen Secondus, they were deemed ready.

Faustus had recovered quickly and now spent most of his time with Apothecary Vrach, an old veteran who lost both of his hands in combat with a tyranid. He had advanced surgical augmetics placed in their stead.

Lielk was stuck under the wing of Chaplain Keros, being physically and mentally trained for the days ahead.

Taktikos spent most of his time alone, though Zariah had seen him spending some time with Veteran Scout Hjek. He was pretty sure that Hjek had taken a liking to the boy and had been slipping him specialist ammunition.

Vensun spent almost all his time locked away in the Mechanicus temple on the ship. At the rate that boy was learning, he would likely be a techmarine in half the standard time.

A scout by the name of Dante Demortis had been reassigned to the squad under Zariah's tutelage. His sniping scores were the equal to that of even Taktikos. Rather impressive. That one had been shipped from Terra, and would be receiving his power armor at about the same time as the others. Hopefully he will mesh well with the group.

Jebediah had managed to befriend several devastator marines and spent most of his time with them, ripping targets to bits and pieces with their weaponry. At one point they had lent him a rocket launcher, which the events involving that instance Zariah did not want to relive. The gist of it is that Jebediah will never be given a rocket launcher under any circumstances. Ever.

Glurch... well frankly, Zariah had no idea where he was.

The training since they got back was hard, but Lielk no longer resented it. He now saw the necessity of pushing his physical and mental prowess beyond the limits, for this is what battle would do, but then failure meant death.

He had been practicing for hours one day, and the sun was begining to set. Today was simply physical endurance, tomorrow would be combat training. He always looked forward to combat training, and it was this day an idea placed itself ever so gently inside his head. After he finished his practice he went to one of the tech-marines.

After breifly describing his plans to the tech-marine, who apperently seemed to think he was insane at first, deciding he could try the idea. Lielk then went to his bunk and slept, dreaming of the chain-shield. It would be glorious.

(chain-shield, as in chainsword but on a shield, not a shield with a chain attached to it.)

It was late. Hjek had went to his quarters hours ago. Taktikos didn't feel like sleeping. He sat at the firing range, his gun dismantled in front of him, cleaning, and re cleaning every part almost autonomously. His thoughts were not on the cleaning they were elsewhere. They were back with the cultists, and the chaos marines he had fought. They were lost in the endless periods of training he had received. They were with Zariah, and all his power, and with his every word. They brushed past Hjek, and the knowledge he was imparting into Taktikos. they were with all the scouts, and all the changes they were all going though. Taktikos ran his hand across his carapace, thinking back to the stories some of the scouts and marines told of Zariah pulling apart two fused apc's with his bare hands. 'Is that the kind of power we're headed towards having?' Taktikos was troubling himself. His thoughts were too much. He focused his mind, and was back with his weapon, he began reassembly. He slid in a clip. He looked down range. He fired. A silenced round, but still the shot seemed thunderous. He ejected the clip and went back to cleaning. His mind went to Dante. Hjek had spoken of him. Apparently his affinity with a sniper weapon equaled that of Taktikos' own. 'I'll have to meet him. Sometime tomorrow hopefully. He's a new scout to know, and a new skill to test, and as such I shall. Taktikos was cleaning his weapon again. Again his mind was elsewhere. Wandering about this leviathan of a ship, doing this or that as it went. Waiting for the morning to come.

Faustus carefully watched Vrach work delicately with the mangled corpse of a genestealer hybrid. It was understandable that Vrach had a personal vendetta against anything tyranid, and therefore set out to understand all he could about their kind.

Faustus was merely assisting at this point and his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. He was thinking back to his life on his homeworld. It was so difficult now. Apparently, as Faustus understood it, most Space Marines lose their memories of their origins as time progresses. The fact that it was becoming harder and harder to remember names of people and places while the images became clouded simply added to this.

He saw fractured images of his parents, and he couldn't remember when they died. He knew how they died, it was the whole reason he had began his life anew as a student of the Apothecarion.

"Notice how the pH levels within the blood have increased as the mutation progresses."

Suddenly Faustus was back within the dimly lit laboratory. Vrach was silent but his words echoed in Faustus' mind. "How does the body maintain itself without proper oxygen? The acidic conditions would no doubt cause muscles to constrict and inhibit the exchange of nutrients throughout the body." Vrach seemed almost excited by the question. "You see during the first generation of mutations, a unique enzyme is produced to strengthen the human body. Where this comes from we do not yet know. I have never been able to examine a victim at so early a stage of corruption. The point is, this enzyme literally strengthens the muscles while relaxing them. The mylin sheath spreads throughout the nervous system while the heartrate is increased just enough to compensate for oxygen deprivation."

Vrach continued but Faustus had suddenly remembered something important.

His blade.

He remembered the triumphant feeling of vanquishing the traitor sorcerer, and how he had done so. Faustus longed to remember his origins, and the blade was all that was left of his previous life. Zariah was in the process of purifying the Chaos Marines effects and assumed that the blade would no doubt be in his possession.

Faustus again turned to Vrach who had only now finished his monotonous reply to the previous question. "I'm afraid I have an important meeting. Something regarding the mission on Thruen Secondus." Vrach simply nodded in disappointment and Faustus was soon on his way.

Faustus began to run down the corridors barely managing to slip past the human crew. It would be a terrible shame if one were to accidentally crushed under his boot heel.

Again nearly smashing into a serf, Faustus had lost all sense of time and somehow arrived at the entrance to the Librarius of the Iron Fist.

It was evident to Jebediah that Glurch was not on the ship. No one was complaining about missing items, Jebediah hadn't seen him in quite some time now, and Glurch's room did not contain any stolen treasures. Jebediah was worried about him.

___________________________________________________

*creak croak creak* 'Damn this ship'
Jebediah was trying to sneak his way to the firing range, it was late and he was bored so he decided to have some fun shooting stuff. Plus the firing range was one of the many sound proofed rooms inside the ship which meant that Jebediah could be as loud as he wanted to.

"HAHA, TIME FOR SOME MAYHEM!!!...OH, sorry Taktikos, i didnt expect you to be here..."
"Dont worry Jebediah, you can be as loud as you want, i dont mind."
"Your going to regret saying that" chuckled Jebediah as he pulled a heavy bolter from the gun rack. Jeb starts firing at the targets, hitting every single one. Taktikos was intrigued with how well Jebediah was able to aim with such a big weapon. He figured that with a big weapon like that aiming didn't really matter, as long as you kill your target without wasting all your ammo then you would be considered good as a heavy weapons guy, but apparently their was more to it.

"Jebediah, try using this". Talktikos threw him a loaded sniper rifle. "All you gotta do is pull the trigger, but don't pull it to hard! we dont want a reenactment of what happened with the rocket launcher."

"How was i suppose to know the trigger of the rocket launcher would fall off?" Jebediah held the gun in front of him and shot
*dink*
he didnt hit the target
"try again"
Jebediah shot again
*dink*
still nothing
"ok, this time try aiming"
Jebediah looks through the scope this time
*dink*
the target still remain in tact
"hmmmmm, ok you can go back to using the heavy bolter"

Jebediah gave Taktikos back his gun and went back to the heavy bolter.

'Note to self: Keep on coming up with simile for Taktikos'