Warhammer 40K: Socialising

Taric appeared to be having some kind of a seizure, hiccuping repeatedly as he strived to keep from laughing at his Tempest Brothers misfortune.

"Ohh, Yes, Most desert fauna is toxic in some form. Much of the Flora too, tho that can be said for any deathworld. Also some kinds of Sand. Stay away from off colored or textured sand. On my home planet we used to bottle it into a kind of primitive grenade, ate flesh like hellfire."

Atash eyed Taric's hiccuping warily, then rolled his eyes. "You might as well let it out before you explode," he commented dryly. "At least he's not actually here for you to laugh in his face now."

He then blinked at Taric's comment about sand grenades, unsure if he should actually believe the Blood Raven. "... I have decided that I do not like planets," he muttered with a shake of his head. "Far too messy." He looked back at the tent flap, catching a last glimpse of Lance listing heavily to the left before staggering out of view, then sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. "Anyway, where were we..."

It took Atash a moment or two to recall the dangling thread of conversation and reorganise his thoughts enough to continue it. "I do not know if I would class my childhood as 'peaceful', exactly," he began eventually, his brow furrowed slightly in thought. "We were not fighting any real wars, true, but there is nothing peaceful about travelling through the warp, especially for a psyker. The Empyrean is a constant, almost palpable presence, one that pulses and writhes at the edges of the mind for every second of the day, and a moment's laxity can have dire consequences." Atash paused for a second, then grimaced. "Somewhat like Kiln, come to think of it. I should have recognised this planet's taint much earlier."

He let out a huff of breath, briefly annoyed at himself, then looked back over at Taric, his expression wry. "And honestly, I do not even have a 'before my chapter'. The Aten is a Chapter ship, and every child on board is educated from the moment we can comprehend enough to be taught, to test our abilities and better prepare us for whatever path of life we end up on - whether that be as ship crew, or Spireguard, or neophyte of the Chapter. Those of us with psychic abilities are educated even more thoroughly, of course. We must learn as early as possible how to control our powers. Control is a psyker's most important ability - control and willpower. Without those, we are little more than a ticking time bomb."

Atash dropped his gaze back to his damaged leg, his expression faintly haunted. "And sometimes, control and willpower are still not enough - and I have lost friends because of it," he murmured, almost to himself, then quickly shook himself off. "Anyway!" he continued, straightening back up again. "Most of my life has been lessons and more lessons, and then when I was selected for the Chapter, lessons and combat training, implantations, and more training and lessons." He grinned teasingly over at Taric. "Hardly anywhere near as exciting as your life, I am sure, with all your toxic fauna and flora and flesh-eating sand."

Durance slowly ascended as the grav-lift proceeded up the side of the mesa. Packleader Lance had journeyed ahead of him to see to his injury while he stayed behind to debrief the mortal warriors.

When Packleader Lance had asked for his assistance in training the humans, he had not expected the regimen that they had undertaken. Two hours had passed until Packleader Lance had fallen prey to a foul-tempered reptile and, for the safety of the mortals, he had ceased the training and sought the aid of Apothecary Nikkos. The reptile's bite was far more dangerous to a human than it was to an Astartes and Packleader Lance had made the right choice.

Until the attack, the training had progressed smoothly. Packleader Lance had mentioned that he wished to steel the hearts and minds of the mortals for the upcoming fight against the traitors. Durance had played the role of the traitor, although apparently his impression was so apt that a number of mortals averted his company as he moved back through their camp towards the grav-lift. Fear might not have been the intended result but at least the mortals understood the gravity of the impending fight.

The regimen was simple but surprisingly effective. Recognising their mortal deficiencies, Packleader Lance had constructed an activity that he called "Tag". He carefully ran his hand over the faint impressions that had been made on his armour. They certainly tagged me, Durance thought. The mortals had slightly dented his armour in a number of places from the weakened bullets that they had used in training as the mortals had sought cover and hidden locations to strike without being attacked in kind. Those that were too slow or not well hidden took a rock to the head.

Durance had to admit that Packleader Lance knew how to turn the mortals' weaknesses into strengths. Their small frames, particularly the hairy-footed abhumans, made it increasingly easy for them to shoot and retreat before Durance could strike back. Even Packleader Lance demonstrated an uncanny knack for concealing his size in the most unlikely of locations. Unfortunately for the Packleader, his last spot concealed the venomous reptile which struck him in the joints where his scout armour did not cover. Packleader Lance halted the training to avoid further injuries and he hurried ahead to seek an anti-venom.

The mortals, though bruised and bloody some were, were thankful for the training exercise and expressed their compliments to Durance. He had thanked them in turn for the opportunity to test their resolve and he remarked that he hoped for their marksmanship to be as true on the battlefield. Some of the soldiers stammered at his comment while others laughed and wished for Durance's own aim to be as accurate. Then there were others that had retreated from the field as soon as the training had ceased. Durance rolled his shoulders as his once broken arm twinged with a memory of its injury. While some mortals possessed the spirit and resolve of warriors, Durance thought as the lift continued climbing, others were like pups, ready to cower at the first sign of danger. Perhaps the fires of battle would-

Durance's thoughts were interrupted by an incoming message that he relayed to the interior of his visor. It was from Brother Vortali of the Knights Tempest. He acknowledged the message and, once the grav-lift had finally reached the top of the mesa, he made his way towards the Infirmary. He passed by the remnants of the dueling circle and the machine bay, as well as the gunship and shuttle that acted as beacons for the vessels that were supposedly arriving in orbit soon. As he pushed aside the flaps of tent and entered into the cooler interior of the Infirmary, he saw Brothers Atash and Taric engaged in conversation a few beds away. The bruises and injuries from their brawl were already beginning to fade from their skin.

"Brothers, what news of our next mission?"

Taric listened intently to the story of his Brothers life. So different from his own, and yet containing that tether of similarity. "I do not think Excitement was the most elicited emotion of my life. Something closer to Anxiety, i think." Taric said with a half joking smile.

"As for flesh eating sand..." Taric pulled off the rough dirty jerkin covering his torso, and turned to show his back. "I still bear my scars, however faint." His skin was rough, but as he tensed up its tone reddened, and large patches of old white scar tissue stood out.

Covering his shoulders and upper arms, stretching down his back, they looked like old burn scars. "With ascension the burns almost completely healed, but you can still make them out, i think." Taric put his shirt back on and faced Atash again. "It seemed to me the most incredible part of my transformation. I knew warriors in my tribe who were touched by the Biting-Sand. To a man they carried those wounds to their graves, they never healed, not fully. Not like mine did..."

Durance's sudden entrance cut Taric from his reverie. "Brother Durance" Taric tossed the hulking War Dog the Dataslate with the Data on Jaak'a. "It seems Command has Decided this planet is too Hot for Asterozoa. Full Brief in twenty five hours."

"Excitement, anxiety..." Atash waved a hand, grinning. "Not much difference between the two, really!"

As Taric displayed his scars, Atash leaned in a little to get a better look, then let out a low whistle. "Those are indeed some impressive scars, brother. The injuries must have been quite severe." He grimaced theatrically. "I think I would prefer to avoid your planet! I have not had good fortune with any kind of sand so far."

As Durance entered, Atash straightened back up again and greeted him with a nod and a casual salute. He remained quiet for the moment though, not wanting to interrupt Taric's reply or Haket's perusal of the dataslate.

"As the Packmaster wills," Durance replied as he caught the dataslate from Brother Taric. He brought the slate up to his face as he detached his helmet and locked it to his waist.

Emergency beacon, details of the planet's environment, last recorded location of the scouting party. Jaak'a did not sound promising.

"The mission will be completed swiftly. I do not wish to miss the main confrontation on this planet while attending to some errand. The mortals are far more appropriate to check on a wayward patrol." Durance handed the slate back to Brother Taric. "Perhaps this is punishment for the squad's poor performance as of late. Injury and tensions between brothers are not what the Packmaster wished for his instrument of authority in the system," he conjectured.

Atash frowned slightly at Durance's assessment of their upcoming redeployment. "I doubt that this is meant as punishment," he commented thoughtfully. "From what Apothecary Nikkos said, it is more to do with the taint of this planet and getting us out of it for a while." He shrugged, his expression rueful. "I do not much like it either - it feels uncomfortably like running away - but orders are orders."

He then rapped his knuckles against his damaged bionic leg, his gaze going to the tent flaps. "And I hope whoever is bringing my tools and armour gets here soon."

Taric nodded in consensus with his Psychic Brothers words. "Command has good motive to redeploy us, The Omens draw a conclusive connection to our squads history, and to this place. Command believes removing us from the equation may foil our foes schemes, perhaps giving them a foe that they are not expecting."

Tarics expression was one of contemplative frustration. "But such.. Ephemeral clues are notoriously fickle. If it were my own chapter I may have a higher measure of faith in their judgment, such things are our specialty." Taric took a deep breath before continuing.

"But.. Perhaps our dark foes wish us out of this fight, we have foiled the Traitors plans before, on Sothis. I empathise with Atash on this, it feels like we are shying away from the fight."

After a moment of brooding, Taric suddenly stood up, tensing the powerful muscles of his neck and chest "However, Such things are mere speculation. This however is what I Know; I know this planet bleeds doubt, I Know that free from its obfuscation we could find Clarity. And i Know that on this frost ball of a planet they are sending us too, we can find something we can Kill!"

.

"I'd much prefer foiling our foes by splitting them in half, Brother Taric," Durance said with a toothy grin. "Leaving when the fight's not over is a coward's way out. And besides, there's plenty to kill here."

Durance glanced around at the medicae tent, peering around at the various mortals that were being treated for their injuries. He noticed a few of them recoil at his gaze and he recalled a few of the warriors had not fared well from his strikes in training. The medicae tent did not seem to hold what he was seeking.

"Brothers, have you seen Packleader Lance recently? It was my understanding that he had sought an anti-venom for a lizard that had bit him but I don't see him here. I trust the Packleader will lead the Squad to this ice planet once he has recovered, correct?"

Atash quirked his mouth in wry agreement to Taric's statement about his own chapter's speciality. "Your chapter and mine both," he commented quietly, his brow furrowing for a moment in thought. "Perhaps that is why they are redeploying us - to send what information we have gathered so far to our respective chapters for analysis - and in the meantime we are being sent elsewhere until they can decide on a proper course of action."

He grinned in reply to Durance's own sharkish grin. "I do not doubt that for an instant, brother," he teased, then shrugged. "But for now, we must find things to kill on Jaak'a - and I am sure that whatever is here for us to kill will still be waiting here once we finish there and return."

Durance's last question made Atash blink and pause. "I... am not sure, actually. Our orders so far haven't specified - he may be deployed with us, or be left in charge of the regiment here still. The briefing later will clarify, no doubt. And he was here a few minutes ago, looking rather more sour and lopsided than usual." Atash tilted his head to one side, giving Durance a curious look. "What happened with Brother Lance and this lizard, anyway...?"

"The Packleader and I were training the mortals in how to take down space marines." Durance held up his helmet to show off the dints and scratches of the training bullets. "Some of the buggers have good aim but others were too darn slow to get to cover. Good thing I was only throwing rocks and not grenades."

One of the medicae orderlies assisted an injured soldier to stand up and begin moving around with crutches while his leg was encased in a cast. Durance recognised the soldier as one of the poor mortals in the training and he loudly stomped one boot on the ground. The soldier's balance on the crutches was thrown out and he collapsed back onto his bed. Durance laughed at his weakness while the orderly glared at him sternly.

"At any rate," Durance said as his mirth subsided, "Packleader Lance wanted to train the mortals to be capable warriors. Sadly the few true fighters won't be enough to win this war without us Astartes. Packleader Lance wanted to show them that their small size and weakness were strengths that could be utilised. The Packleader did not take into account that the local wildlife would not care for his tactics in taking over their hiding holes and a lizard bit the Packleader on the back of his neck as he took cover against a few boulders. Apparently the lizard was very venomous, or so the Packleader said."

Durance placed his helmet back on his head and locked it in place. "I'd rather we didn't have to wait until tomorrow for the mission briefing but Packmaster Taarn no doubt has his reasons. Tell me though," Durance looked at both Brothers Taric and Atash, "what manner of information could your Chapters provide that we don't already know? The enemy infests this planet and engages in foul dealings with xenos creatures. What more needs to be known before crushing these traitors?"

Taric knowingly glanced at Atash, and chuckled wryly. "So much, Brother, So very much. You still have much learning to do on Chapter tactics brother, We have neither the limitless reserves or resources of your past. Every loss is not a loss that may never be recovered, And as such must be spent carefully. Yourself included, Brother."

Taric gathered his thoughts for a moment, before taking a deep breath, and stated the facts as he saw them. "The enemy Astartes outnumbers us, And even if in poor repair they have greater weapons than us. They are on a planet we know little of, but they have probably held for millennia. It is riddled with tunnels we have yet to map and are simply not equipped to fight in. The foe however can be expected to be well equipped to use them against us. And all we have to base the enemy strength on is one assault force, which we have surmised was a feint to draw us in, and one base, that the enemy Let us destroy. In truth, with our current resources, a ground assault would be ludicrous. The most viable option would be to call in Exterminatus to this useless ball of sand. Given how our foe was able to steal one of our ships from right under us even that is debatable on whether it would be playing into their hands."

Taric's tone switched from contemplative to authoritative "All of which is none of our concern now, Only our Orders are." Speaking calmly again "As for Brother Lance, If he was to be made leader of Asterozoa, it would have been done long ago. And even if he is to join us, which I both hope but doubt, It would be as it ever has been. It is perhaps due time he did lead a unit of Space Marines, rather than the mortals of the Guard he has been Mentoring with, But I foresee that he will be given to the recruits of the War Dogs. Scouting is his element, Taarn would have him lead the 10th, I think. Best to simply have the first War Dogs learn under him, and him likewise grow with them."

Taric directed his gaze mainly at Atash "But whilst I have you both here, and the subject is broached, I wish to give Alexandros leadership of the Squad. He has proven himself capable these past days. His loss of memory has helped him acclimatize to the Modern Imperium, Given the opportunity early I believe he would take quickly to Command."

Atash winced slightly in sympathy as Durance explained Lance's misfortune with the reptile. "That lizard's venom must be potent indeed to give Astartes cause for concern," he mused.

Durance's question made Atash blink; he caught Taric's knowing glance and returned it with a wry one of his own before looking back to the War Dog. "Knowledge is power," he replied simply as Taric paused for a moment to gather his thoughts before explaining further. As Taric talked, a servitor entered the medical tent, bearing Atash's tools. Atash received them with obvious relief and enthusiasm, and immediately began working on his damaged leg as the servitor exited the tent again.

By the tilt of his head, though, it was apparent that Atash was still listening to the conversation. As Taric brought up the subject of making Alexandros squad leader, Atash paused in his work for a moment to look back up at the others. "It seems reasonable to me," he replied after a moment's thought. "It should also give us the opportunity to get to know Brother Alexandros better - and vice versa, of course." He shot Taric a teasing grin. "We shall also see if Squad Asterozoa fares any better in regards to gravity under his command."

"Brother Alexandros is a good warrior. I don't know how well he would lead but he is far more suited to command than I." Durance rapped his knuckles on the shoulder guard of his left arm, drawing attention to the canine maw that now showed his fealty. "A War Dog leader for the Packmaster's strike force makes sense. I believe though that it might be wise for Brother Alexandros and I to retake our old colours. Browns and greens will serve no purpose on a frozen world."

Durance turned to leave the medicae tent but he halted as a thought came to mind. "I have never run from a battle before, Brothers. Despite your words of caution, going to Jaak'a still feels like cowardice. I would not entrust this fight to any other Astartes, let alone the mortal warriors. The War Dogs are strongest together as a pack and splitting us now is remarkably foolish for the Packmaster. It is not my duty to question his decision but I do. The Legion is strongest as one and not when lone hounds are sent scampering across all of the void."

"You say knowledge is power, Brother Atash?" Durance questioned. "Power lies in the strength of arms and the unity of your army. The mortals are strong because they fight as one. The War Dogs could be the strongest Astartes to ever fight in this galaxy if we fought together but the Packmaster denies that reality and seeks to weaken us. Your own Chapters also seem oblivious to your fracturing. Brother Atash. Brother Taric. Why do both of you fight here and not alongside your own brother warriors? What do you gain by being here?"

As durance spoke Taric expression soured. Durances references to Legions and willfulness to return to his old colours concerned him. Durance had appeared to be resisting the effects of this world well so far, but perhaps even he was now effected.

At the War Dogs last remark, the Blood Raven traded looks with Atash, and was swift to intervene.

Taric shook his head slowly as he spoke "Unity, Brother. We gain unity, a bond between our chapters. That is what makes our strike force, One of all our chapters in the Emperors name, Strong."

Taric got back up, and began to wander around the Astarte's section of the medical tent as he talked. "The same reason the guard is strong. It is not simply a case of amassing forces, Any greenskin has the presence of mind to achieve that. It is a matter of Unity and symbiosis of a wide range of skills to create a versatile fighting whole. That is why we are hear, we learn strengths of each of our chapters, and each chapters recruits learns from the experience. What makes us so Successful however is the Intelligent use and allocation of each part."

Taric faced away from his brothers, his hands wandering over vials and utensils of the Apothcarion. He turned his head to half face Durance, and sub-vocalized "There are no Legions any longer Durance. You must learn to fight as part of a chapter if yours is ever to survive, let along thrive enough to claim the Honour held by the Ultramarines."

"It is the greatest regret of the Imperium, but your old colours have been tainted with new meaning, they are no longer yours for they belong to those who are without honor. You wear new colours now. Take pride in them and make them count for what the Legion should have."

The Blood Raven turned properly to face the War Dog, a fraternal look in his eyes "Also, You say you are not suited to Command, So have some faith in those in whom you know are, faith that they have a purpose. We all feel as you do, We all wish to personally slay this foe, to prove that we are better, warrior for warrior. None more so than Atash, Lance and I, who have faced them before, and even in victory been shown humility."

In a fainthoped attempt to elevate the mood Taric concluded "The Camouflage of the War Dogs shows the sence of pragmatism that is the Trademark of Taarn's leadership. I do not doubt that we shall be assigned an arctic variant, or else Chameleon gear to suit the planets ecosystem, Crimson also tends to be noticed in Snow."

Atash began to frown at Durance's words, but he took a deep breath and quickly smoothed the expression back out. He was about to answer Durance's questions when Taric caught his eye, and Atash bit back his own reply to let Taric speak. He dropped his gaze back to his damaged leg and resumed working on repairing it, gradually allowing more of his attention to be absorbed by the task.

The mention of humility in victory made Atash visibly wince though, and he had to pause for a moment to mentally re-balance himself. As a result, he missed Taric's attempt to lighten the mood.

In the moment of silence after Taric finished speaking, Atash looked back up at Durance. "Everything Brother Taric has said is true, and worth listening to," he said quietly, so the words would not carry beyond the Astartes to anyone else within the tent. "You say power lies in strength and unity, and I agree! To a point. But said strength and unity are useless without the knowledge to know when and where to use it - or not use it."

He gestured with the combi-tool he was holding. "A perfect case in point - without the necessary supporting intelligence and knowledge, the supposed power in the strength of your many, many arms and the unity of your mighty army didn't do your Expedition much good in the end, now did it? Otherwise you and Brother Alexandros would not be here with us." Atash looked back down at his damaged leg, the gesture almost dismissive as he went back to working on his repairs. "Lord Taarn has learned from that mistake - you would be wise to do so as well."

Durance turned back to face his brothers as they sternly responded to his question. He scowled as their tone took on a far more commanding edge. They were lecturing him. A grating sound began to emanate from his helm as his teeth ground against each other, gnashing at the reprimand he was being given. By the time Brother Atash and Taric had finished speaking, he was seething with anger.

"You don’t know what you speak of, Brother Atash," he growled, keeping his voice low. "My Expedition failed because we fractured. The World Eaters were strong and powerful and punched through to the planet’s surface to fight the Greenskins. The mortals hesitated and led the fleet into destruction. We Astartes knew our purpose. The mortals failed. "

"Taarn is trusting them despite their failure. We leave this planet in their fragile, weak hands and for what?!" His voice became louder and any sound dampening in his helmet was slowly giving way to his rage. "These mortals are stronger but when we return, they will be dead and the planet lost, mark my words. That is my knowledge, Atash. That is what I learned in my sleep. Humans are weak. They betray you with their ineptitude, their frailty, and their indecision."

"I am a World Eater!" Durance shouted as he thumped his chest. "My Primarch named us because he knew we weren’t hounds to be let loose and attack before being called to heel. We were conquerors and devourers of planets. The Orks would have been crushed beneath our might if not for the failure of the humans. They died for their failure but they killed almost all of my brothers because of it. The only World Eaters who survived were those that the galaxy wanted to torture and punish with the shame of defeat."

Durance panted as his blood cooled slightly. "Taarn wants to bury our failure. He is ashamed of what the World Eaters have become. You are also wrong, Taric," he turned to face the Blood Raven that loitered near one of the beds. "Taarn was never a leader. He was a relic even before the Great Sleep and he was never given command. He only leads now by virtue of being the first to awaken. It would probably have been better if he had died along with everyone else," Durance trailed off.

He looked around the medicae tent at the bodies of the humans that were being treated for their injuries. They tried not to stare at him but their eyes hungered to know more about why he had shouted. Durance hated their eyes. He glanced at Taric and Atash and their bruised bodies. The tool that Atash held in his hand rested against the cybernetic leg that lay damaged on the bed. He snarled at both of them.

"Unity and strength lies in blood. You are not my brothers and you never will be. I wear the skin of a War Dog but I will always be a World Eater.” Durance turned and stomped out of the medicae tent. He made his way to the sparring ring and began to disengage his armour prior to training. I don’t want to destroy one of the last remnants of my Legion, he thought before settling into practice against the training machine.

At first, Atash continued working on his leg as Durance began speaking, but as the War Hound’s voice began rising, Atash paused to look back up at him, his brow furrowing slightly. Durance’s declaration of being a World Eater made Atash freeze for a moment, then try to interrupt, but Durance’s tirade was such that Atash couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

Finally Durance finished and stormed out of the med-tent, the tent flap swinging in his wake. Atash glanced around the rest of the tent before turning to face Taric, his expression concerned. “It… seems that this planet has affected Brother Durance rather… poorly,” he murmured, his mouth twisting slightly in consternation. “I probably should have chosen my words more carefully.”

Taric was barely listening. “Nightmare Protocol,” he subvocalized to the Lexicanum. His mind racing, Taric made to leave the tent after his erstwhile brother.

“Wait!” Atash reached out to grab Taric’s shoulder as he passed and shook his head slightly. “You should organise that - I will go talk to Durance instead. I need to apologise to him, anyway.”

Taric glanced back at the apothecarion, and nodded in agreement. “I will contact the others, buy time for me to arm if you can.”

Atash frowned. “You do not think it will actually come to violence, do you?”

Taric’s silence expressed his thoughts loudly. “Keep the squad-link open.” Taric tossed Atash a spare comm-bead from his bag, then raced deeper into the Med Bay in search of Nikkos.

Atash caught the comm-bead reflexively, then eyed it for a moment before setting the squad-link to life-signs only. That done, Atash set his tools aside and gingerly got to his feet, grimacing slightly as his partially-repaired metal leg creaked beneath his weight. He just hoped that it would hold out for now, and that - despite Taric’s misgivings - he wouldn’t have to fight on it any time soon.

He limped out of the med-tent and paused to look around; it didn’t take long to spot Durance over by the training dummy. Atash headed over, circling around so Durance would be able to see his approach. He halted at the edge of the rough ring around the training dummy, waiting for a moment to see if Durance would acknowledge his presence before he spoke.

“Brother Durance - I would like to speak with you, if I may?” he started, quietly enough so that his voice wouldn’t carry beyond the ring. “I need to apologise.”

Durance laid into the training servitor with gusto, his bare knuckles cracking against the hardened metal that had been affixed to the machine. The servitor's blades whirled and slashed at him as he closed the distance and started tearing the metal to pieces. His blood flowed from the gashes that the blades opened in his skin but he pushed past them to unleash his anger on the worthless machine. Sheets of metal groaned and tore off in his hands as he rent the machine to pieces. The servitor finally gave up when its servo-spine was torn out in Durance's clenched fist.

Atash's words called him out of his battle mind and he glared at the wounded Astartes. Durance looked wild as he turned to face him, blood and grease dripping off him. "What are you apologising for Atash?" he grunted as he wiped blood from his face. He didn't keep his voice down. "You spoke your mind and I spoke mine. I corrected your faulty knowledge and gave you that power that you talk so much about." Durance stretched his arms and relaxed his muscles, feeling the blood begin to coagulate in the many wounds that he wore from the machine.

"And if you want to speak, speak. I'm not your captain so talk as you will. Whether I listen is my choice."

Nightmare Protocol.

A set of contingency plans but developed by the Blood Ravens and disseminated to the three other chapters involved in the War Dogs project. The protocol addressed what some taught to be the inevitable possibility of the War Dog's following the path of their genetic brethren.

The first stage was containment, to isolate and deal with the issue with precision. Ideally, this involved mind wiping any witnesses and bringing in the aggressor...

Taric strode into the center of the apothacarion, and prepared to address the guardsmen and medicae present. "A Nightmare..." He began, locking serious eyes with Apothecary Nikkos' sharp glare.

"Imperial Guard! Our cowardly foe has resorted to witchcraft in a petty attempt to assail us!"
Taric paused for a heartbeat to ensure his booming voice caught the attention of all present.

"But do not fear, for our Librarian has halted their assault and set's about warding us from further attack. It will only be a matter of time now before he traces their coven and we launch a strike." Again Taric paused for effect. He surveyed the wounded mortals to read the room.

Confidant his words were having the desired effects, he continued. "In the mean time, we will need to quarantine this facility. We must ensure the sanctity of every imperial soul after such attacks, But fret not Guardsman! your service to the emperor is recognized and salvation ensured. One of our scryers will be sent to detect any taint and purge it from your minds. Our scryers are the best and if you comply, you will not be harmed." Taric swept the room full of wounded men and women. "You have already paid penance enough..."

Atash blinked slightly at Durance's words, caught off-guard by their reasonableness, especially when contrasted against the War Dog's wild, bloody appearance. He recovered swiftly however and moved a little closer, still keeping his voice low. "I thank you for that, brother," he began sincerely. "And we are brothers - maybe not by blood or Primarch, but brothers nonetheless, moreso than you know."

He halted a few feet away from Durance, his expression open and earnest. "I understand the pride you have in your Legion of old, and how much its fall and fate must grate at you - how much you want to prove that it was one worth being proud of. Believe me, I know. I understand."

Atash paused for a breath, his green eyes never leaving Durance's face. "But... the Legion you once knew is long gone. The Imperium has changed, and if you want to survive, so must you. But by so openly declaring for a Legion that has been labelled traitor and heretic for the past ten millennia as you did... do you realise just how much jeopardy you put yourself and the rest of the War Dogs in?"

The blood was already beginning to dry on Durance's face as he listened to Atash's words and his face slowly cracked open into a wide smile.

"I'm afraid that I was never good at keeping secrets Atash," Durance chuckled, still not bothering to keep his voice down. "That was more of a Nineteenth thing. So I'm afraid that I cannot do what you ask of me."

"To turn my back on my past and pretend it never existed doesn't sit right with me Atash. It dishonours the brothers that I fought beside and our service to the Imperium. And before you say anything," he held up a hand to dissuade Atash from interjecting, "don't think I'm ignoring what happened to the rest of my Legion. Banner Master Scarab knows all too well my feelings on the matter. To pretend that never happened, to live on as if nothing was wrong; it's a disservice to everyone that I fought alongside. I am what I am. Nothing will change that and there is no sense in hiding."

Durance picked up a discarded piece of cloth and spat on it before beginning to wipe away the blood and grease on his body. It only served to coat himself in the rust red dust of this planet. "If you understand Atash," his voice had dropped low, "if you truly understand as you claim you do, you know that I cannot be anything else. I am a World Eater. I am not a War Dog. I don't want to paint myself in these new colours. I want to strike hard and true, bearing the proud heritage of my Legion. If others punish me for what I am, then so be it. I'd rather be judged for what I am than what I claim to be."

"The Nineteenth were a little too good at keeping secrets," Atash muttered dryly, even as his spirits sank at Durance stating that he could not - would not - keep secrets.

He bit back a sigh and waited until Durance was done speaking before he responded. "I am not asking you to ignore or forget your past," Atash stated firmly. "That would be utter folly. If we forget the past, ignore what has come before, then we are doomed to repeat the mistakes made back then. Remembering - and learning - from the past is how we improve ourselves."

He restlessly scrubbed one hand back over his head, the rust red dust of the planet blending with the red of his hair. "I know you are a son of Angron, an eater of worlds, and that cannot be changed. I do not ask you to change that. What I am asking is simply that you no longer use that specific name. It is just a name, just a couple of words. A rotary cannon is a reaper cannon is an assault cannon, but whatever name you choose to use does not change the weapon itself. Changing the words does not change the object - or person. But the name you choose to use can change the opinions others have of you. And unfortunately, the Imperium no longer views the name "World Eater" as one to be proud of, but rather one to be hated, despised, viewed as the height of heresy. They are paranoid, and they will judge you - immediately and unfairly - as a heretic for using it, and will not give you the chance to prove yourself via your actions."

He took a quick breath and pressed on, his voice still low. "If it were just yourself to be judged, then I would be the first to stand by you, brother. But it is not. What you call yourself reflects not only on you, but on the rest of your chapter - and on our chapters, along with the mortals who aid us, for supporting your chapter in the first place. Whatever punishment that would be meted on you will most likely also fall upon our heads as well. We will be judged guilty and tainted by association, and the punishment will most likely plunge this system - this sector - into civil war. None of us can afford that, especially not with all the other threats we currently face."

Durance felt his temper begin to flare and he tried to keep it under control as he listened to Atash's words. He discarded the filthy cloth and dropped to the dirt to begin some further exercises to keep himself from lashing out in anger. The repetitive series of push ups helped to keep him occupied as he listened to Atash.

"This must be frustrating for you, Atash," he grunted as he mentally counted off his second score of push ups. "It's frustrating for me too. This universe has changed beyond all of my understanding where the threat of strife between Astartes is not only considered but distinctly possible. I don't want to be the cause of the same turmoil that my fallen brothers caused so long ago." Sixty.

"I'm not sure I can change, Atash," Durance admitted candidly, "and maybe that's for the best. What separates me from my brothers that fought against the Imperium ten thousand years ago? If I was there, would I have spat on my oaths to the Emperor? What separates me from the traitors that we witnessed at the plateau? I don't know. Coincidence? Fate? Pah!" Durance spat on the ground as he continued his repetitions. Eighty. "That is what I want to be reminded of Atash. I am a World Eater and I want to be remembered as a World Eater. If I need to pay for the crimes of my Primarch and my fallen brothers, then so be it. I'd rather be true to my heritage and face the reality of this different time rather than erasing what happened and pretending we can fit in. It feels like cowardice and I despise shirking my responsibility."

Durance paused just before the end of his fifth score of push ups and he flipped over and sat down in the dust. He looked up at Atash and his eyes lingered on the bent machinery that still remained in his leg. "It is unfair that my actions will threaten you and the rest of our allies. There is a debt of gratitude that I will forever intend to repay for the kindness that you, Taric, Gideon, and Rainier displayed to my brothers and I. I want the galaxy to remember the greatness that the World Eaters once accomplished for the Imperium. I want our honour and strength to be remembered as it was in the Crusade. And yet," Durance trailed off for a moment before staring into Atash's eyes, "you say there is no place left for honest World Eaters. I am forced to either live as a liar or die as a traitor for crimes of my legion."

"I am no good at lying, Atash. But to protect the honour of you and the rest of our allies, I will have to learn."