Warhammer 40K: Socialising

Lance shrugged. Then remembered he was vox-only and added "Thus far Brother." Lance sat down on the rock, watching cultists scurry around, thinking themselves safe.

"Got a two questions for you however."

Atash gave the boulder a final shove and eyed it critically as he replied. "No, I don't have any bugs left, and no, I haven't tried any of the local ones yet." He nudged the boulder a little further. "So what are these questions, Brother?"

Lance smirked. "Bugs are off the menu round here. Nasty toxic bastards."

He fished out a pair of cigars. His last two.

"As for the questions, one is how would you like to smoke some Sothis rolled Blackleaf and shoot cultists..." he started searching for his lighter "and two, where does the Grand Colonel Imperialis keep his armies?".

"That does sound like a tempting offer," Atash mused, then sighed regretfully, silently grateful that they were talking over comms and not face to face. It was harder to hide body language in person. "Unfortunately, I'm currently occupied building walls to keep said cultists out if they decide to swarm again. Perhaps lat--"

Atash paused and blinked several times as he processed the second question, then spoke again, sounding genuinely confused. "... Who or what is a Grand Colonel Imperialis, and why would I know where he keeps his armies?"

"In his sleevies." Lance grinned at his favorite childhood joke.

"Now get your metal-half-arse over here and help me kill things." he then added "you can consider that an order, if it helps."

Lance then switched his coms off. If Books wanted to retort, it would have to be in person.

"In his-- what?" Atash sounded even more confused than before, if that was even physically possible. "How does that even work?"

But there was no reply, and Ash realised that Lance had turned his comms off. He sighed and shook his head, returning most of his attention back to shifting boulders.

One and a half minutes later, Atash blinked, then let out a short sharp string of swear words. About forty-five seconds after that, he stomped up to where Lance had parked himself. "You're an asshole," he told Lance conversationally. "Also, technically, I'm not sure you can really give me orders."

Lance pretended to consider this.
"Yes I am, and funnily enough, yes I can." He smiled like a happy shark.
"Since my Chapter-master is on station, puts my chapter in command." He stood and handed a modified solid-shot rifle to his Brother.

"Anyhow, to the matter at hand." He locked eyes with Ash, and hint of command crept into them and his voice.
"It's been a bad day. Echos of other bad days. Things happened and..."
He held up his hand as Ash drew breath "...and I don't care. You're my Brother, and friend, and your alive. That's what matters to me"
He directed the aspiring tech-marine's eyes to the plains.
"The other thing that matters is killing off any new momentum these skegg-humpers try to regain. There's quite gathering down there and I'd like to put a stop to it."

Lance handed three 20 round clips to his friend as he settled into a firing position. "Needle rounds, silenced rifles. Lets chalk a tally." Passing a cigar he added "Kill twenty and I'll share a secret."

Atash considered this for a moment, then nodded as he accepted the rifle. "That seems reasonable."

He blinked and held his breath when Lance held a hand up, then followed his gesture to look out over the plains. "... So I see," he murmured as he spotted the lurking cultists and took the three offered clips. He examined the rifle for a moment, then settled down beside Lance and readied himself to take a shot.

Taric had been right - Atash was unusually quiet as he and Lance watched the plains, and not all of it could be attributed to him focusing on picking off cultists one at a time. Not all of his shots found their mark either, though that wasn't so surprising - he was no sniper or marksman like Lance was.

However, after several long minutes of tally-marking interrupted only by the muffled retort of the silenced rifles, Atash finally spoke up, his voice quiet. "... I am probably going to regret asking this... but what, exactly, is a skegg?"

Lance didn't look up as he lined up his next victim target.
"A skegg, my unenlightened Brother, is slang-terminology for a something or someone you greatly dislike." Lance frowned as his target stepped behind a large rock. "What an actual Skegg may be, I'm not sure. It's an off-world reference with a good, solid, sound to the name. SK-egg. You can put some passion into that word."

Lance looked over at Ash's tally.
"Is that twenty? I can't tell. Apparently having fine penmanship doesn't translate well to chalk and rocks."

"Ah." Atash pondered this for a moment. "It does have a rather satisfying ring to it, doesn't it?"

At Lance's comment about his tally, Atash paused and peered at it himself, then frowned. "You know, I'm not entirely sure myself. I wasn't exactly paying much attention to my penmanship on a rock." He shrugged, then lined up another shot and fired - and muttered a curse word under his breath as his target moved out of the way before the shot landed. "Can't be twenty yet though, the skeggs keep moving."

Lance smiled broadly around his cigar.
"Well, near enough." Lance clipped cultist who dared evade his Brothers aim in the neck. "My secret, Ash, is that during the battle against that thrice-warp-cursed-daemon... I spent most of it behind a large rock trying to make my legs work and my hands stop shaking."
He quietly reloaded, his smile gone. "And when I did get moving I nearly killed all three of us."
Lance set the rifle back in place and resumed hunting.

"But that's not what matters. What matters is I came back. I got back in the fight."
He lowered his sight and looked at Ash. "As did you. As did Brother Rainer." He then smiled a little. "In fact the only ones of us too stupid to be scared are fresh from stasis or strapped to a jet-pack." His smiled widened. "And my dear Brother Haket is both."

Lance blew a smoke ring into the night.

"Reminds me. Whats the difference between an Assault Marine, and a chunk of Plascrete?"

Atash held his breath and remained silent as Lance revealed his secret, his eye still fixed to the scope of his rifle. He kept utterly still though, not even tracking a cultist that dared poke its head out before scurrying across the hard-baked ground. A moment after Lance finished speaking, Atash slowly let out his breath in a long, quiet sigh. He still said nothing in reply, merely grumbling under his breath as his rifle clicked emptily.

Lance's final question made Atash glance over at him, one eyebrow raised. "... The chunk of plascrete at least has the sense to stay on the ground after falling from a great height?" Atash deadpanned as he deftly reloaded.

Lance thought about this answer.
"Yea." He grinned again. "That'll do."

"Now, about your bloody firing position. Shift yer elbows, and bring your knee up some more."

"Your other knee Books..."

Durance lay down on the flat, dusty earth of this mesa inside own of the human soldier's tents. It was empty aside from him and the ruined remains of his right shoulder armour. It seemed the soldiers of the Imperial Army, or the Imperial Guard as they were now known, wished to not venture too close to an Astartes. Packleader Lance seemed to enjoy their company though and had done well to marshal their forces when the strike team had first touched down.

He tried to shift his body into a more comfortable position and Durance grunted as he felt part of his arm muscles strain and hurt. The foul xenos creature that had appeared suddenly from the sorceror had protected itself with a force field that had blunted the strike team's attacks. Durance thought back to how it had first appeared and he could only compare it to a parasite striking out to protect its host. He had been furious when the beast had fled from his and Brother Taric's clutches but he smirked when he remembered that Brothers Rainer and Atash had scoured it from the skies.

Packleader Lance was absent for the time being. Durance had been wrong about him. He stayed and fought alongside him and the newly awakened War Dog, Alexandros. He was as much of a tenacious fighter as they were. Alexandros' style was different to any other World Eater that Durance had encountered before the Great Sleep, but perhaps in these strange times it was fortunate to have a warrior such as he. Lance too would be a solid rock on which to grow the new War Dogs. What skills and training would he pass on to his future brothers?

Brother Rainer was seeing to the repair of his armour plating. This was good. Brother Taric had mended some of his injuries however his arm would take time to heal. Before he was sent to rest Durance had heard that a message had been sent back to Sothis to request reinforcements. Perhaps the Apothecary, Nykkos, would be summoned to see to his wounds. If he was not, Durance would fight on against these traitors. They befoul humanity with their presence and their open association with sorcerors and xenos proved that they were not worth assimilating. Death to humanity's foes. Until tomorrow though, Durance resided himself to stare up at the canvas of the tent that he lay in. He had already found ten pinprick holes so far.

Taric entered the Tent, crouching to fit thru the small mortal sized entry. 

"Brother Durance" he said, by way of greeting. "Let me see how your shoulder fairs." Taric knelt beside Durance's cot, and examined the War Dog's shoulder. Kneading the muscle, Haket felt a deep pain, but it was not like the sharp jagged pain from the day before. "It heals well, The Emperor built your legion tough." He said, smiling. 

Taric stood up, but found he still had to crouch slightly in the human sized tent. "Get up, Your Chapter Master has Arrived, with the Full strength of the Chapter." he said, with a sad humour. "Nikkos has been given the medical readings from your Armour. He will see to your shortly, But Lance and I both insisted he help see to the Guardsmen First. Many of them are in critical condition and they were almost out of supplies. You however, will be combat ready within a day or two." 

Taric stood awkwardly for a moment, as he contemplated how to phrase a question. "While you prepare to present yourself to Lord Taarn.. I must talk to you of Yesterday." Taric's tone took on a dire demeanor, as he passed Haket a pack filled with a suit of Scout Carapace in the colours of the War Dog's.

"Yes, the arm will mend in time," Durance agreed as Taric tested his shoulder's flexibility. "I've seen other Wor- War Dogs suffer far worse than a simple broken arm and get back into the fray in less than twenty-four hours."

As Brother Taric stood up in the tent, his dark red armour contrasted deeply with the pale brown of the tent fabric. Taric's words both enthused and frustrated Durance. Having the Packmaster arrive on planet was a great boon and Durance was certain that Lord Taarn was eager to fight again. However, what sort of farce was it where an entire chapter of Astartes warriors comprised a mere handful, less than even the old assault squads of the Legion? Brother Taric may not have meant it as an insult but Durance clenched his jaw at the ignominy of the War Dogs' circumstances.

"I'm sure Brother Nikkos' expertise will be invaluable to the human warriors," Durance said as he began to sit up. He looked to his right and found his helmet, slightly marred by the force of his impact yesterday with the xenos creature's force field. The rest of his armour lay nearby aside from his right arm plating. Durance was about to reach out and begin donning his armour when Taric passed a suit of carapace armour. Packleader Lance had a predisposition to this sort of armour but Durance did not.

"What of yesterday?" Durance asked as he began to fix his iron greaves to his legs. "And please, I won't be needing this. I shall present to my Packmaster in as close to my full array as possible. It would be disrespectful to both Lord Taarn and Packleader Lance if I were to don the armour of an initiate."

Taric Placed the Carapace on Durance's cot. "If you feel that is more appropriate, i would defer to your understanding of your own Chapters Expectation. None the less the suit is yours until your Power Armour is fully repaired." 

Taric moved over to help the War Dog don his Iron Armour. "You entered battle by my side with No Hesitation. Usually that would be an expectation, But that creature... Only you and your Brother Alexandros resisted the creatures psychic assault to fight by my side. I do not Admonish the others for this, The creatures sorcery was immensely powerful."

Taric took a moment for Durance to test the the joints in his greaves before continuing. "You had my back. And my respect and Gratitude, Know that I have yours."

"Your respect is appreciated, Brother Taric. Your resolve and strength in the face of such an enemy is also to be admired." Durance nodded as Taric fitted his left gauntlet and he felt it slide into position. He didn't want to mention the fact that he had wavered when he first seen the creature, when it had erupted from the sorcerer's body. The foulness and witchcraft emanating from the creature overwhelmed his duty to his battle brothers and it would not do to besmirch the name of the War Dogs. "I will stand by your side in future battles, Brother," Durance said as he looked at his broken right arm.

"The creature was indeed powerful. I have not seen nor heard of its like before and yet apparently it dwelt among the enemy like a parasite just waiting to make itself known. These traitorous humans must be desperate indeed to consort with a foul xenos such as that creature."

"On that i agree. There is more to the creature than we yet understand. More than we are meant to, i think... The important thing is we killed it in the end. I have fought something similar in the past, but i cannot recall much of that fight. Only that we lost, and had to Rebuild Atash." Taric aided in affixing the one intact Shoulder-guard.

Taric took a moment to consider his next words before continuing. "Brother Lance has been scalded by Lord Taarn for his recklessness with the Demolition charges. He will undergo study as penance as to not make the same mistake again. On that same note i must ask, Why did you not regroup with us when i Called out 'Danger Close'? Your Legion must be familiar with the term, I've seen some of the Artillery the Army Auxilla had. You know the value of your Life, or at least the survival of your Progenoids in death." Taric's tone had gotten serious, As a Sargent would when censuring new squad member. "Vox records show you heard me, So Why did you not comply?"

Durance considered his words. He could expect a similar dressing down from Packmaster Taarn and Banner Master Scarab at the later meeting. He didn't expect these words from Taric though. "Brother Taric, I did hear your order. It is simply a case of refusing to acknowledge it. How to describe it..." Durance tapped his chin as if in deep thought. "I was like a dog with a piece of flesh between its teeth. Once I had it in my grip, I didn't want to let go until I was sure the beast was dead."

"Anyway," Durance shrugged, "The demolition charges seemed to be of a suitable armament. It was a very localised explosion from what I saw and it seemed to distract the beast long enough to chase it out of its sorcerous portal. Packleader Lance did a fine duty with making do with what was available."

Taric's expression smoothed as he Contemplated Haket's Psychological euphemism. "I think i understand Brother... Your Wrath is directed, but not controlled." Taric snapped back to reality with the War Dog's Comment. 

Taric Explained; "Those Demolition Charges were packed to blow the Earth Bridge. They had an effective Radius of Fifty Meters, and would have left none of you to recover. Had the beast not acted to protect Itself and pushed its psychic protection to contain the blast. Lance did not realize this when he threw the Explosives, Atash and I were always the Demolitionists in the squad. I commend Lance's Bravery, And have talked to him of this. But, he very nearly killed himself in with those demolitions, and you as-well, although not deliberately, he assumed you would also fly away at the last moment. Lord Taarn has berated him for his foolishness, as i have mentioned. But your actions.."

Again, Taric pondered for a moment as he sought the right words. "Your actions were born of neither Foolishness nor even Insane courage. To relate to your own Analogy, You were as the Blood Hound, Lockjawed unto your Prey until it stilled or killed you, Am i correct?"

"You are correct, Brother Taric," Durance said as he began to fix his broken arm in a sling. "That was always the purpose of the War Dogs. Kill the enemy before they kill you. No artistry, no caution, and no barrier would stand in our way of such a purpose. To drive our enemies before us and crush them under heel, watching the life fade from their eyes. That is what I was trained to do."

Durance stood up and had to stoop due to the small confines of the human tent. He began to move past Brother Taric as he left the relative comfort of the tent and felt the harsh, arid heat upon his skin. This planet certainly lived up to its name.

"Those explosives were fit to destroy the land bridge?" Durance asked as he glanced back at Taric emerging from the tent. "Could have fooled me. I admit my understanding of sorcery is inadequate but if it is as you say, that the beast sought to protect itself from the blast, well then it was not I nor Packleader Lance that erred." He grinned as Taric came up beside him.

"That is how the War Dogs fight. We care not for self-preservation for that is the domain of the weak. For when that creature sought to protect itself, it left itself vulnerable. And I would be there, my teeth closing around its throat and ready to tear the flesh from its bones."

"Come," Durance gestured for Taric to follow him across the dusty earth. "I have kept the Packmaster waiting long enough."

Taric kept pace with the War Dog, talking as they walked. "I see. I do trust your instincts Brother, and admire the Wrath with which you were gifted, for it makes you a greater warrior than any in our squad. But times have changed since the crusade, we are not as expendable as we once were. You more than most, as I'm sure your Lord will repeat. Even that aside, Lances plan was to kill the creature, not you with it. I would never tell you to lay aside your battle-rage entirely brother, but we need a way to break thru the Red Haze in the heat of battle if we are to work as a team."

As they approached the lumbering Contemptor sarcophagus of Chapter Master Tarrn, Taric nodded to Durance to report alone, concluding his lecture with "Alas, there are no more Legions, and some foes will require a more complex strategy than 'Attack', Battle Brother"

The guardsmen watched, they worked as they watched a meeting of the Emperors own Angels of Death.

There was the massive frame of Lord Taarn, Sytem Overlord and Chapter Master of the War Dogs. There were another two of his kin, imposing in their sensibly camouflaged power armor. Another in the red and bone of the famous Blood Ravens, another in the deep crimson of the... Shadowed Suns? A recent and reputably powerful addition to the sector's Astartes warriors.
Then there was Commander Lance, he stood to one side and kept an eye on the horizon. Also a War Dog, and a famous 'Guardsman's Marine'. The Techmarine, also a Blood Raven? He just kept working on the construction of barricades. Of course he did. Single-minded-masters-of-defense those techy types.

And so the guardsmen watched, enthralled and thrilled at the warriors in their midst.

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Commissar Hendrell also watched, but he saw a different scene. He saw a meeting the emperors finest, but he also saw... chastisement? He knew enough about body language to tell that the mighty Lord Taarn was not pleased. Not his body language of course, but from those he was addressing. Commander Lance had received a particularly vehement dressing down he believed. And now one of the two Wardogs, the one with the jump pack, he was being... scolded? The Commissar was unsure what term to use. It did not appear to be as strong as Commander Lance's review, but the Jump Marine was clearly contrite. Even the Blood Raven appeared to be a recipient of scorn.
The Commissar had no idea what could have occurred for this to be warranted, but any further though on this matter was shattered when he the shadow of the Knights Tempest Apothecary Nikkos fell across him.

"Idle hands, Commissar" the massive medical officer growled.

The Commissar suddenly remembered a dozen other things he could be doing, and set about all of them at once.

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Banner Master Scarab and Sternguard Veteran Vortali watch the impromptu disciplinary meeting from the discreet vantage of a Storm Raven's landing ramp.

"Thoughts Brother?" asked Vortali.

"Hrrmf" Scarab grunted. "It had best be a lesson learned, we don't have anyone to replace... anyone." He scowled at the guardsmen.
"Think it may be worth assessing some of this lot? We could add to the screening pool. Nice to have actual combat talent in the mix"

Vortali shrugged. "Can't hurt. Go rescue the Commissar from Nikkos and start looking at medical matches. Call it battlefield readiness assessment. Heal the wounded and make friendly with the guardsmen. At the very least we can make sure our soldiers are ready for whats coming". Vortali went back inside to gather more supplies.

Scarab thought about it. "You're not terrible at this Vortali, you know that?"

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Sister Celestine Helios finished reading through the dispatch she received only an hour prior. The investigations on Sothis had begun, and a dedicated team of investigators was being pulled in from the sectors north. Stolen, actually, she revised. But talent wasted was unacceptable.
She also considered the implications of what she was being instructed to do. Both her Cannoness, Captain Voltaren, and the famed Chapter Master Angelos had requested it... but still she hesitated. Was it too soon? Was he ready?

Helios stared at the young Blood Raven for a good five minutes, evaluating. He did stand firm against the warp beast, and her blessing had held true by his faith. She sighed.
"Oh well" she muttered "We have mind wiping as a fall back."
She went inside and collected a black and silver book, heavily warded and bound in sacred texts of binding.
"Time to learn some truth, Blood Raven." She thought. "Time to learn of daemons."

Brash. Foolish. Blind. Suicidal. Those were the words that Packmaster Taarn had used to describe the actions of Durance in the last engagement. He had said that Durance was the future of the Chapter and should keep that in mind before charging towards his death. Durance sat down on the ground next to one of the more fortified barricades and leaned against it. Battle was where he felt alive and the Packmaster had told him to avoid barreling into the enemy so as to ensure victory. He had failed in the eyes of his Packmaster and that was unforgiveable.

Durance glared up at the blazing sun overhead, partially obscured by the dust that seemed to continually hang in the air of this infernal planet. Lord Taarn sought to reclaim the old ways of the War Hounds and badge them as the War Dogs for this changed galaxy. Apparently the World Eater legacy, that of their gene-father and brothers, was to be forgotten. Brother Taric had explained what had happened to the World Eaters and their Primarch before they had journeyed to Kiln. Durance had secretly wondered what he would have done if he had not succumbed to the Great Sleep. Would he too have fallen and fought his Emperor? Packmaster Taarn and all the rest of the other Astartes seemed to want to ensure that he wouldn't fall now. He wouldn't. It would be another failure. Turning his back on the Emperor and the rest of humanity would be a betrayal of the highest order. A warrior does not abandon his commander for simple greed or petty ambition he fights because he is told to fight. There is nothing more to it than that and Durance would continue to serve as a true warrior of the Imperium.

Plus, Durance knew that if he did turn, Lord Taarn would personally rend him limb from limb. The old man was still a powerful warrior, even though his current station kept him from the battlefield.

Maybe that was the source of his anger, Durance mulled to himself. Packmaster Taarn denied himself the thrills of battle in this new age of restraint and recovery. Durance hadn't yet. Alexandros appeared to have settled in well though. So perhaps Durance would have to assume the mantle of the lone and rebellious dog, being the warrior that Lord Taarn, Banner Master Scarab, and Brother Alexandros sorely wish they could be.

Still, the xenos beast had resisted his assault. He wasn't strong enough, wasn't powerful enough to be the warrior that Packmaster Taarn needed him to be. That was how he had failed. He hadn't killed his enemy before it had severely wounded him and that was a warrior's weakness. Kill or be killed. Durance grinned as he rested his broken arm across his chest plate. He would not die to any foe. That he swore on his honour as an Astartes of humanity.