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Posted: Sat Oct 01, 2011 1:38 pm
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Posted: Sat Oct 01, 2011 1:40 pm
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In the hallowed chamber of the Fortress-monastery of the Targon Chapter. As many of the Brothers had long ago awoken and began their daily rituals and training. One slept. The Master. He slept in as was his custom. he always did this when something Important was going to happen, but he was not truly asleep. His implants in his brain allowed him to work on logistical issues as he lay motionless. But suddenly his eyes opened. He looked over at his Chronometer and saw he was a bit late to say the least.
He stood and ordered his servo skull to update him on any news as he adorned his armour that stood in an ornate dresser surrounded by incense burners and candles.. It was mostly mundane repeating of the daily schedule that he had learned to ignore. One issue of note was one of the new Initiates in the 9th company had insured himself during Jump Pack training. The master smiled and called for his sevotors to dress him in the last of his armour.
Once he was full armoured he ate a small meal, said his daily prayers and left his Palatial chambers. He greeted several members of the Chapters librarius by name as he passed them on his way to the Grand Entrance Hall. The high walls were hung with battle standards of days passed, both from the Targon chapter and of the Blood Angles that were gifts from the founding chapter. The room itself was the largest on the planet. The long hall lined with pillars intricately decorated and the long oblonged dome that ran its length was painted in a massive mural that told both the tail of the Chapter but also of Sanguineus.
He passed the massive gates of the hall to the Chapter yard. Here brothers could contemplate, meet practice and work on objects of art here in this arena sized courtyard. the high walls kept out the eyes of the locals and the goings on of the Brothers inside.
The master paused for a moment to see two brothers practicing wrestling. A crowd of 7 or so other brothers had gathered to watch.
The master would have watched but he had other things to worry of. Today Brother Belegon, the Master of the Forge, was to return. He had sent one of the Chapters Cruisers and 4 more of the Targon Naval fleet to escort him on his errands. But he had his resigns. He sent Brother Belegon to both Mars and Holy Terra. Far from the chapter and fulfilling important orders for the Master.
It had been quite sometime since he had sent him on his duties and he was to be back today, Emperor willing. He walked from the steps of the Chapters fortress into the streets of Hoch Festung. He knew almost all of the locals and was friendly enough to wave to them. He walked at a casual pace stopping and talking as he made his way to the space port. His cowl may have his his face but all knew him. he was the master, even if he was a might engine of war, he was personable, he laughed at jokes, told a few himself.
One little over sight caused him quite a bit of embarrassment. he stopped to talk to a fruit vendor and took a apple to eat. however he found he had left his coin in his chamber. he hurriedly ordered his servo skull to fetch it at once.
Once it had returned he made sure the man had his coin and they both had a laugh over it. But after that he was once again on his way to the space port.
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Posted: Fri Oct 14, 2011 6:07 am
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Belegon patiently waited for the call sign to board the Thunderhawk that would escort him to Targos, his homeworlds surface, to meet his master to share the good news of his trusted duty. the old techmarine calculated and recalls the memory banks of the tasks that he had done on this travel to Mars and, blessed be the Emperor, Holy Terra. For long he has not tought of ever setting his foot on the sacred planet where humanity was born and where Emperor has His domain.
He shook his head from the memory and concentrated on his task ahead. The sacred terminator armours forged in Mars and gifted to the chapter would still need final, sacred rights and check up before they will be ritually granted to the brothers worthy of wearing such a sacred relic.
The sacred data in his memory, which he has no accesses to but knows what it is and how important it will be, needs to be given to Targos Forge Masters care, to grand them the knowledge to manufacture the greatest warmachine the Imperium of Man has ever seen, aswell the overall layout and tactical information of such machine be gifted to master of the chapter.
The techpriests that joined him on this sacred task only knows bitz and pieces of such machines creation, to fufill the task they only are trained and skilled to do. He has all the knowledge in his mind, but only the Forge Master may posses and see it.
The vox-units came to life, signalling the soon departure of a Thunderhawk. Belegon rose from his chair, making his way to the hangar-bay to join with the other techpriests and personells who would land to the planet.
Memory and Logic didn´t fail him, he had arrived to the waiting Thunderhawk in a lesser time then would have taken. He greets his fellow servants of Omnissiah before they all enter and strapped themself to their chairs and waited for the machine to take them to planets surface.
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Posted: Fri Oct 14, 2011 6:51 am
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Posted: Fri Oct 14, 2011 9:40 am
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Posted: Fri Oct 14, 2011 11:45 am
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Gotten over with rituals today, Markus O'Reilly wasn't in the mood for training, all he was, was in a bad mood, as he kept becoming more and more. All he right now did was patrol the Monastery and the outside, in power armour, without his helmet, allowing his long drooped hair and fringe wave side to side in front of him. His face brooded forward and his lips were tightly crunched together in bitterness.
He was followed by three of his squad members, who felt they weren't in the mood for training either and choose to follow their sergeant. However they kept a respectful hound distance as they could tell he wasn't in the mood to talk at the very least.
But as O'Reilly made his way through the corridors, darkened by the tall concrete crafted buildings that shaded over, located in one of the middle class districts, something came to him. He looked up at the cube corner of the house, where the sun's shine focused. The way its heat penetrated against the solid material in arrogance to burn it, minded him of that day.
He saw one of the mighty monuments, Larfarngun, a statue that depicted one of their homeworld's greatest artists, that had stood the test of time for five hundred years and had taken many more to build. Had been wiped off this world with one stroke by the stray shot of Lascannon fire, that pot shot the weak structure behind its head and decapitated it. The head dropped down onto it's own shoulders, the blow was heavy enough for the entire thing to entire thing to shatter and crumble and caused it to crumple over those who tried to defend it with their lives and souls.
The tragedy was something couldn't be forgotten to any Targon who had seen it and it was truly nightmare on that day. It seared itself right now into O'Reilly's head. The Astarte clinched onto his face, trying to squeeze out the memory through his eyes. He fumbled back groaning in pain at the torture.
"Sir! What's happening!"
"You wouldn't understand!" screamed O'Reily and elbowed the squad member that tried to run over to help him. But as the sergeant realised, the space marine that said that wasn't one of the Blood angels who tried to not make a big deal of that moment.
"You can try sergeant, tell us what's going on?" pleaded one of the boys gently approaching him.
O'Reilly though managed to get a grip on himself though. He controlled his panting breath, regained his composure and released the grip on his face. Although now his head was now bruised and scratched from crushing his own head with a gauntlet.
"It's nothing, I was just contemplating the death of Tomura."
"Tomara!"
It was a shock for to hear that for the squad team. Not only had Tomura been killed three months ago, but the cause of his death had been from a miscalculated orbital bombardment that had hit close enough to evaporate him and incapacitate Markus O'Reilly and a number of his squad members. Once he had gained to and was healthy, the sergeant seemed nearly oblivious to the blast. He never heard whose fault it was or tried.
"Sir, perhaps you should see an Apothecary."
"For your information, brother Gargus, I already have," snarled Markus. It was a lie to what brother Gargus had meant, being that Markus had only seen one two weeks ago to see if his injuries were still healing from the same miscalculated bombardment. "Now isn't time you all go to the firing range, the last battlefield we were at, I swear squad 4 took down nearly ten times as many greenskins as you all did that it was an embarrassment to show my face!"
"Yes sir!" saluted the Astartes, having to obey orders and turned around and got to it.
With them finally off his back now, O'Reily faced in the other direction and continued to pace through the city.
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Posted: Fri Oct 14, 2011 11:51 pm
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Posted: Sat Oct 15, 2011 5:11 am
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Posted: Sat Oct 15, 2011 10:51 am
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Posted: Sat Oct 15, 2011 11:24 am
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Posted: Sat Oct 15, 2011 11:37 am
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Posted: Sat Oct 15, 2011 12:53 pm
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Posted: Sat Oct 15, 2011 4:15 pm
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Posted: Sat Oct 15, 2011 4:44 pm
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Thankfully, unlike a few other pieces of the Fortress Monastery, the vast Librarian had been one of the first buildings built at the site of the Targon's HQ. Stacks of data-slates stretched on for hundreds of metres, mainly in a vertical way, with the more sensitive and void-shielded books hidden at the bottom of the Monastery, guarded by dozens of Servitors and psychic wards, along with encryption codes. A hidden grav-lift operated within the data-stacks, leading from the top floor to the bottom, in the foundations of the battle-torn planet; while on that lift was a figure, clad in blue armour, masterfully crafted and ornate. The figure possessed an impressive physique, as did most of his kin. Clearly he was a Space Marine.
Suddenly, the lift stopped at a incredibly thick set of blast doors, where the Marine put in a twenty six triple access code on the key-pad. With that, the doors slid open and the blue armoured figure strode into the Monasteries Communication Spire, a high reaching building that finished at the tip of the heavily armoured base. The Communication Spire was incredibly important to the planet, and systems, defence. The technology housed in the Spire could contact planets many light years away, either through the several dozen Astropaths housed there, or the machinery of the vox relays. "My Lord Librarian. Lord Belegon has returned from his voyage." A communication officer said to the senior Space Marine, who nodded his thanks and walked over to the long-ranged camera screens. Vernos Kharo hummed to himself as he watched the Lord of the Chapter and Master of the Forge walk back towards the Monastery. "Inform Belegon and the Master that I request to meet them in the Conference Chamber." He said, in a deep and slightly threatening voice, while the Serf scurried off to transmit the vox message to the other two chapter's leaders.
Stepping back onto the lift, Vernos quickly reached the bottom of the spire. When the blast doors opened, he strode through the vast Librarium towards the exit. To any one who was not a Librarian, which had to study hundreds of the slates in the Library, it was a maze, complete with gun-servitors and void shielded doorways. As some Chapters, or Legions said. Knowledge is Power. Guard it well. Soon enough, Kharo found his way out of the vast building, walking into the enormous Main Hall, where ceremonies, awards or punishments were handed out. The room was big enough to hold the entire chapter, full with vehicles and such, but now it was mainly used as either a training area, for casual meetings or other reasons. There, Kharo set off down another path, passing through four sets of doors, guarded by Chapter Veterans, and awaited in the Conference Room for the other two.
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