Ave Imperator

Alan Foley


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Deep inside the eye of terror, on a daemon haunted world, upon the pinnacle of the Tower of the Abomination stood the Warlord of Tzeentch, Deamon Prince in waiting, Bane Morgar. Standing over Eight feet tall, the dull deep purple powered armour covered in ornate brass sigils of Tzeenthch long since changed beyond recognition from the armour awarded to him by Magnus the red over 10,000 years ago, crowned by a helm shaped in imitation of a Lord of Change, the avian formed greater daemon of his patron god, vestigial metal wings shrouded in some unknowable metal sprouting from his back shadowed by the three moons of this world on the dark red stone of the pinnacle.

Below him in the tower, the fighting continued as his retinue flushed out the last of the followers of his Arch-Rival Galsem the Solemn. His warp enhanced senses picked up the furious exaltation of his Khornate followers as they simultaneously inspired and terrified his warband to greater levels of martial fury.

He could also sense the discontented sibilant whispers of the Slaaneshi traitor marines as the balance of power amongst his lieutenants shifted in favour of the blood god, the combat below adding to the aggressive influence of the blood god on his war band. He knew that the other captains could sense it and would endeavour to exert their patron gods influence over each other. This continual bickering allowed him, under the eye of the great manipulator, to hold his position at the head of this disparate force, even his own distaste for the Plague marines in his warband was overcome, they were necessary for the task ahead, all the strength he could muster would be needed.

An explosion rocked the pinnacle, the braying of injured beastfolk could be heard, the fools had probably triggered some booby trap, no doubt left by Galsem as a welcome for any prying followers. He surveyed his destination, the 20 meter circle, constructed from the dark red marble-like rock of this world, raised by Galsem’s tutor, Herendal, by the sorcerous powers granted him by mighty Tzeentch. The circular, flat pinnacle was an excellent observation post allowing his enhanced vision to look for miles in every direction.

To the South and East were the lava fields that had made this tower such an excellent position to defend, to the north, the open flint plain, were just a few hours ago he and his followers had screamed across in there armoured vehicles to assault this tower, and to the hills in the west, the adamantium mine, an extra relish on this victory. With a deep breath, he sighed and turned to his lieutenant, and trusted bodyguard, The Alpha Marine Sextullius, ‘Sergeant, go downstairs and make sure that the khornate fools do not destroy this place whilst seizing it, also, make sure the beastfolk are reigned in and that they do not destroy the library, detonate a few collars if you have to’, He heard the telepathic reply from the sergeant, ‘As is your will my lord’.


Sextullius headed down the dark marble like stairwell, into the sparse guardroom under the pinnacle, inside lay thirty-one cultists, followers of Galsem, among them lay Jemrah, Traitor marine of the black legion, killed on a suicide run by a cultist armed with a brace of crak grenades. He strode across the ichor strewn floor, bones of the fallen crunching under him, he paused to strip Jermah of his ammunition and grenades, 2000 years in the eye of terror taught him never to pass up an opportunity to re-supply himself.

Below his position was the main residence of the previous incumbent, there was still a firefight occurring, the warlords bodyguard were still holding off the berserkers, Well, time to earn his lords favour. ‘Krahdegen, what’s going on?, why is there still resistance?’, he called as he rushed down yet another flight of stairs, his powered armoured bulk occasionally scraping on the wall. The answering growl from the Berserker-Captain was disturbing, ‘We have them boxed into the throne room and the few rooms behind it, but the dammed Tzeentchian who deigned this place made it an Abbadon cursed placed to take!’

‘Relay me your tactical dispositions then’ stated Sextullius, certain that the Alpha Legion could have taken this place in an hour, not this four hour running firefight that had occurred. ‘As you command’, growled stated the berserker-captain.

With the tactical display overlaying his eyesight, Sextullius made a brief surmisation that the rage blinded captain had missed the most obvious method to storm the throne room. As he exited the stairwell to the throne level, He took in the dispositions of his available forces.

The vast throne room doors, to large for the level, if you were not blessed with the warp vision, were half open, inside were a number of Word Bearers, there bolters ripping through the doorway. He could here the chanting of there martial hymns being led by there chaplain. The Khornate berserkers were occupying the corridor approach, taking cover amongst the pillars and statues, responding with their bolt pistols. Now was the time to show these children how the Alpha Legion stormed a position. He called out over the Com-Net, ‘Children of the Blood god, on my mark launch your assault, Blood for the Blood God’. He was pleased by there eager response ‘Skulls for the skull throne’.

He swiftly changed the frag magazine on his grenade launcher for a haywire magazine, He sighted his weapon and fired a stream on eight grenades, four in a line leading into the throne room, and four across the Word Bearers barricades. The T shaped pattern left the word bearers reeling and blind, no real damage had been done, but a few powered armoured helmets were shut down and there martial hymn had seized, ‘GO, GO, GO’ he called to the berserkers.


With a roar Krahgeden launched himself from the shameful position behind the statue of some Tzeentchian Sorcerer, his tentacled left arm revving up his chain axe and blasting his bolt pistol into the doorway. He spotted his sergeant Ahghast run in front of him, he kept firing. The fool was blasted in the back by three bursts, falling down in between the throne room doors, as Krahgeden dashed in he stood on the injured sergeant back-plate finishing him off with a burst to the head, a worthy offering to the blood god.

Then he was amongst them, the previously ornate throne room, with the throne, statues, tables and other decorations hastily piled into a semi circle containing the entranceway, He leaping from the prone sergeants corpse over the barricade, targeting the Word Bearer chaplain, his old hatred of the position coming to the fore, he through his axe at the crozius striking the demonic face, the teeth and edge off the axe biting into it, at the same time he raised his bolt pistol and emptied the rest of the magazine into the chaplains helmet. After the third round it cracked open and the remaining bullets hammered the face, the chaplain fell.

He pulled back his axe, but the crozius was still attached, he reached down to remove it, when a Word Bearer came at him from the left, he struck him with the axe and crozius. The blow smashed the marines shoulder to pieces and the crozius came free, He looked around, His brethren were amongst them now, cleaving and smashing, he felt a surge of exultation as the blood gods fury entered him, he set upon a Heavy bolter wielding word bearer, smashing the unwieldy weapon with his chain-axe the reversing it into the warriors chest.

He looked for more targets for his rage, but the battle was over, in these close confines with no room for retreat, the Word Bearers had fought to the last, he turned to face his own men, a delicious thought crossed his rage addled mind, they would be a great offering to lord Khorne. ‘HALT’, came the mind command from Sextullius as he strode into the throne room.


Surveying the throne room, Sextullius nodded and mused that these Khornate children might have a use yet. But if that treacherous fool Khargeden looks at him one more like that then he would take his plasma pistol and incinerate him on the spot. Having completed this task, He headed for the stairwell, time to stop the beastfolk from detonating any more booby traps in the tower. He leapt from landing to landing, entering the library level he took out the collar control pad from his belt. He selected 5% and looked around the room, the dark and musty chamber was filled with over a hundred mutated beastfolk, everything from Bull headed leaders to the goat headed warriors, their musky odour fighting the acidic odour of the old books. His enhanced olfactory senses could tell that the beastfolk had opened several of the books, and were starting to spray the air in excitement.

He pressed the detonator, 13 of their head exploded, fragments of bone and horn sliced through the air embedding themselves in the walls and other beastfolk. The braying stopped as the beastfolk looked towards the armoured figure. As a group they all whined piteously a few falling to there knee’s. ‘Exit the tower, scour the settlement for any survivors, they are yours’, He commanded, he waded through the beastfolk as they shuffled past him onto the broadening stairwells.

The library itself was the oldest part of the tower, created by Herendal over 3000 years ago, this repository of arcane knowledge was considered one of the finest in the eye of terror, the few who had been granted permission to access it, relayed the collections value to other followers of the dark god, and over centuries was it’s reputation spread. Occasionally a warlord would decide to acquire the library for himself. But Herendal had acquired the loyalty of a company of Word Bearer traitor marines. For their protection, he allowed them to use his settlement as a secure base of operations.

Over the years the settlement grew as Herendal attracted students and the Word Bearers raids brought more slaves to the settlement. Eventually at the height of his power, Herendal raised the tower from the bedrock of the world. Using his sorcerous powers granted by Tzeentch, he shaped the rock into a tower over 1000 feet tall. Then he filled the tower with all off his library and sorcerous accoutrements, moving the Word Bearers and their chapel into the lower levels, also creating classes and chambers for his students.

Herendal, careful in the ways of treachery, then formed the Solemn, a cult dedicated to the tower and it’s owner. The formation of the cult left the Word Bearers weary, but understanding of the ways of the changer, they allowed Herendal his games. Eventually one of Herendal’s students, Galsem, Slew the sorcerer and took command of the cult and the tower, until now…


Sextellius reviewed the contents of the room, the many tomes and scrolls present were mainly secure upon there shelves, the fighting and beastfolk looting had not done much to the library, He understood his masters desire for the knowledge within, but was silent with his criticisms for launching an attack so soon, he knew to wait until asked, and for that alone Morgar was a much more dangerous than many of the Warlords in the eye of Terror, he listened to good advice. He felt, rather than saw, Warlord Morgar enter the library.

‘Ah, Sextellius, We have it now, the entire library of the Solemn’, stated Morgar, his mind-voice ringing in Sextullius mind, ‘Not quite the Black Library of the Eldar, I know, But more than adequate for our purposes I think’.
‘As you say, my Lord’, Bowed Sextillius.
‘What is it Sextellius?, I sense your disproval about something’
‘My Lord, I believe that we may have moved to soon, the other Warlords will suspect something and may unite and move against you, Never mind the consequences if Abbadon discovers us.’
‘That was always a risk my old friend, but now we have the Tower and the mines here, I am sending our fleet to bring the rest of our fiefdom here, and I mean everything, every ounce of promethium, every slave, the entire treasury to our new, albeit temporary home’
‘Lord Morgar, is this wise?, as defensible as it is, in the end such a fortress is eventually a trap!, never mind the danger to the fleet, carrying such a cargo!’
‘The devils advocate you play well, Sextillius, but our home here is temporary, I have much to learn from these books, the tomes contain answers that I need, the fleet should will take a few days, Tzeentch willing, I ordered everything readied before we left, my plans are coming to fruition, We will soon have a better idea as to our goal. Now summon the commanders to my throne room, I have orders to convey, and have the Word Bearers deal with there brethrens bodies, no doubt they have some form of ritual to commit’
‘As you will, my lord’, replied Sextillius
The power-armoured figure rose and turned from the Warlord and proceeded to communicate his lord’s orders to the various commanders in the tower.


Three hours later, in the now corpse free throne room stood the commanders of Banes Warband, Krahgeden, with his tentacled arm and ornate berserker power armour, Bane noted that his chain-axe was growling, had it been possessed he wondered?, if so Khargedens stock was rising in Khorne’s eye, Teerfondle, captain of the Emperors Children stood there, his musky scent overpowering to mortals emanating from his black armoured form, elaborate and obscene symbols adorning it. The senior Plague Marine Toxicanus, oozing a vile fluid from the rents in his armour, his decayed face exposed to the air. Carthagno, Sergeant of the Black Legion, Erect, at attention, His gleaming armour and weapons showing little evidence of the combat a few hours before, and Chaplain Aguilar of the Word Bearers, standing in monastic silence, his armoured, long mutated into some sort of reptilian animal scale shifting patterns.

The most notable absence was his own Thousands Sons, but they were operating outside the Eye, looking for reinforcements for his crusade.

Morgar thought to himself, Will these warriors and there Brethren be enough?, There is still much to do, and so little time, Abbadon was calling all warlords to his service, those that tarried or refused found themselves under attack from his legions, or bombarded from his fleets and some were even assassinated by Abbadons agents in there own ranks, Well Morgar was no fool, He trusted very few, certainly not his own men, some who had followed him for over 10,000 years, since the days of Horus, they were followers of the Tzeentch, the other traitor marines?, certainly not, amongst his retinue, Only Sextullius.

‘Brothers, we are gathered here to prepare for our part in Abbadons crusade. I have orders from the Warmaster himself’, this should silence any doubters, and no-one was going to question Abbadon regarding it, ‘We have seized this place and it’s knowledge for the greater glory of the warmaster, but our part is not yet done. We have a task appointed to us that shall lead us outside the Eye and into Imperial space, there we shall rendezvous with my own Thousand Sons and the allies that they have mustered.’

There was a murmuring from Toxicanus and Teerfondle, Carthagno & Krahgeden showed no signs of discontent, I had best not let this lie.

‘Toxicanus, what ails you?’, grinning as he posed the question.
‘Outside the Eye, Brother, is this wise?’, questioned Toxicanus, the emphasis on the title of brother not missed by Morgar.
‘Wise?, it is the order of Abbadon himself, who are we to question it?’
‘I for one would be glad to leave the Eye and raid Imperial space, but the imperials are wary, the Warmasters preparations alerted them, they watch all exits closely’, stated Teerfondle, the luxurious and silky tone of his voice hoping to arouse and influence Morgar.
‘Yes, the exits are watched, but in this library, it is said that there are charts of other, more temporary exits and the rituals required to open them, with this knowledge, we shall steal forth, and fall upon the corpse worshippers and be gone before they know we are their, So do not fear my brothers, Ready your warriors, my fleet shall return in a few days with the rest of our forces and we will begin our journey, Dismissed’.

Sextullius snapped to attention, as did Carthagno, the rest merely stood straighter, turned and left, Morgar turned to Sextullius, ‘Get the sorcerers working, and keep all communications blocked, I want no-one here getting word out of our intentions’.
‘Yes my Lord’, replied Sextullius as he left.

Morgar considered his plan again, He lacked strong ground forces required to seize the city, but if Solikhen could convince or even dupe the orks to help, as any true servant of the great mutator should, then with his fleet and their troops, this could yet work. There was still much planning to do, time to consult his oracle. Raising his ornately armoured form from the bone crafted and bejewelled skull throne, he felt his Daemon mace murmur, the bound creature within was hungry, he had avoided most of the combat for the tower, content to observe and command, ensuring that the library remained undamaged, only engaging Galsem in the final assault, He considered visiting the prisoners on his way to the library, then decided against it, He was the Lord here after all.
‘Captain Teerfondle’, He commanded over his armours comm unit ‘Bring me ten prisoners, strong ones, I have an appetite’
‘Yes Lord Morgar’, came the silky reply, obviously anticipating what was to come.


Brother Jason stood on the landing bay of the asteroid observation station, three sealed ceramite cases of his equipment sat at his feet, inside were his prayer books, robes, inquisitorial purity seal & war knife awarded to him by Chapter Master Lugh after the action at Althimax Prime and his regicide board. Around him servitor units refuelled and flight checked the Thunderhawk that he had just disembarked from. The large bay was closed now, the dark metals of the bay reducing lighting even further. His newly redecorated armour, now in the colours of the Deathwatch, then only indication of his chapter was now the black and white Templar cross on his right shoulder pad.

His face was young for a member of the blessed astartes, a feature that some of his brethren made light off, but his impressive record as a warrior of the divine emperor of mankind spoke for itself, 30 years in the service of his chapter as a full battle brother. The youngest member in the glorious history of his chapter to be assigned to the Deathwatch.

He stood at attention as striding across the bay came a sergeant with a spacewolves marking, his old, grizzled face, three service studs in his forehead and elongated canines clearly marking him as a senior member of the famous chapter. ‘Relax, Brother’, Said the old marine gruffly, ‘We do things a little differently here, formal attention is only held for the captain, with me just stand to.’

Jason felt a grin rise, he had been told that the Deathwatch assignments were slightly different to normal chapter life, but the old sergeant was even more informal than he had imagined.

‘Welcome to Deathwatch station Broimar Secundus, Officer Commanding, Captain Aliocus Straene, I take it that you have been briefed fully, So here’s the basic run down, We monitor the Ork Xenos scum that occupy the four surrounding systems. We watch and listen to there communications, if any warlord looks like starting any sort of Waarrgh, we strike against them, we also provide the various ork factions with reasons to keep fighting each other. We do everything from assassinations to supplying ork factions with weapons. It’s a distasteful job to arm the enemies of mankind, but if the emperor deems it necessary to supply orks with 40-50 poor quality bolters to keep them at each others throats for a few months, then so be it, Any questions?’.

‘Yes Brother Sergeant’ He replied.
The old marine looked at him with slight surprise, ‘Yes?’
‘What is your name?’
‘Hah!, I am Brother-Sergeant Feldorn, 3rd Company, Space Wolves, and commander of squad Spartan of the Deatchwatch’. The title reeled of with glee by the old marine, ‘and therefore YOUR squad commander’.
‘Now pick your gear up and follow me to your cell, we have prayers in twenty minutes, then dinner where you can meet the rest of the post and after that you have your interview with the captain. Unless he says otherwise, it’s squad drills all week for you, as we have Astartes from various chapters here, and every damn one of them does it wrong!’
Brother-Sergeant Feldorn stood and watched as the young marine lifted the three hefty cases containing his equipment, he then turned and gestured for Jason to follow him. He was led out of the landing bay and into the corridors of the station, as soon as he passed through the doorway, he could here the distinct chatter of Bolt guns.
‘Firing practice’ stated Feldorn.

The station was made from the same dark ceramite, so different from the fortress-monastery back on Vornns World, the light stone of the monastery and the constant sound of the sea made it feel open, here the dark metal walls and the hum of the genetarium made it feel close and oppressive, but he was Astartes and such worries were supposed to be beneath him. They past the Apothecary station, the door was open and inside was an Apothecary, his armours heraldry was two tone one half Deathwatch black, the other Apothecary white, His shoulder pad took Jason a few minutes to figure out, Mentor legion, one of the elite chapters. The station itself was spotless, all the surgical implements on the walls and all the surfaces clear, the only thing different from the Apothecary on Vorns World was the Shrine to the Emperor Ascendant on the far wall.

‘Apothecary Morden, Here is our latest recruit, Battle-Brother Jason of the Templar Chapter’, Called Feldorn formally to the sitting marine.
The Apothecary stood and bowed to Jason ‘Welcome Brother Jason, the rightesnouss of our task and the strength of our arms are enhanced by your spirit’.
‘I thank you for your greeting Apothecary Morden’, replied Jason whilst retuning the bow, ‘It is an honour to be assigned to this great undertaking’.
‘Ok, you’ll get to talk later, lets get you to your cell’ stated Feldorn.

They continued into the station, turning at the next junction they entered into a large hollowed out hall with a natural rock ceiling rising far above them, the entire area was partitioned into small chamber, a few were occupied by resting astartes, Feldorn led Jason into the chamber and past a set of empty chamber to a small partitioned space.
‘Here is your cell Brother Jason, it will be your home until your duty here is done. Stow away your gear quickly now, we have 12 minutes to get to the chapel’


Jongist, Deathwatch Chaplian, Dark Angels Chapter, stood on the raised dias reviewing the warriors directly before him, they were knelt in supplication as he completed reciting the emperors prayer. They were all in deathwatch armour, except for Tech-Marine Gould and apothecary Morden, who like himself had the dual heraldry of there position and the Deathwatch. There were 27 warriors there, the other two were in the monitoring station, as this could never be left untended by the Astartes, the servitors ran the rest of the station during mass.

The warriors stood now, the whining of there armours as they rose a reminder of how different to Jongist serving here was. At his own chapter, all Astartes were expected to be robed for prayer, with few exceptions. For the Deathwatch, there were only very few functions for which a marine was allowed to remove his armour.

‘Brothers’, he began. ‘We stand today in the same church as hundreds of our distinguished forebears, serving the same purpose as they. We watch the ork Xenos scum, ensuring that they keep there place in the galaxy, one day one of our glorious chapters will remove this menace from these stars and this station will be moved again, to monitor yet another infestation of some form of Xenos breed. Until then it is our duty to be the eyes and ears of the Divine Emperors forces in this segmentum, We are the first line against the Xenos.’

‘This great responsibility stretches back to the ancient times, when our chapters followed the Emperor in the great crusade, always some of our brethren were seconded to this great purpose, for in all the galaxy, there are many threats to mankind, and the Astartes face them all. But we here have been selected to watch the Xenos, make no mistake brethren, they require watching. These ork’s breed like flies, if we lift our gaze for but a few hours there numbers multiply, their scheming warlords plan conquest of there kin, for one purpose, to destroy the servants of the emperor’.
His voice was rising now, carried well by the acoustics of the chapel.
‘We are the first line against the Xenos, and if we are vigilant, the last. Our judgement must be swift and our strength total. For every ork scheme we confound, there will be ten others. These simple creatures have a brutal cunning and a determination that speaks for itself. Stand strong brethren, and we will be victorious’.
He almost shouted the last words, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, Jongist continued.
‘A new brother has arrived today. Brother Jason of the Templar chapter, selected from amongst the finest that the venerable Chapter has to offer. His strength is added to ours, together we demonstrate the greatest strength of mankind, universal faith in the Emperor. From all your Chapters, Worlds and cultures, we gather here with common purpose, to defend mankind from the Xenos’.
‘Go from here today with the Emperors blessing upon you, his divine wisdom flower within you’.

Jongist bowed his head as the warriors filed out, he turned to his incense bearer servitor. ‘I shall aid you in cleaning the floors today. I am not happy with the shine you are achieving, if I have to show you how to do it again, I’ll have you reprogrammed’. The servitor, a half human cyborg, showed no emotion. It stated in it’s robotic monotone, ‘Yes master’.


The mess hall was located just off from the cells, but a separate structure, the same rising rock roof, but this time there was a clear bubble, no doubt some form of atmospheric control should the asteroid be breached. Jason filed in with the rest of the Astartes who were due for this meal, fourteen of them, all battle brothers and Sergeant Feldorn.

Looking at their heraldry, Jason noted three Ultra-Marines, the progenitor chapter of his own, a Crimson Fist, a Blood Angel, a frowning Salamander, two exotic looking Whitescars, a Novascorpion, an Imperial Fist looking closely at him, an Iron Wolf, a heavily scarred Raven Guard and two other he did not immediately recognise.
The mess itself contained one large round table that could easily seat 30 or so Astartes and several smaller tables all being taken up by the not so heavily modified servitors. He was starting to notice that even the servitors had some form of chapter marking. Most here were from the Ultra Marines, but a few Whitescars and Space Wolves were present also.

The Marines sat around the table seemingly at random, all even spaced though. Copying them, Jason was one of the last to be seated. Once he sat, the heavily scarred Raven Guard turned to him, ‘As our newest member, Brother Jason may have the honour in leading us in the emperors prayer of thanksgiving’.
Jason, surprised, said ‘Thank you, brother’.
‘We thank the Divine God Emperor of Mankind for the sustenance that we are about to consume, Without his eternal vigilance, no craft could supply us. Without his servants, no food would be grown. Without his power, enemies could take what they wished. And without our faith, he would deem us unworthy and cast us adrift in the stars, Ave Imperator’.
‘Ave imperator’, replied the other Astartes.

‘I am Nilex of the Raven Guard, Bother Jason, and your chapter version of the thanksgiving prayer is most inspiring’.
‘Thank you brother Nilex’, replied Jason. ‘I am aware it varies from segmentun to segmentum, but even from chapter to chapter?’
‘Hah!’ cried the Imperial Fist from across the table. Several other marines looked up, amused. ‘In some Chapters, it is only said after the meal’.
‘Yes, Brother John. And in some Chapters the wearing of Golden Yellow armour would be seen as outrageous’, replied Nilex smoothly.
The Imperial Fist Marine, obviously Brother John smiled and leaned towards Jason. ‘It leaves the Emperors enemies in no doubt as to where to find the faithful when they wish to end their existence!’

There was a few chuckles from around the table, and a few frowns as well, Jason noted. The clashing or blending of these various Chapters must take some getting used to he mused. A servitor approached the table with a serving dish, accompanied by a few others with plates, must be evening meal time then, thought Jason.


Solikhen the Damned stared at the Goff warlord in front of him. The Ork was enormous, easily six foot whilst slouched. If he stood erect, maybe as tall as nine, and at least 5 feet broad. His black clothing stank of grain alcohol and blood. The armour, a crude and bulky imitation of the Astartes own powered armour, made the ork even larger. It’s enormous power claw and some sort of heavy bolt gun completed the image of the archetypal ork warlord. But Solikhen knew that despite that archetypal template’s proposed stupidity, the goff warlord before him was no fool.
‘You need me ladz Zeenchi boy, and I need you ships. But I know better than to trust the like oh’ you’, the deep and gravely voice off the Ork Warlord carried through the tavern they had commandeered. It was an Ork tavern, the walls were covered in helmets, from Imperial Guard to Eldar Aspect, Harbinger Astartes to World Eater. From the ceiling were draped banners, covered in crude drawing and orkish markings. The bar was a primitive metal panel box, soldered at the edges. All the tables were large rough hewn wooden trunk sections, with bolts drilled in at angles to hold then to the wooden floor. The metal shelves behind the bar-ork were full of clay pitchers and the smell of rough grain alcohol was overpowering.

Located in the eastern area of the Ork city of Gurzag, as far as Solikhen could ascertain, chief city of Urzhog’s Alliance and quite possibly the centre of ork government on this world.
‘Lord Urzhog’, Apealled Solikhen, applying the powers of suggestion that his patron god had endowed him with. ‘My Lord Morgar sent my to implore you to bring the might of your alliance on a raid, a great raid against an Imperial world. Such a raid that has not been seen in this sector for decades, and if successful would allow us to continue to raid time and time again, sharing the spoils of the imperial worlds. What could possibly make my lord wish to endanger such a profitable and glorious undertaking?’
‘Zeenchie boy, your tongue talks pretty, but I squawk the oomie squawk. And I know your sort, your as reliable as a damn death skull. You want our help, then get my madboys materials for ships then I’ll consider it. ‘Bout 5000 tunz of steel and 1000 of adamite, now it’s your round, get me ladz some drinkz in before they eat yaz’.

Turning to his retainers and shouting in the Ork tongue, Urzhog cried ‘LAD’Z, this git might turn up some tin and stuff for the madboyz ta build us some shipz. If he does then we’ll go a raiding, else, it hoomie fer dinner, Harr!, Harr!, Harr!.’

Solikhen stepped outside, flanked by two of his thousand sons, under the glare of the hundred or so Ork captains inside the bar. The street outside was filthy, an ork market place he presumed. The many stalls were run by Gretchins and old Orks. From what he could make out, one Ork would own a whole row of stalls, beating and cajoling the Gretchins to the amusement of his Ork customers. At this time though, the several thousand Ork warriors crowding the street were paying more attention to the three armoured figures emerging from the tavern where their captains had gathered.
A brutally large Ork, in Bad Moonz colours, approached Solikhen, it’s mail and hide harness jingling as it approached. It was loaded down with ammunition clips for it’s large bolt rifle and stick grenades. It’s bulk was enormous, almost as big as the Goff warlords, but nowhere near as tall.

‘Buy that armour of yaz oomie?’, it growled loudly. A few closer by Orks stared even more intently, a few grinning at each other. The group the Ork had emerged from, all Bad Moonz, were sniggering and grunting at each other in their native tongue.
Solikhen new what was going to happen, the Ork was going to see how far it could push him. Normally he would just kill the thing, but here that would be suicidal. The Orks associates alone numbered over twenty, he and his escort were outnumbered three to one by them alone, he tried his power of suggestion.
‘Your friends are insulting your lineage, deal with them accordingly’.
‘Whut?, no they ain’t oomie, now just giz the armour, yooz getting no teef fer it now’, growled the Bad Moon.
These damn orks and their resistance, thought Solikhen. Over his commlink one of his escorting brethren offered ‘We could deploy plasma grenades senior and escape in the confusion?’.
He replied, ‘No Galsengar, We need these Orks. I shall have to be less circumspect’.
‘If you want my armour Ork, fight me for it’ Shouted Solikhen, using his armours speakers to augment his voice. All the Orks close by turned and looked on, now hoping for a show.
‘Yaargghh!’ Roared the ork as it drew it’s knife and swung at Solikhen.

He deftly blocked the orks knife with his forearm and stamped on it’s ankle with his armoured boot, servo’s whining into overdrive as he demanded his armours full strength. The blow shattered the orks leg, causing it to fall. Soliken stepped back, his escorts backing off even further. The street now turned into an impromptu arena by the surrounding orks.

‘Stay down Ork, else I will kill you’ He stated, quite calmly.
The Ork roared again and launched itself from its knees at his stomach. The surprising speed and sheer weight of the Ork combining to knock him over and drop his bolt gun. The Ork, now on top, slammed it’s enormous fists into his helmet, doing no real damage, but causing his head to ring. Enough of this he thought. Drawing his dagger from his boot compartment, he stabbed it through the Orks ribcage and into it’s heart. It slumped over him.

The crowd roared it’s approval. A few Goffs dragged Solikhen to his feet, gesturing to the pile of teeth in it’s hand and muttering in it’s primitive toungue. It had obviously gambled on him and won. His escort stepped forward and handed him his gun. He looked at there impassive figures, feeling their humour in the situation.
‘Let us find a place with fewer distractions to communicate with Lord Morgar.’
They headed east towards the outskirts of the city.


He raised up the crystalline skull that Lord Morgar had given him. It was a horned skull off some chaos beast, contained within was an ever changing cloud of gas, it’s colour and consistency constantly changing, it’s teeth razor sharp and set back in seven rows, the eye sockets were set with unknown purple jewels. Concentrating he sought out Morgar’s mind, after a few seconds he could feel his presence.
‘My lord, the Ork leader is considering our proposal as we speak. He has however, requested over 5000 tons of steel and over 1000 tons of adamite to complete his warships. Also he is somehow familiar with the followers of Lord Tzeentch and our methodology, therefore I believe that we will not be able to alter his position in the time available’.
Solikhen felt the voice reverberate in his skull. ‘There will be no other way of convincing this primitive to join us?’
‘No my Lord. Force would be self-defeating and his mind was immune to my suggestive powers’.
‘Then I shall have the supplies sent. Contact the coven on Neroi. Have them obtain the steel, as for the adamite..’ Soliken could feel Morgars mind racing, the link provided by the crystalline skull allowing him more access to his Lords mind and left him wondering if Morgar had the same access to his. The idea sent a pang of fear through Solikhens mind.
‘What worries you loyal Solikhen?’, Questioned Morgar, in his amused tone.
‘I am concerned about the Orks request for adamite my lord. It is hard to obtain normally and with him requesting such a large amount with so little time available, all our endeavour may be wasted’.
‘Your concern is touching Brother, but I have a plan to supply this Ork with his adamite. A solution the even Lord Tzeentch would find amusing’, Replied Morgar, his tone once again amused. ‘And it will also save you the trouble of having to measure the adamite for Warlord Urzhog. Remain with the Orks for now, tell Urzhog his adamite is coming and I shall contact you when it is near’.
‘As you command Lord Morgar’.

Solikhen was left wondering how much Morgar knew of his plans. It could simply be Morgar attempting to unbalance him or maybe this crystal skull allowed Morgar more access to his mind than he was comfortable with. Well next time, he would meditate for a time to centre himself before using it. His mental defences would be shorn up and his body rested. Let Morgar try to read him then.

He turned to his escort, ‘Let us return to our ship, we will await Lord Morgars command there’.


Seated on the throne of his departed rival, Morgar relaxed his mind, the effort to speak over such a distance was tiring, and without the Relic he had obtained from the Augur, it would have been impossible. He considered the Ork Warlords request carefully. Supplying the Orks with ships would give them more independence in the operation than he would like, but with the fool Abbadon preparing for war, he had to accelerate his plans before the Imperials moved re-enforcements to the region.

His choices were limited, the promise made by Tzeentch in his vision was fresh in his mind. Destroy the Cathedral in the city of New Tascon on the Imperial World of Neroi and his elevation to the ranks of the daemon princes was assured. It was no easy task, located so far outside the eye and with the cursed Imperials watching the exits closely waiting for Abbadon to strike, at first it seemed almost impossible. But his Tzeetch inspired mind had formed a plan, and a few ‘coincidences’ no doubt part of Tzeetch’s great plan conspired to aid him.

His Arch-Rival Galsem the Solemn controlling this Library, with it’s reputed rituals for allowing craft to pass through the warpstorms, allowing him to attack without the other Warlords suspicions being raised. The capturing of the Styx class carrier by his fleet, taking them up to 9 capital ships, Tzeentch’s sacred number. The rumours reaching him of the Ork worlds near Neroi agitating for war with the imperials. The Slanesshi magus on Neroi contacting Teerfondle to ask for aid with his cults enemies, and even Teerfondle bringing it to his attention. All proof of Tzeentch’s divine plan.

All that was required now was the strength and cunning to execute it. Located in the library is a method for shaping stone. If he could find it, they could propel the adamite mine as an asteroid through the warpstorms at the same time testing the ritual. The Orks would then be responsible for stopping it, their tractor beam technology was easily capable of this. They would have their adamite, he would leave nothing behind for his rivals and his alliance would be confirmed. All proof of Tzeentch’s divine plan.

Now he thought, as he stood and walked toward the throne room doors, we need to search this library with haste.


Jason dashed forward towards the pile of empty metal cases stacked next to the wall, firing at the moving targeting skull, dodging it’s low powered lasers as he went. ‘Control those bursts’ Cried Brother-Sergeant Feldorn. ‘Keep them tight on the target, make sure you’ve put him down’.
From his advanced position in the firing range, Jason could see the rest of Spartan squad advancing down the range moving from one position to another, hugging the available cover, and firing upon the target drone, both for effect and to suppress. Nilex, the large scarred Raven Guard and operator of the squads plasma rifle moved gracefully for a man of his size, firing one beam of plasma at a skull, turning it to ash, then dashing to a new position before the rest of the targeting skulls could concentrate their fore on him.

Jason raised his own bolt rifle, now bedecked in Deathwatch insignia, his chapter markings subverted by the new symbols. He took aim at a drone and fired of a short burst, the direct hit with the dummy rounds caused it to deactivate. No real damage was inflicted except by the Plasma rifle, it struck him as odd that Nilex was allowed to use the weapon on training. Of course his own chapter did not issue plasma weapons as standard and apart from the drills and few live fire exercises he was unfamiliar with them. But he still wondered why Brother-Sergeant Feldorn was allowing it to be used.

‘OK, Halt’, Shouted Feldorn. ‘That’s enough for today. You’re getting the hang of it, A few more months and we’ll have you fighting like real Space Wolves’. There were a few snorts of derision, One from Nilex and another from the Harbinger Marine that Jason could not place at first called Ismael. There was a definite snarl from Lupurne, the Iron Wolf, as far as Jason could tell over the past week there was an intense rivalry between the Iron Wolves and the Space Wolves and Fendrol used his position to remind Lupurne of it at all times. The other five marines stood in unmoving silence, Asgariath of the Crimson Fists, Subodai & Qu’an of the Whitescars, John of the Imperial Fists and Gehemmene of the Blood Angels.

‘Get your weapons checked, then hand them in to Brother Gould at the Armoury. Back here in ten minutes for hand-to-hand training’.
‘Hold your ground brethren’, came the voice of Captain Straene from the doorway. As one they squad came to attention, all weapons presented for inspection, except the missile launcher carried by Brother John. This was shouldered. Once again Jason noticed the differences, standard procedure for a Templar would be to place the weapon in front of him, barrel facing upwards and the exhaust vents balanced on the brothers armoured foot.
‘The servitors have detected an unregistered ship exiting the warp near system 054 673 435, called Janhimes Star. I am assigning squad Sparta under Librarian Beelizion to the Xenophobe to investigate. I think it’s would be appropriate for Brother Jason to learn how things are first hand. Brother-Sergeant Feldorn?’
‘Yes Sir?’, said Feldorn Saluting.
‘You have your orders, May the emperor guide your hand.’ With that Captain Straene turned and left the firing range.
‘You heard the brother-captain’ shouted Feldorn as he turned sharply to the squad. ‘Get to the armory and draw everything you need from tech-Marine Gould, 20 minutes from now at the launch bay, GO!’ With that, Feldorn turned and ran from the range, the rest of the squad but a second behind him.


Squad Spartan assembled in the launch bay, the nine dark armoured figure of the Astartes warriors lined up perfectly for inspection. Their sergeant stood out in front. From the docking port behind them came the sound of a pressure door hissing open, and the stride if an armoured figure. From the doorway the murmur of servitors and tech-adepts praying as they readied the destroyer for operation. Coming into Jasons peripheral view was Librarian Beelizon, Bedecked in the ornate power armour of a librarian. His hood, rosarius and crozius all marking his rank, along with the seals on his armoured form.

At his side were a bolt pistol and power sword, His shoulder pad marked with the insignia of the Harbingers chapter.
‘Hail, kill team Sparta of the deathwatch’ Boomed the loud and confident voice. ‘I, for those who are unaware, am libraian Beelizion and I am commanding this operation. We are to intercept and seize an unregistered merchant vessel that has just entered Janhimes Star. It is probable that someone is smuggling munitions to the Orks Xenos for profit, in direct violation of the emperors law. Brother Ismael, you have considerable experience on board warships, you have the bridge. Brother-Sergeant Feldorn, Assign your gunners to command weapons array and allocate the other section to rapid response, Deathwatch!’ He exclaimed even louder, ‘We enforce the divine god emperors will, let us be swift and sure in it’s execution, now get on board.’
‘Nilex, Forward plasma battery. Asgariath Torpedo bay. John, Defence turret array. The rest to the bridge.’ Cried Brother-Sergeant Feldorn with his usual gruffness.

The Astartes pivoted right in one deft move, then there line broke as they dashed for the airlock, following the Librarian & Sergeant Feldorn, entering the destroyer Xenophobe at a run. It took less than two minutes for the bulky figures to travel through the silent craft to there assigned positions.
As he ran, Jason inspected the inside of the craft. Like all Astartes warships, they were the only marines on board. The regular crew of Chapter Servitors and tech adepts now stood in hushed silence in the presence of their superhuman masters. Jason knew that these crews were competent, more than once he had seen them, independent of any battle-brother guidance, supporting the strike cruisers of his own chapter with the fervour and determination of Astartes.
He mused not for the first time, that without the supporting echelons of the chapters serfs, there would soon be no chapters. Ahead of him now, entering a shuttle elevator in the heart of the craft were the rest of the response section, lead by Brother-Sergeant Feldorn. Jason entered the large elevator as the door closed. He felt it rise swiftly through the ship heart, in less than ten seconds the doors opened to reveal the bridge.

Already seated in the commander’s chair was battle brother Ismael, his helmet on, connected via his armours sockets to the crafts systems. Jason realised that the honour marking on his armour must be from warship combat, something he had little experience off, apart from waiting to drop onto a planet or board another craft. The ship murmured loudly as the Plasma drives engaged, followed by a brief second of weightlessness as the ship detached from the umbilical of the station docking rig and the ships own gravity generators kicked in.

Brother-Librarian Beelizion stood towards the front of the bridge, overlooking the servitors stationed here, to his side stood a robed figure, marked as a Ultramarines servitor, and possibly the ships non-astartes master. From the viewing window at the front of the bridge, Jason could see the other destroyer stationed here, Mercy is Weakness. The docking area was situated within a large cave located inside the asteroid, as they accelerated down the cavern and into open space, He considered that it would be almost impossible to locate the station without a detailed search of the rock. Of course that was the idea, but seeing it in action was considerably different to reading the reports issued him before he was stationed here.

The Xenophobe was now in open space, moving swiftly through the vaccum towards the Ork held system of Janhimes Star. Even in the swiftest of craft available to the Astartes it was still a two-day journey to the last reported location of the unregistered craft. From there they would track it’s course and be upon it swiftly though, no mere merchantman could match a Hunter Class Destroyer for speed, manoeuvrability or Firepower.

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Date: 14/07/2003
Author: Alan Foley