by Squiggle » Mon Jul 31, 2017 11:11 pm
Thanks for your entry Rob. Here's mine!
The Last Knights of Obsidia
‘We haven’t had many visitors of late.’
Cervantes Knellrider looked askance at the speaker. Sergeant Theodore was a grizzled Ultramarine veteran. His face was lined with age and contoured with scars. His forehead was pocked with long service studs. His seventh company shoulder pads were bordered with yellow trim, and the helmet cradled in his arm was a deep crimson.
‘Especially not since that.’ Theodore continued.
That was hard to miss. Cervantes inclined his head to follow Theodore’s gaze. The sky over Safehold was black as pitch – the cemetery-worlders dimmed their lights at night as a sign of respect to the countless dead who littered the surface – and so it was as good a place as any to gaze upon the insanity of the Cicatrix Maledictum. The tear that had split the galaxy in two and thrust the fragile Imperium of Man ever closer to the edge. Even at this distance the kaleidoscope of colour could be seen to billow and change with every heartbeat. Purple clouds of gas fizzled and wept into streams of yellows and blues which faded into green sparks. The whole ominous body was stretched across the nights sky, its very presence a menacing reminder of the dark situation facing humanity.
‘We came through that,’ Cervantes remarked. ‘It was not pleasant.’
‘I’ll bet. And now you are out here on the Eastern Fringe. It is right that you came.’
‘I know.’ Cervantes replied. As Chapter Master of the Astral Knights Adeptus Astartes he was not used to having his actions so openly approved of, but here, in this place… well. Cervantes turned away from the ghastly nightmare that was the galactic warp rift and returned his gaze to the reason he had come on this pilgrimage to this sombre world far out on the Eastern Fringe of the galaxy.
The wreck of the Astral Knights battle-barge Tempestus towered above them, its twisted prow clawing drunkenly skyward. Preserved by the Adeptus Mechanicus after being recovered from the crippledd necron world engine Borsis, and even ruined as it was by the colossal impact it sustained when the former Chapter Master of the Astral Knights, Artor Amhrad, had hatched the desperate plan to ram the world engine, it was still impressive. Cervantes could see where the impact had ripped over the metres-thick void armour and exposed the decks. He could see where the mighty gauss cannons of the necron foe had vaporised whole sections, shredding each part down to its constituent atoms.
‘I was there,’ Theodore said. ‘There with Captain Venetius on the Tempestus when Chapter Master Amhrad declared his intent. And later, when we could do little but watch as that mighty vessel speared into the heart of the foe and delivered its lethal payload.’ The veteran sighed, and rubbed at the grey stubble that capped his craggy skull. ‘I have been here, on this honour detail ever since. It is the least I can do to honour their sacrifice.’ He gestured at the monument. ‘But I have talked enough.’
Cervantes nodded at the departing Sergeant and then walked slowly towards the ruin of the Tempestus. Sebastus Weaver, 3rd Company Captain of the Astral Knights was waiting for him, his silver-white plate glowing faintly in the gloom.
‘This is a sacred place,’ Sebastus said. ‘We are honoured by the actions of our brothers.’
‘And yet they went to their deaths believing that they were the last of us.’ Cervantes replied. ‘The last of our chapter. They had no knowledge that we were even then held in stasis on distant Mars.’
‘That fact does not diminish their actions.’ Sebastus replied. ‘Countless billions of lives were saved by their heroism.’
Cervantes did not reply. He did not have to – he did not disagree with the words of Sebastus Weaver. And yet…
They walked in silence together, each lost in their own thoughts. At the base of where the Tempestus had been erected stood a towering statue. Five metres tall, it depicted not some hero from chapter legend, but a nameless marine clutching a boltgun, faceplate grill set in a timeless snarl. Around this statue, ranked alphabetically into neat rows, were seven hundred and seventy-two stones, each two metres tall, each engraved with the name of an Astral Knight. Cervantes knew all their names already. They were permanently marked in his eidetic memory. But he still stopped in front of each stone and read them, their position within the chapter and the high gothic script, the same on every stone. We will remember them.
Afterwards, having said his farewells to Sergeant Theodore, Cervantes and Sebastus sat side by side in the thunderhawk gunship as it screamed through the night sky above Safehold.
‘Lord,’ Sebastus began, ‘remember when we returned to Obsidia?’
‘How could I forget?’ Cervantes replied. It had been a homecoming like no other. Obsidia was not their home anymore. Following the demise of the Astral Knights, the Sable Swords Chapter had been installed to replace them in their fortress monastery and had taken over their territory. The newly reformed Astral Knights had been welcomed by the Sable Swords with open arms.
And yet there had been a tension in the air, perhaps because Cervantes and his brother primaris remembered Obsidia when the banners above the monastery had been blue, not black. Perhaps because the Sable Swords felt some residual guilt at the manner of their occupation. Regardless, they had preserved the relics and annals of the Astral Knights and for that, Cervantes was grateful.
‘What became of our surviving brothers?’ Sebastus pressed. ‘Where did Chapter Master Thade lead them after he learned of the events here?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘I wish to lead my company in a crusade to find our missing brothers. The omens are dark and the Imperium needs all the heroes it can get. The last knights of Obsidia must stand together!”
If my mind's the weapon, my heart's the extra clipForum Moderator@sqyiggle