The first mission

Stein, eager to know what his first mission will be and who would be part of his killteam, wakes early to perform the rites of girding...

First, affix the reinforced greaves, whose gyroscopic stabilisers shall help the brother to stand firm amidst the horrors of the galaxy. Next, secure the chestpiece, to protect the lifeblood cables and hearts that doth beat in glorious unity. Lock in place the rebraces, the vambraces and the gauntlets, that the Omnissiah might strengthen the brother’s arm.

Then, secure the power pack while intoning the rites of actuation. Attach the shoulder guards, reflecting upon the Chapter symbol there emblazoned, proud, stern and defiant. Then shall the helm be set upon the brother’s head, its locking seals engaged with reverence.

Now, awaken the armour’s bellicose spirit to wrath. Hear as the power unit growls its hymnal of war. Through its choler shall the brother’s armour know strength. Give praise to the vigilance of the temperature regulator, the life signs monitor, and the nutrient reservoir, for neither volcano’s fire nor cold of void nor desperate hunger shall bring harm to this brother, and should he suffer hurts his armour shall provide succour. Awaken the auto-senses, the photolenses and the respirator vox grill, so that the brother might hear, see and breathe even should darkness enshroud him, and so that his war cry shall be as thunder.

Beseech now the machine spirits of the armour; may they defend the brother unto eternity. Then, send him forth to war....

The process of donning power armor was much complicated without assistance, but it felt appropriate to be alone in this moment. He crouched in the armory vestibule, teeth gritted as he carefully aligned his body to the black carapace interface ports, feeling them prick into his skin.

As the power pack began to rouse the machine spirit, he affixed his gauntlets and vambraces, pausing for a moment to consider his pauldrons. He lifted the right pauldron, pausing to contemplate the heraldic raven. The life of a Space Marine was so deeply absorbing that he had to take a moment to detach himself and remember the machine he was a part of. That he had been a part of, anyways. Though every marine was his brother, he already felt ill at ease, detached from the familiar rituals of his Chapter and Company.

He affixed the pauldron. Deathwatch he might be assigned to, but Raven Guard he was. They had called on him to bring the wisdom and prudence of Corvus Corax to this operation. He could only hope they would find more than the Codex Astartes in common.

He lifted his second pauldron, gauntlet gripping tightly the red trim of the Third Company. The badly battered surface, studded with composite bolts, and gouged by monomolecular claws, was not parade ready. It was to be replaced today, as he lay his squad to rest, so there was no reason to repair it.

Waste not.

He took up his combat knife, presented to him as he had been accepted into the Scout Company, its inverted bird-skull pommel keeping symbolic vigil as he sheathed it. At the time, he had taken offense to his Sergeant's choice of ornament, confident in the vigilance and discipline that had won him a chance as an initiate. But with his eyes focused on the mission, on his brothers, on the Imperium, he knew that someone had to watch out for him.

He reached through the smoky incense, lifting and inspecting his helmet. Even through its matte black coating, the long, shot-deflecting nosecone did not quite catch the light correctly. Three almost invisible warps marred the otherwise perfect surface, where it had been shorn off. He often considered what might have happened if he had accepted the Aquila helmet he had been offered.

Slowly, he rose to his feet. Today would begin a new chapter in his service, in his life. He allowed himself a long, heady breath, taking in the scent of the incense before he began to seal up his helmet. Silently as ever, he slipped into the hallways, to join the Forge Master and meet his new brothers-in-arms.

Though the sendoff was warm and the reception was cordial - Brother Covex, another Battle-brother of his home chapter - there had been a certain faint feeling of freefall within gaping cavernous halls of the Watch Fortress Erioch. in time the distant ceiling of the hollows became the space to think and the closed-in walls of his bunk and the nonexistent decor made the marine feel as much at home as any place. It was just a staging ground, and aesthetics were not Ken's primary - or even octonary - concern. What mattered were those among him now, the protection of the walls, and the armaments being readied with blessed oils or whatever the Tech-Priests were doing.

'Treat every woman like she’s the only one.' His Uncle had shouted over the table at his thirteenth birthday. At the time he turned red, older now he understood and finding a beauty worth his attention and he would return to woo her often. Seeking her with the lust of a young man thinking he had everything to lose by not giving his all. Ken had chosen the shapeliest woman for the ball, and after a week of intimate interaction, he knew every centimeter of her curves. A week of nonstop drills had sharpened his edge, losing the days contently in the meditation of it, Kenshen had been informed it was time. The Apocryphon Oath. Maybe they would finally be introduced to the Watch Captain, who has been earning his namesake from unseen locations.

Donning his armour in ritual and checking all seals and systems, he had shaved his face and head this morning, which made the scars on his face all the more present against the grimly placid expression. They matched the history that is scrawled upon the ceramite armour. A littering of superficial gouges, there were some deeper, where repairs were needed. Displaying the Storm Warden sigil and painted in woad, the run of a Genestealer’s claws over his helmet was painted in white. For the final touch, his claymore was maglocked to his back and with that, he was ready for the ceremony.

Ken left the armoury giving no expression to the continuing thoughts unsuited for speech. Who would they be? A warrior was measured during the conflict, so as one who has seen experienced men falter Ken wondered to himself, who even was he? He walked softly, being quiet for quiet sake, coming upon the meeting place, with no intent to catch eyes with the other battle-brothers. In general, Ken was happier keeping to himself and stood ready to receive the order. It was obvious the other recruits here would be bound into a new Kill Team. There was time for pleasantries that later. Rites, Repainting, and now standing before the enormous door, reciting the last oaths. They were now Deathwatch. It was only then, that Ken looked about to the other's who had taken the oaths.

Elyas, or L as his Brothers had called him in his chapter, hadn't done much between hypno sessions and the training, instead rereading the Codex Astartes in his coffin of a rest space. He'd memorised it so it wasn't to do that. Rather, it was to see if any additional information could be gleamed from the text, of which there was none that he found, as to be expected.

Upon being called upon, had followed his new Brothers, following silently from behind. He'd listened intently to the mission, inwardly giddy at the chance to get out of the Watch Fortress and armed. He'd immediately started formulating questions but was deterred by their Watch-Captain.

Once they were in the strategy room, Elyas started letting out his questions, hoping to get needed data while also hoping no one would mind.

"We'd only be requested if the job called for it. Therefore, there must have been good reports of Xenos. Servo-Skull, why were we requested?

How big is the research station?

What does it do for the Imperium?

What possible Xenos might have an influence on the mission?

Are there any notable contacts in the station?"

The ritual of arming was performed by Ar'Mat's personal serfs. Each man selected for purity of mind and dedication to duty, as well as respect for tradition and the ways of the forge. Finding men of the Promethean Cult was not possible on Erioch, but Ar'Mat had found dedicated men of solemn duty who took to the task and entered his service and care. As a true Salamander he had taken care of his own battle plate, and he had already repainted his armour in the black of the Deathwatch. When it was donned and consecrated it was mortal men who placed the burden of his duty on him, to remind him of the teachings of Vulkan; Service and Self-Sacrifice. Ar'Mat's life was dedicated to the defense of humanity, not the glory of the Astartes. So the words of the Primarch were laid down, and so they were obeyed. Ar'mat stared into a blazing brazier as he was clad in Adamentium, Plasteel and Ceramite and pondered the flickering flames. They held the power to create and destroy and were the chief symbol of the Promethean Cult. There were no sermons or chanting. Only the sound of labor surrounded Ar'Mat. Of course, the Empyrean was never silent, but Ar'Mat's mind was barred to its nefarious whispers.

When the time came Ar'Mat underwent the oath of the Vigil solemnly as ever. It was his duty and honor to protect the Imperium and to deny the Xenos its nefarious desires was as necessary as it was demanding. To stand among the battle-brothers of many chapters, from first foundings to newly created, was a great honor and burden. As the ritual concluded he stood among them, his red eyes blazing from his night-black head, and studied them as he would a blade on his anvil. They were strong, but would they mesh?

Cloten didn't remember that day, as he didn't remember some days. The impossible memory can at him I Dream and awake he couldn't shake it. Death, destruction, long ago. How did it come to this? His memory sharpened at the swearing ceremony, and it repeated that oaths true, feeling the words sink in. I was born, destined to stand here.

Later the Watch Captain spoke his few words, and Cloten listened intently, daring not to breath. His blood colored paldron burned him like a radiation burn. New oaths superseding his pay oaths. My brothers! I do not betray you!

In the next room, he reviews the others. Uncharacteristically stoic, he shakes himself, the powered armor rattling. "What's a guy got to do to get a drink around here? he asks with a crooked smile.

He pounds his chest. "I'm Cloten," a slight pause, "of the Death watch."

His arms folded over his chest as he contemplated the information they had been passed. His emotionless helmet panned the room, taking in the squad as they had been assembled. The terseness of the briefing did little for his confidence, as did the lack of strategic details.

His vox crackled to life. "Three months is a long deployment." It was a statement, less a question. "What logistical support is available? How large is the area of operations? What assets are available for combat support and reconnaissance?" He added his queries to the servo-skull's queue, to allow it to assimilate and present the information.

While he was no stranger to search and destroy, 'investigating' and destroying 'if they found any' sounded like the job of an infantry battalion. Or the Adeptus Arbites, depending.

"For those that don't already have one issued, we should request a bolter. Also, we should get a few auspex and a vox-caster. Maybe also a few ammo backpack ?"
Taking a few seconds of silence, "Who will be squad leader ? Watch-Captain Creon said the choice should be obvious..."

"Tyranids...always Tyranids..." Elyas sighs and looks around at his Brothers "Okay, so...I have experience with these Xenos, perhaps that is what the Watch-Captain meant?"

An Aquila? Such a flimsy vessel would hardly fit the full squad and would be worthless in an actual hot drop. Still, needs must. Ar'Mat listened to the others debating the mission. He had no experience with the Tyranids. The blazing red eyes of the Librarian regarded his brother as Elyas spoke of his experience, but hesitated to step forward..
"Self-doubt is but the first step on the descent to failure. Do you believe yourself ready for command, Brother Elyas, or do you not?"

"It wasn't self-doubt, Brother. It was simply me not wanting to push for one option before anyone else has spoken on an issue about the Killteam as a whole. I believe that I should be given a chance to lead."

Cloten leans back, "I am no more fit for command than any of you, I wager. Which is to say we all have vast experience and could capably lead on any mission, but nothing about this mission tells me that I would be the best choice."

"An extended deployment without clear objectives or opposition, with a newly forged squad who have just learned each others' names. I don't envy the burden of commanding such an operation." He relaxed within his armor as the first fires of brotherhood were upon them. He wondered if they would be tempered or scorched to slag. He had every confidence in the martial prowess of everyone in this room, but he could already tell they each had quite different ideas of what a well-run operation looked like.

He nodded in assent with Stein. "An Auspex will be essential. But I am leery of the lack of transportation options onsite. A planetwide theater of operations, no clear assessment of enemy numbers or disposition, and not even room to pack a bike. We will need to work very closely with the local Guard contingent to ensure we can insert, extract, and redeploy strategically. Tactically, I expect we will be operating on foot - unless we care to risk a grav-chute insertion in such a shuttle." One armored finger tapped the vambrace it was crossed over, just once - perhaps the first sound out of him that was not from his helmet's vox.

He did not want to vocalize the alternative that crossed his mind - honor guard duty for a self-important inquisitor, or garrison duty for selfsame's pet project.