Asamodai's Raven Guard

[That Guy Matt]

One Year Ago

 

His lungs burned. The only sound he could hear was his twin hearts beating a violent tattoo, pounding through his head. His eyes were blurry as he battled towards the shimmering half light ahead. He felt consciousness draining from him, even his superhuman biology unable to cope with the strains set upon it. Still he pushed on, and on and...

 

His head broke the surface of the water and he gasped for air, heaving in great desperate lungfuls of oxygen. As the water drained from his face, the world around him returned to clarity. Brother Saul Phoben of the Iron Snakes Second Company tread water at the mouth of the infamous Trench of Cydides Isthmus on the Chapter's home-world of Ithaka. He scanned the nearby shoreline to regain his bearings and his heart sank. He was no longer alone. At the edge of the water stood the face the of death, clad in shining black power armour, draped in a cloak of shimmering wyrm scales. He looked out at Saul through the glowing red eyes of his skull faced helm. Reluctantly, Saul swam towards him.

 

“It is forbidden to dive the Trench Brother Phoben.” the newcomer said sternly as Saul stepped out onto the bank. He was stripped to the waist, the frigid water dripping from his pale, scarred skin. He ran his hand over his bald head and face and flicked the excess droplets away.

 

“I had to know I could still do it Chaplain Bol.” Saul replied as he stepped past the new arrival and sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree.

 

The Chaplain looked out over the water for a moment then turned back to Saul. “We have rendered our judgement. The conclave awaits your return.”

 

Saul nodded sombrely. “So what is it to be? Oethanar?”

 

“It is for the conclave, not I, to read you your fate.” The Chaplain shook his head slowly then let out a low sigh. He reached up and removed his helmet with a hiss of released pressure valves. Behind the dead visage was a handsome face, his black hair in tight braids oiled to his scalp. He smiled warmly. “Saul.”

 

“Rhyphos.”

 

“I did not come as a member of the conclave. I came as an old friend.” said Chaplain Bol.

 

“Thank you. Is there any news?” asked Saul.

 

Rhyphos sat down on the thick trunk of the fallen tree beside his brother. “Syphus is adjusting well to his new legs. Xan slumbers in his new sarcophagus. It shall be a long time before he awakens. There was nothing to be done for Gryphol.”

 

“Their loses lay firmly on my shoulders.” said Saul.

 

“Agreed, but so do their lives. You were reckless. That is a crime that can not go unpunished. But without you they all would have perished. Your strength can not be squandered. You will not face the Trial of Wyrms.” said Rhyphos.

 

“What then?”

 

“You are to take the Long Watch.”

 

Saul looked down to the ground. “Ah...,” he looked his friend in the eye. “so death it is then.”

 

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Now

 

This was taking too long. It had been over a week since the Deathwatch's initial landing and their objective was still incomplete. Their overseer, an enigmatic Inquisitor known only to the marines as Swordsman, had provided them with detailed information on the city layout and the position of the Broadsword asset, but the city had been ravaged by war. Any information Gladius Squad had entered with was long out of date. Ammunition was growing sparse and the Deathwatch had been forced to split up, systematically searching any and all likely locations of their primary objective.

 

Gladius Five, Brother Phoben had been scouring a shattered forge administration building when the Orks had set upon him.

 

There were four of them, bursting from rooms all around him along the length of a narrow ill lit corridor. The first barrelled into him from his left. Brother Phoben grabbed the Ork by the collar of his hide jerkin and threw him against the hallway wall. He caught a solid slug in his left pauldron from the second but knocked the Ork aside with the back of his hand as he tried to close the distance. The marine dispatched the third with a perfect head shot from his bolter. The fourth, the largest of the group charged out from behind the still falling body of the third. He thrust at Brother Phoben with a thick hafted spear with a large jagged tip. The Iron Snake turned the blow aside with the underside of his bolter and used his shoulder to slam the alien against the wall, drawing his knife from his belt in the same movement. The blade drove up through the Orks sternum a dozen times before he could respond and he spat blood over Saul's black helm as he collapsed. The marine holstered his bolter and grabbed the primitive spear. It was poorly crafted, heavy and unbalanced, nothing like an Ithakan lance, but it would do. Saul charged back down the narrow hallway at the first two Orks, now recovered. They rose, roaring and waving dull edged blades and crude pistols in challenge. Saul charged to meet them. Heavy blows fell from alien blades and Saul was pushed back as he turned them away with the length of his spear, waiting for his opening. It did not take long for the barbarous beasts to provide one. Saul parried a vicious attack and thrust his weapon into the attackers groin. He struck the second back with the length of the spear and again with the pommel. He thrust the blade through the back of the first attacker and out through its chest. The Ork fell flat on its face with a wet gurgle. Drawing the spear free Saul turned on his heel to meet the Ork falling upon him, his blade held high overhead. The spear, held single handed punched through alien's throat before the blow could fall.

 

A fifth Ork emerged from the end of the hall. It hefted a cannon of crude construction but clearly of a calibre heavy enough to turn Saul to pulp and the Ork had him cold. Visibility was poor and the weapon in hand was ungainly, but any son of Ithaka learned to toss a lance as soon as he could walk. Brother Phoben let the crude spear fly. He watched with satisfaction as it punched the Ork in the chest and knocked him off his feet.

 

Then everything was quiet. Saul opened a channel on his vox. “Gladius Five to Gladius One. Way point Epsilon Twelve clear. Status negative. Moving on.”

 

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Long time no updates again.  A year almost to the day in fact.  I'd like to say life got in the way.  Maybe recently it did, but for the most part it was just Fallout 4.  I've worked on a few things, just not all stuff that I'm ready to show yet.  Another member of my Deathwatch Kill Team (which seems ridiculous given upcoming releases) is ready though so here he is, Gladius Five, Saul Phoben of the Iron Snakes.

 

http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a327/Asamodai/Mobile%20Uploads/20160311_120517.jpg

 

http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a327/Asamodai/Mobile%20Uploads/20160311_120745.jpg

 

http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a327/Asamodai/Mobile%20Uploads/20160311_120532.jpg

 

Let me know what you think.