Zedrenael

[Indefragable]

Brothers, lend your ears! For herein lies the tale of Zedrenael, Captain, Blood Angels 8th Company "The Bloodblades", Cleanser of Antorax, Lord of Skyfall.

 

 

"Our steel shall rust

Our water shall dry

Even dimmed shall be our gold.

But nev'r in dust

Shall our brave deeds lie

As long each brother's tale be told"

 

-poem attributed to the Crusade era IX Legionniare Tarqor

 

 

1.

 

 

 

It was the rad scorpion. If not for that damnable beast Zedrenael would never have ascended to the ranks of the Adeptus Astartes.

 

The tribe had formed a retribution party. Too many youths and elders pulled from their beds. Fences failed. Sentries, or what would have remained of them, were never found. Setting camp at high places or in rocky defensible points did not prevent the abductions either. The only way to survive, it was determined, was to make the hunter the hunted and track the beast to its layer and slay it.  Fully two thirds of the able bodied men--at least, by Baal's standards--and several of the fiercest women gathered what weapons and blasting charges they could and set off across the desert wastes.

 

"If a single Angel had been with us, we would have all come back." The old man's words buried into Zedrenael's young skull. The screams of the poisoned echoed in the confines of the rad scorpion's cave as they dissolved from the inside out. One of the others shuffled over to a convulsing body and slit its throat to end the agony. Tears ran down the mercy killer's face wasting precious moisture. Those of the party left with both bodies and wits still whole frantically soaked up the spilled blood with soaking cloths. Few had ever seen this much moisture in a single place in their lives and such sustaining liquid had to be recovered at all costs. At all costs. The party had come to end the threat of the rad scorpion at all costs and now barely a third of them would return at all, with a depressingly smaller number who would be fully capable of supporting the tribe upon return. Zedrenael looked down on his hands where his own blood mingled with that of his tribesmen and the horror that had claimed them. "A single Angel," the old man muttered again, as if to curse the universe. "And none of us would have died."

 

Who were these Angels the old man spoke of? How could just one of them do what nearly his entire tribe died attempting to do? And if they were that powerful, how could they forsake the tribes of Baal? How could they allow such senseless slaughter? Why would they not help? Zedrenael's eyes moved over the carnage, lingering on the sight of each kinsmen's mutliated corpse before finally pausing on the dead beast in the center of the cave. His eyes narrowed and his fingers closed tight into his palms until fresh blood leaked anew through his fingers.

 

He grabbed his spear and one of the hemovials containing the recovered blood of his kin. He would not return to camp. He would never return. Not until he had seen one of these Angels. And killed it.

2.

 

 

 

 

***

Two hundred and fifty years later Zedrenael would be given command of the 8th Company of the  Blood Angels Chapter of Adeptes Astartes. Another fifty as commander would bring him to this moment in time.

 

The office of Captain in a Space Marine chapter affords its occupant many martial luxuries, a personal armorium one of the foremost. Weapons, wargear, and artifacts collected, used, and recovered from all his brothers that had held this same office as he. Zedrenael selected the thunder hammer "Desert's Tear." Though he preferred a bladed weapons, the significance of this hammer was too much to ignore. For practical purposes it afforded him greater punch when dealing with heavier enemies that his men would not have the experience or equipment to deal with. But more importantly, it served to remind his troops of their purpose.

 

Commanding the 8th company was never a prized assignment. Leading the reserve Assault Marines provided a unique set of challenges. For one thing, as a reserve company it was filled with those who had trouble integrating into the line companies. Secondly, unlike other chapters who started marines freshly ascended from the Scout ranks in Devastator squads, the Blood Angels assigned theirs to Assault squads. This was done to allow the new marines a chance to close with the enemy and get some of their bloodlust out, for the geneseed of all sons of Sanguinius burns hot with a desire to  kill the enemy with one's own hands. It also gave commanders an opportunity to observe which ascendees could ride the waves of bloodlust when advantageous and when to calm themselves when cooler heads were needed. Without proper guidance and mentorship, all Blood Angels could eventually give in to their geneseed's murderous urges and be lost forever. Younger Blood Angels were especially vulnerable.

 

And so the Captain of the 8th had to walk a fine line. Too aggressive and the hot-blooded youths would be even more prone to irrecoverable assaults. Too cautious, and the hungry marines would chafe and grow ill-disciplined liked chained canem on a hunt. Previous Captains of the 8th had leaned in one direction or the other. Zedrenael's method had evolved into two techniques:

 

For one, he made sure that each squad was equipped with purposeful weapons: inferno pistols, plasma pistols, or the larger gun versions of each. This ensured that each unit was capable of dealing with enemy armor or large creatures. Being entrusted with such weapons helped to focus the young marines. Thepride of successfully maneuvering and killing an enemy tank with a disciplined shot was sometimes just the sort of motivation that helped stave off the urge for wanton chainsword action.

 

But above all else, Zedrenel made sure to be visible. He made sure his assault marines could see him. Could see when he gave in and when he held back. It was why he continued to wear the left pauldron he earned from a tour in the Deathwatch. "Sometimes," he hoped it said to them, "sometimes other ways are possible." It was why he wielded Desert's Tear in all its symbolic glory despite being more skilled with other weapons. It was why he wielded Promise.

 

He had crafted the storm shield Promise himself. Working with the artisans and armorers had given pause to his own thirst for killing; stabilized him. But it also needed to be done. He needed to show his men why they fought. How from the red-clad servants did the winged blood descend into the chalice. How their service would go on to sustain and fuel the efforts of their brothers. For only in this sacrifice could they guard their home. Only then could they protect their true tribe, the one that had spread throughout the stars. "We are the shield that guards the worlds of man..."

 

"...And never has that lesson been more important," Zedrenael thought, picking up his weapons. Commander Dante was calling it "Shield of Baal." More than ever his men would need to know his Promise.

 

He would not return to this armorium. He would never return. Not until he had seen all the horrors that threatened mankind. And killed them

[Tarvek Val]

Very well-written, I enjoyed this tale quite thoroughly. I especially liked how you opened the piece up with a poem, and a good one at that!

 

I would love to know what happened in between segments [1] and [2]. Did Zedrenael actually try to hunt down a member of the Blood Angles? If so, did he succeed in trapping his prey? How exactly was he chosen to become a member of the illustrious IXth? The story feels almost incomplete with such a large gap between the events of [1] and [2]. It's been 300 years since act [1], so surely there must be some noteworthy achievements in the interim!

 

I was very intrigued by segment [2]. The lines detailing how Scouts were seconded to Assault companies over Devastator companies was a surprise to me, but it makes a lot of sense! I like Zedrenael's character as well - he is brave, straightforward, and noble in bearing in purpose. It is quite clear that he cares both for his native people and the Imperium at large, without saying so directly. That's the mark of a good writer, so well done to you!

 

I would love to see a second segment in the future!

[Indefragable]

Very well-written, I enjoyed this tale quite thoroughly. I especially liked how you opened the piece up with a poem, and a good one at that!

 

I would love to know what happened in between segments [1] and [2]. Did Zedrenael actually try to hunt down a member of the Blood Angles? If so, did he succeed in trapping his prey? How exactly was he chosen to become a member of the illustrious IXth? The story feels almost incomplete with such a large gap between the events of [1] and [2]. It's been 300 years since act [1], so surely there must be some noteworthy achievements in the interim!

 

I was very intrigued by segment [2]. The lines detailing how Scouts were seconded to Assault companies over Devastator companies was a surprise to me, but it makes a lot of sense! I like Zedrenael's character as well - he is brave, straightforward, and noble in bearing in purpose. It is quite clear that he cares both for his native people and the Imperium at large, without saying so directly. That's the mark of a good writer, so well done to you!

 

I would love to see a second segment in the future!

 

Thanks for the comments and feedback! Pumped that you enjoyed it. Something that came about and decided to run with.

 

Good feedback about the Scouts, too. That was not my intention! So the Blood Angels differ from other Codex chapters in the sense that once an Astartes completes his time in the Scout companies, he then goes first into the Assault Squads, before then moving to Devastator and finally Tactical squad assignments.

 

Parts 3 onward to come.

[Tarvek Val]

 

 

Something that came about and decided to run with.

 

Honestly, I find that sporadic ideas sometimes have the best end results! I can't tell you how many times I've written something at 1 am whilst half asleep then, upon reading it in the morning, wondered "how did I manage to do that?" 

 

With regards to Scouts, I could be totally wrong but I thought that the average Chapter sent its successful Scouts into Tactical squads, then sorted them from there based on their specialties and weapons preferences. Again, I could be wrong (and as you just pointed out, the Blood Angels differ from the norm regardless).

 

Excited to read Part 3 when it comes out!

[Indefragable]

7.

 

Two.

 

Two.

 

Two.

 

The metronome of his twin hearts beat incessantly slow.

 

This was taking forever.

 

The Feast of Blades was here. The time when all Sons of the Angel gathered to test arms, taste blood, and relish in the fraternal bliss of the moment.

 

He sat on the bench, fully armored. The matches were supposed to start 2 days prior. But the Commander had insisted on more feasting, celebration, and a celebration of the peaceful arts before the martial arts.

 

"We all know the skill of each others' swords. Let us share in the skill of each others' brushs" Dante had said.

 

Dante.

 

The legendary commander. His commander. If he willed it, then it was done. There was not a living soul in the entire Imperium with more skill or experience than the Chapter Master of the Blood Angels.

Ascended to the rank for more than a milennia.

 

He knew the waiting was good form. He knew that Dante knew the waiting was good for him.

 

How was he to teach his marines patience and restraint if he could not demonstrate it himself in the most visible of circumstances?

 

The howl of the Flesh Tearer echoed down the hall. Something smashed in a loud crack of splinters. 

 

Two.

 

Chapter serfs moved past carrying the remains of an astartes-sized wooden table broken into large shards. Zed's lip snarled in disgust. Wood was beyond precious on Baal. From the same gene-lineage or not, the Flesh Tearer should be taught a lesson for his uncouth behaviour. Perhaps Zed would get that chance in the ring…

 

This was his moment. His chance to demonstrate his capabilities. So many other chapters had sent chapter champions, the designated hitters if you will, or respected captains or veteran sergeants from their 1st and 2nd companies…ostensibly the most prestigious units an astartes could be in. Yet here Zedreneal was. Captain of the lowly 8th. What did Dante see in him? Why was he given this honor?

 

Two.

 

Rounds before Zedreneal's were announced and the combatants applauded.

 

Calen.

 

Captain of the 3rd Company from the Carmine Blades. A newer chapter, by the standards of the Blooded. One that had not until recently realized its lineage belonged to the line of Sanguinius.

 

He did not know much about the Chapter or its traditions, he was ashamed to admit. "Know your foe" he had preached to his company. So much for leading by example. He did know that Calen preferred to fight with hammer, shield, and jump pack just the same as he did.

 

Two.

 

Evenly matched warriors, identically equipped. Zedreneael could not help but think that Dante had chosen this pairing specifically for him so that he would have no choice but to prove his metal in a perfectly matched showdown. In such a matchup, in such a close ring, nearly every advantage was squandered. It would come down to wits, determination, resiliency, and a bit of luck.

 

Luck. That word. Some would call him superstitious. Some would say he should have faith in Sanguinius looking over him. Zed would say it was simply the mathematics of battle, that most precocious of calculative arts. One could cogitate every possible permutation of an engagement yet simply exiting the warp a few seconds earlier could lead to drastically different outcomes. The techmarines had words for it, but they bored Zed. He simply processed it as the need to always keep a certain adaptability available at all times when it came to planning. Luck.

 

Two.

 

Solid blows to get through was all he needed. Zedrenael pondered that thought. With the might of Desert's Tear in his hands, he did not need to be the swifter fighter or the more agile flyer. He did not need to hit harder. He did not need to block more return blows….the trusted storm shield Promise would offer as much protection as anything possibly could. No…he simply needed to get 2 hammer blows past his opponent's guard. One to wound and stagger, the other to finish him offer.  Two hits. The thought calmed him, gave him something to focus on as he envisaged the fight unravelling before him.

 

Two.

 

Thoughts were a gemstone to concentrate on in the clawing blackness of his inner thoughts. All he needed was the first blow and the second.  "Two," he whispered to himself, almost like a prayer.

 

Two.

 

With that, his heart beats and mind coalesced into a single pulsing rythymn, slowing to a trance state.

 

His eyes shut even harder, embracing the black within.  When he opened them he would see red.