@Sarpedon@StoneWolf@agentmanatee

The Deathwatch, the Ordo Militant and fighting arm of the Ordos Xenos of the Emperor's Holy Inquisition; your latest assignment.

For good or for ill you have been seconded to 'The Watch', for you are one of the best of your Chapter, though you have seen the records or heard that of all those seconded to the Death Watch - maybe one-in-eight returning from the their secondment alive.

You each remember with utmost clarity that your secondment to the 'Watch' is one of secrecy, one that has seen you board one of the Inquisition's own ships to take you far from you from your chapter, your home-world and your battle-brothers to fight along side those from others; some familiar and even friendly toward you, some hostile and with grudges to bear, but all soon to be your closest allies in times of conflict and war.

Aboard the Inquisitorial ship you are not told your destination by its Captain, though you seem to find that the Navigators of the Inquisition are of the same stock - if not far more attuned to their Warp-born abilities - than those aboard Astartes ships. Within two weeks you find yourself at a 'Watch-Fortress' - a vast orbital ring clearly of inhuman creation, though long since taken over by the Adeptus Mechanicus for the purpose of training and housing those Astartes sent to the Deathwatch.

Should you inquire of the Captain of the ship you are on (feel free to make up the Captain's name, the ship having no given name that you know of) that there are six 'Watch-Fortresses' scattered throughout about the Imperium, though the location of each is known only by the Inquisition themselves and the Navigators of the ships in thd bowels of which you now temporarily reside; given what you know of the Deathwatch you may or may not believe it to be a reasonable answer.

After disembarking with the belongings that you brought with you - the Watch allowing you to bring your armour, weapons, and any personal tokens with you from your original chapter - it is over the course of three to four days that each of you arrive, although you remain confined to the inside of your Thunderhawk transports for a further three days, before finally being authorised to disembark from these smaller vessels as well.

---

Your transports open their landing-ramps almost simultaneously, disgorging each of you into one of the numerous hangers within the extensive void docks of the Watch Fortress, in which a dozen Imperial Navy capital ships or Adeptus Astartes Battle Barges could be docked and resupplied at the same time. However, most vessels that come to the Watch Fortress are smaller starships such as the Deathwatch’s rapid strike vessels or the occasional vessel bearing a visiting dignitary. The docks are crewed by legions of Combat Servitors and ratings that are supervised by human serfs who are oath-bonded to serve the Deathwatch all their lives, and it is packs of these which you now see as you take leave of what could well be termed your 'imprisonment'.

You leave the metal cages of the Thunderhawks for the first time in a week, clad only in the robes, fatigues or non-combat dress of your respective Chapters, and armed with nothing but your own fists - your suits of armour and your weapons wheeled directly past you and into the wider hanger, where swarms of blank-faced Servitors and their mortal supervisors go about their business regardless of your presence, only for these precious items to soon disappear into the less illuminated gloom of the hangers rearmost edge. The sound of lifts and the hydraulic hiss of doors opening and shutting can be distinctly heard coming from that direction, although even the superhuman eyesight of an Astartes is unable to make out what lurks within those shadows.

As you take in your surroundings - an enclosed metallic hanger of blinking lights and the beep of instruments ever at work, large enough to house a small fleet of Thunderhawks, high enough to fit a standing Titan into, and with enough servants to populate a small colony - you make out the broad figure of one who can only be another Space Marine emerging from the shadows.

Armoured in the deathly black of the Deathwatch, one shoulder bearing the silver colour, skull, and the =][= of the Inquisition upon it, strides a towering warrior of the Blood Angels Chapter. Clearly visible upon his other shoulder pauldron is the black wings and ruby droplet of blood upon a red field, and there can truly be no doubt as to his origins. Yet what marks him out from others, as he nears you and you are able to detect every detail of his form, is the grinning skull of a helmet looking mockingly back at you, the rosarius in the shape of a cross draped about his neck, and the crozius hanging mag-locked to his waist. Indeed, those red and baleful eyes of the helmet judging each and every one of you, there can be no doubt that this is the Astartes sent to meet you and to deem you worthy or not of joining the Watch.

"Welcome," he intoned in a voice that held the utmost authority, "to Watch-Fortress Ebanon."

For one silent moment he looks each of you up and down - weighing your devotion, testing your nerve, and deciding your fates.

"You have each been bought here from your former Chapters of your own free will," his eyes then seemed to bore into those of the Marine named 'Lakon' - a warrior that had actually been picked up from a drifting wreck by the Watches vessel, already having been seen by the Watch-Commander during his time aboard the Thunderhawk - knowing that for some this might not be the case, "but you are each here now, brothers, and through your service to the Deathwatch you shall rise above others to become more proficient in the art of war than you had ever dreamt...believe me when I tell you, until now you have faced nothing...nothing like that which lurks in the darkest recesses of the Imperium's fringe. You soon will though."

With a slight hiss of air, and a pop of released pressure, a face was revealed that could be called perfect in every way; the long and angular face of the Chaplain would have been considered angelic by any normal human, but perhaps could be described as 'vampiric' as well, for it was as if carved from flawless white marble - smooth and unmarred by either scar of blemish of ill health - eyes of almost hypnotic blue looking into those of each Astartes before him, his shimmering golden locks reaching down to his shoulders.

It was a handsome face that more than a few allies and enemies had judged as one of an effeminate weakling, oh but how wrong they had been.

"Present yourselves now; name, rank and Chapter. After that I shall show you to your quarters. Any questions you may have will also be answered, if permissible."

The voice which he used was barely any higher than the bass-amplified mouth of his helmet, the tone demanding respect and one of a fighting man that would allow no disrespect or indiscipline from anyone.

Hagni looked the DeathWatch marine up and down closely, his yellow eyes alert and picking up the details of the marine infront of him. He then lowered his head slightly. That was his way of showing respect although it was hard to tell what seniority the Blood Angel held over him. Hagni was dressed in a dark bodyglove common to his chapter. He greyish hair kept short while his beard reached halfway down his chest. The beard where kept in a thick braid with a ring inscribed with runes that kept it in place. His face bore witness to long years of service, fighting both foe and elements.

"Greetings lad I am Hagni Bloodmoon, former Long Fang from the Great Wolf Logan Grimnars own Company." His voice where dark and like that of the icy wind of Fenris. As Hagni spoke the long canines where clearly visible and their length was even easier to see as he grinned. This could be a nice challenge for him and what sagas he would make during his time amongst the Watch. Although he did not look forward to working with the Inquisition as they had some bad blood with the Space Wolves.

"Now lad would you be so kind as to tell me when I will get my wargear back?" Every marine was a deadly weapon in himself but Hagni did not like being parted from his wargear. They had not even let him keep his combat knife. He knew they would take good care of his armor and he had told them harshly not to clean the inside of it. The blood was a reminder to him that his life was now that of the chapters or now the watch's. He would die fighting and then join Leman Russ at his table before returning at the Wolftime. Otherwise the could clean and paint the armor best they wanted. He would later on adorn it with pieces of wolf pelt, wolf teeth and other talismans of the Vlka Fenryka.

Lakon looked around, but did his best to keep it subtle. He took stock of his surroundings, and wondered what was going to happen now. The Watch-Commander hadn't said much before leaving, but he hadn't been executed just yet, so he supposed things were going well. He was dressed only in the flat black bodyglove he would have worn under his power armour, if he had any. By the time he'd been retrieved from his "transport" there had been nothing left but ashes and dust. Now, though, he was wondering if maybe he should have kept his equipment. At the same time, he supposed things might have gone worse if other Astartes knew of his origins. Content to keep such things a secret, he fought the urge to double-check the shiv he'd tucked up his sleeve. It was probably a stupid precaution, but he would rather be called paranoid than end up on the losing end of a fight.

The hangar itself seemed fairly typical, if larger than most, but it was the presence of the Watch Chaplain that really made the place stand out. The black armour and skull helmet gave the man away immediately, though the marine supposed that everyone would be dressed in black armour around here. The Blood Angels pauldron gave the Chapterless Astartes a ray of hope. He'd had no dealings with the Blood Angels before, but he'd heard stories, and just the presence of such an obviously hallowed warrior lifted the warrior's spirits, if only a little. As the Chaplain began his speech, however, Lakon's gaze went dead, and he stared idly at the far wall. There was a trio of blinking lights at roughly eye level, and he began attempting to discern a pattern in there blinking simply to keep his mind active.

He heard the holy warrior say something about the unspeakable horrors they'd encounter, and exhaled a little harder through his nose. The apparently-perfect Astartest before them requested far too much information for the foundling-Astartes' liking and he waited until the black-armoured super human approached him to speak. "Well met, Chaplain. Brother Lakon." his voice was low, and he spoke with a stilted force, stopping just short of over-emphasizing any given syllable. Every word had obviously been thought out. His gaze still hadn't strayed from the blinking lights, though he'd given up on finding a pattern in them...

A Blood Angel, wonderful. Haakon's gaze leared around the room, watching his armor and weapons carted away and he left in naught but his bodyglove. His new 'brothers' were an interesting few at least. A blood angels Chaplain, A Space wolf Long fang and... Brother Lakon of the... he didn't say. Well, he supposed it was his turn to introduce himself to his new brothers, regardless of whether he resected any of them, "Haakon Jerak, I am the First company champion of the Marines Malevolent. I have slain Ork Warbosses, Chaos champions and worse in personal combat, and I now wonder what foes I will face here?"

Haakon was no fresh marine, he was a Veteran, and he knew the difference between a Veteran and some newly brought up scout when he saw it, and as he turned to each of his new 'brothers' he found something strange. The Chaplain and Space Wolf were like him, battle hardened and tested, fearless angels of death. And Brother Lakon didn't even tell them his chapter. He turned to the marrine, a glare on his face, "Chaplain, I would be remiss to not ask why Brother Lakon has not revealed his chapter. We are all Deathwatch now, does he hide it from us?, he sneered. He truly did wonder where the Marine hailed from, he didn't look like any particular chapter and Haakon didn't like unknowns.

As badly as he wanted his arms and armor back, he didn't ask about it. He expected the question Hagni had put forward would be answered shortly, so asking again was just a waste of breath.

@StoneWolf@agentmanatee@Sarpedon

Brother-Chaplain Canus listened to each of the newest batch of Astartes assigned to the Deathwatch, ignoring for the moment the questions that each seemed to have - every one except for the enigmatic 'Brother Lakon', and his thousand-yard stare. Some might have seen this as a sign of disrespect, averting your eyes when speaking to both a superior and a Chaplain was usually grounds for some form of punishment. Canus on the other hand had seen such looks before, although usually in the eyes of one of the more demented Battle-Brothers of his Chapter, those gripped by the rage or the thirst that dwelt within every child of Sanguinius, himself included. No, he would let such a blatantly ignorant reaction slide...this time.

"Well met then, Brothers," he said with a grim smile, his eyes looking deep into each one of them as he paced back and forth along the line. Silently he judged them, weighing them, testing them and coming to the conclusion that each was clearly a capable warrior, and yet there was more to fighting than feats of arms alone.

A sharp halt and perfect snap-turn bought him about to face the Space Wolf, the smile quickly leaving his expression once more.

"Brother Hagni, bearded and blooded you may be, but you will address me as sir or Chaplain; I am not a 'lad' and, in spite of much familiarity among the Sons of Russ, I do not appreciate being addressed as such. I am also older than you might believe, hardly the age for such a title."

As he was about to turn away he remembered the second question, half-looking back into those yellow eyes, "your armour shall be awaiting you all in your chambers...the stains of honour upon it intact."

His next steps took him past the impassive loner, only the merest of glances even signalling that he realised Lakon was there, instead pressing swiftly on to stand before Haakon.

Without pause of ceremony he stepped toward the Malevolent warrior, stopping only when their faces were nearly touching, his own glacial blue eyes looking unblinkingly toward the 'man', taking in at close range the half-shaven head, tattoos and burnt flesh.

"Brother Haakon," came the words through his perfect teeth, like a small hiss of air from a gas canister, Canus standing even straighter than usual, "your service does you credit, Champion, of that you can be sure! Here in the Deathwatch, though rank remains to divide us, we are nevertheless equal in most respects. Brother Lakon has come to the Watch-Commander and asked for his assistance in his own personal matters - the Commander has accepted, and only he, I and the Battle-Brother here need know his reasons and his origin. That is all, and I hope it shall suffice for now."

Backing away from the Marine Malevolent, sweeping his gaze across the trio, he stopped and arms length away and raised his voice so they all could hear; he was not in the habit of repeating himself twice.

"As I said, you may think you have fought and slain everything there is to slay, defeated all that the universe can throw at you, and that you are truly worthy of the Emperor's blessing," something akin to a flash of humour appeared momentarily in his eyes and then was gone just as suddenly, "I shall tell you now, Brothers, that none of you - no matter what your Chapter or station within it outside of this fortress - are fully prepared." He began to pace once more, looking to each of them in turn and back again, "there are nightmarish horrors beyond the fringe of the Imperium, Chaotic spawns of gibbering flesh that can madden the mind of even an Astartes, Xenos creatures that can burrow through power armour and gut you from the inside out, and worse still. If you honestly believe that you are ready for such things, I tell you now that you are not."

From the shadows behind shuffled a hunched Servitor, its blank face raising itself to look at the Chaplain, "all is prepared, Lord."

"Welcome to Watch Fortress Erioch, Brothers. Please, follow me."



Through winding passages and past a hundred differing rooms and chambers they went, their bootfalls echoing in unusually still he air of those ceramite-walled corridors, a heavy veil of calm and mystery sitting on the outer passages of the fortress. Here and there they might spot a figure or two, usually a Serf or another of the more human inhabitants of the genuinely labyrinthine construct, but sometimes a silent Space Marine clad in the sombre black of the Watch; nobody asked where they were going, and they would not tell, but each seemed to treat Canus with deference due to his role within their fraternity of warriors.

On both sides of the small group were chambers, chapels and other rooms, some with simple wooden doorways and arches, and some hidden away and protected by Adamantine portals; war-tattered banners of glories past fluttered overhead, cells, practice ranges, armouries and briefing theatres, until they finally made their way to a room large enough for a dozen Astartes.

Through a single door they came walking single-file, before them a refectory; four walls of cold and solid rock illuminated by the dim flickering light of a hundred devotional candles and furnished with four large tables - each topped with iron - and eight long benches, all carved from stone.

"Make yourselves comfortable," stated the Chaplain, two baleful lights shining from the sockets of the skull-shaped helmet he had placed back over his head, "if you wish for any sustenance then Torik here will be only too happy to bring it to you."

A smaller figure at least two feet shorter than the superhuman Astartes, but well-built, muscled and with a look of determination on his chiselled face and in his brown eyes, moved past Canus and the others to take his place to the right of the empty arch which acted as the doorway into the eating and feasting area.

"Once I have made ready your cells, you shall be informed and taken to them. Until then, you are here."

Even as he moved away down the corridor, his footsteps getting fainter and fainter to the hearing of his Brothers, Chaplain Canus had no fear of them leaving. If they were to leave the hall then they would soon find themselves lost, or at worst dead, so it was in their own interest to remain where they were. For now they had some time on their hands, and it would be educational for all to see how they used it.

Lakon sighed with relief when the chaplain assured them that the horrors they would face were truly nightmarish and possibly insurmountable. He kept his exhalation silent, but the way the stress seemed to drain from hos body along with his breath was noticeable to anyone paying attention. He didn't much care what the others thought of him, as long as the skull-helmed warrior in front of them was telling the truth. He disagreed, however, with the Blood Angel's statement that declared them unready for such things. The Astartes had never been more ready for anything in his life. He supposed the intent of the wording was true, however, he certainly had no combat experience against anything truly threatening to the health or well-being of the Emperor's finest.

He lost his train of thought when they were welcomed to the Watch-Fortress, and the chaplain bid them follow him to what was hopefully their chambers. The marine was eager to find what arms and armour had been provided to him, and to begin tinkering, if only to have something to do. Unfortunately, however, their destination turned out to be a dining hall, and not their rooms. The super-human decided that there was nothing wrong with this outcome either, however, as he could certainly use a meal or six. Lakon was very deliberately the last one into the room, however, and he darted swiftly after the chaplain as the power-armoured officer slipped out of the room like he was a ghost. Calculating the echo of the hallway, he spoke loud enough to be heard, but only just.

"Apologies, for my earlier disrespect, Chaplain. I strive to balance my humours." he offered in the same curt, heavily enunciated tone. He expected no response, however, seeing as how he was talking to the man's back, and was back in the refectory just as quickly as he'd departed. "Torik." he spoke the man's name like a demand, "I'll eat whatever's convenient. Bring as much as you can carry, I'm sure the others are hungry too." having survived on a very questionable diet for a length of time he wasn't entirely sure about, actual food sounded quite appealing to the warrior. And eating was a good way to keep everyone quiet, which meant that Haakon would have less time to ask inappropriate questions.