[@POOHEAD189][@Ollumhammersong][@Andreyich]


Sibrand waited for as long as he could before he gestured the assembled group over to the holo-projector, his eyes leaving those of the recently returned Apothecary – clearly still acclimatising to life back among his own brethren – and looking back over a picture slowly assembling itself across the luminous green surface of the machine; it was a sprawling and scrawled image, a map dragged from the deep cogitators of the [i]Warspite[/i] and thrown into a static picture before his gaze.

“This is the Sub-Sector Besepholus,” announced the warrior-priest in his rumbling voice, his eyes now picking out each of those that stood gathered – the Apothecary, his squads Techmarine, and a spattering of Sword Brethren and Initiates, the highest and mightiest of the Company left - “or so our esteemed Navigator tells me.”

A flick of his gauntleted hand bought the image rising from the flat projector, the entire Sub-Sector rising from where it lay and beginning to rotate slowly, “one needs only look at the chronometer mark here,” pointed out the Chaplain, “to know that we are not only out of space...but also out of time. A considerable amount of time in fact.”

For a moment he simply let the image spin, taking a deep breath and halting its rotation after a few minutes, once more meeting the gaze of his battle-brothers.

“Our mission has not changed,” came the proclamation eventually,  “we shall continue to where we were to meet our crusading fleet and, should they not be there, [b]then[/b] we shall decide what to do...” again he paused and took another breath, his eyes flickering with barely contained fanaticism, “...however, for the moment I would ask of opinions from my closest advisors, you gathered here. We shall continue the God-Emperors work, that needs not be said, yet I would know the condition of our vessel and the readiness of my brothers.”

The map held itself there, mocking them in its own way, even as planets and known warp-routes began to appear.


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"Well Midshipman Lal, what do you make of this?" Growled a robotic voice from a throat that had once been flesh-and-blood, the words interspersed with blurts of static and binary gibberish, "it would appear that we have found ourselves a little fishy out here." The lips of the pale-skinned speaker peeled themselves back to reveal sharpened metal teeth within the otherwise motionless mouth.

Midshipman Lal, it appeared, was a broad-shouldered brute who - had he not been warped by the Immaterium to look much older - would have been a young officer-in-training, now dressed in the tattered rags of what had once been a pristine naval uniform. As it was, the once-blue garb was plastered with eight-pointed symbols and the skin beneath with self-scarring from head-to-toe.

"I would be wary, Captain," hissed the Midshipman through a deliberately forked tongue, "I served aboard the [i]Alekto[/i] - though it seems centuries ago now... - and I recognise those markings; that is an Astartes vessel, sir."

Captain Madhukar Estrella of the Lunar-class Cruiser [i]Emperor's Mistake[/i] reclined back in his chair and eyed the smaller vessel for a moment, taking in the details of the numerous crosses and crusading marks with genuine interest, his fingers tapping lightly on the arms of his command-throne.

"Tell me, what does this one call itself?"

"[i]Warspite[/i], lord," ventured an eyeless helmsman, his sight linked directly into the sensors and cogitators of the ship through wires, "a Black Templars cruiser."

Black Templars...yes, he had heard of those fanatics! They were one of the few Astartes Chapters that considered the Corpse-Emperor to be a deity. Well, best send them to meet him sooner than later.

"Bring us about for a broadside, prepare torpedoes, and charge up our lance batteries; I want that ship crippled in space."

"Captain!" Blurted Lal from beside the command dais, a hint of fear evident in his eyes, "surely we should annihilate them where they sit?"

"No, my dear Lal, we want them for sacrifice - an Astartes pleases the gods most of all."

Lal retained his reservations, feeling a chill up his spine that he had not felt for decades, not when facing the Imperial Navy, Orks or even Tyranid organisms.

[i]Nothing good can come from this.[/i]


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The first broadside of macrobattery fire should have been enough to take the Warspite out of action, and [b]would[/b] have been had it not already been moving away from the larger ship; picked up by the Vanguard Cruiser the moment it had come within range of the highly refined sensors of the ship, Sibrand had commanded it to be shown on the viewing screen.

"Serf?"

One of the mortals clad in a human-sized Templar tabard had twisted about, needing no further instruction from his transhuman overlord, "it is a Lunar-class ship, lord, original designation "[i]Irae Terra[/i]", since changed to "[i]Emperor's Folly[/i]. They appear to be alone, and the markings on the hull indicate allegiance to the Ruinous Powers." All this was spoken in a very matter-of-fact tone, for the bondsman who had spoken was a failed Neophyte himself and had seen his fair share of engagements - this was nothing new.

"Get us moving," commanded Sibrand, slipping his skull-faced helmet back over his head, "avoid contact with their weapons as far as possible...and bring us within boarding range."

Turning to his battle-brothers, they may have guessed that he was smiling as widely as the skull over his face, "to the launch bay, brothers, the Assault Ram awaits us there! We shall take the fight to the enemy!"


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Several Caestus Assault Rams jettisoned from the Vanguard Cruiser some minutes later, the armoured and shielded prows aimed directly where the Templars knew the weak spots of the enemy ship would be; the Genetorium, the bridge, and so forth. The latter would be where Sibrand and his fellows would be directing themselves, although they would need to fight their way there as the bridge itself was too heavily shielded even for the Assault Ram.

Weapons fire had now began to criss-cross the space between the two ships - the smaller moving the faster, but the larger with clearly more firepower, a duel of speed over strength.

Inside the Ram of Squad Sibrand the titular Chaplain began to intone a prayer, even as their metal box began to shake...

"[b]Suffer not the unclean to live[/b];

Lead us from death to victory,
from falsehood to truth.

Lead us from despair to hope,
from faith to slaughter.

Lead us to [b]His[/b] strength,
and an eternity of war.

Let His wrath fill our hearts.

Death, war and blood;
in vengeance serve the Emperor,
in the name of Dorn!"