Aodh was quiet for much of the trip to Jorval. Certainly, he addressed those who addressed him, keeping his tone reasonable and light, but he did not then go out of his way to seek those who he would likely not see again in future, or even his fellow Battle-Brothers who had been seconded for their vigil. In truth, his interactions were perfunctory - his mind caught somewhat on the events leading to his secondment, and whether or not this represented rightful honouring of his deeds, or subtle punishment for a breach of honour.

[hr]

[i]Weeks before...[/i]

'Congratulations, Brother-Sergeant Aodh.'

There was not much time left before the announced arrival of the Deathwatch's transport shuttle - it would present itself within the next few days, if the call for battle brothers to serve was correct, though even with every precaution taken, travel near the [i]Cicatrix Maledictum[/i] remained ever a challenge, inconsistent to a fault as far as timing was concerned. And yet, the tithe of Space Marines owed to the Deathwatch remained ever unfulfilled - every individual who was deemed fit to contribute was a necessity, and according to Brother-Captain Calum, Aodh himself fit the bill.

A normal human would likely have been left reeling by an announcement of this magnitude, presented by Captain, Chaplain, and Apothecary, all at such short notice. They'd need time, maybe more than they had left, to process the situation and respond properly. Aodh merely blinked, then responded 'I am honoured, Brother-Captain,' in a neutral, almost pleased tone. Indeed, to enter the Deathwatch [i]was[/i] a great honour, to both Marine and Chapter. 'I never believed I'd be offered the opportunity to fight such vaunted battles... though, you are certain I am worthy?' he asked to clarify. It was almost a redundant statement - he knew his own abilities, and he knew what he was capable of fending off. Indeed, the Captain himself chuckled somewhat as he asked. Really, the only reason he asked was Chulaine's earlier statement about the Tempest Blades eyeing him for, potentially, future recruitment, a thought he had privately been enjoying. Secondment to the Deathwatch would at best delay such progress, and at worst prevent it outright.

'Well, if we must be sure, Brother-Sergeant, let us reconfirm our beliefs.' He gestured for Chaplain Ruaraidh to speak, the old brother-priest stepping forward and solemnly stating 'I have known you since your time as a Neophyte, Brother-Sergeant Aodh. I have seen your very soul, and I know what prowess you have strived toward in spite of what you consider your weaknesses and limitations. The Imperialis you bear on your armour proves your heart is true to the Storm Wardens, and to the Emperor. If there is any who would thrive in the Deathwatch, it is you.' A very heartfelt statement, it seemed.

'I, in turn, have examined your body as thoroughly as possible,' the Apothecary stated. Brother Murchadh had never been one for excessive statements, and his appraisal was correspondingly brief: 'You are genetically pure, and physically as capable as possible for your age. You'll fit right in, Brother-Sergeant.' He concluded with a nod.

'Indeed so,' the Captain continued, smiling blandly. 'And of course, I cannot simply suggest you [i]aren't[/i] an incredible warrior, [i]and[/i] a great asset when it comes to slaying the xeno threat. Why, when I witnessed your rapid and masterful defeat of the Warboss Dreddnort, even in the face of your own demise, I couldn't help but think your skill would be wasted outside of the Deathwatch. And you have suggested that Brother Edan would be a worthy Sergeant in his own right, have you not?' The moment the Orkish Warboss was mentioned, Aodh felt his features fall just fractionally - a fact Ruaraidh and Murchadh failed to note, but which Chulaine certainly witnessed. He had suspected that might be the case, but...

Captain Chulaine leaned forward just so, smiled that bland smile, and uttered 'You will do brilliantly, I am quite certain.'

'...likewise, Brother-Captain,' Aodh responded, betraying no further emotion than what he'd already shown. It was an honour, after all.

[hr]

He'd thought back to that moment a lot since then, moreso after the Deathwatch came for him and his kin than before. The first oath had been as heartfelt as any - because of course it was, oaths were invaluable, and the pact between Adeptus and Ordo moreso than most - but beyond that, he had largely been left to his own devices. A lot of time was spent in training, and a lot more in focused prayer, meditation, and mixed in with these a sort of internal debate. It had taken him a while to come to any semblance of satisfaction about the matter in his mind, but debate was what Storm Wardens excelled at: he'd created figures in his mind to represent the various sides of the argument - heavily in favour of and opposed to Calum's actions, lightly in favour of and opposed to the same, and a neutral participant chipping in to ensure fair debate - and used them as devices to process his thoughts on the matter as best he could. He'd have much preferred to discuss with another Storm Warden on the ship, of course, but given its sensitivity, that seemed... unreasonable.

Ultimately, a couple of days before he made planetfall, the debate petered out to each arguer's own opinion, cycling back to each statement over and over with no further progress: those in favour proposed that he ought to take the task of the Long Vigil as a challenge, and as suitable penance in the extreme case; the neutral party maintained that even without the Tempest Blades' eye on him, he would earn great honour both personal and for the Chapter through his actions in the Deathwatch, provided he maintained the standards that were expected of him, perhaps even greater than kinship with the Blades could offer; and those against continued to hold that it was absurd for Chulaine to hold them back from the Tempest Blades like this - though the less extreme arguer made it clear, too, that if such an indirect, almost underhanded method was how the Captain chose to avenge his grudges, then really, [i]he[/i] was the one who showed a lack of honour, and not Aodh.

Aodh was very tempted to agree with that last argument, but couldn't bring himself to settle as such when he had technically interfered with the Captain's oath first. Instead, he forced himself to at least agree with the neutral participant: he simply needed to be aware of the oaths others in his Kill-team had made, and ensure his spur-of-the-moment vows of slaughter did not override any of those.

Nonetheless, whilst he forced himself to be ready for arrival well prior to reaching the Watch-Fortress, even the relative lack of resolution did not override Aodh's surprise with how utterly dead Jorval was. He'd heard, of course, about the Tyranid splinter fleet that had passed through the area, but he had expected their destination to be a planet or moon that [i]hadn't[/i] been devoured wholesale. An inability to support complex life was one thing; a total lack of atmosphere or indeed anything worth saving, especially when it had previously possessed value, was quite another. Not least the lack of an obvious Watch-Fortress, either on the planet's surface or orbiting the world. A small amount of questioning, however, revealed the truth: the planet had been hollowed out by the Tyranids before their destruction, making it more than suitable to become the Watch-Fortress wholesale. It was, he reckoned, an impressive means of protection, ensuring many kilometers of bedrock between a potential threat and even the most rudimentary protections on the fortress proper - not to mention the ease with which weapon systems could be hidden beneath its surface.

[hr]

As anyone who had ever worn power armour in a vacuum knew, their environmental seals ensured that one could wear them indefinitely in the most inhospitable environments, and mag-boots ensured the ability to remain attached to most surfaces. Aodh therefore couldn't claim that he was pleased to be approaching the apparent entrance to the Watch-Fortress in an environmental suit, wearing a rebreather, and tied to the planet's surface by gravitic emitters lest it fling him away. One of Watch-Fortress Jorval's many defensive measures, no doubt - assault would be nigh-impossible if one could not approach to begin with. Nonetheless, his armour and equipment was separated from him, borne by servitors and a cadre of tech-priests, and the idea left him rather discomforted even with understanding of what the Deathwatch's intent was. His blade, after all, was of great value to him; to not have it on his person could mean defeat clutched from the jaws of an otherwise simple victory, even in a battlefield as blasted as this. He doubted any of his fellows did not feel the same, even with the assurance from the Inquisitorial emissary escorting them to their destination- an older scion, maybe twenty decades or more in terms of age- that their equipment would eventually be returned to them "better than new".

The disguise of the lift, in hindsight, was not surprising. The fortress was hidden in the planet, so it was unlikely that the entrance would be simple to find. What did finally raise an eyebrow was the sheer scale of operations within the entranceway alone: dozens of Marines in black armour, hundreds of Mechanicus adepts, maybe over a thousand menials, a small battalion of weapon turrets no doubt operated by a great many machine spirits...

'Welcome to Watch-Fortress Jorval, Storm Wardens,' the emissary announced gravely as the platform neared the end of its descent. 'As of now until the end of your Watch, your former rank is irrelevant. You shall be instilled with the knowledge you are required to know, trained until the Watch sees fit to let you engage the enemy, and fight alongside your cousins as commanded.' It still grated somewhat to be reminded that his fellow Storm Wardens would not be a part of his own team, but the reasoning made sense - flexibility came with variety, of course.

'Your first sessions of hypno-therapy will begin tomorrow. Until then,' the emissary advised, 'you shall be shown to your chambers to await further instruction.' He couldn't help but ponder whether hand-to-hand training would help him much, given his preferred combat style, but better at least to be prepared for a brawl than to fall victim when caught off-guard. With but a final glance at his Brothers, Aodh followed the man requesting his attention away, and into the Watch-Fortress proper.