[color=darkorange]“You are sons of Nocturne! Warriors born of fire and rock, forged by Nocturne's volcanic wrath and Vul'kan's adamantine will. You must strike with the molten fury of the Firedrakes who dwell within mount deathfire, face your foes with courage in your hearts & the Emperor's name on your lips....”[/color]

In the assault bay of the vanguard cruiser 'Khalkeus', Chaplain Kar'dem intoned the familiar sermon through both his helmet's speakers. Many, if not all of the force's veteran brethren had already heard this pre-battle speech before or a variation of it, and so they merely half-listened while performing final checks on their wargear and armour seals.

But not all the brethren of this strike force were centuries old battle brothers, And the Chaplain's pre-war sermon was not meant for the ears of brothers who had heard it's like scores of times before. But for the new 'little brothers' amongst their ranks who would not have heard it's ilk nor ever been subject to the organized havoc of an astartes strike force preparing for drop assault. 

[color=darkorange]“Know these words, and know that this is what it means to be a Salamander! By your strength we will prevail, by your strength will the citizens of this world be made safe again.”[/color]

A squad of new recruits joined the strike force for this campaign. A squad of fresh faced warriors without a single honour-brand between them would now be tempered in the fires of battle for the first time. These un-blooded warriors knelt in a circle around the skull faced chaplain while the more veteran brothers waited patiently for the tech priests and lay-serfs to finish the rituals that would calm the drop pod's machine spirits. The stench of the oils and incense temporarily overpowered the stale odour of recycled oxygen while they performed their rites. 

Chaplain Kar'dem waved his crozius over the head of each kneeling neophyte in turn as if to invoke a blessing or appeal for the safety of each in the name of the chapter's ancestors and the Emperor's watchful gaze.

[color=darkorange]“Do not pity the creatures we are about to kill for they are nothing. Mere tumors that infect the Emperor's realm like a cancer. They are deserving of neither respect nor mercy. They terrorize the Emperor's subjects, they defile the soil of a world claimed in his name! The citizens of this planet live in anguish, Their sons and daughters have died by the thousand to hold back the green tide. Though they are but men their sacrifice is great and their courage commendable, but now they have called out for their Emperor to protect them as is their right!”[/color] The chaplain's voice deepened into a harsh intimidating growl as he spoke on mankind's enemy, like the sound of volcanic rocks grinding and colliding. [color=darkorange]“And in the name of Vul'kan we will answer!”[/color]

Chaplain Kar'dem lifted his skull-faced helm from his young charges towards the waiting drop pods. Techmarine Agasus who had been overseeing the rituals of preparation had now deemed the machine spirits sufficiently appeased & given his blessings for the armoured warriors to board. Scout sergeant T'phor was also waiting patiently, or impatiently (it was hard for even a chaplain to read him) for the sermon to finish and to take back control of his charges again. 

[color=darkorange]“The time has come to prove yourselves. Remember these words, remember your training and remember that you are scions of the XVIIIth primarch, the blood of the Emperor's own son beats through your veins. The honour of the chapter and the lives of millions depend on you. We will not fail because we cannot fail.”[/color] Kar'dem swept his crozius towards an empty drop pod that scout sergeant T'phor was climbing into.

[color=darkorange]“Now go, let yourselves be shaped by the anvil of war! And may the xenos break against our fury!”[/color]