For cycles after the battle Raimer was alone in his cell, he prayed, contemplated, and prepared himself mentally for the tasks to come, his foremost though of how he would likely be required to work alongside psykers. In the darkness of himself he knew he had to steel himself for the tasks to come, the horrors he would fight, slay, and potentially kill him he was ready for though he must prepare to work alongside Astartes of other chapters his mind was more open than most of his brothers but among Black Templars that meant little for their hatred was renowned. He punished himself as he could for his thoughts but still it was insufficient, he lacked the tools he would normally have in his chapter to bring his blood running thick across his body to atone fr his thoughts. He was restricted as well with no way to exercise his body to the point of exhaustion and purge all thoughts but he did while he could. He prayed nearly constantly to the Emperor and to Sigismund, he would not shame his chapter in this task he had been given.

One cycle in the middle of his prayers to the Emperor at last his door opened, he did not turn though, continuing his prayer. He could sense the silent and immobile man behind him, he was power armored but that told him nothing. He continued on with his prayers for several hours before at last finishing and rising before turning about to see who had come to him. From his polished silver skull helm he knew immediately who the man was, a Chaplain is not easily forgotten and Archomedes manged to stand out more than most with his helmet polished to such a sharp gleam and his armor covered with the scrolls and other writings of his station. 

He walked in without a word and the celldoor closed behind him, only then alone confined in the cell and towering over him did the Chaplain speak, "You have been tested, brother. The Apothecary made sure your body was pure. The Watch Captains confirmed your spirit. I am here to weigh your very soul.”

For what felt like an eternity the chaplain questioned him on seemingly all things, there was no correct answer to his question and the eyes of the silver helm burrowed into his very soul peeling away the layers of his faith. Everything was questioned and nothing was true. The only thing which kept Raimer from truly breaking during that time was his core faith in himself, from there he built his faith in Helbrecht, from that he reforged his faith in the Emperor. All his fears were laid out, his fear that he was not as skilled as he believed, that he was weak, that he would fail himself, his chapter, and the Emperor. He knew of the rare brother that fell, he knew two who had, corrupted by a fallen Sister of Battle and bound to her will. To know such as possible seemed tantamount to heresy but he knew it to be true and he feared one day he would break fully to either extreme an Astartes walked. He knew of the psykers the Imperium employed and he knew of brothers who had slain psykers of chapters, or those who guided their ships, or once even an Inquisitor in a blind rage. He must control and contain his rage at the enemies of the Imperium while not becoming that which he hated. 

At last the chaplain seemed complete, Raimer could remember none of the words the chaplain spoke, only their tearing effect upon his mind and soul as he body glistened lightly with a sweat from the stress of the Chaplain's words. The Chaplain was unconcerned though merely reaching into his satchel to produce a black and hand it to you, “It is almost time, brother. Don the black and meditate on our words. You will be summoned.”For cycles after the battle Raimer was alone in his cell, he prayed, contemplated, and prepared himself mentally for the tasks to come, his foremost though of how he would likely be required to work alongside psykers. In the darkness of himself he knew he had to steel himself for the tasks to come, the horrors he would fight, slay, and potentially kill him he was ready for though he must prepare to work alongside Astartes of other chapters his mind was more open than most of his brothers but among Black Templars that meant little for their hatred was renowned. He punished himself as he could for his thoughts but still it was insufficient, he lacked the tools he would normally have in his chapter to bring his blood running thick across his body to atone fr his thoughts. He was restricted as well with no way to exercise his body to the point of exhaustion and purge all thoughts but he did while he could. He prayed nearly constantly to the Emperor and to Sigismund, he would not shame his chapter in this task he had been given.

One cycle in the middle of his prayers to the Emperor at last his door opened, he did not turn though, continuing his prayer. He could sense the silent and immobile man behind him, he was power armored but that told him nothing. He continued on with his prayers for several hours before at last finishing and rising before turning about to see who had come to him. From his polished silver skull helm he knew immediately who the man was, a Chaplain is not easily forgotten and Archomedes manged to stand out more than most with his helmet polished to such a sharp gleam and his armor covered with the scrolls and other writings of his station. 

He walked in without a word and the celldoor closed behind him, only then alone confined in the cell and towering over him did the Chaplain speak, "You have been tested, brother. The Apothecary made sure your body was pure. The Watch Captains confirmed your spirit. I am here to weigh your very soul.”

For what felt like an eternity the chaplain questioned him on seemingly all things, there was no correct answer to his question and the eyes of the silver helm burrowed into his very soul peeling away the layers of his faith. Everything was questioned and nothing was true. The only thing which kept Raimer from truly breaking during that time was his core faith in himself, from there he built his faith in Helbrecht, from that he reforged his faith in the Emperor. All his fears were laid out, his fear that he was not as skilled as he believed, that he was weak, that he would fail himself, his chapter, and the Emperor. He knew of the rare brother that fell, he knew two who had, corrupted by a fallen Sister of Battle and bound to her will. To know such as possible seemed tantamount to heresy but he knew it to be true and he feared one day he would break fully to either extreme an Astartes walked. He knew of the psykers the Imperium employed and he knew of brothers who had slain psykers of chapters, or those who guided their ships, or once even an Inquisitor in a blind rage. He must control and contain his rage at the enemies of the Imperium while not becoming that which he hated. 

At last the chaplain seemed complete, Raimer could remember none of the words the chaplain spoke, only their tearing effect upon his mind and soul as he body glistened lightly with a sweat from the stress of the Chaplain's words. The Chaplain was unconcerned though merely reaching into his satchel to produce a black and hand it to you, “It is almost time, brother. Don the black and meditate on our words. You will be summoned.”

He did as he was told, if mere words of a Chaplain could do such a thing to him he would need to harden himself against such a thing ever again, he would deny all that went against his most fervent beliefs regarding the Emperor of Mankind and his will as sacrosanct, the power of Helbrecht indomitable, the will of Sigismund eternal, the honor of his chapter unbreakable, and his on faith and pride more powerful than a thousand blades. He recited his litanies by rote, he would make himself reforged stronger than the armor he once wore, never again would he falter, he would be resolute against any threat to him or his faith.

in time he was summoned once more, this time by a servitor. He donned the black robe given to him by the chaplain and followed the machine through the halls of the fortress to a grand hall in which stood many battle brothers of many chapters but almost all clearly Deathwatch. Striding forward he joined a line of six others, he did not look upon those he stood with instead preparing himself mentally for this final task before him. He was mildly surprised as he saw the titan of an astartes stride towards them. Clearly a Vlka Fenryka the man seemed large enough to wear the armor of a dreadnought itself rather than the tactical dreadnought armor he did now. Raimer was listened intensely as he spoke of the Second Oath.

I, Initiate Raimer of the Black Templars 3rd Crusade, Son of Dorne, Warrior of the Emperor swear on my honor, the honor of my chapter, and upon my life that I shall serve the Deathwatch with all my fury and all my strength until I am slain in combat against our enemies or am released from service with my duty fulfilled. I swear upon my faith in the Emperor of Mankind that I will fight beside all brothers of the Deathwatch regardless of their chapter, regardless of their, regardless of their present, and without prejudice against them willing to lay down my own life for any who fight beside me against the threats of The Deathwatch. i swear my soul to The Deathwatch here and now in the sight all in this chamber and by my honor will hold true against any and all The Secrets of The Deathwatch, The Laws of the Deathwatch, and The Doctrines of the Deathwatch and may I be struck down should I breach this oath my name cast down in shame."

The oath spoken Raimer stood and stared directly forward, as the hot iron was brought before him. He felt as it seared into his flesh and smelled his skin and the meat below it cooking as the metal was pressed in. He did not even react to it the pain of the body less meaningless to the pain of the mind or pain of the soul. After a few moments the hot iron was pulled away taking some of his skin with it though he still remained resolute and did not make even the slightest movement or sound to it.

All his new brothers saluted him, their right fist rising across their chest, he had just passed a grand threshold which would leave him forever changed. Those who now saluted him knew this as they had undergone the same experience and respected him more now for what he would do. Raimer could feel the change of the tone of how each astartes looked at him he was one of them now and would be one of them for some time to come unless he died first in the line of duty beside them. He strode forward ahead of those who had yet to receive their brand but behind the few who already had.

In the next room he found himself quickly enough before a pair of servitors and a table of weapons as well as his ancient armor. His helmet still bore the marks from his last mission though it was not the only piece yet marred. Each plate was scarred in a thousand places and even bore the marks of having been reforged. His was ancient Mk. IV armor, a rarity now in the astartes due to it's age but he doubted any warrior had such storied armor as his. It had been used by a warrior in Sigismund's squad during the Siege of Terra and in that grand siege three heroes had died in the armor rushing into the breaches of the defenses to halt the tied of the traitors. There had been no time to wash the blood from the armor to replace the damaged armor of others repaired swiftly between pushes or even during them to reequip those who's armor became damaged beyond use. The last to wear it in that battle had stood firm as the last man of his team against a tide of World Eater's when the enemy was at last pushed back somehow by some strength even in death the warrior stood resolute a banner of the Imperial Fists in one hand, a destroyed chain sword in the other with the banner plunged clean through the armor of an enemy sergeant. The signs of such courage and determination were to be never washed away and as a result the inside of the armor was coated black from the centuries of dried blood over ten-thousand years of warfare and a hundred dead wearers. Repaired and reforged a hundred times the armor was more powerful either from the indomitable will of the wearers or enhancements throughout the ages and despite it's age had the same armor of the most modern of armors.

The servitors switly set about the task of encasing him in his armor. He felt the armor secure to him piece by piece and the black carapace interface flawlessly with it. he had worn this armor for decades and it felt like a second skin to him marrying perfectly to his body. When the servitor grasped his helmet instead of donning it he took it from the servitors hand and maglocked it to his belt. He then set about inspecting his gear. It had been some years since he carried a bolter though took it all the same, his favored weapon was there as well, the chainsword, with that and his combat blade he would be ready for anything. He inspected both particularly carefully, his combat knife was matte black with a 25 centimeters long thick double sided blade. It was a simple weapon lacking some of the symbolism or the Ultramarine gladius or extra showiness many chapters seemed to favor with things such as heraldry or bright gleaming blades had but to Raimer this was a simple weapon with a simple purpose, to kill swiftly and efficiently at close range. At that task the blade excelled.

Fully equipped now he left behind the servitors continuing on to the hangar bay. He put on his helmet for now he needed to steel himself for the mission ahead and for now did not wish to be bothered by any others. Entering the Thunderhawk and sat down near the back by himself and began to recite a litany to the Emperor while he strapped himself in. He could still recall the Chaplain and how he had peeled forth every weakness he had and he refused to let the Chaplain or any others win like that again so he would need to cloak himself in his hate for all enemies of the Imperium.