Imperium Ascendant

Book II: The Great Crusade

Chapter Twenty-Five: Rust and Ruin

Excerpts from "A Storm of Fire and Iron: recorded accounts of the X Legion." by Remembrancer Jinjoon Mhuirich

Article Four

Dated: 893.M30

To be raised into the ranks of Imperial Remembrancers during the Great Crusade was considered the greatest honor an artist or historian could achieve. It required impeccable credentials, talent to stand out, and will to travel into warzones as nothing but observers. Those selected to join this prestigious order were some of the best and brightest creative minds mankind had to offer. Having passed rigorous tests and fought tooth and nail to achieve this position. I relate this as not some self-aggrandizement or advertisement for my order but as a statement of facts. As well as context for my initial reaction to my assignment to the X Legion.

For nearly five years I had worked to gain the rank of Legion Assigned Remembrancer. Honing my art of Wordsmithing and learning all I could about the Legio Astartes and wider Imperial military. This effort paid off when I finally received my commission as Documentarist and secondary Wordsmith aboard a Legion Crusader Fleet. A moment of triumph and joy that was cut short when I learned the Legion I had been assigned to. The X Legion newly named the Stormbringers. At that moment I briefly considered scrapping the whole idea and finding other work. I truly considered throwing all of my effort and a bright future away. In order to spare me serving alongside the Stormbringers. In those moments I thought that maybe the Imperium might have a use for a talented young woman like myself outside of serving with the X Legion.

Like most other imperial citizens I had heard of the taciturn, brutal, and disturbingly pragmatic sons of Culain MakTursan. A legion that often seemed to have more in common with Martian automata than their cousins. Who worryingly in the nearly eighty years of the Great Crusade at that point. No remembrancer had lasted more than three years among the Stormbringers. Either injured, killed, or willingly demoted to a lesser position. I am sure readers can understand my initial trepidation to this assignment. Nevertheless, the entire spirit of the Great Crusade was of optimism, bravery, and challenging the unknown. To simply give up or shy away from this challenge went against the zeitgeist and was unacceptable. Both to myself and the hopeful billions of mankind's newborn age of expansion.

Despite my worries and those of my family on learning of my assignment. I accepted and prepared to join the Stormbringers on the frontlines of the Great Crusade. Leaving the Sol system and my native Saturn Orbital onboard a Mechanicum supply ship. Surrounded by munitions, weapons, auxilia soldiers, adepts of both Mars and Terra, alongside anything else the Stormbringers needed to prosecute their war. My time aboard the gothic Martian ship was spent preparing for my assignment. Either pouring over dataslates packed with low-security military and cultural information about the X Legion. Or more worryingly, undergoing cybernetic and biological augmentations.

With my tacit consent I was modified to survive the warzones the Stormbringers call home. A trio of Martian Cybernetisists worked to rebuild my "weak flesh" as they so lovingly put it. Thankfully for me, all three were students of the Sacred form School. Who view crafting advanced augments that appear like natural tissue as a peak reflection of the Emperor's vision. I would have silicon, steel, and sculpted cells replace my flesh. Which at least would marginally look like the original. My first augment was a complete replacement of the internal ears. When I asked why the mechanical horror they presented to me needed to replace my delicate sensory organs. The lead Cybernetisists bluntly replied, "So you don't go deaf during your first battle."

That comforting thought filled my mind as the anesthetic stole me away into slumber. Upon waking I was shocked to discover minor sutures on the side of my head and a metallic hardness when I pressed the nearby skin were the only outward signs of the augmentation. Despite my initial worries I will admit having adjustable hearing thrice as powerful as the original with built-in vox-beads is quite useful. Every time I started to adapt to a new augment, it would be time for my next operation. By the time the Martians were finished my ears, eyes, vocal cords, throat, lungs, kidneys, and digestive system had been altered. Either fully replaced with mechanical or genecrafted similcuria. Or tweaked with minor filters or cell treatments. This entire process was to protect my body from the conditions of Stormbringer warfare.

Even with adapting to new and improved body parts, I poured over the information given to me. Working to understand the Legion I was to serve with. While also looking for any clues to increase my odds of survival. Even with the minimalist and redacted files I was given. It became quite clear the necessity of the augmentations I had been given. I'd even wondered if I should request additional implants from the Mechanicum trio. In a few weeks, I would be plunging feet first into hell.

The Stormbringers are the paramount experts in Armored Warfare within the Imperium. Boasting a truly massive fleet of Tanks, Armored Transports, and Ordinance vehicles. Alongside three entire Titan Legions permanently assigned to the X Legion. Wherever they fought, horrible destruction was inevitable. It was what the Emperor designed them for, and what they excelled at. Battlefields where raw destructive potential and overwhelming force were key. Primarch Culain MakTurson and the strategists of Imperial High Command aimed this legion at conflits where such conduct was acceptable. Rarely was the X Legion found doing anything resembling peaceful compliance or diplomatic endeavors. The closest I could find in the records were accounts of Iterators using the Stormbringers as a threat to cajole resistant worlds. It seemed the Stormbringers found themselves eternally at the forefront of Imperial conquest.

Which naturally led them to the Golgotha Wastes. The Wastes were a segmentum spanning death zone centered around the northern Galactic Core. Stretching into the Ultima Segmentum and the edges of Segmentum Solar. This vast patch of space swallowed Rogue Traders and Expedition Fleets whole. Spitting out a few distress calls and maddened survivors, all telling the same story. Of Orks, of lots and lots of Orks. The Great Crusade had faced the Greenskins before. Many great victories against Orkish fiefdoms or marauding hordes had been won. Yet something was different about the Wastes. Orkish raiding parties did not leave its jagged borders like with other Greenskin Empires. As I would later learn, every intelligence-gathering mission into the Wastes ended in failure. Nothing except scraps exited the hungering maw of Golgotha. Some great Beast dwelled within, swallowing all and growing in power. A threat that could not be ignored. On the command of the Emperor himself, the Stormbringers marched to war. Heading into the Wastes, seeking the enemy's head.

The Imperial offensive had started with the reclamation of Seraphina. A human world in the northern Segmentum Solar and the closest the Orks had gotten to Terra. From there the X Legion pushed into the galactic north-east. Briefly fighting alongside VI Legion elements near their newly claimed homeworld of Fenris. Before pushing into the Golgotha Wastes. Following the trails left by Tengri Khagan and the V Legion. The nomadic raiders of the V Legion marauded across the Wastes and diverted enemy resources away from the approaching Stormbringers who steadily pushed past the Orkish border worlds and into Krooked Klaw space. An Orkish sub-sector at the fringes of the Golgothan Wastes.

New weapons, reinforcements, and supplies were needed before pushing any deeper into Orkish territory. The supply ship I found myself upon carried some of those necessities of war and would arrive alongside its siblings and escorts to join Crusader Fleet X. After a few weeks of uneventful transit, including my first gut-wrenching experiences with Warp travel, the resupply ships, and Crusader Fleet rendezvoused in a recently conquered Star System at the edge of the Krooked Sub-Sector. A temporary name for the Ork infested stars which would be replaced by a noble human title once the Greenskin threat was no more.

As a Remembrancer, I had the privilege of watching our arrival from an observation deck. How the great supply hauler I had traveled on glided through the void towards a distant constellation of light. It was hard to imagine we were moving at speeds measured in Terran Orbits as the ship cut through the dimly lit Void. I watched, transfixed as the distant scattering of light ahead of us grew and diversified. Void Ships of every possible breed dotted space. Thousands of them, ranging from mighty warships to schools of agile escorts. Growing up on a Saturn orbital station, the sight of void ships had been part of daily life. I'd traveled past zero-g forge yards and taken space-skimmers between habitats. The wonders of the void bound leviathans we call starships had grown dull. That was until I saw the full breathtaking size and complexity of an Imperial Crusader Fleet.

The Void was filled with thousands of ships, the smallest kilometers in length. The supply hauler I had called home over the past few weeks seemed a minor specimen in this collection of vessels. They varied in more than just size. The myriad branches of the Imperium were represented. Even in the dim light of a distant sun and the countless lumens dotting the armada, the rust-red of Mars shown proudly on Forge-Ships and Explorator Arks. Troop Transports and Auxilia Warships hung like ornate blades in the Void. Often marked with heraldry and insignia of the Cohorts, Regiments and Battlegroups the ships served with. Yet they all seemed small insignificant things against the Stormbringer Ships.

Stark behemoths, covered in weapons and thick armor plates. Adorned with the Anvil and Lighting sigil of the Legion. Each, a stoic monument to Imperial might and fortitude. My eyes swung between ships. Drinking in as much detail as I could and documenting it with my cybernetics. I recognized some ships, either from Imperial holovids or the dataslates given to prepare me for this data. As we flew deeper into the anchored fleet, a shiver went down my spine. A subconscious response to the newest object in my vision. In this fleet of warriors, servants, craftsmen and knights. I'd failed to notice the King. Perhaps its sheer size had convinced me it was some oddly shaped moon or asteroid. Or my brain limited what I took in to spare my nerves. Now gazing upon the Gloriana Class Flagship of the Stormbringers. The full impact of where I was, and what I was here to do hit me.

Larger than the Orbital Stations that I had been reared upon. Dwarfing even the Star-Forts of the Sol System was the Thunderhead, chariot and throne of Culain MakTurson. It was the head of this mighty fleet and home of the Stormbringer Legion. Where I am assigned to serve the Imperium till death, disability, disgrace or development. The Thunderhead hung in orbit around a misshapen moon. Or at least what I thought was a moon. To my great surprise, the gun batteries of the Legion Flagship fired upon the moon, blasting great plumes of rock and dust into the void with each volley. In the light of a dozen Lance batteries, the crooked moon's surface became visible. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of a garish green symbol the size of a macro-habitat. An ugly rictus crudely mimicking an Ork's face, strapped to the moon's front. Not a Moon, an Orkish Hulk-Ship. A mixture of cosmic and spacefaring debris molded into a barbaric warship.

Looking closer I noticed the Hulks thrusters were smoking heaps of slag and its weapons offline. It was dead in the void. A beached whale, steadily being filleted by Thunderhead's weapons. The bombardment was slow and deliberate. In a flash of insight the reason became apparent. The last standing Orkish capital ship had been neutered and procured as a testing ground. Each round of munitions slamming into the Greenskin vessel was different. Variations and patterns tested on a live target. I didn't even dare ask if the Hulk was still inhabited. Some deep part of me knew it was. Greenskins stuck aboard a quickly dying ship. A miserable way to die, under the dissection of the Stormbringers. My mind quickly turned to the memories of grisly pict captures. Of what the aftermath of Ork attacks looks like. This quickly drove any traces of pity for the Xenos from my mind. The X Legion are a brutal bunch, and the Orks deserve whatever the Stormbringers can unleash.

A chime from my voxbead pulled me from observation. The supply hauler would soon be docking with Thunderhead. To unload priority supplies and personal, which included me. I left the Observation deck just as another volley of munitions lit up the void and cracked open the Hulk. My luggage, gear, and assorted items were all packed but I double-checked before heading towards the main gantry. I arrived with a hundred other adepts of different positions at the gantry. Scribes-Maesters, Iterators, Tech-Priests, and even a few other Remembrancers by the look of them gathered. Awaiting our vessel to dock and us to be transferred along with other precious cargo.

A deep mechanical groan followed by an electric whine filled the airlock atrium as the ships docked. The hiss of pressurized gas and the clank of ratcheting machines filled the chamber as the gantry extended and formed a bridge between ships. I watched a Tech-Priest scurry up to the bulkhead separating us from the Thunderhead. Prod, poke, and generally menacing the thing with his Mechandendrites. Seemingly satisfied with his finding the Martian let out a series of twittering beeps and static. As he withdrew the landcar sized Bulkhead started to open. Its metal form slid into the floor, revealing a pentarchy of silhouettes. One belonged to a Mechanicum official of some standing. The sheer bulk of augments told as much. The second was that of a crisp looking Officer in the uniform of the Imperial Armada. Between the Martian and Naval Officer was a tired-looking Adept of the Administratum. Carrying a high-capacity datal-slate in her gnarled hands. The trio of Imperial officials barely caught my attention. The twin giants flanking them were my main focus.

Two Astartes of the Stormbringer Legion stood before me. Stone still, with the hum of their power-armor the only evidence they were not statues. I marveled at the size and raw power of the Space Marines. I'd seen them in person before of course. But those had been the stalwart sons of Rogal Maur. Who greatly contrasted with the Astartes before me. Their armor was battle-worn and scarred. Covered in burn, blast and bullet marks. The layers of material scarring were so thick in places the original paint was barely visible. Still, I recognized the colors and heraldry. The helmet and torso were a sick green color. The hue of a city-breaking storm or the fallout of Atomic detonations. Three of the four limbs were silver, with its luster stolen by the fires of war. The last limb was martian red. Opposite arms for the two guards assigned to greet us. Discovering the meaning of the curious limb markings would be on my priorities in documenting this Legion.

My assessment of the Transhuman soldiers was interrupted by the Administratum Adept. She droned on in the monotone, efficient, and mind-numbing way of her order. I half-listened to what she said and tasked my augments with recording her lecture. Just in case I missed anything valuable. As I collected the minutiae of my new assignment and living situation I watched the Astartes on the right. I crept through the crowd, moving towards the Astartes. I wanted a closer look at him and his armor. In retrospect, it might have been a foolish idea, but the excitement of new stories to document prevailed over my better judgment.

It took some effort, but I maneuvered myself to within three meters of the Astartes. The crowd seemed to instinctively shy away from the Transhuman and I had no desire to leave the throng of bodies and the protection it provided. Despite its utter stillness, the Astartes unnerved all those who got too close to it. Was this the "Transhuman dread" I had read about? That was only supposed to occur in combat or other active situations. Not with silent Astartes on guard duty. Staring up at the armored giant, something clicked. I'd felt this fear once before. When I had watched an Imperial heavy-tank go through its diagnostics aboard the supply ship. A tech-priest I had befriended convinced me to come to watch his colleagues awaken a Baneblade. Watching that weapon of war come to life and roar with an engine like some hellbeast. With its eleven turrets rapidly scanning the cargo-hold looking for any excuse to kill. Being in the presence of such a tool of devastation. Knowing the sheer destruction it could unleash with ease disturbed me. A gut-wrenching primal fear. Brought forth again by the Angel of Death in front of me.

Ignoring the fear that gnawed away at my stomach I raked my enhanced eyes over the Astartes, noticing a peculiarity about the ceramite plates. The battle scars seemed to overlap and were even faded in places. While many of the lighter ones were real marks of war. Others were painted on the armor. A tapestry of damage both real and false. Questions bubbled in my mind and I prepared to take a subtle pict. A plan that quickly changed when I blinked. One moment the Astartes was a few meters away, uncaring to the crowd around him. The next, the armored giant was centimeters away from me. In space of my eyes flicking shut, the Astartes had moved nearly on top of me. In shock I fell backward. Mouth agape like a dying fish and my eyes wide in sheer panic. The Astartes looked down at me. His armor purring as he adjusted to match my stare. The crimson optic-glass of his helm bore into my soul. After a few heartbeats a growling voice came from the Astartes.

"Civilian, you have been watching me since our arrival. Explain yourself?"

Pulling myself together I pulled in a deep shuddering breath and responded with as much clarity and authority as I could muster. "I am Jinjoon Mhuirich, newly commissioned Remembrancer of Crusader Fleet X. I was doing my duty of observing, documenting, and understanding the Great Crusade."

The Astartes assessed me for a moment before responding: "That is a reasonable explanation of your actions. Carry on, and get your identification quickly."

Turning to return to his post the Astartes seemed finished with me. For some unknown reason, the documentarian instinct that led me to this post kicked in at that moment. "Ser Astartes, I beg your pardon but I must inquire. What is the meaning of the painted war-marks on your armor?"

Realizing this may have not been the best idea. I stepped back as the Astartes looked at me. Even through the emotionless helm I could feel the appraising and calculating stare of the Angel of Death. For whatever reason, the Space Marine decided to answer me.

"A Stormbringer wears the marks of every battle he has fought. If our armor is compromised. We transfer the scars to its replacements. To keep them as reminders of our successes and failures."

With that succinct answer, the Astartes returned to his post and became a statue again. It was at this point I noticed the entirety of the airlocks inhabitants were staring at me. Primarch Alexio Gravia is famously quoted as saying "Fortune Favors the Bold" If his words are accurate, then my actions at docking must have secured my future.

After a few moments, the orientation continued and eventually finished up. The Adept, Officer, and Tech-Priest divided us up by occupations and positions. I found myself grouped with five other Remembrancers. We quickly got to work swapping credentials, discussing our assignments and generally engaging in the banter of colleagues. It soon became apparent none of us were assigned to the same company, let alone Chapter. Or as the Stormbringers called them "Battle-band" and "Clan." I never know why warriors and the like insist on needlessly complicated jargon like that. The reason for this dispersal was the sparsity of Remembrancers among the X Legion. We were being spread as wide as possible. To ensure every Chapter had at least one. A far cry from the average numbers, let alone Legions like the Phoenix Blades or Dawn Angels.

With this worrying news, I bid farewell to my new compatriots. We made plans to meet up at one of the major mess halls in a week to swap notes. Till then we would face whatever challenges the Galaxy had in store. Passing through the Airlock and into the Thunderhead. I was greeted with the heavy smell of ozone and machinery. Walking through the halls of the Gloriana Class ship was humbling. Compared to the supply ship I had traveled on and my own orbital home-station it seemed incredibly oversized. Void construction usually works to maximize space usage and be as efficient as possible. That did not seem the case aboard a Primarch's flagship. The vaulted ceiling of the hallway reached up to absurd heights with the walls far apart, forming a nearly box-shaped tunnel of massive proportions. At that moment I wondered if a Baneblade or similar war machine could pass through these halls unaided before quickly realizing that was probably the exact reason why the corridor was so large.

Soon a slight hum filled the air and a swarm of Servo-Skulls descended from the rafters. Looking up I realized a steady stream of Servo-Skulls and other simple machines filled the heights of the hallway. An aerial highway for the cybernetic servants of the Imperium to quickly navigate the Ship. Only some of them were breaking from the traffic to greet us. The skulls zipped overhead and identified their targets. Coming to hover at head height of the Adept they were assigned to. Mine arrived soon as well. An intricate fusion of bone and steel. It seemed equipped as a recording or messenger tool. Dangling from where a lower jaw would be was a medallion, hooked on some internal mechanism. I recognized the sigil of my order on the medallion and grabbed it. The palm-sized badge of office detached into my hand. Its surface was dominated by the Remembrancer symbol, with identification marks both in Gothic and Binary tracing its edges. Quickly fastening this new token to my clothes I looked up at the Servo-Skull.

The Skull buzzed a prerecorded message into my vox implant. It was for my personal use and would now lead me to my quarters. My new cybernetic companion set off and I followed behind it. I tried to absorb as much as I could of the environment around me. The Thunderhead's design mixed Imperial standard architecture with Old Albia industrialism and North Atlan tribal markings. Keeping up with my Servo-Skull however, turned out to be slightly difficult. I suspect the damn thing was calibrated for an Astartes stride and I was forced to slightly jog to keep up with it. It dragged me through countless bulkheads, mag-lifts, and at least two hangar bays. Eventually, it stopped in front of an unremarkable bulkhead. Again a synthetic voice buzzed in my ear "Arrived at Destination. High-Value Staff Quarters of Clan MacSmyth."

With that the bulkhead slid open and I was greeted by a sour looking menial. The menial informed me he was Nardal-5, Keeper of the Quarters and he would show me to my new living space. Apparently I was the only new arrival for Clan MacSmyth and the Keeper had more important duties to attend to so my introduction and tour was brief. Judging by the keeper's name he was a Selenar. Many of the Loyalists had left the cursed rock of Luna in the aftermath of the insurrection. Apparently screening the tide of disillusioned and disgusted Lunarians had been one of the first tasks of the Silver Order. I kept these thoughts to myself as Nardal-5 showed me the cabin-block I would call home. My personal quarters were one of twenty that shared amenities and made up the block. Before leaving me in my cabin, Nardal-5 informed me that Chieftain Smyth, Chapter Master of MacSmyth was expecting me at his office in three hours.

Nardal-5 left then without a second glance and I went into my cabin, sincerely hoping my Servo-Skull would guide me to the Chieftain's office. Till then I busied myself washing the exhaustion of travelling off myself and accessing my room. Decent cot, good desk space, larger than I expected, immaculately clean with good storage. It was however painfully spartan and seemed designed to be acceptable if utilitarian. My equipment and luggage would arrive soon and till then I dressed in the maroon jumpsuit provided. Apparently the Stormbringers' color-coded the work clothing of their mortal staff. Maroon, the color of old book covers, was chosen for Remembrancers. A dataslate keyed to my credentials let me use the time wisely as I waited for my meeting. When only half an hour remained until my appointment with the Chieftain I got moving.

The dataslate and a series of vocal commands got the Servo-Skull to lead me to my destination. This trip was much less than the epic march from the docking point. Only a few turns and a maglift. A lift that seemed to run through the heart of Clan MacSmyths section of the Ship. I'd read that segments of Thunderhead were divided up into Chapter Houses. With the quarters, equipment and staff of a Chapter all operating from separate macrocompartments. On each stop of the maglift I was greeted by the sights of Astartes, servitors and servants busy with countless tasks. I even shared the lift with an Astartes for a few minutes. Getting used to them would be a difficult but important skill. Finally, I exited the lift and made my way to the Chapter/Clan command center. With the Chieftain's office deep within it.

Greeted by a heavily augmented mortal aide of some fashion, I was whisked to the office with barely a word given my direction. Upon entering the Chieftain's place of duty. I was struck by the proportions of everything around me. While most places in the Thunderhead were oversized, they still were usable by unaugmented humans. The office doors alone would have taken great effort for me to pull ajar. Inside was a curious mix of utilitarian equipment and primitive-looking trophies. An oversized desk covered in cogitator readouts, Adeptus reports, and tactical briefings took up much of the room. With one wall covered in spoils of war ranging from truly massive Xeno skulls to a carefully arranged assortment of expended munitions. Set on display was also a nearly complete set of Astartes Power Armor. Every piece was in awful condition, ripped apart by battle and crudely rebuilt into a statue of broken ceramite. Judging by what the Astartes who I conversed with back on the gantry said. The tattered suit of armor was made up of pieces destroyed during the Chieftain's various battles.

In retrospect, my curious examination of the room was not the most polite thing, and probably a primitive defense mechanism against addressing the powerful presence behind the desk. I'd never seen an Astartes out of armor and somehow assumed it formed the majority of their bulk. Seeing the Chieftain clad in a stark uniform, deep in the minutia of military organization opened my eyes to the truth. He was massive, a wall of muscle shaped in an exaggeration of the human form. Barely acknowledging my presence, the Chieftan gestured to one of the mortal sized chairs in the room. I sat there for a solid minute, across the great metal desk, waiting for the Chapter Master to finish reading whatever engrossed him. He finally did and put his attention on me which was enough to make me wish he would go back to his files. The full attention of an Astartes for an unprepared and uninitiated mortal can be incredibly stressful. The stare of an officer who commanded over a thousand of those gigantic killing machines was even more fearsome than that. As the piercing steel grey eyes bored into me I fully understood the apocryphal accounts of non-compliant humans dropping dead from heart attacks when confronted by attacking Astartes.

Addressing me in a deep rumbling voice he spoke: "I am Chief Shadrak Smyth of Clan MacSmyth. Warrior of the Emperor and son of Stormking Culian. You are Jinjoon Mhuirich, Remembrancer 2nd Class. Assigned to the Stormbringer Legion, by order of the Primarch and Adeptus Terra.Let me make a few things clear, however. The presence of the Remembrancer order within this Crusader Fleet has been strenuously debated. My Genefather and most of my Brothers view your presence as a distraction and possible liability. It was only by the request of the Emperor himself and Lord Primarch Iskandar that your presence is permitted. Many in this Legion have derided the idea of artists accompanying us into battle and consider it merely our Primarch accommodating his family. But I am not of that mind. I believe the presence of the Remembrancer Order is valuable to this Legion and the Imperium in general. You ensure the presence of our species more gentle aspects are present even in are battles across the stars. My brothers and I are tools of war, who often forget there is more to us than destruction. We are the sword and shield of humanity and we must not forget what we fight for and why we fight for it. I hope your presence and the presence of those like you might help awaken my Legion, to better us in ways the anvil of war cannot."

After processing his words I summoned up the courage to speak. "I understand, if this is the case then what would you have me do? The Stormbringers are by a majority against my Order. Can anything be done to change that, or am I on a fool's errand? Why are the X Legion so opposed my presence and Remebrancers in general?"

Chief Shadrak seemed to ponder the questions for a moment before responding: "One factor is the length of service. Your predecessors have not lasted long for a number of reasons, leaving little opportunity for my brothers to reach any level of understanding of your kind. Simultaneously, the contempt felt by much of the Legion's upper echelons bleeds through the ranks. If the Warlairds and Chieftains dismiss the Remembrancers, why should the rank and file not?"

Standing up, to his full towering height, Shadrak Smyth left his desk and opened a biometric lock in the wall behind him, pulling an ornate looking necklace out of the compartment and handing it to me. On closer inspection, I noticed incredibly intricate circuitry and mechanical precision covering the pendant. The center of the necklace held an empty slot, perfectly suited for the identification badge given to me earlier. Without really thinking I placed the badge into the slot and it clicked in. The now complete pendant hummed for a second and let out a small shower of sparks. The symbol of my order and my identification details were joined by a number of new sigils. Some I recognized as marks of the Stormbringers, others I did not.

Shadrak pointed at the medallion and spoke: "That is my answer to both of the problems facing you Remembrancer. It's a powerful miniaturized conversion field. It is not powerful enough for any real battlefield use but plenty to protect you from stray rounds or shockwaves. Additionally, those markings identify it as one of my creations and demonstrates you are an entrusted agent of mine. My name carries a decent amount of authority across the Legion, and obviously much within my Clan. From now on you are my Remembrancer, and will be treated with the respect you deserve with that title."

Slightly stunned, I cocked my head and decided to press my luck with my questions. "Why in Terra's name are you entrusting this to me? You are asking me to help you change a Legion's culture and giving me a skeleton key to observe the inner workings of one of the Imperium's most important institutions. I lack any achievements to warrant this attention and I'm inexperienced."

It was then I experienced a truly new sight, one I think is rarely seen outside the ranks of the Legio Astartes. Chieftain Shadrak Smyth laughed. A small chuckle that sounded like falling stones, but a laugh nonetheless.

Sitting back at his desk the Chapter Master thought for a few seconds then spoke. "It is precisely that you are a fresh-faced youth with nothing exceptional to your name that I am selecting you. If we are successful it will be good for your carrier. If my Brothers do not budge after your best efforts then I can easily have you transferred to another Legion. No strike against your record, you survived the Stormbringers and earned your way out. Hypothetically if you fail catastrophically and damage the already low standing of your Order in this Legion. It can be excused by your inexperience and nothing of value would be lost. Or if by some damned reason you try to abuse this trust given to you. Then tossing you out of an airlock would not cause me any major issues."

The sobering knowledge that my new superior would drown me in the Void without a second thought or throw me to the lupines if need be counterbalanced the incredible opportunity before me. If I was successful or at least not a failure this could be the launching point of my career. The ambition to succeed where others have failed was a crucial idea within the Great Crusade. Working together as a species to conquer the stars and build a galaxy worthy of mankind. To follow the example the Emperor and his guardians set for us. I've come this far, I might as well take the plunge and see what comes of it.

My train of thought led me to another question for my new patron as I agreed to his offer. "Chieftain Shadrak Smyth, I will do my best to fulfill this ambition, but I must ask. Why do you wish this change in your Legion? What makes you different from your Brothers and Genefather?"

Shadrak simply pointed at his forehead and asked: "Do you know what this is"

He referred to a single golden stud implanted into his skull. I nodded and answered: "If my memory is correct that is a Centennial Service Stud. Marking an Astartes for serving a hundred years."

"Correct" Shadrak responded as he tapped the metal piece in the right side of his forehead.

"I am one of the oldest Astartes of the Stormbringers. I've watched this legion grow and change in my over a century of service. I was there in the early days when the Primarchs were younger than you are now. I stood alongside my Legion when the Unification War was in its final moments. Yet, in those early years, I did not fight alongside DuCaine or my Primarch. Instead, I was part of the mixed legion chapters that cleansed the Underhives of Old Earth. Sons of Kota Ravenwing and Ogadin Vulkan fought alongside me and my brothers. We cousins learned from each other and were better for it. The Stormbringer Legion is mighty and unbreakable, yet we become easily set in our ways. A flaw that can be fatal to eternal warriors such as us. I seek to ensure the Storm we raise is not ever wanting. For those reasons I intend to use your order to prod my Brothers in a new direction."

Retrospective Review: Article Four

Dated: 998.M30

In the coming years, I would learn to appreciate the value of those words. Like so many other citizens of the Imperium, I found the Legio Astartes an enigma. Even as one tasked to document their achievements, I had initially not known what to think of the Transhuman Soldiers. Were they mutated killing machines? Inhuman abominations of genecrafting meant to destroy anything the Emperor commanded them to? Or noble heroes who would fight and die to protect the species that created them? Angels of Death who struck down any foe and made the galaxy safe for humanity. In truth during those early years, I don't think even the Astartes themselves knew. Crafted as the perfect warrior breed, faced a choice of which side they would embrace.

While my role in the story of the Stormbringers is ultimately a small one. I have had the privilege to watch them during those days of the Great Crusade where they struggled to discover what they would be. How the ideologies of killing machine and soldier warred within the legion. In my experience working for Chieftain and eventually Warlaird Shadrak, I think his efforts helped move his Legion and the Legio Astartes in a whole towards heroism. It might be presumptuous but I believe my own interactions with the Stormbringers helped the Legion find something worth fighting for. They became more than just a tool of destruction, serving mankind as they were meant to. Storms do more than destroy after all. They bring new life, burn away the corrupt, and stir up the stagnant.

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