Tales of the Black Saints Chapter

[Lord Commander Erus]

Finally, thanks to Radeon, I have a good word processor. This will allow me to churn out the much anticipated fluff. I wrote two pages before I had to stop myself and prevent burning out, or fixating on a tangent, etc.. The prologue is mostly finished. The story is the tale of a young Marine/Librarian named Icarus, who is Equerry to the Chief Librarian Remus, and who is told the tales of the chapter, as he witnesses it be torn apart from within. C&C welcome and encouraged, but phrase them kindly please.

Prologue: The Quickening

Incense clouded the air. Thick and cloying, it smelled slightly of frankincense and myrrh, though with an acrid tang the initiate could not identify. Hours he had been left in this chamber, told to wait the coming of his Lord, of whom he was to be equerry to. Sweat trickled down his back and beaded on his upper lip. The light, white linen robe he was was slick and clinging to his shoulders as he kept his eyes glued to the altar before him. Silently he murmured prayers to the Emperor.

As he looked at his hand, curled in a fist and still throbbing from the branding of the electoo of an Aquilla clutching lightning bolts, Icarus wondered who had summoned him. The fact that he had been allowed in the fore of the ship, in the quarters of the full marines themselves, meant he had been picked out amongst his other brothers in training. Picked as as possessing something others did not.

Jerking back from his revere, Icarus forced his eyes back to the aquilla standing on the simple chest high plinth in the middle of the room. Already he could feel the work of the Apothecaries upon his body. He was taller, slept only an hour each night, and could hear his own heart beating in his ribcage, which was slowly knitting and fusing together.

As he contemplated these gifts, and his eyes transversed the many synth skin grafts and scars of training, he wondered what could he have more? He was to be a Space Marine, a Divine Warrior of the Emperor. Immortal, Impervious to all but the worse harm, and a warrior who knew no fear or defeat, only victory in service to the Immortal God Emperors name.

The Masters at the Gladitorium had said he was to be trained by the Librarians. He knew of these men, fearsome psykers of power. Especially in his Chapter, how even that though felt odd – that he should belong to such a force, the Librarians were noted for a strength that approached dangerous. Many were the tales the teaching machines had indoctrinated him with of the frailty of the psyker, and the dangers of the daemon.

Perhaps he was to be one of them? They said his reactions to dangers were uncanny, and his fury un-canny for such a novice. His mind drifted back to tales of the noble Primarch Sanguinius, the Father of the Chapter, whose visage stared down on him from an arched stained glass window behind the altar. Would he follow in such mens footsteps? Could he even dare?

A hiss sounded from in the shadows of the vaulted room, and quickly Icarus lowered his eyes, his prayers halting. Heavy, deliberate steps sounded, each booming and echoing, and making Icarus tremble in fear despite the countless years of war and horrors he had already faced. His master had come.

A black ceramite gauntlet reached down, and Icarus felt his chin lifted, and quickly his eyes closed. He felt a slow, steady pressure build behind his eyes, like a sneeze that would not come, that built to a sensation of a nail driven through his nasal passages. Suddenly he felt blood trickle down his upper lip, tasting the coppery, metallic tang as his mouth ripped open in a silent scream. Visions of winged things, grotesque and twisted dance before him.

Some were pustules of flesh that oozed corruption and filth, veined bags of skin that pulsated and leaked puss like some mockery of life. Other were soft, sensuous, their voices like honeyed music, their eyes smokey lust personified. Other things shambled, leapt and cavorted. The were every color, and yet none. There limbs changed, re-arranged and were not there, and the mouths opened to reveal prismatic innards, their eyes gaping maws to forbidden knowledge that would drive a man mad.

Suddenly, from within, Icarus felt an obscene rage build. Fire coursed where blood once ran, and he was ten, nay twenty feet tall! Muscles of corded steel coiled and bunched, and he crushed worlds in his grips. His realm was eternal, and never ending. Charnel houses of battle moaned his name in praise, and he laughed in delight. Power so real he could feel it, the heady scent of slaughter permeating his senses as he literally laughed now, his eyes wide and black, staring at the ceiling as his head lolled.

Suddenly a fist lurched out, clad in obsidian plate. The blow sent him reeling, the power faded, and Icarus felt himself skid and slide across the floor, slamming into the altar and wincing as he felt several of what remained of his ribs shatter, and his elbow wrench at an angle he was sure it shouldn't have. Something still burned, though it was not his body. His mind felt as if it were a small sun, and everything seemed brighter, sharper, more detailed. There was something in him, a pulse he had not felt before, and it was quickening with each second. For the first time he dared to look up at the man sent to raise him to his right hand and teach him. And he let out a whimper. It was true.

'Stand up man.. You are of my planet. You are Sentarii, and for ten thousand years and more your people fought for the Emperor of Man. Have pride in that. Your sin is the rage boiling within you. But you are seduced along that path because you feel inadequate. All around you, you see great men doing great things, and you fear you can never be worthy. I am here to shepherd you young one. Your rage is a tool, to be used. But if you can not overcome it, it will be your damnation. Now come. Sit.'

With that, the figure walked to before the altar, thew pews in front of it gestured two with a flick of his massive fist. He could have been the twin of the Primarch himself. His hair, long and blonde, was loose and hung freely, unlike the traditional shaved head or top knot of his people. The face was high brow and sharp boned, the aqualine nose and patrician set to the face said to be a relic of the fact their society was the remnants of a once vast warrior Empire that dominated Terra long ago in the Ancient days before the Emperor had come.

What made Icarus whimper were the eyes. There were no pupils, merely whites. And about these eyes flickered blue witch flame, barely there to his view, but giving the face a ghostly pale light that only made the sharp fangs in his sudden smile make him look a monster of the courtesans theater.

Wiping his lip of blood, the sudden fear replaced by an overwhelming sense of shame and resignation, Icarus stood and bowed. His short black hair was not long enough for such a striking mane as the one before him, though he had preserved the ancient warrior traditions in that one strand was beaded at his temple and hung to his shoulder.

His family had kept this tradition through the ages, and only in death was it cut free from the warriors head, to be burned as his body was buried. Each bead in the braid symbolized something of note or fame, though only his family would know what. He bore five minuscule red beds, one black, and a green. He had bested five men above his station, slain a fell beast of the wild, and fled battle once.

Icarus genuflected, making the sign of the aquilla to the altar and idol as he lowered himself to sit in the pew. Already he could slowly feel the chemistry of his body reacting, the bones knitting themselves in an itchy process. The man turned, his hands on either side of the altar.

'I shall tell you of our Chapter now. Of the men who have come before you, and forged a bloody path of holy war across the Galaxy in His Name. I shall tell you of who you are, and who you are to become. You are a son of Sentarus, and you will become a Space Marine. A Son of Sanguinius. A Black Saints Marine. Our coming is swift and deadly, and our warcrys are never heard, for the enemy is dieing as we utter them. We fight for the Emperor. For His Will and Honor, Our Life and Breath.

'I shall tell you first, of our Fathers and the founding. How we came to be, and what we are. Who you are. For a Chapter is no stronger than the lowliest initiate, and no weaker than the strongest Veteran. This, young one, is the story of our beginning...'

[Steellegioncpt]

Oh geeze, jsut by glancing at it its exactly what I would expect from you!

that being... a mass of good well thought out work!

Ill read into it more deeply later sir

so far so good!

[Mart007]

Exellent, really gripping intro, I think this is gonna be exellent. You managed to transfer Icarus's emotions really well.

I look forward to the next installment

[Inquisitor Rosenadel]

Excellent start, Erus! I look forward to much more.

[Battle-Ranch]

very Gripping read. you got me hooked! next chapter please!

[Lord Commander Erus]

Originally Posted by Battle-Ranch

very Gripping read. you got me hooked! next chapter please!

It's in the works. Currently stuck as to how to intro this chapter I have written from the point the prologue ended at.

[Templar Mikeel]

It held my interesti to the last word. Gripping, as always. Looking forward to more!

[Lord Commander Erus]

Chapter 1: The Founding

In the beginning, we of the Black Saints were created for a unique purpose, the goal of a group of now heretical Inquisitors and more radical elements of the Mechanicum. We are of the cursed founding, my young acolyte.

Back in those dark days, mere mortals thought to play at being more than themselves and took it to their heads to alter the holy gene seed of the Astartes. Many failures resulted, those amongst them numbering the doomed Wolf Brothers, and Flesh Tearers.

We, however, were of perhaps a more safe and yet all together horrendously wrong experiment. The Arch-Magos Veneratus Ihyen was once in charge of the hidden and locked vaults containing our gene seed. None could withdrawal any without his approval, and he was known to have become senile in the end, and several things he created I will not mention... One of his only surviving experiments and the sole one to not have turned to Chaos, is our very Chapter.

It was Ihyen, and the Inquisitor Teldan who started the project that lead to us. In that age, rebellion and strife were as rampant as wild fire. The bulk of the Imperial forces were proving too cumbersome to wield, especially amongst the bureaucracy controlled forces like the Imperial Guard.

It was noted, to no surprise, that the mighty forces of the Astartes were best at controlling rebellion. And amongst the best of that best were chapters like the Raven Guard and Blood Angels – noble Astartes famed for their assault prowess, and in the case of the Sons of Sanguinius, brutal fighting techniques.

I tell you this for one reason... To know where we come from, and thereby our strength and flaws, it is essential to know why we were created. And we were created in part to fulfill the mad theories of a Adeptus Mechanicus magi, and in other parts to help stabilize the Imperium.

When Ihyen was approached by Teldan and given orders for the founding of a pure strain Blood Angels sucessor, all appeared fine, The Chapter would be to full fighting strength on schedule, and deployed to the Western fringe with all haste. The planet Sentarii, a world famed for it's proud and noble fighting history, and already a staunch contributor to the Imperium by way of master and artificer crafted weaponry and armor, would fit the bill both in location and compatibility to the geneseed. It was also hoped the stoic and calm nature of the worlds populous might help to off set the Flaw.

It might well have.. We Sentarii might have conquered the Curse of Sanguinius. It will never be known. For Ihyen was too far gone at that point. It was a more secretive practice of the Mechanicus that they were splicing geneseeds of multiple Chapters together to create new stock. This was done in an attempt to weed out imperfections. In some cases, like the Lamenters, it seems to have succeeded. In others, like us... It failed miserably, or worked in ways with unknown consequences.

Trial experiments on early Sentarii warriors proved a genetic incompatibility with a combination of the genetic material of Croax and Sanguinius. Something in the reultant mix, or perhaps some unknown factor from Corax's genetic make up, resulted in horrendously mutated monsters. Brutes half again as large as any other Marine, and with barely an Ogryn like awareness. Ihyen began to grow desperate, and taking the genetic scan of the last pool of recruits that he had been granted, he did something forbidden by Mars and the High Lords themselves.

Ihyen accessed the deepest vaults of the gene seed, wherein samples of the Traitor Legions geneseed, before corruption, was store in the days before and during the Heresy. The most stable of these were the Emperors Children, and the Night Lords.

When combined with elements of Fulgrims seed, the resultant projections showed an unstable combination, in that the metabolism of the marine, as well as the temperament, contained a propensity for fluctuation that would lead to the Astartes with that blend literally wasting away to nothing within decades of creation.

The final test was of primarily material taken from Sanguinius. But, he isolated several abnormal markers still believed to be psychic imprints on the Geneseed, and replaced them with elements of Night Lords stock... The result showed a stability rate, in computer testing, of 95.6%.. no mutation markers were tested, and indeed, reflex times were estimated to be a total of .5 times quicker. Ihyen had achieved success... Or, so his colleagues thought.

In truth, the night before the last Sentarii recruits were to begin implantation, Ihyen was reported voxing that he needed to see the Fabricator General himself immediately. Odd though the request was, given the prestigious achievements of Ihyens work on the Sentarii chapter, the Fabricator General consented. He arrived however, to find Ihyen slumped across his desk, dead of apparent cardiac arrest, his notes nowhere to be found in the room. And they weren't found until millenia later, when the Lord Adonis was to come to us.

What we know now of our own origins tells us this... We excel in assault.. Yet, as you have surely noticed, those who show a particular propensity for such combat are often paranoid. Unnecessarily violent. And genuinely blood thirsty. Though we have, for most extensive purposes, conquered the flaw, it's few remaining touches are crippling.

The trace amounts of Night Lords geneseed used in our development, whilst not enough to even show on most Mechanicus scans, was enough to interact with the flaw in unique ways. Our Susan-An Membrane has a slight deviation, in that it has conflicting interactions with the Catalepsean Node and Omophagea. Our Omophagea no longer functions in the sense of a normal Space Marines.

When a Sentarus warrior is implanted with the Geneseed of the Chapter, he begins to change mentally even whilst nothing else may happen. When he sleeps, he will dream. Remembering the past lives of those from whom the gene seed he was just implanted with came from. Often times it is just glimpses and gleanings. Remembering a particularly effective way of slaying an Ork Squiggoth.. Or a rather useful evasion maneuver whilst a jump pack is engaged.

Rarer still are those that can remember names, places, and day to day events of those who have come before them.. And there is the Lord Adonis and myself. We who remember back to the deck of Horus' battle barge, and the dieing visage of our Primarch. We who remember wearing the read armor of a Blood Angel..

Most who are like the Lord Adonis and I are driven insane, and join the ranks of the Mortis Angeli, the Death Angels. Most who are like us often suffer such a grievous wound they suffer delusions and slip into the Black Rage, their mind unable to deal with the memories.

This, coupled with the tendency to paranoia and use of fear tactics from the Night Lords has made us a Legion of split markings.. Those who become Assault Marines seem to all fall invraibly under Father Curzes shadow, and descend dangerously closer and closer to insanity, until the join the Angeli..

Though, there are the rare few in who the Shadow simply does not hold, and Father Sanguinius shines through. For those few, they are tasked often with leading their brothers. To lead men of this Chapter is to conquer fear itself.. To walk amongst the shadow, and yet burn with Light and Shepard the Lost.

Mortals think we Astartes have no fear. That is not true. We are simply trained, bred, and indoctrinated to ignore and overcome it with ease. “

Finally, Remus stopped talking, and stood. Whether through laxity, or some witchery of the Chief Librarians voice, Icarus had not noticed the servitors that had entered and were now exiting. Lain out on a silk cloth were jet black fatigues, and the black and white armor of a Scout Marine.

A bolt pistol, gleaming still with forge oil, was lain in a stiff, dull leather holster emblazoned with a matte steel aquilla. A curious scope on it, equipped with what Icarus realized as a psyoculoum and targeter wargear..

Sheathed in a bandoleer designed to hang across the chest of the scout armor was a short, yet deadly gladius like on his home world, the keen blade seeming a solid line, but Icarus knew there were tiny microscopic serrations.

Yet, painted on the left shoulder pad was a stylized rams head, with flames pouring from the eyes. He had been recruited to train under the Sinner... He was to go to the Librarium after all.. Thousands of things welled up in his mind, yet he merely stood and bowed, the implications of Remus' silence easy for him to know as he knelt and begin to strip the Karskin issue carapace armor off and set it to one side...

As he picked up the first piece of the freshly forged Scout armor, Icarus locked eyes once with his mentor, and something within him prompted a speech that seemed to stun the elder.

'For His will and honor..'

[iNsOmNiAc'S dReAm]

Dude that was awsome! I definitely will be following this +rep!

[word bearers 81007]

that was awesome hope to see more on the black saints and are little scout icarus

[Inquisitor Rosenadel]

Well done! That's quite a concoction of genes the Black Saints have. I also like the bit about remembering further and further back to when Sanguinius was killed.

[Mart007]

This is going to be a good novel! I cant wait for the next instalment. Thankyou and + rep

[Lord Commander Erus]

Originally Posted by Inquisitor Rosenadel

Well done! That's quite a concoction of genes the Black Saints have. I also like the bit about remembering further and further back to when Sanguinius was killed.

Yeah... The Cursed Founding fluff always hints at traitor gene seed being used. And splicing and mixing of genes. So I just took it the last step.

The remembering bit was something I though very plausible, yet gave the 'Saints a mutation/defect like all Cursed Foundings should have. Though they have another one you'll soon see.

[Ides]

Yes, though this memory thing does lead to amusing images of Space Marines remembering where their predecessors hid all that beer. Or exactly who placed a whoopee cushion on the chapter master's chair that one time.

[Lord Commander Erus]

Originally Posted by Ides

Yes, though this memory thing does lead to amusing images of Space Marines remembering where their predecessors hid all that beer. Or exactly who placed a whoopee cushion on the chapter master's chair that one time.

>.<

Leaver it to you Ides!