On the Shoulder of Martyrs (Black Templars 40K Quest)

+THOUGHT FOR THE DAY+
Violence is the Emperor's love.
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Musty tomes, worn dataslates, and heavy treatises cluttered the desk. A copy of the Codex Astartes dwarfed them all. A servo-slull hovered nearby, reading one text aloud in a mechanical voice, iterating the various formations to take and the reasons for taking them.

Few Templars held the Codex Astartes in high regard, but you admitted it was a wealth of knowledge. In the past months you had devoured countless books worth of information, in between 'sparring' sessions with Reynauld and your other training rituals.

You ran your fingers across the newborn scars on your torso. The progenoids had been implanted successfully, thank the Emperor, and the apothecaries discouraged you from physical training for a few days.

All the better to continue your studies. The library aboard Sigismund's Fury was far from the full Librarius other chapters boasted, but it was still a font of knowledge. It was maintained by the serfs, many of whom were avid readers in their downtime. Admittedly, there was not much in the ways of recreation on board a battle barge.

Rarely did Astartes deign to visit the serf library, preferring instead the Reclusiam if they wished to read about tales of valor or see the rolls of honor. When you first started visiting the library, you felt eyes stabbing at you from behind bookcases, wary and intrigued.

Now, you were a regular. No one sat in your seat, some even smiled when you greeted them, and everyone there knew the name Sigismund. One particular serf, Desiderata, was the young daughter of one of the command deck officers, and you considered her something of a friend.

"Here's the book you wanted," she said, placing a manuscript on top of a precarious pile.

You smiled. "Thank you, Des."

The serf pulled a chair and sat next to you, becoming the only other occupant of a twelve-seat table. "What are you reading?"

"The Codex Astartes," you said. "It's supposed to teach Astartes how to act, organize and fight."

"Does it have pictures?"

You couldn't suppress a laugh. "No, but it does have heraldry, squad markings, company insignias and so forth."

"Oh," was all she said. Her feet swung idly under the table. "Can I be an Astartes like you?"

You remained silent for a while, not knowing how to tell her that the gene-seed would be incompatible. "You're too pretty to be an ugly Astartes like me."

The girl laughed, ran off without warning at the call of some serf in the distance. You returned to your books, wondering why the others weren't like you. They didn't spend as much time on the theory of war, nor time among the serfs. You admit it was hard to suppress the feelings of superiority towards the mortals, but you reminded yourself constantly of your oath - that all you did, you did for them. For humanity.

There were downsides to this, however. As word spread among the serfs of a book-loving neophyte, so too did the rumors reach your Astartes brethren. You could tell other neophytes thought less of you, you heard the condescension in their voices. The older initiates thought of you as a curiosity at best, and those close to Reynauld soon began to share his enmity towards you. Only your closest brothers remained understanding.

You sighed, steeling yourself in the conviction that this was the best way. You couldn't rely on Reynauld, nor anyone else. Just the wise words of warlords and your own capabilities.
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"You're all in Bardolph's fighting company? So you've all found masters and been taken into crusader squads?" you asked as you ate the protein-paste.

"Yes, brother. A bit ironic, considering you were the first to get a master," said Emmerich. He played with his food; he loathed protein paste.

Bayard and Gottfried, meanwhile, loved it. They shoveled spoonfuls of the grey stuff down their mouths.

"Aye," Bayard said. "We're in Squad Theobald."

"Theobald?" you exclaimed. Heads turned from the other tables.

Gottfried nodded, chewing the paste. "What about you, Sig?"

You scowled and slumped your shoulders. "I haven't found anyone. Rather, Reynauld hasn't found anyone. After that fiasco where he embarrassed me in front of Theobald, I don't think anyone wants to take me."

"You two are birds of a feather then," Emmerich said, pointing to you and Nimrod.

Nimrod had finished his meal, and until now had sat silently. "No one wanted me either, but Brother Theobald was kind enough to take me in. He said he saw the usefulness in me."

"Do you all think you could put in a good word for me?" you asked. "I doubt anyone else will."

"Of course we will, brother." Bayard inconspicuously took some paste from Emmerich's tray. "But maybe you could try something else."

"Like what?"

"Well, if you can't find a crusader squad, perhaps you could find your place with the apothecaries, or the techmarines, or the chaplains."

You hadn't thought about that. "Would they take me?"

Bayard shrugged. "Who knows? It can't hurt to try."
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You contemplated your next move as you finished another chapter of the Codex. Would you continue fighting for your place in Theobald's crusader squad? Or did your fate lie elsewhere?

With conviction, you resolved to join:

[ ] Squad Theobald.

Nothing would stop you from fighting side by side with your brothers, if that meant doing all in your power to prove yourself to Sword Brother Theobald.

[ ] the Apothecarion.

Serving the apothecarion would be a great honor but a grueling experience, learning the mysteries of anatomancy, healing your brothers in the field. Perhaps one day even creating brother Astartes.

[ ] the Reclusiam.

The chaplains are one of the few things that evoke dread in an Astartes. You wondered if you had what it took to wear their skull-helms, to guide the spirits of your brothers and steer them towards victory.

[ ] the Forge.

Techmarines, trained in the ways of the Machine-Cult and ordained on Mars, maintain the relics of the chapter and forge the weapons that bring doom to Man's enemies. Would you be worthy of the Omnissiah's blessing?​