- Location
- United States
[X] Climb up the spires.
On the Shoulder of Martyrs (Black Templars 40K Quest)
- Thread starter ManInACandyVan
- Start date
- Sci-Fi
- Location
- Asia
[X] Climb up the spires.
ChiefTurtle117
The Sigillite
- Location
- Holy Terra
[X] Climb up the spires.
- Location
- Romania
[X] Climb up the spires.
Alright, but once we are able to comm the fleet and get Theobald an apothecary or even a doctor can we go back for Reynauld? If he didn't die or get way, what awaits him is a fate worse than death.
I get that he's an asshole who wants us dead, but he is also our shitty mentor and more importantly our brother.
I don't want to abandon even a shitty brother, who we hate and who also hates us. Because brothers sometimes hate one another, but...I would like if Sigismund's philosophy went like something like this quote:
My brother and I against each other, my brother and I against our cousins, my brother, cousin and I, against the world.
And even if we manage to save him and he still hates us, I'd still choose the same.
Alright, but once we are able to comm the fleet and get Theobald an apothecary or even a doctor can we go back for Reynauld? If he didn't die or get way, what awaits him is a fate worse than death.
I get that he's an asshole who wants us dead, but he is also our shitty mentor and more importantly our brother.
I don't want to abandon even a shitty brother, who we hate and who also hates us. Because brothers sometimes hate one another, but...I would like if Sigismund's philosophy went like something like this quote:
My brother and I against each other, my brother and I against our cousins, my brother, cousin and I, against the world.
And even if we manage to save him and he still hates us, I'd still choose the same.
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Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Climb up the spires.
- Location
- Cagayan de Oro City, The Philippines
Voting will be up for another hour.
- Location
- Cagayan de Oro City, The Philippines
Voting's closed.
XIII: Spire Straits
- Location
- Cagayan de Oro City, The Philippines
+THOUGHT FOR THE DAY+
From the most grandiose of spires to the most meek of men, everything the Emperor protects has a purpose.
From the most grandiose of spires to the most meek of men, everything the Emperor protects has a purpose.
You hid, still as the stone roof you lay on, as yet another ragged mob passed the street below, idly making a note of their numbers while you deliberated further on your plan.
The crusader squad - what was left of it - was already mid-spire. Artisans and merchants had resided here before the Archenemy plunged its talons into the world, and now it was a riotous bedlam. It was hard to distinguish looters and scavengers from the true heretics, and for all your boltpistol cared they were one and the same.
Theobald and the other neophytes were hidden in a habitation block, the neophytes attending to the Sword Brother with what little medical supplies and training they had. You were on the roof, on the lookout for roving bands of ravagers, and you had been at your post for nearly ten hours.
You recall vividly the many times you were in the field, sent on countless of ranging missions, spending days on end in one spot, in one position, until even your superhuman body ached. This was child's play, but even still anxiety clawed at your thoughts - Theobald was dying.
The Sword Brother had entered sus-an, the suspended animation that preserved an Astartes long enough for the apothecaries to revive them. Theobald had not anticipated such dangerous resistance as you landed, and so an apothecary had not been attached. And with communications jammed, an apothecary could not be reached.
You watched with anger as a group of thugs assaulted a fleeing citizen, robbing him of his belongings before shooting him in the head. In your eyes, such unwarranted violence against a human being was tantamount to treason.
Emmerich's voice came through the squad vox. "Brother, we're ready. We've finally managed to stem the bleeding."
"What about supplies?" you asked quietly.
"We're low on ammunition," Bayard said. "And replacement chainsword teeth."
"What about your heavy bolter, Gottfried?"
"Won't shoot much longer," he mumbled.
You sighed. It was a perilous ascent towards the high spires, even without enemy forces in your path. The people of the spires relied on servitor-driven autocarriages and carefully maintained lifts to travel vertically, and without those you had to follow the steep, narrow roads that winded tortuously up the spires, the threat of falling ever present.
"Affirmative," you said. "Brothers, prepare to move out."
The crusader squad - what was left of it - was already mid-spire. Artisans and merchants had resided here before the Archenemy plunged its talons into the world, and now it was a riotous bedlam. It was hard to distinguish looters and scavengers from the true heretics, and for all your boltpistol cared they were one and the same.
Theobald and the other neophytes were hidden in a habitation block, the neophytes attending to the Sword Brother with what little medical supplies and training they had. You were on the roof, on the lookout for roving bands of ravagers, and you had been at your post for nearly ten hours.
You recall vividly the many times you were in the field, sent on countless of ranging missions, spending days on end in one spot, in one position, until even your superhuman body ached. This was child's play, but even still anxiety clawed at your thoughts - Theobald was dying.
The Sword Brother had entered sus-an, the suspended animation that preserved an Astartes long enough for the apothecaries to revive them. Theobald had not anticipated such dangerous resistance as you landed, and so an apothecary had not been attached. And with communications jammed, an apothecary could not be reached.
You watched with anger as a group of thugs assaulted a fleeing citizen, robbing him of his belongings before shooting him in the head. In your eyes, such unwarranted violence against a human being was tantamount to treason.
Emmerich's voice came through the squad vox. "Brother, we're ready. We've finally managed to stem the bleeding."
"What about supplies?" you asked quietly.
"We're low on ammunition," Bayard said. "And replacement chainsword teeth."
"What about your heavy bolter, Gottfried?"
"Won't shoot much longer," he mumbled.
You sighed. It was a perilous ascent towards the high spires, even without enemy forces in your path. The people of the spires relied on servitor-driven autocarriages and carefully maintained lifts to travel vertically, and without those you had to follow the steep, narrow roads that winded tortuously up the spires, the threat of falling ever present.
"Affirmative," you said. "Brothers, prepare to move out."
---
"They're bloody huge."
"You think they're mutants?"
You cringed at the thought of being a mutant, tensing at the insult. You had chanced on a band of stinking miscreants on your journey skyward, and they were as stupid as you expected them to be.
"No, no, they're Space Marines! Look at them!"
One of them looked at his comrades warily. "Like the ones that butchered the rest of the boys?"
"No," another said. "Those were in red armor."
"So? Maybe they're armor's supposed to be black. It was just red because..."
You stepped forward, tired of their babbling. Your two groups had reached an impasse; the road was so narrow your squad could only travel single-file, and now these idiots were barring your path.
"Step aside," you said coldly. "Now."
"To where? Stupid cunt," one said. "They are mutants. Space Marines can't be this stupid. There's nowhere to step aside to!"
Your arm shot out with what must have been blinding speed to the humans, grabbed the cur, and hurled him off the side. "Yes there is," you said.
"A hundred meters down," Emmerich finished. You could hear the smile in his voice.
"Now move out of our way," you demanded.
The mob stirred uneasily, caught between a rock and an empty place. "What do you want us to do?"
Emmerich shrugged. "You could hang off the edge."
"We're not stupid!" one of the mob cried. "They're playing us for fools, boys! Real Space Marines wouldn't throw loyal imperials off a cliff!"
You noted the speaking miscreant, remembering him suddenly as one of the thugs who had murdered another human. Once again you struck with superhuman speed, launched the cur with contempt. His screams quietened as he fell and fell and fell.
The rest of the mob got onto all fours, then with all their courage lowered themselves over the edge, holding on for dear life. Your squad passed in peace, and you turned to see the thugs struggle to pull themselves up.
"You think they're mutants?"
You cringed at the thought of being a mutant, tensing at the insult. You had chanced on a band of stinking miscreants on your journey skyward, and they were as stupid as you expected them to be.
"No, no, they're Space Marines! Look at them!"
One of them looked at his comrades warily. "Like the ones that butchered the rest of the boys?"
"No," another said. "Those were in red armor."
"So? Maybe they're armor's supposed to be black. It was just red because..."
You stepped forward, tired of their babbling. Your two groups had reached an impasse; the road was so narrow your squad could only travel single-file, and now these idiots were barring your path.
"Step aside," you said coldly. "Now."
"To where? Stupid cunt," one said. "They are mutants. Space Marines can't be this stupid. There's nowhere to step aside to!"
Your arm shot out with what must have been blinding speed to the humans, grabbed the cur, and hurled him off the side. "Yes there is," you said.
"A hundred meters down," Emmerich finished. You could hear the smile in his voice.
"Now move out of our way," you demanded.
The mob stirred uneasily, caught between a rock and an empty place. "What do you want us to do?"
Emmerich shrugged. "You could hang off the edge."
"We're not stupid!" one of the mob cried. "They're playing us for fools, boys! Real Space Marines wouldn't throw loyal imperials off a cliff!"
You noted the speaking miscreant, remembering him suddenly as one of the thugs who had murdered another human. Once again you struck with superhuman speed, launched the cur with contempt. His screams quietened as he fell and fell and fell.
The rest of the mob got onto all fours, then with all their courage lowered themselves over the edge, holding on for dear life. Your squad passed in peace, and you turned to see the thugs struggle to pull themselves up.
---
The burning bouquet of war thinned as you climbed higher and higher. The thin roads fattened into paved streets with proper railings, easing your fears of a loose rock sending you or your brothers to your deaths. The ravaged habitation blocks and looted stores were replaced with private homes, pristinely built into the spire, and shops selling clothing and other goods you had never learned the names to.
It was naturally empty, all the upper spire's inhabitants having fled off-world, if they were lucky, or to the Governor's palace at the very top. You could see it from here, a golden tip that poked the ash-choked sky.
You noted Theobald's wounds as you continued ascending. Astartes wounds would clot in moments - whatever weapon the champion had used, you were glad not to be on the receiving end. You did not know what exactly it did, or how it did it, but the chainaxe's wounds took hours to stem the bleeding. Theobald had lost an arm, and his mangled leg had been amputated by Bayard.
You reminded yourself that Astartes could survive almost anything, but as always the doubt was there, tiny and unassuming.
The crusader squad finally reached the gates to the Governor's palace, wide enough that the squad could all pass through it abreast, tall enough to be twice Gottfried's height. The gate was still almost a hundred meters away from the palace proper, where the communications array would surely be found, but almost fifty guards manned its walls. Each one was better equipped than the guardsmen fighting on the lower spire, and you could tell they were better trained.
"Halt!" one yelled. His hellgun was trained on you. "Identify yourselves!"
You lowered your chainsword and pistol, being the only one in the squad having learned a modicum of diplomacy. Your brothers remained ignorant of how threatening they looked.
"I am Brother Sigismund of the Black Templars," you answered. "We require the use of your communications array."
The guard's hellgun remained where it was. "What are you doing all the way up here? The Governor was promised by Imperial command that the palace would remain untouched!"
"One of our own is dying," Emmerich said. "We need to contact our fleet."
The guard shifted nervously. "We can't let you in. We can send out a chirurgeon and some medical supplies. No more!"
A human chirurgeon, no matter how skilled or how well equipped, will have learned to repair the inhuman physiology of an Astartes. "That will not help. We must use your communications equipment!"
"Forgive me, but I can't let you in! No one is to be let in or out without the Governor's express permission."
The other guards looked at each other. You could sense their tension, smell their worry. They feared having to fire on loyal Astartes, but you could tell that they would.
"Then let us talk to him!" cried Bayard. "You're wasting our time, mortals."
"Settle down, brother," you said to Bayard over the squad vox. He responded with a click, and you spoke to the guard. "There must be someone we can talk to."
The lead guard paused, then nodded. "Call the minister, tell him there are Black Templars at the gates.
It was naturally empty, all the upper spire's inhabitants having fled off-world, if they were lucky, or to the Governor's palace at the very top. You could see it from here, a golden tip that poked the ash-choked sky.
You noted Theobald's wounds as you continued ascending. Astartes wounds would clot in moments - whatever weapon the champion had used, you were glad not to be on the receiving end. You did not know what exactly it did, or how it did it, but the chainaxe's wounds took hours to stem the bleeding. Theobald had lost an arm, and his mangled leg had been amputated by Bayard.
You reminded yourself that Astartes could survive almost anything, but as always the doubt was there, tiny and unassuming.
The crusader squad finally reached the gates to the Governor's palace, wide enough that the squad could all pass through it abreast, tall enough to be twice Gottfried's height. The gate was still almost a hundred meters away from the palace proper, where the communications array would surely be found, but almost fifty guards manned its walls. Each one was better equipped than the guardsmen fighting on the lower spire, and you could tell they were better trained.
"Halt!" one yelled. His hellgun was trained on you. "Identify yourselves!"
You lowered your chainsword and pistol, being the only one in the squad having learned a modicum of diplomacy. Your brothers remained ignorant of how threatening they looked.
"I am Brother Sigismund of the Black Templars," you answered. "We require the use of your communications array."
The guard's hellgun remained where it was. "What are you doing all the way up here? The Governor was promised by Imperial command that the palace would remain untouched!"
"One of our own is dying," Emmerich said. "We need to contact our fleet."
The guard shifted nervously. "We can't let you in. We can send out a chirurgeon and some medical supplies. No more!"
A human chirurgeon, no matter how skilled or how well equipped, will have learned to repair the inhuman physiology of an Astartes. "That will not help. We must use your communications equipment!"
"Forgive me, but I can't let you in! No one is to be let in or out without the Governor's express permission."
The other guards looked at each other. You could sense their tension, smell their worry. They feared having to fire on loyal Astartes, but you could tell that they would.
"Then let us talk to him!" cried Bayard. "You're wasting our time, mortals."
"Settle down, brother," you said to Bayard over the squad vox. He responded with a click, and you spoke to the guard. "There must be someone we can talk to."
The lead guard paused, then nodded. "Call the minister, tell him there are Black Templars at the gates.
---
The minister arrived in a long, gilded autocarriage. Even here, close to the heavens and far from the fighting, the war had taken its toll on him. He managed the best smile he could on his drawn face.
After much deliberation, with the implicit threat of being labeled traitors should you be left outside the gates, the minister arrived at an offer. You would promise a small token to the Governor in exchange for the use of his communications array.
Normally, you would never have suffered such an insult. But normally, the squad wouldn't be at less than half strength with their leader a maimed cripple.
You promised to:
[ ] Serve as the Governor's bodyguards for a time.
[ ] Allow the nobles refuge aboard Sigismund's Fury.
[ ] Rescue aristocrats still stranded in the spire.
[ ] Force your way inside and use the communications array whether they liked it or not.
After much deliberation, with the implicit threat of being labeled traitors should you be left outside the gates, the minister arrived at an offer. You would promise a small token to the Governor in exchange for the use of his communications array.
Normally, you would never have suffered such an insult. But normally, the squad wouldn't be at less than half strength with their leader a maimed cripple.
You promised to:
[ ] Serve as the Governor's bodyguards for a time.
[ ] Allow the nobles refuge aboard Sigismund's Fury.
[ ] Rescue aristocrats still stranded in the spire.
[ ] Force your way inside and use the communications array whether they liked it or not.
- Location
- United States
This may be a bit of a waste of time, but it's also the least risky use of our depleted squad. Plus, if there's actually someone trying to kill the Governor stopping them would be very important.
The easiest request to fulfill, but would undoubtedly lead to complications and our comrades won't be thrilled.
This one just means more combat. Arguably the best option with only positive consequences ... assuming we don't run into anything we can't handle.
Yeah, no.
[X] Serve as the Governor's bodyguards for a time.
Our squad is tapped out, and having the locals be more cooperative would actually help the crusade more than anything we could realistically personally contribute.
ChiefTurtle117
The Sigillite
- Location
- Holy Terra
[x] Rescue aristocrats still stranded in the spire
- Location
- Germany
[x] Rescue aristocrats still stranded in the spire
- Location
- Summerville, SC
[x] Rescue aristocrats still stranded in the spire.
Alexander89
Pet the pretty kitty? Y/N
- Location
- Italy
I swear, some people are just too stupid to be alive. Really, where does bossing around two-meters tall giants clad in stupidly thick armor and carrying stupidly oversized weapons sound like a good idea?
[X] Serve as the Governor's bodyguards for a time.
[X] Serve as the Governor's bodyguards for a time.
Alpha Zerg
The Last Primal Zerg
- Location
- Zerus
[x] Rescue aristocrats still stranded in the spire
To be fair, this is kind of our job anyway.
To be fair, this is kind of our job anyway.
- Location
- .
[x] Rescue aristocrats still stranded in the spire
- Location
- Lowton
[x] Rescue aristocrats still stranded in the spire
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
[X] Allow the nobles refuge aboard Sigismund's Fury.