Chronicles of Baldur: Aetus and its fall | The Hopeless Martyrs, 13th Regiment of Aetus
Altered
Duality | Redeemed
- Location
- Terra
Chronicles of Baldur: Aetus and its fall | The Hopeless Martyrs, 13th Regiment of Aetus: Abandoned, but still fighting on
The blood of heroes flowed throughout the streets of Aetus, the corpses of martyrs paving the streets. None would mourn for them, none would remember those who had fallen.
It was perhaps that, most of all that wounded Davik. It was a forgone conclusion that he would die in service to the Emperor, it was a known fact. The men of Aetus's 13th Regiment had all willingly joined, to protect and serve full of the knowledge that the only fate that awaited them was death and glory. However, the sacrifice that they would ultimately make would be something that served to further the Imperium, something that would be remembered for their deaths to protect the people and that was how it should be. Yet it was not how it was. The battle for Alexandria, Aetus's Captial seemed all but lost. Heretics and traitors had infiltrated not just the populace, but the military and the government. And with the traitors winning, all hope seemed lost.
They had joined to protect, to serve and instead they found themselves betrayed by their own. A depressing situation that while not uniformly common, was not exceedingly rare. Perhaps it was the sheer shock, the sheer surprise of seeing brothers and sisters so devoted to the Imperium turn on them that made this situation all the more worse.
The initial disarray and uncertainty of who could be trusted had left them in a poor situation, yet they still chose to fight. A classic grinding war, to purge the taint - yet it was a vicious one where the loyal where outnumbered, outgunned, and overwhelmed by the traitors. A war full of nothing but martyrs who could only hope to buy time, for help to show - for a message to be sent. Anything and everything that would communicate the plight, the hell they fought.
And then came the Daemons, summoned by the cultists. Their forces pushing what remained of the loyalists back, while tempting and cultivating dissent within the ranks as they fought a losing battle, one that meant death - a death unheard, not gloried, nor cared for. The daemons appeared to be everywhere, their supernatural abilities steadily crushing and pushing those loyal back. The loyalist were hardpressed to hold the line, not in the face of such betrayal - not with such foes flitting about the battlefield, crushing them.
They had called for help, of course. But when your enemy was in control of not only the surface, but the orbitals - getting a message out was impossible. They had been taunted, they had been mocked. Help was not coming was the message they all knew, it was a message engraved in their hearts. Yet they still fought on, holding the line. Refusing to give up, even as more of their own began to turn - began to give into despair. It was all they could do. They had sworn an oath, to the Imperium - to themselves, and they would keep that oath even if they died.
The duty they ascribed to was a death sentence, their fate unknown to the Imperium. No help was coming as far as they knew, and no help would come. The planet was lost, the people had fallen. And still they would fight. Help may never come, but these Imperial Troops would continue the fight until either the enemy was completely dead or they themselves had fallen in the line of duty. This was the new oath they swore to themselves as the fighting raged on. Death may come, and they would greet it with guns blazing and curses flying from their lips. Fighting it, fighting the enemy and going raging into the night. They would fight on and on, let death come - it may reap it's due, but they too would reap theirs.
And so, the time for the last stand had come. Of the entire regiment and it's support personnel only a few thousand remained. In the heart of the governor's ruined palace these dirty, hungry, and betrayed men and women chose to make their last stand of defiance, preparing to die in one last stand - and a secret plan.
Many of these brave souls should not have even been standing, much less holding weapons and fighting. Yet here they would hold, drawing as many enemies as they could so a final plan could be enacted. Colonel Davik stood strong, his rank may have lost it's meaning with what was evidently the death of their planet and it's people, but still he remained leader of the men. Guiding them to the death they knew was coming.
"We will die for the Imperium, for the Emperor." He'd told them, unwilling to lie to the men and women he commanded. Not willing to those who knew what hated. Standing amongst those ruins, he continued the speech. "And we will do it cursing the traitors who come to die by our guns."
They cheered at that, and Davik felt sorrow. This would be the last time they where all together, this would the last time they all cheered, and this would be the last he saw of them.
The blood of heroes flowed throughout the streets of Aetus, the corpses of martyrs paving the streets. None would mourn for them, none would remember those who had fallen.
It was perhaps that, most of all that wounded Davik. It was a forgone conclusion that he would die in service to the Emperor, it was a known fact. The men of Aetus's 13th Regiment had all willingly joined, to protect and serve full of the knowledge that the only fate that awaited them was death and glory. However, the sacrifice that they would ultimately make would be something that served to further the Imperium, something that would be remembered for their deaths to protect the people and that was how it should be. Yet it was not how it was. The battle for Alexandria, Aetus's Captial seemed all but lost. Heretics and traitors had infiltrated not just the populace, but the military and the government. And with the traitors winning, all hope seemed lost.
They had joined to protect, to serve and instead they found themselves betrayed by their own. A depressing situation that while not uniformly common, was not exceedingly rare. Perhaps it was the sheer shock, the sheer surprise of seeing brothers and sisters so devoted to the Imperium turn on them that made this situation all the more worse.
The initial disarray and uncertainty of who could be trusted had left them in a poor situation, yet they still chose to fight. A classic grinding war, to purge the taint - yet it was a vicious one where the loyal where outnumbered, outgunned, and overwhelmed by the traitors. A war full of nothing but martyrs who could only hope to buy time, for help to show - for a message to be sent. Anything and everything that would communicate the plight, the hell they fought.
And then came the Daemons, summoned by the cultists. Their forces pushing what remained of the loyalists back, while tempting and cultivating dissent within the ranks as they fought a losing battle, one that meant death - a death unheard, not gloried, nor cared for. The daemons appeared to be everywhere, their supernatural abilities steadily crushing and pushing those loyal back. The loyalist were hardpressed to hold the line, not in the face of such betrayal - not with such foes flitting about the battlefield, crushing them.
They had called for help, of course. But when your enemy was in control of not only the surface, but the orbitals - getting a message out was impossible. They had been taunted, they had been mocked. Help was not coming was the message they all knew, it was a message engraved in their hearts. Yet they still fought on, holding the line. Refusing to give up, even as more of their own began to turn - began to give into despair. It was all they could do. They had sworn an oath, to the Imperium - to themselves, and they would keep that oath even if they died.
The duty they ascribed to was a death sentence, their fate unknown to the Imperium. No help was coming as far as they knew, and no help would come. The planet was lost, the people had fallen. And still they would fight. Help may never come, but these Imperial Troops would continue the fight until either the enemy was completely dead or they themselves had fallen in the line of duty. This was the new oath they swore to themselves as the fighting raged on. Death may come, and they would greet it with guns blazing and curses flying from their lips. Fighting it, fighting the enemy and going raging into the night. They would fight on and on, let death come - it may reap it's due, but they too would reap theirs.
And so, the time for the last stand had come. Of the entire regiment and it's support personnel only a few thousand remained. In the heart of the governor's ruined palace these dirty, hungry, and betrayed men and women chose to make their last stand of defiance, preparing to die in one last stand - and a secret plan.
Many of these brave souls should not have even been standing, much less holding weapons and fighting. Yet here they would hold, drawing as many enemies as they could so a final plan could be enacted. Colonel Davik stood strong, his rank may have lost it's meaning with what was evidently the death of their planet and it's people, but still he remained leader of the men. Guiding them to the death they knew was coming.
"We will die for the Imperium, for the Emperor." He'd told them, unwilling to lie to the men and women he commanded. Not willing to those who knew what hated. Standing amongst those ruins, he continued the speech. "And we will do it cursing the traitors who come to die by our guns."
They cheered at that, and Davik felt sorrow. This would be the last time they where all together, this would the last time they all cheered, and this would be the last he saw of them.
