It is the 42th Millenium. For more than a hundred years, the Cicatrix Maledictum has sat unmoving in the skies of Thrace. It is the Doom of the Imperium by the will of the Gods, and end of humanity by hordes that flow from it. It is a weeping wound writhing eternally with power from deepest of the Warp. It is the great Trial, against which a thousand battlebrothers fight eternal, so that the light might never truly die.
Battlebrother Joseah was a modest sort, a man of eternal conviction and simple, straightforward beliefs. He was not a dull man, or a stupid one, as some would prefer to belief. Among his fellow marines, he was a not mean, or cruel, or vicious. On his days of rest, he would aid the orphans among the chapter serfs, regaling them with tales of his battles and adventures, the eternal war against traitors, rebels, wreckers, saboteurs and heretics, against the foul influence of the Xeno, and the insidious corruption of the mind that was slowly eroding away at Thrace. For it was the Emperor that Joseah truly believed, and so the great rift, which had cut them from his word, had filled him with despair.
And so it came to be that when Marines returned with princely gifts and news of a potential new ally, Joseah looked up on it with suspicion and doubt, not relief. Where the others saw a might price of 50 pristine rifles, Josiah consulted the archives and the Tech Marines, finding none who had ever seen trace of this rifle. Oh, how they cheered and where in awe, to witness such a rare artefact of the dark age of technology. But Josiah worried, for he knew that the Long Night had brought man down, and that without the light of the Emperor, it was impossible see whether wonder or monster was hiding in the shadows.
When the others examined the rifles, they noticed they were not unblemished. These were weapons that had been used and modified, adapted from other purposes. Again, the techmarines rejoiced, for these modifications showed an amenable tech spirit, opening the possibility for the weapons to be mounted of the Chapter's Land Raiders or mounted in fortresses. And again, Joseah worried, for he wondered what use these weapons had been put too. What warriors supported this Vita, to need weapons like this. What weaponry did she possess, that relics as holy as these would go without ointments of protection, allowed to suffer with scratches and scuffmarks?
At last then, the time came in which he was allowed to examine one of the rifles for himself. With concern, he noticed the lack of Imperial Acquila, it's absence worrisome in the extreme. Sure, so his brothers had noted, Vita claimed to predate the Empire, but she had already shown herself willing to adapt the weaponry for other purposes. What madness would cause one to modify the grip, yet neglect to save the soul? What fool would value fingers over eternal damnation? But that was but the least of his worries, for Joseah's eyes had fallen upon another sign. On the stock of each weapon, small engravings had been made. A maker's mark, a tradition as ancient as the Imperium, and clearly some time before.
But these marks were different. They were austere, stripped of all humanity, all acknowledgement of the Emperor, and the mortal hands through which he had wrought his craft. They did not list the forge in which the weapon had been build, the trials and wars which had mandated it's construction. They listed only a number, yet one edged in the metal with impeccable care, each cipher identical to the same cipher upon the other weapons. A tracking number to count the items so produced. A beloathed and lamented tradition, utilized only for the most simple weapons, the equipment least valued yet needed in greatest quantity.
What folly could have possesed her so, what danger could she fear so much, that she would abandon that practice. And if there were danger so feared, why would she give weapons away without a request for protection?
It was then that his analytical mind started to see patterns, for the tracking numbers were not random. They were grouped, ten groups of 5 consecutive numbers each, the weapons clearly made and numbered in sequence. And if such disregard for the machine spirits was tantamount to treason, then the greatest fear came not from the numbers he could see, but the ones he did not. For the first rifles where labelled 40 to 45, and the last were numbered 12995 to 13000.
People are, by and large, writing the Space Marines as being incredibly reasonable about Vita. Therefore, I have provided Joseah Alexandrius to provide a fair and balanced voice to the market place of ideas.
Note : Originally this was going to be a more overt comedy piece, but that wasn't working, so, you know.
