< The Tempest >
Standing stock still Hyare looked out into the void from his position inside one of the viewing domes within the White Scar's strike cruiser. Eyes were blank and mouth locked in a deep frown his force spear wavered imperceptibly in hand. Before him his mind was imprinting a map upon the reinforced glass between himself and the stars. Every twitch of weapon's tip was another line on a chaotic mess of a canvas. It appeared to him like lines in the sand and winds rolling over the bluffs. To anyone else it simply wouldn't be visible, only the Stormseer, and others of his kind would see what had been formed. Such was the reason the only other presence within had been hesitant to interrupt.

"Elder. " It was a funny word for Hyare to hear, being terribly young by Adeptus Astartes standards himself. Yet, in one sense it was false, another it was true. His artistry unraveled as if swept away in a gust and the Stormseer brought himself around to face the younger psyker.

"Yen? Something troubles you? "

"It might be trouble, but it isn't mine. You've been summoned by crusade command. " Hyare frowned.

< Sword of Wrath >
Hyare had spent his two hours well. First sitting with their own Epistolary ranked seer to discuss developments with the warp storm, and then engaging in a heated argument over why the elder was not managing matters with the upper echelons of the crusade. Back and forth it went, one calling it a great honor and a step toward greater wisdom, the other and much louder of the pair questioning the honor of being a bureaucratic errand boy. In a way the argument was its own formality, enough of a display for Hyare to get his point across without doing something actually worthy of reprimand. Scar left the room whilst serfs were hurrying in to deal with the spilled tea.

Fifteen minutes before the bridge was to be opened to guest Hyare arrived. Dressed in his war plate and bedecked with a silken sash of a warm orange-yellow coloring. Curve combat knife was worn openly near where cloth curved about his waist while bolt pistol was clasped to a thigh. Force spear was held loosely in hand, leather wraps creaking under the grasp of a restless warrior. Stormseer wore an expression like an agitated bull, nostrils flaring and eyes slightly narrowed as he regarded the rest of their company.

The Hospitaller was reading a book the War of the Beast the Triumph's of the Imperium by Archivist Lilian Belithor. Morgan put a bookmark in the last page she read upon interruption by a female voice Morgan looked up and saw an Adeptus Sororitas she nodded and looked at her with her bright perfect blue eyes. "Sister Superior Hospitaller Morgan Ares, Order of the Crux Dahlia pleasure." Her voice was pure and awakening like an opera singer on perfect pitch that could bring a grown man to tears, Morgan continued to speak to the sister next to her. "Where do you hail from Sister?"
@Casavay

The messenger would find Praxia within her shipping container. The machine within stirred as light touched its pilot's face for the first time in a while. The saw blades were used to grip the edges of the container as the machine unfurled itself from within. A single metal clad foot emerged, causing the messenger to step back a few feet. A moment later and the Penitent Engine was free from its container. Praxia looked about for a moment, seeing nothing but Imperials. "This is not a battle..." She muttered before turning her gaze back to the messenger.

The messenger showed her the message. Praxia studied it from a moment, but it was a bit uncomfortable to read it from above, that and her eyes were still adjusting. "Hmmph... An odd thing to request a Peni-" A lance of pain shot through her body and she winced. "-tent engine..." She finished. She sighed before she nodded at the messenger.

The messenger then promptly informed her that they had already moved her to the appropriate ship and all she had to do now was to make it to the bridge. Praxia then departed and made her way to the bridge. She wasn't one to waste time if it could be helped, especially not when specifically summoned. Though she found it odd that one would request an engine specifically.

The sound of large metallic feet filled the air as she made her way through the halls. Several people stepped out of her way as she passed as they had little desire for the engine to trod upon them. She would eventually arrive at the bridge to find that several others had already gathered here as well. This piqued her curiosity as there were Sisters, Guardsmen, and Space Marines. Perhaps there were others as well that had yet to arrive? She winced in pain behind them as she approached.

For the first time in two weeks the corridors of the Boros Paladins Strike Cruiser Candle of Faith echoed with Danse's footsteps. The 4th company apothecary had finally released him for duty and he was on his way to the commander's office for his next assignment. What he found there however was not quite what he expected. Captain-Librarian Simus Psyrakon was at his desk finishing up the last bit of work on his cogitator but in front of his desk was an anxious messenger. A brown haired boy of about seventeen in administratum robes. He seemed to relax considerably when he saw Danse and his expression changed from nervous to awestruck. Obviously the boy had never seen a space marine let alone a Librarian and so was very apprehensive to be alone with one. The sergeant, being a "normal" human, was someone he could properly admire.

"Brother-Librarian, good morning." Danse said. "What's going on here?"

"Good morning sergeant." Simus said, turning to face the man and boy. "You have a message." There was a short pause before Simus politely cleared his throat and the boy handed Danse the scroll. "Thank you messenger, that'll be all." Simus said. Without a word the boy bowed to his masters and left, closing the hatch behind him. As Danse read the message he went from curious to annoyed. He put down the scroll and looked at Simus, who smiled up at him.

"Good to see you up and moving again Greg. How are you feeling?"

"Leg and head feel good, ribshell's not giving me any more trouble. Arm's still a bit stiff. How's your head?" Danse asked.

"Fine." Simus said.

"Glad to hear it." Danse said. "Would you mind telling me what this is all about?"

"The Warmaster wants to see you." Simus said. "You're being reassigned to the Sword of Wrath. Probably for some sort of special assignment. I don't know much else. I was only informed a few minutes ago."

"Are you serious?" Danse said, his face a blank slate of granite.

"Quite serious." Simus said. "That messenger only arrived five minute ago. I told him you were on your way and to wait here."

"No, I mean that I'm going to see the Warmaster." Danse said. "You're the 4th company commander Simus. Any crusade business we need to know about goes to you. What does she want from me?" He read the letter again. "There's absolutely nothing in here that says why I'm being pulled from my brothers, who took significant losses in our last engagement and nearly got us both killed, and told to see her in the middle of a warpstorm. That doesn't make any sense."

Simus could tell he was getting frustrated. Danse never liked the concept of a Warmaster and liked the fact that she was both a mortal and a woman even less. He did not share Simus' tolerance of other Imperial branches. "Well obviously it's something rather important and rather sensitive. Otherwise she wouldn't have sent a courier to come find you or order me to let you go.

"She did what?" Danse asked, angered by this proposition. "You mean to say she contacted you beforehand and had the gall to order you?"

"No Greg, she did not, but her seal is on this letter and that's just as good. You and I have talked about this before. She is human but she is the Warmaster. She carries the word of the Emperor and you will do as she commands. You DID take an oath to uphold exactly that when this crusade began."

Danse closed his eyes and sighed, calming himself down some. "You're right of course. I will obey and keep my oath but you've got to admit Simus it's more than a little presumptuous. All humans, even a Warmaster, ask for the assistance of the Adeptus Astartes. They do not demand it. Especially at a time like this. We're down to seventy brothers and thanks to the warp storm we can't get chapter reinforcements. And I have to admit I'm...concerned for your safety Simus. You were nearly killed on Varox. My actions saved your life. If I'm reassigned I won't be able to look out for you. That...well...it worries me."

Simus could only smile and chuckle at his old friend. As a psyker it had been easy to sense his thoughts so he knew exactly what was on Danse's mind, but hearing him say them out loud and work himself through them was appreciated. Touching really. His brother was worried about him. He stood up and walked around the desk to Danse, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Greg, do you trust me?" He asked, his clear blue eyes letting his soul completely open for his brother.

"Of course I do Simus." He said. "You and I are brothers. We have been all our lives. You never have to ask that question."

"Then please trust me when I say this: If the Warmaster wants you then it's for a good reason. It's going to be important and it's probably going to involve moving the crusade forward in some way. In case you haven't noticed, things have really stagnated in the fleet and morale has dropped. Everyone here is a warrior in their own way and they're stuck in the void with no enemy to fight. Morale has dropped and we need to make a change. Even our own brothers have begun to suffer but it sounds like High Command has found a way to address this and they want you to be a part of it. Now were do you think you can better serve The chapter? Here, where our brothers have little to do but take care of themselves, or there, where you can be our figurehead for the crusade and maybe find us something to conquer?"

Danse nodded his head and smiled. His brother always had a way with words and his logic was sound. "Fair enough I suppose. I promise to put my personal feelings aside and do my duty, as always. Do you think an Appreciation Meal is in order?"

"I think if I were in her position I would find that very thoughtful. The serfs are already on it. Everything will be ready by the time you leave."

"Thank you friend, I appreciate that." Danse said. He bowed his head to his commander and turned to leave but Simus stopped him before he could do so."

"Greg?" He asked.

"Hmm?" He replied.

"I know how you feel about working with other elements. I think this'll be a good experience for you. Try to learn something from it."

"I can't promise anything, but I'll do my best." He said.

"Hope brings courage..." Simus started.

"Courage brings victory." Danse finished, clasping his brother's hand. The chapter motto raised their spirits a bit and Danse left the office in a better mood.

An hour later everything was prepared. Veteran Sergeant Danse was armed, armored and ready for battle and the stormraven gunship that was to carry him to the Sword of Wrath was fueled, loaded and ready for launch. In addition to their brother-sergeant the crew also carried two special crates. One was packed with pulled pork sandwiches wrapped in paper and the other was packed with cold cans of cola. Both foodstuffs were native to the Boros Paladins homeworld of Progressio and were to be granted to the Warmaster as gifts. Chapter tradition dictated that all chapter and non-chapter forces share an Appreciation Meal at the start of a joint campaign. Such an offering was a sign of goodwill from the chapter and a time-tested way of getting an alliance off on the right foot. This was of particular importance during a crusade, where the meal would be the last one some or even all of the occupants would eat. It deserved to be enjoyed.

Twenty minutes later the Stormraven landed in the cavernous bays of the Sword of Wrath. Danse and four battle brothers exited the craft before it departed, the four battle brothers carrying the crates. They were a little early so they took some time to explore the ship and take in the sights. Danse kept his expression hard as usual but inside he was impressed. Such a massive ship working so efficiently with so many people was a testament to human organization and what the Imperium could do. He may have been easily frustrated by humans but he did not look down upon them. They were the Imperium of Man and it was his duty, and the duty of his brothers, to protect them.

His helmet was off and locked to his side next to his bolt pistol. Most of his head was under a tight white hood but his clean black beard, thick eyebrows and hard face were there for all to see. His face was not unkind but it was one of a veteran. He had eyes only for duty and nothing else mattered to him. When he and his brothers entered the briefing room his mouth opened in surprise. He had been serving The Emperor for over two hundred years and he had never seen quite the group before him. Fellow Astartes, Guardsmen, Tempestus Scions, Sisters of Battle and to top it all off, a penitent engine! Danse had seen and fought with all of these groups before but never all at once. If such a diverse group had been summoned than this meeting was something truly important. He was on time but the Warmaster had not shown up yet so he decided to introduce himself.

"Veteran Sergeant Gregory Danse of the Boros Paladins, reporting as ordered." He said to the group, unsure of who exactly was in command. "I have been summoned on the orders of the Warmaster herself and my brothers and I come bearing gifts of food and drink. All those of the same calling are welcome to it if you so desire." He nodded his head and the battle brothers opened the cases. They then departed so their sergeant could continue his meeting undisturbed and Danse waited for the others to respond.

Continuous waves of sonic force, followed by constant,vibrating hum, was prevalent and soothing in its repetition to Agate`s pale flesh and burnished silver of its Iron.Doctrine frowned upon such indulgences, but the fact of the matter stayed constant and true - this Secutarii-unit really needed a sonic shower.

The purification chamber was filled, and every sonic-array was occupied.Indeed, Agate could sense and feel the cleansing force of the other showers, and in some cases the escaping gasps of relaxations of its occupants.

Feeling the taint of organic byproducts of the body, finally getting washed away by omnipresent hub of pleasant,sonic vibrations, Alpha - I Agate, concurred that the latest bout of patrol and subsequent training-synchronization of its maniple was most strenuous.
Indeed, the instance itself lasted for no less then continuous one hundred and ten thousand minutes, of protection and training.One could argument that, their Engine-Charges needed little protecting and catering aboard one of many Mechanicum Arkcruisers and Titanica Temple-Barges, but without even reviewing its protocols, Agate knew that, duty did not deal in 'chances' and 'probabilities'.Such luxuries were left to those with the augmentations for it.Agate was first and foremost a solider, and as such, its duty was sacrosanct.

Cued on a ping, a sprinkler above him engaged, and Alpha-unit was sprayed over with unguents and blessed oils that would see it purified for the consumption and micro-sleep rituals, before taking its duties again in leading the maniple on another batch of mission-rotes.

Another ping, and Agate stepped out, its spot in the shower quickly occupied by another of the maniple.A sister.Her gender traits were obvious to notice due to lack of either injuries or blessings, as is the case among the others in the stalls.
Recognizing her Alpha, she crossed the knuckles in sign of a cog, before the vibrating sounds covered her form, purifying flesh and iron.
Agate noticed such pecularities and wondered, adding to her noospheric file a note, that there still may be some residue of her Skitarii protocols or forgeworlder-habits, to be reviewed by the Cybernetica Magi.They knew.But his was, to notify them that, it also knew.

With a nod, Agate left the weary maniple to recuperate, leaving the purification chambers for the recharge-feeding and partial micro-sleep.


A vibration played across the left side of its head, a tell-tale sign of an incoming noospheric update.Shifting in the cradle-station, Agate was surprised to the message content.Eyes starting glassed-eyed into the celling of the cramped resting chamber, reviwing the message that floated to its vision.

With a skilled mix of haste and care, Agate severed its connectors and tubes with the cradle, and departed for the arming station.On the way out,it was careful not to disturb any of the maniple from their micro-sleep.

Judging from the message, it seemed that a cherub was already waiting in the arming shrines, with further instructions and a physical item.A letter.

< Sword of Wrath >

Already from the small crystalflex windows of the shuttlecraft, Agate was marveling the sheer size of battleship.But to step onto its hallowed deck was an honor.

An honor many did not seem to pick up with much enthusiasm, if Alpha was any judge.The look of bored soldiers,bickering adepts, hollering dock-workers and spilt oil everywhere, told volumes to Agate.However these, and the many...unorthodox habits sometimes displayed by Non-Mechanicum personnel, Agate was already warned about by everyone before departure, from the lowliest of the codescrubbers all the way to the Magi Catharc.

Noospheric communication held few in a way of secrets.

Fresh from the rituals, the long black trenchcloak flowed behind it, Agate made haste across the vast battleship, in order to make appearance in time, its stride relentless and delivered by piston-powered punctuality into the deck-plating.
A great honor was bestowed upon it, a mere Alpha in one of many maniples, to be granted an audience and a special task, by a Warmaster herself!

However, Alpha came prepared.Already coming unbidden, in haste, it did not want to offend the great vessel by coming both armored and armed too! As such Agate put away its martial tools, in a pre-designed arrangement that will trail behind him and await his noospheric instructions upon arrival.

Feeling somehow diminished, naked, without the reassuring machine-purr of his Arc Lance or the incessant rad-censer noise, that they would produce in the presence of its Radium Revolver, Agate strode on the bridge, on a cue by the armed guards stationed outside the meeting chambers.

Carrier Cruiser:

Deckard hissed with exertion as he lifted the heavy bar-weight off of his chest and above his supine body. He had a strict strength training regime ever since being recruited to the Imperial Navy Aeronautica at the beginning of the Crusade; having hailed from a low-gravity world, his muscles and bones had not developed as well as his colleagues from standard worlds, and he needed to be able to compete with them physically.

His muscles burned as he approached the end of the set, counting through clenched teeth as he did so.

"Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-ni--"

The vox-caster in the training galley suddenly blared out his name, breaking his concentration and bringing the weight thudding down on its catch-bar.

"Lieutenant Lucus to Dispatch Office. Lucus to Dispatch Office. Report immediately."

He sighed, swinging around to sit on the bench and wiping away the sweat with an old blue rag he'd been given on a namesday. He hated being interrupted; leaving things unfinished niggled at him. Nevertheless, it had been a long time since he'd received anything that wasn't routine from the Dispatch Office, and the suggestion of new opportunities excited him.

He got to his feet and set off.

Sword of Wrath:

Deckard stepped off the Arvus Lighter shuttle that had transported him to the Sword of Wrath. He loved trips to the flagship; it was so impossibly huge and possessed of such unimaginable complexity that the wonder of it never wore off, especially not on someone from a backwater agri-world like him.

It was also nice to be the passenger for once, rather than the pilot.

He wore the formal Navy uniform provided to him upon his promotion to officer, decorated with odd medals and patched with his rank of Squadron Commander. At his waist was carried his much-loved autopistol in a formal holster. Whatever this was about, it was clearly something of great importance, and it helped to dress the part.

After a long transit through the decks of the ship to the bridge, he stepped through the doors of the meeting room, in the wake of a strange and unfamiliar looking individual in a black trench-coat. Looking around the room he was amazed to see a bizarre assortment of different Astartes, Sororitas and men from the Guard.

He had only ever seen Astartes and Sororitas on vid-screens, or from hundreds of meters above as he'd flown over them, and seeing them up-close for the first time fascinated him.

He stepped around an Astartes who looked to be guarding two crates of provisions, and introduced himself curtly to whoever was listening.

"Lieutenant Lucus, 458th Imperial Navy Tactical Wing."

The sudden influx of her sisters in arms surprised Ferra, who, truthfully, had not expected to see even one fellow Sororita among the assembled, mixed, Imperial forces of an entire Holy Crusade. It made her feel at ease - even the presence of one punished, for some reason. These were familiar shapes, familiar forms even if they bore different colours. "Greetings, then, Sister Superior Morgan. Like the Convent Sanctorum and most of my sisters, I too hail from Ophelia VII", said the Dominion, turning to adress the other holy warriors who'd entered with a curt nod.

She didn't smile, but her eyes freely shared the fact that being among her kind pleased her.

"Greetings, Sister Superior Catherine, and..." She paused, never having spoken directly to such an engine of punishment. "...Penitent."

The other newcomers merely recieved acknowledging nods, if anything.

It seemed she was here as more than just an engine of war. It was an odd thought, but not an unwelcome one. She winced as she offered Ferra a brief reply. "Praxia..." It was apparent that the sister was not accustomed to conversing with the pilot of a Penitent Engine. Praxia wasn't accustomed to holding conversations with others either, so simply being acknowledged created a soft smile on her face.

Morgan listened to her. "Mine pull from many different planets..." Seeing that her fellow sister looked a figure larger than an Astartes. Morgan did not say a thing but struck in awe as how someone was put through such punishment. Morgan approached the machine and rested her hand on the machine. Hearing her name, Morgan would say. "A pleasure Praxia I hope you indictment comes to an end soon sister but I will be glad to see your finesse on the battlefield sister." Morgan rather thought this was one of the over zealous matters that they commit as a punishment to sisters that commit a crime. But she always kept her mouth shut about it.

"Lianna Brooks, Kasrkin of Cadia." The tall woman said with a business-like sort of tone.
"So why are we all here? Anyone get what passes for a reason that we were all called here?"
Her arms stayed crossed in front of her as she waited for someone to speak up; the amount of Sisters didn't bother her, of course. It was the.. 'Penitent', thing. If there was some sort of grouping that was happening for a mission, that was probably one of the worst choices she could imagine. Next to the suggestion of having an ork, of course.