Prologue
#3 of Wh40k vs. Furries
Prologue:
It was quiet in the great hall. Only the crackling of the fires in the bowls on the walls could be heard. He stood at the large desk, one could rather call it a table, even if noone never ate at it. The desk was old. It had stood in this hall for many hundreds of years and had already seen one or two masters come and go. This one had been the master of these halls for a little more than 300 years. A tall man. His skin was pale, his eyes ice-blue and his hair snow-white, and yet he was bursting with energy.
But the last few years had not been easy, and the reports that piled up on his desk did not bode well. He read another one, processed the information in it and put it on the pile.
His thoughtful hum was punctuated by the scratchy sound of his fingers on his chin. He turned and went to one of the large viewing windows. The world outside the halls was inhospitable, cold, and barren. High mountain passes stretched around the monastery fortress, their peaks covered with meters of snow all year round. Due to its remote location, the fortress was considered practically impregnable. An attack from the ground was de facto impossible. The terrain was too impassable and the glaciers, whose crevasses were invisibly hidden under the snow, too dangerous. Only the few locals who lived here knew about the secret paths into the valleys. An attack from the air was unthinkable. The shields of the fortress were so strong that the whole planet would break rather than this fortress.
*A safe haven...*
His predecessor had always said that. The entire Order was based here. The few outposts that were distributed on the planet were usually not occupied by the Astartes. Also the defense platforms in orbit were usually not entered by them. These were the domains of the subordinates. Inspections were conducted every few years. The crews rotated and their faith tested. But there had been no problems in 10,000 years. The people of Fenris were loyal... and that was a gross understatement.
Everyone knew what was in store for them if they were even remotely accused of being disloyal. At the same time, everyone knew what they would face if they falsely accused a son of Fenris of being disloyal.
This made this world such a wonderful place to recruit new aspirants for the Order. This, and the fact of what survived this planet, was not killed by anything so quickly.
In fact, compared to other Orders, they had a rather low rate of rejects among candidates and their Astartes fell less often in battle.
The system had worked flawlessly for 10,000 years. And even today there was still no doubt about the loyalty of the inhabitants of this planet.
He was glad about this circumstance. Not all worlds were so lucky.
In their surveillance area, several worlds had come under fire at once. A cult seemed to be spreading and the green menace was also once again on the advance.
Several companies were already in action.
The reverberations of blows at his gates snapped him out of his thoughts and he turned away from the window.
"Enter!"
His voice was firm and loud despite his age. Its rough quality hid its euphony. Had he not joined the Order, he might have become a good singer.
The gates were opened and a servant entered. As soon as he entered the hall, he sank reverently to his knees and looked down at the floor. The master looked at him for a moment. Took in all the information.
The uniform indicated a servant of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica. The heart rate indicated his haste. The pheromones indicated great stress.
*A new bad report...*
"Rise."
Slowly and with lowered eyes, the servant rose. In his hands he held another message.
"Yarl Erik. The choir sent me. There is a communique."
He handed the message forward as Erik approached him with loud echoing footsteps.
He was almost a meter taller than the servant, and yet he wasn't even wearing his power armor.
Once again he looked at the man, who clearly evinced respect but did not seem to be afraid. Another excellent son of Fenris. Surprisingly gentle, he took the message.
"Give my thanks to the choir."
His voice was softer now that he was standing directly in front of him. The servant bowed deeply and turned to leave, while Erik read the message. He had not yet made it back to the portal when he heard Erik's voice again.
"When did this come in?"
The servant stopped as if rooted to the spot and turned. Bowing, he replied.
"Astropath Eskiel assigned me to inform you directly after the reception. I came to you by direct route, Yarl. Fifteen minutes, maximum, my Yarl."
Eriks ice-blue eyes sparkled.
"Lead me to the choir. At once."
The servant bowed lower, turned on his heel and ran. The servant's quick running stride was just enough to stay ahead of Erik's sweeping steps. Of course, Erik did not need the servant's instructions to get to the choir. No one knew the fortress better than he did. No chamber, no secret passage, no niche was unknown to him. The plans had been drilled into his memory since he was a child. He would find his way blindly through the fortress. But it was a sign of respect for his subordinate that he allowed himself to be guided by him, at least in appearance. This would be remembered by his superior and cast a good light on him and his family.
With these small favors one kept the loyalty of the servants.
The way was long, the chambers of the astropaths were located in the highest peaks of the fortress. Erik's companion did not let on that he could not keep up with the superior physique of the Yarl. Only in the final elevator was his heavy breathing audible. Erik looked benevolently down at the servant.
"What is your name?"
His voice sounded soft and his breathing went quiet and deep.
"... Olaf... my Yarl..."
The servant tried his best to be in no way inferior to the Yarl, even if it was absolutely impossible, but it was the goal of every servant, of every inhabitant of Fenris, to always be in the best physical condition. The rigorous training regime that basically everyone on the planet submitted to in order to survive at all ensured that there was no one who couldn't at least keep up.
"You make your family proud Olaf."
Erik placed a heavy hand on the servant's shoulder and could feel how he seemed to grow under his hand. When the elevator reached its destination and the doors slid open, a corridor lined with statues lay before them. At the end of it was a large protal at the sides of which two Astartes in power armor stood guard. They stood motionless at the portal all day, the only sign of life being the constant subliminal hum of their armor. Now that they saw Erik, they straightened to their full height and their weapons were presented in front of their chests. The short-term swell of the hum as the armor's engines called for more power and the crunch of boots on the stone floor sounded eerie in the silence of the corridor.
"My Yarl."
Sounded in unison from both Astartes, their voices distorted by the vox units of their helmets.
Erik exited the elevator after the servant and immediately recognized who was in those armors. To most of the servants, the Astartes looked the same once they were hidden in their armor. Only the artificers, the personal servants of each Astartes who dealt with the Astartes' armor and weapons every day, knew the small details and idiosyncrasies of the equipment of their assigned Astartes. But Erik knew each and every one of his brethren. The hum of each armor was different. Power armor was sometimes several thousand years old, repaired and mended countless times. Each had its own marks, scars, but also adornments that their owners had earned over a long life of service to the Order.
These were Brother Mardok and Brother Signus, both veterans from the third grand company.
Brother Mardok had returned from the Deathwatch only five years ago. An honor in any other Order, here among his peers, one was not quite so sure.
Erik recognized the "trip", as Brother Mardok had called it, by the altered breastplate.
Brother Signus, had returned after a long mission against the Tyranids and was here to get used to the new cybernetics after one of those bugs had gnawed off his leg. The scars on his armor were clearly visible.
"Brothers, at ease."
Again, both moved in absolute syncron to return to the relaxed guard posture.
In armor, both towered over their chapter-master by two heads again, and Olaf looked like a dwarf next to them. Every time he walked past them, and their eyes followed his movements, it ran ice-cold down his spine. Despite their size, despite their heavy armor, they would be faster, more agile and deadlier than he could ever be. He had watched Astartes train for combat. It had been quite literally breathtaking.
Erik and Olaf strode past the guards, Erik placing a hand on each's shoulder armor. A gesture of respect among brothers. A servant, if he could even reach the oversized shoulder armor, would probably pay for this gesture with his life.
The portal was opened and behind it stretched an opaque jumble of corridors and chambers. Everywhere, operators ran around carrying messages, data sheets and other items. When they caught sight of Erik, they fell to their knees and turned their gazes to the floor.
Erik let them. This show of respect was important. Not directly to Erik, but to the relationship between the demigods who were the Astartes of the Order and the ordinary people who were the servants. He nodded.
"Rise. The choir does not like to wait."
There was a certain good nature in his voice.
"Take me to the master."
Olaf didn't take much prompting and struck out in a direction. In the chambers of the choir, Olaf no longer had to run. There was so much "traffic" here that more than a quick walk was not possible. They reached a richly decorated large door, in front of which two servants stood guard. They were clad in the robes of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica and carried the ornate halberds that were customary in their position. It was more symbolic than they could have fought with those in the cramped quarters. But traditions had to be served. As Erik approached them, they took their stance. They would not bow, but they would pay their respects, that was the custom.
"The master awaits you, Yarl Erik."
The guard's voice sounded respectful and calm.
"It is an honor."
Erik nodded slightly, there would be no more recognition than that. Even if the Adeptus Astra Telepathica was one of the most important institutions of the Empire, his Order would rather die than put these mutants on the same level with themselves.
But this was also the custom and was so accepted, albeit reluctantly.
"Your services are no longer needed. Go back to your work and give my regards to your superior. I am very pleased with your performance."
Olaf seemed almost bursting with pride as he bowed deeply.
"My Yarl."
And then he was gone. As Erik turned toward the door, it was opened. The chamber beyond was spacious and furnished with tasteful furniture. The possessed no windows, the walls were shielded from all possible outside influences, and in the center of the room was a strange-looking throne on which sat what was, in the broadest sense, a man.
This man, an astropath, or more precisely the master of this choir of astropaths, was a haggard, shriveled, corpse-pale creature. He had not left these premises since he had taken this position over 150 years ago. He had never seen the skies above Fenris. Never gazed upon the harsh beauty of this planet, and never breathed the piercingly cold air that made up this planets atmosphere. All this human had ever done was sit on his throne and listen to the whispers of astropathic communications and filter the news.
As Erik entered, the astropath turned to him.
"Aaaah the Yarl is here. Welcome."
Erik nodded as the door closed behind him.
"Reverend."
The smile on the astropath's lips seemed bizarre, furrowing his face and making the old man's skin look even more like it was meant for someone who must have been at least twice his size.
"What's this message about?"
The astropath didn't have to look at the message, he knew what it was about.
"A Gladius class frigate is requesting permission to dock at the oribal platform."
Erik took a deep breath.
"Old friend, I can read. We're not expecting any ships, not until next spring."
The astropath's smile disappeared.
"It's the Russ' Suspicions."
Erik's eyes widened for a moment.
"Magnus's ship?"
"Yes."
Erik paced around the throne, his hand on his chin.
"They weren't supposed to be back yet. The deployment was supposed to be for almost five years. Even if the warp is quiet, the trip to Caprianus four will take over a year."
The astropath followed Erik with his gaze.
"They broke out of the warp two hours ago and are on approach. A few other messages have come in, all of them... concerning."
Erik turned.
"Which ones?"
The astropath pointed to a stack beside his throne. Where the scriptservitor continued to write diligently.
"The mission does not seem to have gone to the satisfaction of the Order. The pack is shattered and the survivors seem to be..."
The astropath faltered and Erik's eyes sparkled darkly. He knew what mission the Russ's Suspicion had been. The arch enemy had tried to gain a foothold in their sector. Cults had been discovered on several planets. Where planetary forces could not deal with the matter, the Order was called upon to help. Caprianus four, had been one of those planets.
"What...?"
His voice was icy, demanding.
"... corrupted."
Erik could understand why the astropath had hesitated. It was impossible for Astartes of the Order to be corrupted. This had never happened before. His Order adorned itself with the fact that they were considered unquestionably loyal.
"This is impossible."
There was no mistaking the disbelief in Erik's voice.
"They will dock. The Astartes are coming right down here. I want Brother Ignatius to look at this 'corruption'. And have Brother Ishmael join them, too."
Erik turned to go.
"May your will be done."
The astropath was used to the fractious nature of the Astartes of the Order and the lack of certain etiquette. It bothered him, but he also knew that it made little sense to argue with a son of Fenris and even less with a son of Russ.
Erik stormed out of the halls of the choir. He had already passed the Astartes at the entrance before they could take their stance. His voice was strained and the anger and rage were palpable as he bellowed into his vox unit.
"I want three packs on landing platform five. I want the Wolf Priests there too, all of them not busy with urgent matters. Full weapons."
The two Astartes looked at each other, but would never question an order from their yarl, much less abandon their post.
Erik did not wait for the elevator, but ran toward the stairs that led down to the landing platforms.