'We live, as we dream — alone ...' [In Character]

[Illiterate Scribe]

The Adeptus Astartes have back channels. Always have, always will. Bearing, as they do, a somewhat different interpretation of the Emperor's nature and will to the Imperium at large, it has served the Loyalist Chapters ever since the Heresy to manage their own affairs. Techmarines operate a shadow-Mechanicus, maintaining and operating the weapons of war that make a chapter a fighting force - even pursuing new and esoteric technological progress. The Masters of the Fleet coordinate ship actions without any recourse to Navy Strategoi, often with the collusion of the Navis Nobilite, who revel in operating behind the Administratum's back. The homeworlds of each chapter - be they pinpricks of light in an ocean of darkness, like the Auroras Chapter, or mighty Imperia, like Ultramar - operate with such independence that they look more like members of some loosely-aligned federation than simply recruiting grounds. Put simply, the Space Marines form a second Imperium, overlayed onto the one ruled from Terra and Ophelia VII - a realisation that is not unnoticed by watchful minds both within and without their organisation.

With Grand Sorceror Ygethmor's Fourteenth Black Crusade threatening to overwhelm the Cadian Gate, the repeated intervention of Astartes, Inquistion, and even Xenos Eldar notwithstanding, and the concern over the rapidly weakening Astronomican justified by the loss of contact between Ultramar and Terra - the Chapter Masters have been working their back channels more furiously than ever before. A general feeling exists among the Angels of Death that certain prerogatives may and should be taken to bolster Imperial defence by slowly returning control in the chain of command back to the Emperor's Finest. This much you know - it's barely a secret behind the closed doors of the Chapter, as Forge Priests explain that to protect the weak, you must lead them, Justicars rue being suborned to the service of Inquisitors who kill and consort with Daemons almost as much as their targets, and Chaplains preach against the depravity, fleshy weakness and lack of appreciation shown by those the Marines defend.

One day, this state of affairs changes. It comes to a head. Mind-wiped, case-hardened servitors and cherubim approach each one of you seemingly out of nowhere - appearing within fortress monasteries, aboard battle barges, even on the field of battle - and each one bears the same message, a tamper-proofed data-slate clasped in subdermally rewired hands. Taking it off the messenger causes a startling jolt to run down your arm - it's interfacing directly with your armour, and reading the DNA contained in your progenoids! After a few seconds of this deeply uncomfortable sensation, the slate - whose evidently archaeotech-based systems have just authenticated you down to your very soul as the correct recipient - spits out a long spool of narrow paper.

Message soul-bound; authentication confirmed. Printing Message/:

Path Detail:

• Origin: Terra / Segmentum Tempestum / Shrine World and Wellspring of the Emperor's Light. Origin Date: 2.103.147.M42.
• Relayed: directed narrow-beam empyrean communication directly to Chapter High Command, Inner Circle, Promethean Cult, &c. Priority transmission granted clearance upon the authority of the Master Navigator of House Deschan.
• Received: Various. Orders reviewed and authenticated by relevant Company and Chapter Masters.
• Author: User deregistered.

Ave Imperator! Ave Primarche!

By the Authority of the Emperor's Sacrifice, you are relieved from duty, and enjoined by strictest measure to make all haste to the provided transport. The Rogue Traders, Navigators, and Chartist Captains provided for your passage have been selected for their discretion and bear sealed orders to transport you to a secret location where your presence and service is requested by the Convoke Extraordinary. This is a summons beyond all others - let nothing impede you in your attendance and edification.

The informational sanctity of this event, as you must know, is paramount - while your couriers know, this knowledge will be dealt with upon their return. If you meet resistance, or some form of attack, then fight off any ambushers, but, if at any point you believe that you will fall into Xenos, Malefic, or Heretical hands, the Emperor's grace has been granted to you to execute your chosen form of self-terminatory behaviour.

Signed,

☀

Addendum [Author rank:Master of the Chapter] - I regret, brother, that this message derives from a higher authority than I, and you must break off your present engagements. Holy as they were, you are drafted now to a higher purpose, which I regret to say I am not at liberty inform you of at present. Suffice to say that your skills, specialisations and above all outlook have led you to be needed at this location. If you are wondering 'why me', then I can only advise you to banish your worry - you are anonymous enough to pass comparatively undetected and unhindered - the author of this missive is correct that no-one bar those we have sent to you should be trusted.

Represent your parent Chapter well, and ensure that you remain untainted by ulterior concerns and prejudices; for he who in all things practices perfection in all things is the only true conduit of the Emperor. Our Reclusiarch has led the Chapter in observance of your service, and your names have been added to our rosters of virtue. May the Emperor's Ineffable Fortune lie with you.

/Message End. Thought for the Day: The Emperor Vindicates.

And with that (somehow, the paper 'knows' when you have finished reading it), the spool ages ten thousand years in a heartbeat, crumbling to dust before your eyes. A similar change comes over the servitor, which seems to lose the stiff back-bone common to its kind, its jaw and spine slouching slightly. It's dead.

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OK, you can decide whereabouts you are (provided that you're all seperate) - fighting, recuperating, studying, meditating, or just relaxing all cool out in your Fortress Monastery. Wherever it is, a path has been quickly cleared for you to board an Arvus Light Transport that will take you up to a small warp capable ship.

Also, you can make a very hard (-30) common lore (chapter history) check, or a challenging (±0) forbidden lore (traitor legions/chapter history) check to remember what's hovering at the back of your mind about the words 'Convoke Extraordinary' ..

[Krrth]

Constantine had been informed of his new assignment to the Medicae, and was in his quarters pondering the implications of this when the servitor arrived. Quickly, he began packing his gear for the upcoming journey. As he did so, the phrase "Convoke Extraordinary" was dancing in his mind. He had heard that before somewhere....or perhaps not. Must have been something one of his nephews has made up.

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rolling Forbidden Lore (chapter History) vs/ 38 (1d100)[95]

I'm assuming the message looks authentic?

edit:Ouch!....guess I don't remember!

[Illiterate Scribe]

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OoC:Nope, no knowledge, I'm afraid. However, the very obscurity of it may tell you something - a student of chapter history not knowing it - leaves you to make your own conclusions.

[Verruckt]

Gevurah was wiping eldar blood off of his boot when the servitor approached. The message bore stunning authority, and he paused only to collect his trunk of texts and belongings from the beachhead command post before his frame took up most of the tiny Lighter that bore him into orbit and the waiting vessel above. He passed the time in transit flipping through books of chapter lore looking for "Convoke Extraordinary", wondering if he had imagined seeing it on one of the yellowing pages.

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(1d100)[82] need to beat 32, any bonus for having the books on hand? edit: even if they did I'm doubting that would be enough, here's hoping it's not a sign of rolls to come

[Illiterate Scribe]

Gevurah was wiping eldar blood off of his boot when the servitor approached. The message bore stunning authority, and he paused only to collect his trunk of texts and belongings from the beachhead command post before his frame took up most of the tiny Lighter that bore him into orbit and the waiting vessel above. He passed the time in transit flipping through books of chapter lore looking for "Convoke Extraordinary", wondering if he had imagined seeing it on one of the yellowing pages.

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[roll0] need to beat 32, any bonus for having the books on hand? edit: even if they did I'm doubting that would be enough, here's hoping it's not a sign of rolls to come

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The books give you nothing more than two dates related to the Convoke - M31, and M36.

[crazedloon]

Brother Librarian Lucius Egar

Lucius Let the man drop from his grasp. It had been all too easy to crush the mans spine. He had revealed nothing as expected the fallen where not easy to follow much less find. The servitor walked up the group of battle brothers and the DA who surround their librarian look at the servitor with an eye of suspicious however this was not the oddest thing that had happened recently. The squad had been a guard for a Inquisitorial Inspection when a nobles words had caused the Librarian to leave the Inquisitor. The Inquisitor was enraged but what could he wield against the power of a full unit of Adeptus Astartes. The battle brothers did not know why they had pursued this man nor why he now lay limp so why would they question the servitor now.

addendum to the note (if you don't mind)

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You have been requested specifically for your wasted position as a Inquisitors lackey and the fact that such a task is surely stopping our true goals. Follow the fallen even more fervently in this task because without that goals completion we do not deserve the emperors protection or this position as his guardians.

When Luscious was done with the note he smiles finally done being a fools lackey and finally his unending quest may continue with more than false rumors on backwater worlds.

Men you are to return to the Inquisitor and do as he wishes. It has been an honor serving you and may you do our chapter proud. Sergeant the men are yours.

Lucious bids his men farewell before leaving for the ship waiting for him. As he moves quickly to the transport vessel he goes over the information in the note which he has quickly memorized.

crunch

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Forbidden lore checks (33)
heresy (1d100)[28]
chapter history (1d100)[47]
chaos (1d100)[10]

common lore (13)
chapter history (1d100)[60]

[Illiterate Scribe]

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By the way, I'm just giving everyone a chance to post before I move stuff on a bit, and let the party meet up.

The Addendum's fine, crazed loon, and fits with what I had in mind.

Anyway, your lore results - yeah, forbidden lore chaos and heresy should do some on this.

For your chaos forbidden lore check: The first Convoke Extraordinary was called by the Primarch of the Luna Wolves , in the latter parts of the Great Crusade. While subsequent research, together with hindsight, suggests that it may have been a vector for the spread of chaos to what would eventually become the traitor legions, it was sanctioned by the Emperor, and all but Lion'el Jonson, Jaghatai Khan, Leman Russ, Rogal Dorn, and Magnus the Red were present. You don't know much about its purpose, however.

For your heresy check, you remember a snatch of 'The Age of Apostasy' by Ecclesiarch Deacis IX, discussing the heresy of Goge Vandire:

'What a tragedy that so many millions of true men should have died under the evil eye of that cruel regime. To the Adepts of Earth it must have seemed that the Emperor has deserted them and the end had finally come. The screams of the innocent rent the night as men were dragged from sleep and taken into the pits of the Assassins.

The Adeptus Astartes held aloof and looked to their own councils, unsure what course history would take. Even the Tech-Priests turned away from the High Lords. The damned Purge of Vandire divided man from man and tore at the Imperium like a wounded beast that claws its own vitals in its agony. What hope was there left for men bereft on the Emperor's love. Yet of all the men of Earth at least one servant had the faith to say, In The Emperor's Name, Enough!
That man was Sebastian Thor.'

What relevance this has is difficult to make out, however.

[king.com]

Brother Harbough Mercut

It was the gentle breeze which first made him recognise the threat which this servitor had brought him.

It spoke against his treachings, against hierarchy, against the Codex, yet the Chapter Master himself approved it. He felt conflicted immediately to the command, join and follow protocol, yet doing so, would force the unconditional actions, and the disapproval of his brothers.

It was with grudging hearts that he forced himself down that perilous road. When a single stray could lead to betrayal of the codex, of his brothers, and his duty. The ashes of the note still ingrained into his right hand, powdering it black. He was most threateningly, of the all the potential for chaos to creep into ones heart, alone.

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OOC: Boarding the ship etc, skip me ahead to where necessary.

[Krrth]

Constantine had finally gathered together his gear. With a heavy heart, he prepared to board the ship that had been sent to transport him. He knew that all aboard were most likely dead men, and he resolved that he would stay in his quarters for the trip. Perhaps if he did not interact with the crew, the sender of the message would not feel it necessary to eliminate witnesses the same way they did the servitor. He would spend much of the voyage praying to the Emperor for this.

[DarkNewton]

Candles burned in a quiet circle around the gathered unit of Grey Knights, one for each member of the unit. The chamber echoed with the quiet intonation of Justicar Maliard's prayer of atonement, his voice echoed by each and every gathered brother. Just the first of many hours that will be spent in this chamber preparing for the engagement that is soon to come, but today's services however are interrupted by the low repeated shrilling of a terminal. Ignored until the atonement is complete, Maliard rose and quietly attended the recessed terminal, a quick scan before barking out, "Sacantus, with me"

Rising Novare followed the captain out of the chamber, and further across the ship to an enclosed meeting room, where the Inquisitor waited tight lipped, at his side a new servitor idles.

"Reporting as order-" Maliard's response is cut off as the servitor springs to life and circles the room to deliver it's message.

As the paper spool crumbles away, the Inquisitor speaks up finally, his speech directed at Maliard, "Orders from the Ordo.." The inquisitor passes a data-slate over to the Justicar. A brief moment and the Grey knight nods briefly, "He'll be ready.." and with a pair of salutes, the two knights begin to return to the meditation chamber, but pause briefly outside it's doors. "Throne guide you brother " Maliard begins, "It is unusual for one of our order to be sent to an isolated engagement, but perhaps this is providence, a test of your mettle and a lesson in the value of having your brothers alongside you." Briefly grasping each other's shoulder, "Go now, with honor"

"The Emperor Protects" Novare speaks finally.

Maliard nods briefly one last time before turning and heading through the hatchway that leads to the inner meditation chamber, leaving Novare with one last image of the other knights still kneeling in a circle praying.

Then with no further hesitation, the lone Knight wastes no time in taking the first of many steps to lead him towards his new, obscured objective

[Warpix]

His desk was covered with his cleaning gear. His bolter and bolt pistols lain out as he took his last pistol apart. Silvanus started by taking out the clip as the servitor came in his quarters. Silvanus managed to pop the barrel out as the servitor printed out a length paper. Putting his gear down, he read the piece of paper as a quirk rose to his eye. Wondering why he in particular had been chosen, he turned to the servitor.

"Hey do you know what thi-"

He then realized that he was holding ashes and was talking to a corpse. Rather unnerved by this, Silvanus finished cleaning up his bolt pistol before grabbing all of his gear and walking out the door.

I wonder what I have in store for me...

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[roll0]

OOC: As I wrote this, I have to bring it up... Bolt Pistols don't have slides, do they?

[Warpix]

OOC: yay for me screwing up my roll

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Common Lore: Chapter history (1d100)[95]
Feel free to take my character where necessary.

[Illiterate Scribe]

All of your journeys are quiet, and go without incident, in the main. A few near-encounters with raiders do come close to hindering your progress, but the crew are instructed to jump away before hostilities are risked. As you progress, however, it seems as if the ship is being taxed harder and harder, losing its precision as the Navigators struggle to retain even the memory of the Astronomican. Welcome to the edge of the known universe; welcome to the Halo Stars.

The deadness and stillness of this place is palpable, even within the spaceship. Whereas space towards the galactic core is young, full of superheated gas, and a thousand thousand nebulae making stars anew, this place is empty. Nothing registers out of the viewing ports bar a dark greyish smear of refracted light, and the odd geometric shard of far larger rock. The few waystations you do come across are automatically run, with no living things anywhere in sight - they float in the upper atmospheres of gas giants, orbit cracked, dirty orbs of ice, and are bolted to the scorched, now cold, surface of tiny planetoids.

This isolation inevitably leads you to the crew, who behave somewhat oddly - in a way, in fact, you've never seen humans do before. They see you as a comrade. Just another cargo, boss. As such, they don't show deference, neither do they show you disrespect. Instead, they mostly ignore you, and merely talk amongst themselves. It's only when they turn round that you see what's hanging around their necks, where the Inquisitorial agents the resemble would wear their Rosettes and =][= signs. A tiny, wrought-iron Crux Terminatus dangles above each of their lapels. When they see you seeing this, they smile. You're in safe hands.

This goes on for a matter of weeks, but, after a particularly harrowing blind jump (the Emperor's light is utterly gone here), you come into orbit around a single-planet system that orbits a flickering, faded sun. As your transports round its shabby corona, you see it.

Resplendent in ragged gold and azure, the Battle Barge Redemptoris Missio of the Celestial Lions glides serenely through the void, its sharp angled carapace cutting a swathe through the off-black darkness that surrounds it. In the process of docking into its many launch bays are two smaller ships, which, like your own, are little more than warp capable shuttles; one, visible as the Fides et Ratio is the colour of stained parchment and blood; the other, curiously identified in low gothic as 'With Burning Concern', bears heraldry in red, eye-watering yellow, and black. You also see a number of other vessels less ostentatiously marked - this group moves towards its own hangar bay, landing with barely a hitch.

Leaving the ships, blinking in the vivid harshness of your new surroundings (it's been a while since you saw colour or light brighter than a candle), you realise that you are not alone on the deck: there are seven of you.

An Ultramarine stands, hefting his unattached jump pack, having had difficulty maneuvering it out through the narrow door. By him, armoured in deep green, appraising the surroundings with a quizzical yet knowing eye, a Salamander hauls himself from the shuttle. To complete the primary colours, a Blood Angel, clad in (what else?) the distinctive fiery red of his Primarch's essence steps forth.

These are joined by a pair of Marines who, despite their differences in equipment, armour, and bearing, share an uncanny similarity - their faces seem, at least, to have been chiselled by the same sculptor, although subtle difference attest to one suffering an excess of mental turmoil, while the other has the cruel avian touch of a raptor in his manner.

Finally, two more disembark from their transports. The first, moving with more haste and urgency, seems both born and made for what he is doing now. Mighty footfalls shaking the deck with certainty and efficiency unusual even for a space marine, there's no doubt that this is one of the Iron Hands. Following him, in stark contrast, paces a figure that, in its subtlety and sleek, unadorned power armour, projects a disquieting aura all of its own. If the devotional scriptures etched into its armour and across its breast had not made it clear who this was, the long bladed staff and the intrinsic storm-bolter make it evident that you are now in the presence of a Grey Knight; a warrior-mystic of the Ordo Malleus.

There's a moment's pause as you meet your fellow Astartes; a moment of silence that is broken as cenobyte servitor of the Black Templars approaches your group. You can see why he never made it to being a full space marine; he's nervy, small, and doesn't really seem to have the 'presence', that awe-inspiring charisma of all marines, that, if not capable of stopping a conversation when entering a room, is at least capable of warning in no uncertain terms that to continue it would be death. Saying nothing, but cringing in ways that communicate better than words, he beckons you to enter a service corridor.

Sirs, sirs, sirs! We had feared you lost in your travel, killed by raiders, or,

A tendon become taut in his scrawny neck.

you were forced to make good your emergency orders! Thankfully, you are here now, just in time, since the Convoke was nearly forced to ascribe your names to the Gilded Book. May I relieve you of your burdens, your weapons? I apologise for this, it is simply a formality that we each face each other face-to-face unarmed at the Convoke and a practical one too, can't be burning holes in ships, hehe? These will be stored in your cells which have already been prepared with great comfort for you, at the very fin of the ship, and I assure that everything within them shall be secure, after all, your orders were, were they not?

This torrent of speech comes to an abrupt halt, the cenobyte now in a wide, utilitarian, but well-maintained service galley of the ship. He rocks back and forth slightly, his arms outstretched for the equipment, which he manages to balance on his back and shoulders with alarming agility. A few power armoured battle-brothers in unfamiliar liveries make their way by, deep in theological dialogue, glancing in awe at those assembled - five of the First Founding, one issuing from the very hand of the Emperor's Council, and if the rumours of the Grey Knights' lineage were true ...

I shall take the news to the Hierarchs of the Convoke - Brothers Cadma, Orge Exagriomene, and Master Boreale, with best haste. I apologise, many sorries, for leaving you in less than commodious settings, but the ceremony awaits! I return shortly!

And with that, this strange half-man disappears towards the Battle Barge's heart, down a narrow access corridor full of steam and industrial vapours. Before he even reaches the end of it, he is gone to the mist.

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And so ends my current run of TL;DR megaposts, hoping to ease the game into its stride, from here. It will move much more quickly and smoothly with shorter post. OK, so, seven space marines walk onto a ship ... and what's their small talk? Also - apologies for taking potential liberties in describing your appearances.

For Cheesegear's eyes only, although I'm sure, as a good brother marine, he's willing to share ...

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Critical success! You received item: Info-dump!

A Convoke Extraordinary is just that - a calling together of all of the authorities of the Space Marines into a pan-Astartes pooling of knowledge, expertise, and power. Such an event should not be take lightly, as the combined strength of even a million Space Marines could quite easily topple the Imperium of Man, and, as such, goes against just about every check and balance dreamt up by the bureaucracy of the Administratum. It's the sort of thing that gives the Inquisition nightmares, and when that happens, the Senate of Terra is willing to rubber-stamp mass Officio Assassinorum deployments that make the Wars of Vindication look like a playground fight. And that's just what would be levelled at the Convoke through official channels ...

As such, the declaration of the Convoke is usually carried out by Astartes of singular rank and purity. This role is overshadowed by the first Convoke; declared to suborn all military authority in the Imperium into a single role - that of Warmaster, a role promptly taken on Horus - it backfired spectacularly, by allowing Chaos to gain a servant at the Imperium's highest level. The second Convoke, as such, was declared by the Ultramarines, and vouched for by one of the purest of the pure - the Brother Captain Invictus, who went on to serve long and valiantly in the Emperor's service. It was also more cautious - it counselled the Astartes, alongside the Mechanicus, to stand aside from the entire Wars of Apostasy, and not back either side. For while passionate arguments were made in favour of propelling Sebastian Thor forth to the liberation of Terra at the helm of a Space Marine led invasion force, calmer minds argued that to do so risked a catastropic escalation of the conflict, which would not merely ravage the Imperium, but spell its end.

Some chapters disobeyed the decision of the Convoke, but the majority complied. The plan worked. Despite many billions dead, the Emperor's chosen succeeded, and, when it had, the Space Marines were able to emerge from the shadows, shrouded in glory and launching crusades of faith, beacons for hope in the common people of the Imperium. At the cost of many lives, the Convoke had ensured the resurgence of Man's domain.

What precisely has caused this Convoke is unknown to you; but in these troubled times, there could be any number of reasons.

[Krrth]

Greetings Brothers. I trust the journey went as smoothly for you?

[Verruckt]

The still helmeted figure of Gevurah turns toward the Salamander. Clad in a Chaplain's black plate and a burning crimson tabard, his Death's Head face plate is carved from a yellowing ivory, and the canines seem slightly pronounced. He is clasping a hymnal in one hand and a illuminated manuscript of the Codex Astartes hangs from a chain around his waist.

+"Smooth enough, yet the length only served to heighten my curiosity."+
He pauses a moment to pry free his helmet, the void seals popping and hissing as he does so, when he continues his gothic carries a slight slavic lilt.
"I know not what we gather for, but to my knowledge such an event as this has happened only twice in Imperial history, and both instances were during times of greatest turmoil. If we 7 are any measure of the others brought here, I pale to wonder who could have arranged such a meeting..."

He stows both helm and hymnal and makes an Aquila over his chest, the black wings on the tabard extending the sign.

"Chaplain Priest Camael Gevurah of the Blood Angels, may the Emperor's light favor them always."

[king.com]

"As smoothly as one can be ripped from their brothers unnounced for some, unknown purpose."

The Ultramarine shuffled with his jump pack, still uneasy with it. He bows slightly to the Chaplain

"One must be far above the Chapter Masters if one is to convince them to shed their warriors, so readily. For whatever new purpose we are now assigned, it does not bode well, for us or the Imperium."

[Cheesegear]

Dariel flexed his augemtic left hand. The apothecaries and medicaes told him that he'd eventually get used to what was called 'Phantom Pain'. It didn't make logical sense to Dariel, how could his brain recieve pain signals from the nerve endings in his hand, if his hand was no longer there?
Dariel then flexed his right hand. One hundred percent organic tissue; aside from a few modifications here and there to allow for the Black Carapace and his Power Armour to be able to integrate with the nerve endings in his fingtertips.

One day, even Dariel's right hand would be replaced by an augmetic replacement. It happened to all senior brothers of his chapter. Dariel knew, that in order to be closer to the Machine God, he would have to become more and more augmented over time. But, still, at the cost of his...Humanity? Dariel didn't know if the Astartes still classed themselves as 'human'. It was odd, this contradiction of belief. As a Warrior of the Iron Hands' Space Marine Chapter, Dariel would give all he had over to the machine. As a mortal...Dariel felt keenly the loss of his emotions. As portions of his brain were over-ridden by computational logic. One day - soon? - he wouldn't even remember having these thoughts.

His helmet hung on the catch at the waist of his power armour, Dariel greeted his Astartes Brethren with a blank face - had he forgotten how to smile? Perhaps.

"I am Father Dariel. As children not born of the Primarch Ferrus Manus, my 'Father' title means nothing to you. I suppose to you, I would be of similar service as a Techpriest of the Adeptus Mechanicus. And I greet you as such."

[Krrth]

Apothecary inititate Constantine Dae. It's good to meet all of you.

Constantine looks around and chuckles

Does it ever bode well for the Imperium when we get called upon?

[crazedloon]

Brother Librarian Lucius Egar
Lucius eyes the others as they stand about introducing themselves and is proud and pained to see that Caliban has provided more than its share to this endeavor. It was their curse to have to prove that they were no traitors but the poor boy probably did not know why he was here.

As the blood angel removed his helmet Lucius grunted to himself a ferocious ally but a potential liability. He must be watched closely.

I know of your position father and it is an honorable one. Do not lower yourself from the position your chapter has entrusted you to.

The boy should know better and an Iron hand at that allow himself to deny his position.

Lucius eyed the Ultramarine a sad lot they were untainted and revered they knew not the hardship a true marine should suffer. This Salamander was too flippant he would soon learn his hardship.

But now the matter at hand he best talk with the boy. Lucius turned to Silvanus and outstretched his hand in greeting.

Greetings brother I trust your chapter does the emperor proud. And I trust you know of my position.

Even as the words leave him a shiver goes up his spine the Gray knights were not a pleasant lot to be around particularly not for one as he. They were not natural a mind should not be wiped liked that a man should live with his sin and overcome it. And their medical augmentation made their psychic aura unnaturally strong. Lucious knew plenty well why demons feared them but he did not like it.

[Verruckt]

Gevurah nods in deference to Dariel before turning back to Constantine.

"The Codex states our purpose to be the protection of the Imperium from threats of all sizes, as I'm sure our brother from Ultramar here could tell you. Even so, not even Armageddon warranted such a meeting. Do any of you have a greater idea of the purpose of this event, or ones past?"

[DarkNewton]

The Grey Knight stands stoically in parade rest as the group is addressed, his Nemesis Halberd planted against the outside of his right boot and held loosely in one hand. At the order to disarm he reluctantly surrenders the tall pole-arm, before unbuckling the belt feed from the weapon embedded into his left forearm. Dechambering the pair of rounds from it, followed by pulling the paired barrels from the stock he effectively renders the weapon harmless.

His attention then turns to the slow round of introductions circling the group of marines. After briefly echoing the Chaplains Aquila, the knight reaches up grasping the odd shaped helmet, he bears, by the nose and with a sharp motion shifts the helmet 25 degrees. An instant hiss and metallic screech as the environmental seals exhale. Lifting the helm off exposes a shaven scalp that only shows a hint of black stubble, a series of long scars crisscrossing the darkly tanned head. Holding the helmet casually under one arm, the knight offers a simple introduction.

"Brother-Marine Sacantus" He begins with a slight inclination of his head, avoiding the long drawn out title of his organization, "of the Grey Knights"

Freed of his helm, the blue eyes of the knight briefly meet each of the other's lingering for a moment on the librarian a brief nod towards the other psychically gifted member of the gathered.

His gaze shifts to the Bloodangel Chaplin, "My commanding officers gave me no other information other then was relayed through a dying servitor."

[Warpix]

Silvanus Faust

A marine with tiny scars that were scattered across his face stood silently in his black and green Errant power armor. He held his helmet under his arm, with his left hand's fingers inside it and his thumb resting on the outside. He had two Bolt Pistols attached to his belt, a sword attached to his backpack, and a Bolter lazily swaying from its sling. His silence broke once Lucius spoke to him.

"Welcome brother librarian, my chapter fights ever valiantly. I am Brother Faust."

Faust stood with the group, constantly wondering why there are Marines from such an odd variety of chapters.

[Cheesegear]

Dariel nods. At each of his Astartes Brethren. Their faces meaning nothing to him. As the augmented part of his brain recorded colours of their armour, and their parent Chapter, his aural implant recording voice pitch and tone. Images of faces and characteristics could be replicated with the right technology. But, voices were harder to disguise.

"No. It has never boded well for the Imperium when one such gathering as this has taken place. My records indicate that such an event as this has happened twice before. Each time precluding a disastrous event in the immediate future of said meeting. Previous history indicates to me, that there is a foul plot about to befall the Imperium, and we, my brother Astartes, will need to prevent it. As has happened twice before. The adage of 'the thrice-tried attempt is the luckiest attempt' occurs to me. However, 'Luck' is not an indication of physical prowess. And is rarely called upon outside the ranks of the Imperial Guard, may their services be fruitious."

[Verruckt]

Gevurah's eyes widen perceptibly at Dariel's divulge information.

"The idea of such a meeting, the suggestions it makes about the power of this Adeptus..."

He doesn't say 'it goes against everything the Codex was created to uphold' but the implication is there, and the thought hangs in the air, heavy and uncomfortable. He shakes his head.

"My Primarch, Sanguinius, always attempted to unite his brothers. Our chapter's sagas tell that he even attempted to turn Dread Horus from his course of destruction. It is the legacy of my chapter, in my very blood, to mirror his actions and be the mortar that binds we brothers. This meeting perhaps simply reflects that purpose on a grander scale. Now, where is this ceremony the cenobite spoke of?"

[king.com]

Brother Harbough Mercut

"We are seperated for a reason, it is our destiny to find divided, as united far more damage can be unwittingly caused."

He stares quizzically as the cast before him, if only to judge their values to the future agenda of this gathering. He pauses over the grey knight standing before him, accepting nothing of the legends and myths surround this 'chapter that does not exist', though is still a little awed by his prescence.

His large black armour, is only contrasted by the large blue shoulder pad, and the radiating golden horseshoe of the Ultramarines. He was an Ultramarine first, and a member of the Deathwatch second. He was not unused to serving among brothers of different chapters but he had learnt that they were only ever called in to handle a specific problem. Each was granted skills, and brothers were only called upon when those skills were needed.

This collection was daunting but it was the varying skills which almost intimidated him. If these were the ones needed, he was hesistant to think what they were needed for.

[Illiterate Scribe]

At that moment, the cenobite reenters. There's something different about him - when you look closer, you see that it is in fact a different servitor. Same face, same cowed manner, but subtly different physique. He livens up somewhat upon seeing the seven of you in the hallway. It doesn't do wonders for his clarity of speech, either.

Ceremony? Oh, but it is now, brother sirs! The Convoke's Inplenary Session - think of it as an administrative, taking stock, sort of meeting - wishes to become started, although not out of any concern as to your time of arrival, rather, since we are only too eager to begin!

If brothers Mercut, Dae, Gevurah, Dariel, and Egar, could follow me, please, then the ceremony can begin. I regret that the rubric states that Sacentus and Faust may not attend the opening inplenary session, and that I may not guide you to your cells - courtesy was not seen as a necessary remnant of personality by our Chaplains - but I am sure that one of the Astartes residing here would be honoured to guide you to your quarters, to the cloister, or to the refectory, should you wish. Details of the session shall be relayed to you via your suit microphones.

Dae, Mercut, Gevurah, Egar, Dariel

Spoiler

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Following the cenobyte through a service corridor, an access elevator, an access shaft, another service corridor, and, finally, another elevator, you eventually follow the Servitor to a much grander part of the ship - all lapis inlays and gold leaf. Very tasteful. A door opens, the servitor confers inaudibly with someone inside, and then ushers you in. He's lost his flippancy now.

Within, are twenty seats around the edge of the circular room. Each seat shares a long circular stone table, with an open pit at the centre. As you may have suspected, members of the Raven Guard, Space Wolves, Imperial Fists, and White Scars fill some of the other seats, but three figures are clearly sitting at the 'head' of the round table.

On the left, a veteran sits, his pitted yellow armour scored and marked, but still bearing the snarling crimson faces that distinguish his chapter as perhaps one of the most aggressive and combative of the entire Astartes legions - the Angels Furor. He mutters something obscene under his breath, but seems pleased to see the new talent. At the right is the most senior in pre-Convoke rank - none other than the Chapter Master of the Blood Ravens sits resplendent in fine red and brass armour as bright as the light shining in radiance from his gleaming forehead. Between the two is a figure armoured in simple golden armour, but nonetheless bearing a serenity perhaps lacking from the other two. It is he who speaks up.

I am Brother Cadma, of the Celestial Lions. This is Sergeant Exagriomene of the Angels Furor, and this is Chapter Master Indrick Boreale. I apologise for the abruptness and nature of our summons, but it was necessary to bring you here in a satisfactory state. I'm sure you have questions - there has never been a better time to ask them, and in our dialogue we may prosecute the matter of this session.

Sacantus and Faust

Spoiler

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Contrary to the cenobyte's promises, the previously frequent space marines roving this hallway seem to have become noticeably absent. Save one.

Leaning nonchalantly against a bulkhead rests one of the least Astartes-like space marine you've ever seen. Puffing on an enormous, pungent lho-stick, he blows a smoke ring into the air, its perfect torus rapidly disintegrating in the face of entropy and chaos in the filtered air, then fixes you with a stare, a grin spreading across his face. In fact, that's all you really can see of his face - the hood of a well-worn and stained robe covers the rest of it. What it doesn't fail to cover, however, is the distinctive grey-green armour, done up in out-of-production power systems, the purity seals, numerous even for a space marine, and the enormous rictus-bearing skull adorning his shoulder, and carrying his full infamy in only a few daubs of paint.

Hi there. Mind if I take a minute of your time, brothers?

says the Relictor standing before you.

[DarkNewton]

ForbLoreChaos-27 - (1d100)[31]

The Knight watches the majority of the group leave, gaze briefly touching the other marine divided from the group. That is until the Relictor speaks, Novare's shifts, his eyes fixed on the newcomer, "I do not mind at all" a pause, "After walking into a group of highly honored chapters, I must admit that I would not have expected a member of a legion declared Excommunicate Traitoris to be represented here" A callous smirk slowly spreads across the knight, "Or perhaps I was mistaken?"

[Krrth]

Greetings, Brothers. How may I serve?


As speaks, he looks around for other Salamanders among the assembled marines.

[Verruckt]

For a moment the chaplain is simply struck by the rainbow of chapters before him. Then struck for another by the sheer power in the room, a chapter master even, glowing from head to toe. He pauses for any perfunctory responses and offers his greeting
"Camael Gevurah, Chaplain Priest of the Blood Angels"
He arches a brow at the sight of the black seals, as well as so many unrecognized colors, liveries and marks. He begins to wrack his mind for information.

"Firstly, and most importantly, why are we here?"

[Illiterate Scribe]

Spoiler

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The Relictor's grin widens at the opening bit of cut-and-thrust - chapter politics and all that.

Well, let's just say that go back a long way with some of the organisers, who suggested that I might be able to lend a hand on a couple of particular areas of expertise, capisce? Anyway, though the brass brought me here, I think I might take my exit soon, get out of an ensuing heat. I don't like this meet, one bit, and I specifically looked out you and Mister Faust here because you're known for your stricture, and might not be seen as some liberal astartes who'd pussyfoot around my supposed heresy - if I show you something bad's about to happen, I hope you'd accept it and be taken seriously. Now, if you and your heretic-hunting-happy friend could put aside the fact that you had my entire chapter killed - no hard feelings, by the way - can I show you something in my quarters?

He gestures down the corridor.

Summit

Spoiler

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Boreale looks as if he is about to speak - indeed, he draws enough breath to recite the entire Imperial Creed - thus giving Brother Cadma the time to butt in.

Yes, I appreciate that you are to some extent in the dark. For the moment, Brother Dae, you can serve best by simply acting as witness to what is said here - one such as yourself, with a heightened appreciation of the lot of the common man, will give us a better insight into our goals than many here.

As I'm sure you're aware by now, we call Convokes when things are going badly. However, the sheer scale of the badness has been hidden. Not one, not two, but three heretofore unknown hivefleets have been detected on the Northern Galactic Rim, coming from a direction that confounded even Kryptman One of them seems posed to strike at Fenris. The Mechanicus is compromised on Mars itself by antediluvian witchery. But worst of all is this Fourteenth Black Crusade. Abaddon commanding or at least orchestrating them? Fine, between the Astartes Praeses, the Cadian pylon, the Guard, and even,

He chuckles grimly.

the odd Xenos seer, we can hold him back. But the truth of it is that Ygethmor is different. His crusade is different. We lost contact with Cadia's astropathic six months ago. Doubtless, fighting still continues on the planet's surface, but the fact remains that the forces of Chaos may have breached the Eye of Terror. I don't need to spell out what that means. It was the high commander of forces in the area who declared the Convoke initially. And who better than to explain it than he - Logan Grimnar?

Cadma gestures to Exagriomene, who, cursing, hammers the 'on' button of a small data project with his power fist until it starts.

For a short time, the image that erupts from the recorder is hazy, static-ridden, and hard to distinguish. It doesn't take long, however, before it resolves into a giant of a man, clad in Tactical Dreadnaught Armour, which in turn is clad in the furs of a thousand extinct species. Long, razor sharp teeth, shaggy hair, and the axe - yes, it's the Space Wolf Chapter Master. He begins speaking in a manner that betrays this as a canned recording.
is't on? You're sure? We din't want to muck it like last time. Ah.

Brothers at the Convoke, let me tell you two stories, see what yer make of them. During the First Armageddon War, our chapter was fighting the forces of the World Eaters, as led by none either than their Daemon Primarch, Angron. We couldn't hold 'em alone, but the Grey Knights came, and together we banished him back to th'Warp. A great victory, you may think. Well, it seemed that way to us. Until the Inquistion decided that the population of the planet had seen too much, and had the entire population - all 40 billion of them - sterilised in concentration camps. Pretty merciful and necessary, eh? Shows us the calibre of their minds, I'd say.

Now, I'm commanding the entire Imperial forces for the Ocularis Terribus, and I think I've lost. We've got too few troops, commanded by cruel generals and commissars with no appreciation of courage or valour, not to mention strategy or battle plans beyond 'send in waves and waves of men', and, surprisingly enough, if there's one thing that Chaos has to speak well of, it's their organisation when they get together. They're winning the war, gentlemen.

What I propose - for this convoke, for the wider world - might be termed a 'coup' by those petty minded bureaucrats of the Inquisition, of the Administratum, or of the Ecclesiarchy. But isn't it they who strayed from the Emperor's path? Who worship him as a god, rather than the father and paragon of man? Who oppress his people? In short, we correct the Imperium - we issue an ultimatum to the powers secular and spiritual on Terra to reorganise it along the lines that our Father laid out for us all. We bring the Imperium together along better lines, older lines, and, step by faltering step, bring ourselves towards what the Emperor wanted us to be. It starts here. The Astartes to gain total, unmastered military authority over the forces, and later government, of the Imperium. Separation from Inquisitorial jurisdiction. The freedom to return Chapters to legion strength. The subornment of the Imperial Navy. I've consulted every long-term plan with the strategos, and, believe me when I say this - if we wish to preserve all that the Emperor stood for, and, right now, to push back the stinking Daemon into the Eye of Terror, this is what we must do.

A silence falls over the room as his words sink in.