Editing Republican Commando (section)

===(26) Hall of Remembrance===
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Back aboard the Blade, the Squats salute as the Commandos return. The fleet from Terra has now more or less left. Rose has been moved to Brynjol's medicae deck, in a stable resting condition, while Thexus and Rockfist await at the Holomap. Cyril beelines for O'Malleys to check the holomap for Black Caste activity. Cortain, in comparison, immediately heads to his workshop to meditate on the sudden gravity of things. He wonders just how many secrets are hidden in Tiji.

At the Holomap, the Paragon of Metal and the Engineer Guildmaster pore over the map.

"Welcome back, lad," Rockfist states, "Seems there's been a few updates recently."
Brynjol is ankles-deep in an MRIatus auspex, frantically scrabbling for his vox-link to question what is going on. His voice dissolves in a furious clanging as his leg has stuck to the magnets within.
"Water. Earth. Air. Long ago, this sector was unblighted by Tau. Then the Black Caste arrived," Cyril notes, "If we are to restore proper Imperial presence, we must CRUSH the Fire Caste Paragon. Where is it?"
"The world of Syran, lad," Rockfist states, "In the Sheltered Reef. It's a dusty world under a dying red giant star. Ya've been tasked with takin' out the Commander there, amongst other things."
"And where does this leave O'Res'Nan?" Cortain presses.
Rockfist shakes his head, "No word on that yet, lad."

Cyril gives the other updates a cursory review, before being interrupted by Executor Thexus.
"CONSUL, I HAVE ANALYZED THE COGITATOR FURTHER, AND HAVE DETECTED POTENTIAL LEGIONARY PRESENCE ON THE WORLD DESIGNATE 'CU'BA'," Thexus adds, "AS ALWAYS, MY RECOMMENDATION IS TO PURSUE ANY TRACES OF PAST LEGIONARIES."
"Loyalist, or traitor?" asks Brynjol, entering and dragging a now bereft-of-power leg behind him.
"DESIGNATE UNKNOWN, CONSUL."
"Astartes. I'd cast my vote that way," Brynjol declares, "Active marines who aren't broadcasting their presence to local Imperial presence? I'd bet my leg it's traitors."
"Remember the lessons of Istvaan, Brother. Such designates are for individuals," Cyril reminds him, "They are not active. An ancient stronghold of the Legiones Astartes." 
"Recall that the other holds did not bear identifications either," Cortain adds.
"Now that's not a happy world," Rockfist sighs, "There's a squat hold there, and they're reporting that the Tau has stationed himself there, and unloading a LOT of heavy ordnance."

"And ancient bones will keep, while the Fire- did you say Tau? Damn," Cyril spits, "Korst'la cannot be allowed to pillage ancient relics, but neither may the Black Caste operate with impunity..."
"He said POTENTIAL legionary presence," Brynjol states, "That, to me, implies activity. If not, it can bloody wait."
"And risk Tau tampering?" Cortain blurts, indignant.

"Ye've also got a contact request from Korst'la about an arms deal of some sort," O'Malley adds, "An' that Chronos friend've yers asked fer help as well."
"Inquisitor Shady is not our 'friend,' O'Malley," Cyril declares, "He is a motherless dog."
O'Malley merely shrugs.
"Regardless, they can both fething stew," Cyril mutters, "Do we deal with Korst'la, or the Tau we can safely shoot at?"
"Tau, or traitors?" Brynjol asks, "My vote is still on traitors. They are a far more potent presence - even in their potentality - than the Tau."
"Seems there's a choice to be made, lad," Rockfist sighs, "Address the Black Caste, and let Korst'la's troops run rampant over any potential relics, or recover anythin' out there before Korst'la can get to it, but letting the Black Caste entrench 'emselves."
"I would rather not have the crime lord have something that belongs not to him," Cortain insists.
"Black Caste entrenchments can be broken," Cyril reluctantly relents, "But nothing comes out of Korst'la's filthy grasp without a price."

The Commandos confer. They are unanimous - Cu'ba must be hit first, before Korst'la damages, or worse, loots something he has no right to.
"I BELIEVE YOU HAVE MADE THE CORRECT CHOICE, CONSULS," Thexus yells. The Executor stomps the ground, and a number of Squats rush to the command pulpits in utter terror. They hastily put in the coordinates, and the Blade begins the warp journey to the jungle world of Cu'ba.

In the Medicae Deck, Brynjol continues to monitor Rose, a hulking ice-white ghost haunting the apothecarion. Perhaps to his relief, Rose is beginning to stir. Chapter serfs and actual servitors are on standby for any orders he may deem necessary.

Cortain begins reading into Korst'la's presence in the planet, looking for where they can sneak in without killing more than they need to. He finds no lore test is needed, as the Squats happen to maintain a hold on the world AND an Inquisitorial Listening Post. Inquiring amongst the Squats, who hide no secrets to their liege, as to the size of Korst'la's presence in orbit, he is dismayed to learn there is an attendant warfleet and Studio 69 itself holding position. MASSIVE amounts of weaponry is being deployed to the surface. Purpose unknown. Given a smash and grab is out of the question now, the Commandos opt for a stealthier approach, relying on the Squat Holds to monitor the Tau and Dark Eldar.

Cyril goes to the Librarium to plug his MIU into a servitor and make printouts of the art aboard the Martian vessel. Most of the art on the Bird of Time, the Tiamat-Class Shield bastion, was geometric and carefully patterned. There were a great number of weavings and embroidery everywhere. He can easily grab a servo-squid and feed it parchment to make it spit out the patterns. It beeps after every piece.

"Keep her comfortable, and monitor her brainwaves," Brynjol intones to the Wolf thralls, "Make sure the recordings are backed up... I'll want a look at some point."
"Ah..." Rose coughs, "Brynjol, I'm..sorry about what happened. But I felt like I needed to help. She rubs absentmindedly at the implants in her back and arms.
"There's nothing to be sorry about, lass," Brynjol says, smiling, "These things happen."
"I would have told you, but it was so sudden," she explains, "I needed to go, I was guided, by the woman with a veil over her eyes. She and the giant metal man were with me the entire way. Who...who were they?"
"That was the Mistress of Astropaths, and the Fabricator-General of Mars," Brynjol states, "Two of the most important beings in the Imperium."
She goes slightly pale. "Oh."
"She is essentially the top dog when it comes to psykers in the Imperium," Brynjol continues, "And the Fabricator-General oversees the Adeptus Mechanicus, sacred guardians of technology and production for the whole Imperium."
Brynjol takes a seat near her.
"That they favoured you with their presence speaks highly of you."
"She explained that Crusader Invictus lacked a core, and when I told them that most cores would be Artificial Intelligences, they seemed less than enthused," Rose explains, "I volunteered to be its core, as the...Fabricator? He said an 'intact specimen' of the Dark Age would be most compatible." 

"I see," Brynjol sighs, "Remember, in our time, Rose, artificial intelligence is an abomination. We almost lost our species to a war with them. Machine intelligence without recourse to organic components is the gravest of sins."
"These are core tenets of the Mechanicus," Cortain adds through the vox, "I have the rest in my cogitator banks if you wish to read more."
"I still can't believe that. Our allies, my...friends, they would not have abandoned us," Rose mutters, "But I've seen enough now to admit that perhaps my days are long gone. As long as...as long as I can help, I won't complain." 
"I've never encountered a machine intelligence, save for Thexus..." Brynjol admits, "And his status is somewhat murky to me."
"Thexus has a skull in his torso, Brynjol," Cyril points out.
"But I do not know why such beings - with intelligence, presumably limited only by their processing power - would choose to serve man."
"Knowledge," Cortain states, "An artificial intelligence may not know much at first, but give it enough time and it will begin questioning human logic."
Everyone listens intently.
"Eventually, it might even get the notion that the humans are inferior and must be replaced," Cortain drones, "A machine spirit, by the inherent nature of its wetware, is limited to prevent such an uprising from repeating itself."
Rose looks down, "I see. Perhaps there truly was a flaw in their programming if such a thought was not only possible, but inevitable."
"Perhaps," Cortain agrees, "The only person who might know the truth is the Fabricator General."
Rose begins to rest back now, "I see, it's something to think about..."

Temur finds it increasingly difficult to avoid the lesser Squats about, especially since his brothers choose to associate themselves with the plebs. He chooses a quiet place to meditate, still unsure over what he saw on Isstvan. The history of his own legion eludes him, and he is almost hesitant to ask the one who will most assuredly know.

Ultimately, under the guiding caress of the light bulb in the warp, the Blade of the Long Watch finally transitions to the Materium, a collective sigh of relief in the Squats. After a few hours of travel, the fairly large fleet becomes evident. Studio 69 leads the Vanguard, a Floating World amongst the void. It is flanked by a number of Protectors and Castellans in defensive position.

"Thexus, do you have exact coordinates for the Legion site?" Cyril asks.
"CONSULS, I CANNOT NARROW DOWN AN EXACT AREA, BUT I CAN APPROXIMATE A 20 KILOMETER RADIUS ZONE OF PROBABILITY," Thexus declares, "I WILL TRANSMIT THIS TO YOU NOW."
"Securest channels only," Cyril reminds him.
"Your call, lads," Rockfist says, "If ya want a vehicle I can prep one for ya. Jus' so ya know, the world's a muddy, steamy jungle. Heavy vehicles 'd get bogged in the terrain. Light vehicles an' skimmers might be best. Take that inta consideration."
In the meantime, Bridge Crew have report acknowledgements of detection from Studio 69. No further messages are transmitted. The House troops are evidently unconcerned with the Commandos' presence.

The Commandos debate - they first consider a Land Speeder Typhoon, but ultimately settle on arming themselves with Scimitar Jetbikes. Cyril's abilities as a Consul Delegatus opens up more Requisition, so he readies a Vorax Maniple in case it is needed, while donating some Req to Brynjol so he can upgrade his jump pack. While considering assets, Thexus offers his thoughts, which causes an odd sinking feeling in the Commandos.

"CONSULS, YOU WILL HAVE ENOUGH POINTS LEFT OVER FOR FURTHER ASSET SUPPORT. IN THICK JUNGLE TERRAIN AS THIS, PHOSPHEX BOMBARDMENT IN RESERVES MAY PROVE EFFECTIVE, AS IT DID ON TALLARN."
"Phosphex would spread uncontrollably through the jungle," Cyril states, "We will use more focused armament."
"Indeed, I would rather not ruin this planet for the locals," Cortain agrees.
In the corner of the Commandos' eyes, a number of squats breathe a collective sigh of relief.
"What did Tallarn look like before the Iron Warriors descended on it, Thexus?" Brynjol asks.
"IT WAS A VERDANT AGRI-WORLD, CONSUL. IT WAS CAPABLE OF GROWING FOOD AND VEGETATION FOR AN ENTIRE SUBSECTOR."
"And after the bombardment?"
"A SUNSCORCHED DESERT HOSTING THE RUSTED HULKS OF ONE MILLION TANKS."
"Perhaps we'll leave the Phosphex for today, " Brynjol pats Thexus' shell comfortingly.

Cortain selects Plasma for his jetbike. Temur arms himself with a Multi-Melta. Cyril picks the ever-reliable Heavy Bolter, while Brynjol picks a Volkite Culverin just in case. In addition to some basic camo cloaks and stummers, the Vorax are armed with Toxic Rounds and readied for drop deployment, while Temur hefts a Power Glaive in case he needs to charge something. A Thunderhawk is readied, and the Launch Bay cleared.

"We are going to move quite a ways, and we're on jetbikes," Temur states, "Just have the Urists drop us in a low run, make it look like recon.

The Thunderhawk is shot out of the landing bay, and towards the blue and green jewel of Cu'ba. The crew of the Blade train their weapons on the fleet as a precautionary measure, as the Commandos begin to clear the atmosphere. The two Urist Brothers work to keep the Thunderhawk steady as they begin to approach the zone illuminated by Executor Thexus, the tops of the trees getting ever closer. Making an Oath to the Wolf King, as it enables their most powerful combos, the Commandos' voxes are now picking up communication. Cyril puts the communication on the bay speakers.

"Commandos!" the voice of Korst'la states, "Fancy seeing you here! How is everything?"
"Peachy," Cortain spits, swearing in binary, lamenting the element of surprise and its violent murder.
"Well," Cyril hisses, "We will be contacting you in a few weeks about the meeting you desired." He makes a mental note to look up what a 'peach' is.
"What do you want?" Brynjol flatly demands.
"Glad to hear it!" Korst'la says, "I didn't expect to see you today to be honest. We're performing some advanced weapons testing out here. You should be able to see us off to your...left."
"Is there a reason you're breaking our vox silence, Korst'la?" Brynjol asks.

The answer soon becomes apparent.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTczeHsb8L0

Off to the left, the Commandos hear a massive rumbling. The Urists report something gargantuan on auspex. Off to the side, a battlesuit of prodigious size rises out of the jungle, three large cannons on its back, and its arms doubling as massive guns. It's the size of a Warhound titan. Cyril stares at the suit for a moment.

"As I stated, I'm performing weapons testing. I do thank you, incidentally - if you didn't disable security systems back on Tempestus Solaris, I could not have...updated my codex," Korst'la explains, with a slight laugh, "I suppose I should give you fair warning, we...might have riled up the locals."
Cyril glances at the others exasperatedly. "Why Cu'ba?"
"Because it's out of the way, and a target rich environment," Korst'la explains, "Nobody really likes the "Lizardmen" or "Seraphon" or whatever they're called nowadays, that make this world their home. It's a win win. That said, I extend an offer of a shared vox channel, so I can alert you if we're about to use an area as target practice. I've found Artillery tends to have a bit of lead time."
"Accepted. What frequency?" Cyril gives in.
"We'll use Frequency 141.80," Korst'la states, ""As a side note, I sent some Detachments to search the area I'm detecting your heading at. There's a collection of ruins there my analysts decoded as 'Ruined City of Axlotl' and 'the 'Mortuary of Tzulaqua.' The area is scheduled for artillery testing, so if you're going delving, I recommend you make it quick. I'll keep you updated."
"Acknowledged," Cyril replies.
"Understood," Cortain states flatly.
Cyril glances at Cortain as they speak in unison. Cortain shrugs.

The Ta'unar raises its arm, waving. "Have fun, Commandos!" the voice of Jamal yells over vox.
Cyril doubles over with a snort of laughter at the familiar voice.
"JAMAL, AIM DOWN! AIM DO-" Korst'la briefly cuts out as a rapid fire set of ion lances rakes the ground in front of the gargantuan battlesuit.
"I will always hold a special place in my heart for Jamal," Brynjol says.
"Mine is called the part I want excised." Cortain quips.
"Yours is in a glass jar in my apothecarium..." Brynjol mutters under his breath. Cortain stares at him. 

The doors to the Thunderhawk open. "Combat drop ready! The Emperor and the Ancestors watch over you!"
"And you, Urists. We will vox when ready for extraction," Cyril replies.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1dTxmdH01dE

The Urists hang around allowing the Commandos just enough time to combat drop the jetbikes, before pulling up and achieving a holding pattern. All around is heavy, thick jungle. Off in the distance, the Commandos can indeed see a number of stone ruins in the distance. With 1 DoS on auspexes, there was a subtle pulse of energy detected towards the stone ruins.

Brynjol breathes deeply, the smell of mud, moss, foliage, and jungle filling every part of his sinus cavity. A little ways to the northwest, he can barely smell something rotting, but otherwise, nothing of note. The Commandos choose to ignore it, reasoning that there are many creatures that live in the jungle, many lives and deaths, and decide that anything that produces energy in a stone set of ruins would be the best lead they have. While skimming over the Ground, Cyril and Cortain note tracks - hoofmarks and boots, signs that House tracking teams are nearby. Temur's huntsman eye, however, sees a different set of tracks - three-toed, reptilian tracks. The tracks lead towards the ruins, but you note heavier tracks near them as well - rounded, indicating HEAVY weight.

"This way, brothers, lizard tracks," Temur states.
"Lizards? We are here for Legionaries," Cyril points out, "Or rather, their equipment."
"They lead towards the ruins that are in our goal area," Temur reasons, "Potentially worth investigating."
"Very well. I would like to find the Castellum as soon as possible, though," Cyril notes, "And empty it before the Tau does something permanent."

Endor'ing through the jungle, the Commandos zip through the jungles quite quickly on their jetbikes, dodging and weaving through the trees. Temur notes that the tracks are increasing in frequency and number the closer they get to the ruins. As the Commandos reach the outskirts of the ruins, the vox kicks in.

"Possibly more unknowns near the ruins, heavy traffic," Temur reads.
"Commandos, hold," Korst'la voxes, "Incoming wide barrage ahead of you in...37 seconds."
The Commandos grind to a halt as the ground, trees, and buildings a hundred meters ahead disintegrate in a shower of pulse ordnance raining from the sky. "You know, I never really took you for treasure hunters. However, I suppose in this case it makes sense you would check those ruins out."
"Explain," Cortain demands.
"Advance Detachments reported a lot of things depicted on those walls, ancient wars, scenes of local life," Korst'la voxes, "But they did see some carvings that looked a lot like Space Marines in the larger Temples. Figured you'd want to know."
The Commandos stay silent, unsure of how to handle this. Were they expected?
"Bombardment complete, we'll mark this area as target delay for now," Korst'la concludes, "I'll keep you updated on further developments.

Ahead, all that is left of the ruins Outskirts is glassed craters. The ruins themselves are now within sight, a hundred or so meters forward.

"He's remarkably chummy today," Brynjol notices, "He doesn't strike me as someone who gives information away for free."
"Which means something is still alive there," Cortain predicts, "And he might want us to kill it."
"I suggest we greet whatever it is with open arms and a pint of mjod," Brynjol offers cheerily.
"I would prefer to bury it in firepower," Cyril says, "But we can do both."

Zooming over the craters, the Commandos find themselves in a ruined inland city, great buildings of stone withstanding the tests of ages, pyramidal structures aligned to wide plazas, obelisks, and carvings.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZhriHfmY-V8

In the Ruined City of Axlotl, the Commandos can see three large Pyramids, one in the center of the city, one off to the northern edge, and one in the middle to the east, prefacing a courtyard. Numerous small buildings of stone and thatch spread out in the spaces as if organized by avenue and street. Brynjol twitches as he tries to reconcile the images he's getting from his augur implant with what his eyes are telling him. He's not the most tech-y Wolf around, but he somehow still did better than everyone else. Thus, it is surprising that Brynjol picks up the power pulse, much stronger this time. It's an odd yet consistent signal coming from the largesy Pyramid in the center of the Ruined City.

Brynjol briefly considers if these pyramids mean presence of a Prosperan kind, but noting the primitive stonework in native style, decides against it. "The big one, in the middle. Follow my lead."

Cyril initially suggests splitting off to check the city, but is rapidly outvoted as Temur and Cortain form up on Brynjol, heading to the largest Central pyramid and its roof comb. 

"Should we check all the pyramids, or skip to the biggest before the Tau -" Cyril sighs and follows.
"We can always fan out from there," Cortain offers.
"Unless we trigger something," Cyril notes.
Cortain coughs. "Knowing him, that is a given."
"You're triggering me, Cyril," Brynjol rankles, "Now shut up and follow me into the heart of darkness like a man."

Brynjol pops on to the central Temple and dismounts as everyone either circles or splits off. The inside is dark, but autosenses and enhanced dark sight wolf senses kick in no issue. One thing he immediately notes is the amount of carvings that cover the walls. Most of them depict many types of bipedal, frilled lizards in various day to day activities. It also depicts larger reptilians with odd, white weapons. The carvings of stylized Adeptus Astartes also draw some attention. The Lizards are staring at the Astartes. However, what is of most interest in the temple's Roof Comb is the blue glowing metal sphere-thing in the center, resting on an altar. About the size of a bolt pistol, the blue sphere-thing just sits there. However, Brynjol's auspex picks it up as the source of the signal.

So the only way he can express himself is gotta touch thing.

Picking it up, it doesn't seem to do much, but then it rumbles, sending out a blue pulse of light.

"I got it. Can we go now?" Brynjol voxes as he tries to stick it in his pauldron. He pauses, as the orb is stuck to his hand now. 

"Got what?" Cortain and Cyril ask in unison once more.
"There's a glowing blue thin- oh," Brynjol sighs, "It just pulsed. I hope I'm not sterile."
He laughs at his own joke as Cyril pauses the study of a nearby temple to rejoin everyone.  Out of the ruins swarms hundreds upon thousands of creatures, vibrant blue skin, the smaller ones with red headcrests, the larger ones wielding odd white weapons. 

"Oh, BOLLOCKS," Brynjol mutters, "Here they come."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xyLovOZPXSA

Approaching Brynjol are a full horde of Skinks, as well as a seemingly endless Cohort of Saurus warriors. Behind them are a trio of quadrupedal armored suarians, bearing crystalline weapons on their backs. Brynjol leaps over the weaker hordes to get at the Saurus, swinging his Crozius about and downing 11 in a rage-filled smash. While Cyril swoops down low and guns the engines of his Jetbike, he orders down the Vorax maniple and his yeti Notomok to assist Brynjol in the swirling melee. Cortain and Temur begin a dive with their Jetbikes, unloading plasma and melta blasts into a Bastiladon, severely wounding it. Cortain calls a Fire For Effect, allowing Cyril to move in and blast away a number of Skinks, triggering his Fear rating and causing them to scatter in terror.

The Bastiladons aim their Solar Engines at Cortain, Cyril, and Temur. While Temur deftly dodges around the solar blasts and Cyril barely swerves out of the way, Cortain is not so lucky, his Jetbike taking heavy damage from the solar beam which hits as hard as a melta. While the Skinks are gone, the Saurus Cohort raise their white, angular weapons, which begin to spray orange hardlight in every direction. The Hardlight fire explodes Cyril's and Cortain's Jetbikes, causing Cyril to take heavy damage from the explosion, and Cortain to trust in his shield, which does protect him. However, the problem of falling from 50 meters up is a daunting one. Temur once more dodges as if the shots are a mere annoyance. A number of Saurus extend orange hardlight blades, which Brynjol cannot hope to parry them all, and he too takes heavy hits. 

Now deeming the Bastiladons the larger threat Brynjol breaks off and charges a Bastiladon. Taking time to line up maximum distance, he charges a Bastiladon, bashing it apart with his Crozius in a wonderful display of lupine furiosity. With every kill, he notes the sphere pulses, concerning him. Cyril falls to the ground, skidding prone, but uses the time to line up a pair of shots with storm bolter and phobos bolter against the Saurus Horde, downing almost 40 of them. While his Yeti begins to get overwhelmed, the Vorax move in and down a second Bastiladon with Lightning Cannons.

The Bastiladon shudders as electricity courses through it, as it convulses and dies, the skinks on top of it scattering to the winds. However, at this point, the ball stuck on Brynjol is pulsing faster and faster. In a single flash, everything goes white, except for Cortain, whose armor prevents blindness. His entire world is pinkish purple, as he finds himselffalling. However, he can see the rest of the Commandos alongside him, all falling, all tumbling down.

And then, the Commandos land with a plop in...

...snow.

"What the..." Brynjol begins, "I thought heaven was a myth perpetuated by heathen societies?" He gambols in the snow for a minute, before everyone else begins to stir. He realizes the orb is no longer stuck to his hand.
"This is...unusual," Cortain wonders aloud. Brynjol throws a casual snowball at Cortain
The Commandos are not alone - the Notomok the yeti made it as well, it seems. A pair of Vorax stand up, shaking snow off, while one of the Jetbikes, Temur's, also made it through. 
"So, where the hel are we?" Brynjol asks.
"I am the last person to ask," Cortain admits.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c9Gq0pwyjIA

The Commandos find themselves in a stone-carved room of some kind. Icicles hang from the ceiling. Ahead is a large wall of ice, covering an open doorway that they can barely see the other side of. Cyril and Cortain mourn the lost jetbikes, in dignified prayer and song as they advance. More heiroglyphics line the walls. With no cultural knowledge of Old Slann, they mean nothing to the Commandos. Cyril advises quiet contact, unwilling to give away positional data.

"Well, at least we have an excellent ice removal tool," Temur states, rounding the Jetbike at the wall. As everyone considers their options, Temur fires the multi-melta, burning a hole through the ice wall large enough for everyone to traverse. 

Passing through the frozen halls, the Commandos can see a deep drop on the other side. There is a solid surface below, but it's about 100m down. While Temur and Brynjol have no issue floating down, Cortain and Cyril take time to climb down safely. The Yeti naturally climbs down, as the Vorax reconfigure their forms to eerily slither down the ice wall.

"I've got some experience in ice-cutting," Brynjol grins, "If needed."
"Perhaps, but -we- have thermal weaponry," Cyril points out.
"Good if you want to remove the ice, the stone, and everything for ten metres behind it," Brynjol reminds him, "Not so great if you want to read the writing on the wall."

Down at the lower levels, there is a door that seems in better condition, lined with an odd carved script that survived the test of time. The Commandos begin to analyze the Old Slann script, until Brynjol halts - the script shares a lot of common strokes and symbols as Eldar. There are a fair number of differences, but he can get the gist of what the door says.

Brynjol begins to parse verbs under his breath. "Crypt of the Avatars..." he pauses, "Oh, bollocks. It says 'Crypt of the Avatars'."
"Avatars as in...fiery war god avatars?" Cortain asks.
"That cannot be anything good," Brynjol shakes his head, "I've never faced one in battle before, but I've not heard good things."
He gives the door a closer look. The heiroglyphs look unclear. If anything , it looks like a reeing frog.
"Are you not the Brynjol who HOPED to meet a Bloodthirster aboard the Past and Future?" Cyril wonders aloud, "I would have expected you to welcome the chance to fell one of the pitiful Eldar's heathen gods."
"Let's bust in there and punch whatever's inside," Brynjol declares, "I could beat it. I'll nut the bugger into oblivion."
"THERE is the Bryn I know," Cyril states, heading to breaching position.
"I, for one, am making peace with my machine god for my unpreparedness," Cortain mutters.

Brynjol moves up to force the door open, but the door refuses to budge for some reason. Straining himself, he lifts the door with his wolfen muscles. It is heavy, but he can ultimately lift enough for it to get stuck up above. Within this ice-covered room, resembling a large chapellum with corbelled vaults extending high up, the Commandos note a large set of statues. There are two visible to the immediate left and right, clearly. Further up, however, is another ice wall next to one of the statues. And across from the ice wall, a large carved panel. Around the base of each statue is more Old Slann script.

Cortain approaches the panel, and can see a handprint, five-fingered, embedded in the wall. He can almost swear you see bits of metal embedded within the handprint. It is reminiscent of a luminen inductor in your experience, but far more primitive.
"Curious.." he observes as he traces the pattern with his robot hand, before planting it squarely in the pattern It pulses weakly. The metal bitz match up to his luminen chargers. He is about to charge the panel, until advised to wait until the room is secured.

Brynjol takes some time to read the script of the left statue. It is softer-carved than the other statue you see. "Xohka, Second Avatar of the Slann, She who Codified our Mantle of Duty, to spread Life through the Stars." 

"Hmm. It refers to an Avatar of the Slann..." Brynjol wonders, "So not the Bloody-Handed?"

Moving on to the right statue, this one seems like it's wearing armor. "Tzcatli, Fourth Avatar of the Slann, the Greatest of Warriors, who extended the Hand of Friendship to the young race, the Necrontyr. "

Cortain spits as the ice worlders mentioned Necrons. Cyril laughs harshly as Bryn reads aloud that these stupid reptiles extended friendship to those monstrosities.

"Friends?  Necrons?  What?" Cortain asks.
"I know! It is hilarious," Cyril replies, barely able to contain himself, "Imagine how that must have gone for the stupid creatures!"
"Just like talking to an Iron Hand about people," Cortain shrugs.

Cortain is given the signal, and luminen-charges the panel he has stood near.  The panel begins to lift up, revealing another statue. Brynjol moves up to read the statue, while Cortain begins approaching the ice to melt it with his Servo-harness's flamer.

This statue is tall, in regal gown. "Chotec, First Avatar of the Slann, the One-Eyed Lord who birthed Stars with a thought. "

"Who birthed stars with a thought..." Brynjol muses.

Cortain bathes the wall in ice. As the water begins to pool around and refreeze, the ice recedes to produce another statue. This statue is slimmer than the others, Brynjol observes as he reads, "Uxmac, Third Avatar of the Slann, possessed of Swiftness and Slightness, that could cross the Galaxy in a single stride."

"... in a single stride. The Webway?" Brynjol muses. He finally reads the door, which depicts a sad frog.

"Halls of Remembrance."

Brnyjol does not hesitate to force this door open. The Commandos find themselves now outside. A great snowstorm blows about. There is a narrow path ahead, but what flanks them catches the Commandos' eyes. The path crosses the waists of two gigantic statues, the size of Reaver titans. One statue depicts an Old Slann in regal robes extending its hand out, the other displays a withered, sore-covered humanoid in ceremonial shendyt and wielding a staff that looks oddly familiar. There is a small blade on one end, large blade and crystal on the other end. An ankh adorns the hilt.

"Hm. I do not have enough kraks to deal with those should they be roused to battle," Cyril sighs forlornly.
"Is that a Necron Lord's stave?" Brynjol asks, "Held in the hand of a humanoid, an organic one, at that."
"Is this their...'friendship?" Cortain wonders.
"Let's proceed on. Might be worth mentioning this to someone in the future, though," Brynjol suggests, "Maybe the Necron weren't always so... artificial?"
"Please," Cortain shakes his head, "This makes the Mechanicus angry."

The Commandos can see another door at the end of the walkway, beyond the two statues. It's impossible to see further than the two statues, as heavy snow winds blocks vision and autosenses. Approaching this last door, it depicts a smiling frog, and more script, "Tower of the Gods." It's stuck.

Once more showing mastery of breaking and entering, this room is comparatively tiny, though its ceiling is so high it cannot be seen.

"The more we travel this sector, the more unpleasant truths we learn," Temur says calmly, "Its really quite incredible."
The Commandos pause and stare. Temur merely stares back silently.
"Incredibly heretical," Cortain mutters.

Ahead, in the wall, are carved four slots. Interestingly, there are four small pillars with four busts on them. The busts are the size of Astartes helmets, and thrum with power. they have metal connection ports on the underside.

Bust 1: A lizardlike amphibious xenos, with softer scales.
Bust 2: A lizardlike amphibious xenos, its face obscured in a helmet.
Bust 3: A lizardlike amphibious xenos, its face bearing a scar near its eye. 
Bust 4: A lizardlike amphibious xenos, thinner than the rest.

The carvings in the wall each bear similar luminen inductor ports, and have symbols above.

Slot 1: Above this slot is the carving of a star.
Slot 2: Above this slot is the carving of a scroll.
Slot 3: Above this slot is the carving of a galaxy.
Slot 4: Above this slot is the carving of a sword.

"Could these be...those statues...?" Cortain offers.
"It could," Cyril considers, "Birthed the stars. Codified duty. Crossed the galaxy. And a great warrior. Matched to the busts..."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zLAdjvflmxo

Brynjol first tries placing his helmet within one of the slots, but this does nothing. He puts it back on before anyone sees his point and click adventure tactics. Cyril instead replays the descriptions of the statues earlier, convinced there is a connection.

"Well, if we're matching... the thin xeno probably matches the galaxy," Brynjol begins listing, "Scar-eye matches the stars. Soft-scales matches the scroll. And helmet-head matches the sword."

Cortain places helmet bust on sword plinth. The sword plinth glows, pulsing with energy. Cyril moves softscale to the scroll plinth. The scroll plinth glows, pulsing with energy. Temur places the thinlizard upon the star plinth, but nothing seems to happen. Brynjol shakes his head, and moves the thinlizard to the galaxy plinth. The galaxy plinth glows, pulsing with energy. He finally places the scarlizard on the final star plinth, which causes it to glow and pulse.

"Galaxies and stars ARE similar," Temur sighs.
"If you get it wrong three times, you have to insert a sacred relic to continue!" Brynjol laughs. Cortain and Cyril unconsciously grip their weapons a little tighter.

In the center of the room, a final plinth rises, this new bust looking pained and angered. There are words below it. "Xahecatl, the Final Avatar, chosen of our people to restore our race from the massacre of the War in Heaven." Outside, there is a huge rumbling noise.

"These are not Astartes ruins, and they are not our objective," Cyril notes, "At least something is happening. Perhaps they built atop a Castellum?"

The Commandos rush outside, as they feel the rumbling all around. They see the statues reposition. The Necrontyr now raises its staff, while the Old Slann swings a sword around. The winds have also died down, clearing the view. The Commandos can now see, high up in the distance a small alcove with a door. Brynjol's unnatural perception can also pick out a wall-plinth next to it.

"Last one, I guess," Brynjol yells, "Cover me." 

Brynjol blasts up into the air, heading for the wall plinth.  Jumping off the titan sized statues, leaping from sword to staff, he finally reaches the door. This one is unadorned. The wall plinth is unadorned.

"Worth a try..." he shrugs.

Brynjol thrusts his stone into the waiting hole The plinth pulses, and the door opens.

"I'll take a look and see if there's an alternate route for you," Brynjol voxes down.

Brynjol ducks through the doorway, crozius humming gently. Ahead lies a path that leads down.  Unlike the carved rock of before, the floor is now metal, and pulses blue with every step. One thing catches his eye, out of everything. A tattered banner in the hallway's breeze. A tattered banner of the VI. Brynjol frowns, his nerves suddenly tingling. He steps forward, touching the banner with gauntleted fingers gently. There is a metal door, which opens as he approaches. Within is a small chamber, partially covered in snow. Leaning by the wall, a long ded legionary in ornate armor. A Space Wolf legionary.

Brynjol removes his helmet, his face showing no expression. The helmet drops, half-buried in the snow as he advances. He sheathes the crozius, padding over to the legionary and kneeling by the corpse. By his side appear a set of armored gauntlets, that look like they can fit upon Brynjol's own. His gaze lingers on the gauntlets for a moment, before he leans forward, gently detaching the helm from the gorget and placing it next to the body. The ded corpse is long mummified. Brynjol stares at the body for a moment longer, inscrutable, before picking up the gauntlets. They pulse as he gets closer, fitting them onto your own. With a mental command, he finds he can extend a set of claws out, the blades burning bright red. And then, his vision begins to swirl...

20:50, 1 October 2016 (UTC)20:50, 1 October 2016 (UTC)20:50, 1 October 2016 (UTC)[[Special:Contributions/24.205.112.238|24.205.112.238]] 20:50, 1 October 2016 (UTC)

Brynjol finds himself standing amongst a number of Legionaries. Oddly enough, many are wearing black. While some wear the black of the Dark Angels, some wear the yellow of Dorn. Brynjol is one of a rare few Space Wolves, while the rest are unmarked. Blackshields. He peers around. In the sky, he can see an overbearing green-white gas giant, and a moon half artificial.

One Blackshield, who looks like a commander, begins to bark orders.

"We have been dispatched from Terra to take what we can, and leave! The Imperium is counting on us! Our targets are the Ordinatus Engines. Though many of you have forsaken your legion, know the Emperor watches!"
A number of Legionaries look to Brynjol, a Consul Wolf Priest, for support.
"Now CHARGE!" he yells, "The Imperium shall claim its due! The pitiful resistance of Xana II shall not stand in our way!"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Sl4UjPnW3s

Everyone begins charging forward. Brynjol shrugs momentarily, before going with the flow. He can see ahead a mighty Ordinatus engine, its Sonic Cannon turning to fire. A number of techmarines stand at the controls in its rear. They bear the mark of the Sons of Horus. Brynjol puts on a turn of speed, outpacing the charging legionaries and leaping into the air on a plume of dirty, smoke-white fire.  He leaps through and cut straight through the traitorous techmarines, laughing as they come apart like smoke under the baleful red glare of the claw-blades. As Loyalist legionaries begin to secure the machine, there is a defensive perimeter established.

"Return the Ordinatus to the landing bays for transport!" the vox hails, "All remaining troops push on!" Brynjol leaps into the air once more, returning to the fight. As the Ordinatus begins to rumble off, its Machine Spirit forced into compliance, Brynjol can hear something above him. The beating of wings. And he feels a strange heat. Looking up, something crashes right ahead of him. It burns with a terrible smoke.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ybq_waDfyDI

The creature before him, a Heldrake, the largest Brynjol has ever seen, lands meters ahead.
"A beast from the Underverse!" Brynjol yells.
The First Heldrake spreads its wings, and breathes a burning gout of warpfire at him. Luckily, his shield and Faith in the Emperor holds, as the First Heldrake blasts a roar of challenge at him.

Brynjol drops into a fighting crouch, slivers of baleful red extending from the gauntlet housings. He charges forward, claws extended. The First Heldrake charges as well, mouth agape. It is so focused on the offense that it leaves its defenses open. Brynjol charges his claws directly into its jaws - one above, one below. The First Heldrake roars in rage. The Claws burn, mirroring his hatred, piercing its armor like paper. Brynjol pushes the advantage, calling upon all his strength and reserves he never even knew he had, and pulls as hard as he can. With a tearing of metal and flesh, the Heldrake's head is ripped in half, down through the neck. 
Brynjol finally lands on the ground as the world begins to fade...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AVy7YPNP_zI

Brynjol shakes ropes of oily ichor from his gauntlets, head spinning. He is standing on an icy, snowy mountain now, and feels as if he's being watched. Like someone's behind him.

Brynjol whirls, teeth bared.  It's a Legionary, of the VI. His armor is ornate, bearing honored iconography. His features seem familiar somehow, and yet, you know you've never met him before.

"Who are you?" Brynjol asks.

The Legionary bares his own teeth, grinning. And then he roars up in the heavens, the sky booming with thunder. He stares at you, smiling. Brynjol cocks his head, before a flash of lightning flashes illuminates the sky. Brynjol leans back, bares his throat and howls in response.  Out of his throat echoes a mighty thunderous blast, echoing across the mountains. The Legionary laughs, slapping Brynjol on the shoulder, before walking away, and his vision fades once more...

20:50, 1 October 2016 (UTC)20:50, 1 October 2016 (UTC)20:50, 1 October 2016 (UTC)[[Special:Contributions/24.205.112.238|24.205.112.238]] 20:50, 1 October 2016 (UTC)
Brynjol finds himself standing in the snowy room once more. He shakes his head, staring at the gauntlets, and opens his vox channel. It buzzes with the expectancy of words

"I... am returning," he whispers.

Brynjol kneels by the fallen legionary, removing some herbs and a small flask from his belt, anointing the long-dead corpse. He draws his Fang of Morkai, and swipes the legionary's torso armour, producing a spark, which kindles into a flame upon the flammable oil. The corpse begins to burn, gently. The fire produces a glow in the snowy chamber. He turns, retrieving his helmet, and returns to the group, leaving the legionary to his pyre.

"Anything of note?" Cortain asks.
Brynjol nods, holding up his arms. The large, baroque gauntlets appear to fit over his own gloves perfectly, the fizzing, baleful blades spring from their housings.
"Sweet Mars...those are more than just Lightning Claws..." Cortain observes.
"A slain warrior of the VI Legiones Astartes, laid to rest," Brynjol whispers, uncharacteristically sombre, "I'll carry these in his honour, and for the rest of them."
Brynjol closes his eyes.
"I would have been proud to call myself a Legionary, in those dark days. That was what it meant to be truly loyal, to the bitter end."
"But...how did a Legionary find his way into a Slann temple..." Cortain wonders.
Brynjol shrugs. "A mystery we'll probably never know the answer to."
"What of the rest of his wargear?" Cyril asks, "Will not your Chapter desire its return?"
"He's more than earned his rest.. and it was old, beyond use," Brynjol shakes his head,  We're more sentimental than other Chapters, but we have little use for old scraps of armour and dessicated flesh."

After a moment, the Commandos hear a thrumming. The sound of Thunderhawk engines.
"Lads! LADS!" Rockfist breaks over vox, "D'ya read?"
"We read you, Rockfist," Brynjol replies.
The Thunderhawk flies by, before opening its doors near the narrow path. Arvus lighters with squat squads deploy to provide a perimeter.
"Lad, we've been lookin' for ya fer DAYS now," Rockfist voxes, "Glad we finally found ya. Ya find what ya were lookin' for?"
Brynjol looks at the gauntlets. "Aye."
"That chamber was...far deeper than we expected," Cortain states, "We are prepared for retrieval. We have some vehicles to rebuild."
"Well, we've recovered automata frames, vehicles, and weapons from the ruins," Rockfist states, "So ya don't need ta worry 'bout a thing. Called in some of the lads in the Hold fer help, we did, an' they were more'n eager to assist."
"Good. We'll make all haste for the Black Caste, I think," Brynjol confirms.

The Urist Brothers report from the cockpit, "Ready to depart when you command," they state.
"Let us go," Cyril demands, "Redsun will fall."
Cortain looks back, wondering just what that chamber was there for. "We are done here. Begin exfil."
"Aye!" the Urist Brothers state, as the Commandos all board and make their way to the Blade.

"Well, good thing is Korst'la left a few days back," Rockfist voxes, "After he gave us an idea of where ta find ya. He said 'e saw blue waves like that before, an' they'd probably be from an alien portable webway generator or summat, I forget. Don't suppose ya found any silver balls anywhere?"
Brynjol looks at the others. "Where... where did we go?"
"Yer at the Northern Pole of Cu'ba, where the snows can exist," Rockfist states, "Place has good reception for long-range voxes, not so much for short range, too much interference."
"That seems to fit the profile," Cortain confirms.
"But since when does a webway generator power up by the death of nearby creatures?" Brynjol asks, "That sounds pretty sinister."
"Ah, well that'll explain it! An...it's a long story," Rockfist laughs, "Well, what's done's done, you don't worry a bit."

The Thunderhawk pulls into the Blade. A few hours later, the rest of the troops board as well, and as per commands the Commandos are on your way to Syran.

-------------------

"IT IS THIS WAY."

Rockfist Fearengine and Executor Thexus carefully traverse the halls of the Old Slann.

"I don't like this. Reminds me too much of the LAST time we had ta fight the damn lizards."
"IF YOUR HELOTS WERE AS SKILLED AS YOU CLAIM THEM TO BE, THEN THERE SHOULD BE NO ISSUE."
"Aye, aye, the Slann aren't anythin' ta worry about. The Last Old One is dead. An' can ya PLEASE stop with the helot thing?"

The Squat and Paragon of Metal stop. Rockfist wanders over to the former Legionary, his ashes resting within the ancient, ornate armor. Thexus gingerly picks up the armor with his mechadendrite, placing it into waiting claw before moving to pick up more.

"This...this don't seem right, somehow. The Ancestors should be left alone."
"THE CONSULS REQUIRE EVERY ADVANTAGE THEY CAN GET. THE FALLEN SHALL CONTINUE TO SERVE. IT IS HOW THEY WOULD HAVE WANTED."
"You've been tryin' ta repair'em for months now, an' ye haven't made much progress."
"THERE ARE PIECES MISSING THAT I CANNOT REPLICATE IN RAPID MEASURE."
"Ya could...take what they already have. I can try ta help where I can."
"THAT IS...UNEXPECTED OF YOU."

Rockfist and Thexus gather the remaining armor, before traversing the hallways out, to a waiting Arvus.

"They'll hate us, ya know. They won't understand. They're like us - Relics are ta be respected, not repurposed."
"THEY WILL NOT HATE YOU, ROCKFIST-LORD-OF-HELOTS. THEY WILL KNOW ONLY MY WORD AND ACTIONS ON THEIR BEHALF. IF THEY HATE ME, THEN SO BE IT. THE SURVIVAL OF THIS SECTOR AND THE IMPERIUM TAKES PRECEDENCE OVER THEIR OPINIONS OF ME."
"Noble of ya. Yer programming ain't as inflexible as they say."

The Squat and the Paragon of Metal re-embark. There are preparations for Syran to be made.

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