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His Will Be Done, Chapter 10
🕑 Added 2019-08-07 09:30:36 +0000 UTCThe Initial Draft for His Will Be Done Chapter 10.
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As Will strode into the room, flanked by her Admiral and his Number Two, she took in the space before her.
It was an impressively vast chamber, sparsely furnished and brightly lit by overhead lamps. Before her at the rough center of the room was a plain looking steel table, in front of which were three chairs waiting for their occupants. To her left and dominating that side of the room was a single massive ornate throne, far too large for a mortal man or even Will herself to comfortably sit. In the center of the back rest was an embellishment: a stylistic wolf’s head in black, emblazoned on a round yellow field. Something tickled the back of Will’s mind, a sense of familiarity. On her bridge, her Captain Fairly barked an order fetch the thick book that listed all of the various groups and organizations of the Imperium from the Ship’s Librarium.
To her right and opposite the throne was a table and chair, both painted red and gold. Will didn’t need a reference book to recognize the symbol embellishing the chair’s back; the cybernetic skull of the Adeptus Mechanicus, resplendent in the harsh light of the chamber. Both table and chair were plain and utilitarian, identical to those in the room’s center save for the color scheme.
Occupying the far opposite wall was a colossal, ornate dais of hewn and polished wood, upon which was emblazoned the mar of the Inquisition. It was massive, almost as long as the chamber was wide. At either end were squads of armored Sisters Sororitas, their bolters held low and ready and faces obscured by helmets. And upon the dais itself and flanked by two of her subordinates sat the Lady Inquisitor herself. Lady Strasbourg, of the Inquisition. Will didn’t recognize either the man to her left or the woman to her right, but she had no doubt that introductions would occur at some point soon.
“Welcome,” the Lady called out and down to them from the dais. “We were just talking about you. In fact, you happen to be the subject of the hour. Please, take a seat,” she gestured to the three steel chairs in the room’s center.
Will hesitated, but her Admiral tugged her along ever so gently. Wordlessly the three of them approached the tables and one by one they took their seats, first Will and then her companions. The seat was uncomfortable to say the least, the hard steel surface and straight rigid back a far cry from the plush conference chair from the evening before. She sensed the veiled discomfort from the men seated to her left and right, and Will somehow understood that every aspect of the room was designed to make those seated in the center feel as uncomfortable as possible. She also noted something else that she had overlooked upon first glance; that the throne, the Mechanicus-branded chair and the thrones above all looked down or upon those seats in the center.
For a brief moment after they had taken their seats it was quiet, the gaze of the Inquisitors boring down into them from on high. “I imagine you have a plethora of questions,” Lady Strasbourg finally spoke, breaking the silence. “Many of which shall soon be answered. To start off with, I called this meeting to address a question that has appeared before not only myself, but the Inquisition and the Imperium as a whole. A question that I seek to answer before it becomes a potential problem.” The implication was left unspoken, but Will understood well enough. “And to help me answer this particular question, I called upon the aid and advice of several other servants of the Imperium. Servants whom I hope can help provide me with a satisfactory answer today.”
Will said nothing. She wasn’t even sure what to say that would be construed as appropriate in that setting even. Her inner nervousness seemed to permeate all throughout her hull and decks, filling her compartments and corridors with a heavy air of dread.
“If my actions are in question Lady Inquisitor, I stand by them. All of them,” Admiral Quarren stated.
“As do I,” von Saeger also said.
A brief chuckle escaped the Inquisitor’s lips. “Of course you do, Lord Admiral, Vice Admiral. I would expect nothing less from the men that tend to the Cadian Gate.” Her gaze shifted from Quarren to von Saeger, and a smirk spread across her face. “No, I suspect your actions will not be called into question today.”
Quarren said nothing else, and neither did his Number Two. Ultimately, Will managed to quell her nervousness enough to summon a degree of confidence to speak. “My Lady, whom is it that will be joining us?” she asked with every bit of confident decorum she could muster.
The woman’s smirk grew all the wider. “The sorts of people that don’t want to be here of course,” she replied. “I personally find them to be the best sorts of critics. Speaking of…”
On cue, a plain door recessed into the far wall behind the throne to her left swung inward. And through the door stepped somebody that managed to make Will feel genuinely small.
An honest-to-Emperor giant strode into the room, his great sabatons clanging loudly against the polished floor. Will could hear the quiet hymn of the armor’s servos, the soft pressure cycles of hydraulics, the relaxing and tensing of synth-musculatures beneath the slabs of adamantium. His armor was ancient, perhaps as ancient as her own hull, and was decorated with animal bones and the hide of some sort of beast, draped across his shoulders and back. His face was every bit as ancient it seemed, weathered and hewn from living stone. His eyes told a story all on their own, of hard-fought battles and wars waged between blazing stars. A flowing white beard framed the lower half of his face, itself intricately braided. Will realized that the man striding into the chamber was no mortal man at all but an Astartes, clad in ancient terminator armor and armed with an absolutely massive battleaxe clasped to his waist.
And for some reason, Will couldn’t help but feel that he was familiar somehow.
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Deep within the confines of one of His Will’s Hangar Decks, a daemonsword finally spat out the infernal wad of cloth that had muted it so, much to the alarm of its guards. “Huh, so that’s the guy that beat Morkai into submission. I was wondering who it was that finally managed to get the best of himEARGHBLBGH-”
The daemonsword was abruptly silenced once more as the accursed garment was quickly reapplied by one of the nearby creatures, this one wearing a peaked Commissar’s cap of the Anathema’s Navy.
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Without a word, the giant strode over to the throne, followed by an honor guard of Astartes. Each were clad in lighter but still-imposing Astartes-grade power armor, their bolters held at the ready. And without a word the ancient Astartes sat down, his gaze passing across all of the others in the room in an instant. Will, her Admiral and Number Two, the Inquisitors and their own Sororitas bodyguards. Finally after a long moment he spoke. “Well, I’m here Inquisitor, somehow,” the ancient Astartes said. “And away from duties far more important than the inner meddlings of Inquisitors.”
“Hardly, Master Grimnar, I think you will thank me for requesting your presence here today, whatever may come from these proceedings.” The Inquisitor’s smile never wavered. “After all, your Wolves are the Emperor’s Executioners, are they not?”
“Thank an Inquisitor? Hrmph,” was al the old warrior had to say.
Within Will’s bridge, the Fairy that had departed to find the book had returned, a comparatively gigantic tome carried precariously above its head. Overburdened by its load, the Fairy abruptly tripped and fell, face-planting the steel deck of her bridge. The tome sailed through the air and landed directly at the feet of her Captain Fairy, the giant book opening to the page that Will needed the most.
Her Captain Fairy leaned down to where the tome had landed at his feet, reading the text beneath the wolf’s head sigil. And all at once, Will remembered.
The war for Armaggeddon. Not the Orks, not the Waaagh! of the Beast of Armageddon, The First War. The war that nearly broke that world in a tide of daemons and blood, in a way the Orks never could have hoped to do. The Imperium had held the world, only just, and its armies had prevailed over the tide of blood and gibbering daemons. But the Inquisition had deemed those whom had fought and survived to be corrupted, to be beyond salvation.
The Wolves had taken exception to this, had taken exception to such callous disregard of life, especially the lives of those that had fought and bled for the Imperium. Rather than stand by and watch their allies slaughtered, not by daemons but by Inquisitors, The Great Wolf had ordered his Chapter to protect the Guardsmen and civilians the Inquisition had condemned.
Her Captain and crew had been compelled to fight the Wolves, the remaining Imperial Navy warships co-opted by the Inquisition. The Wolves had been chased all the way back to Fenris, back to the very doorstep of their Fortress Monastery before the Lord Inquisitor responsible for all of the madness fell in battle. With his death, so too did the crusade against the Wolves die.
Will had forgotten until now. No, not her, but her Captain, her crew. Her crew had been made to forget. How?
Astartes in terminator suits, similar to that of the Astartes in the room with her. Their ceramite armor unpainted, their force weapons flickering with psychic energy. They had stood on her Bridge and then…
And then she, and her crew, had forgotten. Had been made to forget their actions and terrible deeds with a psychic suggestion. Will realized she had been staring at him. Logan Grimnar, the Great Wolf of Fenris and the Chapter Master of the Space Wolves. The Emperor’s Executioners, as The Lady Inquisitor had put it. And with the realization of who he was, Will suddenly understood why he was there. In case the Lady Inquisitor judged her poorly.
His gaze flickered to her and met hers head on, and for a moment Will seemed to wilt in her seat. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, until a sound echoed out across the chamber. The sound of a door opening from the side with the lone table and chair drew everyone’s attention.
Through the door and into the chamber strode a slight, hooded figure, a stark contrast to the Great Wolf. They were short, very short, and Will suspected they might have come up to her chest if they stood on their tip-toes. Behind the figure marched a squad of soldiers dressed in red, their cybernetic legs and various augments readily apparent. Skitarii, she realized, the militant force of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Behind them floated a strange, almost bizarre construct. It was rounded, almost egg-like in its shape, and Will got the impression it had an assortment of weaponry concealed within it. A servitor of some sort perhaps? It kept its distance, and everyone in the room glanced warily at the strange object as it floated to a spot in the air just behind the solitary chair.
Without prompt or ceremony, the robed and hooded figure stepped up to the table and chair before them and took a seat. From within the hood, Will got the impression that he or she was sizing up everyone in the room, Her, her Captain, the great Wolf and the Inquisitors. And with the firepower concentrated in that chamber, herself not included, any disagreement would likely quickly escalate to a bloodbath.
Will hoped it didn’t come to that.
“Well, now that everyone is assembled, I think we can begin,” Lady Strasbourg spoke. “And I feel that the majority of the people here are familiar with each other, or at the very least know of each other’s names.” She gestured to the two men flanking Will. “Admiral Quarren of course, and his second-in command, Vice Admiral von Saeger.” Her arm swung to the Space Wolf sitting on his throne. “The one and only Great Wolf, Logan Grimnar, the Master of the Space Wolves and the High King of Fenris.” Finally, her arm swung back to the robed techpriest, sitting in a chair that seemed comically too large for them. “And last but not least, Archmagos Ebin Sorrik, the wandering Archmagos and the self-proclaimed Disciple of Land. Thank you all for taking the time to join us.”
The Space Wolf only grunted in reply.
“Of course,” a surprisingly normal and young voice spoke from beneath their hood. “From what you told me, I wouldn’t miss this for the galaxy.”
“And with those acknowledgements out of the way, there’s only one more person that I feel hasn’t been properly introduced. Lady Will,” Strasbourg’s gaze fell squarely upon her, “why don’t you introduce yourself properly to everyone? You’re the star of the show after all.”
“Of course,” Will replied. She rose from her seat, standing as straight as her spine allowed her. “I am the Apocalypse-class Battleship His Will, the third of my class and the former flagship of Armageddon Sector, currently assigned to Battlefleet Cadia, under the command of Admiral Quarren.”
It sounded strange, saying it out loud like that, stating simple facts. For a brief moment, nobody in the room said anything at all, her words echoing to silence. Had she said something wrong? Had someone expected an answer other than that simple truth? She wondered. To her left, the Great Wolf cocked an eyebrow, his gaze fell upon her most intently. To her right, the Archmagos made no indication of acknowledgement, at least not one she could tell.
“A… battleship,” the male Inquisitor said. “As in the spacefaring kind?”
“So it would seem, Inquisitor Vrak. So it would seem.”
“Is she mad?” The woman to her right asked.
“Hardly, my dear Lady Laeryn,” she replied to her apparent subordinate. “I suspect she is quite sane indeed. If a bit reckless and excitable from her, how should I say it, fervent banter with a professed traitor.”
Oh. She… had broadcast that to anyone who would be willing to listen, hadn’t she? In hindsight that was unbecoming of her certainly, and in no small way embarrassing.
“Tell me, Master Grimnar, what was your take upon listening to this young lady’s… eager discussion?”
The Great Wolf merely grunted. “Bold and brave, Inquisitor. A lass with a death wish perhaps.”
“I concur, Lady Strasbourg,” the now-named Inquisitor Laeryn said. “And the feat of single-handedly destroying a warship such as that accursed heretic’s flagship is… a difficult thing to believe. An impossibility, almost.”
“And yet it has happened,” the Lady said, rising from her seat high on the dais. “An impossibility has transpired. One that defies ready explanation.” The Lady Inquisitor’s eyes bored directly into hers, and Will did her best not to falter. “Tell me, Lady Will, do you have one?”
“I do,” Will answered readily.
“Oh? Well please, enlighten us.”
“I can show you.”
“You have the room, and a most captive audience,” she gestured to the space before the dais.
Alright, I knew this was coming, Will thought to herself. She drew a long steady breath before stepping around the table where her Admiral sat, allowing herself to relax. Her legs took her to where the Lady Inquisitor had gestured, and in a moment she was at the center of the room, the center of attention. She closed her eyes and focused on that ephemeral feeling that seemed so distant to her. She felt out to it, imagined herself grabbing it-
And abruptly, her Rigging sprang forth in a golden flash of light. It materialized around her, cladding and shielding her in a voided shield, in a perimeter of protective armor and offensive weapons. Her person was ringed in a golden halo, and all at once she felt complete. Like this was the way she was supposed to be, like-
The sound of commotion met her ears. Right, the Inquisitors, she remembered.
Theirs and the reactions of the others in the room were… about as she expected. Shouts of warning and confusion, everyone holding a weapon raising it at her in alarm, or at others in alarm. The female Inquisitor to Strasbourg’s right jumped up, producing an ornate melta pistol from her robe and training it in her direction. The Lady Inquisitor herself remained seated to her credit, leaning forward to observe her. Behind her, Quarren and von Saeger remained seated, although her Admiral rubbed his brow and sighed. To her left, The Great Wolf’s eyes merely widened in surprise at her display, even as his honor guard readied their bolters to protect him. And to her right-
“Fascinating, simply fascinating,” The Archmagos said as they poked and prodded at one of the turrets on her starboard side with an extended mechadendrite, produced from beneath her crimson red robe. “They’re almost like model replicas in terms of scale, yet are somehow fully functional.” Sorrik, the Archmagos, was standing there, prodding at the surface of her hull. When? When did she get up and move? “I see, no wonder the ranking Tech-Magos of the Legacy was so panicked when he spoke to me. To my auguries you are ceramite and adamantium, but to my eyes,” they reached up and pulled down their hood, and a young and cute and surprisingly unaugmented face stared up at her, “You are flesh and blood. Human. Or at least appear to be. Tell me, what are you?” she asked.
“I am His Will,” she answered. “Or just Will for brevity’s sake.”
The Archmagos’s gazed up at her, and for an instant, it flickered. “That was the name of a warship that was lost a year ago, in the Segmentum Solar,” she seemingly recited. It was the temporary flagship of Battlefleet Armageddon, commanded by Admiral-”
“Parol,” Will finished. “I know. He was my Admiral before.”
Confusion seemed to fill the woman’s face. “I need to think for a moment,” she flatly stated, and her eyes became glassy and unfocused as she looked down at the bare floor.
“Laeryn, please put the meltagun down,” Strasboug said, in front and above Will.
That brought her back into the moment, and she remembered that there was a meeting happening around her and about her.
“But that, that thing,” the Lady Inquisitor hissed, the offending weapon aimed squarely at her. “It’s a daemon, it has to be.”
“Inquisitor Lae-”
“What else could it be?!” She all but shouted, “If not a heretic or a fool?”
“I don’t think she’s a fool or a heretic, my dear,” the other Inquisitor, Vrak, said. “Not enough ranting and raving about dark gods and skull thrones and whatnot.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” Laeryn shot back.
“We have ways my dear of finding out.”
Privately, Will grimaced, careful not to let her imagination run wild at that. “I am not a heretic,” WIll spoke. “I killed like, thousands of them yesterday.” I almost killed the biggest heretic of them all, except he got away, the bastard.” She pointed up at the woman aiming a meltagun at her, “And I don’t appreciate people accusing me of something without cause.”
“Laeryn, for the last time, please lower your weapon,” Strasbourg commanded.
“But I-”
“Now.”
The Inquisitor gritted her teeth, the pistol still aimed at will. “Yes, my Lady,” she answered, lowering her weapon and holstering it back inside her robes before sitting down.
Strasbourg sighed. “Well now, with that bit of drama out of the way, what is your take on this, Master Grimnar?”
For a moment, the Wolf said nothing. “I’ve been told you fought the Despoiler lass,” he said. “And not only fought him but bested him. And impressive feat for a whelp.”
“I’m not a whelp,” Will stated, crossing her arms. “In fact, I’m much older than you.”
A rumble of what might have been laughter, and WIll could have sworn she glimpsed a smile cross the old Astartes’ features, if only for a brief instant. “Aye, what with your claims. But claims of victory are one thing. Proving them are another lass.”
“Well, I do have a pict-recording,” Will said, grinning. “Of me, kicking the Despoiler’s bleached ass.”
Behind her, von Saeger dropped his head to his hands, and a few eyebrows rose up on the dais.
“Aye? Really now?”
Will felt something in her hand, small and round and somewhat heavy. She glanced down to find a compact portable holo-projector, resting in the palm of her hand. On her Bridge, her Techpriest Fairy gave her a thumbs up, apparently pleased with her apparent foresight. “Yes, yes I do,” she smiled, pressing a button on the side of her device with her gloved thumb and powering it to life.
Will held the device out, and above and before her a holo-field resolved the pict-recording she had already seen and experienced. Her battle with the arch-heretic played out yet again for all to see, Will trading parries and blows with the armored arch-heretic before finally defeating him with a few precision strikes of her sword. Swears and exclamations of surprise and awe filled the room, from all whom had seen it unfold.
Will let out a breath she had forgotten she was holding as the hologram faded. “As you can see-”
“That is quite the statement, miss,” Inquisitor Vrak said to her. “There will be doubts about the authenticity of this recording.”
“Sure,” Will replied, holding out the projector. “It’s for you. Keep it,” she smiled. She held it out towards the nearest Sororitas, standing off to the side. With a nod from the Lady Inquisitor above, the Sister approached wordlessly and took the device from her hand before stepping back to her posting. “I also have… umm…”
“Well?”
“His wargear. And his arms. And his other bits.”
“What do you mean by his… other bits, I dare ask?”
Will breathed in and out, focusing on the sword and talon and the… stupid bit, still laying in one of her Hangar Decks. She focused on them, visualized them-
With a burst of golden light, three objects materialized in the space in front of WIll before clattering to the polished floor, to the alarm of everyone in the room. Will opened her eyes to see the Despoiler’s wargear, lying there for all to see.
One again, the Inquisitors jumped from their seats, and Laeryn produced her melta pistol once more. Sororitas and Astartes and Skitarii all raised their weapons in alarm. Sorrik remained standing motionless next to Will, still apparently lost in thought. And Grimnar-
Grimnar was there, standing over her with his double-headed axe ready and in hand. Will had barely seen the man move, impressive given the normally-cumbersome Terminator armor he wore.
Before her, the daemonsword twitched on the ground, an offensive eyesore to all who saw it. With a thought, Will dismissed her rigging in a burst of golden motes and leaned down to pick up the weapon.
“Lass, wait!” Grimnar called out to her.
Will’s hand hovered over the hilt. “Chapter Master?” she looked up at him in reply.
“That weapon corrupts and kills all who touch it,” he explained, “No sane mortal can-”
Before he could finish, Will grasped the hilt and lifted the weapon, the daemonsword feather-light in her grasp. The old Wolf’s eyes went wide and lifted his war axe, but nothing else happened.
There, for all to see, Will held the corrupted blade, seemingly immune to its effects. “It’s kinda heavy, and ugly. Mostly ugly, I…” she trailed off, noticing the moving crossguard and something stuffed into the mouth of the warped ornamentation there. Carefully, she grasped the wad of cloth, pulling it free-
“FINALLY!” the sword shouted, its voice unmuffled. “I can finally talk once more! You!” the face looked at her, glaring heretical daggers at Will, “You are responsible for my suffering!”
“What the-”
“I blame you! Only you!” it continued to shriek. “Not even a trophy room, but a floor! A HANGAR DECK! Damn you to the Gardens of Nurgle and the Killing Fields of Khorne for these insults upon insults you foul wretch!”
The daemonsword continued to shriek obscenities in Will’s hand, before she suddenly remembered she was holding something else. She looked at her left hand, at the wad of… underwear? She was currently holding. She looked back at the sword, and began to grin.
“You… wait, oh no,” the sword stammered in fear. “Please, let’s be reasonable-”
“Yes, let’s.”
“Oh nononoGARBLGL-” Will stuffed the wad of cloth back into its mouth, thankfully silencing the sword once more.
“Well, that was unexpected. Uhh…”
The sound of clattering metal broke the dead silence that had settled in the chamber. Will looked over to a melta pistol by the dais, where it had been dropped from above by a slack-jawed Laeryn. Lady Strasbourg was standing, arms resting on the edge of the dais and peering down at Will with wide eyes. Most of the armed people in the room were once more aiming their weapons, mostly at her and the sword. Behind her, her Admiral and his Number Two had jumped from their seats and had drawn their own weapons in alarm. To her left, Master Grimnar stared down at her in amazement, his axe held loosely in his gauntlet, his eyes flickering between Will and the sword. And to her right-
“Well, Lady Will, Lady Strasbourg, I have an idea about how we may prove Lady Will’s origins regarding... ah…” The Archmagos looked around the room and its occupants. “Apologies, but did I miss something?”
A low, rumbling sound began to fill the room, originating from Will's direct left. She looked up to see Logan Grimnar, the Great Wolf of Fenris laughing. He laughed a long genuine laugh, the reverberations of which seemed to shake the very walls of the room. “You my lass,” he managed to say between bouts of laughter, “Are full of surprises. Quite the feat to bring the gift of laughter this old Wolf. And what more, you,” he glanced down at where the offending object still lay on the floor before resuming a bout of laughter, “You lopped off his top knot!” He threw his head back in roaring laughter. “By the Allfather, I am glad I came here this day.” The Great Wolf’s mirth seemed to disarm the room, and bolters and radium carbines were lowered. Behind her, her Admiral re-took his seat, although von Saeger remained standing after holstering his las-pistol, seemingly more comfortable standing. Finally, the Great Wolf stepped back to the throne before sitting down. “I would be proud to have you at my side, lass.”
“Those, those things,” Lady Strasbourg spoke, “I need to have them all contained immediately. Especially that weapon.”
“Nay, Inquisitor, I feel they are adequately contained,” the Great Wolf spoke, gesturing to the sword in Will’s hand and the items on the floor. “After all,” he gestured to Will, still holding the sword, “Anyone who can hold that blade and not succumb instantly to madness? And to so break its will? They are more than capable of keeping it under lock and key. Speaking of, the how of it lass?”
Realizing what he was asking her, Will quickly responded. “I can’t really explain how,” she said. “I just think about putting them away like my Rigging.”
“Your what?” Sorrik dared to ask.
“My ship parts that I put away earlier, Will explained. “I think about it, and well…” The three objects began to glow, and one by one they popped out of existence in bursts of golden motes. In her mind, WIll saw them popping back into existence inside the Hangar Deck, exactly where she had left them previously. “I just sort of dumped them in one of my Hangar Decks. They won’t be disturbed there.”
“You, you just…” Vrak stammered.
“Dumped them on a hangar Deck,” Laeryn finished.
Will looked up at the Inquisitors. “So far they haven’t grown legs and wandered off yet,” she smiled. “For what it’s worth I locked the doors at least.” She was careful not to lead into mentioning the security cordon, or exactly who or what composed it - that would lead to a whole other headache. And possibly weapons fire.
“The… the doors are locked, she says.” Lady Strasbourg said, dropping back down into her seat. “One of the most infamous daemon weapons in the galaxy, and she mutes it with underwear. Underwear! And then she throws it in a Hangar! And locks the door!” She started chuckling, and the chuckling morphed into soft laughter, and a distant memory came unbidden to Will from ages past. A piece of wisdom, shared from one of her officers to another. That it was always a bad thing when the Commissar or Inquisitor started laughing. “She says these things, as if they explain anything, of who or what she is. And honestly?” she waved a hand to Will, “I won’t contest this. One less headache for my people to deal with, and the ones best suited for the task are predisposed on the other end of the system.”
“My- my Lady, this is irregular,” Inquisitor Laeryn said, her melta pistol seemingly forgotten.
“To the contrary, this is groundbreaking,” Strasbourg replied. “I love the idea of being the one to set policy.”
“My Lady, I refrain from interrupting you, but I do have my thoughts that I wish to share,” the Archmagos spoke.
“Lady Sorrik?”
“Yes,” she spoke, turning to walk back to her seat. Sitting down, she continued. “Lady Will claims to be a warship, specifically a battleship, and specifically His Will, one of the oldest members of the Apocalypse-class of battleships. Specifically, the third such ship of that class ever constructed by the old Mechanicum of Mars. She even predates the Great Crusade, if only just.”
“Your point, Archmagos?”
“I shall soon arrive at it,” she smiled. “These first three battleships, His Word, His Might, and His Will, are all unique in one very specific aspect An aspect shared with a few other warships from that time.”
“Being?”
“They were the first warships the Omnissiah, the God Emperor of Mankind, specifically and personally commissioned for his great fleet. And while many smaller vessels were completed first, These were amongst the first laid to keel, so to speak.” A pause, before she continued. “The Bucephalus, the Omnissiah’s own flagship, was the very first, commissioned by him personally. So too were the class of warship called the Gloriana. While a few were technical wonders predating the Imperium and thus brought into its fold, most were laid to keel before or during the Crusade. These mighty vessels were commissioned for the Omnissiah’s great Legions, his Astartes.”
“Hrafknel,” The Great Wolf spoke, barely more than a whisper.
“Yes, your Primarch’s flagship was one, Master Grimnar. Finally, to commemorate the creation of the then Imperial Army, The Omnissiah asked of the Mechanicum warships upon which to build its great battlefleets around. And from there, the Apocalypse class of warship was conceived.” Sorrik looked at Will, directly in the eye. “You have it, don’t you? Your Writ?
“My, what?” Will spoke.
“Your Writ of Commission. The document upon which your name was first written.”
Will didn’t have an immediate answer. She blinked, realizing her Captain was nowhere to be found on her Bridge, and a hapless rating was wearing his hat for some reason and standing at the Captain’s post. She found the Fairy, deep within her shipboard archive, staring at an ornate gold container held within a dedicated stasis field. The container glowed, before vanishing in a burst of golden motes.
Will looked down at her hand, the container resting in her palm. It looked so small, and she realized nobody reacted to its sudden appearance.
“Ah, that… is probably it,” Sorrik said. “Go ahead and open it.”
Will did as she instructed, carefully un-sealing the container, and from within she withdrew a thick double scroll, carefully wound tight. It was fairly wide, about twice the width of her open hand. She remembered this document, Ever y Captain who had ever commanded her had looked at this, held this, as a way to remind them of who they were, where they came from. And what they were fighting for.
Instinctively, she carefully unwound the thick parchment, rolling and unrolling the scroll so that it showed only the last page. The part everyone else would be interested in. She instinctively knew every word on that document, every technical and numerical specification that outlined what she was.
The last ‘page’ of the scroll consisted of just three names, two of whom were long dead and one of which technically wasn’t a name at all but a position. The first was that of her very first Captain, the ink of his quill still as fresh as the day he signed it. The second was stiff and rigid, artificial, the then-Shipmaster of Mars. And below his...
...below his, a single letter, written down the dead center of the page with five beautiful, elegant strokes of a nib: a cross-slashed letter I. And below that, a little mark, a smudge, a dot on the parchment. A single shed drop of blood. Looking at it, Will seemed to feel the air shudder around her, growing close and thick as if before a storm.
Will held it, for the rest of the people in the room to see.
Nobody said a word for some time.
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And that's a Chapter. Words: 5628
