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Alright. Here's the first installment of a story directly related to my army fluff (see sig). So far I've got twenty of my Marines in progress too! Yay me! Ahem. If I get a decent response on this I'll release the rest bit by bloody bit. Without further ado....
The Tale of the Ascension
Part One: One Failing Candle
Chapter Master Orlando of the Angels Ascendant tore into the surrounding Eldar with the terrible ferocity that was his trademark. The aliens' uncanny grace did not save them from his power mace, which whirled through the air from foe to foe, an ethereal haze of light following its deadly path. Their armor, sturdy though sleeker than the ornate power armor he wore, was similarly ineffective at stopping the brutal cleaves of his battle-axe, a singing, dual-bladed creation that any normal man would have had to wield two-handed. Of course, Orlando had transcended humanity. He and his brethren had even transcended their fellow Space Marines.
The flourescent light of the Administratum complex glinted off the gleaming, gold-trimmed armor Orlando wore. What the aliens had intended here, Orlando found unfathomable. And irrelevant. They had been trespassing since birth, these aliens; their existence was an insult to the Emperor. This was the final outrage he would allow them to commit.
One of these creatures, a female, caught a glancing blow to Orlando's head, knocking his plumed helm off. Her warcry, amplified through the bestial mask she wore, was meant to stupefy him and throw him off balance. It was not so, however, as the incense censers on the exhausts of his pack coounteracted the disorientating effect. Then his mace came up, and there was no more screaming.
As the battle fire grew within him, his eyes glowed; so it had been for every Brother of the Chapter since the Ascension. Now his eyes, both mercifully there through centuries of combat, blazed like the pyre of a burning heretic. A halo of similar magnitude flared around his mane of grey hair, which was streaked with streams of dying, rusting red.
His appearance thus unveiled, the remaining Eldar were uncharacteristically shell-shocked. He, however, saw nothing odd. Only enemies to be killed. And thus did he act.
When he finally killed the last one (this a particularly tenacious robed one with a lance), he stood among the dead, and bowed his head to offer a prayer of gratitude to the Emperor and the Primarchs for the protection and strength that he had enjoyed. He heard a thump, but did not yet open his eyes.
When he did, he was two feet shorter.
He looked down. No, he was not. He was on his knees, however. How had he gotten there?
Now he was on his side, just as he'd resolved to get to his feet. He saw a pool of blood form under his cheek.
Damn. He rolled to his back, trying to get up; trying to do anything other than squirm in futility. He managed to lift his head, and it was only now that he saw the rents in his white armor. He felt them elsewhere- arms, legs, reaf. Now that he listened, a klaxon was ringing- in his helmet, three yards away. Probably one for his power pack.
He thought he felt pain, little as his superhuman constitution could recognize such things- weaknesses of the flesh had always seemed alien to him, even in the dim, forgotten days before the Chapter. Yet now, weakness seemed to be all he had.
Was this death? Maybe. Probably, in fact. Had he not known it would end this way? Not just dead, not just in battle- that he had known since he took the Oath of Undying Loyalty- but as he would die, forgotten, since that day? The day angels rode with them to battle and devils worked behind their backs?
Now those fools- petty minded, pathetic weaklings, all- would claim victory. Though he had died serving the Emperor that was the Lord of them all, his demise would be held aloft as an example to any who would defy them and their narrow views. More likely, he would be buried- unknown forever outside the Chapter. And the enemy would try to bury them too.
And they truly thought they were in the right to do so. That was what he could not comprehend. Surely they could not all be so blind. The Administratum, the Inquisition, the Ministorum, the High Lords even- all were so rife with corruption, serving all needs that had the right price, serving all interests save those that truly mattered- the bastards! They were a profanation of His Word. And he and his Brothers were in the wrong!
They had hunted heretics and aliens and traitors and all the other filth the galaxy could throw at them for longer than any of the fools who stood against them- and hated them- had been alive. The Chapter had expanded the Emperor's realm and spread his Word. Who knew what might have become of the Imperium had the Chapter not stood at Kasr Holden? The Dark Angels themselves had left that post on 'Chapter business,' and though Orlando hated speaking against one of the fabled First Founding, 5th Company had suffered dearly for the Dark Angels' abandonment.
After all this, during some three hundred and eighty seven years of combat (and an unprecedented two hundred and six of that as a Chapter Master!), here it was. The end had come. He had known how it would be since...
The darkness took him to a different time as the Sus-An Membrane activated.
Part two forthcoming as soon as I get some feedback! :yes:
Oh man that's really an awesome story ^^
Poor Eldar *sniff* I like them - Oh well. They are pretty arrogant little bastards aren't they? Worse than elves >.>
- I feel Chaos comming on here! Or at the very least the potencial to go seriously rogue. All this because of his dying moment... I suppose some kind of traumatic event (though it's probably not that traumatic) but more like 'apprehensive' moment would cause him to notice how he's wasted his life following some fool's orders.
Following the old laws and codes of the FALSE Emperor ^_~ Awesome piece of fluff, really - the battle was good and descriptive and I could really see it all in my head, unfolding right then and there!
Again, cool cool is what I say ^___^ Keep writin' more! More! NEED MORE SOULS! Hehe I mean fluff.
Well, I said I'd post more with feedback; I swore I'd wait till this afternoon; however, I just can't wait that long. Here's the first part of the meat of the story:
Part Two: The Ascension of the Brotherhood
Brother Captain Orlando of the Brotherhood of Wrath stood still as serfs, eyes fixed to their task, not daring to look upon the face of their Lord, carefully strapped together his dark blue armor. Three of them hefted the breastplate with an Aquila emblazoned on it. One stooped to adjust the kneepads; these were gilded with a skull with a wing arcing out to the outside each. Two others made certain that his mace and axe were properly in place. Techmarine Aldorn said he would modify them into power weapons after the victory celebration of this battle against the Orks, and Orlando found this enticing; as they were, they had been since Orlando had brought them to the Keep to join the Brotherhood as a Neophyte. Passed down an unremembered bloodline, forged by an unknown ancestor, wielded in forgotten battles before his induction into the Space Marine Chapter that was his family now, the weapons were fine, beautiful as such things could be, but the honorable Techmarine would make them even greater. Orlando’s face, scarred and strong, yet distantly noble, like some feral king, lit up under a heavy crop of fiery red hair as he imagined the glowing sheen of a power weapon sheathing the blades of his axe and the head of his mace.
But he must not look too far ahead. There were Orks to kill first.
His long, fur lined cloak finally adjusted and back banner in place, Orlando dismissed the servants with a gesture. He stopped one, a small, wiry man in his early twenties.
“I noted the care with which you handled my arms, squire Ermine,” he spoke detachedly, his voice as ever resembling a lion, though he was not roaring in battle. Not quite yet. “Do you take an interest in such things?”
The man dropped to a knee, head still bowed.
“My Lord, I treat all wargear with reverence, but you perceive more, as always. It is the implements of destruction, particularly blade and bludgeon, that I admire above all else,” the serf spoke in a register just above whisper. Realizing how much he had spoken, he raised his hand, palm out, to his forehead, an Antillian gesture of apology.
“There is no need for that, young Ermine. I advise you to speak with the Master of the Forge, Brother Alcraz. He is in need of an assistant so respectful of our Chapter’s instruments.”
“My Lord…” Ermine’s eyes lit up at the prospect, but he did not want to leave Orlando’s side. He was as devoted to his Lord as any serf could be. Was he being dismissed?
“I am not dismissing you, Ermine,” said Orlando, reading the servant like a book, “and I am sure Alcraz can spare you when I need be armed. I simply feel that a servant… of any kind… serves best when his heart is aligned with his work. I am, after all, an aficionado of hand to hand gear as well…” Orlando trailed off, but the point was made. Though a young Captain, Orlando had made his mark already as a ferocious individual among ferocious individuals, taking on whole squads of the enemy single-handedly. When accompanied by his Honor Guard, he often left the balance of his Company little to do but march over broken corpses.
“Of course, my Lord. I give you my gratitude. Long days and glory,” he said with left palm to right shoulder.
“Health and prosperity to you and your family,” intoned Orlando. Though it was the proper response, such concepts of which he spoke now seemed alien to him as a Space Marine. Ermine bowed ever lower and took off in the direction of the Armory.
Orlando grabbed his aquiline Mark 6 helmet from the stone table and marched into the cavernous hall that led to the bridge of the battle barge, His Shining Blade. His Honor Guard, already attired for battle as well, swept in perfect step behind him with practiced ease.
The huge stone double doors of the bridge would be intimidating for any human, but Orlando was a Space Marine. With almost contemptuous ease, Orlando pushed the doors open and, without a break in step, marched directly to the space in front and to the left of Chapter Master Janos.
Janos surveyed him for a brief moment, then returned his gaze ahead, awaiting his other Captains. He was a dark skinned man with short- cropped, jet-black hair, and had blue eyes that contrasted sharply with his ebony flesh. His armor was unadorned, save for scrolls of litany and holy text scrawled onto its surface. He carried a long power sword and an ornate, double-barreled plasma pistol. A servo skull hummed quietly at his side, swaying slowly in the air.
Janos’ heavy facial features, seemingly chiseled in stone, belied a precise tactical intellect underneath. His battle plans were always meticulous and well thought out; Orlando had often earned the Master’s ire by being somewhat overeager. Their relationship was no worse for it; Janos would put aside such disputes and differences for a greater good, as a good father does for a maturing son. Indeed, to the whole of the Chapter, Janos was a fatherly figure, one who remembered the desecration of their home world, and had led the Hunt since its early days.
The other Captains arrived shortly after. Graphen, with his scruffy features, gilded hammer, and monolithic power fist; Jorn, the old hand with a halo of wispy hair and lightning claws that had forgotten more foes than many Brothers would ever encounter; Kern, the strict, dark-haired noble with a monocle auspex, power gladius, and bolt pistol; and Orlando himself, proud to stand among them. Nearly four Companies to assist the Imperial Guard against the xeno Ork scum. It must be a big horde. More to slaughter in His name, thought Orlando.
Jorn’s detachment of First Company and Orlando’s Fourth Company forces would lead the assault, when it happened. Kern would hold his Fifth Company forces back to deal out ranged punishment, while the jump pack troops in Graphen’s Third Company would await in counter attack formation. Rather simple, for Janos- who would be accompanying Orlando. It was Chapter tradition that the Masters of the Chapter accompany younger Captains in battle, but Orlando saw it not as a condescension, but as an honor. He would earn his laurels today, and so would his men. The Orks, on the other hand, would receive the only gift Orlando felt they were fit for- cold steel backed by the Emperor’s fury.
Of course, the battle plan was far more detailed- such was Janos- but Orlando had a gift of sifting a large amount of information and finding the big picture contained therein. The planning was done.
Now it was time for battle.
Sorreh I haven't written up some more feedback on your second Chapter ^^ - guess I've been busy writin' my own. Aaaanyways..
Personally I love the way you represented the relationship between Master-Serf, it shows that SMs don't necesseraly need to be the stone-cold mothas they're portrayed to be. Compassion, camaradery, all these things should shine forth as they portray what relationships can be forged from fighting side by side together.
I always like to think that, when two men are fighting, no matter what they believe in - in the heat of the battle they're fighting for each other, fighting to survive, fighting to outlast the enemy. - Anyway I really liked that bit, and I honestly HATE people who think that devotion and brotherly loyalty for one man to the other is gay.
I've had people say that a thousand times whenever I have a man hug another man or show too much affection, but meh I digress..
Awesome descriptions, punchy lines... Can't wait for the battle scene! So write more Imperialis! Don't let the lack o' comments get ya down ^_^ I'm readin' I'm readin'
Just for you, my friend Adahn.
The very teeth in his head seemed to be rattling out of their sockets. The drop pod was not the smoothest ride to a battle, Orlando reflected as he mentally prepared for battle, but it was the most efficient. And that was good.
The vox in his helmet crackled to life, and the dry, cold voice of Chaplain Ocrim rasped over it. Immediately every head in every pod was bowed.
“Brothers! The foes of Man stand against us. From now till eternity they shall, as they have since antiquity.”
“As always they are there to threaten us, always shall we stand to destroy them,” the Brothers recited.
“They come not only to desecrate the Emperor’s worlds with their filthy footsteps, but to profane and slaughter His servants and cast aside His Word!” Now the Chaplain’s voice rose in anger.
“We shall quell their heresy with sword and purge their filth by fire!”
“Their very existence is an insult to our Father Emperor and the Great Primarchs! Their sentience is blasphemy, their life-force a witchcraft!” The Chaplain was frothing.
“As with all heresy and all witchery, we shall break them and castigate them!”
“The foes of the Emperor may know only DEATH!” all of them shouted as one.
“They cannot stand against us.” The pods hit the earth. “We are the Brotherhood of Wrath!” The doors opened. “Rise up and strike them down! No mercy! No prisoners! No fear!” The Chaplain finished in a crescendo of hate.
“Let death be dealt!” they all howled.
Quickly, efficiently, every Space Marine and every squad fairly leaped into position. All across the battle line, the ultimate warriors of the Imperium stood shoulder to shoulder with the lowest grunts of the embattled Imperial Guard. In hours Razorbacks would arrive via Thunderhawk, specially equipped for the chase with heavy flamers. Seconds after touchdown, bolter fire shattered the air, and Orks who had been yards from the trenches fell dead at startled Guardsmen’s feet. But there were so many…
Colonel Bardley of the Dornian XII fired off a dozen shots with his pistol, then turned to an aide, demanding more ammunition. But his words were drowned out by the thunder of bolter fire.
“Praise the Emperor, the Space Marines have arrived,” Bardley grinned as he slammed a new cartridge into his autopistol. “They have no chance now.”
“Indeed they do not, Colonel,” said the seven foot tall armored monster who had somehow appeared at his elbow. “But they did, and someone will answer for that.”
Bardley’s mouth went dry at the implication. Hating himself for it, he risked a glance at the Commissar. But luckily the man had become conspicuously preoccupied at the Space Marine Captain’s coming. The Space Marine smiled as he picked up a pair of bolt pistols whose owners had found unpleasant ends.
“Worry not, Colonel. The blame shall likely fall on shoulders higher than your own, for men such as we are but warriors who follow orders from higher up, are we not? At least, most of the time we do,” Orlando finished with a grin that hinted at foolhardy charges and glorious stands where discipline and discretion being the better part of valor had been cast aside. Cutting off Bardley’s response if he had one, the Space Marine spoke briskly, “Enough banter, Colonel. To battle!” And with that he began firing shot after accurate shot into the rapidly closing second wave, his trigger fingers working faster than Bardley could imagine to make the semiautomatic pistol as effective as if it were fully automatic.
Bardley found himself quickly caught up in the Marine’s battle fervor. He was firing even as an Ork shell miraculously found a target and slammed him against the bunker wall. Even as medics swarmed him, his pistol blared into the green mob.
Orlando paid him no mind as he unstrapped his mace and axe.
Awesomeness ^^ - Nice bit of pro-Imperium rhethoric there in the begining ^.^ Nice nice. Really well represented I'd say. I also liked the description of the Drop Pod.. they really DO have to be pretty damn bumpy and rattly as they enter the surface *nods*.
As for the Guardsmen being all happy ^^ I liked that bit as well, I could really picture the beleaguered forces already exhausted from holding the spot and sudddenly seeing the SM reinforcements comming to aid them. Woohoo ^___^
Some more stuff. Sorry it's been so long, I have a nasty disease of some sort. Nurgle can be a real wanker.
A wave can break against a wall of sand once, twice, even a dozen times before it breaks through, but all walls will be in danger of breaking after some time. The Orks sent wave after wave of assaults against the Space Marines and Imperial Guard, and each time they were repulsed by the combined firepower of those forces, but the Guardsmen, unlike their superhuman allies, knew fatigue. Finally, on the fifteenth wave, the Space Marines charged out to meet the attack.
Orlando didn’t mind one bit. His forces and Jorn’s sprinted out under covering fire from the Guard and Kern’s forces. Jet packs screamed their own cry of havoc as Graphen’s men joined the fray.
A Guardsman, carrying a tattered Dornian XII banner, charged out alone behind Orlando and his men; around him, a few dozen men ran for death and glory. Brave men, thought Orlando in the subconscious buried beneath the battle haze. Obviously they’ve seen either too little of the Orks or too much.
The two forces collided like the fists of angry gods; curses and oaths both human and Orkoid singed the air blue; the crack and blast of laser and bolt drowned out the popcorn rattle of Ork firearms. Chainswords roared and power weapons of all descriptions hummed and crackled a quiet song of death. Men screamed, Orks howled; Orks screamed, men howled; it all blended together after a while. It sure was a beautiful battle, thought Orlando as he slashed and crashed his way towards a particularly big and ugly Ork. A pristinely beautiful thing. He fought at times with cunning and finesse, at others with brute strength and rage, and always with terrible ferocity.
Finally, he met the big ugly.
“Your time has come, scum!” he bellowed.
“”Urgh, nevah seen a fire-top before. Dat’s gonna look great on me trophy rack, ‘Rineboy! Waaagh!” The Ork flipped a knob on it’s armor, and sickly fluids pumped into it’s veins through the dark green hide and slab-like muscles. It raised one arm that ended in a chainsaw and charged, axe before it in its remaining hand.
With comical ease, Orlando sidestepped, parried, and tripped the Ork, then launched a blow with his mace followed with his axe in quick succession. The mace bent and weakened the metal casing of the Ork’s armor, and the axe blade tore through it and into the now-unprotected flesh of the Ork’s backside. It let loose a howl of pain and rage.
It got to it’s feet and spun on its heel, regarding Orlando with care now. They circled and paced a bit, feinting, parrying, dodging- hate on hate, strength on strength, cunning and skill against the same. Then Orlando broke the dance. He let out a wordless roar and flooded his opponent with a flurry of attacks, waiting for that one weak point, that one miscalculation, which should happen…
Now. His mace left a bloody mess right about where an Ork’s sad excuse for a brain is rumored to be. At this a fair portion of the former boss’ horde turned tail and fled, fighting as to who was the new leader.
Looking around, Orlando saw that a fair portion of the other mobs of Orks were fleeing too. He headed towards the Razorback drop point. He hoped the engines were running.
Orlando, Janos, Kern, Graphen, Jorn, and Ocrim all piled into the Razorback “Deliverance.” Orlando envied somewhat the Marine operating the heavy flamer turret- he personally would like to see the Orks’ faces when all that burning fuel hit their ranks. Janos and Jorn both read Orlando like a book, and exchanged grim smiles at the young Captain’s eagerness. Though he rarely admitted it, Janos admired the young Captain- he kept Janos on his toes, to be sure, but he was an excellent on-the-spot commander- ingenious, really. He’d make a fine Chapter Master in a few decades, if he lived that long.
The vox speaker in the Rhino crackled to life and spat out a message from the scouts who had worked their way ahead while the Orks were occupied on the grassy plains.
“My Lord Janos,” Veteran Sergeant Aman spoke hurriedly. But he still awaited permission to continue.
“Yes, Brother Sergeant?” Janos replied in a businesslike voice. He leaned forward. The tone in Aman’s voice suggested that this was important.
“My Lord, we’ve scouted ahead as ordered. But when we arrived near the Ork camp, we spied something else in the distance. When we scoped in…” Aman seemed uncharacteristically at a loss.
“Found what, Sergeant?” Janos hated cliffhangers of any sort, especially over a vox.
“My Lord, a large detachment of Violators are camped over the hill from the Orks, concealed by what seems to be a mix of the burned fossil fuels from the Ork camp and some Chaos witchery. We suspect they are working in concert with the Orks, as otherwise there is little way they could camp so close to them. What they are doing my squad has not yet been able to ascertain.”
“Whatever it is,” Janos said, his face growing grave and terrible as nightmarish memories flooded his features, “they shall be interrupted. Chapter honor demands their destruction. All units! The enemy of the Chapter, the Destroyers of Altius, are camped just beyond the Orks! Those cowards think they can hide behind xenos from out wrath, but they are wrong. Their time has come to die!” He stopped for a second, then issued orders. “Continue the advance, but we will be circling around the Ork camp. We must first break through these jungles. All Razorbacks, full battle speed, torch any Orks you find. Onward for the Emperor!” He paused again. “Driver, get me in contact with His Shining Blade.”
There was a series of crackles and whines as the enhanced comms systems of the command Rhino struggled for a long-range signal. A click, whirr, and then the soft fuzz of static.
“Yes, my Lord?”
“Alert the reserve Companies to be ready to go on the hour. Let them know that Violators are on the field. We will not be storming the Ork encampment yet; commence orbital bombardment if you please. That is all. Janos out.”
There was a series of strange noises as the vox changed its frequency back to that of planetside operations. Then the ride was silent as each Battle Brother prayed for vengeance. There were still many who remembered the destruction of Altius, and the hate that burned within the Chapter for those blue-armor clad abominations was Chapter dogma for those who did not. The Orks could wait, Orlando thought as he recited the Catechisms of Purity and Abhorration. They could wait forever.
Awesome battle! Really great ^_^ I loved the way the Orks and Imperials just collided with each other, and the metaphor you used for them as waves really made me picture green tides clashing against the jagged rocks on which they break ^_^
Cool stuff, also the duel between the Warboss and Orlando is also perfect, really catching the Zeal of the SM Warrior and the Savagery of an Ork Fighter. - You might want to put in (after the battle) that the guardsmen burn the bodies of the Orks, just to make sure they don't leave off any spores which might get carried off in the wind and make more Orks later on in life.
Anyway - Keep 'em comming!
Don't worry, Adahn- a general part of the Brotherhood's victory celebration is to burn their enemies' corpses on a mass pyre. Plus the Imperials are willing to raze the entire continent if need be to eliminate the Ork taint.
What the heck, here's some more. I've actually got time on my hands tonight.
Over halfway done typing this story, yay me!
Colonel Bardley, wrapped neck to navel in bandages heaved and pushed the top hatch of the Chimera turret open. The effort made him dizzy, but he ignored it as he also ignored that this was nominally a tank commander’s position. He was a Colonel, damn it all.
Like Orlando in the Razorback, Bardley was eager to see the Orks die by flame. Unlike Orlando, Bardley had a turret to see from. He had packed up the more mobile part of his force in quick order, despite his lack of the efficiency and speed of the Marines, and followed the Brotherhood without hesitation.
He watched the Orks fleeing in the failing light from the pursuing dark forms of the Razorbacks. There weren’t many left; had he missed the carnage, or were the Orks just fast? The fleeing mobs grouped together as their ranks were thinned by fire, instinctively moving into a formation that made them more vulnerable to the gouts of burning promethium directed at them.
Bardley rubbe his hand over the heavy stubber and waited.
There it was! Orks screamed and howled as the burning fuel overtook them. The horde was fleeing into a jungle, but fire would sort that out as well. To overcome an Ork infestation, it was acceptable to raze whole continents. Bardley had heard of it, seen it done. Partaken in it.
The driver hit a bump in the road, and Bardley hit his head against the butt of the pintle weapon. He cursed, and tears of pain blurred his vision. When he looked forward, a sea of green had grown out of the ground.
“What the hell...” he said aloud, drowned out by the Chimera’s engine. Then his vision cleared fully. Orks were piling out of bunkers dug straight into the ground, covered by hatches and dirt. The Marines, in their haste, were going to be cut off. Not if I can help it, thought Bardley.
Ignoring the pain now pulsing in his head and torso, he fairly leapt down the hatch. The door slammed, barely missing his fingers.
“Get me on the vox,” he barked. He yanked the receiver out of the operator’s hands before the frequency was even set. “All units, this is Colonel Bardley. Be on the lookout for Ork ambushes. Repeat, be on your guard. Bardley out.” He consulted the crew and his aides. “Do we have a frequency for the Space Marines?”
The look on their faces told him it was not so.
“Damn it. Well, we can’t warn them, because they never thought they’d need help. Driver, how are our new friends doing?”
“They’re closing in on the Space Marines, sir. If the Marines didn’t know they were being ambushed before, they do now. Orks make a mockery of stealth… or at least they are now, sir,” the driver finished tersely.
From the lot I saw pop up, they must outnumber us some seven to one! But I jumped at the chance to follow them to glory. I can’t retreat now, and if I go forward, death awaits, Bardley thought.
The look on Commissar Thorn’s face suggested death would come if he didn’t go forward anyway. Bardley watched him fingering the snap on his laspistol holster.
“Well…” he began weakly. The Commissar’s scarred lower lip curled. “To hell with it. I’d rather die fighting than any other way. Those Space Marines won’t get massacred on the Dornian XII’s watch.” He picked up the receiver. “Bardley to all units! Continue the advance; we’ll break through the ambush and cover their rear. Move out!” As he slammed the receiver down, he wondered how many men he had consigned to death.
At least I’ll be among them, he consoled himself.
sorry it's taken me so long to read your fluff. i really like where you're going and your skills improve as you go further and further with this story. the only niggly fluff thing is in the beginning Orlando thanked the Primarchs...space marine chapters only have one primarch. so i suggest either making it the Primarch or actually choosing one, preferabbly the latter.
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