The Sentinels

[Agares Tretiak]

*shakes his fist at Vegna*

[Zerowinged Vasiliev]

Dayum dood. . . Doesn't Tiridates supposedly wear that crazy and white robing tho? [Referring to the story itself, not the sitcom idea.]

Edited June 15, 2010 by Zerowinged Vasiliev

[Dempster Duncker]

Doesn't Tiridates supposedly wear that crazy and white robing tho?

I put on my robe and justicar hat.

[Agares Tretiak]

Sorry this took so long, I'm moving the story in a new direction than I'd intended, I think. Or maybe, it was moving this way all along, and I just hadn't realized it till I wrote this chapter.

-IV-

- Two hours later -

Captain Pellintar stood outside the Grand Observation Gallery on the Sovereign of Winter, along with the Captains and other ranking officers of the Fleet, with a few exceptions. Those who were not present were maintaining their vigil of the planet that drifted below the task force. Pellintar adjusted his formal dress collar, fidgeting somewhat nervously, as did nearly all the rest of the officers. More than a few were adjusting braid and making certain their already impeccably ordered, well maintained ceremonial uniforms were perfect. Three Praetorians in full ceremonial dress stood before them, waiting for the order to allow the assembled officers into the Observation Gallery, and the faintly glowing eyes of their decorative helmets did little to ease the air of anticipation and anxiety that hung around the anteroom.

The central Praetorian dipped his head slightly, raising a hand to where one would assume his ear was. A hush fell among the murmuring men and women, as the Praetorian lifted his head again, and silently gestured for them to follow him. The assembly formed a casual file before him and with that, the Praetorian turned and led them into the Grand Observation Gallery.

Captain Pellintar was always awed by the structure, despite having served a good number of years aboard the Sovereign. He rarely had an opportunity to actually make his way over, despite it's relative proximity to the main bridge. IT was a structure that was as long and broad as the bridge, situated roughly a dozen meters above the command spine that ran down the center of the bridge. The floor was comprised of a translucent, black stone, with glass windows set like tiles ina complex geometric pattern. The center of the Gallery was, however, solid black marble, running the full length of the hall. The ceiling was what was most impressive, however, about the room. It was an elongated, seamless dome that allowed anyone in the structure to gaze into the stars. The dome was manufactured in such a manner that there was no discernible optical distortion for the viewer, regardless of their position in the room. It had been designed and constructed at incredible cost, but very few who actually saw it could question if it was worth it, even on a warship like the Sovereign.

Situated maybe ten meters aft of the center of the room, was an austere, imposing dais with an obsidian throne. As the officers approached, it became apparent the throne was set with intricate silver filigree, set in a pattern of arabesques and geometric patterns. Captain Pellintar noted that the area surrounding the dais was layered like a cutaway of the layers of a planet. On the outskirts you had a collection of scribes, adepts, and lesser bureaucrats, carrying voluminous tomes, data pads, or reports. There was a a stirring energy in the is layer, but it was ordered and focused. Next were upper level functionaries and court officials, all forming a sort of queue that spiraled around the back of the throne. Right next to the dais, however, and at regular intervals throughout the chamber, was at least a company sized guard of Praetorians. The ones closet to the dais were wearing very heavy,ornamental armor and carried the trademark Praetorian weapon, the so-called Guardian Halberd. As the officers were trooped around the dais and lined up on either side of the front, he noted that the armor though ornamental in design, and very heavy, was also still fully practical and given the ease of movement the Praetorians demonstrated in it, likely powered by hidden servo-motors and synthetic muscle bundles. On either side of the the throne stood a single man. On the left was a tall, somewhat thin man with an officer's uniform, but bore no markings of rank or branch, aside from an unusual sort of white coat and apron like garment that was fastened about the waist.

Captain Pellintar noted, also, that standing off of the dais was a small number of similarly dressed individuals. The most disconcerting thing about them, was that the more he tried to focus on their faces, the more they defied any discernible features or traits. As distracting and genuinely weird as this was, one's eyes seemed drawn towards the giant who stood on the right side of the throne. He was easily taller than anyone else in the room, and wearing an exquisite, heavy suit of armor, black and silver ornamentation laid out in flawless craftsmanship over its surface. In sharp contrast to the armor, over it was draped an almost plain tabard, decorated with only white edging. A deep hood concealed a malign death's head mask with glowing blue eyes. The only weapon's on the giant were an enlarged service pistol integrated into a thigh holster that was part of the armor and a sword that was appropriately proportionate to it's bearer, attached to his belt. This was quite clearly the Praetorian commander assigned to the Task Force, Procuratore Augusti Agares Tretiak.

For all the impressive nature of the Guard commander, and the strangeness of the other man, everyone in the room gravitated around the man seated in the throne.

The Lord Imperator, Aryte Vesperia, was on initial inspection, not exactly impressive in stature or build. His frame was, if anything, average, though trim and fit. Captain Pellintar was somewhat shocked to find that despite his public appearances and the extensive propaganda that circulated with his image, the Imperator's uniform was not the grand, massively ornate one that most would expect. Rather, it was a standard officers formal dress uniform, nearly unremarkable, aside from the simple sash of the Imperium, and the Imperator's laurel markings on his rank plates. As the officers settled into their positions, the Captain vied for a closer place to the dais and took in the other details he had missed on his initial glance. The Imperator was of indeterminate age, easily between 35 and 50 years old, with well groomed hair and clean shaved face. The only markings on his face were about his eyes, forehead, and mouth, lines of long working hours and sleepless nights. His shoulders stooped a bit, in his relaxed posture, and the Captain toyed mentally with poetic thoughts this being the result of sleepless nights weighed down with the fate of a galaxy bent on war. The way he seated, though, showed a calmly assured air of command and authority, and maybe even a touch of casual boredom. As the double line of officers settled down, the Praetorian who led them in barked an order of attention, then turned sharply, and saluted the dais. The Imperator stood, and returned the salute crisply, but it was the Guard commander that signaled that he was dismissed from the proceedings with a nod and simple but clear flick of his hand. The Imperator tugged on the hem of his uniform and turned his attention to the officers as he did so.

“Loyal subjects of the Imperium and the Senate, I have requested your presence here for several reasons. First, you will bear witness in a hearing, for the Viceroy of the Dacian sector. We will all hear, first hand, what he has to say for himself.”

There was a general murmur that hummed about the room at this. No one had been informed that the Viceroy, who had been missing since the arrival of the Task Force, had been recovered.

The Imperator raised his hand slightly, and the room fell into silent anticipation.

“Secondly, I wish to speak with you all regarding the nature of our campaign here and to address a number of developments that not all of us may have been made aware of. The third matter is that the Praetorian Guard of the 1st Legion will be directly involved in this operation, and will be tasked with reestablishing contact with any friendly forces they may encounter ahead of the main relief force. Their liaisons will be distributed through out the fleet to help facilitate communications and coordinate all efforts between various branches of the task force. This will occur following this gathering.”

The Imperator gave an enigmatic, small smile as he sat down and settled back into the throne.

Praetor Tretiak turned towards the Imperator, and receiving a nod from him, he lifted his right hand, palm outwards, with the left one gripping the belt that held his sword. The air vibrated slightly as a rich, electronically amplified basso rolled out from under the hood, “Bring forth the Viceroy, so that he may answer the Imperator and the appointed emissaries of the Senate.”

A hatch immediately opened, and a detail of Praetorians approached the dais, escorting in their center what was apparently, the Viceroy of the Dacian Sector. Everyone save those on the dais craned their necks to see him.

Captain Pellintar caught only a few, fleeting glimpses of corpulent mass between the bulk of the escorts, before they came to a halt some 15 or 20 paces from the foot of the dais. The escorts then fanned out behind the Viceroy, leaving the man hemmed on his left and right by officers, behind by Praetorians, with the Imperator and his retinue before him.

Viceroy Ferdinant Val Ortania VI was best described as a walrus of a man. He possessed an impressive bulk of equal measure of bulging fat and bundles of still capable muscle, his form being thus powerful and unseemly at the same time. He was wearing a pristine, white military-styled uniform, with gold and crimson braid and accents. An impractical but obscenely bejeweled ceremonial court sword dangled from his waist. His ham like hands where clasped before him as he bowed low and wheezed slightly before saying in a jowl rippling grunt, “My gracious Lord and commander, I do beseech that you act with undo haste, as this entire sector is under siege from unknown forces that threaten the very continuity of the Imperium and the strength of our beloved way of life. Had we been given proper warning, we would obviously have not required you to intercede, however under these circum-”

The Imperator raised his hand, cutting off the Viceroy's rapidly recited apology.

“Viceroy, if you'd be so kind as to spare me the menial pleasantries, as we all have a war to fight.”

The Viceroy eagerly nodded, and swallowed hard before speaking again.

“My lord, this situation is clearly not my fault, nor that of my staff. We were all taken be surprise by this attack, and had the planetary forces we were assigned did their duty, we would not face this situation at all. Thus, before continuing, I would like to request that-”

This time, the sentence was cut off Praetor Tretiak, who's voice overrode whatever words were forming in the Viceroy's mind, instead prodding him into an instinctual state of silence.

“Sire, I do believe my lord would also not like to hear how you would wish to cover your gross mismanagement by blaming loyal servants of the Senate. If you persist, then I will personally see to impressing upon you the necessity of brevity in your audience with the Imperator.”

With this, the Praetorian took a single step forward with his left foot, forcing the pommel of his sword towards the Viceroy, and setting his left hand in a calm and not at all subtle manner on the pommel. The Imperator made a dismissive wave of his hand, saying quickly, in a tone of light jest,

“Do not let Lord Tretiak's demeanor bother you, he is simply as eager as I am to hear your much anticipated report.” And glanced at the giant meaningfully for a moment, before refocusing his gaze intently on the Viceroy.

If the Viceroy noticed, he did not indicate it aside from starting a third time, though now his eyes did not move from the hand that was rested on the sword at Praetor Tretiak's side for a while.

“Foul enemies of the Imperium have made their way into this supposedly secure system, and have laid siege to all our key cities and facilities. It was all I could do to be hustled aboard the skyhook before the invasion began. Everything from there was a bit hard explain. We were there for what seemed an -unbearably- long spell, before the whole thing began to shake. My Guard said the skyhook was being destroyed, and pushed me into one of those awful, cramped escape pods, and jettisoned me into the void. I will say right now, I'll have a few choice words with the man when I see him.”

The Viceroy paused and gathered a wheezy breath that sent his jowls quivering.

“Essentially, I drifted for some while, until I was miraculously rescued by Your Grace's forces. I do have to say however, I was treated in a most peculiar way by the rescue team and detained until I was brought to this audience, one I had demanded for some time, I might add.”

At the word “demand”, Praetor Tretiak stirred ever so slightly, but it may have been him rising a hand to strike the Viceroy, because the latter recoiled a step.

Captain Pellintar noticed that the Imperator didn't even seem to notice.

“A rather abridged recounting, Viceroy. All of us are most keen on knowing how this tragedy befell great Dacia.” , said Lord Vesperia in an even tone, his pale blue eyes keenly scanning the Viceroy's face. “For instance, how did the loyal forces of the Senate not notice an entire invasion fleet? All information indicates that the system is practically swimming with early warning satellites. Secondly, where is the system defense fleet? There isn't so much as wreckage to indicate they were destroyed in a battle, so it is another issue of concern. And we require answers, if we are to save this world from our foes.”

The Viceroy turned his head nervously, his bulbous eyes roaming the room as he sweated and rubbed his hands together.

“I...” , he started but then hesitated, glancing at the assembled court.

The Imperator tilted his head to the side slightly, and without turning, said “Clear all non-essential personnel from the chamber, please. Officers, Praetorians, and my protocol officers are to remain.”

The Guard immediately began to lead segments of the court out of the room, handing them over to the vessel's designated duty officers to distribute them to anterooms or waiting shuttles depending on their position. It took a number of minutes for the room to empty, and through the entire process the Imperator simply watched the Viceroy. It began to dawn on Captain Pellintar that despite the generally impassive, nearly bored expression, the Imperator was livid beneath his calm exterior with the situation and more specifically, the Viceroy. It also struck the Captain on how the Praetorian Guard as a whole seemed to have picked up on this subtle evidence and were, in some strange transmission of thought, the Imperator's outward manifestation of his disappointment and anger with the situation. Most apparent was the barely concealed menace of Praetor Tretiak, but all of the Guard seemed to be fixed intently on Viceroy's person.

“Please... do continue, Viceroy.”

“I am not sure certain where to start...”

“The beginning would be a fine place, most would agree.”

The Vicetory swallowed hard, and pulled at his collar, which had apparently become several sizes too small.

“Y-yes, of course my lord.”

The Viceroy ceased tugging on his collar and made an effort to smooth down his tunic. The Captain mused on the possibility that the Imperator was deriving a small degree of pleasure from the general discomfort of the man standing before him. With little surprise, he relished seeing the pompous toad wither in the spotlight, himself and decided he couldn't discount the possibility the Imperator did as well.

“We received... no early warnings, and as a result, when their forces landed, unprepared completely to repel the attack. My aides suggested at the time it was because of some sort of odious trickery on their part to obscure our sensors and detection networks, but offered no indication as to how.”

The Viceroy's face made a strange tic while saying this, but continued, on.

“As to the fleet, we genuinely have no idea what had happened. I had scarcely boarded the skyhook before I was set adrift in my lifepod.” Again, the tic, and a clouded look drifted over the Viceroy's expression, but he blinked it away.

“I meant to ask, but did any of my aides or bodyguard get retrieved?”

The Imperator tilted his head towards the pack of fleet officers, and Captain Rosenoff of the Glorious Ascension spoke up with a curt “No other lifepods were recovered, sir.”

“I...see. Likely cowering in a basement then, no doubt. No matter! Lord Imperator, I've told you all I know. What I want to know is what will be done about this all! It is unacceptable that a sovereign member of the Senate's worlds would not be afforded every resource to repel the enemy!”

There was a very low murmur as the assembled officers reacted to this bizarre show of bravado from the Viceroy. Could he not see how precarious and dire the situation was? Captain Pellintar again noticed the strange tic and clouded look pass over the Viceroy's face.

The Imperator arched his eyebrows, and the officers fell silent. He looked over at Praetor Tretiak and drummed his fingers on the throne's armrest.

Whatever the cue was, the praetorian read it clearly, as he stepped forward again, and stated, “Viceroy, can you not see that the very Imperator is here, with a whole fleet of the greatest vessels of the Imperium? Can you not see that we require a full disclosure of what has transpired, for the sake of the strategic and tactical management of this... situation?”

The Praetorian took another step forward as the Viceroy froze in place.

“Viceroy, how can we save anything, if you're lying to us?”

“L-lying? The nerve to make such an accusa-” He was cut short by a sudden motion of Praetor Tretiak's hand. It reached up and pulled back the cowl revealing the skull-helmet underneath it completely. Without hesitating, he unfastened the pressure seals with a soft click and hiss, and removed the helmet, tucking it into the crook of his left arm. Pausing dramatically, he then ran his fingers through his cropped hair, saying, “Forgive me, that damnable thing is a bit difficult to speak in for long periods of time. Yes. Lying.”

“What proof do you have to support this outrageous claim!?”

Captain Pellintar examined the face of Praetor Tretiak for a few moments, noting it was hard chiseled like a statue, and portrayed his age as late middle age. It was most notably marred by a series of scars on the left side, one of which tugged the corner of his eye and mouth downwards slightly with the tight, pinkish scar tissue. The scars rippled into a crooked smile.

“We received a transmission from a source in your staff indicating there had been more than sufficient advanced notice of an impending attack. It also indicated you were directly attempting to cover up this fact. How would you assume we arrived so quickly, Viceroy? It's only been a single day, since the enemy began their assault. We received no distress signals that would have indicated the necessity of an entire task force, lead by none other than the Lord Imperator himself.”

The Praetorian took another step forward, as the Imperator remained unmoving on his throne. Again, Pellintar got the feeling that Praetor Tretiak was channeling the personal displeasure of the Imperator. The Viceroy began to tremble and stutter hard, his whole body moving like he was caught in a very localized earthquake. The Captain admired how a lesser coward would have likely tried to run at this point.

“I...I...”

“You...what? Are caught in a lie? We knew you were lying well before you brought to this audience. We wanted to see if you would tell the truth...and what possible reason you'd have for trying to cover this up. It is a most unusual crime.”

“Crime?”

“A Senatorial Viceroy dooming his system to invasion and conquest? I cannot recall a case in recent memory that matches it.”

The Praetorian's right hand made a slow movement towards his sword hilt, saying “You're still quiet, Viceroy.”

It seemed at that point, the Imperator was about to say something, when another voice spoke up in a jeering lilt, “Before your neck line is re-tailored by Lord Tretiak, perhaps you can explain the murder, Viceroy Ortania.”

Praetor Tretiak paused and relaxed, turning slightly and glancing first at the source of the voice, then at the Imperator. The Imperator cocked an eyebrow and made a small wave with his hand. The giant nodded and withdrew silently up the stairs and stared at the man who had spoken up, as did the Imperator.

“This is news to me. Care to explain, Primus?”

The person being asked was the man who stood on the other side of the Imperator's throne. The man's face was a flickering thing in the Captain’s eyes, as though his eyes sort of slid off and away from it and couldn't lock on to any features at all. The face seemed to freeze in place, displaying maybe the most singularly unpleasant smile the captain had ever seen on human features for a brief moment. “Naturally, my lord.” The man took a step forward, then sat down on the step.

“Viceroy Ortania, I, unlike Lord Tretiak, require a bit of an introduction, I suppose. You can call me Mr. M, however. Let us assume I know everything already, as it will make what follows much easier on the both of us. We are not fools, here, so dispense with the assumption that we are, would you kindly?”

The room seemed to get a few degrees colder, as the man with the “dancing” face leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

The Viceroy stared with abject, mute horror.

“Really now? I'm not the monster you think I am.” The man tapped his temple.

“I am far worse than that.”

“You're...”

“...Agentes in Rebus.”, finished Mr. M, using almost exactly the same tone of voice as the Viceroy.

The Viceroy gave a small sob and looked ready to sink to his knees.

“Oh yes. We know you murdered that staff member. Well. Not you personally. It was your loyal bodyguard. You conveniently left him to die of a punctured lung on that skyhook as you boarded your lifepod.”

The man gave a little twitch and tilted his head at the sagging Viceroy, who gave a low, keening wail. The room became dreadfully cold, but when Pellintar inhaled through his nose involuntarily, there was an overpowering smell of hot metal. The officer cadre stirred uneasily around him, as they also noticed the changes.

“Yes, yes. I know that too, Viceroy. But there's something very odd about your mind right now, to be perfectly honest. Shadows not of your manufacture.”

The room seemed to go completely silent, at this last statement. The silence had a similar effect to being slapped in the face.

The Imperator, for the first time, stirred somewhat uneasily in his seat, though his face was now completely unreadable and intently fixed on the quivering bulk of the Viceroy.

A rich baritone broke the moment, “Stop toying with the wretch, Primus.” Praetor Tretiak was looking at the seated figure of 'Mr. M' with a grim frown.

Mr. M's face turned and solidifed, clearly for the first time, in a distinctly annoyed pout. “My dear... brother... I would never toy with anyone.”, was all he murmured before turning back to the Viceroy, face dancing again.

“Viceroy, you probably do not remember, but someone or something has gotte to you. It's corrupted your memory, crudely it's tried to lock itself and the marks of it's presence out of your mind. How lucky that I'm here, though.”

The Viceroy looked up with a mixture of fear and utter confusion, and burbled incomprehensibly as he watched the thin figure on the steps rise up and stride over to him. The Viceroy seemed poised to try to scramble away on all four limbs, but was anchored in place as Mr. M squatted down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“This will be uncomfortable.”

The room grew colder and everyone seemed to be shivering, except for the Praetorians in their heavy armor, and the utterly immovable figure of the Imperator. As Captain Pellintar closed his eyes for a moment, he saw the same sort of glow that one might see after staring into a bright light, before closing their eyes. When he opened them again, he could feel it was still there, centered around the Agentus in Rebus man and the Viceroy, but it was only really visible when ever he closed his eyes. The Captain murmured a soft oath under his breath and tried to shake off the cold and the unpleasant steel smell.

A keening, strangled wail crept from the Viceroy as his eyes rolled back into his head, and shuddered. Mr. M gave a convulsive twitch as his face seemed to scatter for a moment before reforming into the mind rending flow of shapes. The officer corps seemed, as one to edge away from the two figures that were in front of the throne. Thick tendrils of frost had begun to radiate out from them. Almost as suddenly as the cold had come, it snapped away along with the hot-steel odor. Everyone, including the Imperator and the Praetorians seemed to shake their heads and blink their eyes, as if trying to wake up or clear their minds. The Viceroy was now murmuring into Mr. M's ear, a disturbingly low, desperate urgency in his voice as the man nodded and held a small recording device. The bizarre interrogation ended with the Viceroy weeping, his great bulk, sagging in a defeated mess before the Imperator and assembled officers. Captain Pellintar noted that he, and the others were greatly disturbed by the entire proceeding, and they began to turn their eyes to the Imperator, asking unvoiced questions about what they'd just witnessed. Mr. M patted the Viceroy, before standing up and walking casually up to the Imperator's throne and after a few murmured words sat up and nodded slowly at the Agentus in Rebus interrogator.

The man then gave a chilling, mirthless smile and settled back amongst his cohorts, to the left of the throne.

The Imperator cleared his throat, making certain he had everyone's attention, despite almost certainly having it already.

“My valued commanders, I must apologize for that. Normally, an interrogation of this nature would not have been performed like this, had it not been for apparently the urgent need for answers we face right now. It's apparent this is not just some haphazard invasion by the usual alien malcontents we fight, but something far more sinister than we had thought.”

The Imperator paused as he let this sink into the gathered individuals before him, scanning their faces. The captain was struck by the odd sense of sorrow or perhaps concern that was coming from him, at that moment.

“The fact is, we face a traitor the likes of which we've never considered before...I do not wish to say more, at this time, as it is remotely possible that it'd be premature to state what sort...but this a is a grave movement for us all. I will ask you suffer one more unusual thing, though it is a duty for all officers at times. Let us hope it is not one we must do often.”

The Imperator turned to the immobile giant and beckoned him over. Praetor Tretiak knelt next to the throne and nodded with a stoney expression as the Imperator informed him of apparently unpleasant news. He rose to his feet and placed his helmet back on his head.

“Lords, Ladies, commanders of the Imperium, servants of the Senate. I must ask you steel yourselves. Viceroy Ferdinant Val Ortania the Sixth, you have been found guilty of treason and consorting with enemies of the Imperium. By your own confession, you have admitted this to us. Given your effort to furnish us with vital information to the endeavors of the Imperium, you have redeemed your family name and honor... but your crimes still carry the weight of death. Thousands may yet die, for your failure. However, you have been granted a swift death, befitting your station. Do you have any last words, Viceroy?”

The Viceroy at this point was kneeling, large, meaty hands spread calm out on his lap, his head held low, but fixed on the Imperator. He shook his head slowly and straightened his posture. “Tell my family I died, redeemed to the Imperium and atoned for my failed duty.”

“It will be so, Viceroy. You have my word.”, replied the Imperator, who's expression was still unreadable. He gave a slight nod to Procuratore Tretiak and settled back heavily on his throne, like a weight had been placed on his shoulders.

The Praetorian stepped forward, smoothly drawing the huge blade at his side with practiced ease. “It will be painless, Viceroy. Unlike this coming war.”

-V-

Thracia, Dacian Prime

Praetor Bellator checked the corner a second time and uttered an oath under his breath, before switching on his com. “We've got two squads of enemies around the corner.” A chorus of commed swearing followed, quickly chased by a reprimand from the squad leader, chiding his men for breaking communications discipline. Everyone was on edge after roughly 4 hours of skulking through the tunnels. It was clear it was not a matter of if they'd run into enemies, but when, and with each passing hour they didn't meet any, the tension had grown considerably.

(More to be added soon! Oooh, aren't I a vicious tease.)

[Ron Bleac]

With such wonderfully exquisite and beautiful description of Praetor Tretiak's face, all that is missing is an equally wondrous and diamond decorated speech about his rock solid abs.

Good story, Agares!

[Agares Tretiak]

My abs will be entered into the story at a later point. Just for you, Ron.

[Ron Bleac]

Excellent.

[Aryte]

My favorite character is that Aryte guy.

[Agares Tretiak]

I know! He's so cool. :D

Basically, he's like ' :/ ' at the beginning,

then the Viceroy is like ' <:D '

And then Aryte is like ' :| '

and agares i s like -_-

and then the Viceroy is like D:

and Aryte is like :| still

But agares gets all >:(

and the viceroy is ;_;

And Aryte is like >:|

And then Tiri is like >:)

and the Viceroy is like o_O

and Aryte is like >:| !!!

[Dascede]

<3 Awesome story

[Zerowinged Vasiliev]

I know! He's so cool. :D

Basically, he's like ' :/ ' at the beginning,

then the Viceroy is like ' <:D '

And then Aryte is like ' :| '

and agares i s like -_-

and then the Viceroy is like D:

and Aryte is like :| still

But agares gets all >:(

and the viceroy is ;_;

And Aryte is like >:|

And then Tiri is like >:)

and the Viceroy is like o_O

and Aryte is like >:| !!!

LOL

[Tiridates Mikadze]

I'd be wearing my cool, personally designed creepy-helmet if I were doing this. :(

[Agares Tretiak]

This is the first part of the next chapter. Wrote it out this morning in a fit of creative exuberance. Second part should be pretty cool.

-V-

Thracia, Dacian Prime

Praetor Bellator checked the corner a second time and uttered an oath under his breath, before switching on his com. “We've got what appears to be two squads of enemies around the corner.” A chorus of commed swearing followed, quickly chased by a reprimand from the sergeant, chiding his men for breaking communications discipline. Everyone was on edge after roughly four hours of skulking through the tunnels. It was clear it was not a matter of if they'd run into enemies, but when, and with each passing hour they didn't meet any, the tension had grown considerably. The Praetorian actually felt a certain degree of relief, his mind kicking into a trained state of higher awareness and analytical ability, his body feeling lighter and responsive as he entered into the pre-combat state he was trained on. Though he'd not openly admit it, he was excited at the prospect of what lay ahead.

He checked around the corner again, taking a second look at the enemy squads and their composition. They looked roughly humanoid, unlike the diminutive, imp like Exonari. However, on his second look, they were certainly not humans. They had drawn out narrow faces with overly pronounced cheekbones and limbs that were not quite right for human proportions. Their armor and weapons were roughly analogous to their own, but it was made of foreign substances and a different mindset regarding war. He spotted what appeared to be their officer, wearing a glossy green suit of armor with a red draped cloth over his shoulders and across his torso, ordering underlings in some task. They had rudimentary communications devices,no indications of advanced man to man comms. They made a racket as they chattered and carried out what looked like repairs or some sort of electrical work, but it was mostly obscured by the milling figures. They were being sloppy, he noted. No real sentries or men checking the corners of the tunnels. He took this all in a second glance of no more than a half second, letting his helmet take a short snapshot of the situation for his report, later. He quickly arrived at a tactical solution to their problem.

The Praetorian grinned. Too easy.

“Gaunts”, he murmured on the comm.

The sergeant glowered at his men to keep them silent. “Sir, what are your recommendations in this situation?”

Praetor Bellator pulled back a full two steps from the corner, then turned to face the sergeant and his men. “I'm not usually one to take all the glory or to show off, but in this case, I think I'll be able to handle them myself.”, He switched to a channel he and the sergeant had agreed to use for private communications and quickly explained his plan. The sergeant seemed to be both dubious and amused at the same time.

“That's a bit risky don't you think, sir?”

“I do not intend to flaunt it too much, but risky things are why I'm here. Plus, I'll have your fine men at my back should things suddenly go sour. Simply set them up ready to support me, if I give the call. Gaunts don't like the dark and they're sticking to the lighting. They have no posted sentries watching their back. Tunnel fights tend to be nasty and brutal, so I'm reducing the chances of something going wrong. Make sure your men are prone on either side of the tunnel, as these guys will almost surely open fire at some point. Also, have them cover their eyes until the first bangs clear.”

The sergeant duly nodded and giving the Praetorian another bemused glance, turned to his men and gave his orders. As the Sergeant did this, the Praetoiran approached Junia.

“And, how're you doing?”

She looked up, and for a moment, he felt a pang of guilt for dragging her along, as he saw the fear and confusion etched in her features. She was only a civilian who was caught between two groups of dangerous, gun wielding people, and one of them was dragging her around into who knows what sort of terrible situation. His sympathy swiftly shifted to annoyance as she took on a haughty, somewhat defensive mien.

“Oh, I'm fine. Fine. Only about to probably be shot, stabbed, and then eaten alive by some dread alien demon. How're you?”

He bit back the urge to respond sardonically, an instinct that somehow rose from the depths of his mind unbidden. It was rare he respond on any sort of emotional level like this, except with close friends in the Guard while taking leave of the rigors of his duties. He had, of course dealt with women in the past, but they were all professional soldiers or members of the various semi-militarized support functionaries of the Imperator's grand crusade. He could barely remember his family, or childhood, so he felt there was little to rely on in that regard. This however, was very different. She wasn't a poised, experienced soldier, or a cool, disinterested bureaucrat.

He tried to take that into account, as he said, “I'm well. Look, I realize this must be difficult for you. I've lived like this for years, but for you, you must be terrified. That's okay, as long as you listen to me and the sergeant's orders. We'll get you out alive.”

She made a small shrug and cocked her head to the side, a petulant look forming that he'd come to dread in the last few hours of knowing her.

“Oh yes. I'm sure. Look at me, delicate flower that I am, about to be overwhelmed by all this, and I'm so lucky to have a big strong Praetorian here to rescue me from this predicament! I'd swoon, if the ground wasn't so mucky, from the chivalry of it all.” and fixed him with that grating, squinting expression.

There was a snicker from behind him. As one, Junia and the Praetorian rounded on the audience they'd gained.

A few of them had the courtesy to look slightly embarrassed under the withering gaze of the Praetorian's deathlike mask and the smoldering glare of the woman.

“Uh. Don't mind us. Only some chaps around the corner looking to kill us, sir.”, deadpanned the sergeant. Like all good NCOs, the sergeant was able to take almost anything with a stony, unreadable expression. It was a survival trait. The communications operator's face contorted as he tried not to laugh or smile, obviously not a natural-born NCO himself.

There was a click in his ear as the Sergeant murmured an apology, “Sorry sir, the men are tense, this helped them relax a bit. Good for morale.”

Praetor Bellator understood this, but also could see that the sergeant was only telling half the truth. He also realized that their awe, and to some degree, fear of the Praetorian only vanished when he was dealing with their guest. He cleared his throat over the coms, softly.

“Right, let's get this done. You there, see to our lady friend, if you would.”, pointing to the unlucky comm operator. His face went slack as a small degree of panicked dread entered his expression. Junia looked at her new prey with a mirthless smile, and the rest of the men snickered into their comms, teasing the hapless soldier.

[Gen Scientist]

Agares, with "The ancient Republican ideals " you mean the old Rome (The Italy one) or a pre-Imperialis era (sci-fi)?

You also should make a "Line of time" to organize all your stories.

PD: I'm about to write some background stories by myself so I can practice my writing skills on English.

Edited March 6, 2011 by Gen Scientist

[Agares Tretiak]

Technically, Pre-Imperator/Imperium. IF you really want to be technical, the concepts reach back to Old Terra (Earth). Also, Tiri drew up a Time-Line himself, which I believe is part of the official "fluff" now, for the background of the Ordo and its history.

[Agares Tretiak]

Vis et gloria imperatoris

Magna bellum praetorianus imperatorum superato Titanis

Sunt vocem nomina æterna victoremque servi Princeps Vesperia

[Tiridates Mikadze]

Vis et gloria imperatoris

Magna bellum praetorianus imperatorum superato Titanis

Sunt vocem nomina æterna victoremque servi Princeps Vesperia

You're lame :C

[Ron Bleac]

POST MORE.

[Lanny Ansar]

NECROPOST AWOOOOGAAAHH

..But seriously, i'd like to see this story continued.

[Agares Tretiak]

I've been rewriting the first three chapters, to be A) Better written B) More in keeping with my modified plot C) A little more Canon.

[Agares Tretiak]

I've finished the first re-written chapter, and I present it in its raw form. It may require some proofreading and a touch of further editing. As to why it took so long, I rewrote the opening seven times, before I settled on one that expressed what I wanted.

Without further ado, the new opening chapter to the Sentinels.

Chapter 1

Praestigaitor

Telmephati was a jungle world. Raw and untamed even in this age of high technological wonders. To many, it represented just another frontier, another world to be brought to heel. To a few, it represented a last refuge from their perceived oppression. For one man, it was a beautiful symbol of his vision. Not that his vision was beautiful, he admitted to himself. If anything, it was as brutal and violent as murder. But the planet itself was a beautiful representation of the vision. Three forces, brought together by both circumstance and simple perceived necessity, fighting to the death to maintain its status-quo. Of them, he was most sympathetic to the jungle itself. It never asked to be invaded by external forces, have its rich ecosystem slowly destroyed and replaced by one more pleasing to the invaders. It simply reacted like any large organism, fighting back with it's own natural system of defenses. It was trying to survive, completely blind to to smaller considerations, such as mercy or ethics.

The man respected that.

By comparison, he felt the other two were merely interlopers with shallow desires, though if he was pressured on the point, he'd admit they each sought what they perceived was their own survival. Survival. That was a force he could respect, in anyone and anything. Survival was crude, it was basic, it was primal. And to him, it was pure. Unlike so much of the world now, byzantine with the insane intrigues of empires and machinations of political forces so complex that even the participants rarely grasped their full force and repercussions, survival denied perception, laid to waste all misinformation. Survival was truth, absolute. That was why his vision was necessary. Strip away the lies, and leave only the pure struggle of survival behind.

The man himself was accustomed to survival. He'd survived untold numbers of battles, small and large. He'd survived in environments were lesser creatures would have died. He'd survived wounds that should have killed him, yet they did not. If asked in the past, before his vision, if he believed in fate, he'd have scoffed at the very concept. Now, he knew the truth. He was a vehicle for that one beautiful truth, the truth of survival, borne by the very hand of destiny to carry out his duty, to the end. At the moment, he wore heavy, crimson robes, layered and hooded such that it was impossible to obtain any discernible details about him, aside from his incredible height and broad frame. Even the hood was brought down so low as to obscure all but the lower portion of his features, of which only his mouth ever truly stood out. Currently, he stood in a large meeting room. The room was spartan, clearly utilitarian as only a military installation can be. A large, armored glass window looked out over the gloomy jungle that stretched out below the installation. In the distance, the dull glow of one of the walled cities that held the majority of Telmephati's population burned in the dark sea of trees, like a cinder in a dying fire. The sky was in late dusk, the horizon a deep reddish orange as the planet rotated on axis towards night.

The room was yellowed by the oddly colored lights, lights he recognized as set to a different visual spectrum than a human's. It gave the walls, which were most likely white, a jaundiced appearance. In the center of the room was a long, rectangular table, with an assortment of seats. In approximately half of them, was an equal assortment of creatures, xenobiological entities, if he wanted to be technical. Aliens. He had overcome his instinctual revulsion at intelligent alien life, though he could feel its last vestiges twinge briefly in his mind as he looked over the assemblage. It was strange a collection. Some looked almost human, but the proportions were subtle and horribly wrong for humans. A face too long, eyes too large, limbs oddly jointed, or too thick. There were a few exo-skeletal reptiles, Parresshi, some of the dour looking Gaunts, and a single representative of the diminutive, imp-like Exonarii, which were probably his least favorite species. There were others, including some he couldn't really describe because of their complex environmental suits. The collection was currently murmuring, clicking, hissing, and otherwise communicating with one another in what he found to be amusingly the same as any pre-meeting murmur he'd witnessed.

He gently tapped the table with his large, scarred fingers, which despite the apparent delicacy of the movement, caused it to resonate like a large drum. The murmur died and all eyes were upon the Robed Man.

"Let us begin, then," the Robed Man said, his voice surprisingly soft and even. He could feel more than see his audience draw in a collective breath, which caused the corners of his mouth to twitch upwards involuntarily for a moment.

"We have all come here at great personal risk, sacrificed and made concessions in order to unify against our sole and true enemy. Long, have you warred amongst one another, seeking a petty dominance, and all the while an enemy far greater than any one of you has taken what should rightfully belong to all. It is time to set aside these disputes and unify to repel the threat that lurks on the border, an enemy intolerant of your cultures and your rights. Even as we speak, they've taken territory from you, grinding slowly, inexorably towards the destruction of all."

The Robed Man paused, letting the micro-translators to do their work, before continuing.

"That is why I am here. Not for myself, not even for my species. I speak now, only for the act of survival. Your survival. The only thing you have lacked is a unifying vision, and that is what I offer to you. A vision removed of-" and he was cut short. A loud, keening siren sounded, first in the distance, and then rapidly joined by others, as the installation went into full alert. The lights switched from yellow to a throbbing blue warning light, the danger color of the Parresshi who maintained the facility. This was followed by rapid footsteps and shouted orders in the corridor outside the meeting room.

The Robed Man whirled and looked out of the window that was behind him, just as an explosion shook the building and a plume of oily smoke lifted lazily into the air, under lit by orange flames. A second explosion followed a second later, and the armored glass window was obscured as an automated emergency shutter dropped down. The PA system clicked on with a short burst of static, and then a series of whistles, hisses, and clicks followed. The Robed Man waited as his own translator processed the Parresshi speech, a fraction of a second behind the PA announcement.

"All personnel. Report to battle commander of your section. Unidentified attackers. Respond and repel. Damage control report to Sector 5-G. Medical personnel prepare to receive casualties. Repeat..."

The Robed Man gave a furious snarl as he stormed for the exit, not hesitating to force the doors open, which splintered slightly at the hinges from the force of his push. The bewildered delegations behind him looked shocked, but scrambled to follow. The Exonarii cackled, apparently delighted by the mayhem that was unfolding.

The Robed Man stalked at a brisk pace down the corridors, bathed in blue that turned his crimson robes into a swirling, black mass that trailed behind him. He paused only briefly to consider a turn, before striding into the facility command center. He moved directly towards the large holographic tactical readout that was set in a pit in the center of the room, pushing a few three-hundred pound Parresshi officers out of the way with a sweep of an arm. The delegations followed him, exasperated and frightened by the furious energy of the Robed Man, and the continued PA announcements that had blared as they trailed after the mysterious man.

"Sectors 5, 3, 2, and 7 are no longer reporting. Fires have enveloped the 1st sector completely. Damage Control teams are not reporting in. All remaining combat personnel from Sectors 4 and 6, fall back to corridor C-47a. Repeat.."

The Robed Man gripped the railing with his large hands, wringing it as his face, under-lit by the tactical display seemed set in stone, the impression that he was glaring at the Tactical display as though he could force it to reveal some hidden truth about the attack. In the background, the watch officer on duty was giving a jumbled situation report to the facility commander, who had been part of the Parresshi delegation.

"...no idea where the attackers came from. Doesn't match the insurgents we normally have skirmishes with. They've already wiped out or cut off half the facility forces, and they're working their way steadily towards this location. We've not even gotten a clear report of -what- we're fighting, sir, and we're barely maintaining a semblance of order. If this continues..," the watch officer trailed off as a junior officer started to panic, gesturing wildly at the display.

"There's nothing on the scanners! We can't pick up anything! No thermal information, no detectable emissions, not even sound sensors pick anything up. Our men are just dying! Dying!"

The Robed Man began laughing, at first low, almost below the threshold of hearing with the panicked chaos of the command center. The laugh continued to rise in volume, as one by one, com channels went silent and entire sections of the defense ceased to report back in. The laughter was chilling, cold, the laugh of a man resigned to a terrible fate.

"You cannot kill a ghost. The only thing we can do is destroy the place it is attached to,î said the Robed Man in a low, but calm voice. ìI know you are prepared for such an eventuality. Survival..."

The Robed Man seemed to hesitate as he glanced back at the tactical display. "Survival does not acknowledge individuals, but the motions of all."

- - -

Low Orbit over Telmephati.

The man didn't think of himself as an intelligence officer. It was easier, given his particular line of work, to go by the nickname people in his position got. Graveyard Attendant. The grim moniker was unpleasant, but accurate enough. After all, what else do you call a man who's job it is to ferry the souls of the dead in their obscure movements. He was about to do a routine system scan, when the ship's highly sensitive passive detectors identified a series massive explosions in the mission operational area. The Graveyard Attendant sat up in his seat and set the shipboard computer to analyzing the data, while he proceeded to check for the covert signal beacon the mission asset had implanted. There was too much interference from the energy readings of the explosions to get anything solid, so he decided to coax his vessel close to the area, slipping like a needle through Telmaphati's early-warning networks like a needle through cloth.

The ships' computer gave a three tone chime, and then proceeded to provide its analysis in a pleasant, cultured female voice.

"Data indicates a standard Parresshi self-destruct mechanism was triggered at the operational area, annihilating the entire facility. Approximate analog of the scale of the explosions was on the order of magnitude of several megatons, though the signature did not indicate it was a nuclear demolition. There are no discernible life readings within 140 kilometers of the blast point. All information indicates that the personnel at the facility were killed in the blast, along with the mission asset."

The Graveyard Attendant swore under his breath. His superiors would not be happy about not having an absolutely confirmed kill, and even less so that they lost a mission asset. He reflected that it's the only time he's ever seen a Praestigiator not complete its mission as directed. He ran a simulation of the data collected, which played out as a real-time image on the ships main display screen, showing a hyper-accurate reconstruction of the explosion, and ran the numbers for the chances of anyone surviving the blast.

"Given the provided data and simulations, the chances of anyone surviving the blasts are exactly 345,896,589,376,162 to 1 against."

The Graveyard Attendant ran the same calculations down on data-pad, using his own math to arrive at approximately the same number after 15 or so minutes. His superiors would have skinned him alive if he'd been remiss of checking the number himself, not that he had much cause to doubt the shipboard computer. He gave a soft sigh of relief. At those odds, it would take a miracle for anyone to come out of that alive, much less in one piece. He made notes in his mission log, including pertinent information regarding the system security and general deployment of shipping routes and defensive patrols in the system, then steered the vessel on a course to the outliers of the Telmephati system. The nearly black needle-ship coasted like a shard of darkness, gliding without so much of a sign of its presence. Only the seventy kilometer crater that was once the location of a military facility, would bear witness to it ever having been there at all.

Praestigiator can literally mean "Necromancer" in Latin. It can also refer to other, magically imbued people, such as sorceress or conjurers.

[Phares Sarjeant]

^Talent. It's always impressive when a writer is able to keep a story going without sex, unnecessary profanity.. and with detail that shows a depth of study and interest in the matter that arouses interest of those not otherwise informed. (i say that for all the chapters written so far.)

[Agares Tretiak]

Working on the next rewritten chapter, but I need to consult some Ordo gun nuts first. >_>

[Xoza]

Working on the next rewritten chapter, but I need to consult some Ordo gun nuts first. >_>

http://wiki.ordoimperialis.com/index.php?title=Armament

[Agares Tretiak]

For the fluff, I'll be discussing a specific weapon that (at least currently) does not exist (for the Guard). But I want to run my ideas past some folks who know more about guns than I do.