Higurashi
04-20-2014, 08:19 AM
Chapter One (Childhood.)
To be a Space Marine, is to be many things. To be a Space Marine is to be the final line of defense, to hold the line against xenos, seditionist, and daemon alike. They are the exemplars of Humanity, its greatest warriors. To them is entrusted some of the Imperium's greatest duties and secrets. Said to be of kin to the God Emperor himself by blood right of their Primarchs, it will be them that stand by His side in the last of days. To be a Space Marine is to be many things, but to be -made- a Space Marine is so much more.
This tale is of one such figure, one who ascended from humanity to become a great paragon of the Emperor. However, his tale is not an easy one. From the day he was born, many long trials would assail this Battle Brother. Time and time again he would be tested by the fires of damnation and wicked taint, descending into the very depths of the Warp before rising in a new birth. But before one can tell of the foes that he smote, or the deeds he did, one must first tell of his making. Like all great things, it had a simple beginning. That beginning, was a woman.
-----------------
My name is Rechild Orelius. Like my father before me and his before him, I was born in a small make-shift apothecaries at the end of a crumbling alley. This alley had not seen the light of day for millenia, as it had long about been built over and covered by the ever rising cityscape. Among underhive alleys, it was not a particularly grimy one. The lights still worked and maintenance servitors (occasionally) swept the trash and unlucky drunkard off the sideways.
My sire and all his kin were servitor caretakers. To those even remotely acquainted with the Mechanicus and its workings, it will be easy to understand that his position was a peculiar one. Magos's being rather secretive as is their creed, on most worlds they would never let plebians even touch their handiwork. For better or worse, the conditions on Icarus V (my world of birth) were of such peculiarity that most if not all technology of any kind required constant vigilance. Though it is not my place to make a report on such things, it had been told to me on occasion that some disaster in the distant past had lingering effects even to the present day. What the event had been, it caused electrical components to occasionally act in an odd manner.
One common example of this were mathematical engines producing the wrong answer. (One local colloquialism was 'One plus one equal fish on Icarus V!'.) More troublesome is the effect it has upon any kind of servitor. While (once again) I am not fully qualified to make such reports, servitors on Icarus V tended to develop quirks (personalities even). The local Magos have been looking into the cause for quite some time, yet I doubt an answer will ever present itself. In a (semi) desperate attempt to counteract these quirks, the Mechanicus commisioned a number of laborers to escort servitors about their daily duties. (I'm to understand that the payment came in food and goods rather than credits, but still was a significant boost over other contemporary occupations.) Whenever an issue would arise, the escort was to pull out the power supply socket (or equivelant) and then report the issue. By some oddity one of the escorts noticed that hitting the servitor with a sprocket wrench tended to fix the issue without further trouble. While the Mechanicus did not exactly approve, they tended to ignore dents so long as the work got done.
Like my father before me, I became rather adept at placing hits that did not mark the servitor. This seemed to please (if they can even fell such notions) my Mechanicus overseer. So soon enough I was pawed off to a low ranking Lexmechanic as an apprentice. (Or servant. The duties seemed disturbingly similar.) Her name (as she had one point actually been female) was Ilva. Like many Mechanicus before her, she had adopted so many bodily augmentations that it was quite impossible to tell her gender by simply looking at her. (I only ever learned of it due to her having to explicitly tell me on one embarrassing occasion.) Despite her menial ranking, she had a special knack for working out the servitors' quirks. (That is, without having to hit them, though she occasionally did so anyways.) From what I could tell, her rank was -because- of her special abilities. (Someone with good foresight had made sure she stayed right where she was most effective, rather than promoting her until she got into water she couldn't handle.) The two of us worked well together and I grew to like her. While I can't say she was even capable of being affectionate, it can be said that she was typically less gruff with me than most others.
To be a Space Marine, is to be many things. To be a Space Marine is to be the final line of defense, to hold the line against xenos, seditionist, and daemon alike. They are the exemplars of Humanity, its greatest warriors. To them is entrusted some of the Imperium's greatest duties and secrets. Said to be of kin to the God Emperor himself by blood right of their Primarchs, it will be them that stand by His side in the last of days. To be a Space Marine is to be many things, but to be -made- a Space Marine is so much more.
This tale is of one such figure, one who ascended from humanity to become a great paragon of the Emperor. However, his tale is not an easy one. From the day he was born, many long trials would assail this Battle Brother. Time and time again he would be tested by the fires of damnation and wicked taint, descending into the very depths of the Warp before rising in a new birth. But before one can tell of the foes that he smote, or the deeds he did, one must first tell of his making. Like all great things, it had a simple beginning. That beginning, was a woman.
-----------------
My name is Rechild Orelius. Like my father before me and his before him, I was born in a small make-shift apothecaries at the end of a crumbling alley. This alley had not seen the light of day for millenia, as it had long about been built over and covered by the ever rising cityscape. Among underhive alleys, it was not a particularly grimy one. The lights still worked and maintenance servitors (occasionally) swept the trash and unlucky drunkard off the sideways.
My sire and all his kin were servitor caretakers. To those even remotely acquainted with the Mechanicus and its workings, it will be easy to understand that his position was a peculiar one. Magos's being rather secretive as is their creed, on most worlds they would never let plebians even touch their handiwork. For better or worse, the conditions on Icarus V (my world of birth) were of such peculiarity that most if not all technology of any kind required constant vigilance. Though it is not my place to make a report on such things, it had been told to me on occasion that some disaster in the distant past had lingering effects even to the present day. What the event had been, it caused electrical components to occasionally act in an odd manner.
One common example of this were mathematical engines producing the wrong answer. (One local colloquialism was 'One plus one equal fish on Icarus V!'.) More troublesome is the effect it has upon any kind of servitor. While (once again) I am not fully qualified to make such reports, servitors on Icarus V tended to develop quirks (personalities even). The local Magos have been looking into the cause for quite some time, yet I doubt an answer will ever present itself. In a (semi) desperate attempt to counteract these quirks, the Mechanicus commisioned a number of laborers to escort servitors about their daily duties. (I'm to understand that the payment came in food and goods rather than credits, but still was a significant boost over other contemporary occupations.) Whenever an issue would arise, the escort was to pull out the power supply socket (or equivelant) and then report the issue. By some oddity one of the escorts noticed that hitting the servitor with a sprocket wrench tended to fix the issue without further trouble. While the Mechanicus did not exactly approve, they tended to ignore dents so long as the work got done.
Like my father before me, I became rather adept at placing hits that did not mark the servitor. This seemed to please (if they can even fell such notions) my Mechanicus overseer. So soon enough I was pawed off to a low ranking Lexmechanic as an apprentice. (Or servant. The duties seemed disturbingly similar.) Her name (as she had one point actually been female) was Ilva. Like many Mechanicus before her, she had adopted so many bodily augmentations that it was quite impossible to tell her gender by simply looking at her. (I only ever learned of it due to her having to explicitly tell me on one embarrassing occasion.) Despite her menial ranking, she had a special knack for working out the servitors' quirks. (That is, without having to hit them, though she occasionally did so anyways.) From what I could tell, her rank was -because- of her special abilities. (Someone with good foresight had made sure she stayed right where she was most effective, rather than promoting her until she got into water she couldn't handle.) The two of us worked well together and I grew to like her. While I can't say she was even capable of being affectionate, it can be said that she was typically less gruff with me than most others.