742.M41 – Year ten of the Grignak Conflict

Zeruel surveyed the blood strewn plains, taking in the familiar smell of ozone and burnt flesh. A chill overtook his body despite the dry heat washing over him from the still burning wreck of some now unrecognizable vehicle nearby. After what seemed like an eternity standing there he drew his sword from the fresh cadaver at his feet. Why did he feel so cold, there was no reason for it? A full decade of war and what will to fight they had left lay dead at his feet. Why so cold? What of our brother? His thoughts raced back and forth between a sense of relief, his true reason for standing upon this ground and this strange, unearthly chill overtaking him.

“Lord Zeruel,” his concentration broke. In his silent contemplation he had not even noticed Armisael step to his side. The strange feeling crept away as if the man’s presence warmed his very spirit. For a moment he considered asking the Chaplain how long he had been there but quickly discarded the thought. Without a word he faced his brother, nodding his head in quiet response. “Sir the Orks are scattered to the wind,” Armisael continued. “We are receiving reports from several Imperial Regiments that they are in full retreat. That so called Warboss at your feet was their final straw.”

“Indeed it must have been,” Zeruel gazed towards his power sword, Grignak’s crimson blood still dripping from its tip. Looking to the sky, Zeruel paused for a moment. Armisael likewise stood silent, making no attempt to lure him into any further conversation. Each time the Chaplain’s gaze fell on him he wondered what he must be thinking, perhaps he even questioned his purity. Zeruel had learned not to dwell on such thoughts long. The musings of Armisael were for himself and the Emperor alone. “Well my brother,” Zeruel broke the silence. “Our Part in this is done, recall our forces to the Battle Barges. It is time we return home.”

Armisael nodded and turned away, once again leaving Zeruel to this own reflections. For what seemed another eternity he stood there still.

“Your mind is unsettled today brother,” a heavy hand rested on Zeruel's shoulder.

“I wish you would leave my thoughts to me,” Zeruel turned to face Ramiel. “How long have you been here?”

“Not long.”

“Avoiding Brother Armisael again?”

“You know he has always been skeptical of my kind, particularly of me.” Zeruel was always at a loss for words when given that response. Leaving the topic be he moved on to business.

“I trust your mission was a success then?”

“Unfortunately no,” Ramiel paused. Zeruel thought he sensed concern but he could never be sure. “The 105th Mordians had set up a command post in the Library, it was ransacked by the Orks before we could recover the relic. All that was left was rubble and corpses.” There was a long pause, neither man saying a word.

“I’m beginning to call these dreams of yours into question my brother,” Zeruel attempted to infer compassion into his voice where there was only concern, a ruse he was almost sure Ramiel would see though. “These visions of yours have lead us across the breadth of the Imperium to no avail.”

“Does our past not disturb you as well brother,” Ramiel responded, a hint of sadness in his voice. “We ourselves do no even know who we are. I believe these visions are leading me to some answers. Is it not worth at least trying? We’re close, I can feel it.”

“How long can you expect me to hide this from the Reclusiarchs, or Emperor forbid the Ordo or even High Lords of Terra? How long do you think we can keep this up? Each campaign but a ruse to seek out your visions. Eventually someone will notice our intentions are not what they seem.”

“We’ll have our answers soon brother,” Ramiel responded quickly and assuredly, an eager sound to his voice.

“I Pray we do,” Zeruel said Solemnly. In his mind he knew there would be no gaining ground with Ramiel. He was too sure of himself and his prophecies. Zeruel sighed and this time laid his hand on Ramiel’s shoulder. “For now though, let’s just return home.”