Krakenborn - "Ní neart go cur le chéile"

Ní neart go cur le chéile

I watched the Thunderhawk dock on the Imperium’s Gauntlet and the two Primaris Marines walk down the rampart to meet the rest of the Kill Team for the first time. We had regrettably lost several brothers on our last mission. Two first born Brethren new to the Deathwatch arrived the day prior and were stood to attention with the rest of the squad behind me. Inquisitor Selekoff requested these incoming recruits herself and, as was her way, I knew nothing of them except their arrival. I’m sure she liked to do this simply to keep me on my toes. Still, it gives ample opportunity to hone my skills in statecraft and diplomacy for which I was grateful.

I am of the White Consuls. We pride ourselves on our abilities as governors and diplomats in equal measure to our martial prowess. As such I familiarised myself with many of the common traits displayed by my brothers and cousins from different lineages. For all our differences as Chapters within the same gene-stock there are often tell-tale traits that manifest. Knowing these things alone has served me well with my current duties in the Deathwatch.

They marched neatly down the ramp side by side. The Marine on the left donned grey armour with blue trim on the pauldrons and little else of distinction as far as adornment goes. Even the Imperial Aquila was missing from the chest plate. I have been seconded to the Deathwatch for several decades now and lead my squad for a number of years. Rarely have I seen a veteran’s armour so devoid of personal honours and the trappings often found on an Adeptus Astartes. In their stead was a number leather pouches and pockets containing various specialist equipment and Emperor knows what else. Almost every time I have seen this it has been a son of the Shadow Master himself, Corvus Corax.

The second Marine’s footsteps exuded purpose and their armour was draped in pelts and trophies from what I assumed were kills of import to the bearer. The blue and white armour was well worn and showed all the tell-tale signs of an Astartes that was more often than not engaged in close quarters combat. The tilt plate displayed a spiral motif and the left shoulder what looked like some kind of aquatic creature; something from their home world, perhaps. The White Scars have a quiet confidence that exudes through their ceramite armour and many of their successors adorn themselves in similar fashion. If I was inclined to wager a bet I’d say it was the Great Khan’s blood running through their veins.

The two Marines approached their mark and stood to attention. I stood a step ahead of the 7 other members of the squad all hailing from different Chapters. As was my own custom we made the sign of the Aquilla across our chests and removed our helmets. Placing my helmet under my left arm and my right hand resting on the hilt of my Xenophase blade I asked them to present themselves.

“Well met. I am Sergeant Julianus Ventor. Please, remove your helms, state your name and rank so I can greet you as a Brother and be joined in duty in the Deathwatch.”

The first removed their helmet and my prediction about the son of Corax was in deed correct. A chiselled jaw on a more slender face, obsidian hair and eyes as black as the void looked back at me.

“Brother Theama, Shadowborne of the Spectres of Mamucium.”

As expected from a son of Corax, no heirs and graces, just the necessities.

“Welcome Brother Theama. I look forward to serving with you.”

The second Marine had barely unlocked the seal on their helmet before they began to speak. “Eager” I thought.

“Ghaisgeach Rianne Osgarach an Fuamhare of Clann na Cracan”

Language, of which I was only vaguely familiar with aside, it was an unmistakable tone of voice. A woman. I hadn’t yet personally encountered a female Astartes. I had heard rumours of Archmagos Cawl’s experiments with the gene seed but had not met a woman who had undergone the transformation into a Space Marine. 

Before I had chance to welcome our Sister there was an audible scoff from behind me and both the Marines stood in front shot a glare in its direction. Sister Rianne, pale skinned with mohawked red hair ablaze even in the dim-lit landing bay. Her eyes cold and blue like glaciers in comparison and her jaw now visibly clenched.

I knew the Brothers I served with intimately and knew instantly that it was one of the new first born recruits. There was a moment of awkward silence before I turned to look over my shoulder. 

“You wish to speak, Taras?” I asked calmly.

Taras belonged to a Chapter called the Gate Keepers with beliefs more strict than most any other Chapter that stemmed back to what seemed a dark age. They had not accepted any Primaris within their ranks and refused to even attempt crossing the Rubicon Primaris themselves. Their customs also didn’t seem to stretch to showing deference in this instance. His face was flush with a barely contained look of contempt. 

“Sergeant Ventor... THIS is an...” 

“I asked if you wished to speak. I did NOT give you permission!” My voice much more stern at this insubordinate act.

“But Sergeant, this is blasphemy! The great work done by the Holy Emperor should not be tainted in this manner!”

Spittle discharged from his lips as though he was spitting acid. His words filled with venom. My hand gripped the pommel of my sword tighter as my own temper began bubbling forth.

I managed to keep it in check and turned my head to glance at my Sister. She glanced back and gave me what I can only describe as “a look”. A look for which words were not needed to convey its meaning. I nodded.

Rianne strode forward towards Taras. She was a veteran of her Chapter no doubt and Primaris. But I’d hazard Taras had at least another century of experience and wasn’t old enough yet to succumb to any frailty.

“You mock me, Brother?” Anger seethed beneath the surface of Rianne's visage.

I quietly gestured to the rest of the squad to stand back and not interfere as we watched the scene unfold. Rianne was only a pace away from Taras as he raised his hand and jabbed a finger in her direction.

“You” he prodded “should not exist!”

In an instant and single fluid motion Rianne grabbed his outstretched hand and took a step back, planted her feet into the ground then yanked forward and down catching Taras off guard. He stumbled to his knees and punched the ground with a loud thud of ceramite on metal.

Taras returned to his feet as quick as he fell, visibly angered by what just happened. He lunged at Rianne and unleashed a flurry of frenzied blows. Rianne parried several away but one broke through her defence and caught her square on the nose and staggered her back.

A drip of blood ran from her nose down her top lip. A devilish smile spread across her face as though she relished the moment and wiped away the blood.

She moved forward, feigning a high punch before kicking low and taking the standing leg away from Taras, catching him with a crunching uppercut as his weight shifted forward. His jaw snapped with a loud crack.

Rianne then shoved an armoured boot into his side, knocking him over the instant Taras’ hands touched the floor to stop his fall.

“Enough.” I had seen and heard all I needed and wanted to. Looking around to the rest of my squad and gesturing towards the victor. “Brothers. Meet our new combat specialist, Sister Rianne of the Krakenborn.”

Rianne, now a picture of calm stood above Taras with an outstretched hand.

“Fillean an feall ar an bhfeallaire. The bad deed returns on the bad deed doer.”

Taras looked up, embarrassed, still angered, but would not strike again after being commanded. Rianne continued...

“I did not ask or need your permission to exist. The fact yet remains that I do; Regardless of your feelings towards me and my kin. You can either fight against me or fight with me. Your choice, Brother.”