Chapter Text
The Grand Approval Of Expedition
The Captain stared from Hells Iris, a fortress monastery from its many windows.. his eyes watching the multiple warbands, few were Night Lords of the VIIIth.. Some were the IIIrd and XIIth. Departing after a two week rest and resupply, ready to pay their dues towards the Tyrant Of Badab. His reputation preceded him alongside that.. He made his point multiple times, it took the “Warmaster” Abbadon almost multiple millennia to muster his strength, while Huron Blackheart himself only had a century compared to the Veterans Of The Long War.. He inhaled the stale chemical air. Turning away, he began to walk through the bizarre market of the Hells Iris.
Saradast wasn’t there for the Badab War, being taken while the Chapter fled into the warp. Undergoing his training within the Maelstrom and its inhabitants, he saw the effects it did to its many inhabitants.. His hazel like eyes, tracking the men being led away by the ladies. Their skin didn’t sit right.. Scaly and odd.
Some of the men wore the corruption of the Dark Gods more proudly than others, swollen arms filled with pus out for all to see. Others with Goat Like Horns, their feet turning into hooves. Becoming more mutant than human, Saradast was the opposite compared to his brothers. Who actively embraces chaos, using it as a tool.. Doing the correct rites, rituals and practices. Gaining boons for themselves, of course not realizing the curse they’ve taken upon themselves.
Once they embraced, there was no chance to return to the False Emperor’s Light.. If that was even a chance, considering they are all wanted for murder and now damned to eternal hell amongst the Traitors Of Old.
That was when a Serf, one who wore the Fist Of The Tyrant walked up to him. His voice was timid, he wore a hood.. When the Serf spoke, he muttered. Saradast frowned at this, most of the Serfs before had more spine.. Now with this weakening blood line, they worry more than ever to speak.
“Speak, Serf. Is it time to leave? Has the Master Of The Maelstrom sanctioned the details of the raid to realspace?”
“Y.. yes, my lord. I apologize for impudence.. I will adjust myself to serve you better and the other God Sons.”
‘God Son..’
Saradast let out a chuff as he strode past, the Master Of The Maelstrom must be waiting for Saradast at the southern most docking points. It was only a fifteen minute walk, he could take his time but.. Knowing how desperately he’s been wanting to get his legs out and see realspace was going to be enjoyable.. Perhaps his mother was still..
In his moments of deep thought, he shook his head. Saradasts mother, perished in the assault of the Iron Hands. He forgot.. Again, time was odd throughout the Maelstrom or the Warp itself. He remembers the War of Badab being merely yesterday.. Alongside his training.
It didn't matter when he arrived. He saw Garreon, he took a moment to breathe.. The man was horrifying. He didn’t like seeing his face around, he was.. Crude in his ways ever sense Variel left with the Prophet. Behind him was the silent ever brooding Katar Garrix, but then there was the Master Of The Maelstrom. His face ticking and twitching, his body was stitched back together.. After that pure blank melta blast. He was surprised the Old Man still breathed as is.
However, credit to Garreon for even saving him. Alive and well but of course, the nerves of the Chaos Lord were shot. He saw two other new faces, one wore terminator armor. The other wore simple armor, he saw his personal Warship Spear Of Badab, a Dauntless Class Cruiser, through the many windows staring into the Maelstroms colors. One of the many that Blackheart spared to lend and loan to Saradast..
“Saradast..”
His voice hoarse and harsh, his face crunching. The right hand side of his face twitching, he stepped out. The Tyrant’s Claw finding itself on Saradasts Pauldron, he gave a smile.. His green bionic eye whirring as if analysing Saradasts face for mistrust. The tension in the air was nail biting, it was so quiet in the moment.. A bead of sweat was starting to appear on his forehead. Landing in one of his eyes, stinging..
“Time to give farewell to you.. Departure to realspace.”
The Master Of The Maelstrom removed his hand from the Captains Pauldron, his hand swinging introducing the two new faces, one wore Terminator Armor.. Indomitus Pattern, while the other wore MK VI. Saradast felt his body relax, he knew the Master Of The Maelstrom needed to see if the Captain would stand down and cower or hold his ground..
“This is your Sorcerer, I personally got him from the VIIIth. A loan.. Do not let him die, he will guide you out of the Warp. His name is..”
“I can do introductions myself.. Lord Of The Maelstrom.”
His heavy Nostraman accent was obvious, flesh riddled his armor. A crown was fashioned from his helmet, flesh littered over it. Punctured, revolting. He stepped forward, using his staff as a walking stalk. When he spoke, his vox grille sounded like machines grinding against each other. His Mark V whining, it was ancient on its own.
“I am Drachos, Sorcerer of the Midnight Claw. I will act as Navigator and as your personal..”
His gaze underneath his helmet as he muttered with disappointment leaking from his voice..
“Advisor on this raid..”
The other stepped forward, wearing the colors of the XIIth. His hands flexing, he didn’t wear a helmet. He had the Butchers Nails implanted, spittle resting from his lips. He was aggressive.. His armor had skulls hanging from it, some around his belt and pauldrons.
“I am Larsakh.. The Champion of your warband. You may lead us into war, I will carve me and my brothers into blood shed. The Chains of our weapons will clamber for war, not for you Captain”
Dissent was obvious in his voice.. He would need to secure his loyalty, both of theirs. One way or the other, Saradast nodded. He gave a salute on his chest, Huron seemed like a Proud Grandpa.. Seeing his children get along well. Garreon leaned over the Tyrant's shoulder, muttering something before walking away. Sticking his nose into his Dataslate.
“Well.. It is time for you all to reave and burn the False Gods' precious world. Death To The Imperium, Saradast and you all.”
Larsakh was the first to turn heel, he was practically running down the entry point of the docking port. Saradast walked forward while Drachos muttered underneath his helmet, he could care less. When Saradast finally arrived to the Bridge, the Officers were all lined up at their stations.
He let them all properly speak out loud to him, system checks.. Fuel count, and so forth. When all was done, he connected to the Ships mainframe..
The Spear Of Badab was aggressive, the machine flashing him with the War Of Badab. The war he wasn’t even fighting in, emotions that weren’t his. Hatred for the Manticores.. Hatred for Chapter Iconography he has never laid his eyes upon. He felt his heart beat as it all passed over, he felt the crew throughout its many corridors travel up and down. Blood Cells.. That's what it felt like..
Saradast took a sharp inhalation as he came back to his proper senses, he initiated the dock departure procedure. Larsakh was most likely in his chambers, keeping to himself. Drachos in his Navigation Tower, they were departing.. When he flew around two hundred nautical miles. That was enough for warp translation, he gave the order.. They were leaving the Maelstrom. The Shutters began to close, the Gellarfield was activated.. Controls being sent over towards Drachos in his quarters.
The Shade Reaver Captain, Saradast and his crew, were on their way to burn worlds and take supplies back for the Tyrant Of Badab and Hells Iris.