[//The Oracular Order+]
[//Allegiance: Marines Saturnine/Partisan+]
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| [//tom_k+] |
'The Marines Saturnine are not alone on their supposedly pre-ordained 'final voyage'. Accompanying them are the mysterious Oracular Order, a cadre of wyches, occultists and oracles that guide the Astartes on the path towards their supposed demise. Indeed, this 'Oracular Order' is so integral to the culture of the Marines Saturnine that they are afforded incredible freedoms, rarely seen. Members of this reclusive order are treated with the greatest of respect by the Chapter, seen as equal to any of the brothers-Astartes. Woe betide those who cross them.'
extr. from Terentius Bede's celebrated Historia Morquba – Of the Later Imperial MIlitary, a standard Scholam tome, redacted after the events of the War of the False Primarch.
***
Beliefs of The Marines Saturnine
The few scanty records of events indicate that the Marines Saturnine joined the 'Primarch' only under duress. Within the Pao Fung Library exists an offhand hand reference to the now-lost Book of Times, said to note the Chapter as 'reluctant allies' of the Partisan movement.
Similar tantalising hints remain of this extinct Chapter across the Sector, and broader Segmentum; relicts of their unusual specialism. World-reclaimers, the Marines Saturnine focussed on re-establishing Imperial norms on worlds that had been conquered, seceded or drifted away from Imperial control. Such work involved high profile deployments, and resulted in substantial populations being drafted from such worlds; only to be redeployed as Chapter serfs in fortifications and settlements on other newly-pacified worlds.
As a result, while their name was redacted along the others, the seed of the Marines Saturnine diaspora remains, a thinly-stretched cobweb of folklore and oral history that appears periodically on worlds across the sector. From this, archivists and historiographers have proposed that the Chapter cult focussed on a supposed Endpoint – though the translation is incomplete and unsatisfactory – which bred a fatalistic character. A concept of a great doom seemed to lay across the Chapter from their earliest days. Nor was this limited to the death of the Chapter as a whole, but also to individuals. A Marines' actions were all believed to lead to the point of their unavoidable death.
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| [//Marines Saturnine Astartes. identquery: valueactive+] [//tom_k+] |
The Oracular Order, therefore, was tasked with scrying each Chapter warriors' personal endpoint. The result was that a Marine Saturnine fought with the near-certainty that he either would or would not die on a particular battlefield. Not merely unclouded by fear, each Marines Saturnine fought with the utter belief that he was immortal until his endpoint, ensuring actions were swift and decisive even by the standards of the Astartes.
Curiously, however, of all the Astartes involved, the Chapter adopted the Caputmori symbol upon their armour the most frequently. From their first conflicts in the Mid-war period, the skull-headed eagle was borne near universally.
A case of overcompensation? Maintenance of the outward appearance of loyalty despite internal misgivings? Whatever the truth, their increasingly barbaric actions during the late war hints at disillusion and, at times, outright dissent with the Partisan cause. Nevertheless, the fervour with which they plastered the symbol across their armour was notable. A curious anachronism, and one that may never be resolved once the data of these events are wiped away.
***
[+Tannbach; after the First War//]
Imperial Commander Lord Heinhold Garmeier carefully arranged the items on his desk. He looked up at the door to his Command Office, then frowned and rearranged the plotters and chart. By his nature, Heinhold Garmeier was not a relaxed man. Years of pomp, tradition, and a great deal of pedigree had carved the type of man who would only ever sit bolt upright in his chair.
Today was, in any case, not a time to relax. The Astartes were coming.
Three months. They had been in his space for three months. Astartes Cruisers and Battleships had begun to converge on the outskirts of the Tannbach-cluster three months ago, and until today, they had received no communications from them. Heinhold knew the reputation of the Marines Saturnine as superstitious and occult. Privately he had joked with his fellows that they were probably waiting until ‘the moon was right’ to break bread with him, but the lack of communication was disconcerting. He had sent missive after missive to the Flagship, Resolute-In-The-Face-of-Demise, but until now had received no response.
But now – likely after reading the entrails, Heinhold allowed himself a smirk – they had made planetfall, and were en-route to meet with him. Studying the dataslate on his desk, he watched several short pict-videos of a Thunderhawk bearing the markings of the Marines Saturnine touching down, of the retinue of three Astartes and their attachés being escorted to his presence, and a third pict of a magnificently mysterious woman in the company of these giants.
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| [//tom_k+] |
He examined the slate again, and scratched at his lustrous beard. Three Astartes in all. Two in full battle plate, bolters cradled in their arms. The third – the ambassador, he assumed – walked behind them, his helm cradled in the nook of his arm. In addition to the Astartes, and a gaggle of other unimportants; serfs, servitors and the like, was the woman. From the pict-image, she cut a curiously alluring figure, walking side by side with the ambassador, her arm linked with his, as if he was escorting her as a consort. Tall and lithe, she invoked images of far-flung planets of warrior women. Dressed in bizarre, yet evocative garb of deep red and black, her posture and stature made her beautiful to Heinhold.
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| [//tom_k+] |
He half-hoped she was to be some sort of gift. After all, the Marines Saturnine had kept the entire Tannbach-cluster waiting for three long months; waiting to find out this Chapter's intentions. Given the events of the First War, during which the Carcharadons had devastated their sister planet, the waiting had been understandably tense for the population – and himself. Honour dictated that they would reimburse him for such a transgression. Yes, that must be it.
Minutes later, the door to the Command Office opened with a satisfying low thrum. For a half moment, Heinhold considered not addressing the ambassador. Let them wait for once, he mused – but swiftly thought better of it. He could ascribe the urge to long years of etiquette training, though the truth of the matter was simply that they were Astartes. The two bodyguards were the first through the door, heads twitching near-imperceptibly as they scanned the room for threats. Once satisfied that Heinhold wasn’t planning on ambushing them, they stepped aside, allowing the others into the office. The gaggle of unimportants came through next, much to Heinhold's chagrin, though he kept his stare ahead, doing his best to ignore this insult. Finally, the two that truly mattered stepped into view.
He had felt it the moment the doors had opened, but now, as the Ambassador took slow deliberate steps towards his desk, Heinhold felt an almost oppressive pressure. The Astartes were, as always, an imposing presence. Space Marines have a tendency to draw all eyes to them, and their presence made the spacious Command Office seemed cramped and trivial. Even the lights in the room seemed to illuminate them in preference.
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| [//ident: Ambassador Nabu of the Marines Saturnine, 2nd Sataba+] [//tom_k+]| |
The pale grey of their armour, marred with imperfections as it was (an intentional slight, Heinhold had no doubt), seemed to glow in the cold light of the command room. The Ambassador's bare head drew his gaze next; it was weather-beaten and craggy, with skin the colour of nutmeg, and upon his brow were a series of vulgar cuneiform markings that Heinhold had never seen, nor particularly cared to learn more about. Finally, they met one another’s gaze.
“Ah, my… Lord Astartes,” Heinhold savoured the inflection he put on the honorific, “You honour us with your company. The presence of the Marines Saturnine in our space these last three months has been… a welcome sight.” Heinhold allowed himself a moment to indulge in the backhanded comment he had so carefully practised. In response, the Ambassador's face barely moved. Maybe his witticisms went clear over the head of such single-minded giants.
Feeling like he was losing the edge, Heinhold plunged on. “And to what do we owe this rare pleasure..?” The atmosphere in the room was stifling, and the three Astartes seemed to loom larger. Heinhold straightened up in his chair.
“T-that is to say, what can we do for you?”
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| [//tom_k+] |
When the reply came, it didn’t come from the Space Marine that towered over him, but from the beautiful woman at his side. For someone he had fixated on in the lead-up to this meeting, she had disappeared from his mind the moment he had come face-to-face with an Astartes. As words left her lips, however, she came into sharp focus, and Heinhold couldn’t quite understand how he hadn’t noticed her before now.
“We gladly accept your hospitable welcome, Imperial Commander Lord Heinhold Garmeier. We are here to speak of the terms of your tribute to us.”
Heinhold snapped out of his reverie.
“I am speaking to the Lord Astartes, not to yo-“ The words died in his throat the moment he met her gaze. Things he had assumed from a grainy pict-image on a data slate came into sharp focus. She was slender, true enough, but it was due to physical atrophy, not any desire to appear comely. She was tall, hauntingly so. She stood almost as tall as the Astartes by her side, and up-close she reminded him less of an exotic warrior woman and more of some ghastly revenant. Despite the rejuv treatments – perhaps dozens of them – the tell-tale signs of her age were plain to see. Hundreds and hundreds of years weighed heavy on her wasting frame. The dramatic garb she wore, perhaps an attempt to detract from the ruination of her form, hung from her bones instead of accentuating her physique. How could he have been so… but the worst of all were her eyes. Milky balls with unresponsive, dilated pupils flitted about, quite independent of one another.
The Astartes had not been escorting her, like a courtesan, but guiding her. She was quite blind.
Again, her words cut through the hazy atmosphere the room had taken on.
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| [//tom_k+] |
“I speak for the Marines Saturnine. We are preparing for War, and we would request from you your munitions, your armsmen, your arms, and your armour. We have a great need, and we would see it fulfilled by you.” Heinholm couldn’t pull his eyes away from hers, try as he might. His mind was reeling, though he focused on his response.
“The Tannbach-cluster have the means to fulfil this request, but I must ask, why should we? What is in this deal for us?” he managed, though the words seemed to slip from his mouth like thick treacle. His mind was filled with the image of a thousand corpses, their eyes all rolling slowly in their sockets.
“The Marines Saturnine, in return for resupply, will offer you the greatest gift they can bestow: protection. War is returning to the Tannbach-Cluster, Imperial Commander Lord Heinhold Garmeier, and it is coming for you. In return for your compliance, we will promise you that Tannbach Majoris will suffer no more than three Terran standard days of warfare. We have seen it to be so. You cannot evade this War, but you can be prepared. And what better preparation can there be than being under the protectorship of the Marines Saturnine?”
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| [//tom_k+] |
She paused in her speech, and a faltering, shaking hand reached out, groping at the nothingness of the air before her. Without another word, the Astartes by her side reached out and steadied her with a gauntleted fist. She continued.
“Furthermore, we – that is to say, I – offer you a gift.” Guided by the Astartes at her side, she leant closer, so that her rolling milky eyes were all that Heinhold could see. He began to weep, though he could not say why, and his nose continued to faucet blood, unnoticed down his shirtfront. He slumped further into his chair, his head swimming. He couldn’t avert his gaze.
“Would you like to see your future?”
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| [//tom_k+] |
***