Itirus Armamon (Legionaire22)
The air was cool in the Colossus XIII's Reclusiam, and Apothecary Itirus Armamon knelt infront of an image of the Emperor renderd in gold. Secretly, the Inquisition had dragged it away from the Imperial Palace and placed it here, where the greatest protectors of the 40k universe dwelled.
Many thoughts coursed through his mind. The deaths of fellow brothers on his operating table. The gene-seed which he still had to send back to the chapter. The fact that he positivley had to find his nail-clipper since his toenails were growing and starting to hurt.
All of these were common problems for the Apothecary. For some reason, he had been elected as an Apothecary, a decision which many felt unfit, since Armamon was a very forgetfull man. Once, he had forgotten to turn of his chainfist when he was starting to operate, slashing off a Guardsmans...private area. He had also accidentally dropped his vox-bead into the lung of a Battle Brother. Said battle brother now suffered from coughs when someone accidentaly voxed said vox bead.
Now, however, he stood infront of a major task. He had to try and splice the Emperor's gene's himself to create gene-seed for the Warriors. It was a hard task, but he would succed. That much he knew.
Rising from his crouch, he moved to his apothecarium to start testing on the one string of hair he had. There was much to be learned.
"Well, Inquisitor, i can say this: The Emperor's hair could not survive a melta blast"
The Inquisitor was still to stunned to believe it. Slowly, he asked the same question he had asked two times earlier
"You...shot...the last straw of hair from the Emperor...with a Melta gun?"
The Apothecary rubbed his neck awkwardly
"It was for science."
The Inquisitor's eye twitched, and the Apothecary could see he was about to burst of anger
"WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY HAVE FOR USE IN SHOOTING THE LAST STRAW OF HAIR OF THE DIVINE GOD EMPEROR WITH A MELTA GUN?!?!?!"
The Apothecary smiled in triumph
"I have decreed, my good Inquisitor, that since the hair did not survive the blast...It was not, in fact, the Emperor's hair"
The Inquisitor was stunned. Not so much by the sense it made, but by how idiotic the Apothecary was
"It is simple. The Emperor, blessed be his name, could never have suffered such a fatal blow to his fabolous hair from a simple melta blast" As the Apothecary spoke, he snapped his head, making his long, fabolous brown hair flail in the light of the nearby star.
"ARE YOU FOR REAL?! WHY WOULD THE GOD EMPEROR'S HAIR SURVIVE A MELTA BLAST?!?!"
The Apothecary gave a high-pitched snort, before turning and walking away. Stopping half stride, he continued
"You may talk with me when your simple brain has finally made sense of the proof i have offered you"
The Apothecary strode through the meeting room, leaving in all his regal grace. The Inquisitor was stunned by how sure the man looked, and how calm he had seen. He understood why he was an Apothecary. He was clearly one who could remain calm in the heat of battle and be relied on to extract the holy gene-seed. He was a mighty Astartes, one who seemed capable of recieving multiple blows from an enemy as if it was nothing.
The Inquisitors revering thoughts were interrupted when he heard a large "KLANG!", swiftly followed by the Apothecary.
Note: this bit contains swearing
Occisor looked down on the traitorous scum that stood before him. Thousand Editors. Nothing he hadn't faced before.
He stuck to the shadows as he approached the defaced building, his black robes making him appear as an avatar of shadows. He snuck up on the closest of the Thousand Editors, a guard facing out from the building with out a helmet on. He got within three meters of him, his amour still containing the modifications of his time in the Deathwatch, and stopped, pulling his silenced Bolt-pistol out of it's loop and aiming. There was the sound of compressed air, then the guard didn't have a head. He smiled to himself at how stupidly easy it had been to get past this supposed masterminds defenses before moving on.
He silently opened the door and slid his combat blade out of it's sheath, holding it in his right hand, while he bolt pistol stayed in his left. He moved further into the complex, heading towards the voices he heard with his augmented hearing. He clung to the shadows, killing any traitorous editors he could find, before moving on.
He found the source of the voices, a cabal of Sorcerers in deep discursion over something. Occisor eavesdropped on the conversation, waiting.
"But you need to have a sponge cake for a dinner party if your having cake at all," said one of the Sorcerers. It seemed their ranks were being divided over how to run a dinner party.
"What's wrong with fruit cake?" asked another.
"It's not what you do, young man." said the older Sorcerer
"I think you should have Victorian fruit cake," said one of the servants, "for you dinner party, that is." All the Sorcerers stopped for a second and starred at the man, before screaming and shouting at him.
"I'LL FLAY YOUR SKIN OFF!"
"I'LL BURN YOUR BODY WITH DEMONIC FIRE!"
"I'LL RIP YOUR LIMBS OFF ONE BY ONE AND FEED YOUR REMAINS TO DEAMONS AND THE GIVE YOUR SOUL TO A HAEMONCULUS AND THEN KILL YOU!"
"I'LL RIP YOUR BALLS OFF AN CHOKE YOU TO DEATH WITH THEM!"
"YOUR A FUCKING RETARD!"
Occisor nearly blew his cover and laughed. This sounded like his Angry Marine brothers having an argument.
After about half an hour of repetitive abuse the servant finally said, "Fine, fine, forget I said anything." At that the Sorcerers turned around and resumed their conversation.
After a pause he older Sorcerer said "I think we should have Victorian fruit cake with our tea party."
The servant blurted out "But that's what I just said!" then, seeing the frosty looks of the Magicians, sighed and said "Fine."
"Since when was it a tea party?" asked the younger Sorcerer.
"There the same thing." He replied.
The conversation went along the same lines, and Occisor must have nodded off, because he was jolted awake by the sound of shouting voices.They were blaming each other for whose fault it was that some of there guards were killed. He looked down at the clock. Three hours had passed since he had killed the first guard. Nothing like an alert bodyguard to make you feel safe.
Eventually one of them stood up and blasted apart the the messenger apart with sorceress flame. The Room went quiet. "It was his fault." he said in a calm, menacing voice, "now go find who did this." The stood still for a second, obviously stunned that they would have to do manual work. "Now!" he said, and they ran, squabbling over who should get what minion to do their dirty work. The commander stayed calm until they were out the door, then began pacing up and down, practicably pulling his hair out.
Occisor jumped down from his vantage point, landing silently and slipping into the shadows. He advanced upon his target, crouching down beside the table to get as close as possible. When he was five eaters away, he stopped, realizing who he was facing.
The man who's plots burned a thousand worlds just to get a pie to eat. The man who once influenced a thousand different individual events just to get his brother to slip up on a banana peal. The man who was the power behind the throne of the Warhammer 40k Fanon Wiki, there for no reason other than he could be the power behind the throne behind the Warhammer 40K Fanon Wiki.
And he was muttering "This was not what I planed," under his breath.
Occisor stepped out from the shadows. The Supahbadmarine took a moment to notice him, before practicably falling backwards in shock. He regained his posture, and said "Just as planned." in that calm, menacing voice.
"No it's not."
"No it's not, you were just muttering under you breath 'This is not what I planed.'"
"Ha ha, that was also part of my plan."
"But you were also shocked when I arrived."
"Still part of my plan, just like letting you know that was part of my plan was part of my plan so that I could tell you it was part of my plan so that- What are you doing?"
Occisor unloaded his Bolt Pistol and put in a new magazine, full of Anti-Bullshit Rounds, and fired it at The Supahbadmarine. They broke through the force field he had erected to protect himself, broke through the amour that was protecting him and embedded themselves into his body, before putting him through terrible agony for the amount of bullshit he had just poured out.
"See, knew you were lying."
Occisor walked over and raised his power sword over his head, and brought it down in a vicious strike. The blade...
Occisor woke up with his head pounding. He groaned and then realized that it had all been a dream. He swore and let his head fall back upon his bed.
He tired to remember what had given him this throbbing headache. He remembered arriving back from a mission.....taking off his amour.....going to the hall......Fernisian Mead. That must have been it. He swore again and turned over, lying face down on his bed.