#ravenguard

Night Lords rarely doing it to each other because you never know when you’re getting stabbed in the back. You can trust no one truly. A serf freezing up when they see a a Night Lord starring at them from the shadows and doing the slow blinking thing, not knowing if that means they are getting skinned or if they are liked by the Astartes.

No matter how many times he had blinked at strangers on Nostramo when he was a child, no one had returned the sentiment to Konrad. The Night Haunter did it only at a handful of people while he was still sane. For Sevatar it was an ego boost of being one of the few Astartes that his father seemed to like.

The Raven Guard using it quite often as one of their tactical signs. Kasati Nuon trying to get used to doing it at his new brothers while Alastor Rushal only ever did it to Sevatar.

Imperial Fists being another of the chapters to do it rarely but when they do it means that they put a great deal of trust into you. Sigismund falling from grace with Dorn and never having the gesture returned to him even when he somewhat reconciled with his father.

Ultramarines trying to unlearn such “animalistic and unrefined things” but never succeeding. Aeonid Thiel doing it at Guilliman one last time before the fight with Fulgrim and Roboute in turn doing it to everyone he cares about because you never know when it will be the last time. He would like to have no regrets when the inevitable comes around. Someday Calgar will do it at Titus too.

Nervousness and excitement warred for dominance as Olivar once again checked his holy flamer, as the drop pod that contained himself, Malachai, Gunther, Torvus, and Arlo fell planetside. This was their first deployment as Black Templars. They had been told that the paradise world that they were landing on had sent urgent request for aid, before going worryingly silent. The greenskins had been driven away from this sector centuries ago. While Eldar did occasionally raid the system, Ithacys was far too well protected for the pointy eared xenos to dare raid upon the jewel of a world. The tyranids had yet to breach this sector of space, and the T’au - cowardly long-range using bastard xenos that they were, were well on the other side of the galaxy. This world was from the worlds they dared to claim as their own.

No matter the threat to this world, Olivar was confident that he and his brothers would prevail against the enemies foolish enough to challenge the might of the Imperium of Man. 

The world blurred and shifted around Olivar, and he found himself desperately sprinting towards Gunther, whose legs had been entangled by some of the demonic, thorny vines that the Slaaneshi Cultists had transformed into. Those vines could rend an astartes apart within seconds, armor be damned.

Gunther was using his chainsword to hack at the vines, trying desperately to cut himself free, to no avail. The brother he had known since decanting from a cloning vat under Martian lands screamed as the vines tightened.

The crack of his femurs was audible over the sounds of battle and pain. Olivar activated his holy flamer, burning these vile plants as he could hear the agonized choking and coughing sounds coming from Gunther.

“Go! Brother! Leave me… The vines are in my armor. Grant me the Emperor's Final Mercy, before these damned vines strangle my life and steal my soul.” Gunther rasped, weakly pushing Olivar away.

“But… I-” Olivar tried to protest, his heart in his throat.

“My Bellisaurian furnace won't keep me alive for long. I beg of you, Brother. Send me to His ligh-aaah!” Gunther answered, his words cut off as a thorny vine wrapped around his neck, another twisting off his helmet. 

Gunther's entire lower half was covered in the pulsating, thorny vines, and the other's struggles were decreasing. 

“May… May you find solace in his light. Your duty ends now, Brother.” Olivar managed out, voice trembling as he raised his bolter and granted Gunther the Final Mercy. 

A scream of anguish and righteous wrath clawed it's way out of Olivar's throat as he activated his flamer, reducing everything around him to ash and dust.

Olivar startled awake with a gasp, flailing to get himself free of whatever was pinning him, one hand scrambling for his holy flamer. His breath came in quick, heaving gasps as he looked around wildly for the threat. 

There were no writhing cases of thorny vines. No mocking Cultists doing obscene, perverted rituals. No Emperor-cursed Slaaneshi marines doing unspeakable evils to frightened, captive civilians.

Just forest. In the soft, pre-dawn light of a world at peace, with a touch of fog, blurring the edges as it clung to bark and leaf.

Olivar stood up, planted his feet and squared his shoulders. It took him longer than he would like to center himself as he began sword meditation, trying to clear his mind of the night's torments.

Eventually, he managed to calm down to the point that his hands no longer shook. Olivar took that as a sign to pack up camp and begin further exploration. 

He followed the sound of water until he reached a merrily flowing river. A small smile appeared on his face as he knelt down and watched the water flowing, cupping his hands and pulling a mouthful of water up to his lips to drink. While it was not advised to drink directly from a stream like this, he was glad his Astartes immune system could handle any pathogens, pollutants or parasites that may lurk within these waters. 

The water was refreshing, so Olivar indulged himself by splashing his face and neck with more water  to cool off. He focused on an odd movement that he had seen under the surface of the water. His eyes widened and the smile on his face brightened as he noted that there were fish in this river. Carefully he removed his boots before unzipping his body suit and rolling up the legs until they were well above his knees.

The young Black Templar carefully removed one of the fish hooks that he had wrapped in cloth and stored in his pack, tying it to the end of the thin, light weight wire he had acquired for this specific purpose. A sturdy but flexible stick served as something for him to tie some of the wire to. It took him about ten minutes of digging through the dirt to find an earth worm, which he speared onto the end of the fish hook, and cast it out into the waters, waiting patiently for one of the fish in the river to bite. It would be a real treat, especially if he was lucky enough to find any wild-growing vegetables, or perhaps some berries. He recalled seeing various berry bushes in his earlier exploration; he'd go out and harvest some once he had his fill of fishing. Back in Gannet Point, he’d seen others bring in wild-grown berries from the forest outside of the city, and he hoped to find something similar out here.

No sooner had he thought that, short tugs on the end of his fishing line alerted Olivar to something taking his bait. He gave the rod a sharp tug, setting the hook, and inadvertently sent a decent-sized fish flying towards his face. Catching it, he examined the fish closely. According to the information in his dataslate, the fish he caught was a walleye. It was said that walleye were good eating and can be prepared in a variety of ways. Keeping the walleye in a makeshift pool at the river’s edge, Olivar caught a few more, then started a small campfire on the beach. 

Remembering how Cedric roasted fish by the fire during the rare moments of downtime during their crusade, he gutted the fish then cut them into smaller sections and skewered the pieces onto shaved down sticks. The fish skewers were inserted into the ground in front of the campfire to roast. Olivar looked around while waiting for the fish to cook, his keen eyesight seeing small birds flitting about in the trees, insects crawling in the dirt and flying about the flowers. Multiple animal prints were embedded into the dried mud along the riverbanks. Ancient Terra was so vibrant and full of life, it’s a pity that all this was destroyed by the time he existed.  

The aroma of cooked fish wafted into his nostrils. Sensing the fish was ready, he picked up the skewers of fish and bit into the meat. The cooked walleye flesh was firm yet flaked easily into his mouth and it carried a subtly sweet taste. He hummed with delight. It was absolutely delicious and would go very well with the spices that Cedric had. Olivar took out his dataslate and looked at the entry about walleye again, feeling disappointed that walleye didn’t exist in the region where Gannet Point was located. That made him curious though, he should find some fishing spots when he gets back to Gannet Point. 

With that in mind, Olivar leisurely finished the cooked fish, marked this spot in his dataslate, and put out the fire before leaving to continue his exploration. As he wandered, he picked and tried the berries he came across. It was difficult to pick the berries at first; berries kept thwarting his attempts; either falling onto the ground or getting squished by his large fingers. Olivar eventually figured out how gentle he had to be, however, he discovered by squishing them, he could detect poisons from certain berries more easily rather than having to actually ingest the berries themselves. His favourites were the wild raspberries, which were more succulent and sweet compared to the other berry types.

As he travelled northwest, he picked up the scent of other Astartes in the area, immediately making him wary. Olivar stopped, also noticing pollutants from vehicles and residential areas. He must be getting close to where baselines and other Astartes live. Looking at the map in his dataslate, Olivar weighed his options: On the one hand, he could take a wide detour of the area and continue on his way; or just cross through quickly and hope that he doesn’t get noticed. 

Olivar huffed. Why should he take a detour trying to avoid other Astartes. He also had the right to travel in that area too, surely other brother-cousins also travel through this sector as well. He was no coward!

Plus, the Alliance doesn’t allow for outright attacking other cousins for no reason, be they loyalist (or chaos, Olivar inwardly grumbled). He had his training, his weapons, his instinct; no one attacked him so far and he hasn’t run into any other Black Templars or any (thank the God Emperor) Primaris killers yet. 

With that decided, he continued walking in the northwest direction. There were a lot less people living in this area with the houses being rather sparse, separated by tracts of forests and some farmland. Though there were noticeably older established trails through the forest tracts supposedly leading to a small lake, according to the map on the display board. 

Olivar followed one of the trails that led to the lake, and noticed, not too long after, the strong presence of a Thousand Son (witch!) and another Iron Warrior (renegade most likely, he couldn’t detect the stench of chaos). He tensed, his senses prickling. He should be cautious. Why must there be even more heretics and renegade traitors to plague his existence. This was Holy Terra! He still didn’t quite understand why the alliance as the others had explained the ill-conceived coalition of allegedly Loyalist firstborn Astartes had decided to ally with renegade and heretic traitors. 

Apparently a majority of the loyalists where from before the Heresy - which Olivar supposed made sense. There used to be legions upon legions of Astartes before the heresy. Back when Chaos was an even more tightly held secret than it was in M42… Which also meant that the older brothers and cousins had no idea how dangerous, how corrosive and vile Chaos truly was… And with the Chaos Marines allegedly more or less playing nice -likely keeping their cruelties and corrosive tendencies hidden from sight - they could coax the older loyalists into the uneasy truce, rather than being hunted down and being put down permanently like the rabid dogs they were. 

Something fluttery caught his sight. He blinked a little in confusion as he stared at the odd movement, realizing that it was a thin, fine mesh net of some kind, strung between poles, nearly invisible against the brush, even to his enhanced sight. Why was it here? It was too thin and delicate, looking to hunt little more than the smallest of birds or perhaps jumpy rodents where the bottom mesh pocket hovered over the ground. 

Curious, Olivar wandered up to the mesh netting, reaching out a hand to touch it. It barely felt like anything, reminding him of spider webbing that he’s seen so far. It wouldn’t take much to rip it apart. Upon closer inspection, he noticed the wall of netting had four shelves. Each shelf had a deep pocket where the birds would fall into once they hit the net. 

It must be some baseline’s animal trap. He had never seen such a delicate contraption used by his brother-cousins nor did it make sense for them to use such contraptions.

A sudden gust of wind blew the netting into his face. 

The mesh netting immediately tangled into the zipper of his shirt. And the bottom netting was wrapped around the spikes on his chainsword’s handle, and around the rivets on the scabbard. 

Oh no.

He tried to back out, hoping maybe the netting wasn’t that tangled into his zipper. Of course, it seems like the light of the God Emperor was not shining on him this day, for as soon as he took a step back, the netting came along with him. Realizing he’s trapped by the top and bottom netting, Olivar sighed and started on trying to unhook the netting tangled into his zipper first. 

While his fingers were too big to get tangled into the mesh, they weren’t quite as dexterous to easily free the zipper on his shirt. Especially now that the wind speed was increasing and errant breezes kept pulling onto the netting every time Olivar thought he almost had it. He tried not to pull too hard on it, as he imagined netting like this was rather expensive to make. His frustration was quickly rising. 

“Olivar!”

He was about to rip the netting off when a familiar voice called out to him. 

“Claude! What are you doing here?” His Ravenguard brother appeared beside him. Olivar bristled at the thought of someone following him and finding him in such a state, but deep down he knew that Cedric had done this out of worry. 

“Cedric sent me. Do you know how worried we were?” Claude replied with a frown. If Cedric’s hair wasn’t already bleached-blond white, it would’ve turned white with the amount of worry and stress he was under. He wasn’t happy about his wayward brother adding to Cedric’s stress, “If you wanted to leave Gannet Point, you should’ve at least told one of us!” he chided. 

“I didn’t want anyone to follow me.” came Olivar’s brusque answer. 

Claude sighed, “We would’ve respected your wish for privacy had you told us.”

“And yet, you’re still here.” Olivar huffed, frowning at the Ravenguard. He’d cross his arms over his chest if they weren’t tangled in this damned netting. He should have known better than to actually touch something that was clearly meant to catch and hold onto things - or more likely animals. His patience at trying to gently and carefully untangle himself from the netting was rapidly depleting. 

Claude put down his gauntlets, crouched down, and started working to free Olivar’s chainsword scabbard from the netting. “Because you ran off without telling any of us where you were going - or at least that you wanted to wander.” Claude pointed out “There are suspected Primaris Killers on Ancient Terra and in order to stay safe, we need to be able to communicate clearly and effectively to each other.”

“You all didn’t tell the trusted older brothers or cousins about them, yet? I thought that Ancient Terra is supposed to be safer.” Olivar snarked, glowering grumpily at the Ravenguard. 

Claude had nearly fully disentangled Olivar's chainsword from the fine mesh netting when a strong breeze blew it back onto the both of them. He managed to dodge out of the way of most of the netting, but the Black Templar wasn’t so lucky. “We are… Gathering information and evidence, before coming forward with this information. It’s pretty rare, but occasionally the same marine from different points in his life walks simultaneously here on Ancient Terra. There’s also been times where marines have been pulled from a time before they knew friends they made later in life, or bitter rivals. Or before they changed sides.”

“So we need to know that the evil bastards who hunted us are from the time that they were guilty of being evil bastards before accusing them. By the throne, this is really shitty. And half of the reason why I left the base. Too many pushy firstborn marines.” Olivar grumbled.  “How did you find me?” He yanked on the netting irritably as he asks. 

“I followed the rumors about an unexpected Black Templar without a crusade wandering around growling at people. I was getting close to catching up to you just before you entered the forest.” Claude admits with a small sigh. “You need to stop yanking on the netting. There are more of these arounds and the more you struggle, the more likely it is you’re going to tear them and possibly get even more stuck.”

“What are these stupid nets even for, anyways? Punishing the curious and ignorant?” Olivar huffs, glowering at the delicate threads trapping him. 

Claude grins as he continues to untangle Olivar “Well, in addition to catching grumps, they are meant to gently capture tiny native birds, so that they can be studied. These nets are used for wildlife conservation research.”

Another gust, causing the mesh to fishtail along the mist net. This time the netting caught into the sharp corners of a crack in Claude’s pauldron, hooking over the corner of his holster cover, and around the tops of the snapbuttons on one of his utility belt pockets. 

Olivar snorted. “It seems as if I’m not the only one who’s gotten caught in this damned netting.” Petty vindication was his. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Claude groused back, sighing as he started on trying to untangle himself. “Laugh it up, you jerk.”

“Are we done trying to be gentle?” Olivar asks, yanking one of his hands against the increasingly tight netting. The fibers these were made out of were absolutely not strong enough to hold back one primaris, much less two. The temptation to just tear himself free was getting more appealing by the second.

Footsteps were coming. Astartes footsteps. Carrying the scent of an Iron Warrior. Both Primaris scouts stiffened for a moment, then hurriedly continued to free themselves from the netting as carefully as they could, unfortunately ripping some of the netting in the process.