Thread: Noblesse Obligé [Ghostwolf and Thaedael]

The sound. The sound washed over the soldiers that had disembarked in an orderly fashion, an aura of reflected civic pride hung in the air around these revered veterans. The noise was deafening, made all the more apparent by the still-ringing ears of the veterans, where the majority of the sound was felt in the depths of their rib-cages, the music of the band, the speaking of crowds, and the gathered sounds of people from all over the spire, each resounding in their chest cavities. However loud the sound, it was not a war-torn ashen waste of a hive world lost to damnation, but the sounds of genuine relief, and joyous celebrations. Gone were the stench of blood, oil, dust, rubble, and despair, only to be replaced by the fragrance of a world that reveled in all the glory of the Emperor. Each dismounted detachment of Imperial Storm Troopers stood in simple formations, in rank and file, in a direct line that could be traced from the opened ramps of the Aquila landers. Each lander had carried eight soldiers, how they had managed to fit an additional two in each, that would be a secret relegated to the archives of the inquisition under lock and key for the benefit of mankind. They were back-lit from the sun that rose further into the Vorlancian skyline, the sun feeding through the formations of soldiers, encasing them in blazing halos of light, as if they were the very Saints of old upon which the majority of their studies were founded from. They stood at attention, in disciplined fashion, putting on a show for the local population. It was this population whom, in times of recent, needed such beacons of hope, such strengths and ideals to aspire to. What could be a better example than seven Heroes of the Imperium coming home, let alone the additional storm troopers granted leave? Where a whole sub-sector may be graced by only one such individual every century, there were seven heroes here today, and their very existence a testament to the rigorous training that is undergone on their home planet. Despite the commonalities in equipment and dress that the nobles had to the assembled guests of the governor, they stood in stark contrast from one another. Where as fine patina or freshly polished armor adorned the nobles, the veterans wore equipment that bore the fresh scars of war. Where as every edge, lip, and detail was embellished and highly refined, those of the soldiers were understated, dented, and scraped. Where the nobles wore fine silken clothes, and up to date fashion under the ceremonial chest plates or carapace armor, the soldiers wore the raid clothes for which they were famed for. This was not to say that the equipment was not well maintained, for despite all these things, they shone just as vibrantly. No, the main difference between the groups that were separated by the raised lip of the landing pad, were the honors bestowed upon them by the leaders of the campaigns. Across each of their chest-plates of their carapace armor, were the painted honors that each of the soldiers had received, official medals forth-coming at the evening gala of the governor. Where as nobles may have just had a handful of ribbons and medals for completing simple tours of duties, each of these Storm Troopers were highly decorated. Even the most distinguished of the nobles, those that had gone on to lead successful careers through decades of faithful service to the Emperor, had fewer, and those that they did were of less merit. Then there were the seven Heroes themselves, the reason anyone showed up to this reception, they were in a league of their own. The pict-casters hung in lazy orbit above the assembled crowd, flying in oblong flight paths as they showed the top of the spire flooded with a sea of people. A single pict-caster broke from the group, flying in low over the crowd, catching views of the gathered nobles, before lifting up off the crowd towards the assembled men. At the head of each group was one of the heroes whom which the crowd were cheering for, pointing to, and even calling by name, many having done research in the weeks leading up to their arrival. They wore much the same equipment, save for one difference a golden chest-piece that replaced the breast-plate of their own carapace armor. Each was a master crafted piece of equipment, every bit as functional as it was ornamental, a sign of office, a sign of prestige, a sign of unrivaled military prowess. The pict-caster once more turned around from the previous pass, before circling each of the Heroes one at a time, before finally coming to Ilya. Already the music begun to die down as it circled him, the last hero to be observed for the viewers at home, in the schools, or even the farms, of their planet, and those of neighboring planets. It circled around his boots, starting at the worn black leather boots that had been polished to so fine a sheen it looked metallic, which only helped blend in the dark metal plates that adorned it. They were scratched, chipped, and stained, but they were every bit a part of him. It slowly continued to circle around him, flying in tighter and tighter circles, his raid clothes were of the simple blues and grays that their company was known for, pressed into some parts by the black straps that kept the armor and slings in place. The crowd begun to hush down, but a few murmurs could be heard in appreciation of the golden plate that adorned his chest, a double headed Aquila like the others. It was, however, more ornamental than the other's, the likeliness of Saint Ilya, from who he took his name, was delicately sculpted into the armor from one side, with the silhouette of many storm troopers running across the plate laterally from under his gaze. He waved with his bionic hand at the pict-caster, giving a nod to the audience at home. The operator, content, flew it away, which heralded the start of the procession. The Seneschal approached. Welcome, welcome! He afforded Ilya a glance, followed by a nod which he took to be a sign of respect. Gentlemen. Ladies. Welcome to Vorlancia. He had spun easily, as he spoke, his oratory skills impressive by Ilya's own account. My name is Iactus Cadmun, the Governors Seneschal and I shall be taking care of you very fine lucky people during your stay here. Now if you would like to follow me, we shall get you refreshed somewhere much more comfortable. In the meantime, the Governor and his chosen guests and friends indicating the viewing platform shall make their way to receive you. The fanfare from the band begun to start again, a similar and nostalgic theme that was heard decades ago, when they themselves were presented to the citizens as a tithe to the Emperor. Before long they were assembled once more, having been marched through the overly-ornate house of a planetary governor. Ilya was humbled, even the biggest of houses he had fought his way through, corridor by bloody corridor, room by room, was put to shame at the size and wealth of this household. Where as the others continued to walk about following the man, he was left cowed by the sight of the drawing room, standing with arms loose to either side as he stared up at the high vaulted ceilings of the room in awe. Don't just stand there like a slack-jawed idiot came the not so re-assuring voice of his aide. Victoria, his most senior adjutant, was standing just inside the entrance, the rest of the group gathered at the furthest wall around the Seneschal as he continued to laugh with a booming voice, and explain the agenda. I haven't seen you look that stunned since... she bit her lip instantly, realizing the mistake after it was already made. Sorry, Sir. It's fine Victoria. I was just impressed by this place. I have always tried to imagine what the places we went to... what they might have looked like before we got there. he responded, his voice level. She knew him to well however, and could read him inside and out, his expression, his body language, and tone of voice. While it may be true he was taken in by the sights, she knew he had just deflected her. Her eyes couldn't help but wander to his arm, his bionic arm, before sadly looking away. Let's hurry up, Sir she managed, to say, with her back to him she rejoined the group, leaving Ilya to come at his own pace. He continued to look at the ceiling, before finally looking down to his own body. He rubbed his bionic arm, remembering exactly what she referenced. Was it... was it so memorable an event to see him that stunned that every time since, where he may be pensive that she commented in such a way? He shook his head free of the thoughts, approaching the assembled troops. ...any of the fine foods on offer later! the man had finally finished talking to the assembled group. He gave out a booming laugh, before disappearing from the assembled men, leaving them breathing room. Anyone else feeling out of place yet? one of the younger soldiers asked to the group. A collective chuckle was given out, an answer given without actually answering the question. Thank god, I thought I was the only one he laughed, before walking to the table upon which the spread of food was laid out. They mingled with one another. This was the second time they have met since the end of the campaign. The usual pleasantries were exchanged, sly comments on the nature of their guide, all the way to the likes of the mansion in which they were abandoned in, all the more foreign to them like a battlefield was to the noble. At least there was no threat of being killed here, Emperor forbid. Sir? again he was stirred from thought by Victoria. It's fine, you don't need to... I am not here to apologize she cut him off. She was one of the few people that would cut him off, one that could cut him off. She held out a fine plate, an assortment of delicacies placed in regular patterns around the plate that she had assembled for him. We need you at your best after all she managed, before walking off, not even giving him a chance to refuse. Now that we are all retiring, boy does she have you whipped Jordan quipped in, walking in from the side of his field of vision, plate of his own full of food in a great mound. The front of his armor was already beginning to show food wear and tear. Remember what I asked you on the first night she became your adjutant, what was that hell hole... Ishitar IV? Ilya responded. Yeah, that was a good four, one of the best fours we have ever been too he smiled. Have you thought about it? Since then I mean? He asked. No he responded with a short no, trying to dismiss the topic. Everything has changed Ilya, I mean Sir. Why don't you go after her, you could have a good... Nothing has changed he managed to say in a calm voice. As if on cue to change the topic, doors from one side of the drawing room opened, the assembled staff of the Governor's palace walking in with various regalia and formal military attire. Esteemed guests. We have brought your military uniforms for the event, feel free to change at your leisure. Tell us your name, we will then give you your formal attire for the evening, and we will take care of all your equipment making sure it is brought to your respective rooms the head girl said. Already lines begun to form as plates were being put down. Nothing has changed Ilya repeated. You have changed Jordan responded, before putting down his plate to walk towards the staff. The statement was vehement, and heartfelt, Jordan always spoke from the heart, and they both knew it. He was the conscience of their crew. Ilya put his plate down, walking towards the staff himself. The eruption from the crowd had once more stirred his mind from the internal thoughts he had struggled with. All around him, people pointed, stared, and chattered among themselves, the ruling elite of the planet all gathered in the same room. Gentlemen. Ladies. Vorlancia welcomes you. Vorlancia celebrates you. Vorlancia owes you. Gentlemen, Ladies, I Septin Rayna, the designated Imperial Governor of this world thank you all on behalf of Vorlancia. You have done your duty. You have served the Emperor, and in doing so you have protected His people and his worlds. You have done, so that we do not have to. Vorlancia is in your debt. Vorlancia salutes you. The man snapped a salute to the gathered soldiers, now dressed in their formal uniforms, each of them returning the salute to him. Now, tell us. Who exactly are these Heroes we give thanks to? Introduce yourself The Governor questioned, clasping his hands behind his back. From the tiered balconies the nobles looked. Of the seven heroes, most knew, and could tell them apart from one another, but for the others, putting a face to the legend would be important for the coming events. Each pod of seven was once again given the spotlight, each in turn introducing themselves, up until once again, Ilya group went last. Bryce, Jordan. Gallant, Vincent. Mays, Victoria. Schroeder, Zacharias. Patterson, John. Garin, Ilya. The crowd cheered in turn at each of the members of his hand picked retinue, before cheering and clapping for himself, before raw hands and sore throats gave way to the Governer again. Good. This is your reward, each and every one of you. Enjoy it to the full. You shall want for very little here in Omon and in Vandire. Today we celebrate your return, it shall be the first of many celebrations we have in your honour. Now, thats enough formality. Let us move to the ballroom and begin enjoying ourselves, ey? The Governor nodded with a smile, as again applause broke out from the balconies. A side door in the hall opened to an even larger room. Gentlemen, Ladies. He addressed those gathered in the hall before him, gesturing towards the ballroom Would you please lead us in, we shall join you momentarily. Enjoy. Did you hear THAT Zach said to the others. They applauded me, not you he laughed giving Vincent a slap on the back. It's about time I stepped out from under your shadow. Took you long enough, you would think I were a one hundred meter ork with a shadow as long as a building with the time it took you to crawl out from under my excellence he said with a barbed tongue, that was just being playfully mocking. Behave children. They were applauding you, because you are going to be the play-thing of the nobles for the next few hours. Behave yourselves. Victoria cut in, trying to remind them why they were here in the first place. She walked in through the double doors of the audience room into the ballroom. But Moooooooooooom John responded. Let them have their fun tonight, like everyone keeps saying to ad naseum, it's not like they haven't deserved the chance to have a good night Ilya said, undercutting her authority. It was the first time he had ever done it, and everyone was taken aback. But... Sir she interrupted. It's fine, you know they will behave themselves, just because you asked. They won't embarrass you too badly. Heads up, here they come. The first of the nobles begun to appear, walking down large circular staircases from the balconies above into the space.