Thread: Noblesse Obligé [Ghostwolf and Thaedael]

The two of them stood across from one another in an almost intimate distance from each other, the space afforded to them only marginally better now that Clara had gone off under his suggestion. It was not his intention to have been left alone with any of the nobles, especially not one that commanded as much respect as the lady before him. He was left to fend for himself, his aide away from his side, the one that had kept him anchored no matter the situation since she entered under his wing decades ago. However, this was not a war zone, and the people before him only had the best of intentions, as far as scheming and rubbing elbows with one another went. Though he couldn't help but notice how they circled around him like a carrion bird circled above a battlefield. Were it not for the individual tending to him already, he was sure they would be upon him in an instant. In this analogy, she would be the angel of mercy, the medicae that would tell him whether he would live to die another day, or be put to rest on this nameless field, his duty completed. He shook that analogy from his head, replacing the scarred landscape of a bombarded city park with that of the nobles around him in vibrant swirling colors. An uneasy smile came to rest upon his face, the action trying to deter others from perceiving what he felt was inner torment, before he focused once more. He had been spacing out too much, it was exactly like he had always said... he was losing bits of himself, the scars only now beginning to ache under healed wounds. Yes my, lady. he said, answering her question in kind. Beth he added in, referring to her by her first name. It was good to do away with such formalities. Outside of battle, outside the ivory tower of this spire, she would have been his equal, a man and a woman together conversing as if it were the most natural of things to do. However, she was a noble, and he, a decorated soldier, and such pleasantries were now frowned upon, the very actions of having a simple talk having repercussions and being open to interpretations. There would be subtexts, and webs within webs, a simple talk being construed to any hidden political agenda, every action a political intrigue. He was a strategist, and could appreciate the complexity of her world, but that made it no less intimidating to him. To him, it was a simple talk, and from the way she spoke freely of her mind, to him it appeared to be just as genuine a talk from her, a sincere interest in his person. However, it was easy to see the way that she commanded attention from everyone around her, that already an agenda was at play. Just who was she? Yes. I was named after the great saint. My mother... he stopped trying to figure out how to give the origin of his name a better story than what actually happened, or in other words, trying to find a way to put it into context while keeping out the unpleasant details. My mother was an educated woman, hailing from Vorlancia. She was a beautiful lady then, much like yourself, and had fallen in love with a handsome young man from the Imperial Navy on leave here on Vorlancia. He stopped, realizing that he was probably boring her with the trivialities of how he got his name, as opposed to having just said yes. Around him people drew closer, the unbearable heat pooling off their bodies as they pressed around him , leaving only but a small space between the two. They fell in love, much the way you would expect people in more romantic times would. He would go to her, serenading her with his instruments below her university's window at night. Truly a story befitting of a fairy-tale told to children before bed. However, it was not always to be this way, for he had returned to the service when his leave was completed... The battle had been fierce, and all about them the corpses laid fresh, their blood pooling around the metal floors of the ship's bridge. The consoles were left smashed, their metal frames buckled in upon the weight of explosions and impacts of greater force. All about them the green glass of instruments laid scattered, cracking under the armored feet of the Inquisitorial Storm Troopers that had boarded the infantry transport ship. The sirens continued to wail, their haunting tone echoing about the metal graveyard the bridge had become, the spinning orange lights giving an already more visceral look to the horror that laid before them. By His throne... one of the medicae muttered under her breath, looking away from the carnage on the bridge. She couldn't bear to look at the carnage before her, the after effects of a Chaos Space Marine boarding leaving the room tainted. About them the maddening scrawls of the language of the dark gods were written in the blood of the recently massacred. They lined the three walls of the bridge, starting at eye level down to the floor, all but the main wall where windows once were. In their place was the shielding that had slid into place automatically after the room had been vented into space. The very written words themselves caused the eye to hurt, tracing upon lines and symmetry that were impossible, yet possible, causing one's mind to invert upon itself. The medicae had been warned to not look at anything that was tainted in such a way, let alone any potential corpses of cultists or chaos marines that had been left on board. One of the medicae fell to the filth of the floor, convulsing and speaking in tongues that were dark and ominous, before his life was taken from him, brain matter splattered against the floor as he was executed by a hell pistol from the lead Storm Trooper. The other medicae cried out in terror at the action, but were held by restraint by the remaining inquisitorial storm troopers. The lead man in the group walked forward, across his chest an Inquisitorial seal hanging low upon a golden chain, a sign of his affiliation to the Inquisitor that had demanded the boarding party. The soldiers garbed in deep crimson armor parted, allowing the man through to the middle of the room. It was his objective to find out the implications that such an attack had, if there were any at all, before scuttling the naval troop transport. It would appear there is little to go by. the man stated with hatred on his words. The heretics left no clue as to their design. He spoke into a hidden com-bead in the neck of his carapace armor. Our duty here is done, cleanse the remaining offensive materials, gather what data you can, and scuttle the ship he ordered the gathered Inquisitorial Storm Troopers. There was no need to tell them twice, and already teams moved in, pairs of data specialists entering cognitive banks with hand-held dark age technology to tear at their data banks, while others thumbed on the ignition to portable melta guns and flamers, the hiss of super heating material and pilot flames igniting. One such pair kicked open a door to the captain's quarters, before hearing the whimpered crying of a lady before them. Sir, we have a live one the storm trooper had called across to the room, halting the acolyte of the Inquisitor. He turned, annoyance on his face. She had remained on the floor, covered in what he presumed to have been the blood of the victims in the adjoining bridge. She was on the floor, clutching the gold plated idol of a saint he recognized well, the Shepard of the people, a popular saint for navy officers that operated transports such as this. She was crying to herself, her knuckles white at the idol she grasped in tight hands, her face pale, lips blue and hypothermic. What happened here? he demanded, not caring for her state of being. Lives were at risk here. What did they do to you he shouted. She broke into tears further, wailing loudly at the forced recollection of what had happened on the bridge. I was visiting my husband from the planet he had been stationed at when they attacked she cried out. We had been told to get as many of the soldiers and civilians off the planet as we could, the world was at siege by the crimson tide. We made good on our escape, breaking through the lines of the enemy fleet, before breaking through to the warp. That's where it all went wrong. We were assaulted by... what could only be described as demons in the warp. The acolyte was shocked, and agitated. Interrupting the story of the woman, he spoke into his voice bead again. It is confirmed, they were jumping from another world under attack by the Crimson Tide. Access the navigator's cognitor banks, find out what vector they took through the immaterium. We had to leave the warp, and we hailed to all nearby friendlies on all channels of communications, but it was too late. They had caught up with our convoy, and made short work of the lighter cruisers that had made the jump with us. The Pride of Crestfallen had taken a severe pounding from the main ship of the enemy fleet, before engaging it's warp drives to over-load and collapse space around it, taking with it several scores of the lighter ships as well as damaging a few of the larger ones. Then came the boarding... The woman coughed, red blood bubbling at the corner of her mouth. Arterial blood, probably from the lung, she didn't have long to live he gaged. She had slumped against the edge of the bed, revealing the girth of her stomach, the woman was clearly pregnant. Get the medicae in here quickly. He shouted into the bridge from the doorway with due haste. They had rushed in, carrying equipment and escorted by Storm Troopers. Before long they were taking her pulse, and that of the child she was burdened with. Will he be alright? she asked to him, pleading with her eyes. By the good graces of the Emperor, he shall he lied to her, comforting her in her remaining moments. The medicae had finished their initial assessment in a manner of minutes, leaving the room empty but for the weeping girl, and the sounds of their instruments. The baby is in distress but otherwise is fine. The mother on the other hand... he nodded his head from side to side, meaning that she didn't have long to live. Then do as you must, save the child the man ordered. The mother nodded, understanding full well what they intended to do. The remaining medicae had filled into the room, moving the woman onto the bed, the only intact surface of the whole area. She had held onto his hand, the caesarean section being performed on her without having putting under, her voice screaming as they cut, terrible wails echoing out the room and putting even the veteran soldiers on edge at her pain, stern looks across their faces as they tried to continue their assigned tasks. What will you name him. he asked, trying to show compassion in the last moments. He had long since ran out of compassion in the service to the Inquisitor, understanding full well the horrors of the universe and of his fellow man. It was but a dying woman's wish to have something to cling unto, to be symbolic of the good faith in humanity, and it was this which he fulfilled. We hadn't come up with a name yet... she screamed again, before catching her breath. Its why I came to see him. How I wanted to hold him so... she said, fighting with her consciousness. Ilya Garin. It was his name, and to only this name he would answer. His face was drawn into a serious contemplating look, the crowd looking on to him in hushed silence. He had told the story as it happened, glossing over the brutal nature of the engagement, and the truth of Daemons which was to be kept from the public's mind. He had memorized the file by the earliest age he learned to read, having read the report that the acolyte had submitted to the Schola Progenium so many times as a child that it was still fresh in his mind to this day. His mother had died, leaving him unnamed, his father long lost in ways that were still not known to him today. He had not known their love or care, nor would he ever. It was by his father's actions in coordinating the evacuation process, in his stubborn refusal to give in to the tide of chaos, and through his actions alone during the intense battle that had last only twenty minutes in space, that he was given the chance to at a real life. A life in the service to the Imperium, and his Emperor. His father never received recognition for his actions, the majority of the story censored from all but the internal machines of the Ordo Hereticus and their allied Ecclesiarchy. He was that honor, having been named after the saint in honor of the lives his father saved, but tens of thousands in the hundreds of thousands that had made the initial escape. My mother had come to see him, to give news that she was pregnant with his child he said with a stern face. The story he told was sobering, and many of the nobles had drawn quiet, the area immediately around him silenced by the tale as he continued to tell it. A lot of the returning soldiers came from the Schola Preogenium, but with it, the price of admission was one of blood and duty, for only orphans were sent there, a sullen reminder of the price of their freedom. She hadn't even named me yet, not even knowing my gender, because she wanted to hold unto that last little bit of surprise when he met him for the last time. She had died during the operation, a look of relief upon her face as the man consoled her, telling her of the heroic actions her husband had done. She still hadn't named me, and never would have the chance, in one hand she clutched his hand, the other a statue of a golden saint you see upon my breast today, before taking her last breath. he pounded at the the breast plate gently with the back of his bionic hand, a light chiming noise. She was a historian, much like many that inhabit the spires these days on Vorlancia, and had always taken interest in the study of Saints. It was probably this fascination with them that lead her to love my father. It was with this love of glories past she had brought a golden statuette of the saint with her to ward his trips with safety. It was because of his actions, and her education that I was named after the saint. He stopped, taking a moment to relax his throat, having talked for nearly twenty minutes on the whole affair. It is not easy to be taken from everything you never had a chance to experience, and being placed into the Schola Progenium. You are gathered with people from different races, creeds, and planets, the only thing in common being the lack of parents. You are taught to love the Imperium, with unwavering dedication, unwavering affection. It is through this love that bonds are forged, where characters built, and faith tempered into an unyielding sword. he sounded much like the propganda he was fed as a kid. Try as he might, it was every bit as true as when it was told to him, and like when he was a kid, many of the gathered nobles disregarded the hardships of what it meant to become the things they had become. The majority of them only did the grueling basic training that was required of the Planetary Defense Force. It is even harder to be trained in the ways that many of us here tonight have been graced with being taught. For they are designed to break your body and mind, you strength and resolve. For the privileged of paying back our education we are taught to lay down our lives in the defense of our ideals, no price too high for the very soul that the Schola had given us. A sense of purpose, a sense of resolve, and the training to do so. He finally drew back to Elizabeth before him. It was impossible to have an intimate conversation with her without someone in the crowd having butted in, or asked him to repeat himself and the like, and so the initial question had spiraled out of control to the point he decided to address them all with the story of how he got his name. There were times when I thought I would die. There were times where I wished I would die. Being taught to fight while blind folded in an environment where gravity changes. Being made to swim in an oxygen deprived room. These are hardships that prepare the body. Being told about heroes of old. Educated about saints. These were lessons that prepared the mind. Fighting each-other as a team, unwavering loyalty in one another, these prepare the soul. I had to deal with all of this while dealing with the name of a Saint, one from our own world mind you he laughed out loud to the gathered crowd, his laughter not being returned from the sobered crowd. They had special attention for me, trying that much harder, pushing me that much more. Fitting isn't it, for it appeared to work had it not? Being instilled with a strong sense of justice and love for the Imperium, it was no wonder that I had repeated the very same tragedies of those before me, my father and my namesake. He had used a an interesting word. Tragedy . The word echoed in his mind, realizing that he should have used a different word to continue to look the part, but this was what it truly was. Like those before him, he expended the lives of his men to save many more. Was no price too high to save a life? He had sold the lives of those under his life at a high price, saving many more than he had lost, but was it all for naught. Have I done the name proud? I can only pray that history will see me that way. For I do not, he thought to himself. About him people begun to chatter once more as his story came to an end, leaving the two in awkward silence again. He was lost in his own thoughts, the massacre at the hive world of Fair Frozen fresh in his mind, his bionic arm aching in quiet sympathy to the limb and lives lost there. His headache had finally abated from the silence the crowd had graced him with, leaving his head free to swim in doubts and memories of the last battle, the one that had been names as the Hero Maker by the nobles in this room upon their return, for all seven of them had been honored for it. Had he done the his namesake proud? I... he said, talking to Elizabeth, and to Elizabeth alone. I need to excuse myself, my lady he said, before parting the crowd about him, before heading off towards a hallway that lead off from the main ballroom. The path stood upon, people shifting about and dispersing as the hero left, leaving a clear path for him to follow him to a more secluded part of the governor's estate. The applause was loud about the three of them, the crowd cheering and laughing all the while tears of laughter formed freshly on many faces. Zach was thoroughly embarrassed, but her version of the story did not leave Vince unscathed either, both of them red in the face as the girls laughed and hollered. However, it only made them all the more popular, leaving them surrounded in their own personal harems of girls as Victoria made her way out from the crowd. Many of the men followed her, but she paid no heed, intent on going back to Ilya Garin. There was no other man for her, she only wanted him, and with her second lease on life, it would take an army of men to stop her from getting what she wanted. That was her goal in the coming days at the governor's house. Heading in the direction from whence she originally came, she was confronted with the smile and applaud of Clara, who smiled directly at her, and her alone. I beg your pardon. I got suckered into playing their game she said, a sense of humor surrounding the girl that was not present when she was with Ilya earlier. I am glad to make your presence was more my lady. Shall we go and meet with our friends? She asked, extending an arm for her to take, forming a simple loop in which she could feed her arm through walking arm in arm.