Rosncranz and Gilnstrum Get Fed

"Be wary of elderly folk in professions where practitioners do not usually live to grow old." A common saying in many different cultures, it has almost universal appeal amongst mortal races because it rings with truth. But does it apply when your entire culture is in one profession and all the practitioners are thousands of years old? Should you be wary of them at all?

Of course, new Chaos Space Marines are created and ordained every day, but these never seem to integrate as fully into the brotherhood, or at least the twisted version of brotherhood, that the Chaos Space Marines share. They also tend not to last as long, and the overwhelming majority of Chaos Marines are the same as the ones that fought in the Horus Heresy. Just look at the Thousand Sons. Those mounds of dust haven't gone anywhere in all of their innumerable battles and years of war. I mean, at least I don't think they dust every recruit they get. It would be odd to have them all geneseeded and surgically fixed up and then to disintegrate them to avoid mutation. Of course, that's something Tzeentch is all over so you never really know. Perhaps it's all a part of a grand plan. But from what I've seen of those bird brained schemers tend to do a lot of pretending that things were working the way they planned it.

Once, when we actually had most of a full regiment of those rubric marines as allies and their leader as our joint Warbands' Chaos Lord, the guy never once told us what he was thinking and ended up cackling "Just as planned!" even as the Orks were pulverizing his face into something that resembled a run over and stomped on genestealer. We still have one of those empty shells around. Not much of a conversational partner and he needs to be wheeled all over the place after the psyker lord bit the, well, dust. He looks sad all the time now, even when I try to cheer him up. It may just be his helmet though. He doesn't exactly have much behind that. Anyway, what was I saying?

Oh right, so my original point was that most Chaos Space Marines seem to fall under the category of "Unmitigated Badass" simply because we've lived so long in a mostly untenable situation that is best described as "perpetual warfare" or "only war." And yet, I really don't think that's the case. At least, I don't feel like a badass. I asked Gilnstrum if he felt like a badass, and after pshawing me and reminding me that he was a World Eater and that World Eater was a proper noun that was synonymous with the phrase "total badass" he admitted, no. No, he didn't feel like a badass much.

Sometimes he'd do something awesome, like twist around in a full circle before nailing an enemy combatant in the face with a round from a bolter he was shooting with one hand while enraged, but then he'd end up feeling quite lame because he'd turn around to ask "Did you see that?" and there would never be anyone behind him to answer him. Or else it was just another loyalist guardsman who was too busy whimpering and crying and unloading his lasgun into the air to notice. Those guardsmen get everywhere. Strolling through a city with a raiding party, it is impossible to even turn a corner or open a door or lift a rock up while looking for usable goods without finding another one huddling in fear.

If only our cannon fodder were so numerous. We have basically no slaves or cultists to speak of. Really, all we have are other Chaos Marines. And believe me, they get really peeved when you call them cannon fodder. Like thrown-out-of-a-cruiser-in-midflight peeved. Let me tell you, that one hurt. At least they came back for me. And the berserker did sheepishly apologize and spend the rest of the night repairing the hole he'd made in our craft. Of course the guy then died a week later fighting with the Titan that those Orks have. He was one hell of a fighter too. He sat back up and waved a weapon vaguely in the air after the Titan had stomped on him. He didn't quite survive the second time that massive foot came down. At least he tried. His fellow Khornate berserkers went the same way, against incredible odds, but it didn't look really badass. It looked somewhat foolish. Also like overkill.

But yeah, I've really never felt quite badass in the thousands of years I've been an Iron Warrior. I mean, sure, there were numerous badass moments, and I've certainly felt the joy of kicking ass and taking names, or even skipping the paperwork entirely. But I've never felt like a walking killing machine and I've never spoken completely in bad clichés without feeling extremely corny. I've also never chewed on scenery or carried around Carnifex meat hams or kicked bubblegum or whatever it is that makes people think you're a badass. I mean, I've never entirely played it safe, but I haven't exactly been balls to the walls daring either. It just never seemed like a good idea to go on a reckless charge through enemy forces just to prove I could. I mean, I know I can, what's the point of showing everyone and then getting cut down by a wayward slug from a Titan mounted railgun? I've never done the embracing death thing, which may be why I've never been too badass. Maybe if there were another Black Crusade or something. I never got to see much of the action during the last one, When I was finally going to be deployed, they called the whole thing off and I ended up in this backwater sector. Anyway, if I had to go, I'd want to fight worthy enemies, mostly so I don't end up in the books with the footnote "slain by loyalist guardsmen" or "stuck by a grot." That would be kind of awful.

Gilnstrum agrees with my sentiment, even as a World Eater, especially as a World Eater. He says he'd feel like he was letting everyone down if something mundane killed him. He personally wants to go out riding a Carnifex strapped with bombs into a wave of loyalist Ultramarines while wielding three chainswords and snorting illicit drugs or something off the back of their chapter master he was anally violating with the chapter master’s own powerfist. But that's mostly his rage talking, and he doesn't actually really want to go out at all. He's perfectly fine with ripping and tearing and shooting into the guys we fight every now and then. But he wouldn't do anything rash. He was pretty beat up after that warband of Khornate Berserkers were wiped out. Okay, we were all really beat up, but I mean emotionally. It was like being back with the boys for Gilnstrum. He definitely misses the company, being the only World Eater in our current Warband and all. I tried my best to cheer him up by offering to go running through an Imperial city slaughtering civilians with him, but apparently Iron Warrior berserking just isn't the same. He apologized profusely, but I understood.

Our current Warband is mostly Word Bearers and Luna Wolves, though we have a couple of Death Guard that stink up the back of the cruiser, a good deal of Alpha Legionnaires that keep to themselves and leave by themselves on their own Raider without saying anything, two Emperor's Children that just really creep me out, that one Rubric Marine, and Gilnstrum and me. I serve as the cook of the ship. Since we have less surviving slaves than marines, we find ourselves doing mundane tasks around the cruiser or camp. Often times I made the most of impalpable ingredients that we raided from whatever worlds in this desolate sector we end up on. Sometimes one of the crew will challenge my position as cook and we end up squaring off before a panel of judges, but I always end up making a better dish.

That's not important right now. What is important and goes with my previous thesis that I keep wandering away from, is that Gilnstrum and I have been here ever since that original distress call from that Chaos Lord from whenever ago, when that Titan was stolen from Chaos right under the noses of those loyalist Blood Jaguars. Our warbands and another World Eater warband were the only ones to respond to the call. And afterwards we suffered heavily losses from both the Blood Jaguars and the Scraplootas. But the thing was, when we left with our tails between our legs, ready to leave the sector, the Warp spit us back out in the same sector. Again and again. No matter how hard we tried, we could not break out of this wretched sector with only one group of loyalist marines, a handful of Imperial worlds defended by planetary defense forces, some Tau petering in from the neighboring sector, a bunch of Orks, one craftworld and some Dark Eldar, what seemed like a tomb world, and one destroyed Chaos stronghold, completely razed to the ground, the very earth it stood on burnt and salted. One Warband strong, we weren't going to get much done. But Gilnstrum and I didn't give up hope. And eventually a Warband of Death Guards showed up, and despite the stench we got along pretty well, that is until they started outnumbering us as our fights kept getting more desperate. Absolute slobs those plague marines. They wouldn't know proper hygiene if it manifested as a daemon and tore through their forces, leaving behind streak free shines and significantly better smelling Marines. But they were also being beaten down and destroyed, systematically sometimes. So we ended up getting reinforced by lost Luna Wolves. And then Emperor's Children, and so on. But throughout all the chaos of the changing of guard and new self appointed warband leaders, Gilnstrum and I have stayed a constant.

We go way back, Gilnstrum and I. Back to when we were both scouts before the Heresy. We were stationed on the same world, a group of Iron Warriors and War Hounds. Every week we'd get together for a game of Emperorball or what have you, and it was generally good fun. Gilnstrum had always been a dumb jock, and they all said I had the potential to become a Librarian, if I ever manifested psyker powers. Which I didn't. Those were good times. The world was at peace and most of our duties included marching in parades. Of course, we were shipped off, but Gilnstrum and I kept in touch, signed up for the same tours of duty when we could.

Right before the Heresy, Gilnstrum and I were sent out to the far reaches of the Imperium with the rest of our regiments, we were to serve as the honor guard for this prince. A sad looking man-child who complained a lot, if I remember correctly. He was the nephew of a planetary lord who didn't want the guy moping around the palace anymore. So the lord sent the prince to a faraway world with a package. And both the prince and the package would stay on the world in exile. Or something like that. The prince’s name was Hamtaro or something. Anyway, the exact situation escapes me after ten thousand years. We were basically at the planet when news of the Heresy erupted. Everyone else was super excited because this was apparently the big event Horus had been planning for a while now, and honestly I hadn't paid much attention at the interest meetings but I still wanted to know what the big hubbub was. In the excitement we killed the prince and commandeered the ship, turning it around and redirecting it towards Holy Terra. They kept talking about overthrowing the Imperium and even Gilnstrum was high strung and giddy about this. I personally had never been anywhere near Holy Terra, and didn't really have much of an opinion about the rule of the Imperium or the God Emperor. I guess coming from a backwater world does that to a guy. Gilnstrum had actually been in the presence of the God Emperor, close enough to see his radiance with his own eyes. He had described him as more beautiful and awe-inspiring than all of the Primarchs combined. So it was weird that he was all for overturning the guy's rule. I suppose he was swept up in the moment.

We exit the Warp to find out we had gotten stuck in a storm or something, because it was over. The Horus Heresy was over and Horus was dead and the God Emperor was mortally wounded. We were labeled as heretics, mostly because we responded to Horus's call and our legions were already declared traitor. So we left for the Eye of Terror like the rest of our forces. I don't remember it too well because it wasn't punctuated by high emotions like it was for other people. Gilnstrum still remembers how upset he was. Anyway, I guess this means I didn't so much turn traitor as rotate slightly in one direction. I didn't so much fall as saunter vaguely downwards. A bunch of things happened after that, ten thousand years and a bunch of Black Crusades worth, but you get the picture.

Anyway, so Gilnstrum and I have been in this ever changing warband since the very beginning. We haven't even really gotten a chance to name ourselves because our numbers change so frequently. One of the Emperor's Children had said something along the lines of the Glorious Tragedians but we haven't really settled on anything. Neither of us has ever tried to take charge. It never works out well for the guy in charge. He's gone by the end of the month usually, and then there's some infighting and the ranks are switched around. Gilnstrum and I are pretty low in the pecking order, but that suits us fine. No high expectations of the guys who rank under those smelly-ass plague marines.

So yes, my point is, despite common sayings and whatnot, Gilnstrum and I are not the most badass members of the Warband. We don't even try. Yes, we're the most senior members, technically, and yes we look before we leap and yes we poke our bolters into bushes in case they contain loyalists or Orks, but in no way can you consider us elderly folk in professions where practitioners do not usually live to grow old. Okay, so yes, you can consider us that, I guess, though I still don't feel very elderly, but we're nothing to be wary of, as far as Chaos Space Marines go is I guess the point I'm trying to make. I mean, depending on who you are and what you do I guess Chaos Space Marines may be something to be wary of by default, but if you're trying to fish for badasses, there are a lot bigger fish in the sea.


The Tau before us blinks twice. She's at least let us sit upright in the netting we're trapped in, and she's given us both some of her rations, which was very generous of her. Especially because we're her prisoners.
...Just don't ask how we got into this position. I'll just say that there is properly paranoid and overly paranoid and be done with it. Second guessing is also a horrible horrible thing to do. Gilnstrum is still upset we spent so much time arguing over something that was clearly a trap.
She scratches her head, "So dat long spiel was just you sayin' you guys ain't a great catch?"
"Of course not! We fell for your stupid trap!" Those are the first intelligible words Gilnstrum has said this entire night. I don't know how intelligent that Tau was for thinking that we'd fall for that trap, or how intelligent she thinks Chaos Space Marines are that they'd fall for a trap like that, or how intelligent we are for falling for that trap anyway.
"You could surely do better than just us. Besides, we don't have any worthwhile lootables and our flesh is probably gross tasting." I really don't want to be bested and killed by a solitary Tau looking for a worthy fight. Though what she's doing out here by herself, and why she has such a weird accent, is a mystery. Perhaps she's one of those savage Xeno, parents dead and raised by Tyranids or whatever. I also want to know why her definition of a worthy fight includes trapping us in this unbreakable netting. Seriously. There's no breaking this stuff. Not even with my powerfist. Not even with Gilnstrum raging as hard as he could. And he can rage pretty hard. It was really uncomfortable being in close quarters with his rage. But I guess that's to be expected.
"But I gotta come back wid a worthy opponent. Rockeata said it's fer a test of character."
"I would go so far to say that we're both quite characters, but we're definitely not certified to test anyone. What kind of test of character?"
The Tau shrugged, "We just gotta few new Kommandoz from some Freebootaz that joined up after we krumped their Warboss. Rockeata wants ta test their meddle, and not just their armor bits, their inna armor or sumfin'."
"Yeah, we aren't exactly the best Chaos Marines to be testing inner armor or mettle with. We're hard on the outside but not on the inside. Quite squishy actually. Not much inner armor ourselves."
"We do know one that would do though. A few of them."
I turn to Gilnstrum, "We do?"
He nods very emphatically, "And we could go get some of them for you if you could just release us from the netting here."
The Tau rubbed her chin and then nodded carefully. It took us about ten minutes to get Gilnstrum untangled from the netting because of all of his spikes.
We shake hands briefly with the Tau, or at least Gilnstrum does. My powerfist being far too large to shake. We exchange introductions. She calls herself Blue and she expects us to come back with a replacement catch by the end of the night. She even gives us our bolters back.
Walking off, Gilnstrum and I brofist carefully. You have to brofist carefully when you have a powerfist. No reason to risk unnecessary injury.
"So, who do you think we'll bag for the Tau?"
Gilnstrum turns to me like I'm crazy, "Are you seriously considering--"
"Well, we did promise her. And come off it, there's gotta be at least one person in the Warband that is insufferable enough that if he were to go missing no one would go looking for him."
"I'm pretty sure we'd fall under those requirements."
"Someone besides us."
A large insect chirps in the underbrush. Some animal calls in the distance.
We come up with the name at the same time and carefully brofist again.


"You said it wasn't a trap!"
"Nooo, I said that if it was a trap, it was a really obvious trap, who would make such an obvious trap, no one would fall for it if it was a trap, et cetera."
The Luna Wolf hangs upside down in the netting, absolutely furious. The rations pack filled with sticks and stones and labeled crudely with "SPESS MAHREEN FUD" was pinned tightly to the hapless marine's chest and arms. Yes. We had set it up again, and it worked on this guy too. I actually don't know what to say to that.
"You bastards, what is the meaning of this treachery?"
"We're all Chaos Marines, remember? Traitor Legions? It's kind of in our description." I bring him down, careful to keep the net closed.
"Imbeciles! That means traitor to the Imperium! Not to each other!"
"We like being a little more literal with our descriptors."
"Release me at once and perhaps I will have the Chaos Lord show mercy when he kills you!"
"Now you see that kind of talk will not get you freed any faster. Or at all." We drag him through the denser part of the jungle.
"Can I just shoot him in the head to shut him up?" Gilnstrum was antsy to do some sort of damage this night.
"No, we can't risk brain damage. He would be less of a worthy opponent."
"It wouldn't be too direct of a shot. Just hard enough to get him to shut up."
"What are you two idiots doing this for anyway?"
"Well, you're an intolerable prick and you've done nothing but insult my cooking. Dumping perfectly good scraps that the plague marines would eat on the floor, so that they had to eat it off the floor. And our boots go everywhere man. That's pretty gross even for plague marines. Though I guess not completely out of the oridinary. Anyway, we're sending you off to become a test of character because we promised we would." We enter the clearing with the Tau.
"YOU KEEP PROMISES WITH OTHERS BUT YOU BETRAY YOUR OWN BROTHER? ARE YOU INSANE?"
"Aren't we all? Chaos Marines, remember. Insane is also an accurate descriptor. And you're not my bro, Bro."
We hook the netting to the back of Blue's trukk and she waves before driving off, dragging the still shouting Luna Wolf behind her. His ill wishes and threats devolve into curses and short obscenities as he clears a path through the jungle with his face.
"Gilnstrum."
"Yes, Rosncranz?"
"Have you come to the same conclusion I have?"
"That this one Tau may be what that whole fleet of Tau were after?"
"Good man. Yes that, exactly. Useful information that is."
Gilnstrum smiles finally, not that I could see under his helmet, but I imagine he did, "So what would you do if you could recapture a Titan?"

I think I hear the equivalent of a large bird cawing but you never know with these jungles.
"Give it back because I would really have no use for it and it would be more of a bother than a boon anyway?"


Epilogue:

Blue entered the camp, towing the now quiet but obviously still fuming Luna Wolf with her. Rockeata waved at her with a clearly jittery Snekkit and a somewhat nervous Big Mek. He hadn't gone to sleep yet despite how late it was.
Only one other team of grots had reported back, they bagged a fat and smelly marine that was trying to eat the sticks and stones in the fake rations pack without much success. Most of them wouldn't be coming back of course, but the ones that did were certifiably reliable Kommando Grots. Blue had gone out herself despite protest from both Zizzbitz and Snekkit, saying she wasn't going to stand around as just a mascot. If Snekkit was going to sweep her up and take her on missions, she wasn't going to just be a load and something to protect. And she had made it back, and relatively fast.
"Was a zoggin' good trap, Rockeata, just like ya said."
"See, I told ya. An' you fink yerself smarter den old Rockeata." He walked over and tapped the marine on the head with a half eaten rock. There was an angry barking as the marine tried to force all of the rudest things he could think out at the same time. "Ooo. Dis one's nice an' mean. Good job, Blue."
What trapping a marine had to do with being a reliable Kommando Grot was only known by Rockeata. Similarly, whatever wrestling an unarmed marine to the ground had to do with being a proppa Kommando and how it revealed someone's mettle or character was only known by Rockeata. But Blue believed that tomorrow was going to be fun and interesting regardless.

Maybe it wasn't going to be so great to be a Freeboota, but the next day was going to be another excellent day to be a Scraploota.