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Librarium

Arrival at Vulpeca

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A ray of sunlight glints across the arcane hull of the Strike cruiser SwordHawk as it silently glides into orbit, silhouetted against the shifting cloud patterns of the green planet below. A low groan is heard throughout he ship, it's ancient hull recovering from the long journey through the immaterium. Such things do not trouble its crew, their purity of faith in the God-Emperor shielding their minds from fears which would consume a lesser man.

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Darkness fills the centuries-old bridge, the few flickering torches and holo-panels the only illumination in the baroque archways. A single figure stands at the viewport, the hulking silhouette of his ceramite armour obscuring the green planet below. He is staring at the swirling weather systems filling the viewport, his mind caught up in the conflict which is to come. A rune-signum pierces the blackness; his auto-senses immediately compensating for the light which would momentarily bind a normal man. He replies to the signal, the panel next to him lighting the viewport alcove and casting grotesque shadows about the gargoyles adorning the archway. "Yes Lieutenant"; his voice like rolling thunder from the silent darkness.
"Captain Kyle; We have attained stable orbit and can begin troop deployment in eight standard minutes. Drop coordinates have been received from the 3rd Lastrati."
"Very well. Prepare the drop pods. Begin Deployment. I will be down shortly. Kyle Out", The comm. Crackled dead as he tapped the terminate rune.
Soon - he thought. The traitors would not escape this time. This time the Hawks were prepared. They had waited a long time for this moment. Too long, some would say. Now honour must be reconciled. They would have their vengeance, and those who would defile the Emperor's name would burn in his righteous fire.
And so it was that Risius Kyle, Captain of the second company of the Emperors Hawks chapter of the Adeptus Astartes, left his bridge. Honour would be fulfilled.

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Minutes later, ten small points of light shot from the hull of the Swordhawk, each following the other with a practiced timing borne only from centuries of experience. Ten exhaust streaks streaming towards the planet, like tiny comets bringing doom to those below.

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