Brother Aslan, the Dark Prince, of the Dark Angels

Aslan’s battle nature differs from his ordinary stubborn, proud and taciturn personality. In the heat of battle only his superior’s word is law, or else he loses himself in stoic frenzy, never backing down and never giving ground. His own opinions and actions deem him too hostile to be carried out given freedom of will, resulting with misguided yet well placed bolter rounds. Coming from a Devastator? Only destruction is left in his wake. His zealous fury however does not drive him from the path at hand; hatred guides his hands but does not twist his vision.

The distrust he holds for everyone had not only been drilled into him following the implant of his chapter’s sacred gene-seed, but through harsh and brutal experiences found within his childhood. His hatred is abnormal as it is aimed at everyone and everything that is not his battle brother, although he does tend to dislike Space Wolves due to both of their Primarch’s history. Aslan does not trust anyone that he deems ‘lesser’ than himself; this includes humans and especially the Imperial Guard. Their opinions are worthless to him, and he would rather ignore them outright than follow to the barked order of a misguided fool. Abhumans too he finds utterly disgusting, their words leave a bad taste in his mouth as well as the knowledge that he is breathing the same dirty air as them. He fights to save humanity, not their inbred cousins. His true hatred lies deep within heretics, anyone who has turned their backs on the light of the Emperor, the Imperium and their humanity.
Aslan’s past holds stories of countless deaths, each of which he has witnessed firsthand, but not all were made by his hand. The first death was his Father, shortly after his Mother, his two brothers, his friends, his lover, his people and finally a heretic. This is his story.

The feudal world of Krant is divided by several warring kingdoms and countless innocent villages. The strongest kingdom not only held the greatest military, owned the most land, towering wealth but also gave birth to the greatest military leader and ruler, King Elyas Wrex. His iron fisted stratagems and ruthless intolerance of failure guaranteed superiority over the two rivalling kingdoms that had constantly challenged his lands. This kingdom, shrouded by forestland, bared the name of Rhaegora, famous for revering and worshipping the sacred lions that roam the encircling forests outside the kingdom, thought to be the Protectors of the Forest. Despite being the most primitive in technology, Rhaegora is famous for its heroic exploits and feverous and zealous devotion to the God Emperor, using marauding flagellants at the bulk of their forces to charge fearlessly into the lines of the enemy underneath heavy archer volleys, wreaking havoc and fighting without relent; it is whilst this berserker charge causes chaos for the enemy the knightly Order of the Lion then flanks from the side on steeds of iron will, led often by a Pride Master, sometimes even the King himself, on an armoured great white lion. The battle tactics of the king have gone down in legend, for his unrelenting marches into enemy lines and all-or-nothing decisions.
The kingdom of Rhaegora was in a time of peace, after just finishing a campaign, defeating enemy settlements and outposts across the borders of the Rhaegora forest that stretched out for hundreds of miles. King Elyas Wrex returned home to his bedridden wife with crying and bloody baby in arms, he knelt down by her bedside to meet, for the first time, his son and heir. He named the boy Aslan, after his Father and the lion he rides to battle with. Aslan grew in his Father’s footsteps, training from an early age to become a great leader. His will was adamant, his nature stern and his bravery knew no bounds, just like his Father.

During Aslan’s early age a broken and bloody warrior stumbled out from the forest, dragging himself forward using a celestial staff as a walking aid. This man seemed almost not human, holding a dark and ominous aura about him, as he towered over every man in the kingdom, even over the King himself, who was a mountain of a man. Clad in archaic jet black and white embalmed armour, covered head to toe in blood and dirt, some of which not his own as his seemed to coagulate within a matter of seconds after first seeping from heavy impact holes in his armour. The man collapsed before the gate guards, yet he was still conscious despite his injuries. He was brought to the castle, kept in the dungeons under close watch as his injuries were treated, although it seemed in vain as just over night the man rose to his feet stronger than ever and writhing with vigour. The King approached him, in reaction the stranger fell to his knees like a true warrior before a King. It was explained that this man was a holy warrior who fought for the God Emperor amongst the stars; his injuries were given to him by the forces of Chaos. The stories he told with his silver tongue lead to eventually gaining consciousness in the forest, and clawing his way here to civilisation. King Elyas smiled at the man’s tales of bravery and saw a fire in his eyes that would drench the world and cleanse it of his enemies. The stranger smirked viciously, little Aslan could see it behind those wild purple eyes that not only fire was held, but untold horrors too. His eyes were like a daemon’s, his smile like a snake’s, his body massive like a lion, but son of the lion he is no more. But who would listen to the cries of a boy so young? None, not even the King as he became corrupt with just being in this man’s presence. This man introduced himself as Magron.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


This is still unfinished; I'm a longwinded writer so I apologize first of all at how long this is actually going to be.

C&C appreciated, thank you for reading. I will update, hopefully, regularly.

well in mate, I like the Black Prince approach. Interested to see how Magron wins Aslan over, after the boy already holds suspicions about the Black armoured warrior.

I guess Magron will have a hand in the deaths of Aslan's family?

I see why the Dark Angel is the only one that listens to my orders, ''In the heat of battle only his superior’s word is law''

Looking forward to reding more mate, keep it coming.

Years had passed since Magron’s arrival, since his and the King’s encounter Magron was anointed as King Elyas’ champion and battle leader, it was he who led the assaults and commanded the men whilst the King lay sick in his bed. Aslan grew stronger; he trained his swordsmanship, his archery and challenged his mettle regularly against life or death situations within the forests. He saw an evil in Magron that no one else could see and he intended to grow strong enough to protect his people and his future kingdom. His Father grew tired and ill from Magron’s presence, his psychic tendrils poking and tearing at his mind, wearing him down into a husk. This mountain of a man grew into a shrivelled and a brittle frame of what was once a mighty warrior, leader, ruler and father. Aslan knew Magron was not to be trusted, he wanted vengeance.

A year later, Aslan was twelve, already big for his age he grew stronger, but everyone around him seemed to grow weaker by the passing day. His father was now dead and Magron claimed the throne for himself, Magron proved that he was a mighty ruler to replace the former King. Whilst the people thought him a great ruler in place of Aslan or his two brothers, who were still far too young and considered incapable warriors to rule, Magron’s first act as king was the execution of Martha Wrex, the Queen. Branded a heretic for her vile rituals to the Chaos God of Tzeentch, she was found in the deepest pits of the dungeon surrounded by numerous naked bodies of children and young women, each with a knife embedded deep within their chests. It was decided a public burning was to be commit and Aslan her executor, as decided by King Magron. Aslan’s jaw clenched so tight it felt his teeth were to shatter given anymore pressure. His fists were beaten and bloody after furious outbursts against his chamber wall. His Mother was innocent, he knew it in his bones, it is again his slippery psychic tendrils probing deep within her mind, and his influence was chaos.
‘By the throne, I swear by my royal blood and name that your soul will be wrought from your body by my hands around your neck, heretic.’
The castle courtyard would be the stage of her execution; Aslan stood there in the centre by the stake to which she would be tied, facing the grand steps to the castle entrance where on a throne sat Magron, meeting Aslan’s bloodthirsty stare with a sinister and malevolent smirk. By the throne stood his two brothers, their minds too clouded by chaos, Magron’s influence reached all but Aslan. Which was suspicious but Aslan paid it no heed, instead focused on raw hatred. Magron clapped his hands and the courtyard gates opened on cue, followed by a monotonous drumbeat, as the, deemed appropriately, Bloody Queen entered the courtyard escorted by six knights under the Order of the Lion. Each held a chain which all linked to a crude collar locked around her majesty’s neck as she was taken to the stake and prepared. Aslan turned to face his mother, he caught a glimpse of her eyes, they were lifeless and her expression grim. As though in a trance. Aslan prepared his death mask, a jet black woven mask worn over the head decorated in engraved silver plates pointing out the features of lion, more noticeably recognised by a lion’s mane collar around his neck. With this mask he can hide his anguish; it was hard for him to hold back the tears.
She was stripped of her clothes, her head shaved and then tied to the stake by barbed chains tearing into her flesh as she squirmed. She did not scream, did not wince and showed no emotion, as though heavily sedated, however in executions such as this it is quite the opposite, the body is pumped full of drugs to heighten the senses and adrenaline to keep the body awake during the burning. Aslan held in his hands the torch tightly, waving it over his mother murmuring prayers to the Emperor.
Before the fire was lit Aslan looked up to his mother to see her eyes well up as tears began to stream down her face, her weak and beaten frame couldn’t speak but she mouthed the words ‘I love you. before finally being engulfed entirely in flames. Aslan threw his mask to the ground, his face red and his veins popping from his neck. He began to run past the fires drawing from the sheath on his belt his family sword, gripping it with both hands he lunged at Magron blinded by rage, crying his name.
With only a chuckle Magron remained seated and parried back the blade with only his hand, a psychic force woven around it, shattering the blade. With amazing dexterity the same hand then found itself around Aslan’s neck, like a serpent’s grip it stung as he felt something like a venom bite deep into his neck, secreting and mixing with his blood. Aslan lost consciousness and regained it in a cell deep within the castle dungeon.

It felt like years had passed for Aslan, when in reality it was several months, he survived by catching and eating the vermin that happened to crawl near his cell, sucking the damp off of the rocks on the wall. Within this cage he felt like a beast, he grew feral, his mind and body felt broken. He could feel something slip into his head, probing fingers poking and prodding his brain, toying with his senses and messing with his memories. Hallucinations of daemons were frequent within the cell as he fought with his own shadow. His will was defeated and left for dead, torn and broken.
Magron came to him as soon as the months were over; Aslan was reduced to kneeling before him, begging for freedom. His wicked serpentine smile crept across his features; his spell had broken the prince, removing what was left of his father’s will. Magron led him to the surface, back to the courtyard. It was raining heavily, Aslan weakly limped into the centre where his mother was slain by his hand. He began to laugh, almost manically as chaos seemed to finally find its way into his head, clouding his vision. Magron left him and returned to his study. Aslan knelt there in the courtyard for hours laughing. Around midnight Aslan was approached by a young woman, dressed head to toe in white, however her dress dragged behind and the white turned to grey in the rain. She knelt by his side as he held his head to the floor chuckling, manically with his eyes wide open staring at the ground. Her eyes held nothing but worry and concern, his hair was so unkempt and long that he was almost unrecognisable as the prince, but she did not care. She lifted his arm over her head across her shoulder as she picked him up. His laughter died and turned into whimpering, tears streamed down his face but were hidden by the rain, his other hand clutched around her as he pulled his head into her bosom where he wept into her.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hope you enjoy, the next part should conclude his childhood and begin his initiation into the Dark Angels.
C&C welcome, thanks for reading.

Good work mate, very vivid writing.

please make Magron's death bloody, that guy deserves it.

oh & remind me not to turn Memnon's back on Aslan, any dude that would burn his own mother needs to be watched.

Keep it coming!

Rich your character has issues man... but more importantly get it finished before tonights session!

Great read though mate thanks for putting it up

A year passed since then, Aslan was now thirteen and lived with the girl in her mother’s house. She was sick and bedridden, the girl had to pick and sell flowers to try and pay for the house to keep her mother well, however she has always struggled as no one was ever interested. Aslan took pity on her and her mother and used his own wealth to help pay for their house and lived with them after getting attached to the girl who had saved him from madness. She was beautiful, with long blonde hair that trailed down her back like a true maiden. She was called Rose. They fell in love. His sanity was spared, his grieving was over, and instead he tried to repress all of the anguish of the last year and focused only on Rose and their happiness. No one came looking for him, namely Magron. Even as he walked the streets he was never recognised, his appearance had changed so much since the time he had spent away from the castle. He grown broader and taller, his hair long and his eyes held a new fire. When he was not with Rose and her mother he trained without relenting, he swore vengeance and it shall be his, his hatred grew stronger by the passing day. But he never let it consume him.
Rumours spread of a colossal rock like vessel looming over the heavens, it was said that whenever this rock comes Angels of Death descend to recruit champions to vanquish evil, clad in archaic dark green armour and bearing symbols of hooded angels and winged swords as well as the holy Aquila. Aslan was told this by his Father that someday these warriors would come and take Aslan and his brothers above and beyond the stars to fight for the Emperor. If they were anything like Magron then Aslan was not interested, however Magron was a traitor, a servant of chaos. He would find his glory with these Angels of Death, only after Magron falls.
Already there were Space Marines on the planet, a kill-team of the Dark Angel’s second company, the Ravenwing, escorted Interrogator-Chaplain Nemiel on Astartes Bikes in search for the traitor marine Magron, one of the Fallen. Nemiel’s hunt brought him to Krant, following Magron’s trail after their last encounter which resulted in blinding Nemiel’s left eye and leaving a crater in Magron’s chest from a bolt round. For decades Nemiel had been hunting Magron, searching countless planets, encountering with him so many times but he always seemed to slip away through his grasp.
Tzeentch told Magron of Nemiel’s arrival and began to make countermeasures; Rhaegora was no longer a safe place to hide. Magron gathered all of the townsfolk he could in such short notice within the castle courtyard where he announced his retirement as king. Aslan blended in within the crowd, Rose’s arm wrapped around him. Whilst everyone seemed so disappointed and in dismay Aslan smirked, but couldn’t help think there was something strange going on. Then the truth came out.
“My loyal people, I am afraid that my retirement as your king was inevitable, I came here a lost and broken warrior and lost I shall become again. You see, I wish to never be found, never to be gazed upon and to never be remembered. That is why I must kill you.”
The crowd shrieked and gasped in reaction to his words.
“But fear not, for my time with you has been well spent as I forge a new age of Chaos. You have all helped greatly in my appointed task to crush the children of the God Emperor, starting with my pursuers. Thank you all, you have been a wonderful audience.”
Magron turned on his heel atop the great steps and fled within the castle, the great doors closed behind him. Fires erupted and spewed from the ground around the townsfolk starting from the outside of the courtyard and slowly spreading inwards. The exit was barred as the drawbridge closed. There was no escape.

The Ravenwing speeded into Rhaegora with haste, skidding as they braked before the closed drawbridge of the castle. Immediately the black-clad marines dismounted and with their bolters opened fire on the door bridge blasting apart the wood and the black iron barring. With a mighty leap Nemiel cleared the moat around the castle and jumped through the hole the marines had made. His armour and robes were untouched by the hellfire as they danced and bathed him in unholy flame; his rosarius around his neck glowed brightly. Through the fire he could see several silhouettes surrounded by thousands of burning corpses, three young masculine figures on their knees in the centre of the courtyard. His massive stride soon took him quickly towards them, his bolt pistol trained on them at all times. It was Aslan and his two younger brothers. Nemiel stared down at them as they stared back at the grimly armoured and hooded superhuman, all albeit Aslan who knelt there looking over the charred remains of a woman that he held within his arms. The three were unharmed and not touched by the flames, each looking young and strong, all suitable candidates for the tests of Nemiel’s chapter. So it began.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading, sorry I've been so slow, it is hard to get hold of the computer these days.
I hope you enjoyed Aslan's LONG-ASS childhood. So begins his trial.

More nice work there richy, story is realy comming along.
You love killing off anyone aslan has ever liked dont you! Your guy is realy harbouring some issues

The tests of the Dark Angel’s trials were excruciating, as few as several dozen young teens were brought and escorted through the Rock first from Thunderhawk. Aslan, the oldest, was among his two brothers, Tyran, the youngest, and Freid. Aslan did not even look either of them in the eye throughout the entire trial despite Tyran’s frequent stares from across the room, piercing his brother’s back. Freid seemed pale and weak since Magron’s intervention, once proving a worthy foe for Aslan in a play fight, now he is lesser of what he once was but still strong. Tyran grew colder and held a sinister dark glow about him, once a very calm and playful child, now a twisted and distant young man.
Aslan did not speak with any of the other children; some would try and interact with him but could never get passed his feral and frenzied appearance let alone his brooding and distasteful nature of everyone and everything around him. Aslan in fact did not speak at all, only answered what was asked of him by the Space Marines that he didn’t deem too personal. The chapter felt that Aslan was a promising candidate for the trials ahead that would test not only his apparent physical strength, but would stretch and test every corner of his mind too. However the chapter paid him no more attention than any of the other children, which was none in fact. They never spoke to anyone but their brothers, they would only speak to the children to ask them questions and test them for corruption, challenging their Imperial Creed and performing medical procedures including many neural scans and monitoring muscle growth. Aslan held no objection to the cold probing fingers of the Apothecary, but would turn even colder than he were to the insisting questions of a Chaplain.
The preparation for the final trial was set; this would test all candidates’ mental fortitude and challenge great feats of strength. The trials were hazy to Aslan, they happened so quickly and finished before he knew it, the horrors he saw in his mind filled him with a constant self doubt, an everlasting feeling of emptiness and wrong seeking redemption for himself and his brothers. At one point after the trial Aslan was told he had to be stopped from swallowing his tongue in order to hide from the immoral truth. His eyes wept and he cried into the night for many hours in his chambers. Freid did not pass the trial; he died a painful and excruciating death as penance for the holes in his devotion. Tyran was one of the first to complete the trial before any of the others. Aslan was the last to finish. The supervising Chaplain constantly watched him, never growing impatient of Aslan, even as the wait turned to hours.

Aslan inherited the sacred gene-seed of Lion El'Jonson, becoming a true son of The Lion. That day was a proud one for him, however short lived. Aslan was put into the same squad as Tyran, led by scout sergeant Lux. They were immediately dispatched onto the front line with two other scout squads to aid in conflict between the Dark Angels and a heretek force on the forge world of Everspire V, heresy has spread throughout the entire planet causing for massive resistance between the Imperials of the planet and the ever growing heretic forces. There seemed to be Chaos Space Marine involvement from behind the works, it was the Alpha Legion. Heretic forces constantly barraged themselves against one particular outpost that Aslan and his Battle Brothers were happened to be stationed with their squad. The furious assault lasted for hours as more and more mindless dregs of chaos threw themselves into mass bolter fire from the outpost’s defences and the scout squad. After the heavy weapon specialist of the squad died from a las round to the eye Aslan was ordered to take his heavy bolter and continue in defending the outpost in a rain of heavy bolter fire. Aslan had never handled a heavy weapon before but as soon as his fingers took grip around the handle it all seemed so natural, as if he had done it before many times, but the feeling was still new and exciting as he pulled down on the trigger. The recoil kicked him back but his body readied itself for it automatically, as though it instinctively knew how much recoil and how much he had to brace the weapon. He smirked a little as he watched as the sea of enemies in front of him seemed to part to his heavy fire, dividing a wave of enemies into two. Aslan then began to sweep the weapon roaring at the top of his lungs trying to roar over the thunder of the weapon, he could feel his Brother Tyran’s envious glare at the back of his neck; this filled the young lion with immense warmth as he flared his prowess with his devastating weapon that could part seas.

The conflict at Everspire V passed, what seemed to be quickly at that, turning out that the Alpha Legion’s involvement was minimal finding only few actual Chaos Space Marines. For Aslan’s first proper fight it felt good to be a Space Marine, his power knew no limits, he felt stronger than ever before, feeling that there is no challenge that he could not conquer. Aslan proved stronger than his Brother Tyran, this nerved Tyran greatly feeling his blood boil when even in the same room as Aslan, or having to eat next to him, let alone being in the same squad. Aslan revelled in his Brother’s jealousy, never truly forgiving him for with who he had sided with when they were both children back on Krant. Magron is a name that will ring with disgust always in Aslan’s ears.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sorry it has been so long since I last updated.
This time I've decided to speed things up a little, believing only his childhood really mattered.
Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy.

nice work mate... I can see the conflict with his brother coming to a head like.

Keep it coming

Yeah i bet he burns his brother too!

stop being a dick Carlo

It seemed like hundreds more conflicts passed since the first on Everspire V, Aslan’s hatred growing evermore for heretic, mutant and alien alike. His wrath became unkempt, knowing no limit as he trained arduously in the combat simulators held within the Rock, readying his body for the combat that follows each and every passing day. When he was not training his body he is in deep thought and meditation, expanding his mind, planning out through battle tactics of defensive manoeuvres and key points of over watch positions and heavy cover. When he was not meditating he was praying in the chapel with hundreds and hundreds of his fellow Brothers. His devotion was fierce, his faith in every swing of his combat knife, every stride he takes and in every pull of the trigger, propelling each sacred bolter shell from his heavy weapon, the same one he uses to cleave and tear a path through enemy positions like a God among men. His fury was righteous, his devotion zealous and his body writhed and grew stronger as he basks in the light of the Emperor. He looked forward to the day that he would don his sacred Astartes Power Armour and become among the greater of his Brothers, the ones who risk life and limb every single day all for the name of the God Emperor.
”Father, if you could only see me now...”

Aslan was and his squad was dropped into the heart of enemy territory, their mission? To sabatoge the xenos’ power supply deep within their stronghold, infiltrating and killing all those who stand against the Emperor and his will. Heavy Orkoid figures stood within the distance, five of them, this called for target practice. Tyran was the team’s dedicated sniper, nothing escaped from his scope. With a few jerks and pull of the trigger all five of the Orks dropped dead, each with a hole the size of a fist punched through their eye. He smirked, smug and laughing to himself under his breath. Sergeant Lux gave him a firm nod before hand signalling for the squad to press on into the stronghold. The kill-team of scouts pressed on, Aslan covering the rear with his heavy weapon, the tripod already kicked out ready for any potential, and more than likely inevitable, resistance. The team successfully navigated passed all sentries, with some wet work here and there, and were finally at the huge power generators fuelling the Orks’ dominating anti-aircraft flak battery support which will allow for immediate drop troops to pound down into the heart of the stronghold and eliminate the xeno threat. All was going smoothly, the krak charges in place, the team out of earshot of the impending explosion, the Orks still unaware of their presence, the plan ran like clockwork. That is, until Tyran couldn’t help himself from taking a verbal stab at Aslan’s back, whispering to him through vox.
“So, Brother. Tell me, how did it feel for you to burn our Mother as a heretic?”
Aslan’s jaw clenched tightly, trying to repress the flooding memories from entering his head. He returned with harsh and low growl in his voice.
“I suggest you hold your tongue, Brother... Lest you wish to lose it.”
“Personally, I believe she deserved it... I mean did you see? All of those bodies, all of the chaos, her treachery and the malevolence behind those seemingly innocent green eyes... Father always said that you have those same eyes, innocent and naive. But then again you were always their favourite, Alsan. How did it feel to be held so high in the limelight?”
Aslan’s jaw snapped and clicked as his teeth grinded together, trying his very best to hold himself back, remaining silent.
“Hahaha... Brother. Forgive me; I fear I may be having too much fun with you... But, you will tell me won’t you? How it felt to hold a dying peasant in your arms as she slowly became engulfed i-”
“You two, quiet back there, now is not the time for idle chit-chat... You can finish your bickering back on the Rock when we’re done here, until then silence.”
Sergeant Lux commanded over vox in a demanding tone of voice, he was not about to have a brotherly feud on his hands on any of his missions.
Aslan took a deep sigh of relief as Lux calmed the situation. Aslan felt that he may have to have a few words with Tyran as soon as the mission is over and they’re safely back on the Rock.
The mission was a success, drop pods full of tactical marines fell from the sky on cue to the timed detonation of the power generator. The scout team did not aid in the conflict, their mission completed they headed straight to the pickup zone ready for immediate evacuation of the planet.
Cold glares were shared between the two blood brothers throughout the entire journey, Aslan wishing for nothing more than to give his younger brother a good pummelling, instead, however, he headed straight to the chapel to calm his nerves in prayer. He felt too hot headed to meditate, he would only think of him.

Tyran never spoke another word to Aslan since then, keeping their distances from each other, even after their separate initiations into separate Devastator Marine Squads. However it was Aslan who first initiated, showing phenomenal accuracy with a heavy weapon and rapidly increasing potential in the art of war. Sergeant Lux was pleased with his progress and actions as a scout and officially ranked him as a fully fledged Space Marine, adorning an extremely sacred suit of MKV “Heresy” power armour. Aslan was taken into the Ninth Company as a Devastator Marine, being one of those who are skilled and mastered in handling a heavy weapon in such a squad. This was truly a great honour. The Ninth Company is supreme when it comes to ultimate defensive positions, laying down heavy suppressing and dominating fire on their enemies, Aslan believed he was a perfect fit and believed that he was essential to the Company, his speciality being defensive manoeuvres and positions, however he is no more essential than any other of his Battle Brothers.

Many battles ensued from then on, so long with many close calls for Aslan and his squad, but they all had each other’s backs. Despite the dead silence, the cold stares and mutual dislike for each other there was camaraderie in it, each looking out for the other and caring for their Brothers. During a conflict between Eldar from Craftworld Iyanden Aslan was mortally wounded by a Harlequin Mime who had flanked their squad’s defensive position, their river blade sinking deep within Aslan’s chest cavity and skewering his mortal heart. Later on that eve of battle Aslan was given extensive surgery to implant a replacement bionic heart, he returned straight back to battle the next morning. After the conflict was over the Company’s Apothecary extensively reworked the bionics he had administered, refining his workmanship and improving Aslan’s overall health. Aslan was grateful, but only showed it in a subtle nod of thanks before leaving the Apothecary’s care. Since then Aslan has learned to watch his back even when caught in the heat of battle. You never know when there’s going to be another Mime to claim his other heart.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shouldn't be long until he's in the Deathwatch.
Tyran is a DICK!
Thanks for reading.

Very nice work mate, you've clearly thought a lot about Aslan's origin story. Tyran sounds like an arse like, are we going to find out more about that or are you saving it for use in Aslan's future?

chrispcarter wrote:Very nice work mate, you've clearly thought a lot about Aslan's origin story. Tyran sounds like an arse like, are we going to find out more about that or are you saving it for use in Aslan's future?

Magron has already been dealt with in the campaign by Rob, involving the use of a multimelta from a Stormraven. Aslan wasn't too pleased about having to dodge out of the way and let someone other than himself deal the finishing blow. However as for Tyran he's currently being developed upon as we speak and will eventually be concluded in Aslan's fluff. Expect an update by today, if not very soon.
Hopefully after his past has been written up I can make a start on writing up Aslan's impressions on the kill team and how he hates them all for very little reasons. Except for Luthor, he's just a dick.

cool, tbh i see Aslan & Memnon being two peas from the same pod... alot of dark stuff in their backgound etc etc.

Look forward to seeing what Aslan really thinks of the dour git

One of the most memorable battles Aslan partook in was signature and marked a new milestone in his life. The war for Venerix II where upon an entire Imperial Guard regiment had turned to the Chaos Gods, enslaving the Hive World populous to build an alter to the Chaos God of excess, Slaanesh. Their corruption plagued the entire planet, it was the Dark Angel’s responsibility to root out the source of this heresy and eliminate it and all of its products, even the enslaved civilians. However underneath the surface of the mission objective there seemed to be an ulterior motive for the chapter, one that Aslan just couldn’t figure out. His squad shared a similar outlook to the mission, but carried on with their given orders.
A thorough purging of Hive Verex was in order, the Ninth Company assigned to this and several other Hives on the planet along with the Fourth and Eighth Companies assigned to the rest, however Verex was that Aslan and his squad was assigned. Himself with his squad and two others started from the Underhive and worked all of their way up, eradicating all traces of humanity thought to be touched by taint within the entire Hive. It sickened Aslan to his core as he wasted so many lives with simple pulls of the trigger on his heavy bolter, that he had come to call ‘Pain’ after first being issued a properly equipped Astartes heavy bolter prior to his adorning of his power armour. The screams and cries of man twisted Aslan’s sanity. The blubbering of children could be heard in the background following the shrieks and screams of women and the grunts and roars of men, causing for Aslan too to roar with them as he mowed down the fleeing civilians, sweeping an arc through ruddy concrete buildings and into apartment housing before the squad behind them came in with flamers to cleanse the buildings from the inside, torching the remains with holy promethium. All of this madness caused for Aslan to truly question his own sense of humanity, because what he is doing now truly cannot be human. Is this what it means to be a Space Marine?
“Burn the heretic...”

As he and his squad climbed the Hive more apparent signs of Slaanesh could be seen, ritual sacrifice all in the name of excess and pleasure, offerings and even markings scattered across the upper Hives. However it was against his own orders to ascend any further passed the upper Hive to where the nobility dwelt. It was there that was said to be the origin of chaos and only the First Company may eradicate its roots; this is where Aslan’s suspicions kicked in. However he obeyed orders and did not let his own curiosity get in the way of the mission.
Auspex sweeps showed that there were no more signs of life, albeit from the upper Hive, left and so the squads could now leave and head back to the evacuation zone ready for Thunderhawk extraction. On their way out of Hive Verex Aslan stopped before an Imperial statue, erected in the name of a great hero to Hive Verex, a Space Marine whose chapter was unknown and the plaque only depicted him as an ‘Angel of Death’. It looked familiar to Aslan as he inspected it closer, his squad already ahead of him leaving him behind.

The statue, riddled in bullet holes, seemed so familiar to Aslan that it clouded his mind with disgust. It was something about his face, his eyes, and the serpentine smile. Finally it hit him with who it was, his jaw dropped in shock just as soon as he heard the approaching footsteps from behind.
“Lord Magron, Brother...”
Aslan quickly turned on his heel, readying his heavy bolter as he faced whoever approached from behind. There, clad in his very own sacred dark green MKVI power armour was Tyran. On his back was steadied an Astartes jump pack and in his hand he revved a chainsword. His errant helmet held under his arm with his eyes staring at Aslan with a smirk spread across his lips.

“Oh Brother, how naive of you to think that you were the only one. That you were the only one Lord Magron had played with, he did not toy with only you, playing games with your sanity and twisting your vision, driving you to sit there and watch as our father drew his last weak and feeble breath, to be the hand to end our mother’s wretched life and how you even fell in love... Watching as everything before you fell apart, turning to ash in your very arms, ha! How ignorant, how blind you are, Brother! Now you’re a Space Marine, a holy Astartes! Thanks to whom? What he did has only made us stronger, dear Brother. Who was it that made this all possible for you, Brother; it is this hate you hold for him that drove you through your initiation that made it possible for us to prosper whilst he singled out the unworthy, like our Brother to perish, because he was too weak!”

“You dare call our Brother weak!? His will was the strongest, second only to Father, before he broke it! How dare you dirty his name so casually! You make me sick. Ever since that bastard heretic took you both under his wing, fed you lies and false promises, whispering sweet empty nothings into your ears, you’ve changed, Tyran, and so did Freid. But you, you have changed for the worse, it is you who is weak! You Brother! Folding to the barks of a wretched heretic! You’re scum; you are no longer my Brother, now taste my mettle you deranged spawn of Chaos!”

Aslan roared as his entire body kicked back from the recoil of his heavy weapon, thunderous barks screaming from the muzzle with a hurricane of sacred fury. Tyran was quick to react, dropping his helmet in the process of jumping to the side of his Brother’s fire, his jump pack jetting him to the side and off from the ground. His footing met the ground as he kicked forward propelling himself at Aslan, his chainsword raised up and grasped at the hilt with both hands. Tyran was too quick and agile as the youngest whilst Aslan was stoic and heavy. As Tyran charged he jumped just over head height, dragging the roaring teeth of the blade across Aslan’s face, the teeth biting into his helmet and wrenching it from Aslan’s head letting his long blonde hair flow out soaked in blood. Tyran hit ground, the momentum causing for him to skid a great distance across the ground, digging up the concrete beneath him. He quickly turned on his heel whilst still grinding backwards only to see Aslan now charging at him without sign of relenting. Tyran’s expression turned from a smug smirk to shock and awe that Aslan had recovered so quickly to brute charge into him, his eyes popped out as he gasped from the impact of his Brother’s shoulder barging into his abdomen winding him, carrying the momentum and charging them both through the solid concrete wall of a building.

Aslan straddled atop his Brother, grabbing him by the head with both hands as he brought his own down onto him, furiously head butting him over and over bloodying each other’s face. Finally with one hand still holding onto his face Aslan brought his other hand up and clenched it into a rock solid fist that he brought down onto the nose of his Brother, shattering the nose in an explosion of blood, it cascaded in a fountain drenching both of them. Roars of brutality and pain were thrown back and forth at each other throughout, in a daze Tyran tried to push himself up against his Brother’s weight, his grip tightening on the hilt of his chainsword, pulling down the trigger and revving it up as he lashed it up and out at Aslan’s face. The blow was blocked by his right arm, the teeth biting into the soft armour between the elbow, ripping and shredding through the armour and cleaving into the flesh, digging deeper and snapping bone, a shower of gore following as Aslan was pushed back from the pain, severing the entire arm completely in two. Tyran’s other arm placed its hand on Aslan’s chest pushing him onto his back. He had then kicked against the ground and propelled himself forward in a burst of jet fire from his jump pack, gaining distance between him and his Brother. Aslan was left rolling around on the floor in the debris of the building, the blood gushing out in all directions with his last hand trying to find the wound and clamp down as the blood coagulated. Pain suppressants were quickly pumped into his bloodstream through his power armour to calm the screams escaping his dry mouth. The flowing gore finally ceased and Aslan clawed himself up onto his feet, a little shaken from the fatigue of the severe blood loss. His vision blurred, he could barely make out the heavily panting figure of Tyran in the distance through his squinted eyes. In a few short heavy exasperated grunts Aslan put one foot in front of the other and began to charge, his left, and only, hand finding the hilt of his combat blade at his waist, pulling it from the sheath and readying it in front of him. Tyran responded by returning the charge, propelling himself forward with his jump pack and his chainsword raised above his head.

Sparks flew as the two metals met, the combat knife parrying the bite of the chainsword but the force behind the swing caused for the knife to fall at Aslan’s side, taking advantage of the knife’s new position using his right shoulder Aslan barged into Tyran knocking him off balance and followed by thrusting the blade into the side of his abdomen and in through the soft armour, parting the flesh with ease and burying itself deep inside. Tyran screamed in reaction to the searing hot pain from the stab. Aslan quickly drew back out the blade and just as quickly thrust it back in during his opponent’s daze of anguish. The blade dug deeper upon the second strike but was received with a grimace of anger, Tyran’s free hand grabbing Aslan’s good left shoulder from around his back, pulling him backwards with help from a kick to the back of his leg, putting Aslan off balance as he fell hard, pulling the knife from Tyran’s wound as he fell, leaving it raw and bleeding heavily. Tyran’s boot landed hard on his Brother’s wrist, stamping the knife from his grip before kicking it away. He levelled his chainsword, revving, at Aslan’s bloody face that panted and glared at Tyran who stood above him, his wounds closed quickly. Tyran’s nerves calmed as a smirk spread across his face as he claimed superiority over his Brother, unawares of Aslan’s lightning reflexes as he reached for his bolt pistol, quick drawing it and squeezing off a round at his chest, punching him back as the round dug hard into his armour and exploded on impact, tearing open the front of his cuirass. Aslan roared as he pushed himself up and charged at Tyran once more, the pistol raised in the air before coming down across Tyran’s face, whipping the Marine down as his form doubled over only for his face to meet Aslan’s raised knee. With that force Tyran jumped back over and onto his back, almost knocked clean out from that heavy hit, but still holding on for dear life to his consciousness. He lay there dazed and shifting back in and out of reality. However, in that moment Aslan stood over Tyran, the roles now reversed, his bolt pistol levelled at his Brother’s bare chest.
“You don’t even deserve a heart... Let alone two, Brother.”
And with that Aslan squeezed the seemingly light weight of the trigger, the bolt punching through his chest and exploding from the inside bathing him in his Brother’s blood, his chest wrenched open from the stress of the explosion. His Brother’s heavy breathing stopped so quickly, only making Aslan’s deeper and quicker as he slumped to his knees in distress, but more so in relief.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks for reading.

Thus is the fate of the traitor.

That said, it's going to be interesting for Aslan to explain this away to his superiors!

Excellent work!

Nicely done mate, explains Aslans augmetic arm too.

Glad his brother got chinned like, annoying little prick that he was.

A life time seemed to pass after then but the deep thoughts of Aslan were shortly interrupted soon after he sensed something from behind, but he did not move to address the incoming running. His hand twitched to his Brother’s chainsword, flexing his fingers in a grasping motion just hovering above the hilt. His eye darted to the side trying to look behind him and passed his bloody blonde mane encircling his face. The running sounded light and human, very probably remaining survivors of the purge. Then flashes of light jumped passed his vision but his keen senses quickly addressed them and noticed two very small hooded figures run passed. He did not recognise them but they seemed the height of human children. As such he did not bother to charge and confront them especially as more footsteps approached from behind. This time the footing sounded heavier but recognisable as power armoured footing, then a voice emerged, masculine, strong, proud and very familiar to Aslan.
“Do not worry my son, they do not-”
The voice staggered a little as it noticed the fray that had happened. Noticing the scattered debris from the smashed concrete as well as the masses of blood pooling all around the site of what seemed to be a heavy fight. The voice continued regardless, collecting their words and direction of conversation.
“-mean any harm. Leave the Watchers be.”
Aslan’s intrigue perked up at the name of ‘Watchers’, it sounded alien and Aslan did not like alien, however he knew from whose mouth these words spoke. Cold, distant but never ill words spoke from this mouth. Aslan raised himself, brushing off the dust off of his bruised power armour before turning to address the old Chaplain.
“Father Nemiel, how good it is to see you again... If only it were under cleaner circumstances.”
Aslan watched as the Chaplain bent over to pick up from the dirt Aslan’s scarred helmet, his Crozius Arcanum held under his arm as he brushed the dust from the debris off of the crown.
“The forty first millennium is never clean, my son. That is why we were given our celestial strength by our Holy Father. This strength gives us fire to which we wield from our very fingertips as we cast out our hands over the dirt and disgust to burn and purge the taint from this world. We are Angels of Death descent from the skies to deliver judgment, my son, to heretics, traitors and xenos alike. We are the protectors of mankind. But, what protection is this, my son? There lay one of our Brothers in ruin and you... You certainly do not look well.”
His fiercely decorated skull faced helmet motioned through a nod to the bloody ruin of his Brother.
Aslan looked back and down to the pooling blood around him and at the splashes that had buffeted his armour.
“This... This isn’t what it looks like, Fa-”
The Chaplain interrupted with a slight of anger and impatience held in his tone.
“Oh I am sure it isn’t, my son. I am sure. Come, we will address this back in my quarters on the Rock. I assume we will go quietly?”
Holding the helmet in one hand his other came down to his waist to which he pulled out a pair of heavily reinforced black manacles crudely attached to a length of chain. It remarkably seemed so similar to the death collar Aslan’s Mother had worn to her execution.
Aslan quirked an eyebrow as he looked to the manacles, then to where his right arm should be, then back to the pair of manacles and finally to meet the Chaplain’s gaze.
“Father, my- errr...”
“I know...”
He approached Aslan, his robes rippling to the movement of his stride; the robes were old and ragged but immaculately clean and well preserved. Handing to him his helmet the old Chaplain took Aslan by the wrist and slapped on the manacles, tightening them crudely allowing for no breathing room. He then tightened the other half to his own wrist to which he then nodded at his captive and began to walk off, dragging Aslan with him to which he cooperated and walked in the Chaplain’s pace.
The ‘Watchers’ then scurried out from the darkness and ran passed Aslan and Nemiel, scuttling and inspecting around the body of the fallen Tyran. Their tiny hands underneath the long flow of the robes touching and inspecting the chainsword, the bolt pistol and even tracing along the gaunt and dead expression of Tyran, shutting his eyelids out of respect. Aslan looked back and watched with a bitter taste in his mouth out of disgust that these alien beings were defiling the corpse of his Brother. Aslan gave a quick and heavy sigh before turning back round to face the path ahead. His squad awaited Aslan outside, their expressions turned from impatient scowling to shock and surprise, finding Chaplain Nemiel leading their Brother Aslan out. Before the squad could bow out of respect to the revered Chaplain out from behind them stepped massive bulky bone white warriors in terminator armour, the First Company, the Deathwing. The squad could not bow any quicker as their bulks doubled but their gaze kept ahead to meet the passing terminators. Their stride was strong and proud, not even looking to their own Brothers beside them as they walked straight passed. Was this out of arrogance? More so pride as between the terminators being dragged across by the knees was a human man with a jet black bag covering his head.
“Ninth Company!”
Yelled the Chaplain as he walked passed. The squad jumped a little to the sudden bark but stood back up straight to address the call.
“You will return to your designated evac. zone as instructed, your fellow squad mate is currently with me. You will make sure to tell your Sergeant about this.”
There was no question in his tone, he commanded them and with ease.
“Father, the Emperor protects!”
The squad shouted back in unison before heading to their dedicated Rhino APC, collecting themselves.
Nemiel pressed on with Aslan following close by his side, always watching the ground ahead of him, never once lifting his head.

Back on the Rock Aslan was taken to Nemiel’s office and left there alone, a large black marble room that looked crude and beautiful all at the same time. There were chains and collars hanging from the marbled walls. There was even an iron maiden in the corner, no doubt only for decoration but Aslan’s suspicions nagged at the back of his mind. Emperor only knew what will have happened in this office. Nemiel wasn’t a very trusting man, always had been known to execute Imperial Officers on the slightest suspicion that their minds held the slightest signs of corruption. But Nemiel seemed to trust Aslan, maybe as they were Battle Brothers. However following the centuries of serving as Chaplain to his chapter he came to become addressed as ‘Father’ regularly as he was more so one to the neophytes of the chapter. However that all changed following only one meeting with the Inner Circle, promoting him as an Interrogator Chaplain. Aslan did not know of this, let alone that there was even an Inner Circle.
Nemiel walked into his office from behind Aslan who quickly stood to his feet and turned to address the Chaplain. His robes and armour were caked in blood, a metal sigh escaped from the Chaplain’s lips behind his frightening helmet. Aslan dared not question the fresh blood on his apparel and instead bowed his head out of respect.
“Young Aslan, bear with me as I wind down... There is no rest for the wicked, as they say...”
Aslan assumed that as a joke on the Chaplain’s behalf but could not tell through his frightening skulled helm or his cold and metallic voice, so he did not decide to chuckle as he had intended to do so. More so out of fear of the Chaplain and the position he was in, after all having just killed his Brother.
The Chaplain walked passed Aslan and motioned for him to sit back down; Aslan did as he was told without hesitation. Nemiel lifted his Crozius and let it rest upon the hooks on the wall, specially designed to hold it, just above his chair before sitting down. Rumour had it that the Chaplain has never once removed his helm after one certain mission what seemed ages ago, not even in the presence of his Brothers or even the Company Master. There was no exception for Aslan as the Chaplain rested his elbows upon the solid stone table, clasping his hands together before finally resting his fore arms flat down on the table. The Chaplain just seemed to stare at the frightened Aslan for what felt like forever, the cold stare piercing his skull and scanning his brain and thoughts. Aslan went to speak first.
“Father, I err-...”
“Magron.”
Aslan bit his tongue as a reaction to the anger of hearing that name. The Chaplain let a quick short breath escape as he analysed the young lion’s reaction.
“It seems you share the same hate I hold for him.”
“Hate does not come close to what I feel for that damned here-”
“So you know he is in fact a heretic?”
“... Yes, Father. I could smell the taint on him the second I first saw him lying in my Castle’s dungeon, and even saw it with my own eyes as he poisoned my Father and corrupted my brothers.”
“Mhmm...”
The Chaplain kept his cold stare as though monitoring the reactions and expressions of Aslan’s face, listening intently to every word. He continued.
“What of your Mother?”
“She was executed.”
“Was it by his hand?”
“No, by mine...”
The Chaplain pushed lifted his arms from the table out of reaction, not so much out of surprise or shock, as though readying himself to delve deeper.
“Of course, I assume it was by his order?”
“Yes, Father.”
“You didn’t refuse?”
“I couldn’t, I had no choice...”
“We all have a choice, Aslan.”
“There was evidence of her allegiance to the Chaos Gods, I knew it couldn’t be true but how could I-”
“It wasn’t true, Aslan. The Wrex family blood line is one of the strongest; it has given us many brave and stoic warriors every time we come looking for recruits. I should know this best.”
“... Is that because you have lived for so long, Father?”
“Well, yes there is that, but more so as I too was of Wrex descent a very long time ago.”
“So we are related?”
“In many ways we are, yes, not just by Primarch. However I have given up that name, I did centuries ago, and so should you.”
“But I am Prince Aslan W-”
“No. No you are not, Aslan. You are Brother Aslan Wrex of the Dark Angels Chapter; you are no better than I nor am I better than you. Albeit rank, but that is only because I have tenfold the experience you do.”
Aslan lowered his head, pausing to take a deep breath.
The Chaplain continued.
“We abandon our pasts in the Dark Angels; we do not care for who you were but for who you are. You are an Astartes, son of the Lion and Emperor, Father to all. We are the First Legion, we are the Unforgiven. Forget who you were, revere who you are.”
Aslan raised his head and nodded firmly in acceptance. Before Aslan could open his mouth to speak the Chaplain continued.
“Now, as for the fray back on Hive Verex. You killed your own Brother.”
“The blood runs deeper than that, Father.”
“I know, I know. You shared the same parents. However that does not excuse such a petit Brotherly feud such as this, especially one that has resulted in the loss of a fellow Marine. What have you to say for yourself?”
“His allegiance was with Magron, he may have been my Brother but his visions were twisted and corrupt. I had to end him.”
“Hrmm... I believe you.”
“Father?”
“You took so damn long staring at that statue that I watched as you and your Brother exchanged blows, verbal and physical. I know who and what Magron is, I’d be poor at my job if I didn’t after all of these centuries of chasing him. I know his wicked ways and how he enters your mind and plays with your thoughts and emotions. Krant was not the first; Hive Verex was his last domain of power before he came to your home world. Tyran was sooner or later going to give into his twisted visions planted by the heretic and jeopardize his Brothers’ lives. He was a heretic in the making, if you will... You did do the right thing, if not a little hasty and clouded by anger.”
Aslan’s head lowered back down out of shame.
The Chaplain stared at Aslan for a moment before taking a deep breath.
“Do you know of our Second Company, Aslan?”
Aslan’s head rose back up to answer.
“Yes, Father. The Second are the Ravenwing, but what of them?”
“You may not know but I am the Company’s Chaplain and I would like it for you to join us.”
Aslan stopped himself from dropping his jaw in surprise as his eyes popped in shock.
“Y-you want me to join the Ravenwing?”
“Yes, Aslan I would. Your experience with the chapter has proven you capable for the role; you are an experience combatant and veteran of many battles. I hope you cope well with the transition of standing and holding a position to fast paced assaults with your heavy weapon on the sidecar of a bike. But don’t be fooled, young Aslan. It is not just your battlefield experience that I am interested in. It is your keen eye for corruption and your willingness to strike down your own Brother to see that our chapter is forgiven for its sins.”
“Our sins, Father?”
“I do think it is about time I tell you a little of our dark past, Aslan... But first, will you join us?”
“... Do I have a choice, Father?”
“I told you boy, we all have a choice.”
At that moment Aslan rose from his chair and bowed before the old Chaplain.
“It would be an extreme honour to be accepted into the ranks of the Ravenwing, Father. I do accept, and I will prove myself worthy of such an honour.”
“Sit down boy, you’re still wounded, you’re in no position to be jumping up and down bowing all over the place.”
With that remark, for the first time, Nemiel let escape a small metallic chuckle. It was a rare occurrence for Nemiel to look so human as to actually laugh. After Aslan had returned to his seat the Chaplain continued.
“I have already confirmed your acceptance into the Ravenwing with Company Master Sammael, I have told him of your progress and your potential and he eagerly awaits your initiation into the Company. But first, let me tell you a little about... The Fallen.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks for reading.

Nice, you've set out that Aslan's motives were well known as well as given him a bitch slap for still thinking of himself in terms of his old life. Nemiel seems like the grumpy chaplain with the heart of gold haha.

Looking forward to seeing what Aslan makes of the Fallen... has to be a shock to anyone really!

Agree with Chris' comments. Good work

The fallen, Lion & Cipher = messy

Do you think that Aslan looks at Memnon & Cristus & asks himself why couldn't his Primarch just have stayed out of it all & wrote a nice book instead.

“How’s the arm working out for you?”
“As long as it gets the job done and the trigger finger works then I have no complaints. Though I do miss my old arm...”
“I hear you’re missing a heart too?”
“Yeah, but that’s been long gone for decades now.”
“An old battle wound?”
“No, I’ve just never really felt human...”
“... How hilarious, Brother.”
“You didn’t think so?”
“No, not really, though I’m not a member of the Officio Comedium, so I wouldn’t know. Regardless, as long as you have no complaints and your motor skills are intact.”
“Oh, they’re much better. Much easier to squeeze the trigger, but mine has always been too light when it comes to traitors.”
“Mhmm... Or you might just have a problematic trigger finger.”
“Looks like you did a shoddy job in replacing it then, Apothecary.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t leave your limbs lying around the battlefield then, Brother.”
“Hrm, touché.”
“Come back if you have any problems, we don’t want your finger locking up on the trigger.”
“Now that’d be a spectacle. Thank you, Apothecary Siddius.”
Aslan rose from the stone tablet, a servitor meeting him the second he got up with the Marine’s chemical plant delicately held between its servo vice, quickly fitting and attaching it to Aslan’s back. His new polished black armour gleamed, the battle damage still noticeable but now with a shiny gloss. The crown of his power helm gleamed in the dim candle light as he slipped it on, still bearing the bite marks of a chain blade above the left eye. It served as a reminder to the Brother of what he had done, now completely abandoned of all blood relatives, and he made sure of it so. But he no longer cared for he still had his Brothers in arms, their Primarch’s blood flowing through his and his Brothers’ veins.

The Ravenwing treat young Aslan well and he served with them for decades from then on and had even ridden to battle with Chaplain Nemiel himself, and on occasion that a war broke loose even Company Master Sammael. It was indeed a true honour to Aslan to work with such figures of prowess and might. After learning of his Fallen Brothers and that Magron was also one he felt more at ease knowing one of the greatest secrets of the chapter. However there were still some things that were yet to be known and Aslan intended to find them out, given time and through every gruesome battle he would come closer to learning the truth. Aslan assisted in the capturing of only two Fallen Brothers; however this was an exceptional turn out during his service as a part of the Ravenwing, the chapter being lucky enough to even get only one and even going hundreds of years without even getting a clue to one. Nemiel made it essential that Aslan came along on every mission following the chase of Magron, rifling through countless planets that he had cursed with his vile taint. Most were recruitment planets for the Dark Angels; others were dead and even death worlds. Aslan or Nemiel never caught a glimpse of Magron ever again since then even after so many decades of searching.

“What are you talking about, Father!? I can’t, nay, I will not abandon the hunt!”
“Aslan, you must understand that whilst your place is with us, as an Unforgiven, there’re greater threats facing mankind. As I have told you we are the protectors of mankind we must do so rather than chasing our redemption!”
“How can you say that, as a Chaplain of our chapter!? You would rather your Brother chase aliens rather than find-”
“His revenge?”
“Ye- no! I am simply making it in my best interest to chase this fiend for the good of the chapter!”
“Don’t dress your vendettas with our chapter’s goal. Yes, he is our Fallen Brother, and that is why we are still hunting him, just because you won’t be a part of this hunt doesn’t mean we’re giving up on it, you just won’t be a part of it.”
“Why not!? I too am a Dark Angel; I have fought in countless wars and even by your side!”
“Listen; whilst your place is with the chapter and ours is your goal too you would be better placed in the Deathwatch. Let us handle Magron and our Fallen Brothers and you can help save mankind like the Emperor intended for us.”
“I am not licking the Inquisition’s boot!”
The Chaplain let escape a deep sigh. Aslan paced back and forth inside the Chaplain’s office going from wall to wall out of anger and frustration.
“Listen, Aslan... We have been cold on the chase of Magron for years; we seem to be looking in all the wrong places. With you as a part of the Deathwatch you could cover far more than what the Second or First can. You can still hunt for him but whilst hunting xenos.”
“I find it hard to believe Magron is skulking around with Tyranids, Father...”
“You’re missing my point. So if you do encounter him, what then? What would you do?”
“Kill him.”
“... And how do you suppose you would do that?”
“With my finger on the trigger and his head in my sights. There will nothing left of him.”
“And you don’t think I haven’t tried this?”
“... No, Father. But I haven’t tried either.”
“Ha, you’re still so young and foolish. He would kill you, Aslan. What then?”
“I can rejoin my family knowing I tried.”
“... Death finds us all given time, Aslan, don’t be so eager to find it yourself. Use the Deathwatch to find yourself and become stronger. Once you have found your strength you may return and help me, like we used to, help me find him and make him confess to his sins.”
“You’re talking like I have no choice, Father... What happened to we all h-”
“Not this time, Aslan. Not this time. We’ve all got to do things we don’t want to sometimes.”
Aslan stopped in his tracks as he approached the Chaplain’s desk, placing both of his palms down on the desk and lowering his head as he sighed heavily. The Chaplain watched him with his arms flat across the desk, his hands clasped together.
“I-if I am to join the Deathwatch then... So be it, but not just so I can grow stronger... Yes, whilst my mind is clouded by anger and hatred my interest is with the interests of man too. Suffer not the alien to live.”
“Good. That is what I like to hear.”
“But as soon as I return, stronger, you will let me rejoin you in the hunt.”
The Chaplain paused for a moment just staring at him through his gruesome skulled helm, an eerie silence filling the room before finally the Chaplain jerked back with laughter, slamming his open palm on the desk. Aslan quirked his brow in reaction to the Chaplain’s sudden reaction, never seeing him so ecstatic.
“Yes, my son. Of course you will, after all you are Brother Aslan Wrex of the Dark Angels chapter, Second Company Ravenwing. It would not be right to not have you rejoin us on the hunt.”
“May I be as so bold to request something of you, Father?”
“... That depends on how bold, son.”
“Would you remove your helm?”
Aslan maintained eye contact with the Chaplain’s cold and creepy stare.
“Hrm... What an odd request.”
“Yes, I guess so. I just never have seen you without your helmet off and your actual face.”
“Believe me, boy, there isn’t much to see...”
“I would like to be the judge of that.”
A small chuckled escaped the Chaplain’s lips as he hesitantly raised his hands to the bottom edge of his helmet.
“I haven’t removed my helm in front of an audience in well over one hundred years, let alone just one man.”
He grasped the edges and slowly pulled it off revealing a fierce and beaten face. His skin was pale and resembled a cold stone, rough and craggy. His right eye was a cold gun grey whilst his left was completely white, totally abandoned of iris or pupil. His bald head was covered in a blanket of scars, one boldly running down from the top of his head and down his left eye and all the way to the corner of his mouth. In fact the entire left side of his face seemed twisted and scarred the most, as though touched by unholy fires. The Chaplain smiled a crooked smile in reaction to Aslan’s response, with his jaw and eyes wide open.
“I am honoured, Father Nemiel.”
“Honoured by my ugly battle worn face? Ha.”
“I am honoured to be the first to see Father’s face in well over one hundred years.”
“And I hope you to be the last.”

An Aquila Lander, dressed in black and bearing the infamous red ‘I’ of the Inquisition on each wing and door, waited for Aslan inside the Rock. A handful of marines were there to bid him good-bye, some among his old Ninth Company squad and the rest with the Ravenwing. Father Nemiel stood by the Aquila Lander, watching as Aslan was swarmed by his gathering. Shortly after his observation he strode forward to address the young lion. The crowd parted like a sea to the presence of the old Chaplain who in his hands held his robes folded neatly and covering the outline of a long sword. The Chaplain looked almost naked without them. There were no words needed for this moment, Aslan accepted the sword and with it the robes, his expression turned into a proud one, his back straightening and his shoulders held back. Nemiel’s cold stare turned into a warm one, even through the gruesome skulled helm. He looked Aslan straight in the eye as he patted his hand on his shoulder, giving a firm nod and spoke.
“The Emperor protects... May he be with you always and may you always remember who you are.”
“Yes, Father, I shall.”
Aslan felt the Chaplain’s warm smile irradiate from behind his helm, a small chuckle escaped his lips as the hand on his shoulder then went to gently tap him across the cheek.
Aslan never looked back even as the doors shut behind him.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks for reading.

nice.

Really liked the conversation between the apothacary & Wrex.

Aleast the last father figure didn't die or try & kill him. definately an improvement

Nice stuff, good to see a bit of camraderie and warmth from another character lol. Aslan will have to lighten up a bit I think

Aslan walked out from the darkness of the corridor, now clad in his old Company Chaplain’s robes as well as the arcane ceremonial sword dressed above his backpack ammo supply, bearing the mark of Wrex, his and his Chaplain’s old and forgotten family. Aslan halted before entering the Stratagem to collect his thoughts and motives. He made sure that his helmet was straight and looking forward under his arm, his robes pristine and his hood pulled up to shadow his features, his armour and sword polished clean but still maintaining the rough ware and tare of battle damage. Following a deep breath the lion confidently walked into the briefing room, his eyes narrowed and kept straight ahead, looking up only to address his new squad’s members.
The first he looked upon for a second was tall and stout looking, an Emperor’s Scythe to be precise. His face his was grim and there was a fire in his eye, the other was nothing more than a lens. Aslan admired that fire, but would only see it tested come their first mission, until then the Devastator assumed prowess over him. However Aslan could not doubt the fact that despite being older than the young marine he will have seen horrors rivalling, if not greater than, Aslan’s own. The lion saw a little bit of himself in the Scyhte, but this unproven faith in his Brother already was untested and frail, having only seen fires in his eye, only would the two properly have the chance to connect on the battlefield.
His attention then drew to a mighty figure that he immediately recognised as the Watch Captain, a Minotaur. Aslan had met him beforehand during his entering into the Deathwatch; however his form was always mighty and had an aura of command about him. Aslan showed nothing more than respect for the Watch Captain.
The next, and last in the room already, was a Templar. Self righteous and devoted looking, however cold and distant, as is the distrust for all outside their zealous chapter. The lion associated himself with the Templar for a second, seeing eye to eye with the same level of distrust a Templar would have for another, however a Templar’s was much deeper as it was fuelled mostly by hatred and their faith. Aslan did not doubt this Templar’s but felt cautious and uneasy to be around him, as though the Templar was sizing Aslan up and would jump at any second to prove his own faith and challenge Aslan’s. However it was reassuring to note the difference in power armour and the sigils denoting him as an Apothecary, if the narthecium wasn’t proof enough.
Aslan made his way into the room, standing opposite of the Watch Captain, simply nodding to his Brothers in acknowledgment; however he kept his face stern and deadly serious. They may be his Brothers but they were all strangers and could not be trusted with his life, they could only forge a bond through blood and battle, and in the forty first millennium there was plenty.

An eerie aura filled the room after then as the next member of the kill team entered; the presence was ominous and held a dark tinge that left Aslan’s mouth tasting sour. A Librarian entered the room; Aslan has no ill quarrel against psykers however this Blood Angel held something about him. It did not help as the Templar scowled at the Brother’s entrance, however comically to which the Blood Angel smirked in return. Aslan kept his poker face, stern and aware, giving the Librarian a nod in acceptance, and then returning to sizing up the rest of his kill team.
A roar of laughter echoed throughout the corridor as well as the heavy approaching footsteps of more fellow Astartes. Aslan could recognise the smell of wet dog as the obnoxious Space Wolf entered, Aslan’s eye twitched in reaction. A ‘Sky Claw’ he recognised him as, as well as having seen his face before, or so he had thought, as it seemed familiar. Aslan has attended the ceremonial duel between a Lion and a Wolf before and has watched as two partook in a furious battle. The same wolf may have been a face among the crowd on the other side of the arena. However Aslan was unsure as there were plenty of smelly dogs that day.
The Fenrisian seemed feral and beast like, but fun loving and young as he should be for someone of his position, if Aslan were correct in recalling the chapter’s organisation. Despite him and the wolf’s chapter forming a friendly rivalry among each other Aslan did not like the Space Wolves personally, taking offense at their Primarch, Leman Russ, and how he had offended his own Primarch, Lion El’Johnson. Aslan believed Lion El’Johnson was right to win that battle as he was clearly not only the strongest but the most skilled combatant. However Aslan’s thoughts digressed and he returned to sizing up the kill team.
Around the arm of the wolf was an unfamiliar chapter. Whilst Aslan is fully aware of the Adeptus Mechanicus and the worshipers of the Machine God he was always suspicious and reluctant to acknowledge the Machine God great enough to worship alongside the Emperor, believing personally is was close to heresy. The Storm Warden seemed arrogant and stubborn; more machine than man which made him seem cold for a human. Or rather cold for what was a human, after all Space Marines gave up their own humanity in order to save humanity. This individual in particular, however, seemed to had gone a step further by willingly replacing flesh with metal. Flesh is indeed weak but why else would the Emperor bless his chosen with power armour? Techmarines would forever baffle Aslan who still missed his right arm and human heart.
A final Techmarine entered the room after then, wearing his helmet despite the others in the room. Aslan took some offense to this, having no real etiquette or courtesy to remove his helm in front of his Brothers. However this Space Marine had to be another zealot. The Apothecary came forward and saluted him especially.
“Get a room...”
Aslan had murmured under his breath as he lowered his head, covering his face with his hood and smirking a little.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks for reading the last part to my character's fluff, I hope you enjoyed.
I written this based off of Dan's impression of the characters meeting in order to not confuse the order of appearence, etc.