Editing Conservators (section)

===Knighted, Part 2: A Fine Sword===

Three days later, the hour of ascension was nearly upon him. He stood before a full length mirror, looking himself over. He wore his steel plate armor, his scout gear, polished until it shone like a mirror. He looked himself over, checking every bit of his armor and adjusting it slightly, trying to make sure that everything was perfect.

"Oh stop your fidgeting, you look perfect." A voice beside him said.

He looked over, seeing his wife standing there, a brown haired beauty who had stolen his heart one day. He had returned home, fresh from a scouting expedition in which he had slain a number of greenskins in the high fells, back to tending his tavern when in she had walked, into his bar and into his life.

"You know me, I have to make sure everything is perfect, today of all days." He said, adjusting his belt, the blade he had helped to forge hanging from it in its scabbard.

She shook her head, reaching up to make some minor adjustments. "Hush now, this is just a ceremony, to think that someone who slays orks by the dozen would be nervous over a little public display like this." She tisked at him. He tried to find something to object at, but her adjustments seemed to have made his armor truly perfect. He nodded.

"I have been working towards this day for the past twenty five years, I think I'm entitled to a bit of nervousness." He said, making her chuckle.

He looked at himself in the mirror, armored bulk dwarfing the woman next to him. "My love... do you have any regrets?" He asked, looking to her. "About us... I truly have been blessed to have you in my life but... I do worry that a Conservator may not make the best husband. My duties to the Imperium may well take me far from home for Emperor alone knows how long. I may leave for years at a time, or simply never return. I fear that my duty to my Imperium will prevent me from doing my duty to my wife." He said, holding her hand gently in his armored gauntlet.

She smiled. "My only regret, is that you did not give me this child sooner." she said, placing his massive hand on her swollen belly. "So that our son could see his father on his knighting day."

"Son?" He asked, nervously.

She nodded. "The medicae confirmed it." She said with a smile.

The corners of Marcus' mouth quirked up in a somewhat goofy grin. "That's... that's nice to know." He said, holding her close. A few moments later he heard the trumpet outside. "Time to go." He said, his wife nodding before she slipped away out of the room. A few minutes later a second horn sounded. Marcus nodded to his reflection one last time, before he stepped out of the door.

Before him was a cobbled street, packed on each side with people. He was in the city of Arcarun, capitol of Gallorn and naturally the seat of power for the Conservators on the planet. The crowds were quiet, only excited murmurs heard on either side of him. He walked alone down the street, colorful banners flying from rooftops and off of walls, flower petals strewn on the street before him.

He walked up to the temple at the end of the street, a great majestic building of stone. On the front steps stood seven hulking figures, battle brothers in full power armor. Six stood upon the steps, three to a side, clad head to toe in Mk V armor, their impassive helmets betraying nothing. At the top of the steps stood an elder brother in his Mk VI armor, his helmet off to show his weathered features.

The crowd grew totally silent as he slowly ascended the steps of the temple, passing the unmoving battle brothers on each side. He reached the top and stood before the elder marine. The sergeant looked him over.

"Scout Marcus, you stand before us today a marine who has proven your worth. In the service of your world you have shown bravery, in the service of your Imperium you have shown duty, in the service of your Emperor you have shown loyalty. For all of these you have been noted, and for all of them you have been judged." He said, reaching out his hand. "Give me your sword." He said.

Marcus unclipped the blade from his belt and handed the sheathed sword to the veteran marine, who drew it from its scabbard, examining it.

The sergeant examined the sword, setting the scabbard down and taking it in both hands, moving it around his body in a fluid form, feeling the weight, watching the steel shimmer in the summer sunlight. "This is a fine sword." He said, holding it up so the crowd could see. "It has been forged with skill and patience. The proper time and tools were used to forge it. So too is a marine forged, with time and care and skill." He said, as he began to pace, Marcus standing in place.

"Training, dedication, experience. Over decades is a marine forged into a weapon which can be taken into battle. And over the decades and centuries to come he is honed and sharpened and refined into a blade which can pierce any defense, fell any foe." He looked to the sword again. "This is a fine sword." He repeated. "It is simple, and it is plain. It is not weighed down with decoration or adornment. No unneeded pieces mar its perfect lines, nothing upon it keeps it from performing its task to the utmost."

"So too must a marine avoid the trappings of glory, the distractions of medals and honors. It is not for these things he fights, it is for the people of the Imperium, for his battle brothers, for the cause in which he has dedicated his life. He must not allow himself to become weighed down with desire for glory and renown, it is humility and service which make a marine great, not the trappings of fame."

"This is a fine sword." He said again, holding the tip in his gauntleted hand. He flexed it, making the steel bend. "It knows how to bend, to change, to let the forces of the world move about it without compromising what it is. Where a more brittle blade would snap, it can change, and return to what it must be to perform its duty." He said, releasing the blade so it snapped back to its original shape. "So too must a marine know how to bed, how to adapt to the changing world around him. Where others are set in their ways, he must know how to change. It is not blind obedience to ancient custom which shows his worth, but the ability to perform his duty under any circumstance. While the ocean may part around a great stone, that stone is worn down over centuries. It is the leaf on the wind, which can flow and move with the world around it, that soars unimpeded." He said, walking back to where Marcus stood.

"This... is a fine sword." He said for the final time. "It is worthy of a fine marine to carry it forward. Tell me, Marcus Killian of Gallorn, are you worthy of this sword?" He asked with an expectant gaze.

Marcus thought. "Brother sergeant." He said after some thought. "I do not know."

The marine thought for a long moment, nodding his head. "An honest answer." He said, looking to the sword again. "Strive to be worthy with all your heart and soul, and you will be. Now, kneel." He said, raising the sword to the sky. Marcus went down on one knee, bowing his head. "By that authority which hath been entrusted in me, by the Chapter Master, by the Imperium, by the Emperor himself by the action of his servants, do I induct thee, Marcus Killian, into the orders of the Conservators." He said, placing the sword tip on Marcus' shoulder. "Arise, battle brother."

He allowed himself a small swell of pride as he rose to his feet, the crowd bursting into noise and energy as he rose. Several more figures emerged from the temple, artisans in their work clothes overseen by a wizened tech priest in his rust red robes. A small curtain was set up around the new battle brother as his plate armor was stripped off and neatly stacked to the side. The artisans helped him into his undersuit for power armor, and then began affixing the armor around him. Piece by piece the suit was built about his body, until at last the helmet lowered onto his head, the marine blinking as he looked at the HUD for the first time.

The ancient suit of armor felt like it had been made for him, the Mk V suit, made during the Horus Heresy itself, lost for centuries and rediscovered in the chapter's hour of greatest need, and now his to wield. He stood tall and proud on the steps of the temple as the brother sergeant held out his sword, hilt first.

Marcus reached out, and grasped the blade, holding it unsheathed for the first time. The sword gleamed before him as he took it in both hands, turning to the assembled crowd. He held the bastard sword before him, the crowd cheering as the temple bells rang. Behind his impassive helm, Marcus allowed himself a private smile. At long last he was truly one of the Astartes. Soon he would leave his world behind for the first time in his life, he would feel the heat of distant stars upon his skin, walk the surface of alien worlds.

He searched the crowd, after a moment his eyes falling on his wife's face, one hand on her pregnant belly. He gave her a little nod to let her know he saw her. No matter how far from home his duty took him, no matter what wonders or horrors he saw, he knew that one small corner of the universe would always hold a meaning for him that none other could.

But such thoughts could wait. Today he was a newly inducted battle brother. Today he had his whole life ahead of him, and the stars awaited his arrival. Today, life was good.