trans_9 | Contemplation and recuperation (Open)

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Contemplation and recuperation (Open)

Erhart kneels before the great statue of the god-emperor of mankind, lost in prayer, and contemplation. His armor is bare, stripped of all the paint and embellishment that is his right to wear as the Emperor's Champion, instead it is mostly gunmetal gray, with a few patches of gold showing through in places. His Crusader and Purity seals are nothing more than tattered scraps of parchment and wax, mostly burned away. His right pauldron is shattered, his left deeply groved, there are multiple puncture and burn marks on his plastron, and he bleeds. Oh yes, inside, there are many bruises, and he can feel at least one broken rib grate as he holds his humble pose before the image of the Master of Mankind, going through a Litany of Remembrance as he does so.

He stops, after finishing his devotions, and anoints himself with an ampule of holy water from a great marble bowl set in the Reclusiam, off to the right of the statue of Him on Earth. He turns, and stands, looking out over the city, watching the flashes of gunfire and the sounds of battle. He can do nothing, for now, too tired. While one of the catchphrases of the Eternal Crusade is no mercy, no respite, he can't bring himself to go out to fight again quite yet. Not like this. He can barely lift his sword. He needs.... rest.
And so he waits. For someone? Perhaps. Or perhaps just for a few moments of rest before returning to the war.

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Fighting was good and all, as was defending his little cave hovel of a house, but sometimes...the kitty wanted to just see other people work. Given the awkwardly opportune situation going on, it was a good chance to see what everyone was capable of.

He was also desperately hoping the Vatican would violently and bloodily fall. Personal bitterness at it's best.

However, every time he'd venture from his home, across the river to stealthily try and see what was going on with the building, he was disappointed it wasn't already overrun and coated in a thick layer of blood and dust. Sometimes he poked his head inside, slinking his way in whatever way possible to observe those inside out of sheer curiosity.

Of course, seeing someone actually anointing themselves wasn't anything he expected. Cazali positioned himself to laxly drape over the head of one of the statues, at least being "polite" enough to wait until the Champion had finished his devotions before speaking up.

"Humans still pray, even where you're from?"

And here he thought people had holed up in the building under the assumption it'd never be broken.

Erhart doesn't turn his head, continuing to stare out over the city, saying.

"With our god made manifest and ascended to the golden throne? How could we not pray? We see miracles every day, the spark of divine firing our zeal for battle, and in every slaying of our foes."

...whoa, this one was serious. Caz hadn't heard talk like that since the Crusades. Er, the 1200s ones.

"God was made manifest?" This was one of those times when it was better for him to not be in his human illusion, so if anything, the whole dampener had helped him unconsciously. "So, does that mean god literally decided to descend and chill with you guys, or did some mortal attain his status and steal his name~?"

A pause, and he shrugged from his vantage point. "Just curious."

"He was made manifest, yes. And walked among us, leading the Great Crusade, before his ascension unto the Golden Throne of Earth, after his son Horus Lupercal had mortally wounded him."

His back is still turned, as he recites the old tale, as if from memory.

Whatever damage Zouichi might have sustained in battle was more or less masked. His customary black body armor covered most of his body and it was, of course, difficult to spot bloodstains on material that dark. His complexion was pale... but that was normal for him. Whatever his physical state, it was clear he wasn't in any particular agony. The power dampening field could weaken him, but it couldn't make him spontaneously sprout the receptors required to feel the kind of pain Erhart did.

"I see you've made it out in one piece."

"You as well, Zouichi. You appear to have fared somewhat better than I." He looks out over the conflict-torn city.

"Fighting as a mortal is... frustrating. This need for sleep and rest rankles."

"Didn't do as much hand-to-hand fighting." Which was true; while Erhardt had his sword, Zouichi generally stuck to his guns. And of course on this ship there were actually people around to lend Zouichi battle support, something he'd rarely had a chance to enjoy back on Earth.

Zouichi glanced at the structure around them, at the accoutrements of the ceremony, but found little to identify with in either. Religious ceremony wasn't part of his upbringing. Nor was paying homage to some Emperor who devoured the lives of his subjects in order to survive. In many ways, Erhart's society was more alien to him than were those of actual aliens.

"Yeah. Must be tough. Wonder how all those other mortals stand it." ~~sarcasm sarcasm~~

"Simple. They don't fight for a week straight as Astartes do." I am familiar with their limits, I was.... made aware of them during the campaign against the Orks on the world of Armageddon."

After a moment he continues, "We fought side by side with the STeel Legion, and their combat effectiveness plummeted after the first few hours of the engagement. The Apothecaries determined it was battle fatigue, and mental stress as well. I can't blame them, the greenskins are a hard foe to overcome, at least en masse. Individually someone like you or I would find them no challenge at all."

"Of course their combat effectiveness plummeted after a couple hours. They're human." And why did Erhart need Apothecaries to tell him that? "People need rest. They can't fight all the time. And even if they could, the mental trauma of fighting battle after battle would eventually catch up with them."

"I so rarely see humans. The only other people I meet are my battle-brothers, and they are as I am. After several hundred years I begin to forget their limitations."

He looks tired for a moment, gripping his blade more tightly. "We must fight on though. Or Shodan will win."

"You are human." And that's part of what got on Zouichi's nerves so much -- the way Erhart drew some arbitrary line in the sand between himself and the rest of humanity. It was always 'the mortals' or 'their limitations', as if somehow in the process of becoming a Templar Erhart had become a member of some separate species. A superior species, judging from the way he went on about it.

"And I'd appreciate it if you'd stop grouping me with you. As far as I'm concerned, we're fighting on the same side. For now. And that's all. I'm not part of your crusade, I don't share your views, and I hope I never do."

Erhart just gives him a quiet look. "I am not human, not as it is commonly understood. I have given up all that I was, and could have become, to be their sword, and the sword of the Emperor, and Dorn, his son."

He shakes his head, "It would be impossible for me to convey the nature of my world to you, so I cannot fault you for that, though I must disagree in one aspect. You are like me in that you... are set apart. You are as different as I. More so, I at least have dim memories of being completely mortal."

"Yeah, and I'm a member of the Star Trek Official Fan Club. That doesn't make me a Klingon." In Zouichi's book, Erhart was an enhanced human (okay, maybe a particularly fanatical one), but that was all. Plenty of people like that where he came from.

...But that wasn't quite all, was it?

Ultimately, there were many things the two of them had in common. The abilities, the bodycount, the mission... maybe even the sense of dedication. Which was exactly why Zouichi couldn't stand him. Erhart wasn't just some random asshole in a powered suit, someone Zouichi could dismiss as irrelevant -- he was what Zouichi might have been. A xenophobic, arrogant religious fanatic raised in ignorance, whose delusions of grandeur and honor only served to make him a better war machine. Someone whose sense of self, of decency, had been subsumed by some misguided crusade long ago, someone who probably hadn't had an original thought rattling around in that big bald skull of his for a couple hundred years.

Erhart, more than anyone else, embodied the traits that Zouichi disliked most about humanity. At the same time, he was more similar in nature to Zouichi than anyone else on the ship. Awake or asleep, perhaps. So what did that make him?

His response was clipped, harsh. "I'm nothing like you."

Well, okay, he kind of was, but you know what he meant, right Erhart? P.S. Don't offer to rule the galaxy as father and son anytime soon.

Edited 2011-12-22 16:28 (UTC)

Erhart just stands quietly, and nods his head, "So you say, but I ask you this: Why are you here, Zouichi? What function do you serve? Consider the question carefully."

Erhart moves, quite suddenly, walking around Zouichi, circling him, ignoring the screaming pain in his limbs as he does so.

"And if we are nothing alike... Why are you here now? " He leans in, as he asks that question, then steps back once more, continuing the strange, dance-like walk around the Chapel.

~~DON'T TELL HIM WHAT TO DO YOU'RE NOT HIS DAD >8|~~ Sorry, Erhart. You just weren't going to get the full story when Zouichi was angry. You know, if he ever felt like telling you at all.

"Because if there's any chance at all of restoring Earth, it's here." And if anyone was going to save his world, it had to be him. There was simply no one else left.

He narrowed his eyes at Erhart circling around him, but made no move otherwise. "I'm not here to experience some kind of miraculous conversion to your Emperor's service, if that's what you're implying."

Edited 2011-12-23 04:23 (UTC)

"As long as you fight here, you serve him by [roxy, because victory will result in the restoration of my world, as well as your own. But, I wasn't asking you to do that. Why are you here, talking to me? You obviously despise me. So why not leave it be? What is it that makes you look in on me, when I am making my devotions?"

He halts, too tired to continue stalking around Z, looking like he's standing sentinel beside a wall, but in actuality, letting some of his immense weight rest against it.

Serving the Emperor of Earth, even by proxy? The suggestion alone filled him with revulsion, temporarily sweeping away his awareness of anything else Erhart might have said. "So what are you saying? That you're serving the Eldar by proxy? As far as I'm concerned, any benefits you and your emperor reap are an unfortunate side effect." You know, like clots. Or vomiting blood.

Only after he'd spoken did Zouichi realize Erhart had asked something else. Why was he here? It was several moments longer before Zouichi simply gave up on coming up with an answer. "Hell if I know."

Because some part of him wanted to believe Erhart wasn't a horrible person, even as Zouichi convinced himself that he was. Because they were similar, but Zouichi didn't want to recognize that similarity. Because he hated Erhart and what he represented. Because Erhart was, on some loathsome level, familiar. Because he couldn't kill a fellow crew member, but he couldn't come to terms with Erhart's existence, either.

And it would be so much easier if he could just kill Erhart, wouldn't it? It would be like wiping the ship clean, wiping himself clean. It would fix everything; it always had. There were people he had to protect, and there were enemies, and enemies received no mercy, no quarter, no remorse. He didn't have to think about what it meant when some of the enemies he had to fight were human -- what it meant to be created by humans to kill humans, because the enemy was guilty and soon they'd be dead and once they were dead, that was the end of it.

Edited 2011-12-23 14:05 (UTC)

"No. When the Imperium and the Galaxy is returned to existence, they will return to running, hiding, and slowly dying. I do not serve them here, my work here will only return things to the slow decline already at work in the Galaxy."

He stares down at Zouichi, the set of his body indicating contempt. "Or haven't they told you the truth about the Eldar? They're dying, Zouichi. They have spent their strength, and they are losing. Their craftworlds flit from place to place, and interfere where they can, but they are a broken race."

He growls, briefly, "You have only seen the half they wish to show you, and even that is witch-tainted. Ask them about Comorragh, Zouichi. Ask them about the slavers, the Mandrakes, the raiders and the Haemonculi. Ask them about the past they are running from."

"As for the Emperor, I will forgive your casual blasphemy because you don't know. You haven't seen humanity as it was in the Age of Strife, after technology went berserk, and warp storms swallowed the galaxy. He stepped from the shadows, and led us out into the world once more. He gave us unity and purpose, and a destiny."

He is quiet for a moment, looking up at the skull-faced representation of Him on Earth, alive in death, on the side Reclusiam Chapel.

"It was once an Empire of matchless splendor, a place of learning, hope, civilization and secular harmony. The pinnacle of all human endeavor, just one step away from the final eminence dreamt of by its creator. Within the bounds of this Imperium peace reigned, and mankind flourished across millions of worlds. A great crusade of this kingdom's finest warriors led by a brotherhood of demigods, angels and giants beat back the darkness at the edges of the night. They laid the final stones in the path to greatness. They fought in the name of the day when their weapons could finally be set to rest. When their Emperor's great work could finally be unveiled, the day when everything would change. But the dream perished. Voices in the void sewed the seeds of dissent and reaped the chaos that spread. And in the firestorm that followed, kindled by old hatreds, envy and distrust, the galaxy burned."

He is quiet, as if he doesn't want to remember the rest, "For the Emperor's brightest son had fallen, the unthinkable, the heretical had become fact. The Imperium had attacked itself. The Warmaster turned upon his father, and besieged Terra. My gene father, Rogal Dorn, was called back to Terra to fortify it for the coming war. 10,000 years ago, the Imperial Fists, predecessors to the Black Templars like myself, made a stand on the walls of the Palace Holy. In the end, Horus and the Emperor fought, the Emperor slaying his beloved son, and Horus mortally wounding the Emperor, who was imprisoned on the great mechanism of the Golden Throne, which commands the Astronomican, the great light which is the beacon for ships within the Warp."

Erhart clenches a fist. "He gave everything for us. And so I now give everything for him. For humanity. To preserve what is left, in the ashes of greatness. Don't be so quick to sneer at the work I must undertake as the last Champion of the Eternal Crusade, Zouichi."

Zouichi's eyes narrowed. "What's your point, exactly? That the weak don't deserve to live? That people fighting a losing battle should just give up, because the fact that they're losing must mean that they're genetically inferior to humanity?"

If Erhart had thought that pointing out the Eldar's decline in power might lessen Zouichi's sympathy for their plight, he couldn't have been more wrong. Zouichi had been created to kill, but he had also been created to protect. His entire existence had been one of defending a tiny population of survivors, who had clung to life against the assaults of a vastly superior fighting force. That Erhart displayed open scorn for a weakened people only reinforced Zouichi's impression of the man: Ignorant. Barbaric. A jackal, not content merely to celebrate his own victories, but who must also mock his enemies' defeats. Complete with boorish epithets, no doubt -- that Erhart had labeled Ildraniath witch did not escape his attention.

"The past they're running from? You mean the past they're fighting against? Yeah, I've heard a thing or two about what they did -- and how they paid for it. How they're still paying for it now, every second of their lives. So what are you trying to insinuate now? That the Eldar are all degenerates? War criminals? You're throwing an awful lot of names around, but I seem to remember fighting a couple hundred of your friends in the Sensoriums. Should I be judging you based on your deeds, or tossing you in with your corrupted compatriots?" You'll just have to excuse him for not taking everything you say at face value, Erhart. You do seem to spew an awful lot of propaganda.

Zouichi snorted. "Yeah. An empire of matchless splendor. For humanity. How much blood did it take to buy your great destiny? How many bodies did it take to prop up those shining white church spires? You can dress it up however you like; the only peace you ever had came at the point of a sword. For someone who comes down on the Eldar so hard for their failures, you sure like to romanticize your fall. Oh, wait, I forgot. When someone else does it, it must be because they're an inferior species. When it happens to you, it's a tragic sacrifice, unavoidable but noble. Well, at least you can take comfort in that glorious Imperial holding pattern of yours. I'm sure it's a steal at only a thousand human lives a day. Oh, and whoever else needs to be thrown into the meat grinder to prop up the great crusade. But who cares about them, right? All in a day's work for the Imperium."

"My hatred for the Eldar is far more specific in nature. Pedro Kantor, the Chapter Master of my blood-brothers the Crimson Fists, was betrayed by them, and suffered great losses because of it. I have also been to planets where they come to slay humanity, that does nothing more than eke out an existence on the face of it. If you think they are any less brutal than the Imperium, you are naive. We are honest about peace at the point of a blade. And.... the Astartes at least have honor. The Eldar haven't always been our enemies, not when Chaos is afoot in the Galaxy. But I hate them now because of their treatment of my brethren."

He shrugs his shoulders, "As for their genetic superiority or inferiority, I can't speak to that. I am not a Magos Genetor of the Adeptus Mechanicus. I am a Knight, and my honor and my war is all I know."

"As for how much blood it took to buy our destiny, there are more martyrs for the Imperium than there are stars. But that is the way of things. There are forces out there that are entirely inimical to humanity. The Eldar will at least run, if menaced. Perhaps if they ran far enough we would have no need to slay them." He shakes his head, "No, many enemies are more unrelenting in nature. The Ork, the Necron, which look quite similar to our present foes, I may add, the Chaos-tainted, and the other Xeno-breeds don't even converse. They simply kill."

He stares down at Zouichi with contempt, "While it is true it is hard to mourn each individual death, only a fool would not acknowledge that any death diminishes the galaxy, save those of the Fallen." He gestures to the votive candles in the chapel, "These commemorate our dead."

He looks back to statue, a man clad in simple robes, a hand held to his chest, the heraldry that of the Templar Cross upon the breast of the robes. His Primarch, Rogal Dorn. "The Heresy was not an inevitable, but noble event. A tragedy, yes, and the Emperor's ascension was a sacrifice to be sure, but it was because of Horus that such a price was paid. The Emperor had a plan, and we... all of his sons, it was a stain upon us all. Dorn, my gene father, who discovered him mortally wounded on the Vengeful Spirit after the great duel above Terra, knew it most of all. We had failed. Our Eternal Crusade is a penance. We do all we can for humanity because that is all we have left."

He proceeds to a final point, "As for judging me, ask yourself this: Am I not willing to sell my life for the continuance of this undertaking? I will stand in any storm, I will die for the people here. For you, even, if it comes to that. Just so that the work goes on, and the Imperium is restored." He glowers at Zouichi, "Ask your friends if they would do the same, whether their conviction is strong enough to die for."

Edited 2011-12-24 22:27 (UTC)

Zouichi looked at him in a mixture of disbelief and disgust. He hadn't been expecting much from Erhart, but this -- a confused mishmash of finger-pointing, chest-beating, and ham-handed rhetoric -- only served to drive home how little Erhart understood of why Zouichi took exception to him and what he stood for. How wide the gulf between them was.

"So because someone you know was betrayed by some of them," he said slowly, as though he could hardly believe what he was saying. "That means they're all out to get you. That justifies your hatred of an entire species. Do you know how ridiculous you sound? No -- don't bother with that; I think I know the answer. I just didn't want to believe the human race has gone nowhere for forty thousand years." Hating an entire race of people? Condemning them not because of their attacks on human settlements, not because of the worlds lost or the human lives that had been snuffed out, but because of a single incident in which some Space Marines had lost their lives? Was the man insane? Or was he just that far deluded, that staggeringly childish? That out of touch with what war was for the people who couldn't fight, whose only recourse in a firefight was to run or hide, praying that the danger would pass over them just this once?

"And don't lie to me about your honesty, either -- you've been feeding me the same half-truths and war propaganda you've been railing at the Eldar for. You didn't volunteer anything about what this glorious reclamation of planets for humanity really was; you tried to paper it over with euphemisms and false sympathy. So you know what? You can take those big old crocodile tears and shove it. At least the Eldar are honest about their self-interest."

Just listening to the man extolling his own virtues made Zouichi feel sick. "Where's the honor in razing a planet to the ground and crowing about how you brought enlightenment to those you murdered? You can't even call it what it is: genocide. Mass genocide, on an interplanetary scale. You boast about your self-sacrifice and glory in your butchery, but all those people who died -- they're just a footnote to you. A damage report, or worse: religious martyrs. A badge you can show everyone who cares to listen. Look how devoted I am, look how many of my brothers have fallen for our righteous cause. See how we honor them? See how valorous they were, how honorably they died? See how they died for you? We should all be glad to give our lives thus." He spat.

"You wouldn't know honor if it crawled up your ass and died. You can't pay respects to your dead without making it some kind of theatrical display. You can't even give up your own life for your cause without boasting to anyone who'll listen about how very noble you are for doing it. What do you want, a medal? Applause? A 'Great job, Erhart, let me give you a gold star for your religious zealotry'? I don't care about your faerie tales or your 'honor'. I don't care about how you think other people should serve their cause. I care about making sure everyone gets out of this alive."

"Giving up your life isn't proof of your faith, or a shortcut to supernatural bragging rights, or a badge of courage, or even evidence that you're better than everyone else. It's a choice, a choice that you make to end your own existence to save someone else's. And if you knew one damn thing about what it's like for an ordinary person to have to stand by and watch as their friends and family are cut down, maybe you'd understand that fearing death doesn't make you a coward. That even good people can't always make that choice. That not everyone serves the way you choose to, and that doesn't make them inferior to you."

"So I've got news for you. You can pick yourself back up the ground and stop rending your garments and gnashing your teeth and dying for our sins. I don't need anyone to sacrifice their life for mine, let alone you. If I'm alive at the end of this war, it'll be because fortune was on my side. If I give up my life for someone else, it'll be my decision, and the only thanks I'll need is their survival. You're a bigot and a butcher, and it makes me sick to think of what kind of state your version of humanity was in that forced them to put their hopes in someone like you."

And that was it. He was done. There was no point in remaining, so Zouichi merely turned to leave. If he ever set foot in here again, it'd probably be to rig the place up with high explosives.

Applejack's found herself weary too. It had been a tough fight to get out of Hydroponics, but she'd finally been escorted down to tend to whatever plants in the City could be salvaged. There were some things she'd yanked with her teeth and run with, knowing they'd need more food. Little by little, they needed to collect enough.

She dashes into the nearest building and finds Erhart, the one who could eat just about anything.

"Looks like you've been beaten around the barn," said Applejack, the pot calling the kettle black.

"An accurate description of my situation, Applejack." He nods his head a fraction as he confirms this. "The battle for the pods was... taxing. And I am unused to being so exhausted after a battle. The effects of this Iron Maiden upon the ship have stolen my vigor in some manner."

He looks down at her, and says, in a less formal tone, "I trust you are all right?"

Almost like he cares.

"I'm feeling it too." She comes closer, just about collapsing into a position on the floor. "Fought to keep everypony alive in Hydroponics. Couldn't save all the critters, so I came here to round up what I could."

It clearly bothered her, but she was trying to keep going.

"I am sure you did your best." He will cross to her, putting a hand out for a moment to lean against a chapel wall.

"Our foe is a powerful one, but with faith, fire, and ferocity we shall win in the end."

"We can't let 'em get us," Applejack agrees. "We've got what it takes. I think. It's just mighty tricky. These bots are tougher than weeds."

It frustrates her so much, but thinking about that's better than thinking about the even worse things that are going on. "How was it out there?"

"It is a hard war, I will not lie to you. The crew is brave, and I honor their bravery now, and will engrave the tale upon my armor if we survive this. However.. our losses are great, and mounting. It may well be that the final chapter of our story is left in the rent forms of the foes that we destroy here, though I would not prefer it to be so. I wish for victory."

He is quiet a while, considering their chances.

Is Applejack ready to accept that? Not a chance. Believing that it is possible to die feels too much like defeat to her, and she won't be defeated yet.

"Oh, I know it's hard. I just can't sit here and watch!" She's clearly distressed. "Gottas save what I can. There just has to be a way. Could we get your powers back?"

"I do not really have powers, you know. I am just very strong, very tough, and very fast."

He considers what a pony can do. He is entirely puzzled by the question.

"You sure? I thought eating all that stuff had to be a power."

It doesn't make sense to her, not at all. "So you're like an earth pony, then. Don't need any fancy tricks to get it done. But everypony else has had trouble all over the place. Can't fly, can't use magic."

"How unfortunate for them. No, my ability to eat comes from extra organs that were implanted within me when i was younger, an Aspirant."

He goes quiet for a moment, looking back to the guttering votive candles that commemorate the untold billions of Imperial dead.

"Oh. So it's just who you are. I gotcha."

She notices the candles too, silent for a good few moments. Ponies have their ways of remembering. She always will.

"Did you light the candles?"

"Some of them, yes. Master Cargn and the other fellow lit the others."

"Is this your place, then?" She wonders. "With that Cargn fella you mentioned before. From the same world, but different."

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