Winter's Stories

Rogue Trader: Drake Dynasty
GM
Adam
Dynastic Power
Character Level: 31,250 XP / Rank 8
Profit Factor: 43𝖕
Command Crew
Lord-Captain Drake Navigator Primus Mordecai Arch-Millitant Winter Astropath Solarus High Factorum August
House Drake Fleet
Aurea Albion Hound of Albion • Abhorrent Fortuitous Purpose • Penance of Iocanthos
Drake Trade Empire
Damaris • Scintilla • Kulth Svard • Dross • Aurum Sepheris Secundus • Tennenberg Killian's Rest
Drake Expeditions
Open Missions
Grand Endevours
Personnel
Magistrates • Retainers Militants Svard 1st • Stormtroopers House Drake Expeditionary Army
Assets
Materiel Aerospace Craft • Ground Vehicles
Armoury Wargear • Relics and Artifacts
Other Estate Secrets and Contacts • Awards and Honors
The Galaxy
Locations Calixis Sector Koronus Expanse • Periphery Subsector Personalities Peers of the Imperium Rival Rogue Traders
Utilities
Rogue Trader Timeline House Rules Guide and Lore

The Prayer

The corridors had long since blended into one another, the deck plates shuddered underneath his steps as seven-hundred pounds of holy warrior trod upon them. They were minuscule compared to the low rumble of the warp engines as the Aurea Albion navigated the most treacherous regions that man would ever know of.

 The few crewmen and ensigns Winter passed gave him a wide berth, looking up at the man in awe. Those who did not comprehend what he was saw him as a giant bringer of death, a one-man army. Those who had heard of the myths of the Astartes looked upon him with awe, as one of the Emperor's chosen warriors, an Angel of Death. A Space Marine.

 Winter didn't see himself as a figure of legend, merely as a warrior doing as he thought best. But, there were things that did trouble him as any other man.

 He had left his power armor in his quarters, so he did not seem as large as he did upon the pictcasts that were shown to the crew every now and then for morale, or when he trained the Armsmen in the most rigorous ways he knew of. Instead, he wore a simple habit of rough blue cloth trimmed with silver thread, the colors of his chapter. His eyes were glazed as he thought back to his meeting with his brethren.

"You have not been able to pass the proper rituals Novitiate, despite the deeds you have accomplished. And that is why we cannot fully accept you as a brother. It is best that you stay where you are." the grizzled, old Captain, now Chapter-Master had told him, even as Winter passed on the chapter relics he had saved from the Fortress-Chapel he had been training at.

 Those words continually ate at him, slowly chipping away his resolve and sense of identity as a warrior of the Star Knights. If he wasn't a true Star Knight, then what was he?

 He wasn't sure how long he had wandered the twisting halls, but he stopped inside one of the chapels the Albion had layered about for the sake of the crew, who were faithful to the image of the Emperor. This one was mostly empty, a rare thing on the ship. Only a few dozen were inside, their heads bowed in silent prayer as whispering hymns played. Winter made the sign of the aquila as he entered, bowing and pulling up his hood as he did so. He walked inside on quiet feet, reaching the ten-foot tall marble statue of the Emperor, resplendent in his golden power armor and looking suitably imperial.

 Winter merely looked up at the statue, saying nothing aloud, his mind racing with questions towards his ultimate father. All he wanted was to serve him through his Chapter, vanquishing His foes in the defense of the Imperium. An Astartes was meant to fight, to slay, to purify, to cleanse. With that denied to him, what was Winter to do... even then, what was he?

 Winter didn't know when he had slid to his knees before the statue, his head bent low so the hood completely obscured his face. A pain anything unlike anything he had felt resounded within his chest, his two hearts pounding hard. A wetness touched his face, and Winter touched his cheeks, his fingers coming away glistening. He didn't understand...

 "Something troubling you, my son?" a calm voice asked him. It was smooth and simple, incredibly gentle. Winter didn't dare look up, for fear that he had finally cracked and the Emperor was talking to him through the statue.

 "I do not know Father. I was told that I was to serve, and that honor has been taken from me." Winter replied in his bass rumble. He felt a presence next to him, and a sound like that of cloth rustling.

 "We all serve Him as best we are able." came a quiet answer.

 "Then why am I denied by my peers?" Winter asked, his gaze not lifting from the tiled floor.

 "Maybe then it is not your peers who are denying you, but the path that has set before you."