It was a cold, cloudless night on Arkhona, and amid the darkness rose one of the major Fortress-hives by the name of Arak. On one of the higher levels of the towering spires, stood a lone Dark Angel peering into the distance from one of the main balconies. Dressed in a highly decorated black ceremonial robe, stood the commander of one of the many Astartes formations currently campaigning on Arkhona, Azrael Mordred. He was staring aimlessly into the night sky, pondering, as was usual with him. It had been six months since the Last Wall Protocol was initiated combining the scattered remains of many Astartes formations, with Azrael as head of this new strike force, and even though the Aeldari activity had decreased and the orks were rarely seen in large formations, he was troubled, the mental and physical toll of leadership had begun to affect him. How many of his brothers had he seen fall to the temptation of chaos and the bolter shells of the traitors, the look of defeat he had seen in the eyes of his comrades, could it be that he was no longer suited to lead them, was he really doing what was best for his men? These and many other questions circled in his mind, but his concentration was broken by the sound of firm footsteps approaching. “Serious as always I see”, it was none other than his second in command, 1st Company Captain Dantos, an Imperial Fist who had been by his side since the very beginning. Azrael cracked a smile “I know, but I can’t help myself, the last few weeks haven’t been all that successful to be honest, and I just keep thinking that maybe we are doomed to fail just like so many others have, even Jackob.” The last few words left a mark of sorrow across his features. “That’s your problem, my friend, you think too much. We learn from our past mistakes and move on, if you keep yourself locked in the past then you will never be able to find success in the future. Cheer up, tonight is one for celebration, the men are waiting for you and you obviously need a few drinks. Come on.”

With that he turned around and headed off the balcony, Azrael followed close behind. As they walked towards the main chamber, they passed by the hall of memoirs, a place dedicated to preserving the trophies of the strike force’s best moments and achievements. Obviously, Dantos had done this on purpose, as a sly smile spread across his face, he turned around to face his friend and continued walking backward. “Tell me Azrael, does this look like doom and failure to you?” Azrael turned his gaze to the walls while they continued to walk. He first saw the skull of an Eldar Autarch encased in a glass box with the damaged banners of its war host surrounding it. The bone had been treated and polished to an incredible degree, and now it seemed as if it irradiated a light of its own. That trophy marked the day they, alongside their brothers from other formations, achieved victory on the battlefield against the warband known as Myriad Shrines. That had been a glorious day indeed, a memory that all those who participated would remember for many years to come. As they continued to walk down the hall, he then came across the massive painting commissioned by Dantos himself to commemorate their first promotion ceremony, where may exemplary neophytes took their place among the ranks of ELWP as full battle brothers, many of which still stood proudly alongside them. The artists had truly produced a magnificent work, the detail was incredible, depicting the battle brothers standing in order of seniority with perfectly polished armor, purity seals and Iron Halos on display. Most of the hall lay empty for the moment, the strike force was young, and so there were still many victories to be had. They were now approaching the end of the hall and Dantos finally turned back around, “You see Azrael, you’re too hard on yourself. Your greatest enemy is frequently your own thoughts, you’re a great leader and should never doubt that fact. Besides, I’m the one who is leading the guys on the front lines not you!” Azrael chuckled “Always so clever eh? Oh well, it is what it is sometimes. Thank you, brother.” “Don’t mention it, now don’t get all sentimental on me. Tonight, we feast!! With that, Dantos pushed open the massive doors to the main chamber. It was a sight to behold, the incredibly large room had a high gothic style ceiling lined perfectly with the newly made banners of the Epsilon Strikeforce and many other ornaments. The center of the room was dominated by a massive elongated table sitting all the Astartes present, at the very end was a single blazing hearth easily the size of the two dreadnoughts that stood beside it. The Astartes were dressed in plain ceremonial robes, and seated according to rank, the officers being closest to the doors, and the neophytes at the other end by the fire, only two seats closest to the doors remained empty. Nothing had been spared for the feast, Azrael had used his contacts among some of the Space Wolves that were present on Arkhona, and no less than 50 barrels of Fenrisian Ale had been acquired for the night. The table was filled to bursting with all manners of roasted meats, exotic foods and of course, very large jugs of ale. A far cry from the standard food rations they had grown used to while on campaign. The celebrations had already begun, and as soon as Azrael and Dantos entered the room their senses were overwhelmed with the smells of alcohol and crisp meat; along with the sounds of laughter, a roaring fire and, thanks to the ingenuity of techmarine Seth, the dreadnoughts had been modified with sound equipment and were blasting away the Phoenician by Fulgrim, the Emperors Children might have been traitors, but they had made some of the best music in the galaxy. As the two commanders approached the table, Apothecary and Guild Champion, Brother Verily British was already standing atop the table in a heated discussion with Interrogator Chaplain Leverian, “BUT FO REAAL BRO!! Everything is Alpharius roleplaying with himself, how do you know I’m not Alpharius, or maybe even you!” Leverian was already sweating, barely able to resist the urge to purge the heresy that spewed forth from his brother’s mouth, only tolerating it because he knew he was already drunk beyond belief, and he forced down another jug of ale to calm his inner rage. Just then British noticed the presence of his two superiors in the room “EYYYY BOYS you’re here!! Alpharius was waiting for you!" Dantos simply shook his head, “Alright British get down and have a seat for a moment.” The Apothecary complied, “Ok ok you’re the boss.” Dantos then turned to Techmarine Seth seated a couple rows down “Seth tone it down a bit, Azrael is here.”, the Techmarine dropped his drink and nodded, turning a nob on his armor which was resting a few meters from the table, and the music lowered. Azrael stepped up to the table, “Enjoying yourselves eh”, to which the marines replied raising their drinks and laughing in unison. “Good, now before we continue, I just wanted to thank you all. Not just for being here today, but for every second of battle and hardship we have endured together, for fighting side by side when the night was darkest. Today we celebrate not just our past achievements, but those that are still to come. To members both old and new, never lose your faith, in yourself, in your brothers, and in the goal, we all fight to achieve. Together, there is no enemy, no challenge, no abomination we can’t defeat!! Now drink with me! FOR BROTHERHOOD, FOR THE EMPEROR, FOR EPSILON!!” everyone lifted their drinks “FOR EPSILON!!” The halls rang with the booming voices of all those present, even the dreadnoughts joining in unison. “Now feast brothers!!” Azrael yelled out, Brother Seth took the signal and the music once more boomed out of the dreadnoughts. Azrael sat down followed by Dantos and surveyed the site before him. To his left sat Leverian, who was still barely supporting the heresy that British insisted in shouting to his face, only this time you could see he was clenching his fist tightly by his side, British will no doubt get what he deserves sooner or later. Following down the line, Apothecaries Ezra Tarrus and Carno were having a drinking game to decide who was the better field medic, seeing as they had tied in the healing competition during the last deployment, and the medical knowledge debate, and the most healing beacons used, and.. really who’s keeping count. Across from them, Chaplain Priest of Metal had left his seat to go talk with one the neophytes by the name of BeerMeer, they had become close friends over the last few battles and shared the same origins as they were both recruited from the same planet. Priest probably wanted to celebrate the upcoming promotion of Beer to full Battle brother status. Following down the line, Azrael couldn’t believe his eyes, Brother Seth had gotten up and was currently climbing atop the dreadnought of former Brother Reaper with a barrel of ale on his back. “Holy Emperor Seth, what are you doing!!” “He asked me for this Az!” And with that he proceeded to pour the contents of the barrel directly into the sarcophagus compartment of the dreadnought. “Seth have you gone mad!!” Azrael blared out, “Jajaja only a bit boss!” Suddenly the dreadnought began to shake, and the music was replaced with maniacal laughter, soon the massive machine was running sporadically across the room, never ceasing to laugh uncontrollably. “Oh boy that’s new!” Brother Seth yelled out as he fell off the dreadnought and laughed on the floor. The other two dreadnoughts quickly left their posts and desperately tried to restrain their comrade. Azrael gave a stern look to the Astartes currently rolling on the floor, he will have to talk with him later. The next Astartes at the table was Veteran Brother Belial, he was a quiet fellow and casually chatted with the brother seated next to him, Civil. They were both rather reserved, but managed to often find common grounds on many matters regarding the meaning of their struggles as Marines. Following them were Brothers Toots and Weeb seated across from each other. Weeb was very similar to British in that he loved to talk absolute heresy when he was drunk, but he knew the Leverian would never be able to get a confession since he would always simply outsmart his words, not even the depths of his dungeon posed a worry to him, because he would simply make Leverian think that it would be a waste of time to put him there. A sly brother indeed. Toots on the other hand was a Blood Angel, and thus never spoke any heresy even while drunk, but he too had his defects. He grabbed the giant knife used to cut the meat and proceeded to try and cut himself a piece, of course he had already had his fair share of ale and Weeb could already see what was coming. “Are you sure you want to do that” Weeb spoke out, “Why not!!” Toots replied, and slammed down the knife on the meat, but of course he had to cut a fourth of one of his fingers off in the process. “OH ♥♥♥♥♥” he yelled as he pulled back and grabbed his bleeding hand, but before his Astartes blood could seal the wound, a few drops of blood managed to spill into his drink. “Oh well, I’ve had worse right! And so, he took a big gulp from his jug, but something was clearly wrong. When he tasted the ale he immediately dropped the jug and grabbed his throat “Oh please no, not that!!”, his eyes quickly turned red and he let out a primal roar. Right after that he jumped across the table and tackled Weeb to the ground, those two would be busy for a few hours, at least until Toots regained his sanity. And finally, at the end section of the table were seated the rest of the neophytes, the newest members of the strike force. In order, these were Grimloc, KandiusKane, Sparkelo, Thorfin skullspliter, Victus Flavion, Rauthu, Kyne Phasn, Drasos and Penguin. Most of them were still a bit reserved and didn’t mingle to much with the higher officers, preferring to chat amongst themselves of the trials they had already passed to come this far in their training, and what the feature might hold for them. Some, however, were already a lot more open, since they had already been selected to be promoted to full Battle Brothers during the next ceremony, and thus they excitedly had conversations on the bright feature ahead for them, drinking ferociously and having eating competitions between them.

And so, the table came to an end, and Azrael could not help but feel proud of how far they had come, these were truly what made ELWP what it was, his friends, his brothers.