How many times had he stood here, waiting, thinking, hoping. The antechamber had but two doors, the entrance on the south wall, and the entrance to the Master of Adepts on the north. There were no windows and a dull strips did very little to provide any great lighting. In his mind the lighting was lower than last time he was here, or was that his imagination.

Aurorlis knew every nuance of every brick. How many strands were frayed on the two tapestries that depicted the greatness of the Chapter. He noticed a couple of new markings on the floor, a clear sign of a scuffle. Senvar, Master of Adepts is well known for his choler.
Perhaps there was more to find, when were the markings made, who was reprimanded. Aurorlis cast his mind back through his fellow petitioners. Yes, it will have been Jeron, had Aurorlis not seen Jeron polishing his shoulder pauldron two days ago. Jeron had seen Senvar that day, and his mood was indeed morose since.

Aurorlis rescanned the room, if anything it would be good training. Having taken the Black Carapce but seven Terran years prior, and presented to the tenth for further training, and of course a chance to battle the great enemy. After the first few operations he was first called here. This was when he was full of hope, and truly expected to move to another company, in his mind a better company. Senvar however had chastised him severely, clearly not as severely as Jeron though.

“All companies stand equal in my eyes, brother, none are greater, none are weaker, know this when in my presence,” Senvar had intoned on that day. The day Aurorlis’s mouth had confined his future service to the Tenth.

Aurorlis cast his eyes once again to the second tapestry on the south wall, it had been moved, just slightly, and an effort had been made by the chapter serfs to present appearances that it had always held this position. But why? To what avail? He tightly focused on the edges. It had been moved closer to the entrance of the south doorway. A small crack on the wall to the right edge of the tapestry, ever so faint, but there. A poor attempt to fill it had been made, and just above it a second.

A bolter round had hit the wall. At least one. Who would fire the hallowed weapon here of all places. Aurorlis checked further down, yes, the tapestry had been lowered as well, and their between the second and third tassel, another faint line. So there had been more than one shot. Interesting.
He wished to examine it closer, but not being stood ready for Senvar would raise his ire, and that wouldn’t be good.
Scanning the floor and to the side he noted nothing more, but something felt wrong about the tapestry. The great Primarch in battle with an Ork Horde. His blade cutting through the bodies of two of the foul greenskins, but there, where the Primarchs mighty foot crushed one of the fell kinds skull, a drop of blood, dried, but certainly recent. Whoever had fired the bolter had hit their target, and caused a wound. Indeed this was not a day to test the Master of Adepts.

How long had he waited now, five hours, more. He deliberately disabled his chronometer after the first time. He had waited seventeen hours, fourteen minutes and twenty six seconds. If was worse than waiting for battle.

Aurorlis cast his mind back to the last operation. The greenskins had managed to overcome a factorium on Luggnum in the Golgenna Reach. How this could happen was unfathomable, where they came from was completely unknown. The Tenth had taken the factorium back with no casualties as would be expected, and then were tasked with hunting down all trace of the greenskin. Once the foul xenos stained a planet, the removal of all their foulness was critical in ensuring they didn’t spawn again.

Aurorlis recalled he had disagreed with Jeron over the completion. Jeron stated all the orks had been destroyed, but Aurorlis had argued it couldn’t be true. Sergeant Kallum had at first thought Jeron was truthful, but had sent Aurorlis to follow up on his hunch. A good job too. Aurorlis tracked three of the xenos to a crashed orkish craft in a small lake. There he had taken out the orks, and destroyed the craft. He also placed wards around the lake, and called for it to be vaporised. Always better to be truly complete an operation. Sergeant Kallum had said it was work well done, and Aurorlis felt finally the opportunity to move out of the Tenth.

The tapestry on the west wall had another frayed tassel. The serfs were doing poor work. These were true heirlooms of the chapter, irreplaceable. Aurorlis had to soothe his mind with thoughts of the last operation, his anger rising at the thought of the clumsiness of the serfs. They should be honoured to do such a service. He considered maybe he should offer to tend the tapestries, he would take a greater care then the buffoons caring for them.

Of course, Senvar had noticed the frayed tassel, his wrath unventable. Aurorlis pieced it together. Jeron had been summoned, no doubt his failure on the operation. Jeron was arrogant, even in the face of superiors, and certainly his smugness grated on Senvar. Senvar rose from his desk and threw Jeron to the door. The door will have slid open at the proximity. Jeron fell through the opening door, his shoulder catching on the left side, spinning him to the floor.

Senvar will have been fury true, and would then have noticed the careless of the chapter serf. Unable to hold his wrath he drew his bolt pistol and shot the serf three times, most likely killing him, no doubt Jeron will have thought the Master of the Adepts had mind to shoot him.
A sound brought Aurorlis out of his reverie. He looked forward as the door slid open. As he suspected the right door had a small dent on the right tongue that joined the doors together.

A one armed chapter serf with a slight limp came from the Master of Adepts chamber. Aurorlis afforded himself a small smile, not killed then, shout to wound, indeed a powerful lesson.
“You are to enter in seven minutes and thirty seconds master,” the serf said. With that he walked around the marine and exited the south entrance. Aurorlis was sure the serf cast an eye the west wall, and also to the tapestry by his exit.

Aurorlis re-initiated his chronometer, seven minutes and twenty seconds to wait.
With eight seconds left, he stepped forward with a composed stride, he would enter the room exactly as requested, seven minutes and thirty seconds.
The inner chamber was almost exactly as he remembered, the only difference being marks on the floor from where Jeron had tried to regain balance before crashing through the door to fall sprawled in the antechamber.

Senvar didn’t even look up from his desk, appearing to be reading some scrollwork.
“You have your wish Aurorlis, you are leaving the Tenth,” he spoke whils trolling up the scroll. Senvar stood, and strode to Aurorlis proffering the scroll. He then held out his right hand and grasped Aurorlis’s right hand in a gesture that brought a startled look to Aurorlis’s face.

“Bring honour and glory to the chapter, dismissed.” These were the last words he would ever hear from Senvar.

Aurorlis turned and left the chamber, and left the ante-chamber to the outside. It was dark out, and he had entered when it was light. Sergeant Kallum was waiting for him.

“So, what was said?”

Aurorlis examined the scroll, it had an inquisitorial seal on it. He quickly unfurled it. Deathwatch. He had been summoned to serve in the Deathwatch.

Sergeant Kallum saw his face, not many things shock a space marine, “If you wanted to know, it was I that stopped your transfers, you will be a great loss the Tenth, though a great asset to the Deathwatch.”