Thunder Lions: Initiation Part 1

A familiar force shook the Thunderhawk as it descended through the atmosphere. The five figures where jostled hectically in their harnesses. Each did their best to maintain composure, the shock of reentry was the least of their worries.
“Landing pad in sight.” A deep, somber voice called over the intercom. “ETA five minutes, Clean slates.” The intercom buzzed off, replaced by the whistle of wind rushing past the gunship. “Clean slates.” Muttered one of the figures. “Was it so necessary he call us that.” One of the other figures turned his head toward the speaker. “If you haven’t noticed, Joël, we are still Neophytes.” Joël looked back at the fellow Neophyte. “True, Brother.” He said in clear annoyance. “I merely wish we were shown a tad bit of respect before a mission.”
The tallest of the five figures turned his head to face Joël. “Brother Nostramus owes us no respect, Scout Joël. Respect is not given, it is earned.” The figure barked. “Aye, Axton.” Joël muttered, hanging his head in shame.
Axton was already under enough pressure as it was, he didn’t need senseless complaints from his fellow Neophytes. This mission was to be their rite of passage. A final trial to show that they were ready to become fully fledged Battle Brothers. However, that didn’t make this mission any less dangerous.
Axton’s ears quickly shifted to the sound of the gunships engines. They were slowing down. He felt the behemoth transport orient itself into position over the landing pad. It set down heavily, shaking the holding area some more. With that, the scouts knew that their time was nigh.
The scouts undid their harnesses, and immediately grabbed their stowed weapons. Axton grabbed his bolter and mag locked it to his hip. He also sheathed his combat knife into the scabbard on the back of his waist.
He glanced back at his team for this mission. Closest to him was Aron, a close friend since childhood. They both competed in the Festival of the New Dawn the same year, and were both selected with the other fifty candidates. The Neophyte was feeding shells into his combat shotgun.
Next to Aron was Essex. He was a strange specimen. He was also selected the same year as the rest of the squad, though his performance was oddly lopsided. He excelled in close quarter combat, but was lackluster in marksmanship.  Due to this short coming, he preferred to use a sword and his combat knife, rather than his bolt pistol.
On the opposite side of Essex was Joël. Always the stubborn and argumentative type. Joël always seemed to think he was superior to the rest of the Neophytes. He slammed a magazine of shells into his bolter, ready to take on the challenge.
Lastly, next to Joël was Wilhelm. He and Joël where from the same Kingdome back on Onixia, but that was about all they had in common. Where Joël was brash and self-righteous, Wilhelm was cold and calculating. He followed order well enough, but he tended to put his own spin on how to execute them. He adjusted the scope on his Sniper rifle.
The hatch on the side of the Thunderhawk hissed, as the cabinet pressurized with the outside atmosphere. It screeched out of sight to reveal a blasted orange sky above towers of industry. This was Balguar III, A Forge World under the protection of The Thunder Lions Space Marine Chapter.
The Scouts stepped out into the heavy air of the Forge World. Axton took this time to look upon the great city before him. It was a true marvel of imperial technology. The architecture of the hab-blocks were uniform, but beautiful in their own right. The forges radiated with the warm force of industry; they billowed smoke into the atmosphere. Shining many kilometers above him were the spires of the upper hive; reaching higher than the clouds of smog ever could.
A sudden stomping from behind him broke Axton from his trance. He turned to find Nostramus, the Tech-Marin, exiting the Thunderhawk. His giant frame bore the dark crimson Power-Armor of the Machine Cult. Only his pauldrons bore the colors of The Thunder Lions. Upon his right, a black guard with the skull and cog insignia printed in white. The other was gold, with the heraldry of the Thunder Lions; A roaring lion, forming the border around a silver shield, with a lightning bolt and a sword crossed upon it. He wore a full helmet, with the right eye having an augmented scope. Upon his back, were his twin Servo-arms; folded into place, waiting to be activated. An imposing figure, to be sure.
The scouts formed up around their master for this mission. They knelt in respect as he exited the gunship. Nostramus stepped heavily to the ground. Even through his helmet, the super human radiated with an unfeeling, almost mechanical aura.
“To your feet, Initiates.” He barked, his helmet turning his voice into a deep, cybernetic growl. Without skipping a beat, the scouts popped back up on their feet. “Today, you truly show what you are made of. Today, we will see who amongst you are true enough to join our ranks.” He called in a grandiose tone. He pointed to the ramp exiting the landing pad. “Let us strike fear into the hearts of the foe, sons. We are the warrior’s apex!” “Stand strong, with the heart of a lion!” the scouts shouted back, before following the Tech-Marine down the ramp.