Brother Librarian

by OnlineImhotep

Rating: everyone
Tags: Crossover, Slice of Life, Human
Length: 15755

Jonah Orion was dead, was supposed to be dead. He had known that fighting Kyras was likely going to end in his death. But he had not thought that dying also turns you into a pony and sends you to an overly-colorful planet.

Jonah Orion had fallen in battle against the Daemon Prince Kyras, but he had risen in another land.
He had also risen as a pony of all things, one with a horn to boot. Once he regained consciousness, he discovered a village full of what he was now: ponies.
The urge to brutally massacre the lot of them was tempered by age, wisdom, patience, and the fact that horses and ponies were not technically xenos, they had evolved on Earth after all.
These ponies appeared to not have any form of space travel, so he was stuck here.
It's not all bad news though, the warp here is calm, structured, harmonious… the very opposite of its normally chaotic self, he also retained possession of his Force Staff and his armor.
Then he stumbled into the village, aptly named 'Ponyville', and discovered that they had a severe lacking of a proper Librarium.
And there was that monstrously powerful psyker he detected, and was in turn detected by.
He hoped he wouldn't die quite so soon after dying.
That would be tedious.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-09-07 05:15:57 UTC

Where are you now, Brother?

Thought for the Day:

Without peace, how may we enjoy the pleasures of war?

He calmly took a sip of his tea, while turning the page of his latest acquisition for his personal Librarium. He had decided to spoil himself, just a bit. Today marked the 7 year anniversary of his death and rebirth, after all. A fine bit of overly-priced imported tea from some backwards nation in the middle of nowhere and a thoroughly enjoyable (albeit forbidden) book on ancient rituals and spellcraft was an excellent way to unwind. He may not be a Librarian of one of those fancy Librariums at Canterlot or Trottingham, but his was still a stressful job. Nothing at all compared to his previous occupation, but still.

The book he was reading was about some terribly ancient group of unicorns who, in their misguided attempt at immortality, slaughtered and sacrificed many, the blood of the old and young, innocent and guilty, evil and good, all spilled for a fallacy. They failed, obviously, or else he wouldn't be reading about them in a forbidden tomb. Nothing of the like would exist today, and for good reason. This ancient manuscript went into almost excruciating detail, all about their rituals and what they hoped to accomplish. The spells and rituals themselves would never work, mostly because what they were geared towards was impossible, but one can learn from the mistakes of the ancient. A book this fine, and dangerous, would never see the light of day, sadly, it would go straight into his vaults after committing it to memory in a way only he and his brothers ever could.

But it was his anniversary, not at all a time to reflect on old fools who's bones have long since withered away to dust, and the dust scattered in the wind.

He remembered, he would always remember, that last battle alongside his friend and Captain. His own death, and the death of his brothers. The reinforcements that arrived in time to kill the Great Enemy, but not in time to save lives. The sounds of battle that he could hear come from just out of his sight. He had held on long enough to know that much, at least.

He silently offered a toast to fallen brothers, fallen heroes, and lamented the greatest leader he had ever known, and regretted not dying in his place.

He sighed, and stood from the table. He went to the window and gazed out from it. He saw the gleeful faces of foals as they ran about playing their games, the smiles on the faces of the townsponies greeting their neighbors, the scowls on merchants dealing with a hard-bargainer, the sight of ponies stupid from love.

He would never know the joy they felt on a daily basis, but he was trying.

He remembered back 7 years ago, appearing in a land not his own, in a body not his own, in a land of xenos yet not xenos, of pyskers yet not psykers, stumbling into the town in a daze brought on by both blood-loss and pure unadulterated shock, how the ponies fled from his blood-soaked visage, despite much of it being his own, how he collapsed and blacked out, how he woke again but alive, the sheer terror, the shock, the anger, the hate, the urge to kill, to rend these non-believers limb from limb, to tear into them as a hurricane, the urge to destroy, to rend, to flay, to murder, the urge...

But if he were to simply give into his instincts, rightful though they may seem, he would be a beast.

But he was not a beast, he was a Man. Homo Sapiens Sapiens.

But he was more than that as well, a higher form of Man.

So he had calmed himself, and stilled his base instincts of wrath and murder.

He tore his gaze from the window, and made his way across the room to a door. This door lead to the basement, where his Vault was located. He calmly walked down the steps at a sedate pace, his hooves echoing in the mostly empty basement. It only contained one item, which in turn contained many items.

He trotted up to the Vault, which was essentially an immense safe in the center of the room. He spun the combination, inserted his horn into the appropriate receptacle, and put a hoof up to be scanned on the hoof-scanner. Only then did the door open.

Inside the Vault lay his most prized possessions, and a gateway into his past. His blue armor with the bone-white shoulder pad, his staff that still sparked with arcane energies, his hood that protected his mind from the invading probes of others, all of it hand-made for him and him alone by great artificers. The Rosarius that had belonged to a Chaplain, the tomes that radiated psychic power, the sword that protected him from many unworthy foes. All of these were his, for none other could claim them. He had this Vault made shortly after acquiring the Librarium, he didn't even put his most valued tombs in the Vault for it could hold none but the most treasured of his possessions.

He noticed a bit of blood that had apparently escaped his earlier cleansings, he carefully levitated up a washcloth and wiped that off. As he did he felt himself drawn into his past once more, his first time in the hospital, immediately after waking.

He thought and he thought. For days in that hospital, he just sat and thought. Even up to the point where the medical staff brought in psychiatrists and professionals, they thought him mentally disabled. They thought his body to be amazing and revolutionary, something they had never seen before. But they thought his mind wounded. They were vastly incorrect. He was merely thinking in such intensity that it required all of his being to work together.

He came to multiple conclusions. Some were happy, more were far less so.

He was a man, in the body of a 'pony' as they called themselves. There was no reason to harm them. Xenos were alien creatures not from Holy Terra, horses were from Holy Terra, though the urge to kill had been ingrained in him for much of his life, it would not pass so soon. He had full access to his abilities, and using this strange body felt second nature to him.

He should have died, he had died, but he didn't stay that way.

He rediscovered himself as a pony, he silently lamented the fact once more. There were a few positives, though they were completely overshadowed by the fact that he was a pony and didn't want to be. For instance: he was fully healed, and completely operational. He was a Unicorn, a being that allowed for the use of magic. He was apparently extraordinarily powerful, as far as Unicorns go. He was still vastly inferior compared to the Princess Celestia, apparently. The fact that she had the gall to go about claiming that she moved the sun and all but declaring her divinity still made his blood boil to this day.

The fact that these ponies spoke some horribly bastardized language similar enough to his own that created only minor misunderstandings wasn't surprising, many species spoke the language of Man.

But at length, he was declared fit to leave.

He found himself discharged from his temporary sanctuary, in a land of which he had no knowledge.

However, he would succeed in this land, or die trying.

For he was Epistolary Jonah Orion of the Fourth Company of the Blood Ravens! And one of the Emperor's own Space Marines!

He was a Space Marine and he knew no fear!

Ponies, Brother?

Thought for the Day:

Call no man happy until he is dead.

Day 1

Jonah Orion was beyond irritated, almost to the point of anger. Centuries of teaching initiates and neophytes, as well as the Lexicani (Newly initiated Librarians), have taught him patience, but this was ridiculous. The only thing keeping him from destroying everything in a 10 kilometer radius was the fact that he had some dignity, he was certain that they had no idea what they were doing, and killing them would spark a large, unnecessary battle. He was weakened after a battle with a Daemon Prince, he couldn't afford angering a horde of xenos.

That's it, nothing else.

Were he any other marine, he would be killing everything. The Black Templars wouldn't have paused to even consider a non-violent solution, and the Angry Marines would have inevitably gotten angry, which generally leads to destruction and killing. And a myriad of other chapters would have done the same.

He was sitting, like the proverbial eye of the storm, as a swarm of dirty, filthy, xenos scrambled about him. He ignored them, however, they obviously couldn't harm him, if the remnants of several metal objects, likely of torture knowing the xenos' tendency for that sort of thing, littered about the floor were any indication. He was happy that he still had his armor, and happier still that the xenos hadn't tampered with it. A glance in the corner revealed his Force Staff and Power Sword. He could only just make out with his superhuman eyes the shimmering field that denoted the shield of his Rosarius. He was happy to see he still had it, the necklace was a powerful relic, a symbol of the God-Emperor, and the personal Rosarius of Reclusiarch Mikelus, it would be a shame and a dishonor to lose it while in his possession.

There would be some measure of time before the xenos would notice that he was awake. His warp presence was tightly bound, his face shadowed by the psychic hood, and it was incredibly difficult to tell whether a creature with 2 hearts is awake or not judging solely by the heartbeat. He used this time to observe his surroundings.

White walls, bright lights, sanitary environment. He deduced torture chamber, a fairly well-crafted and clean one at that.

The xenos had equipment surrounding them that could be used for 2 purposes: healing, and torture. Doctors or 'doctors'.

They were frantic, or at the very least excited: the discovery of an unconscious Space Marine is a prize for any war-band, to be sure.

He examined the xenos with a critical eye, the better to determine how to kill them most efficiently. He noticed their equine bone structure, their wide, expressive eyes, their flimsy wings, their glowing horns...

Strange... they bear a striking similarity to horses of ancient Terra...

He recalled the time he fought alongside a Guardsmen regiment, he had never bothered to learn their name and the engagement was quick, clean, and hardly anything to remember. Were he not a Blood Raven, both gifted and cursed with photographic memory, he would have forgotten the insignificant skirmish long ago. However, there was something about the guardsmen that he had found interesting: they rode horses.

As ancient humanity had spread across the galaxy, the domesticated beasts of Terra inevitably followed. Horses being among them, and being one of the few that survived to this day. As they served Mankind in the dark, unknown past so they served Humanity now, in the dark and mostly unknown present. Good beasts, loyal but stupid, and could carry a good bit of weight, the Feral worlds that still made use of them found them to be indispensable.

Were they not speaking, standing in a structure that they had built, and examining him with what could only be curiosity in their damnable eyes, he would have called them a miniature version of the common horse.

The winged and horned ones would have been a human-induced mutation to allow them to better survive in the wilds, where man could not always keep them safe. But now they were just another sub-sect to the xenos race that he was prisoner of.

He grinned slightly, amused by the direction his thoughts had taken: Librarians were quite infamous for that; thinking back on a subject to the point of distraction, sometimes in the middle of conversation. The Angry Marines thought that their Librarians were 'EMO FAGGOTS!' (Their exact words, as he recalled) but the truth of the matter is that Librarians just have too much time on their hands. They are driven to maintain and study in a large Librarium, they are obviously going to have far too much time to think.

He forced himself back into study of the xenos.

Their language was a bastardized version of Low Gothic, that much was certain. He could make out a word or 2 here and there, but much of it was babble. It was understandable that the xenos spoke Low Gothic, many xenos species do as it is the most common form of language in the galaxy. Though it came in many, many forms, a speaker of Low Gothic could mostly understand another speaker, unless they came from vastly different areas. That just goes to show how large the Imperium of Man was: the common language could be translated an innumerable amount of ways,

In fact, he could probably learn the language given a short period of time just observing them, though he could learn the language much faster by tearing it from their minds with his own. Unless this was a species of psykers, which was why he was acting cautious: by not revealing himself in the warp as much as he could.

He was a mighty Librarian and he could hide much of his presence in the warp, but nothing can ever not have a presence in the warp, not while it lives. He was confident that even if they were psykers, they would be unable to break his mind. He had battled an entire Hive Fleet psychically for weeks and was the only survivor. The number of men who have done that and lived can be counted on 1 hand: himself, The Emperor, and Chief Librarian Tigurius of the Ultramarines.

That's it, though there are probably more, these are the only reported to have survived.

A sudden thought struck him...

If horses were from Holy Terra...

And these xenos looked like horses....

Which means they might be descended from horses....

Does that mean they are not xenos?

He would wrestle with this question for 3 days.

Shortly after wrestling his next discovery into the ground.

Damnation, Brother!

Thought for the Day:

Only in death does duty end.

Jonah's examination of the room he was being held prisoner in inevitably led him to look downwards. One cannot complete the examination of a room without also examining one's position in the room. His eyes gazed downwards even as his head made no movement. The xenos were still frantically moving about and had yet to notice his awakening. Keeping a Space Marine down was similar to keeping a Carnifex down: it was stupid to try as it would inevitably fail, ending in the deaths of many. It is far more wise to kill them and then examine the corpse as taking them alive serves no purpose and is accompanied by extreme risk.

Everything seemed to be in order: 4 limbs, blood all over, a few gashes and holes in the armor from Daemon Blades and bolts, the blue coloring was covered in more red than anything. In fact, he looked more similar to a common Battle Brother of his chapter rather than the Librarian he was.

But something was amiss...

He certainly remembered wounds, and yet there weren't any, and judging by how his legs were bent he should be in pain. There was also substantially less blood than there should be, likely due to the xenos wiping it off. His gauntlets also seem to be... blunted, for lack of a better word. He also should be dead. Come to think of it, that is a rather large concern. Shouldn't he have gone to the Emperor's side to continue in the never-ending fight against the foul powers of Chaos?

He shoved the thought forcefully out of his mind. There were more pressing concerns.

Such as this red lump on his face.

He had assumed it to be a trick of the light at first... but close examination revealed... fur?

His breath caught.

It all clicked together in an instant...

Those damn xenos...

Thought was gone, replaced by white hot rage. Righteous fury burned in his mind and he wanted nothing more than to lash out. Hatred for the xenos, fury for their being, contempt for their brutish minds... that's all that existed in him at that moment. On the very precipice of berserker rage, of mindless anger, of forming warp-fire and decimating all that opposed him... Jonah regained control, if only slightly.

Anger is the correct response, despair only feeds the Dark Powers.

An essential part, the most integral, necessary piece of psyker training was self-control. Discipline. With every emotion, there is an effect in the Warp. With every emotion, a gateway that invited daemons. With every emotion, a beacon into the Warp, attracting daemons for possession.

He would not give in to mere rage like a mindless fool.

If knowing your Chapter Master to be a heretic and a traitor so terrible as to sacrifice an entire sub-sector to Khorne does not incite you to rage that would impress the Angry Marines, then discovering that xenos had stolen you, studied you, imprisoned you, and, even worse, made you into one of their own would only come close to sending you flying into the grips of battle-wrath.

Nevertheless, he noticed his effect on the room. Standing next to a furious psyker is equivalent to standing next to a volcano erupting: you feel the heat. And experience a migraine, sometimes a nosebleed, various and sudden mental phenomenon, and occasional possession by a rampant daemon, but that was beside the point: the xenos had noticed.

All of the xenos horse things were looking at him now. Surprise, fear, horror, even a little pain shown in their eyes.

His eyes met theirs, and an invisible battle of wills began. He won shortly thereafter, mostly because they were thrown off balance by an aura of rage.

Jonah was staring at them as they stared back. He was intrigued. It is well known throughout the Imperium that xenos are vastly different than humans, and don't experience the same emotions in the same way, and often don't perceive similar emotions at all, if they even can. Like the Tyranids: nothing at all. And the Orks: amusement, rage, irritation, stupidity (So powerful among their race it might as well be a state of mind or an emotion than a quality of their mind).

But Jonah could readily see the emotions on these xenos' faces. It was bewildering to see such from a xeno, especially considering it was so incredibly easy to see. It was like they broadcasted their emotions. Their eyes were so expressive... it was strange. The teachings of the Imperium tell that xenos are infinitely different than humans, and incapable of having similar emotions. But that was a lie, and he knew that.

And he was one of them now...

Cue the white hot rage, the infinite hatred, the barely holding back these emotions, and the forcing them back where they belonged. He exhaled... inhaled... exhaled... inhaled.

The horse things definitely knew now he was producing the aura. As though they did not know before, but now they were certain beyond any doubt. They also knew he was awake, as though it weren't incredibly obvious.

He decided to go for broke. He could have observed the xenos for longer, but not if they were aware of him.

All of the horse-xenos were caught off-guard as he stole into their minds. Jonah was a very powerful Librarian and wielded that power with great skill, but altering someone's mind was difficult, especially if they were a xeno. Xenos have vastly different thought patterns than humans. But stealing knowledge was a thing that all Blood Raven Librarians were excellent at. (Some would say that stealing in general was a thing Blood Ravens were good at, but I digress.)

It was an essential part of Blood Raven battle doctrine: read the future and observe the enemy until victory is assured. When given the proper time to prepare, the Blood Ravens were unbeatable in battle. The skilled and numerous Librarians of the chapter would delve into the skeins of the Warp, and read the future to the best of their ability. Every possibility and eventuality was considered, and planned for. If there was a minuscule chance, a less than .01% probability of something happening, the Blood Ravens would bring it up during strategic meetings and create a plan just to deal with the situation. This fore-sight allowed the Blood Ravens to deal with enemies before they had even arrived, occasionally. It also allowed them to predict the actions of their foes before the foe was even aware he was going to make that action.

Of course, without the proper time to plan and prepare, the Blood Ravens fight as any other chapter would. This is supported by the actions of the Tartarus campaign, as well as the multiple Aurelian Crusades where there weren't enough Librarians on hand or there was insufficient time to perform the rituals necessary. In those instances, the Blood Ravens fell back on old-fashioned techniques of battle, mostly by attacking whatever enemy they see and securing important objectives while pursuing the leaders of the enemy.

Despite their xeno nature, their minds were open books to him. Without having to fend off daemonic incursions, he was able to better focus on the xenos. He kept his mental shields at full, in addition to the protection the Psychic Hood offered. He had figured on at least some resistance, but these xenos seemed to have no experience with telepathy.

The technique he was using has been identified as a 'Mind Probe', because the name fits the technique, no Librarian objected to the name.

Knowledge was a wonderful, treasured gift to the Blood Ravens. And to 'discover' knowledge was always a good thing. No knowledge is damning, only how one reacts to the knowledge. When it was revealed that Kyras had bound a daemon into Galan, may his soul rest eternally with the Emperor, the brothers had despaired. But prayer and sessions with the Company Chaplain had set the brothers back on the path of the righteous. Had the brothers reacted with righteous fury, such measures need not have been taken, but they had despaired and they were corrected.

These... xenos... were all practicing medicae, similar to the Hospitaller Order. As such, they were very learned creatures, especially about the body of the xenos. But more importantly, they had basic information. Things like language, basic social graces, manners, etc, etc.

If these xenos, these... 'ponies' as they call themselves, think he is one of theirs, then by the Emperor he is going to blend in with them until he can call on his chapter for support. The chapter will cleanse this place, and hopefully be able to transfer his consciousness into a servitor.

Hope is the first step on the road to disappointment, so he did not hope that his brothers would rescue him. He would merely try, success will depend on the Emperor.

Now was a time for subtlety. And as an XL-sized xeno-horse-pony, he would be as subtle as he could.

Easily done, considering he could manipulate an entire crowd of these weak-minded ponies.

With one last surge of Warp power their memories were altered. They had not been administering care to a giant in blood-soaked armor, they had been tending a normal, easily forgotten pony. Come to think of it, they had never seen a giant in blood-soaked armor, they would surely remember giving care to such a large pony.

Giant pony? Ha! I'm sure we would have remembered that.

Appeared in town one day, and rushed to the hospital? I don't know what you're talking about, that seems too outlandish for Ponyville.

Medical records? I'm sorry, it seems the room where we kept the records suffered from a small fire, and cabinets had been slagged irreparably.

A broken window? Well, you know foals. They probably just accidentally broke it while playing ball.

Aura of dread coming from the hospital? Well, we didn't feel anything. Maybe you were just imagining it.

Blood soaked trail that leads to a river? Hmm, how did that get there, I wonder?

An Astartes Amongst Ponies, Brother?

Thought for the Day:

The ends always justify the means.

Jonah was off to a great start in this place. At first, it hadn't gone so well, but a little trickle of Warp-power and the Space Marine's problems were gone. No more memory of him at the hospital, no more records of him at the hospital, no more being stuck at a hospital, he washed much of the blood off of his armor, enough to look presentable. It was a good day thus far. Sure living in the forest wasn't the height of the civilized world, but it was better than some places he had had to sleep or, in some cases, stay awake for weeks at a time.

The worst part had been those records, they were almost as stringent and detailed as the Blood Raven archives. There were even scans of him that highlighted his unique body. He was happy to find that, actually, as the various organs and modifications were still present and not at all damaged. His Secondary Heart, the Ossmodula, the Biscopea, the Haemastamen, Larraman's Organ, Catalepsean Node, the Preomnor, the Omophagea, the Multi-lung, the Occulobe, Lyman's Ear, the Sus-an Membrane, Melanochrome, Oolitic Kidney, Neurroglottis, Mucranoid, Betcher's Gland, and finally the Holy Progenoid Glands and Black Carapace all were present, undamaged, but unfortunately moved to accommodate this pony body. He even still had canine teeth, which was great for him. Pony or not, he was not going to eat those disgusting protein supplements.

Blood Ravens have 2 mutations in their Gene-seed. 1) their Sus-an Membrane is broken, not only can Blood Ravens not enter the hibernation the Membrane is for, they also do not have R.E.M sleep, and coincidentally don't dream. They literally sleep like rocks, they are either fully awake or fully asleep, no in-between, which is great for Chaplain and Librarian lectures as it's obvious who is awake and who is not. 2) No one's really sure in which organ their Photographic Memory is held in, but since all the brothers of the chapters have it and did not have it before they entered the chapter, it is considered a mutation, a really useful mutation, but a mutation nonetheless.

The Blood Ravens also produce many psykers, most often after the Gene-seed has been implanted, but that's beside the point, a complete coincidence, and not a mutation.

Enough with history:

Now his mission was to blend in with the locals until he can call on his brothers and hopefully Exterminatus. How can a giant blend in with the locals, you may ask? Jonah Orion was born on Typhon Primaris, the Blood Ravens recruit as much as they can from the local humans as the tough jungle and its inhabitants breed strong warriors. Unfortunately, there weren't very many left even before the Inquisition blasted the planet into an uninhabitable hell-scape. Jonah was part of a tiny minority inside the chapter that was recruited from Typhon, though Thaddeus was the only man to be recruited from Meridian in several hundred years. The reason Jonah would be able to so easily blend in with the local ponies is that he was uniquely gifted by his heritage in sneakiness, something all born of Typhon possess.

While one could hardly equate blending into a xenos society with blending in with the jungle, he saw no difference. Both were equally terrible, with similar risks of death and damnation.

That river had done him good, his armor too. While he wasn't as adept as Techmarines, he could practically hear the Machine Spirit purring in pleasure. The Machine Spirit of this particular armor and he were good friends from almost day one. He couldn't say the same for his first suit of armor, that Machine Spirit had hated him only slightly less than xenos and heretics. The only time Jonah caught a break from the foul thing was during battle. When just wearing the armor casually or immediately before a mission when it wouldn't impact anything, the Machine Spirit would mess with him. Seizing up joints, turning off motor assist, sending electric current directly into his Black Carapace. It would stop once he met battle, but it was beyond irritating.

In fact, that was how he had learned to remove his armor in an instant. Just back from a tiring, week-long mission, and the first thing the Machine Spirit does is lock up his knee joint, sending him flat on his face. He, in a fit of rage, used his warp power to get this damn armor off of me!!! And it worked, the armor immediately flew across the room in all directions, causing a small amount of damage to everything. His mentor at the time, the future-Traitor Isador Akios, had congratulated him, in an extremely bemused fashion.

A rather useful ability, all thing considered. But he hadn't taken off the armor, he was more at home with it on than without. Just as he was more comfortable with his Force Staff than without, the Power Sword had been Gabriel's idea, and he had used it more than once against the daemons.

He sat under a tree nearby the river, and thought on everything he had learned.

These xenos-horse-ponies... they were clearly of Human origin. Their technology, their mannerisms, their language, their entire bloody species was clearly Mankind in origin. He would have to do a DNA test to be sure, or ask an Apothecary to help, but he was certain they were related to horses. As if it weren't obvious just by looking at them, they were Equine in nature, though they clearly had a few differences. Horns, wings, a surprising flexibility, picking up things with their hooves. He had noticed that last one while mindlessly looking through the cabinet for records pertaining to him, he had been acting normally, as though he had hands. Then he thought on his hooves and was incredibly confused as to how they were working.

Honestly, the ponies were probably just induced mutations by some Mechanicus Genetor's experiments at creating an improved horse breed. For all he knew, it had happened many thousands of years ago, the project had been abandoned, the test subjects set free, and then they developed and created a society.

Mere conjecture, of course, but it was a fairly good, though a bit outlandish, theory. He had heard of, and even done, far stranger things.

It took him a long time to come to that conclusion, days actually. With the eternal patience of a man who didn't sleep for days just to read some interesting bit about history, it was still stretching his limits.

But he needed supplies, food, money, shelter. Things that living beings need to survive. While he wasn't above eating the grass for sustenance as these pony-experiments seemed to be able to do, he was still a proud Astarte and it would take a long time before he would suffer the indignity.

If the memory of those Pony-Medicae were correct, there was a farm nearby. Something called Sweet Apple Acres. They presumably grew a fruit called Apples, that were sweet. Farms always had work available, and could always use an extra hand. A warrior-monk he may be, and never had he ever used a plow, but he could try.

Ponies used gold pieces called bits for money.

He had a plan, though he was wary of entering the Warp to see the future. He was afraid of that psyker he had felt, pervasive like the emperor's influence, but far less powerful. But it definitely knew of his existence, if not his location.

His plan, though unassisted by warp-sight, was thus:

1) Go to Sweet Apple Acres.

2) Inquire as to a job.

3) ????

4) Profit!

Pray Tell, What is an Apple, Brother?

Thought for the Day:

It is better to die for the Emperor than live for yourself.

Jonah was cut off from the support of his brothers, his chapter, and the Imperium at large. Jonah had a plan, a small short-sighted plan, but he would make it work. However, he was a warrior, he had no knowledge of anything else. Blood Ravens receive their photographic memory after their Gene-seed implantation, in comparison the memories before are cloudy and unknowable. Therefore, he had no knowledge outside of being a warrior who fight for chapter, Emperor... but not for money.

In the world of civilians he was helpless. He had no knowledge of a money-driven economic system, all of his needs were taken care of by the chapter. He had never been in a command position either, he had commanded brothers before, but never without another above him directing his unit's supplies. He was well-read and knew the principle, but had no actual experience in the realm of civilian life. And from what he could tell, the locals don't have any jobs similar to any job he would have done as a Space Marine. Mercenary work was few and far between, and by the Emperor; he would not sully his honor by doing that.

By the Throne! Judging by the memories acquired the locals passed out in fear of him covered in blood! From what he could tell, they would be just as afraid of him with his armor clean. The skulls and dark motifs would undoubtedly terrify, as they were designed to do. The Space Marines, as oft quoted by his former brother Avitus, were fear incarnate! Being scary to mere mortals was literally in their job description.

But, he would try. None could condemn him so long as he tried with all of his prodigious might.

He recognized that he was ignoring several major issues that needed dealt with. For instance: the calm Warp. It was definitely an improvement, but it made him even more wary of entering the realm. When he used his powers earlier, he felt the presence of no daemons; an unheard of impossibility. This Warp terrified him even more than the normal Warp did, better an enemy that you know (Kind of) than an enemy that is completely, utterly foreign in every way. Then there was the fact that inside the Warp, he felt the presence of but one other psyker. A good thing that he had not come across an entire species of psykers, but there was something even worse. This psyker was strong, very strong, stronger than him by an uncomfortable margin. However, just the merest touch from his earlier outburst and he knew that he was safe from its influence, a powerful psyker it may be but it was one severely untested by war. He felt that he would come out the victor if they fought, if only just. The presence of sealed daemons went unnoticed by Jonah as they were sealed.

However, that one psyker was the only one he felt but it was not the only one that used Warp Power. He could tell, the horned ponies, Unicorns flashed to the forefront of his mind, were also capable of using Warp Power, though to a severely lessened degree. Weakened enough to be unattractive to daemons yet strong enough to warrant caution and actual use by the unicorns. It was probably an improvement over normal psykers. The definition of a psyker is not just that one can use Warp Power but that one can touch the realm of the Warp, these unicorns were capable of one but not the other. A strange contradiction, and Jonah wouldn't have believed it if he had not seen it and also taken the knowledge directly from the pony's skull. Through the memories, he distinctly saw, felt, and sensed Warp energy flowing from the creature's horn.

The pony species seem to have taken to naively referring to the energy as 'magic'. Magic is a common term used to describe Warp Power among the uncultured, uncivilized, and stupid.

Jonah would try to limit his use of the Warp until he was sure that it was safe. It was never safe, but he would continue until he felt that it was relatively safe enough for use.

Jonah spent a good amount of time cleaning his armor, he had an instinct that looking good for an interview for a job was important. It wasn't hurting anything, so Jonah just rolled with it.

The trip to this 'Sweet Apple Acres' was uneventful. The denizens of the forest he had taken refuge in knew a predator when they saw one, and so long as he was nonthreatening, they too would be nonthreatening. He actually wasn't sure there were any predators in these woods, he had seen numerous opportunities for a predator to secure a meal from the more foolish animals, but none ever took the bait. It was strange.

As he left the forest, he was treated to the sight of what was undoubtedly 'Sweet Apple Acres'. Of course, he hadn't known what an Apple was until he ripped it from the minds of foolish, ill-prepared to fight off a mental attack, pony medicae. But, he knew now. And it truly was 'Sweet Apple Acres', with an emphasis on 'acres'. It was an impressive farm for a society that had yet to reach space. The Imperium had entire planets dedicated to food production, but Jonah had never fought on one or even seen one, for that matter. While they weren't exactly few and far between, they were well defended as the loss of a Agri-world can mean famine across entire sectors. As they were so well defended, the 4th Company had never been called upon to aid one. It was just something that had never come up in their region of operation. To say that Jonah was impressed with the scale would be a lie, however, he was fairly impressed that the pony race was even capable of a farm so large. It was a testament to the 'Apple' family, and he would be sure to give his compliments.

It was rather early in the morning, but overhearing conversation and conversation with Guardsmen had enlightened him on some aspects of farm work. Like awakening early in the morning. As he understood it, men from Agri-world were particularly well suited to that aspect of Guardsmen training.

He approached the large farm house that the path led to, his super-human...pony? ears could just make out the sounds of work from elsewhere on the farm.

He knocked on the door, being careful to not accidentally splinter it into a thousand small, shrapnel-like pieces.

"I'm comin'! I'm comin'!" a rather elderly voice replied.

Jonah was not very well versed on the language, the species, or the voices, but he still managed to guess that the pony replying to his knock was an elderly female, with an unknown accent. The pony medicae were knowledgeable, but only one or 2 had ever interacted with the Apple family, and photographic memory does not apply to the 'acquired' knowledge of others.

"Alright, here we go." the same voice said, much closer to the door. Jonah also heard what appeared to be... baby noises?

The door opened to reveal a small, elderly green mare carrying on her back a small, red-haired and yellow youngling of the species. Both of their eyes widened at the sight of him. A Space Marine cuts an imposing figure, especially in armor, even as a pony.

The language was still new to him, so Jonah tried to speak slowly, choosing every word carefully. He also spoke gently, to avoid scaring the little one and the mare. There was little more irritating than a frightened child, as Space Marines have no idea what to do. Though, Jonah theorized that Captain Angelos might have been able to calm a grief-stricken child.

He spoke calmly, softly, and slowly, "Excuse me, I am looking for a job. Is there anything I can do?"

The Elder and Junior both visibly relaxed at his words, his tone far too soft and gentle to belong to a monster. The armor still clearly scared them, but with a few soft words he was less of a threat.

The Elder narrowed her eyes at him, and started inspecting him from every angle she could from inside the doorway.

At length, she said, "Weeelll... you sure look like you can handle farm-work... You got a name, partner?"

He bowed his head and said, "I am Jonah Orion." he neglected the use of his titles. 'Brother Librarian Jonah Orion of the Blood Ravens 4th Company' would probably just confuse them.

She held out a hoof, "Name's Granny Smith, and this here little 'un is Applebloom."

The custom wasn't exactly common in the Imperium, most greeted another with the Aquila, but some still shook hands. And hooves, apparently.

He shook her hoof with his own, "It is nice to meet you." he cordially stated, "And you too little one."

Granny Smith smiled at his gentle greeting of the child, "We always need more help around the farm, but you came just in time for harvest season. You just go on to the South field," she helpfully pointed in the direction the sounds were coming from, "Applejack and Big Mac ought to be in there, you just talk to them and see what they need help with. We can talk about your pay over supper. We'll probably give you the standard rate for hired workers, but do a good job and we'll see if we can't get you a bonus."

He nodded his thanks and walked off towards the direction indicated.

Granny Smith watched him walk off and disappear into the trees.

She hummed to herself in thought, "That there's a strange one." she declared out loud, "A gentle giant... I saw patience in them eyes, that's for sure. Age too, he's a lot older than he puts on."

Applebloom gurgled happily from on her back, ending in a questioning pip.

Granny Smith looked back at the foal, "Sure he was big and scary, and that outfit of his sure looked like it was used for something other than show, but he's got his heart in the right place. I can feel it in my old bones!"

A Common Laborer, and True Faith, Brother?

Thought for the Day:

There is no greater glory than a lifetime of dutiful service.

Jonah Orion was making his way towards the sounds of work being done. He was actually moderately surprised the mare hadn't passed out from seeing him. His armor was hardly what one would call tame, at least on this strange world. Skulls and other symbols of death are literally the primary component of Astartes Power Armor. Of course, as a Librarian, the primary component of his armor was books and symbols of knowledge, such as a few keys strung on a chain as well as Purity Seals. He was thankful that he had had the foresight to leave his Power Sword and Force Staff in a concealed location near the edge of the property, the ponies would likely have frowned upon the weaponry.

While walking, he more closely observed the property. It seemed in good shape, all things considered, straight rows, bountiful crop, presumably, and a fairly large central structure. This farm was definitely making ends meet, if not exactly thriving. Why, the amount of fruit on the trees alone could feed an Imperial Guard Regiment for quite a while. Jonah had half a mind to taste one of the shiny, red fruits, he knew his Astartes physiology would protect him against any poisons, even if it was incredibly unlikely that the ponies would poison their own crop. However, he decided against a taste test, it would be rude.

As of now, he was acting alone. He had no resources, only his own initiative, intelligence, and strength. Even if the Chapter knew where he was, which was doubtful because he didn't know where he was, he doubted the Chapter would send a task force. He was dead, many had seen him lying bloodied on the battlefield, they would search his corpse out for Gene-seed alone and, when they couldn't find it, chalk it up to Chaos dickery. Therefore, he needed to secure his own resources, his own funding, his own supplies.

He was quite close to the work now, he could tell. A turn around a junction, and the workers were laid before his eyes. 3 ponies (two males and one female), the males were rather large and red while the female was rather small and orange, the eldest male had a hat on and the other had what seemed to be a harness around his neck. The eldest, though Jonah could only barely hazard a guess, seemed to be somewhere just younger than middle aged, as far as his species went, and the other 2 were no more than teenagers, if that. The 3 were obviously engaged in work, though the actual method was slightly surprising. They were just kicking the trees and the apples fell, with little resistance. The blows were hard, obviously, as only the eldest could completely clear an entire tree in one hit, but the younger 2 were keeping up admirably despite their physical limitations. The apples would fall into conveniently placed baskets and despite the random placement of the apples in the trees, most if not all would fall into the baskets set around the base of the tree. The baskets were then emptied into a nearby wagon and set back at the base of another tree.

Jonah announced his presence by clearing his throat politely and all 3 stopped work to look at him.

The eldest asked, "Can Ah help you there, pardner?" while wiping his brow of accumulated sweat.

Jonah again marveled at the dexterity of the pony species, despite their Equine nature.

Jonah gently smiled, the better to appear non-threatening, and spoke with the same tone as he used with Granny Smith, "I inquired as to a job with one Granny Smith, and she directed me here."

"Ah." the elder stallion replied, "You want to hire on as a worker?"

"Yes." a simple reply, though it carried much meaning.

The work-stallion nodded then said, "Name's Macintosh Apple, that there's Mac Jr. and Applejack." he indicated the male and female youngsters respectively who waved in greeting.

"I am Jonah Orion." he politely replied.

Macintosh Apple rubbed his chin in thought and squinted at him, "You wouldn't happen to be that feller that walked through town all bloodied up, would ya?

"Aye, that would be me. Though the blood was mostly not my own, I assure you." Jonah replied.

"It's only been a few days, you sure you should be outta the hospital?" the young orange filly, Applejack, asked loudly.

"I am fine, my injuries are fully healed." Jonah nodded graciously to the filly, "Thank you for your concern."

Macintosh was still rubbing his chin in though, "Oh... I don't know. It don't seem right..."

"Please, you would be helping me more than I you." Jonah insisted.

"Oh alright, we do need the help." he grinned cheekily, "The youngsters ain't quite ready to take over the farm work, if you know what I mean."

The filly yelled out an indignant, "Hey!" but the other male just stood, silently gazing at him, seemingly judging him with his eyes.

Mac Jr. seemed to find what he was looking for, and nodded approvingly.

Macintosh Apple chuckled at his youngest's expense, then turned to Jonah, "I'll admit it, we need a little more help than normally. We've got the largest bumper crop in years... and we're sadly short-hooved at the moment." Macintosh finished his sentence somberly, as though recalling some recent trouble. His ears drooped, his eyes fell to the ground, as did his tail. The younglings followed his example.

After only a moment, Jonah understood. There was little time to dwell on death in the Imperium.

"I see..." Jonah started, "Your wife, and mother, I assume?" he asked, directing his question to both old and young.

"Yeah..." Macintosh sighed sadly, "She passed giving birth to young Applebloom last summer... My darling wife will be missed, but she did give us a great gift before she left us, little Applebloom." Macintosh wiped a tear from his eye, clearly still distraught over the event.

Jonah knew not how long the seasons were on this world, but it was slightly over a year on this world, given harvest time's proclivity for occurring in Fall, on all Imperial worlds.

"I'm afraid I cannot offer much, but I can tell you not to dwell on her death, but rather on her life."

Jonah too had lost brothers, 7 centuries of fighting a constant war will do that to you, and that advice had been told to him shortly after he was advised to take the sorrow of the deaths of brothers and convert it into righteous fury. He did not think the ponies would appreciate the 'righteous fury' advice, but the first could help.

"Thank ya kindly." Macintosh said.

All was silent for a few moments, but was quickly broken by Macintosh moving back to work.

"C'mon y'all, we gotta get back to work. These apples won't buck themselves." he accentuated his statement with a sharp buck to the nearest tree, causing a small avalanche of apples.

The work was incredibly simple: just hit the trees as hard as necessary. Jonah quickly found, to his amusement and the others' silent jealousy, that he didn't need to kick with his back legs. He just reared up and knocked them down with a hard jab. He found his luck sorely tested when he placed the baskets: he never seemed to place them correctly, despite the pointers that Apple family provided. It got to the point where the others would set up baskets for him, to better expedite the harvest.

Over the course of the next 7 hours, Jonah found his stamina only lightly tested. Hard war and training was nothing to the trees and apples. He did, however, learn some things about this world, the Apple family was quite free with information. When asked to reciprocate, it required some falsehoods and half-truths, liberally sprinkled with kernels of truth. Though Applejack was not the only to inquire, she was by far the most inquisitive.

"Where ya from, Jonah?"

"Far away, from a forest called Typhon. I sincerely doubt you've heard of it."

"You talk really fancy, like one of them nobles from Canterlot."

"While I've never met a noble from Canterlot, I can say that I speak only as my brothers have."

"'Brothers'? Sounds more akin to an order of monks than a large family."

"You would be correct in your assumption, you are intelligent for your age young Applejack. How old are you?"

"Ah'm 13! Mac's 15. An pa's like really old!"

"I'm sure I am vastly older than he is."

"No way!"

"Yes, it is true. And Mac Jr. is only 15? He looks much older, considering his size."

"Yep! He's not even full grown, yet! But you're HUGE!!"

"A product of environment, nothing more."

"Your armor looks cool, by the way."

"Thank you, it was a gift as well as a necessary piece of my equipment."

"What, were you a monster hunter?"

"Amongst other things, that title would also apply to my line of work."

"I thought you were a monk!"

"A monk that lived in a dangerous forest; the citizenry needed protection, as did my brothers and the knowledge we collected."

"That must have been one dangerous forest."

"Indeed."

Hours past, conversation were held, apple fell, baskets collected. As all things, work must end eventually.

And as a worker, Jonah was, apparently, entitled to meals with the family. And a place to sleep, if only a blanket. The generosity of these xenos, no, these human constructs, for their architecture was too human for them to be anything else (They had doorknobs, for the Emperor's sake), astounded him. He reasoned that their world and ideology was a product of being far removed from Chaos, or really any other faction in the galaxy. But especially Chaos... and Dark Eldar... and Orks... and Tyranids... and the Imperium... or pretty much every other race.

After the work was done, Jonah had been invited inside for a meal, and Jonah had graciously accepted. The fact that their home was primarily constructed of wood momentarily slipped his mind. While a Blood Raven couldn't forget anything, they could act without thinking.

He was before their front door, warily eyeing their wooden entrance way. It wasn't like it wasn't wide enough for him to enter, it was the fact that it was made of wood that made him wary. He was lost, he needed connections, he needed, dare he say it, friends to live for very long in this world. Space Marines need allies too, no matter what some of his more arrogant brothers may think. And breaking a home doesn't make you friends or connections quickly.

Macintosh Apple was standing behind him, Jonah had heard him approach. The stallion had graciously taken it upon himself to move the filled wagon into the barn while he sent the children and Jonah inside for food. But he had returned to see Jonah looking at the front door with trepidation.

In an instant, Macintosh knew why, and he laughed.

"Don't worry about your size, friend, that wood's from the Everfree Forest, most of Ponyville is. That stuff grows strong, real strong. It'll hold up to your weight."

Jonah recognized the teasing, and silently hated because of it. Astartes never take teasing well, their egos were usually enough to match their superhuman bodies. Doubly, if not triply, so for the Ultramarines, the arrogant asshats. Their fancy Codex cost them their entire 1st Company, while other chapters that bent if not outright broke the Codex thrived. The Codex is a valuable tome, to be sure, but it also required just a little bit of actual thinking to accompany it. Like how good advice requires a bit of bending to fit varying circumstances. Even the Blood Ravens saw the worth in it, and then ignored it for better options. However, some chapters always ignore it and some even deride it. Like the Angry Marines, who are said to actually wipe with pages of the tome.

Jonah stepped up into the house and put a fraction of his weight on the leg. Unsurprisingly, the wood held. Then, Jonah added more and more until he was evenly distributed, and the wood held, surprisingly. Jonah quickly entered the home with Macintosh directly following him. Macintosh directed him into the dining room, where 3 were currently seated and 1 was gurgling happily in a thankfully restraining chair. All had yet to eat the food, their polite manners demanding that all be seated before the meal started.

Macintosh took his seat at the head of the table, while Jonah took the only other seat. Thankfully, it seemed the chair was also built of sturdy Everfree wood. The table was spread with all manner of food, the scent betraying the vast quantities of apples within.

Once seated, the others quickly dug in, Jonah was left holding his Rosarius and mumbling his prayers under his breath while the others ate. Most Space Marines Chapters do not revere the Emperor as a god, but rather as the greatest of men. He himself had refused the title, despite some wanting to worship him. Many Space Marines upheld that direction, including the Blood Ravens. However, one could still offer prayers even if one simply saw him as the greatest of men, the Emperor was bound to listen. If there was anyone or thing in the entire universe that could claim to be a god, the Emperor was it. He had power in vast amounts, and held the entirety of Chaos back with his mind alone. Nothing else could withstand the entire pantheon of Chaos at once, both sides were constantly battling through the Warp. The Emperor never truly gained ground but he did hold them back. THAT was power, god-like power.

It was when he prayed that Jonah remembered keenly his first experience with the Warp, and the Emperor.

All neophytes are tested for Warp power, and Jonah had tested positive. In the Blood Ravens, and in all Chapters, pyskers are still trained in the normal fashion as all other brothers are. However, hey are not put into the traditional system, but rather trained by other Librarians. In addition to the normal physical training, baby Librarians are taught the ways of the Warp, and how to shield one's mind against daemons.

When in the Warp, one could always 'hear' or 'sense' 2 things. 1. the presence of daemons. 2. the presence of the Emperor.

The daemons were always more noticeable, what with their constant clawing at your mental defenses, but the Emperor was more subtle. Like how one could miss something when there was so much of it, His presence slightly blended into the background. It was always there, it would not change, it became a piece of the Warp. But, if one traced the source all the way back to Holy Terra, one could find the supreme presence of the Emperor there.

The trainees were taught to not to directly reach towards the Emperor, and with good reason.

However, Jonah had decided to try anyway.

The Eastern Fringe is far from the Emperor, in fact the Litany of Fury has a mobile repeater station for the Astronomicon to boost the faint signal in the East. During one of his meditation sessions, he reached his mind towards Terra and towards the Astronomicon. The distance involved showed his potential, any other stretched so thin would have been possessed almost instantly. Perhaps it was miracle from the Emperor, or some stroke of luck, but Jonah's presence in the Warp made it all the way to Holy Terra.

He didn't remember much after that. But, he knew for certainty that his soul was taken in by the Astronomicon. The heat, the pain, the fear of a thousand thousand psykers awash in that furnace of souls... There was a reason that only the Emperor could focus the Astronomicon, that reason being it was so vastly powerful. Now, despite his photographic memory, he forgot much. He might have been awash in that hell for hours, minutes, days... time held little meaning in the Warp.

However, he distinctly remembered the ending of that torture he brought upon himself...

The pain had been all that he felt, but all at once he felt a kind, warm psychic embrace, not boiling lead hot as it was before. The embrace cut him off from the pain of that hell-scape, the Astronomicon.

He remembered the mental equivalent of a pat on the shoulder, and a small, proud smile.

"Please allow me to shoulder this burden, Jonah." the essence had said, quietly, gently, and with much love, "I do not believe you are quite ready to handle the Astronomicon yet, it is just out of your capabilities at the moment." the essence was amused, but held a deep sorrow. Jonah had also detected trace amounts of pride.

Jonah had wept like a babe. It was the first time, and the last time, Jonah had ever cried tears of joy.

For the spirit, the essence that had directly spoken to him...

...Was undoubtedly the Emperor of Mankind, himself.

The punishment for almost killing himself and releasing a small horde of daemons had been substantial, but it was very well worth it. The Librarians could see how much the event had influenced him, how important it was to him. The Emperor's light is very dim indeed in the dark forests of Typhon, and Jonah had not seen evidence of the Emperor there. But actually meeting the man through the Warp? That was a powerful experience. From then on, his faith in the Emperor of Mankind was absolute, not as a god, but as the greatest of men and the immortal protector of the Imperium.

The silence at the table is what roused him from his thoughts. He looked up to see the Apple family looking at him, even young Applebloom.

"I'm sorry there Brother. We didn't mean to go and disrespect your beliefs." Macintosh said, pointing to the tightly clutched Rosarius.

Jonah was slightly disappointed. He knew it was silly to presume that the ponies even knew of the Emperor, much less worship the man. While he himself was not a member of the Imperial Cult, he was always more comfortable around those who did believe. Partly because those who didn't believe were heretics trying to kill him, but that's beside the point.

"No, there was no disrespect. Your beliefs are not mine." Jonah assured him, "I was done with my prayers anyway." Jonah started to put away the Rosarius.

"...You wouldn't terribly mind blessing the meal, would you?" Macintosh hesitantly asked.

Jonah froze in his movement and, after a moment of though, moved the Rosarius back upwards to bless the table.

"I am no Chaplain." Jonah said, "But a simple prayer to the God-Emperor would suffice."

These ponies were, by their very nature, not very religious. However, due to their less than industrialized nature, they were also quite superstitious. Which was similar enough to religion to count, especially among some of the more primitive humans. Jonah did not believe that the Emperor was a god, but the Emperor was sufficiently omniscient that prayers were actually effective, whether or not you actually believe in His godhood.

Jonah brought the Rosarius back to his lips and whispered the requested prayers over it. It is said that each Rosarius has a special connection to the Emperor, and it is by faith that its Conversion Field is charged. Coincidentally, the field is also charge by an electrical charge in the Rosarius. Though, it is to be noted that especially fervent and holy persons wearing a Rosarius seem to receive greater protection.

The family thanked him for the prayers, and the meal began in earnest. The food tasted sweet, and was very good. Especially by Space Marine standards, even they receive terrible rations during campaigns. The Battle Barges and Fortress Monasteries have much better food, but shipping a hot meal to a battlefield is a little outlandish, even with the various teleporters that the Blood Ravens have acquired throughout the years.

After much food, and quite a bit of dessert for Jonah, he was led to a guest room where he fell into a dreamless sleep.

Such is the norm for Blood Ravens, they cannot dream at all. It's a mutation in their Gene-seed.

For Shame, Brother!

Thought for the Day:

The foolish man puts his trust in luck, the wise man puts his trust in the Emperor.

It was incredibly embarrassing, the situation he found himself in. He knew that farm workers usually awoke with the rising of the sun, and sometimes before hand. But he had figured that they would at least have the decency to wake him, not wait for him to awoken by the sounds of a bell ringing and someone calling for lunch!

If lunch was held at noon, which it traditionally is, then that means he slept in for about 15 hours!

Space Marines require very little sleep to function. In fact, they have an organ that allows them to stay awake for hours and hours on end without needing any form of rest. The average amount of sleep he got on The Litany of Fury was 4 hours, and that was plenty!

He chalked it up to a combination of stress and mental fatigue. Learning that you have been transported to a planet full of colorful human constructs is severely grating on the mind. But learning that you had become one of the locals could give a guy an aneurysm! If his Brothers-Librarian could see him now, oh, the tales they would tell!

The Librarians, and to a lesser extent, the brothers, of the Blood Ravens tended to be incurable gossips. Jonah seemed to be, thankfully, immune to the need to gossip. However, the forge workers of the chapter tended to be incurable fan boys, as well, though you wouldn't say that to their face unless you want a power claw crammed in yours. The Techmarines have an irritating tendency to create a weapon or a suit of armor but with the livery and names inspired by heroes of other chapters. They were also so very saddened when their creations were inevitably rejected by the Marines they made them for.

Jonah noticed that many of the brothers of the Blood Ravens had some sort of extraordinarily prevalent characteristic or psychosis that they are completely oblivious to. Like the Commander and his hair, or Cyrus and his morose attitude. Like Techmarines and their fan boy status or like Librarians and their constant need for gossip. There was not a single entity in the Blood Ravens that did not have some sort of stereotype attached to it.

But they were far from him now, hopefully still fighting the enemies of the Imperium. Though it was also possible that they are long dead, or even yet to be born. The Warp was tricky that way, for all he knew he was thousands of years in the future and Chaos was dead, the ponies the evolutionary descendants of humans. That was, however, unlikely. The Warp sending a vessel or person very far in either direction in the time stream is extraordinarily rare. Though Jonah did remember a rumor that a ship full of Guardsmen was being sent to a war-zone when they had been thrown into the future by a considerable margin, the story wasn't very specific, but the ship had eventually reached its destination. With the large amount of accumulated back pay, the ecstatic Guardsmen pooled their money together and bought a small moon.

He threw off the relatively comfortable blanket that had been supplied, and stood up from the floor. Everfree Forest lumber or not, there was no way he was going to lie down on that bed. While the wood might remain sturdy, the nails would break, the springs would flatten, and he knew for a fact that the splints would shatter under his weight.

The floor was just as good. He had slept in worse conditions, in a very relaxing manner.

He slept in his armor. While he did not think the docile pony population would kill him in his sleep, he was still operating in hostile territory... One that made his size seem extraordinary but not immediately obvious, for instance, no one had yet yelled: 'Space Marine! Kill him!'. There are practical reasons why Space Marines didn't do infiltration very well, if at all it was done by the Scouts who would just be invisible or close to it in their Chameleon Cloaks.  He actually has not heard of many successful infiltration missions by any outside the Officio Assassinorum, Imperial strategy revolves around massive explosions and death over small explosions and death.

He opened his door and walked out, closing it behind him. He had not been in or near many farm homes, but he thought that this one was on the larger side. It held nothing to the great halls of the Imperium, but this was not a great hall of anything, so he could let them pass without comment.

Despite hearing the bell and being just upstairs, Jonah was the last one to the table. Rather confusing as the orchards were vast. Seriously, he walked down the stairs, ever leery because he wasn't 100% sure of himself walking down stairs, and found 5 ponies already seated at the table and an extra seat for him, with all of the food already on plates and in bowls. The ponies were even eating at a rapid pace.

Macintosh Sr. and Applejack greeted him with a wave while Macintosh Jr. nodded his head in greeting, the youngest was in a high chair and waving all four limbs wildly, likely just for the sheer novelty of waving one's limbs wildly, and it looked like Granny Smith was sleeping.

Macintosh started the conversation as Jonah sat down, "So you're back among the living, Brother." an observation, clearly, but one that invited an explanation.

"My apologies," Jonah began, "I am unaccustomed to waking so late. I usually wake much earlier."

How much earlier was completely relative, of course, ships use Terra's 24-hour clock and each planet keeps the year and date according to Terra as accurately as Warp travel will allow, but each planet had their own day length.

Macintosh grinned as Jonah was served some apple flavored luncheon, "Maybe farmwork was just a bit more work than you thought it would be, hmm?"

"Nay, I was fatigued only mentally, but not physically. The mind also rests, and heals, during sleep. So long as one of you is kind enough to place the baskets, I shall work without complaint."

The Apple family sans Macintosh Jr. politely chuckled, even Applebloom who laughed in response to laughter. Mac Jr. allowed himself a grin in his stoic and silent demeanor. Evidently, rumors had spread through the family about his utter incompetence at accurately placing the baskets.

"Don't worry about that, partner," Macintosh assured him, "It's something the Apple family is born with, it's in our blood. You'll learn the skill, natural born or no, eventually."

The entirety of the meal was consumed in such light conversation. It was a high-quality meal, regardless of the food prepared. Whoever is cooking the food, probably Granny Smith, certainly knows how to cook good, filling food. Jonah... didn't know where the food came from on The Litany of Fury. He had never thought of it, it slipped his mind, he was never once curious about where the food that was placed before him each day and night came from. Now that he had a chance to think about it, the food was probably prepared by Chapter Serfs: people who have, in some way, become attached to the Chapter and help to maintain their fighting strength. In a nut shell, they do the things that one wouldn't ask the Servitors or the Marines themselves to do. Like the food, someone might be upset that a conglomeration of flesh and machine was cooking your food, so they have an actual person do it instead.

Now that Jonah thought about it, he really hoped that it was a real person cooking his meal. Not that he had anything against servitors, he just didn't want them near his food. Much like he had nothing against the Black Templars, but he wouldn't let them anywhere near him because he was a psyker, and they might try to kill him.

It was actually kind of surprising that the Apple family was as accepting of Jonah as they were, he did have his armor attached to his body. It wasn't obvious anywhere outside of his Psychic Hood, but he was still surprised. Perhaps they were really that desperate for workers, or maybe they just didn't see it as strange. From the memories stolen from the medicae, he knew there were other sapient species on this planet. Like the Griffons, which reminded him of multiple chapters that used them as a symbol. Also; it was a mythical beast from ancient Terra. If he remembered correctly, the child of a male Griffon and a female pony/horse would be a Hippogriff, something that he searched for, and found, among the memories. He found that they were fairly rare, with only a population of a few thousand at the most primarily due to the slight bigotry between Griffons and Ponies, and the fact that the children of Hippogriffs weren't always guaranteed a Hippogriff, sometimes they were ponies and sometimes they were Griffons, and sometimes they were another Hippogriff.

Were they too the work of some human, long since dead? Perhaps... in fact probably likely. There was no reason for a griffon to exist here besides being created by something. They were a historic, mythical creature: the fact that they exist outside of a story book proves the intervention of some form of intelligence, and none of the other powers would have cared or even known about ancient historical beasts from humanity's past.

The work of a human, nothing else.

After his pondering and the meal, the afternoon work began. He and the other 3 working ponies were sent out once more to the same part of the orchard as the last time, undoubtedly to finish what was started the day previous and the morning, which he had missed out on.

He theorized during the afternoon work about why he had slept in so long. His hypothesis was thus: his mind was acclimating to his body.

The evidence was substantial, if circumstantial. During his work, he noticed that it was extraordinarily easy for him to move, work, and coordinate his actions, much more easy than it was before his sleep. Very likely he had interrupted whatever process his mind was undergoing when he woke in the hospital and escaped, which explains how he was able to move so easily at the time. Any human suddenly becoming a quadruped would be disoriented, but he had taken to it like an Ork to fighting.

Despite how easily he had moved even though he should have barely been able to, now he just felt much better. His mind had probably prevented him from waking to get the job done in one go, instead of doing it piecemeal. He was rather happy with the results, if still extraordinarily angry that he was a pony at all.

While he still had difficulty in placing the baskets in the correct location, his basic coordination and ability had improved. Before his night sleep, his movements would be akin to a jerky, primitive robot, if not quite so drastic, now however, he was moving like a well oiled creation of the highest Arch Magos.

This life on the farm was simple. Being a Space Marine was simple, in an entirely different way.

But the scholar in Jonah demanded a more complex duty, one that could be fulfilled now that he was sadly bereft of chapter. Not that he was a Traitor or harbored any form of disloyalty at all or in the slightest, Jonah just realized that even if he made it back to his chapter, an impossibility due to the local populations lack of spacecraft, his brothers would probably just cleanse him as a Xeno.

Oh well. Despair is the realm of that fat fool Nurgle, so Jonah did not despair. He still had the Emperor. He would always have the Emperor.

The farmwork was fine for now, but his urge for complexity would manifest some time later.

Little did Jonah know, but he would stay on with the Apple family for years, and they never did quite leave him.

Glorious Reunions, Brother!

Thought for the Day:

A moment of laxity spawns a lifetime of heresy.

Some time passes before anything of note occurs. (Lampshade). Jonah was quite content with the farm work and the Apple Family. Granted the only thing he had to compare the experience with was being a Space Marine, and that work swiftly becomes boring. There's only so many times you can look death in the face and get slightly raised blood pressure, and Jonah's age far eclipsed the age that usually happens to the younger Brothers. But, working on the farm is simple work, much like Space Marine work. Kill, advance, kill, advance. Basic stuff.

The harvest went as planned, apparently. Jonah has little experience in such matters. Macintosh Sr. was quite proud of the work his family and Jonah had managed to have achieved, however. He had called it the largest apple crop in many years, and the bits it had brought to the family were flowing directly into their debts and savings for future financial burdens. Jonah had been given honorary mention in the Apple Family Records, which Jonah likened to the records in the Librarium. In fact, so grateful was the family that they invited him to go with them to the Apple Family Reunion, held directly after the apple harvest annually for generations. This reunion of apple-ponies would be held in a far off orchard of similar make to this one, for the first time ever. Apparently it's a great honor to be able to host the Apple Reunion, as the family is so large that to even have enough space to fit the entire family would be a symbol of the particular orchard's large size and relative success. In fact, it had never happened before. 'Sweet Apple Acres' had been the only Apple Family orchard large enough to support the reunion since the family was founded.

Having no experience in Family Reunions beyond the once in a century meeting of all 10 companies of the Blood Ravens, Jonah gladly accepted the invitation. It would be as though an outsider, let's say an Ultramarine, was invited to join this wondrous event. Brothers meet Brothers for the first time in decades, Captains and Sergeants discuss the state of the galaxy, liqueur and food is shared merrily, and the entire event is memorized by all present for the next long wait. As a space-based Chapter, the Blood Ravens don't and can't meet as often as they want to. So to be invited to a similar gathering was particularly important to Jonah. He recovered his staff and sword and hid them under the dirt in the barn, silently praying that swords and staves don't have machine spirits.

The journey didn't take terribly long, despite the long distance. Quadrupeds are excellent travelers, though Jonah unintentionally showed up the family by never tiring. Even while he was pulling a cart loaded down with supplies and Granny Smith behind him. Every pony in the Sweet Apple Acres branch of the Apple Family managed to come. Jonah expressed his worry of leaving the Orchard untended for a few days, buts his worries were brushed off. Crime isn't as prevalent in the nascent town of Ponyville as it is in the larger cities.

And what an event it was! He could easily compare it to the gathering of Blood Ravens, were there not children running about underfoot. There was drinking (check), mountains of food (check), stories told from the far-flung members where all in attendance listened with rapt attention or polite attention, depending on the skill of the orator (check), and group activities designed to instill fun (not check). Unless you count bolter firing competitions, or the practice fights between certain company champions. Or perhaps some Techmarines showing off what they managed to make in their spare time to the other Techmarines from other companies. Actually, they are rather similar, even in that regard. Although, there is most certainly not a large quilt that is added to as time goes on. though there is the ceremonial sharing of the records between the separate Librarium depositories on the different far-flung fleets.

Jonah's presence was, of course, questioned. As was his armor. However, Macintosh Sr. managed to convince his fellows that his presence was proper. Unbeknownst to Jonah, Macintosh Sr. found in his scholarly, quiet, and wise demeanor a kindred spirit, or at least a friend. And the other members of his immediate family happened to agree, creating a substantial defensive team for Jonah's eligibility for being at the Apple Family Reunion. It was a 'Family' Reunion, after all. But he was eventually accepted, not as an 'Apple' but as an 'Apple subsidiary' by the tribal council of Elders. He was assured that it was 'almost as good'.

The mares cooed and awed over little Applebloom, many an understanding pat on the withers were deployed on Macintosh Sr., Jr., and Applejack, and many a strong-hooved stallion thought to prove their might against Jonah in several feats of strength and/or endurance. Jonah recalled the tale of how The Emperor and Vulkan, Primarch of the Salamanders, met with a similar series of feats. Jonah did not overly enjoy being a spectacle or an obstacle for the others to view, nor did he particularly enjoy proving himself superior, but knew that denying them would be worse. He also received many an unsettling glance from the mares. Their desire to see what lay underneath his armor, in their words, was troubling to Jonah. So, earning the respect of the stallions, and the unwanted attention of the mares, Jonah was accepted, not as part of the Apple Family, but as connected to the Apple Family. Again, 'almost as good.'

And so the Apple Family Reunion in 'Trotonto' ended. Many families can only stay for a day or two. There are many varieties of apples, some of which are harvested later than the particular variety grown at Sweet Apple Acres, which are, presumably, primarily sweet apples. Though Jonah has very little knowledge on the subject of apples. The medicae only knew of a few species. However, the Apple Family had been informing him on the subject over the days of harvest, he knew almost as much about apples as Apple foals do.

And so they returned to their orchards. As did the Apple family that Jonah is most familiar with. It is said that the farm work is never done, and that is true. Especially since they do not grow solely apples, and they perform many feats with the apples. For instance, they use the winter and fall months primarily brewing apple cider, their main product. They feed much of the surrounding territory with apples, but they fill the entire breadth and width of Equestria with their alcohol. The delicious product fetches a fine price, and the specialty liqueurs even more so. And when the harvest wasn't good enough that year to have much surplus for the apple cider, they import other products or rent out their brewery, a particularly large and well maintained example of a brewery. While renting out a brewery might sound rather idiotic, as any brewer worth his liqueur would have his own, some 'rich, idiotic city-dwellers' enjoy using one from time to time to craft their own beer. Or, the family signs a deal with a larger producer of liqueur to brew their product for the season, in exchange for money and the ingredients. Thus, they ensure enough money to support the family until the next harvest, always. It's a very logical system and Jonah approved wholeheartedly.

And there was something else that Macintosh Sr. informed Jonah on. Something unique to their farm. Something called 'Zap Apples'. These would be coming in soon, apparently. The jam, of which most of the cellar is storage space for, can be sold for huge prices. It's one of the few universally acceptable foods across all of Equestria. Pegasi enjoy them because they are, according to pegasi legend, lightning and rainbows in fruit form. Unicorns enjoy them because the inherent 'magic' in the apples cause a wondrous sensation in the base of the horn, and since the horn and the brain are almost directly connected by nerves, the sensation is powerful indeed. And Earth Ponies love them because they are delicious.

Jonah was skeptical. A fruit being born from a meteor shower was unlikely. But, the Apples believed the story. And he had no reason to distrust the Apples on anything related to apples. He was moderately concerned, however. He was warned that some creatures within the nearby forest become... agitated, for lack of a better word, during the zap apple harvest. He doubted he would need his sword or his staff to handle a few beasts, but his honor as a Blood Raven, as a Space Marine, as a Man, demanded that he repay his debts. The Apple Family provided wonderful hospitality, and they were notably more squishy than he. A beast would break its teeth on his armor and, were he not wearing it, his bones. But he could not say the same for the Apples.

It is the duty of every Space Marine to not only destroy the enemies of Man, but also to defend what Men they could.

The Apples are not Men. But they are Man-made. Would he allow some beast to damage human property? Nay, he would not.

Death Embraces All, Brother...

Thought for the Day:

Carry the Emperor's will as your torch, with it destroy the shadows

Yet another timber wolf yelped in agony as lightning danced over its frame. It's life was short lived, though it came as no comfort to the rest of the pack, facing down this new threat. The beautiful fruit called to them, why has this thing interfered? Regardless, the pack had lost far too many to consider fighting more, and had lost not nearly enough to reform their losses into a larger being. They retreated for now.

Jonah snorted with great contempt. He had caught only glimpses of the greater forces at work in the forest, yet the only creatures that come out of it are the weaklings. Which is mostly likely a good thing, considering the state of the average pony. These so called 'zap apples' are so important to the continuation of the orchard that all other work stops during their growing season. Or, more accurately, growing week. They come as rapidly as a thunderbolt, and leave within a few days.

At least, that's the understanding that Jonah obtained form a hasty conversation with an agitated Granny Smith. Between the two, Jonah preferred fighting the denizens of the forest, for at least they were moderately understandable.

Jonah lowered his guard as he felt the primitive minds of the wolves retreat far enough away to trouble him, or the orchard, no longer.

The foul things stank of the Warp. Bound daemons? Unlikely, they are closer to animals than those most malevolent of spirits. Yet it is only through the Warp do they survive. A strange conundrum; the Warp does not often give life to anything so natural in its desires. From the many, many times he's had their minute intellects in his mind's eye, they've thought only of food, shelter, sleep, injuries, and the other creatures of the forest. The Warp has never granted such thoughts to other constructs. They are usually left with only the most base thoughts, such as 'kill'. Rather like Tyranids that have been separated form the Hive Mind.

Then again, it is entirely possible that they are not Warp-born.

Jonah hates them, for their incongruity, if nothing else.

He must have obliterated a half dozen packs by this point, and rendered even more combat-incapable. All for a small family of farmers, ponies that he would have killed sooner than associate himself with previously. Jonah feels some anxiety over the matter, but not terribly much. He has long since resigned himself to his fate. Previously, his fate was to forever battle the enemies of the emperor until he died. Now, though, his fate seemed to be up to him, a fact that irritated Jonah to no end.

As a Librarian of the Blood Ravens, he's always had a large hand in the planning of operations. He would divine the future, and every reasonably possible future, and take these futures to his brothers in command, and together the plan would be created, as would all possible deviations to the plan.

His future has always been foreseen, he's never not known what's just around the corner. He's seen his own death on occasion, he's seen the deaths of close brothers in arms, in his visions. Thankfully, thus far, he's been able to prevent a great many of them... but sometimes...  as they embarked on a plan that would finish the enemy with minimum casualties, Jonah had to look the battle brother in the eye, one that was going to die.

He was usually correct in his visions, he had an accuracy that few others could boast about. But he has no Tarot, he cannot divine his future anymore. Or at least, not nearly as well as he used to.

He doesn't know what to do.

He could do anything, which made divining the future even more difficult. A few dozen possible futures? Easy. A few hundred? Manageable. A value approaching infinity? Impossible. He would have to sift through a series of equally possible futures, all of them with a tiny possibility, yet each of them possible. That way lay madness.

Divination is best used in more controlled circumstances, when there really are only a few possibilities. Despite the relative chaos of battle, it is quite simple to use for such a task. There are a myriad of possibilities, but the most possible are always 'win' or 'lose'. Say if each had a 49% chance of happening, that leave 2% for every other possibility, a negligible amount. Of course, among the Blood Ravens, those would few possibilities would be well planned for. If a Librarian can alter the percentages, even if only by a small amount, he has done his job.

Again; Jonah knows not what he is to do. For the present, he is content with beating a few mindless beasts with his mind, but it won't last. He's never had a choice, as a Space Marine. He's had variations on what he could do, but the result was always the same. He's always been guided by his orders and his duty as a Space Marine.

This world, wherever in the galaxy it is, has no place for a Space Marine. Yet.

He just had to find his place, surely that won't be so hard?

As it turns out, it wasn't nearly as difficult as Jonah had assumed it might be.

After a hearty goodbye following the most difficult period of the apple harvesting process, Jonah left the good folks at the orchard to travel. He took only his armor, his blade, his staff, and the bits he had earned. Having no concept of the value of currency beyond what he borrowed from the ponies at the hospital, Jonah was left in a mild conundrum.

He felt that he had to find his place in the world, preferable by experiencing it, but he also had no idea where to start. After an hour or so of walking away, he doubled back for a conversation with Macintosh Sr. who was kind enough to give him a few ideas.

There's a city on this planet called Las Pegasus, and only the Emperor knows why. In it, there are many casinos, which are large places to gamble or so he's been told. Like the games of chance he learned from the Space Wolves, only perhaps with fewer accusations of psyker cheating. It's hardly Jonah's fault that he can literally create a field of good luck around himself. Colloquially known as the 'Possibility Shield' among Librarians, it has other purposes beyond battle.

This lead to his being thrown out of several casinos for winning too often, as well as no few number of common street thugs that either wanted his new found wealth or the slightly less common street thugs that worked for the casinos that wanted their money back. With wealth, a reputation, and monumental power, Jonah experienced some of what the city had to offer.

Most of these things were corrupt and villainous, so he did not partake. So did Jonah learn how to be a gambler.

Eventually, he ended up giving most of his wealth away to a few charities, hospitals, and orphanages and continued on.

He wandered about Equestria for a bit, not feeling the desire to wander beyond the borders of the nation. He was barely used to ponies so he felt he should not subject himself to any of the other species that this world apparently offered without getting accustomed to at least one.

He wound up in someplace called Stalliongrad eventually. A larger, more industrialized city than the others he had passed, though still a far cry from Meridian, or even the larger cities of Calderis.

Jonah entered the city after mentally deafening some corrupt guards seeking a toll, rather like an ocular flashbang except you also survive it. He found some pub or tavern or what have you for some food. He had more than enough wealth from his gambling to spend on food, and eventually some took notice. They ended up writhing on the floor, and necessitated Jonah's disappearance.

So did Jonah experience fugitivity.

He continued on to other cities and new experiences. He learned to barter without offending, he learned how to properly act as a mercenary, he learned how best to deliver packages quickly, he learned how the number of pigeons in a swarm directly correlate to the importance of the message, he learned how to accidentally overthrow a government, he learned how to operate a spy ring, he learned how to brew fine wine, he learned how to dig for ore, and he learned how to kill numerous new species.

But... what called him back to Ponyville and what made him set up his Librarium was rather simple. Despite the new found complexity of existence, some things remained unchanged. He would never have learned of this event had his spy network not been keeping tabs on the family in question for him. He would have gone on for quite some time without knowing this fact.

Macintosh Sr. passed on.

Feeling some sense of debt to the Apple Family he was nominally a part of, he went back to the Orchard and, in a very small way, he returned home. He came to establish his Librarium and came to realize that his place in life was something he knew all along; hoarding knowledge and providing a bulwark against the darkness.