Nero Jaxx helped Ekatarina through the doorway. The noblewoman’s face was drawn and pained, her pale features, always pale, were almost ghostly white now. She acted calm as she took his arm for support, but she leaned on him alarmingly, clearly barely able to stand on her own.

“The Eldar is a tricky one,” noted Luthor as he followed Ekatarina into the break room. The Inquisitor was, as usual, showing no sign that anything affected him. He walked over to the counter and considered the pot of half day old recaff simmering there. His eyes narrowed slightly as he poured a mug anyway. “I think she knew what Ekatarina was doing.”

“Do you suppose?” Nero eased the exhausted psyker down onto a nearby couch. “She shouldn’t be doing this.”

“It is fine, I have debts to repay, I understand that.” Ekatarina tried to wave away Nero’s concern.

“We all have debts to repay,” noted Luthor calmly.

“Scribbles and madness, madness and scribbles!” Pict ambled into the room, his heavy robes dragging about his ankles as he scowled at the dataslates in his hands. The Sage sputtered, one of his autorecorders echoing his mutterings back to him even as he complained. “She speaks in riddles, m’lord, and the more you ask for clarification the more riddles she speaks! I thought that one,” he pointed one boney arm littered with gold mechandrite augmentations at Ekatarina, “was supposed to subtly steer her towards some clarity! Instead all she did was sit there fussing and eventually collapsed screaming!”

“The Eldar knew I was in her head,” offered Ekatarina softly. Nero could feel her shiver. “She shrugged me off, the same way you might dismiss an annoying spiderweb. It was like I was being asked to steer a flood with a straw.”

“I am highly unsurprised your mind isn’t up to many tasks, you inbred mutate,” sneered Pict as he touched his Ecclesiarchy cross. Nero frowned as he stood up, one of his hands already falling to a dueling pistol belted on his hip.

“Enough.” Luthor lifted a hand. “I don’t care who failed where or at what, all I want to know is what information we are getting.”

“She…she did give me a location,” offered Pict nervously, though it is steeped in more of her riddles.” He shook his head, “it was all about a Stairway lifting us up to the Eternal Paths or some such nonsense, she claimed the key would show its purpose then, but only if it was at the door, and that before we could learn of it seas of yellow and black blood would fill the moldering green ocean, and the truth would be out though not where we wished it to be.” Pict snorted. “It made very little sense, but I had her describe the location of the door a few times, and I think we can figure that out…with some work.”

“And as far as we know the Eldar artifact, the Elendil Thrakul, it is the key?”

“Indeed, Lord, and we have that now, headed on its way to wherever you’re having the Astartes guard it.”

“What?” Luthor turned around, his dark eyes glimmering from under the shadows of his hat as he glared at Pict. “What are you talking about?”

“You said we were never to leave the artifact with the Eldar.”

“I know.”

“So…” Pict glanced at Nero, worry on his face, and confusion, “so when the Astartes arrived and said he was tasked with ensuring its safety and he would take it to a secure location I…” Pict swallowed nervously even as Luthor started to rush for the door, Nero already falling in behind him. “I’m sorry, my lord, I thought…I’M SORRY!”

“This is an alpha emergency alert,” snarled Luthor through his combead, “lock down the facility, lock it down now!”

Nero frowned as he followed after Luthor. This was not good, an Astartes with a mission to get off this planet? Avita was a prison world, the entire planet was one giant and secure lockdown, guarded by elite warriors, and protected by barriers both man made and environmental, the perfect security spot. But if an Adeptes Astartes wanted off this rock…? Nero was pretty sure they didn’t have a lot of ways to stop it from happening.

=====================================

Master Holst of the Black Templar had long known that he wasn’t considered brilliant. But he had never quite understood the need for brilliance, oh, aye, a rapier might look more *elegant* as it ended a foe’s life, but what matter of that when a warhammer did the job as well, and usually quicker? Plus, he wasn’t sure what all the cleverness of the so-called brilliant people was about. You just needed to look at someone’s face, gauge what they were saying and, whether or not he understood their reasoning, he could often puzzle out their motive.

That’s how it had been when he had noticed the troop movements near the prison planet. Oh, assuredly, the guards had all sorts of access codes and all their paperwork was in perfect order. But Holst considered that most suspicious of all, for rarely was it in the labyrinth proceedings of the Administratum that anyone had anything in order. That was why he had arranged his own operation.

“The Raven Guard are reporting success from their operative, he is en route though his craft sustained serious damage during the escape attempt.”

“He only needs to get here,” noted Holst as he considered the viewscreen of his battle barge.

“He has entered the system, a pair of vessels bearing Imperial signatures are pursuing.

“Move to intercept, but do not fire upon them,” Holsts commands were calm and focused. He had no wish to do battle with The Inquisition. But he abhorred secrecy, and he did not like the idea of his so-called allies hiding something from him and his men during the middle of such a vital crusade of war. “Invite the Raven Guard craft to dock with us.”

“He reports imminent engine failure, he is caught within the gravity well of Denaaria. It appears he shall crash,” the officer at the console glanced up at Holst. “His final transmission was ‘I have it, come reclaim it if I am unable to bring it to you’.”

“Track his descent,” Holst ordered, “coordinate with our forces and those of the Imperial Fists battling below, we cannot allow the contents of that shuttle to fall to Chaos’ hands.”

“I am not fond of this duplicity,” noted Captain Lysander, of The Imperial Fists. The towering figure in yellow Terminator armor had been silent until this point, his respect for his battle brothers clear. His company had been serving honorably in the course of the battles, and Holst had arranged for them to aid him in securing the Elendil Thrakul.

“Nor I,” Holst agreed, “but the Inquisition toys with the workings of xenos witchery and speaks not of the matter to others. I am not clever enough to figure out why, but I know that xenos witchery, not being spoken of, is not a good thing. There is a secret here, and it is doubtless dangerous to me and others fighting these wars. I will not allow any to be corrupted or used by the xenos or the heretic unaware.”

“A noble cause,” Lysander agreed, and as simple as that the discussion was settled. He turned to the battle map, looking at the location of the downed Raven Guard, and the chaotic forces approaching from all sides. “Your agent is injured, Orks and, worse, Death Guard have surrounded his position.”

“We need to protect him, defeat the foe, and extract the artifact.”

“The hammer and the anvil,” Lysander suggested, speaking of an old and time tested battle tactic of Dorn’s.

“I would be honored to serve as the anvil,” announced Holst quickly, “though I am short on available troops.”

“We can handle that, it will be good to fight beside Sigismund’s Son’s once again.” He offered his hand.

“The old oaths are remembered,” Holst clasped Lysander’s gauntlet, “and our foes shall tremble in terror ere the final blow is struck!”

Apocalypse.
5,000 points per side.

Imperial deployment area is an 18” bubble in the middle of the board, centered on an objective of the Raven Guard Scout who has stolen the Elendil Thrakul from the Inquisition.

Chaos deployment is everywhere on the board 24” from the Imperial deployment zone.

Reserves enter play on a randomly determined board edge (1-4) on a 5+ the controlling player selects the board edge they enter from.

Only scoring units may hold the objective. Winner is whoever controls it at end game. On a result of a tie the winner will be determined by Kill Points and Slay the Warlord.

Chaos gets first turn.

Special Rules
1 Warlord per side.
Old style Apoc reserves.
Each side gets 2 stratagems, and can sacrifice 1 stratagem for a strategic resource point if they desire.
1 Superheavy per side (Imperials were limited to only the Knight, no Warhound)
No Precision Strike allowed.
Chaos declared themselves a good sport and self-disallowed that double orbital strike stratagem of theirs.

The Imperial Fists



Lysander
Chaplin in Termie Armor w. melta bombs
2x Termie Squad w. missile pods
1x Assault Termies w. 3x Hammers and 4x Claws
2x 10 man Tactical squad w. melta and h.bolter, sarge w. fist
1x 10 man Tactical squad w. melta and h.bolter, sarge w. chainsword
5 Devastators w. 4x lascannon
5 Devastators w. 2x Plasma Cannon and 2x missile launcher
Predator w. lascannon sponsons and lascannon turret.
2x Rifleman Dread (las and missile)
Ven Dread w. flamers in a Drop Pod.

“They call me *Mr.* Lysander.”

The Black Templar

He was the late one, so no army shot – so this is off memory and the pictures;

1x Marshall in Termie Armor w. a tricked out Termie squad.
1x Spartan Landraider
1x Knight Titan w. melta cannon
2x 10 man siege shield Tac squads.
1x 10 man Assault Squad
1x Sternguard Squad (with…stuff…?)
3x Predators w. triple las in a Predator Assassin formation
2x lascannon emplacements

The Green Tide of Filth



Chaos Lord on Bike
2x Vindicator
Predator w. triple lascannon
3x Plague Marines in Rhinos (2 with plasma loadouts and the other wit flamers)
3x 3 man Oblits
1x 3 man Mutilators (them and the Oblits are a Chaos formation)
3x Heldrakes (in the Heldrake formation)


Chaos also hired Orks, because Nurgle and Orks go together like oatmeal and mushrooms.

Ork Big Mek
3x Battlewagons w. deff’rolla, big shoota, and red paint (in a formation)
2x 15 Tannkbustas
2x 15 Lootas
3x Looted Wagon
3x Trukk Boyz
2x 3 man Deffcoptas


Lord T’nelitsep would lead the assault this day.


…aided by Orks…so, y’know, 50/50 as to whether he had hired extra allies or extra enemies.

The battlefield takes place near the edge of a shattered Imperial City, where the Raven Guard’s vessel had crashed amidst an ancient Imperial shrine.


The Raven Guard holds the Elendil Thrakul, the artifact secreted from the Inquisition, but he will be unable to protect it from the forces of Chaos unless he is rescued quickly.


A good point to defend…or a simple place to die? Only time will tell.



The Black Templar, supported by siege elements and the Imperial Fists manage to arrive at the crash site mere moments before the onrushing hordes of Chaos, they move quickly to set up a defensive position.


Holst, attired in ancient tactical dreadnaught armor and embarked on his Spartan Landraider, secures one flank all by himself.


Though the Imperial Fists brought a lot of bolter weaponry, it is realized a more potent force will be needed to aid in defense of the wilderness flank.


A freeblade of House Hawkshroud, sworn to vengeance service with the Black Templar stands with them this day.


A small force, but heavily armed, they await any possible coming dangers…they will not have to wait long.


A wing of three Heldrakes hove into view, flames already crackling from their maws as they spot their prey.


“Beakies? Dis is gunna be like shootin’ squigs in a barrel.”
Ork Lootas line up their shots from within nearby ruins.


Obliterators, Deffkoptas, and Trukks, oh my.


This looted wagon comes up with a clever plan – it will shoot the enemy, while trying to be hard to shoot back at, see? Ruddy brilliant taktiks is whot dat iz!


Mutilators and Obliterators consider the issue of the Spartan.


Vindicators, Looted Wagons, and more occupy the hills near the crash landing site, mostly they eye one large target…


Only part of the Chaos armored core.


Lord T’nelitsep hides behind a handy Rhino as he orders the Lootas and other Ork trukks into position, his plan is to bombard the crash site and then swamp it with his forces.


“Settin’ gitfindas ta target cute yellow armor.”


Three battlewagons rumble into view, their heavily armored might will be difficult to disable.


A quick moving squad of deffkoptas buzz along with them, looking for easy prey.

The stage is set, Marshall Holst calls out to his men and the Fists, “Sons of Dorn, prepare for glory!”
So saying he activated his first stratagem, an ancient shield generator hummed to life, protecting he and his detachment from the enemy’s shooting…at least for a moment.


On a roar of biomechanical wings the first blow is struck, the Heldrakes sweeping by overhead, their claws tearing at the Hawkshroud knight, damaging him slightly, though not doing as much as they might have hoped.


The Chaos artillery vehicles pull back behind the hill, unwilling to leave themselves at risk to Imperial shooting once the shield comes down.


The Rhino still chugs forward, having other secrets in store for the stoic defenders.


The Ork deffkoptas sweep around the battlefield, forming up to serve as an escort to more troop transports hiding within the ruins of the nearby city.


Obliterators stalk slowly forward as other Ork and Death Company vehicles advance. The Plague Marines unleash concealing bilious black smoke, while the Orks slap on a fresh shellac of ‘lucky paint’. Both will assuredly protect the vehicles in question…


Chaos waits, eager for the shield to drop and their assault to begin in earnest.


As the shield’s delicate power generator sputters and sparks the defense falls and Holst orders his men forward!
However, disaster strikes early, and the mighty Spartan Landraider throws a track on the shattered remains of the Aquila transport, the Spartan is immobilized!


Agni’s Fury and the Hawkshroud Knight have better luck, and advance on the foe while the infantry attempt to spread out to alleviate the coming barrage of enemy firepower.


“In the name of the Compact of Fyyls, and in accordance with the Blood Oath, I am engaging the forces of Chaos.”
His words are bold, but his firepower is blunted by the massive hill the chaotic armor is hiding behind.


Templar support elements stay close at hand, to help defend the Knight.


The Imperial Fist Dreadnaught, Venerated Brother Holf, unleashes blasts from his lascannon from within the shattered remains of the shrine, attempting to blunt the coming onslaught.


Many lascannons flash out, but the Ork armor proves durable despite its crudeness, and the battlewagons escape almost unharmed.

When it is all said and done, the grand total of all the Imperial shooting is a bit of hull damage to a Battlewagon, a Rhino, and two fallen Lootas.


“Incoming!”
Devastator Sergeant Mikal spots the reappearance of the Helldrakes, and commands the interception protocols on his lascannon emplacement with steely focus, destroying one of the vile beasts as they sweep towards the Imperial forces.


The other two seem unperturbed, soaring overhead as they prepare to gout huge blasts of flame.


“Oi! You wuz supposed ta go round da building ya git!”
An Ork Trukk equipped with a ram manages to damage itself trying to smash through a building, the Orks disembark in annoyance and it is generally agreed upon that the driver is a bit of a panzy and a git, perhaps a panzy git, even, though those would be fighting words…making them much like every other word in the Ork dialect.


Death Guard Rhinos fare better, and continue their focused advance on the target.


“Don’t push dat!”
One of the Looted wagons rumbles along in an unplanned flanking maneuver.


“It don’t matter none, we’ll just krump dem from here now.”
Ork tactics.
It’s a thing.


Emerging from their Rhino, and joining up with their Lord, a squad of Plague Marines advances across the field, intent on ending the Imperial threat.

Lord T’nelitsep grins as he produces a gift from his vile master, Gentukama. The ancient daemon had taken a bolter shell and infused it with the energies of one of his dark minions. T’nelitsep raised his bolt pistol, aiming it at the Imperial lines.

“Die, servants of the Corpse Emperor!”


A massive blast erupts!


Hitting with the power of a destroyer weapon, the blast engulfs many Fists and Templars.


Little is left in its wake.


“Infinite experience points, b***hes!”


The battlewagons join in the excitement, unleashing waves of rokkits and shootas at the defenders.


The heldrakes conspire to finish off the hell Chaos is creating in the defensive lines, blasts of their flame dropping Squad Mikal and almost wiping out the last of the Tactial Marines guarding the wreckage as well.


A Chaos Vindicator lines up its own shot, blasting apart the Spartan Landraider and leaving Holst and his men standing in the wreckage.

“The anvil is battered, but unbroken,” Holst voxxed.

“The anvil needs wait no longer,” came Lysander’s reply.


An orbital bombardment crashes down on this intersection, wounding an Obliterator and blasting the cannon off the Vindicator.

Even as the smoke clears one of the Obliterators notes that a homing beacon had been dropped amongst them as well…


"Primarch-Progenitor, to your glory and the glory of him on earth!"
Multiple teleport signatures flared to life as a drop pod also smashed into the ground. Lysander and his Deathknell Assault Force had arrived!


Ancient Wagnar turned to regard the building teeming with Orks, his twin flamers snarled to life as he unleashed a torrent of fire into the ruin, scorching it clean.


Sergeant Olav and his squad engaged Ork Lootas in another ruin, the Orks scattering for cover amidst the rubble as storm bolters barked death.


Meanwhile, the Templar Predators appeared, having been hidden in the wilderness they now revealed their target as they stalked out, lascannons blazing against the Ork battlewagons.


Imperial Fist troops also appeared, attacking the rear of the Chaos armored line.


Wreathed in fire from the bombardment that Chaos had unleashed upon him, the Knight Titan still stood – he slowly turned to regard the forces of Chaos and Lord T’nelitsep, the ancient warmachine almost seemed to bellow in challenge as it advanced.


Lots of targets of opportunity…


The Predator Assassin Squad does its work, and the battlewagons are destroyed. The Tankbustas emerge from the wreckage fairly intact though.

“Oi, da beakies went and busted up our tanks! Not very big on the explosions though…let’s show dem how ta do it propa!”


The Termies blast apart an Ork Trukk.


The Fist Predator, Agni’s Fire, claims another Trukk, dismantling the enemy’s maneuverability.

The Knight charges down the hill into the Lord’s retinue, his baleful gaze seeking the Chaos Lord as he smashes apart the Plague Marines.



Lord T’nelitsep cackles in glee as he rides his bike forward, readying his melta bombs as he engages the towering foe.


But, the Knight’s prowess prove superior, his might blade cleaving apart the enemy, and massive feet grinding the fallen Marines beneath his armored tread. The Knight trumpets its victory to the sky.


“Oi! Did you press dat *again*!”


“Hey, when you say don’t press dat, do you mean…press dat? Because I pressed dat.”


“Why did you press dat!?!”
“Everyone else was doin’ it…”

Yes, three Looted Tanks.
Three of them decided to press dat which is not to be pressed.
John’s dice woes remain…well…about the same as ever :(


With a resounding crash a damaged Vindicator rams into Ancient Wagnar, though it shakes the footing of the mighty dreadnaught, neither of them is particularly damaged.


Brother Holf is likewise treated to a rude welcome by a Chaos Rhino. He is damaged somewhat, but…as they say…endures.


“No pity, no remorse, and no fear, brothers!” Marshall Holst leads his men forward, weathering waves of firepower from the Orks and Death Guard as he advances. “The enemy is trapped now between the hammer and the anvil, stand firm, anvil!”


As gouts of flame engulf Lysander’s assault squad, other Obliterators unleash bursts of plasma against the Templar Termies.


“We need a new attack strategy…” The Big Mek considers the options, “okay, new strategy, WAAAAAGH!” The Orks attack the Predators that attacked them.


Rokkits smash and explode against the Predators as the Tankbustas prep their bombs.


Then, as one, they surge forward in a tide (green in color, incidentally)


The Predators fare poorly.


The last Plague Marine locked in combat with the Knight fares even worse.


For Hawkshroud and Sigismund!


An image that became the last thing many Chaos forces saw that day.


The flare of multiple flamers dies away to reveal that not only did Lysander’s squad survive, but they also had defeated the Obliterators that had assaulted him. Now, in the middle of many targets of opportunity, Lysander and his men advance.


One of the Heldrakes is caught in the sights of a lascannon emplacement, and is brought down in a flaming heap atop some Plague Marine’s heads. The grim and postulant Death Guard calmly stalk through the death and flames, intent on their goal.


Black Templar reserves arrive, and an Imperial Fist melta aids them in destroying one of the Looted Wagons.


Other Imperial Fists begin gunning down the Tankbustas.


Still more Fists arrive, Lysander and Holst’s trap closing in around the Orks and Death Guard, Lootas fall to the sure and well trained bolter drills of the Tactical Marines.


A Knight of Hawkshroud stalks through the flames of war, heavily damaged yet still seeking honorable battle.


The Chaos artillery continue their relentless assault, intent on claiming the Elendil Thrakul for Gentukama.


Chaplain Gunther and the Assault Termies find a new foe.



The Orks howl as they are cut apart.
“We needz a few more boyz over ‘ere!”
Nearby Lysander assaulted three Obliterators by himself, smashing the foul heretical creatures to pieces in moments.


Sergeant Retsilb, of the Death Guard, does what many had tried, but few had accomplished. He faces the Knight and fells the titanic war machine.


The Plague Marines consolidate their advance, seeking cover.


“Marshall Holst!” Lysander stalked forward, Ancient Wagnar smashing through a building nearby, and Chaplain Bismarck leading forward the Assault Terminators through the shattered remains of the dead Orks they had butchered.

“Captain Lysander!” Holst saluted him as he shook off the Ork blood staining his own blade. “The anvil stands firm.”

“And the hammer is heavy,” Lysander offered a tight lipped and grim smile as he motioned to the few remaining enemy units in the area. “Shall we finish this?”

“Agreed!”


The Imperial Fists and Templars still secure the objective, though not as firmly as they once did.


“Here they come once more!”
The Devastators ready themselves as more Death Guard appear.


One of the Templar Sternguard stands alone guarding an entire flank, buying time by opposing the Death Guard single handedly.


The Tankbustas simply chortle as they work on blowing up another tank. They already forgot about any so-called “ob-jek-tiiv”


Staggered and damaged, rokkits and lascannons smashing against him, Brother Holf discovers that he can no longer endure, and collapses in a wreck.


The Mutilators try to pretend like they’re relevant as they continue their snail pace crawl forward.


*gasp*
*pant*
“Why…did…the…objective…have…to…be…so…far…away…?”
*wheeze*


“WAAAGH! Tankbustas bigga badda BOOM!”
The Tankbustas finish off the last Predator.


Meanwhile the Imperial Fists finish off the Lootas as they advance up the hill.


In the wilderness the battle lines are thinned, but still the Imperials hold the center.


The city, though, is filled with Terminators, tearing Ork Deffkoptas from the sky and wrecking any vehicles that come near.


Holst steers the Fists towards the center as he and his men move to deal with the Obliterators.


A lone Tactical Marine, last survivor of his squad, still holds the objective, and has also been manning a lascannon emplacement.


Lysander stalks towards the last full squad of Plague Marines.


“This cause is lost,” snarled Retsilb. “Our Lord is down, the Orks are scattered, and more Loyalist fools arrive by the minute. Withdraw! All forces, withdraw. We shall let them have this moment, but the war shall still be ours!”

Chaos tips their king.

The Imperium Wins!

I think the scenario and the board, and a semi-gentleman’s agreement from everyone to try to play fluffy and not cut throat really helped make this batrep one of our most cinematic. The image of that small circle of Space Marines surrounded on all sides by approaching xenos and Chaos traitors was like an image right off a RT sourcebook.

I think all sides involved had a great time.

Imperium MVP

I think I have to call the Imperial Knight of House Hawkshroud (who, by next time he appears should be fully painted and also have his official name…and, knowing Jake, might have 1-2 buddies). But he absorbed a solid amount of damage, and then, with only 1 Hull Point left after the top of Round 2, went on to damage multiple Chaos vehicles, and also stomp and kill the enemy Warlord in h2h combat. He was a really solid performer for us overall.

Imperium WTF
Not sure what I’d call out here. Maybe “our entire 1st turn shooting phase” is a decent option. We were poised to do so much damage, we were firing multiple tank hunting lascannons, a melta cannon, a las Pred, you name it. We barely scratched the enemy. It was shameful. The only other option is the poor Spartan. Immobilized itself Turn 1, whiffed all its shooting, and then was dead. Total value – 300+ points …yeah, not so much. :(

Chaos MVP
The Tankbustas actually did pretty well for him, claiming a Dread and three Predators overall. Also, a possible nod to the Looted Wagon that did 3 Hull points off the Knight all by itself.

Chaos WTF
Not too many bad performances here either, maybe his ‘Don’t Press Dat!’ rolls? It was either that or the Mutilators. I think I’ll go with the Mutiltors, because he only even brought them as part of a formation, and didn’t even manage to use the formation’s effect due to an unfortunate blind barrage scatter. The poor guys just sort of ended up shuffling around, waiting for us to wander over the Termies to kill them at some stage.

Inquisitor Delenthos, Grandmaster of the Ordos Historicus Veritus frowned as he looked across the table at Inquisitor Luthor Dominatus, Fifth Seeker of the Burning Secrets, Warrior of the Ordos Hereticus. Between the two of them they were perhaps the most deadly mortals in the sector.

Inquisitor Delenthos was gray haired, his eyes steely, his back bowed beneath the weight of his ancient armor, strange devices clicking and beeping with flashing amber lights as they monitored his vitals and injected him with luminous chemicals. But his eyes were sharp, bright and full of knowledge. He was known as ‘The Locust’ for his heavy use of regenerative stasis to keep himself alive as he awaited the coming times for the horrors he predicted and opportunities he foresaw.

Across from him, sitting casually at the table, his face shadowed by his wide brimmed hat, was Luthor, one of his older friends. He had been pleased to find Luthor still alive and able to help, and had chosen not to ask his friend why, after all these years, he hadn’t looked to have aged a day. He still looked haggard, of course, his face pale from lack of sunlight, drawn with lines of age and worry, his snowy white eyebrows nettling on his venerable brow. But his shoulders were still broad, and Delenthos knew his old friend could still wield his consecrated broadsword with consummate skill.

“How did it happen?”

“The Raven Guard are…more subtle than most chapters.” Luthor shrugged slightly. “I think I underestimated the Black Templars as well.”

“So the key…”

“Is with the Astartes now.”

“Astartes…” Delenthos sighed, “such unpredictable brutes. Powerful, loyal in an odd way, but always so sure that they alone know the Emperor’s Will. It will be problematic.”

“I thought you had inroads with the Immortal Host, perhaps they?”

Delenthos held up a hand to stop Luthor’s line of thought. “The Host are effective, aye, perhaps too effective for their own good. They have some designs of their own for the Elendil Thrakul, and though they might aid us…they might…just complicate matters further.”

“That leaves us with the Guard. I do not fancy the idea of facing off with the Templar, Raven Guard, and possibly the Fists as well with only the Guard. No amount of loyalty will get them to pull the trigger on multiple First Foundings.” Luthor’s eyes narrowed in thought, “we need the Astartes to do what we wish them to do, and we need them to think it is their own idea.”

“Agreed, and we have advantages in that matter. After all, we know where the ‘stairway’ will open, and we also have the Farseer. Fret not, old friend,” Delenthos gave a narrow lipped smile, “this shall all still work out for the best.”

===========================

Brizelya Maerett smiled as she watched the mon’keigh’s feet kick and thrash around. He was something of import on this planet, she knew this though she had already forgotten the title he carried. He certainly wore fanciful clothing and so many other foolish mon’keigh had been willing to die for him. Not that many had, no, at least not yet. They were already being bound up and loaded aboard her ships. The sleek craft had cut through the night sky of the mon’keigh city-planet, cloaked in hologram technology to make them nigh invisible, and entered this palace structure without anyone the wiser, and they would leave the same way…with rich cargo in tow.

“You’re killing him.”

The comment came from one of the Dire Avengers of the Craftworld kin, Gilgard. Brizelya had already decided she would kill him at some future point when he was no longer useful. Of course…this was a common thought she had about most sentient beings she met. She supposed that said something about her…probably that she wasn’t an idiot.

“Tell the mon’keigh that I will kill him, and I’m willing to make it quick, either that, or I will grow bored of this and we shall take him back to Commoragh where he can spend the next thousand of his years dying slowly by bits and pieces being carved off his body on the atomic level.”

“You offer him death or more painful death?” Gilgard shook his head but dutifully turned to the mon’keigh and repeated her demand. Brizelya spoke the mon’keigh’s language perfectly, of course, but wouldn’t deign to sully her lips with such a crass tongue.

“The mon’keigh says your tortures do not scare him.”

Brizelya laughed as she tossed the mon’keigh to the ground and motioned to one of her attendants who quickly straddled the fool and began attaching a brain bore helmet to him. Brizelya snapped her fingers and another attendant appeared, disinfecting her gauntlet where it had touched the mon’keigh’s skin.

“That will rip the information from his mind in a manner so painful that he’ll die,” she announced, “tell him this.”

Gilgard did so, and the mon’keigh’s horrified expression and mewling pleas for mercy were music to her ears.

“Why didn’t you just use the device right away, if such was your intention?”

“I wanted to see whether he feared quick death or long pain more. He chose long pain because he still believed he’d have a chance for escape. He thought he was useful, he thought we actually needed him. So funny, really, a creature that will be dead in its natural lifespan in less than fifty solar cycles, and yet so desperate to cling to that life as though it even matters.”

“The mon’keigh is telling us where Diyneer is,” noted Gilgard as he continued to translate the pleading burbling of the pathetic creature, “the planet they call Avita, he is providing you troop information, access codes, everything.” He was hurriedly noting down the information as the mon’keigh blabbered it in terror. The attendant was just finishing up the final attachments of the brain bore.

“How wonderful,” Brizelya smiled, “tell him we’ll activate the brain bore anyway, just to verify.”

“But he has told us everything, and is certainly not lying, why still torture and kill him?”

“Maybe because it offends your delicate sensibilities, or because he offends me by even existing,” Brizelya shrugged as she motioned to her attendant, the brain bore was activated, and the mon’keigh unleashed an unearthly howl of pain that sent shivers of pleasure trembling down her spine. “But mostly, because I’m bored.”

They knew where Diyneer was now.
The mon’keigh would rue the day they had presumed to detain an Eldarith, even a Craftworlder.