http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/forums/show/9.page JForum - http://www.jforum.net As you may already know from previous introductions i am currevtly writing some fiction set in the fictional world of Mithalskard, here is a short extract...

[i]The browns and greens of the glade were bathed in amber sunshine as the sun made its last goodbye over the mountains; it was this time of day the glade of Thead was its most stunning, each small white flower a jewel on the carpet of lush grass and each leaf a perfectly formed cup with which the tree would catch the rays of the sun. Small droplets of dew still preserved between the blades of grass caught the final beams of light casting silver lights amid the glade, as a thousand tiny lights played around on the floor and the glade fell slowly silent, the chirping of crickets and birds fell into a sombre descendo heralding the night, the amber light faded and the blue blanket of night lay over the trees.
You could be fooled into thinking all were sleeping. All were certainly not sleeping, some were still watching.

The serenity was torn asunder by footsteps, not gentle footstep caused by the groves inhabitants but large cumbersome boots, with each step desecrating the delicate flora of the area. Twenty four iron shod boots trampled the delicate flowers into the floor, the intruders cruel blades cutting great chunks from the centuries old wood, large branches tumbling to the ground, being swept up in large muscular arms and bundled into a mound. Deep thumping voices reverberated around the grove as the intruders talked amongst themselves in a foreign dialect, unheard in these lands for many centuries. With the pile set a torch was laid atop it, the cruel tendrils of fire clawing their way across the ancient wood, questing tongues of flame licking at the air spreading to the ground and scorching the grass. The harsh orange light lit the night and bathed everything once more in an orange glow,
With the inferno ripping through the centre of the clearing those responsible were bathed in light, their fur clad frames rippling with muscle and sinew, each clasping a long wooden pole topped with varying iron devices, some were more akin to farming implements other more like weapons of war, all however were deadly. Twelve of these imposing figures strode around the clearing, swinging at trunks and branches gorging great chunks of wood in a wanton display of violence. One of them swung their scythe like weapon in a wide arc, the cruel iron blade biting deeply into the rough bark, the rusted barbs of the blade hooking it in place and making it practically unmovable. This seemed to amuse his companions and their guttural ‘harrumph’ noises deepened and seemed a crude imitation of laughter, only laughter with no mirth or joviality. The man’s knuckles whitened as his corded muscles strained to remove the blade from the great wooden trunk, he breathed deeply and heaved, every ounce of his strength diverted into retrieving his weapon, his barrel of a chest puffed out as he poured every ounce of his will onto shifting the scythe. After a few moments he heaving and grunting he finally relented, standing back to fully survey the extent of his predicament. As he did so his thoughts were immediately cut short as his head was smote to nothing but a fine red mist by an arrow that shot from the darkness outside the light of the fire.

Blue energy trailed from it as it passed unmolested through the marauders head and embedded itself in the tree, still glowing with blue eldritch energy. The strange power that passed through the man’s head incinerated his body from his sternum upwards, the remaining half of his torso fell to the floor with a wet thud, the charred ribs and spine that were left poked upwards, broken and blackened by the sudden blast of heat brought by the arrow. He was without doubt as dead as burned branches that surrounded his corpse. The smell of burning flesh was tangible even above the reek of burning vegetation
It was not until a split second later his comrades realised his fate, by then it was far too late to save themselves as at least twenty lean figures burst into the orange light for the Elves had come and nothing but the gods could stay their wrath.[/i]

if you would like to see more then please visit one of these sites and subscribe and share
http://mithalskard.blogspot.com/
http://mithalskard.tumblr.com/

many thanks
Steve
]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429881/3913369.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429881/3913369.page GMT I believe to have found a good compromise to those wishing to have female Space Marines, one that does not drop the lore and one that will make both parties (the pro Female Marines and the pro Traditionalists) happy. I simply ask that you read through the entire post before commenting and keep an open mind while doing so.

[b][u]DESCRIPTION[/b][/u]
A Mark II Space Marine is, on the surface, no different from any other Space Marine. Their skills, capabilities, and limits are the same of any other Space Marine. The noticeable differences come simply from a slightly higher success rate for producing new Space Marines with recruitment being able to be doubled through the recruitment of females as well.

[b][u]HISTORY[/u][/b]
During the early 36th millennium, before the start of the Age of Apostasy, many scholars and scientists were charged with the duty of finding ways to refine the process which creates the Emperor's Finest to either boost a chapter's numbers more quickly or to further increase the resistance or power of an individual Space Marine. This led to two separate foundings of chapters being tested on, each with a separate goal.

The Twenty First founding's goal was to improve the skill and capabilities of the Space Marines themselves. Dubbed Project Homo Sapiens Novus, it is commonly known as the Cursed Founding due to it's complete failure in many regards, with most of the chapters already suffering ill fates and the remainder kept under the close eye of the Inquisition.

Sometime during the early days of the Age of Apostasy, the Twenty Second founding was formed. Unlike the Twenty First founding, whose goal was to increase the potency of a single Space Marine, the Twenty Second founding's goal was simply to refine the process which creates new Space Marines by either shortening the length of time it takes to create one or by increasing the comparability of potential recruits to increase successful recruitment numbers.

Much like the Twenty First founding there were many failures. One particular process used to this day by the Argent Stars chapter almost completely does away with most of the original creation procedure all together, only utilizing the geneseed and certain zygote implants while supplementing the rest with genetic manipulation, bionics, and heavier chem therapy. The results produced new Space Marines of both genders in record time, allowing the chapter to sure up it's ranks extremely quickly. Sadly the process was not widely adopted as eventually a large number of marines within the chapter developed severe mental instability and went completely insane (though the Argent Stars still make use of these insane battle brothers in their own battle companies, similar in fashion to the Blood Angels).

Several chapters, however, used a process which showed no ill side-effects. Though the process only increased the success and survival rate of recruits becoming fully fledged battle brothers by a few percent, the biggest achievement was nearly doubling the number of potential recruits by allowing those of the female gender to become Space Marines. Even after all this time the process has shown no flaw and, while the marines themselves do not show individual improvement and are no stronger than any other chapter, the chapter's that have adopted this process have been able to recuperate from losses at about double the rate of a normal chapter.

[b][u]DO ALL SPACE MARINE CHAPTERS USE THIS PROCESS?[/u][/b]
Absolutely not. The Codex Astartes, nor any other doctrine, demands or even calls for the use of the Mark II Astartes Creation Program. Only a small number of chapters use this process since it is not required or even suggested to candidate chapters upon creation of said chapter. In order to use the Mark II process a chapter must either be seeded from a chapter which already used the Mark II process or must go through an application process to apply for the Mark II process to be used.

[b][u]WHY WOULDN'T CHAPTERS USE THIS CREATION PROCESS?[/u][/b]
There are a wide variety of reasons why future foundings or already-established foundings do not and would not use this process. For some the reasoning is simply not knowing about the process as, again, chapters are not directly informed that there is an alternative process since it is not covered in any doctrines or the Codex Astartes. There are other reasons, however, which I will go into.

[b]Tradition:[/b] With most chapters it comes down to tradition. Simply put, most chapters will not use the process out of either staunch traditionalism, superstition, or reverence for the established doctrines and/or the Codex Astartes.

[b]Non-Candidates:[/b] Some chapters simply do not qualify for the Mark II process due to geneseed malfunction. Other chapters simply don't seek out the process for the same reasons.

[b]Reason for Suspicion:[/b] The Inquisition oversees the application of any chapters wishing to use the Mark II process which did not inherit it from a chapter they succeeded from. Thus it is up to the Inquisition to determine whether or not a chapter is allowed to even use the process. In a good number of cases the applicant chapters are declined under reason of suspicion. This could be due to the chapter having disobeyed orders in the past, purposely hiding things from the Inquisition (and the Inquisition knowing that they are), or having questionable traditions, recruitment, or practices.

There are many other reasons as well and because of such varied reasonings for not adopting the new process there is still only a small minority of chapters which use this process. Even during the founding of a new Chapter, only about 5-10% of the foundings within a founding will seek out this process or whom are already "born" into it from the chapter they succeeded from.]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429746/3910802.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429746/3910802.page GMT
the Panzers are a mech army with lots of chimeras and leman russes. they charge the enemy with brute force of the chimeras and leman russes. everyone is mounted in a chimera.

the commander's name is herr colonel lichinistein and he has his own chimera.

the appearance of the soldiers look like the ones from starship troopers, but with the german steel helmet and gasmask. the panzer pattern leman russes look like german panzer tanks.

]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429713/3910299.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429713/3910299.page GMT 40k? And if so, do you think I should moderate it or tone it back at all?

http://en.sturmkrieg.com/Rotstein
http://en.sturmkrieg.com/Josef_Stahl
http://en.sturmkrieg.com/The_Great_War
http://en.sturmkrieg.com/Siege_of_Stahlberg
http://en.sturmkrieg.com/Six_years_to_a_Tau_world
http://en.sturmkrieg.com/United_in_Bor%27kahl

I've made changes to this fluff before since I felt it was too heavy handed.]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429679/3909751.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429679/3909751.page GMT white amour,
Red trim,
gold icons,
Battle cry: burn the heritic.]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429644/3908934.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429644/3908934.page GMT
Not much is really known about the Sanguine Fist chapter. Their heritage is shrouded in mystery, and their origin in completely unknown. Their earliest known history begins in the Warp. Fleet records indicated that the entire chapter had mustered for the beginning of a major campaign alongside the Imperial Guard. The combined forces of the chapter that would become known as the Sanguine Fist and the Imperial Guard entered the warp. The space marines were supposed to drop out of the warp after three days to begin the campaign. Three years later, they realized that they would likely never leave its clutches. Chapter master Icaro Lisade, after taking counsel with the company captains and the Chief Librarian, ordered his marines to use their Sus-an membrane, and the chapter slipped into hibernation. Lisade never gave up hope that his chapter would return from the Warp, and selected his most trusted brothers to form watch groups, able to rouse the chapter should that day come. The Warp, however, had other ideas.
[b]
The Warp Years[/b][size=18] [/size]

After the Horus Heresy, the corrupting power of the Warp became painfully known to the Adeptus Astartes. While the Sanguine Fists remained pure and loyal to the Imperium, they would not remain unscathed. While the marines slept, their memories were corrupted, the fleet’s databanks were wiped clean, and their written history and codes became unreadable as each brother lost the memory of how to decode them. When marines awoke to take their watch, they had no memories of their days before the warp. They retained their knowledge of battle and training. The techpriests never failed in the upkeep of the chapter’s valuable armored force. But of who they were, none had knowledge.

Aw[b]akening to Battle[/b][size=18] [/size]

With no knowledge of how long they languished in the Warp, the call went out among the fleet: Awake, brothers, the Warp no longer holds us. Chief Librarian Allo Nan quickly realized that something was wrong, that the chapter had been affected by their ordeals. Debate and discussion was long, but no progress was made in remembering their past. Master Lisade realized there was only one course of action open to them. He ordered that the chapter remake itself. He chose the new name based on the image of a bloody fist that dominated the command bridge. Thus was born the Sanguine Fists. Lisade took no time mustering his forces. He knew the dangers of the Warp, and was determined that his chapter test itself to prove it remained pure. The normally prudent strategist ordered a sensor sweep of nearby space, and ordered his fleet to move immediately to a nearby planet that showed signs of life. The problem was that his marines were sluggish coming out of their hibernation. While their knowledge of warfare was as sharp as ever, their abilities were lacking. The fleet drew near to the planet, and it was here that Lisade realized his mistake. The fleet’s sensors had been damaged, and failed to pick up on the readings of the Eldar ships surrounding the planet. Outnumbered and outgunned, Lisade knew that the Sanguine Fists faced their doom. After sending out a distress call, he ordered his fleet into battle. The battle looked to be short and bloody. The Eldar were laying waste to their opponents. Lisade was out of options when deliverance arrived. The 5th company of the Ultramarines appeared behind the Eldar fleet. Recognizing their battle-brothers were in dire straits, the ultramarines opened fire. The Eldar were destroyed before they knew what happened.

[b]To Begin Anew[/b][size=18] [/size]

It was after the battle that Lisade told the Ultramarines of the troubles that had befallen the Sanguine Fists. Unfortunately, the Ultramarines could provide no information as to the origin of Lisade’s company. However, they were able to help repair and refit the Fist’s battle damaged ships and equipment. Willing members of the warriors of Macragge undertook to retrain the warriors of the Sanguine Fist. The Ultramarines, it turned out, were on a continued deployment in the Drasanac Nebula, tasked with the defeat of a large band of Eldar pirates. Lisade offered the Ultramarines the aid of his chapter in return. The Ultramarines knew that the Sanguine Fists needed a home to begin rebuilding, and told them of a few planets near the nebula that were loyal to the Imperium, but as yet unclaimed by any chapters. Lisade quickly led his marines to the most populated of those planets, Elysia. One hundred years have passed. The Sanguine Fists now call the planet Elysia home, and recruit from nearby worlds as well. The chapter is regaining its strength, and has recently promoted its first batch of neophytes to the ranks of the 10th Company. With many companies still weak, the 2nd Company stood strong under the command of Captain Germanicus. They had boarded and destroyed and elder warship before the arrival of the Ultramarines and taken few losses. Germanicus was ordered against the Eldar. The time had come for the Sanguine Fists to live up to their name.]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429548/3907140.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429548/3907140.page GMT Hi Dakka,

I am looking to be writing a novella set in the 40k world and while I have the premise I don't have all the characters plots etc and so I thought I would post it here and see if the community as a whole had any cool idea's they'd want included.

Okay, the story is showing two things:
A: that there is a lot of difference between being a criminal and an evil chaos worshipping traitor!
B: quite how scary the inquisition/imperium can be when they are the bad guys!

Right, my thoughts are that there is going to be a bunch of outlaws who have banded together for protection/common interest. Each one of them has a fairly rocky past but they are all alike in that they are all wanted criminals. Now while they are the main characters that doesn't meant that they are particularly nice people, the band may have the convicted psychopath in, or the con artist who would sell his own mother. BUT: they are not nefarious super villains (at least not yet) and they are just generally trying to get away/by.

Okay, I thought it would be cool to have flashbacks as to what they did to end up like this so the scene where char a brutally kills his boss or something so you learn about the chars as it goes through.

Then finally, as the story progresses it gets darker and more sinister they end up killing a low ranking inquisitor who happened to stumble on them and get marked for death by high ranking people, they get more powerful themselves until they end up fighting or more likely running away from space marines etc. In the end, as their numbers thin the last character left realises that the only reason they have made it so far is that they have been watched over by tzeentch from the very beginning and has a choice between death or escaping into the warp with his 'new friends' showing the thus inevitability of chaos.

Right, I'd be welcome to read/brainstorm any idea's for plot devices, characters, past stories, enemies, antagonists pretty much everything and anything!! I think it would be great to have the community supporting as the idea's between all of us has to be better!!

Thoughts so far:
possibly a character who maintains he is innocent through out the whole thing and no one believes him..
ex guardsman/arbitrator who left the service in less than ideal circumstances
Some kind of doctor / medic
Not sure if I want a psyker if I do, it would have to be a little bit different

Looking forward to any feedback
C-Hydra]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429469/3905740.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429469/3905740.page GMT Attached Files:
[spoiler][youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=irfSOiH1_Ns&ob=av2n[/youtube][/spoiler]

[size=24]The Thenoobbomb Files 2: Loner[/size]


Thenoobbomb sat at his office. He was bored. ever since he had been at the Thenoobbomb & Co office, he was bored. He had absolutely nothing to do.
Blegh.
Nothing.
The only thing he did was watching Fus Ro Dah movies on youtube. Boring..
All the sudden, Trondheim came walking in.
'Still bored?'
'Yup.'
'I don't think for long..'
'Oh, why?'
'Someone's been murdered, and they asked you.'
'oh. Thats not boring at all. Get theEpicChaosDude here. Lets go there.'

Taking his iPod, thenoobbomb started some music [see attached files!] as he grabbed his coat. He laughed inside himself.
World. Here we come, he thought, as he stepped outside.
]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429315/3902638.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429315/3902638.page GMT This is a novel in the Warhammer 40.000 setting (which is a work in process so if you like it, but don't wanna comment you are more than welcome to view it, though I would like some feedback) I concocted about the early life of the two of the three Commissars I'm writing about. It will take on the background of Carrus and Ionza and shows a bit of the motivation and drive for Harken who are the mentor and superior of the aforementioned Commissars. It follows the couple from their graduation to their time with the Harrikian Penal Legion before they join the venerated Freudakian 81st. Shadow-Tigers.

Chapter I

Dismounting from the Valkyrie in a ball of smoke the two Commissar-cadets Zachary Carrus a man of a little under 1.8 meter tall, athletic build, blue eyes, rather long dark blonde hair, dressed in a blackish Commissar-uniform with black carapace protecting everything important like the torso, arms and legs and Michelle Ionza about 1.67 meter tall, long brown hair to the middle of the back, athletic, quite attractive, dressed in a similar blackish Commissar-uniform as Carrus, but with less armour as she weren't strong enough to wear carapace and still fight efficiently. As weapons Carrus carried his trusty meltagun, laspistol and his family heirloom the power sword Bringer of Insanity. Ionza carried the longlas she had been practicing with for the last three years, a bolt pistol, a laspistol and her power sword.

Both the cadets were 19 with the squad of Storm Trooper-cadets about 16-17 dressed up in badly fitting green Storm-Trooper garbs with beads incorporated into their helmets quickly hit the ground, while rapidly taking cover while setting up firing-lanes. Other squads dismounted nearby. Carrus was immediately on the move helping the inexperienced cadets in taking cover, the Drill Abbot Brother Thoray, a tall lanky fellow with a balding head, brown eyes and goatee, dressed in the same ill-fitting Storm-Trooper-garb dismounted from another Valkyrie ordering his men to take cover. While he headed right for Carrus.

"That's a nice place for cover, right Commissar?" Thoray pointed at a bush.

"Yes, but-" Carrus was stopped mid-sentence .

"Excellent." Thoray jumped into the bush while Carrus just dove for cover. *KABOOOM!!!* Bloody chunks of Thoray rained over the place as he triggered the melta-trap Carrus had placed there earlier that week at the previous patrol.

"Emperor, what an idiot!" Carrus snarled as he picked himself up, he knew their ambush had been foiled. The feral cannibals would be at them. Not a long distance ago Ionza snickered wearing her perpetual smile, which tended to unnerve anyone but Carrus.

Worse the nutty Priest-cadet Jaan Vorlen (19) a personal rival of Carrus, quite tall, black hair, fair complexion, brown eyes, quite a lot of scars (Carrus don't like rivals, they are hospitalized), dressed in a brown robe while handling an Eviscerator started to chant. Both Carrus and Ionza had warned Vorlen about that behavior before this patrol. Both the Commissars were inching their way towards him. Ionza got there first, coldly drawing her bolt pistol. With a blast the head of the young, nutty though promising Eccleserian were split open as Ionza executed him for incompetence on the battlefield. Ionza span around, her cold brown eyes ran right at the soft, blue, peering eyes of Carrus. They swiftly exchanged smiles.

"Well, the ambush is foiled. We are to head north-northeast double-quick." Carrus told with a clear voice. He was worried. The worst of the Storm Trooper cadets were with him. He and and Ionza would clearly survive alone, as she was a deathworlder while he had extensive training in the jungle by his deathworld friends in these jungles, and not to mention his practical knowledge that was built up over the last three years warring there, often against Feral Orks as well.

The Storm-Troopers with them were nobles. Bribed into the Schola Progenium, not unlike how he himself were recruited (though the recommendation from Commissar-General Nathan Harken really flipped the scale). In opposition to Carrus they lacked every essential skill to survive here, as the jungles of Freudakia were ripe with not just feral cannibals, but also poisonous cats and the dreaded Shadow-Tiger which Carrus had fashioned his cape out of, after killing and skinning one two years ago, Ionza of course carried a very similar cape.

Carrus and Ionza sat a good pace as they heard explosions from behind them, the feral cannibals were closing in fast.

"No d-dont go-" Carrus was interrupted as five of the teenagers ran in a tight formation into another booby-trap. A loud boom later and the 30 Storm-Troopers were down by seven more.

"Emperor, you guys are morons." Carrus recovered with a quick grunt as he stated that after jumping behind a rock.

"AIIIIIIIEK, THE PAIN IT'S-" *Tchock* Carrus pulled out his laspistol giving the legless student the Emperor's peace.

"Michelle take the rest and try to convince them to not die." Getting up and looking agitated Carrus spoke again.

"And please try to listen if me or Ionza are telling you something, as me, her and people that know what they are doing actually have booby-trapped and mined the area."

"Sir. Enemy contact!!!" A Storm-Trooper-cadet yelled and started firing at moving shades at the treeline. He was joined with three more who enthusiastically and badly took positions and started to fire their lasguns at persons they couldn't see.

"CEASE FIRE IMMEDIATELY, ORDER BELAYED" Ionza roared with her shrieking voice which rang in people's ears, though normally it was mellow and pleasant to hear. Using her the sight on her longlas she scanned the woods looking for enemies.

"We must always ascertain enemy contact." Both the Commissar-cadets looked irritated.

"You three, search-party." Ionza pointed angrily at them, Carrus already veered at a course where he easily could give supporting fire, drawing with him about 10 of the Storm-Trooper-cadet.

"Me and Carrus will keep you covered." Ionza looked like she wanted to kill them, which weren't unusual as she was known as a particular draconian Commissar-cadet. As she slinked off, while ten more or so followed roughly in her path.

The budding Storm-Troopers incompetently tried to give each other cover while arching forward, while Carrus and Ionza stealthily followed.

"Glarrgh!!" the Roamers rushed forwards towards the teenagers while both the Commissar-cadets scoring effective kills quickly with meltagun and bolt pistol. As they were too close for Ionza to effectively use her longlas The meltablasts quickly turned three into sludge, while the precise bolt pistol brought down four more in a messy torrid of blood and guts. The lasgun-fire from the Storm-Trooper-cadets on the other hand were less than accurate, but it pinned down the feral cannibals for Carrus and Ionza to finish off.

Unfortunately the three cadets forgot about the two Commissars they couldn't see, and fear overcame them as they saw the savage cannibals all mutilated, knives sticking out of everywhere, growling showing off their knife-sharp teeth. Worse they dressed themselves in the flayed skin of their slain opponents. They fled. One of them ran past Ionza who promptly killed him with her bolter splitting the body in half. The other two ran into Carrus who bodyslammed them so they fell to the floor of the jungle writhing in pain.

"You did right in falling back, wrong in routing Uriel and Derek. Repeat it and die." Carrus told them with a flat voice totally devoid of feelings as he killed two more cannibals with laspistol leaving just a cauterized wound at the throat of the vile creature and meltagun melting down the second cannibal possibly a female as he placed himself right behind the two frightened teenagers.

"Up now and fight for the Emperor and thyselves." The two boys slowly rose to their feet shivering, they knew Carrus were lenient unlike Ionza who would have drawn her power sword and sliced both apart, but he like every Commissar never suffered fools lightly. So they started to fire at the enclosing cannibals, getting courage from their effective lasguns actually scoring kills while they tried to remain calm with Carrus and Ionza slowly organizing the battle-line into a kind of half-moon to deflect the head-on charge of the Roamers.

Problem was that the lasguns and armour the Storm-Trooper cadets were of low quality. The lasguns had little stopping-power. Even direct hits to the head of the rushing cannibals sometimes just left a scar. Also, they rapidly expanded their ammunition as only Carrus and Ionza carried spare ammunition. Three more of them lost their nerve. All where about to be cut down by Ionza who drew her power sword.

"I don't think so dear, we might need them." Carrus said softly while grabbing her wrist. With his free hand he hefted the meltagun with pistol-grip aiming it straight at the troopers who had just tried to flee. Then he raised his voice to such a level everyone heard it

"The next to try to retreat without orders WILL have their legs severed so the rest of us can withdraw and he WILL be raped, eaten and killed." Ionza hesitated a second then she simply said. 'Order seconded.' She shrugged visibly as Carrus drew his own jet-black power sword with the characteristic guard forged out of a skull made of adamnite, the progenia at the Schola called it the Bringer of Insanity due to it radiated a fear which normal humans shouldn't wield yet that irresponsible young man often had it in his hand wielding his family heirloom with a skill only talent and the training of a master could do. The troopers fought harder, but despite the cannibals suffering grievous wounds they arched closer into the range of close-combat.

Carrus and Ionza swiftly entered close-combat as two of the three cadets they were putting the Emperor's fear into died screaming as a feral cannibal slid his knifed hands under their armour gutting them. With their bellies sliced open and guts danging freely with the knifed hands deep inside of them, they shrieked in fear and pain, slowly dying as Carrus beheaded the cannibal responsible which head flew off in a torrent of blood.

"You shall die!!!! YOU SHALL ALL DIE!!!" Ionza shouted while eviscerating two while a third died in a torrent of blood as her bolter snapped and tore a body into gory pieces.

"YEAARGH!!!" The last trooper charged in, bayonet mounted. His inexperience was his doom as the nearby cannibal took out his legs, the good thing was that his bloody and painful death was quick. Carrus killed the cannibal doing that at range with his trusty melta turning it into a mix of metallic and organic goo. Three more rapidly followed as Carrus sprang into action with his sword leaving the field around him slippery with the blood, guts and brainmatter as he methodically with precise strikes quickly began to slay opponents left an right in his brutal style of fencing which included his meltagun as much as his sword during strikes. Another cannibal was killed by Carrus caving in it's face with the meltagun as it tried to assault him from above.

Carrus and Ionza were close-combat-specialists, so they managed greatly despite their young age, but both had been able to stand up to all but the very best fighters of the Schola since they were 15-16. By now as senior cadets they were regarded hands down as the finest save for some of the of the most senior staff. The other troopers fared far worse. During the four years there the 30 boys had been some of the worst recruits the Schola Progenium had ever had. And it didn't help that their parents got Thoray, a man who had never shot a gun in anger, never mind much at all installed as their Drill Abbot. He taught them badly. The drilling the pair did of them the last week before they went in improved somewhat the meager combat-skills of those youths, but both cadets wanted to flush them out while complaining loudly to the principal about their lack of talent. Thoray were under pressure from the parents of those kids to bring home some honors of battle. Of course Thoray just got the two finest and most combat-experienced Commissar-cadets plus a quite good Priest except for at war as that Priest was a good friend and drinking-buddy of Thoray to help them out. It didn't work very well, but that was actually Carrus' fault as he believed a frequent patrol-route where they countless times had gotten Storm Troopers cheap combat-experience in the past years would work wonders for them. He didn't know of the size of the Roamer-clan in the region, which had just taken out the much smaller clan Carrus was used in fighting.

The Storm-Trooper Cadets: Herri Clinton, Thierri Merc, Gav Nerva and Kaldor Flinch were the only ones at least Carrus didn't mean were better off dead as they at least got mild praise from him during their drills at occasion. Ionza thought they all were hopeless and even executed a member of the Royal Storm Troopers (which that gang were called) when he managed to discharge a lasgun at his foot when they first were inspected by both cadets.

At the flank where the Storm Troopers were holding alone Clinton, Merc, Nerva and Flinch where doing their best. They fired time and time again with their underpowered lasguns often only leaving scorchmarks. Worse nobody were there to give them any advice, as the Commissars were over at the other flank. Jack Pomona one of their number decided to stupidly charge the enemy. It didn't help that he moronically charged right into the firing-lane of Merc.

"Holy crap, Jack-- I-I" Merc looked perplexed, he shivered.

"Thierri regain you composure. I don't wanna be devoured while I'm raped, and neither do you!" Flinch answered angrily while slowly learning the phases of his lasgun. Firing it into the chest of a Roamer leaving a neat cauterized hole there.

He then called: "Fall back, but remain organized." The teenagers slowly began to let their flank slide slowly.

"W-what a-about C-Carrus? His order-" A glance from Flinch cut the cadet's word short.

"I will answer to him if we survive. The retreat is ordered." Flinch didn't exactly look forward to answer to Carrus for cowardice as he remembered the harsh floggings Carrus had issued for the slightest breach of conduct, even through Thoray usually intervened.

It was too little too late, as they started to turn back three of their number along with Nerva were caught by the Roamers in close-combat. Nerva managed to strike out and kill one with his ornate sword, but they all were promptly devoured alive while screaming in pain.

Herri Clinton tried to lob off a grenade as he and two more were caught in a ditch by the Roamers, but a lucky arrow pierced his throwing arm, so he and the two other cadets lived their last moment in extreme agony.

Everyone including the two Commissars fell back. Both Carrus and Ionza knew they couldn't go on forever, and the last five Storm-Trooper-cadets they saw were messily killed by Heavy Bolter-fire. So they both withdrew as they had no plans to die that day.

Merc (a tall, wiry, olive complexion almost 10 cms taller than Carrus, brown a bit bulging eyes, black short well-groomed hair, actually quite handsome) and Flinch (same height as Merc, fair-skinned, dark blonde hair, more bulky, green eyes pock-marked face full of scars from a nest of Freudakian bees that almost killed him when he was a small boy) by the Emperor's miracle ran into the couple several kilometers away from where they fought the Roamers, the forest were less dense more open. It was obvious that the clearing was a rendezvous-point. Both the Commissars were smoking Ciralixian lho-rods. They were rested, looking relaxed, not that they five hours earlier had fought a foe out to violate them at every opportunity. Merc were shivering visibly, sobbing and tears ran freely down his cheeks. That quickly got the attention of Ionza.

"Battle-stress?" Her merciless brown eyes peered deep into the man's soul. Her voice was so soft and melodic, it was almost singing.

"Ehm he-he shot his best mate by accident." Flinch flinched with abject fear as Carrus stared into his soul. He sweated and felt really uncomfortable.

"Is that so?" Carrus made his voice needlessly sweet. Flinch merely nodded, the devilish smile of Carrus with the ignited lho-rod burned itself into the mind of Flinch.

"P-please d-don't *SOB* kill me." Merc squirmed under her gaze as he wet himself in abject terror of her.

"Concentrate soldier, a soldier having a psychic break are worse than none." Merc's body tightened as he heard the hammer at her bolt pistol get cocked. He shivered uncontrollably. When he opened his eyes it got far worse. Flinch shook with fear as he saw first Ionza who were fearful enough taking aim and threatening to shoot Merc, but now Carrus were lifting up his meltagun as well, taking careful aim.

"Girly is right. Concentrate. BEAT IT!" Pointed right at one eye were the bolt pistol of Ionza, at the other were Carrus hefting his meltagun. Merc saw the evil grins with ignited lho-rods of both Commissars. Telling him in his soothing voice to beat his last experience, where he shot his best friend by accident in the back of his head. Merc managed to beat it, stopped shivering and managed to meet the glances of the two Commissars without having a mental meltdown.

Swallowing heavily. Merc said: 'O-okay I-I s-shall beat this, I-I have little less to lose.' Carrus relented his aim lowering the meltagun. Ionza still kept her aim, while she said: 'And?' Merc looked confused back at the merciless girl. Carrus lowered her arm saying. 'Relax girly, we have survived, and Nate awaits our report.' Ionza merely nodded. Both of them had wicked grins running across their faces.

"Want a rod?" Carrus extended two lho-rods in his hand. He smirked, same with Ionza.
Both Flinch and Merc shiveringly accepted Carrus' two extended lho-rods, letting him ignite them with his laschisel.

"Congrats" Carrus grinned.
"You have both managed to survive your first battle, tomorrow your school really begins as you will then be full members of this proud Schola, not just the toy-soldiers who went into the jungle." Carrus exclaimed with pleasure.

"Excuse me, lady." Flinch shifted nervously, looking at Ionza.

"Speak your mind soldier." The coldness of Ionza's voice and attitude were clear for all to see and hear.

Flinch swallowed heavily. "I-I t-think there are other survivors left behind." He shrugged fearfully under the glare of Carrus who simply blew smoke in his face, as he went up to stand right in front of him.

"Is Nerva or Clinton alive?" Flinch shivered a bit under Carrus' gaze.

"N-no s-sir, b-but-" Carrus cut him off.

"No buts, the rest were a disgrace to this Schola."

Ionza cut in. "They are better off dead, so never talk about them again, unless you want to die." She gave them a grim look. Then Merc and Flinch froze in terror ]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429250/3901069.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429250/3901069.page GMT





In the dark times that currently have engulfed the Imperium of Man many wars are fought and lost, some tales go untold some are told by survivors or those who witnessed it from afar. This is one such tale.

War had come to Centurion Prime, the hive world had slipped into anarchy when several cults had reared their heads and began to openly wage war against the weak and incompetent rulers who for centuries untold had neglected their duties to the world that now cried for their blood.
The first weeks of the war had seen the PDF forces put up a remarkable strong defence but to no use. The swarms of cultists and other hostile groups had washed them away in a sea of horror.

Private Aleandrax ran like a man possessed, he was the single survivor of his company and by the Emperor, he would rather die running than to curl up and wait for death to come. He was a taunt young man at the age of 20 and considered himself a decent soldier but noting he had been taught in the PDF had prepared him for what had taken place over the few last days.
He felt cold fear and a sense of impending doom closing in on him, but there where no chance in hell he was going to give up. He valued life too much.

Behind him he could hear the shouts of the heretical scum chasing him, the high pitched voices of the mutants and the almost chanting cries of the traitor guardsmen. They fired pot-shot after him and yelled curses and threats. Aleandrax felt a taste of blood in his mouth and a sense of utter despair as he realised he could not outrun them, there where simply no where to run.

He continued to run and spitting blood and just as he thought he was done for, he realised something. He no longer could hear his enemies, it was as they simply had been whisked away. Before he could think another thought a new sound reached his ears, the loud and unmistakable sound of a large calibre weapon being fired and the sounds of battle.
Whoever had attacked his foes where clearly well armed, deciding that would need help to survive this nightmare he started making his way towards where the ring of battle where coming from.

The large band of heretics and other types of deep hive scum that had been trailing the lone PDF trooper had discovered to their dismay they where not alone, as they had closed in on their prey several massive figures had descended wings of fire and begun to dispose of their fellow cultists, the massive figures could only be one ting...... The Angels of Death.
The Space Marines hit the cultists like a meteor, several heretics was simply crushed under their weight as they landed and others where ripped to pieces by bolt pistol shots.
But most met their deaths at close quarters, daggers and clubs against chain swords and power armoured Marines was hardly fair and the outcome was predictable but still the fight was brutal and merciless

One less than brave member of the band decided to turn and flee, he never made more than two steps in the direction of safety.
A single shot from a bolt pistol removed his head from his shoulders.

“ All threats neutralized sire” one Astartes said as he pulled his growling chain sword free from a mangled and bloody carcase. Their leader a massive Marine clad in a pitch black suit of armour with bronze shoulder pauldrons armed with a glowing power sword that crackled with energy looked around the ruined landscape and turned to his sergeant who had informed him of the results of this first encounter of the night.
“ Understood sergeant, do we have a fix on our objective” the Marine said with a voice that gave a hint of his the centuries spent in the service of mankind.


---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Part II
Brother Captain Arkangel of the Death Hands scanned the war torn hive that lay before him and his brothers. They had descended on wings of fire and vengeance in search of the vile heretic that was the main leader of this war, so far the wrench had eluded their grip.
His ceramic encased hands clenched and he for a brief moment felt cold anger well up in him, why had the Emperor in all his wisdom granted the responsibilities of managing worlds like this to such fools. In the end it would not mater, they would prevail against the heretical rabble.

The captain did not wish to be bogged down by heretical cannon fodder at each turn, if they where to be effective they would either need a direct rout of assault or a guide to this massive urbane jungle that lay before them.

“ Oh frakk! Space Marines” thought Aleandrax as he watched the Astartes slaughter the hive scum, he felt a cold feeling of dread grip his hearth. They looked like death incarnated, but there was one figure that stood out amongst them. The space marine stood a head if not more above his brothers, he was clad in the same armour as them, but what made him look apart was the attitude he radiated, and the ornate breastplate of his armour along with the massive sword he carried.
Even thou he was shaking with fear he began to walk towards them, arms raised into the air and attempting to present a friendly body language, who knew how they might react to him. Before any more thoughts could form in his mind a single bolt round impacted with his chest and sprayed the rubble strewn street with a spray of crimson collourd blood. The former PDF survivor slapped down onto the ground with a expression of disbelief and shock on his face.

“Witness silenced my lord” the Astartes who had fired the shot said over the vox net.

“Acknowledged brother, Sergeant we hunt!” with those words Brother Captain Arkangle began his hunt for the one who had eluded his grasp for far to long, this time no one would escape, one way or the other this world would be purged. The death of a simple PDF trooper to maintain their secret were more than acceptable.

As the squads that made up his force made their way true the ruined hive they made sure to leave no survivors whenever they found them, neither friend nor foe where to know of their coming. The Imperial guard forces was in disarray and that suited them well.

After a day they had reached their goal witch was a massive Adeptus Ministorium complex he activated his vox and sent the coded signal to the massive ship waiting in orbit.
Far above the massive battle barge Divine Retribution began to move into position, when it was hailed by the system defence fleet hat inquired about its shift of course they responded with a badly hidden treats that the fleet would do wise to stay out of Astartes operations if they indented to have them on friendly terms for the remainder of the campaign. The system defence boats gave the ship and its escorts a wide berth after that chilling reply

As the Astartes on the ground entered the complex they knew they where being observed, but not by whom, had they known they would most likely been a bit more cautious. But benign able to tell the future was not a ability Brother Captain Arkangle had.
]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429085/3897998.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429085/3897998.page GMT
I've been working on some Fluff for my Ork Army. Here is quick story which was loosly based on a game i Played at a recent Competition. http://3mpecee2.wordpress.com/2012/02/09/i-r-ork-a-short-story/

I hope you enjoy it.

]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429015/3896796.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/429015/3896796.page GMT It's not set in 40k. I would greatly appreciate Criticism and comments. Any mistakes, please be sure to point them out.

'I can't give it to you for less than $2000.'
'That's absurd' Callum said indignantly 'With a car that old, you're lucky to be getting half that'
'I'm sorry' the salesman replied 'I have overheads to meet'
'What overheads?' Callum said glancing around the beaten up car sales office.
'Insurance, fuel, delivery, theft' the salesman rattled off a list of fake reasons. He was getting desperate, his first customer in weeks and it just happens not only to be a university graduate but one specialising in business and management. He sweated a bit more in his faux Italian suit, the air conditioning was 4 months broken and no sign of enough money to fix or replace it. With a final bead of sweat he gave in;
'Fine, $1,500' he said, shoving the pen and contract over towards the kid, he couldn't be more than 23 and yet he had got him selling under what he had hoped when he first met him.
'Done and done' Callum said signing with a flourish 'pleasure doing business with you'
'I'm sure' he replied dryly 'here are the keys, goodbye and good day'

Callum left the cramped office and strode away keys in hand. Sam and Finn were sat on the hood of the car Callum had spent the last half hour haggling over. It was as stereotypical as a car could be for a road trip through America. A red convertible Cadillac Eldorado. It was beaten and rusty in places, the seats had the ghost of stains on which were best not asked about, it had only one hub cap left and the roof didn't go up It was perfect. Sam and Finn saw the keys in Callum's hand and perked up;
'We good?' Sam asked. He had studied psychology before graduation. He was tall, well built and brilliantly athletic, if it involved physical exertion Sam had probably done it before. Dark brown hair was cut severely short and his similarly coloured eyes were darting and quick.
'We are good' Callum grinned 'He put up a fight but I managed to beat him down'
'As long as you didn't get a mess on his nice pretend suit that's fine' Sam replied
'Finally, we can get out of here' Finn said. Finn had studied History. He was originally from Northern Ireland but after the divorce of his parents his father had moved to England, Finn had come with him. He had mid length black hair and blue eyes, he was lower than average in height and had a skinny build.
'Yeah it's been fun but it's time to leave' Sam agreed 'besides there are only so many times you can play I Spy before you run out of things to spy'
'Lets grab our stuff and we'll be on our way' Callum said
They began walking to their dingy motel room;
'Who's driving?' Finn asked
'Rock, paper, scissors?' Sam suggested
'Sounds good'
'Okay, 1, 2, 3!'
'Damnit!'Callum cursed

They had been driving for 8 hours. The sun beat down on a barren and featureless Nevada desert. Then a shout. Fin heard it first but dismissed it almost instantly not realising it's incongruousness. Then his mind froze and re-winded a few seconds, he opened his mouth to talk when Sam beat him there;
'Did anyone hear that?' his voice raspy from the heat
'Yeah but whe-' Finn said just as the source of the shout became clear.
He was in his early thirties, of an average height and a slender build, dark hair topped his head. He was also very naked.
Callum stopped the car and shut the engine off. They climbed out and watched as the man sprinted towards them.
'You have to admire his technique' Sam said, Callum and Finn murmured in hypnotised agreement.
The man finally reached them less than a minute later. He was panting and exhausted, blood ran freely down his head and back and he danced from foot-to-foot to keep his feet from the hot asphalt.
'Hey, how are you?' he asked nonchalantly
The boys looked at each other, somewhat confused before Sam spoke hesitantly;
'Yeah, we're alright' he proffered, unsure of himself 'How are you?'
'Oh you know, not too bad, can't complain' he said still dancing 'You boys from Britain?'
'Yeah...' Sam said still unsure glancing between his friends and the stranger 'Are you-'
'What do you do? At home I mean?' He asked
''We, uhh, we just finished uni' Sam said
'That's great!' he said with genuine enthusiasm 'What did you study?'
'I did business management, Sam did psychology and Finn did History' Callum pointed at each of them in turn 'You realise-'
'I always wanted to go to University, we never had the money of course' the stranger interrupted wistfully
'You realise you're naked, in the middle of the desert miles away from anywhere chatting to three complete strangers about their education?' Callum said, determined to make sense of the situation life had dealt him
'Oh yeah I did notice' the stranger smirked 'kinda hard no to really'
'Why?'
'What day is it?'
what doe-' Callum started before simply replying 'It's Tuesday'
'Yeah it seems like a Tuesday, I never liked them'
'What? Why are you naked?'
'No idea, I can't remember anything, thought you might know'
'Why would we know?'
'It couldn't hurt to check'
'So you don't remember anything? Name, address, age?'
'Not a thing, though I think I like the colour blue'
A small period of strangely contented silence passed as everyone mentally re-evaluated the situation.
'Say' the stranger said 'I don't suppose I could trouble you for a lift?'
]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/428922/3895323.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/428922/3895323.page GMT
So here's the second chapter, the assault on Hades hive, hope you all enjoy! :)

As the Green tide surged forward like a Tsunami wave, the defenders of Hades hive set up defensive positions, Auto-cannon and Heavy bolter turrets were manned, Hydra Flak tanks watched the skies like unnerving sentinels, women and children were evacuated as men were forced to take up arms and join the desperate defence force under threats of execution if they refused, and all the while the commanding officers cowered in fortified bunkers, escaping the inevitable onslaught that would soon be upon the Hive city.
Row after row of soldier and conscript alike formed make-shift gun lines at the elevated walls of the Hive city whilst Basilisk artillery fire hammered at the oncoming wave of Greenskins, blasting apart tons of Orks at a time, however this was not enough, the green tide was quickly advancing and only the thunderous roar of thousands of savage green xeno's could be heard, crushing the hearts of soldiers and breaking the eardrums of all who heard it.

Deffkopta's flew overhead of the tide of Greenskins and unleashed salvo's of "Kustom Rokkits" filled with highly volatile substance known to the Orks simply as "Boomstuff", a brew
that consisted of nothing less than Uranium and magnesium with a little bit of squig oil and some "other" bodily fluids at the city walls. These Rokkits punched huge holes in the walls of Hades hive and allowed the approaching wave of Orks to enter the Hive city with ease. This, "Boomstuff" was discovered by Big Mek Jagmaw Gob-bolt, Nobchoppa's favourite Mekboy and trusted looter, who also created the Deffkopta's that launched the "Kustom" Rokkits and both had certainly put a huge grin across Gob-Bolts wicked and scarred face, as he launched multiple clusters from his "Kustom" Deffkopta; "Da Big Baron", pure adrenaline made him unstoppable and blew wall and soldier into pieces alike.

Nobchoppa was at the forefront of the Ork lines, his eyes glowing red with rage, his Ugly, green maw salivating as his thirst for bloodshed grew stronger, His actions grew more savage and brutal as the adrenal rush flowed through his body, Concentrated las-fire cut down many an Ork, but not him, his blood-lust numbed the pain and only made him more angry. And in a flash, he had reached the breached walls of the Hive city, thousands of other Greenskins behind him, eager to get stuck in with the fight. Nobchoppa opened his maw and shouted:

[i]"TIME TA GET STUCK IN LADZ!"[/i]

And with that, the massacre had begun...

Hundreds of Ork boyz spewed forward Choppa's raised, Slugga's firing and all the while screaming; "WAAAAAAAAGH!!!!" at the top of their voices. The defence force ordered fire into the Ork horde using the remaining Turrets and men that could fight in structured firing lines which brought down many of the Orks, but alas, the Orks were soon upon them, spearheaded by a mob of massive Orks which quickly carved through what little resistance they met and soon after the Eastern defence force was no more...
The brave yet failing defenders actions had cut down hundreds of Ork invaders, but it was not enough to stop Grugzak and the tide of tribal greenskins, and the first line of defenders were butchered mercilessly by the mob of hardened Orks adorned with grizzly trophies and equipped with huge,savage axes, and a variety of flashy firearms, some measuring the length of an Armageddon mine squig, these were Nobchoppa's field commanders and tribe bullies, the toughest Orks besides him, they were his retinue of Nobz, and they fought with furious rage and ferocity against the human defenders. They were lead by a mentally deranged Ork, a Weirdboy known as ;"Brainskrat Ead'krush". His eyes bloodshot and shining a pure green as Orky energies flowed through his veins and into those around him, Gretchin struggled to keep hold of the chains that were supposed to keep him from overloading with power as this has proved fatal for many Orks that surrounded him, he wielded an odd staff, a mix of
scrap and looted materials and more feral things such as hawk feathers and live whip vines, a crude but definitely effective weapon, especially when it spewed green flame from its head at times of sheer Orkiness.
Nobchoppa faced the Weirdboy and sarcastically said:

[i]"Nice ta see dat ya finally get 'ere!"[/i]

The Weirdboy replied:

[i]"Dem tankz aint easy ta get by ya know!"[/i]

The Warlord shrugged and replied:

[i]"Wot yoo on about, me and da boyz got 'ere fasta on foot, and we had ta slog it through all dat bolta fire!"[/i]

The Weirdboy looked away with a disdained look on his face, trying to think of a comeback when looked up at the blackened sky and sharply said:

[i]"Der'z a storm comin'".[/i]

Nobchoppa replied:

[i]"Wot!? How'd a psycho like yoo know dat?[/i]

[i]"Dem birds is flyin' funny."[/i]

[i]I dont see no birds, just me flyboyz and a lot of 'splosions, what da 'ell yoo on about!?[/i]

The Weirdboy quickly turned his head and shouted:

[i]"LEMME SHOW YA!"[/i]

'Ead'Krush then raised his staff and a blinding flash of light began emanating from the staffs head, blinding Nobchoppa and the Orkz around him,and then the black clouds gathered together in the sky, and roar of thunder could be heard across the battlefield. A moment of silence passed, and with that, the Weirdboy called down bright green lightning on structure, Human and Ork alike, searing flesh and leaving nothing but piles of smouldering ash as a result.

The Weirdboy'z abilities intimidated Grugzak, and at the same time amazed him, he knew that they would be a great asset in the invasion of Hive Hades, and decided that to question him again could turn out as a bad idea for him and his Warband, and with that, Nobchoppa gave the order to assault the Central district, appointing 'Ead'Krush to lead the assualt on the fortified and said-to-be impenetrable bunkers were the Defenders officers were cowering. The Eastern wall was left in ruin, it's defenders slaughtered, it's industries looted by Gretchin and Orkz, including Bolt-Gob, who stumbled into a wrecked weapons manufactorum, where he found the perfect technology to greatly help with his war plans...

So that's chapter 2 for you all, I spent a lot of time in writing this and I'm happy with it, hope all you guys can find it as readable and as always, C&C is welcome!

Cheers, :thumbsup:

Calv,]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/428889/3894611.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/428889/3894611.page GMT

[b]Sleight of Hand[/b]


[i]Tainted, they call us. Cursed, they whisper.

Let them scorn, let them sneer and mouth their petty barbs.

They think us shamed. They think us brought to heel. For all they think us impure and marked, the more our honour and righteous purpose are affirmed.

Those who accept the existence of shackles are doomed to wear them.

We are the Relictors, the dark hand of the Adeptus Astartes, and we acknowledge none living as our master.[/i]

Molten wax dripped onto parchment, scarlet and pristine as life’s blood. Inquisitor-Lord Cyarro blew carefully on it, then pressed his signet ring firmly down, stamping the document with the seal of the Holy Inquisition. This simple act spelt fiery doom for half a million people, deemed by the Inquisition to be complicit in the aiding of enemies of the Imperium. Their crime had been to inhabit the same city as a small cell of apostates.

This done, Cyarro put aside his paperwork and turned his mind to more weighty matters. He rose to his feet and crossed the gilded expanse of his office, halting by the soaring window wall that gazed out over the decrepit magnificence of the Imperial Palace.

The Inquisitor-Lord’s office was designed to intimidate. Visitors found themselves at once overwhelmed by its size and opulence and also unsettled in a way they couldn’t identify; all the angles and proportions were ever so slightly out of true, causing uncertainty and vague alarm on a subconscious level. The presence of two simple, unadorned high-backed wooden chairs facing one another before the huge window struck a further incongruous note.

Cyarro fit his chambers perfectly. Tall and heavy-set, he had the appearance of a man in his mid-forties, although he had a couple of centuries’ more guile about him. He had a face that was quick to show emotion and a similarly-expressive voice, equally suited to honeyed persuasion as thundering denunciation. Dark eyes were half-hidden behind smoked-glass augmetics, his only visible cybernetic modifications.

A tell-tale flickered across his vision, alerting him to the fact that his visitor had arrived and was waiting in the anteroom outside. With a twitch of an eye muscle, Cyarro accessed the pict-feed from one of the cameras covering the space. He spent a few moments studying the image, happy to let his visitor stand and stew before summoning him inside.

If his visitor was unsettled by the Inquisitor-Lord’s stalling, he gave no obvious sign. He stood ramrod straight facing the door to Cyarro’s realm, his robes of office immaculately tailored and arranged. His face was a mask of neutral confidence, softened slightly by the youthfulness – real, not recovered – of its owner.

Cyarro nodded to himself approvingly and pulsed a command to the door’s security cogitator system. With a clanking of retracting bolts, the door cracked and hissed open.

Cyarro was standing behind one of the wooden chairs by the window wall. He rested his hands on the high back and called out convivially, ‘Please enter’.

There was a second’s pause (noted by Cyarro – [i]was his guest responding in kind to being made to wait outside?[/i]) and then Inquisitor Andreas Solkayn stepped smartly into the office. His eyes flicked quickly about the room before meeting Cyarro’s gaze, a fly eyeing up the owner of the web into which it had become entangled. He drew his robes in about him and gave a collegium-perfect bow. ‘I am here in answer to your summons, my lord’, he murmured.

Cyarro acknowledged Solkayn’s greeting with a nod. He patted the chair’s back with his hands and smiled at the younger man. ‘Andreas, please, let us not stand on ceremony. Come, be seated and we shall talk like civilised people’.

With a rustle of silk and vermine, Solkayn straightened up and hastened across the floor. He sat in the seat indicated by Cyarro, whilst the Inquisitor-Lord walked around to the other chair and sat facing him. As the younger man settled himself, Cyarro regarded him with an expression that an untrained observer would probably have mistaken for fondness.

‘The robes suit you, Andreas. Does the weight sit well with you?’

Solkayn’s lips pursed into a smile. ‘It has been a long time coming. I was beginning to suspect my beloved patron was never going to declare me competent to operate solus’. He paused. ‘Rumours tell that pressure was applied from on high to help her to make that decision’.

‘I’d not heard that one’, Cyarro replied, deadpan. ‘Anyway, it was well past time that you were sent out to cut your teeth in the field. Your potential has not gone unnoticed by those who matter in the Ordo Hereticus. At least you got something low-key with which to begin your career, eh?’

Solkayn’s grin took on a somewhat fixed aspect, although his voice remained calm and measured as he answered. ‘Indeed. The Relictors issue’.

Cyarro nodded agreeably. ‘It was felt that the initial report warranted some action being taken, given their ... unfortunate history’.

Solkayn pulled out a dataslate from a pocket within his robes and made a show of consulting it before continuing. It was a gesture both futile and faintly ridiculous, as he could easily have accessed the information he needed directly from his own augmetics. Still, things were done a certain way when dealing with one’s superiors in the Ordo.

‘Ah ... the Glorious Subjugation of Yamina Minor. I have the details here. According to the after-action report filed by Major-General Bryche of the Unified Punitive Expeditionary Force, the 2nd Company of the Relictors, under the command of Captain Travis Erskine, failed to... umm ...’

‘”Prosecute the war against the Heretic with appropriate zeal”’, finished Cyarro. ‘I’m familiar with the broad nature of the charge but what exactly did this entail? Bryche appears as careless with his words as the results of the campaign suggest he was with the lives of his men’.

Solkayn laid down his dataslate and regarded him levelly. ‘Put briefly,’ – he registered the flicker of approval in Cyarro’s face and made a mental note that brevity was very much the way to proceed – ‘The Yamina system had become isolated by a persistent Warp storm for almost two centuries. The first Imperial ships to make planetfall once the routes were navigable once more reported back that the locals had taken to practising idolatry of the foulest kind. Pleas to return to the light of the Imperial Truth fell on deaf ears, so the Expeditionary Force was assembled and sent forth’.

‘Were the Astartes attached to this task force from the outset?’ enquired Cyarro. ‘The documentation seems a little unclear on the subject’.

Solkayn shook his head. ‘They were not, my lord. The push for the idolators’ capital was already well under way, six months into the campaign, before the Astartes arrived in orbit.

‘Rather than join the main thrust of the assault, however, it appears that the Relictors instead diverted to seize ground far off on an isolated flank, too remote to serve any possible strategic purpose. Once it had been secured, they remained isolated there for five days, deaf to the entreaties of the Major-General’.

‘I see why he was upset. What was the significance of the ground held by the Astartes?’

The younger Inquisitor consulted his neural files. ‘it was one of the idolators’ temples. It was garrisoned but the troops there were too isolated from the main fighting to have had any possibility of affecting the outcome’.

Cyarro nodded thoughtfully. ‘And after this time the Relictors withdrew from the field of battle? Did anybody get a chance to examine this temple afterwards?’

‘Unfortunately not. The Astartes razed the place to the ground and then meltabombed whatever was left. They were very thorough’.

The Inquisitor-Lord heaved himself to his feet and moved to stand facing the window wall, his back to Solkayn. ‘Thus was the decision taken by the Ordo Hereticus to assign an Inquisitor to covertly observe the Relictors in the field’. He turned to regard his junior, a smile hovering on his lips. ‘As I said, something low key with which to begin your career’.

Solkayn matched his smile, although it did not extend to his eyes. The first solus outing for any newly-robed Inquisitor was always subject to intense scrutiny by the higher-ups in the Ordo. Failure was not a habit the Inquisition wished to cultivate. The fact that this particular investigation involved forces of the Adeptus Astartes – even ones whose reputation was as tarnished as the Relictors – meant that both the scrutiny and the consequences of any of Solkayn’s failings were that much more incendiary.

He inclined his head slightly and replied with a warmth in his voice that he did not feel. ‘I really must thank you, my lord, for giving me this opportunity to prove myself and for everything you’ve done to facilitate my endeavours. I find myself deeply in your debt’.

Cyarro oozed unctuous grace as he smilingly shook his head. ‘Nonsense, my dear Andreas. I merely lent my name to the enterprise to get it off the ground and then moved some of the pieces around the board. All credit for the outcome of this operation lies with you’.

The two shared a look. They were both well aware of how the blame game was played.

Cyarro was the first to break the gaze, satisfied that Solkayn understood his position. ‘So I understand you returned from Malian this morning and you are due to make a full report to the Board within the week. I would be obliged if you could give me a quick summary now, so that I can begin thinking about further strategies, should they be necessary’. He circled Solkayn’s chair once more before settling down opposite him.

Solkayn took a moment to compose himself. He understood Cyarro’s desire to have his report ahead of the official release – knowledge shared was power divided, after all – and was glad to have this as a rehearsal before he faced the unyielding, unforgiving scrutiny of the Pre-Investigatory Board.

‘The reports of radicalisation received by the Ordo had proven true. The entire garrison on Malian, along with significant numbers of the indentured labour force, had been turned to the worship of the Ruinous Powers by one Thomastes of the Ecclesiarchy. He was declared Excommunicatus in Absentia and sanction was formally given to Captain Erskine of the Relictors 2nd Company to carry out.

‘The XIV and XXXII regiments of the Household Redoubtables arrived in-system before the Astartes and engaged the enemy, driving them back to their Bastion Primaris. This done, they deployed in a wide perimeter around the heretics’ fortress, dug-in and ready to prevent any attempted break-out manoeuvres’.

The Inquisitor-Lord nodded approvingly. ‘And so the stage was set ... How were you planning on observing the Astartes in action?’

‘Orbital support began the task of wearing down their voids. It was during this initial phase that my men were inserted into the ranks, and remote observation teams sighted themselves in the hills around the fortress, their pict-drones ready to fly as soon as the assault began’.

‘And who liaised with the Relictor captain?’

‘General von Hoorst himself, my lord. I assumed the role of his aide de camp and accompanied him to the strategium session aboard the Relictors’ strike cruiser. I wished to see personally how the Astartes conducted themselves’.

Cyarro’s expression remained one of keen attention but inside he was struck with admiration for Solkayn’s attitude and courage. [i]Destined for greatness, this one. He needs to be handled correctly.[/i]

Aloud, he said, ‘And what was your impression of their captain?’

Solkayn thought back to his first encounter with Captain Erskine. He recalled a man with a towering physical presence, yet with a deceptive mildness and surface calm. Scratch below that facade, he knew, and there was a deep-running implacability that had made him really, [i]really[/i] want not to upset him. He had shivered inwardly upon first seeing him, profoundly grateful he was shielded behind his disguise, an anonymous face amongst a crowd.

‘He appeared fully open to the idea of a combined arms operation to prosecute the heretics’.

‘So, before the assault was launched, did you observe anything – anything – that might have lent credence to these accusations against the Astartes?’

Solkayn answered without pause or hesitation. ‘No, my lord. I did not’.

Inquisitor-Lord Cyarro leant back and nodded thoughtfully. ‘I see. So then ... tell me everything’.

***

General von Hoorst waits until our shuttle has cleared the aft docking bay of the Relictor strike cruiser [i]Affirmation of Faith[/i] before turning the full force of his glare on me. Tall and spare, with the confident, aggressive stance of a man born to command, he cuts an imposing figure. The cold glint in his eye would easily have cowed any of the men under his command. I’m not impressed. My tutors back in the collegia were far, far worse.

‘Well, boy?’ he barks. ‘Are you satisfied now?’

I swear a touch of spittle strikes my face and I restrain the urge to raise a hand and wipe it off.

Instead, I nod and bow politely. ‘Thank you again for agreeing to this unfortunate yet necessary subterfuge, Lord General. I assure you that it is vital to the successful prosecution of this campaign’.

With a bellicose snort the General bats aside my attempt at reconciliation. He jabs a bony iron finger into my chest for emphasis as he speaks: ‘You’ll be in the first wave once the Astartes have breached the traitors’ defences. Whatever this mission of yours is, it had better not get any of my men killed’.

I smile winningly and attempt to bring von Hoorst around. ‘We’ll be going in behind the Relictors. I doubt there’ll be anything left to pose a credible threat’.

He harrumphs and makes no comment. But the prodding stops so I’ll claim a moral victory.

***

Peace returned as the bulkhead door rumbled closed behind the departing Imperial Guard officers. The strategium deck of the [i]Affirmation of Faith[/i] was habitually a place of considered calm, isolated from the bustle of the command deck which it overlooked.

Captain Travis Erskine stood over the strategium’s central hololithic display. His charcoal-grey power armour was washed in the green light of the holo-emitters, making the proud gold of the Aquila on his chestplate appear faded and tarnished. His plumed helm had been mag-locked to his thigh as a gesture of hospitality towards General von Hoorst and his gaggle of advisors; his craggy, angular face had a wry, thoughtful look to it as he pondered the briefing that had just concluded. He raised his head and glanced across to the bulkhead door, where stood one of his Astartes.

‘Your thoughts, brother Steltz?’ Erskine’s voice was a gravelly rasp, more at home in the middle of pitched, glorious battle than in the contemplative peace of the strategium.

Steltz stepped forwards from his position of parade rest, his armour clanking on the decking as he moved. Like his captain, he too went bareheaded. His dark hair was shaved down to the scalp, criss-crossed old scarring running like contour lines across one side of his head. Sharp grey eyes blinked as he considered his response.

‘The General looked full of choler, although he held it down well. I do not think he is a willing partner in this charade’. His voice was soft in comparison.

Captain Erskine nodded his agreement. ‘Aye’. A hard smile broke his face. ‘Did you see that Inquisitorial whelp skulking behind him. What in the Throne’s name did he think he was trying to achieve?’

***

Dawn breaks unnoticed on Malian. Night has long since been shredded by repeated lance strikes from Navy vessels in low geostationary orbit. Thus far, the voids protecting the traitors’ Bastion Primaris have handled the barrage tolerably well. Can’t say I’m surprised; datacords show that this is an old fort and they sure built them to last back then. It’s not a big deal – it’s when they fail, not if.

So, I’m in a forward command post, about a klick from the fortress approach. There’s a laager of Chimeras parked up behind me, ready to roll as soon as the voids fail and the Relictors descend like the wrath of the Emperor.

Good times.

For about the fifth time this hour I check in with my observation units, concealed high up in the hills overlooking the doomed fortress. They’re all set and ready for the off, with ringside seats for the coming mayhem.

The fortress they’re observing is a stubborn little bastard. It’s tucked away within a protective circle of hills, making it hard to target for artillery and other ground-based attacks. Its outer walls are fifty feet high and liberally strewn with murder holes, remote turrets and defensive firing positions for its garrison. Access is through an impregnable set of gates.

None of which will do it any good once the voids come down and the Relictors drop in.

I check the latest Naval intel: battle-cogitators predict void shield collapse at noon, local time.
Six hours to go ...

***

‘Six hours to go, sir’.

Erskine nodded in acknowledgement, not looking away from the view before him. From his lofty vantage point on the observation gantry overlooking the tertiary launch bay of the [i]Affirmation of Faith[/i], he gazed down on the logistical ballet of a company about to go to war. Five drop pods stood in line abreast, petal doors splayed open in preparation for boarding, with thick, looping power umbilicals providing connection to the deck generatorium. A sixth pod, emblazoned with Erskine’s own command insignia, sat a little apart, technicians dismantling a work scaffold from around it.

Lobotomised servitors shambled through this scene with eerie arrhythmic precision, each with its own ‘to do’ list seared into its cortical matrices. Supervisor-menials scurried around, tending to the tasks to which the servitors could not adapt.

His moment of contemplation done, the captain turned to Steltz. ‘What is the word from the Apothecarion?’ he asked.

‘The surgery was a success; certainly good enough to pass muster. Enough cognitive facility has been retained to enable it to do what is required of it.’

Erskine nodded. ‘And the modifications to my drop pod?’

Steltz hesitated for a second, considering his answer. ‘I have been assured it should be appropriately spectacular. The armourers believe that structural integrity should be maintained’.

His superior gave a barking laugh. ‘I am reassured beyond measure’.

***

Call me paranoid but I don’t think the others in the vanguard like me. To be fair to them, I’m both a stranger and a last-minute alteration to the plan; both of these are anathema to the common soldier. Even the major giving the briefing keeps staring at me.

The plan’s simple but solid. The Relictors will land six squads inside the walls as soon as the voids fall. They’ll neutralise the immediate defence and blow the main gates, allowing the Guard to pour through and flood the place. The capture of the renegade preacher will be the personal responsibility of Erskine.

Once the briefing’s over ([i]too long ... ack, why do they always have to take so damn long[/i]), I trudge outside and go back to staring at the fortress, wondering how this operation is going to pan out. What do I actually want to happen? If I find nothing untoward in the activities of the Relictors, I won’t be making much of a name for myself. If I do find something, however, that’ll certainly get my name known. Assuming I live to tell.

It’s not like the Chapter doesn’t have history, after all. It wasn’t even a couple of centuries ago that they almost fell from the Emperor’s grace following their involvement with the corrupted Inquisitor De Marche. The penitent crusade which they undertook would have killed other Chapters; the Relictors just came through it tougher, meaner and even more fervently loyal. And now I’m sneaking around questioning this loyalty. [i]Yeesh[/i].

My hands wander unconsciously across my kit as I ponder – hellgun, carapace armour, grenades. The Relictors wouldn’t transgress twice, surely?

***

Erskine was in his arming chamber, kneeling in silent prayer before its small shrine. He was fully garbed for battle, with his helm locked in place and his combi-plasma slung over one massive, black-enamelled pauldron. A well-worn chainblade hung from his belt, a comforting weight against his left thigh.

Purity seals fluttered in the breeze from the chamber’s air circulation system and a fresh Oath of Moment – made from the Inquisitorial Warrant issued for the capture of Thomastes – was affixed to the casing of his weapon.

A dataspurt shunted itself to his helmet HUD. Rousing himself from his reverie, he accessed it with a blink. 10th Company scouts planet-side had located eight concealed observation posts ringing the fortress. Overlaying their sight lines onto an orbital map of the area showed Erskine that he needed to make a slight adjustment to his pod’s trajectory. No matter, the plan allowed for such tweaks.

This done, Erskine cleared his HUD and composed himself again before the shrine. [i]O almighty God-Emperor, Master of Mankind: if this be your will, grant us the fortune to enact it[/i].

His prayer complete, he rose smoothly to his feet, settled his chainblade and combo-plasma at his side and strode off towards the launch bay.

***

The word’s come down the command net – voids will fail within half an hour. I switch to a secure vox-channel and update my spotter teams. ‘I want those midges in the air the moment those voids buckle’. I’m saying this more for my own benefit than theirs; these guys are veterans of dozens of unterhanders and know what they’re about. I’m the new guy on his first day in charge.

The midges are nice pieces of kit; autonomically-enabled camera drones, small enough to escape notice during the insanity of a full-bore assault. They should provide additional coverage for those areas where the guys can’t get direct eyes-on.

A heavy impact on my shoulder plate rocks me; I turn to see the lead sarge gesturing towards the gaping access hatch at the rear of our waiting Chimera.

Time to box up.

I scramble for the hatch, noticing that the rest of the squad is already inside. The only seat left is the one closest to the door. I smile humourlessly behind my helmet visor: [i]how nice, they’ve saved me the suicide spot.[/i]

Crawling and wriggling, I squeeze into the troop carrier and settle down, securely wedged between the closing hatch and the squad sarge next to me.

[i]The things I do for the High Lords of Terra[/i] ...

***

Erskine crossed the expanse of the launch bay, headed for his personal drop pod. The other five were ready to go, sealed and suspended from their launch cradles.

As he approached, he opened the squad vox-channel and transmitted a readiness query. Eight of the power-armoured figures cocooned inside gave immediate green responses. The ninth, of course, remained silent.

Satisfied that his squad was ready, Erskine gave a signal to a nearby deck officer then stepped aboard the pod. He slotted his personal weapons into housings on either side of his seat then settled in and pulled the heavy restraint harness down and over himself. It locked into place with an eager snap, pinning him to the shock-absorbing seat.

As he relaxed into position, Erskine watched the deck officer direct a gang of servitors as they hauled up the petal doors of the pod, securing them firmly in place with explosive bolts. When the green tell-tale went on, he did a dummy run of the firing circuit controlled from his helm’s systems. All appeared well.

It was time to commit his forces to the field. He opened a vox-link to the squad commanders in the other pods.

‘Brothers, we embark this day to do the bidding of the Immortal God-Emperor. We are obliged to fight alongside the faithless, the blinkered and those who have turned aside from the light of His truth. Let not their impurities concern us. We know our purpose. We shall further His cause.

‘Strength of will. Courage of will’.

He gave the ‘execute’ command and felt the vibrations through the deck as the five other pods were spat planetwards like kinetic projectiles. The two-minute delay before his own pod was due to launch irked him as a commander of men; he fumed the seconds away in silence, waiting, waiting ...

***

‘Voids are down! Standybystandby!’ The driver’s voice over the vox is suffused with excitement. Everyone packed into the Chimera feels it – we’ve been cooped up in here with nothing to do but sweat and smell each others’ interesting conglomerations of bodily odours. ‘Bombardment has ceased! I’m seeing contrails!’ he adds breathlessly. The vehicle shakes as he guns the engine impatiently, waiting for the go command.

I switch to a vox-feed from my observation teams. The mag’s been cranked so it’s a little grainy but I can see the six ... no wait, five? ... drop pods screaming down towards the fortress. AA fire blooms above them – they’re falling way too fast to track.

Five pods?

‘Midges go go’, I murmur, and get crackles of acknowledgement from my people. Two dozen extra vid-channels suddenly go live and I cycle through them at random, knowing it’s all being recorded for more detailed study later.

So far, so according to plan. [i]Damn, I’m good[/i].

I pick a feed that’s giving a good overhead view down inside the Bastion’s walls. The drop pods strike as one, the sheer catastrophic force of their impact smashing the rockcrete surface asunder and bowling over anyone unfortunate enough to be in the open.

The tops of each pod ripple with small explosions and the petal doors blossom open. Death roars out. Grey-armoured Astartes surge into the courtyard, bolters spitting streams of explosive rounds into the shocked, disoriented defenders.

They’re targeting the heretics up on the walls, the ones crewing the heavy weapons. They die in droves as they try desperately to turn the big guns to face inwards rather than out. Those few traitors in the courtyard in a position to fight back are treated with contempt, the return fire from lasguns and stubbers ignored whilst the higher-priority threats are silenced.

It’s a sobering watch. I’ve seen some pretty brutal actions when I’ve been allowed out in the field before but this is on a whole other level. The Relictors fight with an arrogance borne of absolute faith – the briefings I’ve seen tell that they believe falling in battle sees them promoted to join the Emperor’s vanguard, mustering to fight the Second Crusade. In their minds, whatever fate befalls them on the battlefield, they can’t lose.

In a matter of seconds, the heretics’ tactical position inside the courtyard has become untenable. Those scattered survivors with the sense to retreat to fortified firing positions have done nothing but prolong their lives by a scant few seconds. Astartes armed with heavier weapons are emerging from the pods, plasma cannons and missile launchers knocking out blockhouses and remote turrets with sledgehammer simplicity.
The five tactical squads split down into smaller teams, some remaining with the heavy weapons to continue the courtyard suppression whilst the others converge on the gatehouse, laden with meltabombs and breaching charges. I’m struck by the casual unearthly speed of their advance; nothing that massive and bulky should be able to move so damn fast and smoothly.

I’m seriously beginning to hope I find nothing suspicious in the Relictors’ behaviour.

The Chimera lurches and I bounce off the sarge and hit my head on the hatch. I set my helmet straight and brace myself as the driver floors the accelerator and sends the Chimera bellowing towards the fortress gates. The approach is mined, of course, but General von Hoorst used the cover of the lance barrage to send a penal detachment forward to clear a path. Our driver steers a zigzag course, following the cratered section of roadway. [i]Emperor bless the good ol’ size 9 hobnailed mine detectors – it looks like they didn’t miss a single one[/i].

My attention’s suddenly drawn to a priority flashfeed from one of the teams. I switch to the indicated vidstream and rewind to see what the flap’s about.

The sixth Relictors drop pod has made a belated appearance. I’m watching it arrow down towards the fortress when there’s a sudden fury of AA fire from an unsilenced heretic position. Flak flowers bloom all around the pod and I can make out what appears to be a direct impact.

[i]Throne! That’s Erskine’s pod![/i]

Knocked off course, the captain’s drop pod corkscrews into the central keep of the fortress about a third of the way from the top. I cancel the replay and cycle through the other channels, looking for a live feed with good eyes-on.

What I see doesn’t look promising. It looks like Erskine’s pod has smashed straight through the keep’s wall, coming to rest precariously balanced – smoke and steam is venting badly from damaged systems, obscuring any chance of getting a proper damage assessment.

I may not be a trooper but, by the Throne, I know how to swear like one. I’m cursing furiously under my breath as I try to direct spotters and midges around to get some idea of just what exactly is happening inside the fortress. I’m desperate to find out what’s going on.

A feeling that’s obviously shared by the Relictors themselves. As soon as they become aware of their captain’s predicament, they ramp up the aggression and bloodshed even further. If watching them before scared me, now I’m absolutely bloody terrified. With the exception of those tasked to take down the fortress’s gates, every one of the Astartes makes for the keep, annihilating everything in their path without apparent conscious thought.

I witness the lead Astartes shoulder-charge the armoured door at a dead run, a shaped breaching charge jammed against his pauldron. Lasfire from the door’s sentry turrets splashes ineffectually from his battle plate, failing to even slow him down as he hits the door at what must be thirty miles per hour.

There’s a flash of light and the doorway disappears amid roiling smoke. There’s no sound in the pict-images I’m watching; I catch myself mouthing the word ‘boom’. It’s a ridiculous moment of bathos but it’s all I can do ... I’m struggling to articulate any cogent response to what I’ve just seen.

The breach made, the Astartes storm the keep. I don’t envy the defenders.

***

From his position hanging upside down from his restraint harness, Captain Erskine looked across at Steltz and growled, ‘I trust that was “appropriately spectacular” enough?’ Steltz raised a thumb in response.

The captain hit the release on his harness and dropped, landing comfortably on the inclined hull of the pod. ‘A moment, brothers’, he advised, then triggered the explosive bolts securing the petal doors. The topmost three blew open, wrecking themselves in the process as they were slammed way past their intended stopping points. Erskine vaulted nimbly out, spinning to the left whilst his combi-plasma’s gun cam swept right.

He had a full three-sixty threat assessment within a second and identified a dozen active targets; garrison troops who had the misfortune to be the first responders to the pod’s incursion.

Continuing his near-pirouette, he targeted the six furthest away and squeezed off three short bursts. The exploding bolts made a mockery of their flak armour, smashing them back into the bare rockcrete walls and leaving them in crumpled ruin on the floor.

The annihilation of their comrades was of little immediate interest to the remaining soldiers - they were too busy dying as Erskine ploughed into them, chainblade snarling and spitting. He paid them little heed as he carved them up, his mind already focussing on the next stage of the plan.

The last of the traitors died in terrified, uncomprehending agony, the chainblade protruding through his back and his hands grasping futilely at Erskine’s gauntleted forearm. The captain shook him off of the weapon absent-mindedly and voxed his squad.

‘Clear’.

Eight of his men emerged from the wrecked drop pod, bolters raised and fanning the room. The ninth remained limp in his harness.

‘Proceed’.

Two Astartes shouldered their bolters and retrieved the last squad member from the pod. He stood, swaying slightly, between them. Whilst this was going on, another of the Marines quickly rigged a two-metre circle of meltacord on the floor in the chamber’s centre. This done, he looked up at Erskine and gave a nod of confirmation.

‘Steltz’.

Erskine and Steltz stood back to back inside the circle, bolters at their shoulders, pointing downwards.

‘Detonate’.

The meltacord was triggered. With a hissing whoosh, it reduced the rockcrete beneath it to white-hot slurry, sending a neat circle of flooring plummeting through to the level below. The two Relictors dropped like stones directly into the traitors’ command centre, ten metres below them. Their bolters roared continuously as they fell, walking fire across the huddled groups of defenders hunkered down behind cover with their weapons levelled at the door.

Stun grenades tossed down through the hole above added to the almighty confusion. Disorientated, panicked men began firing at random, not able to deal with the brutal, unexpected threat vector. Amidst the mayhem, Erskine and Steltz hit the floor, the colossal impact of landing driving them to their knees.

They surged back to their feet, jettisoning spent magazines and slamming home fresh ones as they moved. Still back to back, they set about unleashing the God-Emperor’s vengeance upon everything before them. Return fire meant nothing; they were the eye of an irresistible hurricane.

Finally, the last of the threat icons in Erskine’s HUD winked out. Of the forty or so traitors who had been holed up in the command centre, only one was left.

And what a one.

Thomastes, late of the Ecclesiarchy, stood behind a pile of broken bodies – his fanatical honour guard had absolutely refused to give ground, dying in place before their twisted prophet.

He did not look quite so awe-inspiring now. His gaudy vestments, crudely desecrated with the eight-pointed mark of the Archenemy, were covered in blood and other, less heroic, bodily outpourings. Concussion from a near-miss had caused him to bleed from his nose, and he swayed as if drunk.

As Erskine advanced towards him, he raised a denunciatory hand and began to spit out a hate-fuelled litany of lies.

Erskine raised his combi-plasma.

***

We tear through the ruins of the gatehouse with the throttle nailed open, the bodies of its former defenders pulping and slipping beneath our tracks. The Chimera’s gunner lays down suppressive fire as we slew to a halt but I reckon it’s more through habit than necessity. The traitors in the courtyard are nothing but bloodstains and bad memories.

The driver pops the hatch and we all pile out, hellguns hot and adrenaline surging. The stench of death all around is intoxicating – we’re desperate to add to it, to make our mark in this charnel house.

Behind us, I hear more Chimeras thundering into the courtyard, deploying squads to sweep and clear the area. I’m not interested – my eyes are on the blown keep doorway ahead of me.

I have to get inside. Have to see. Have to [i]know[/i].

The sarge, as per the orders given to him personally by General von Hoorst, leads the squad into the keep. We run, caution thrown to the winds, taking the wide stone stairs two and three at a time. It’s not just me – everyone wants to be there at the death, to witness the Relictors bring this campaign to its bloody, righteous conclusion.

I’m switching through my vox and pict-feeds faster than a mono-purposed servitor, frantic to get an idea what’s happening in the command centre. There’s lots of static and disruption to go along with the smoke – it looks like the Relictors have destroyed the shielding on some pretty heavy-duty power converters during their assault.

We reach a mezzanine level, obviously the site of a last stand. A half-squad of Astartes are in the process of dismantling a temporary emplacement; two of them are shifting quarter-ton structural beams out of the way whilst their fellows are cleaning blood and gobbets of flesh from the teeth of their chainblades. Their calmness is disconcerting; the fervour and fury which possessed them scant moments before has fled. If it wasn’t for the fact they’re treading pieces of people into the floor as they move around, you’d swear they were on a training mission.

Unnerving though it is, their behaviour gives me hope. I doubt they’d be so calm if Captain Erskine was dead or badly injured.

We carry on up the stairs. They watch us as we go. Silent. Detached.

[i]High Lords be praised![/i] I get a vid-pict squirt come through to my visor. One of the midges is in position and transmitting; its controller is burning through its power reserves to give it the juice to break through the background distortion. Good man – I’ll have to remember to mention him in my report.

The vid-pict is grainy and jumpy but I’m fine with that. The command level looks like an abattoir – I’m guessing there’s dozens of corpses but it’s hard to be sure as a lot of them are in pieces. I blink in surprise, noticing that one of the Astartes is prone on the floor, two of his comrades kneeling over him. [i]Must have been a helluva fight.[/i]

The midge pans round a touch and I catch my breath as I see the endgame played out before me. Erskine, bare-headed and raging, dominates the centre of the devastation, his combi-plasma clenched tightly in his huge armoured fist as he stalks towards the renegade preacher Thomastes.

The traitor appears unsteady on his feet and has obviously taken some damage already during the attack. He’s not about to give up, though; as the captain bears down on him, Thomastes throws up a hand – it’s a textbook gesture of invocation ... the bastard’s trying to conjure something up from the Warp to save himself. [i]Kill him![/i] I scream silently as I redouble my efforts and charge up the final few steps towards the command level.

I hurtle through the doorway just in time to get caught in the backwash from Erskine’s combi-plasma as he discharges it point-blank into Thomastes’ face. The traitor’s head and shoulders disappear, vaporised by the bolt of sun-hot plasma, and the corpse collapses to the ground in a boneless heap.

Seemingly unaware of my presence, Erskine slowly lowers his sidearm. The only sound in the room is the soft hiss of coolant venting from its steaming muzzle,

‘So die all heretics and traitors to the Imperium.’ He says it softly, but something about the flat finality of his tone scares me on an instinctual level.

My squad clatters through behind me, spilling into the room and breaking the introspective, menacing tone that’s settled over the scene. Erskine turns slowly to regard us and prods Thomastes’ corpse with the toe of his boot.

‘This is your heretic. Given that he used his sorcerous powers to turn this entire garrison from the Emperor’s light, I thought it prudent to err on the side of caution when it appeared he would attempt to resist us. Please pass on my apologies to General von Hoorst if he was hopeful of a prisoner’.

I nod dumbly, trying to frame a dozen things in my head at once. I start to put together some form of appropriate response but Erskine cuts me off.

‘We must return to our vessel’. He nods towards the Marine lying sprawled on the floor. He’s taken a beating and he’s obviously not conscious. ‘Brother Reyar’s armour was damaged during the impact and he sustained serious injury during the cleansing. He should be fine, assuming we get him back to the Apothecarion aboard the [i]Affirmation of Faith[/i] without delay’.

Four of the Astartes carefully lift their fallen comrade and carry him from the chamber, whilst the remainder close ranks about their captain. He turns to leave, then stops and faces us again. Addressing the sarge, he formally hands over possession of the fortress to the Imperial Guard. He then turns his gaze on me. ‘Please pass on my regards to General von Hoorst’, he rumbles. ‘Tell him his men fought well and with honour’.

And then they’re gone.

Idly, I watch through a midge as a Thunderhawk banks in, looking to land just outside. The Relictors are already lining up to embark, their mission completed and responsibilities discharged.

The sarge nudges me in the ribs, gesturing about him with the muzzle of his hellgun.

‘Good job they’re on our side, eh?’ he opines, grinning.

I look at the charnel house the Relictors have left behind, silent testament to their focussed rage and boundless violence. It seems impossible to believe that such destruction could have been wrought so casually, by so few men.

I nod absently by way of reply.

***

The Thunderhawk howled as it surged skywards, powering through the upper atmosphere and aiming for the stars. The Relictors of the 2nd Company sat in orderly rows in their acceleration couches, occupying themselves with the usual post-battle minutiae.

Captain Erskine leaned forwards and nodded towards the Relictors’ sole casualty of the conflict, lolling limply in harness opposite him. ‘How is he?’

Steltz was sat next to the man. He reached across and unsnapped the Marine’s helm, lifting it clear to make a visual examination. Thomastes’ face was revealed, looking of childlike proportions within the Astartes battle plate. There was an ugly bruise on his temple that looked like it could have come from the butt of a combi-plasma.

‘I think you fractured his skull, brother-Captain. He’ll be fine’.

Erskine nodded, happy. ‘Good. We’ll need him in decent condition to give the interrogator-chaplains something to work with. If our friend is to be believed, this heretic holds the key to discovering the location of the Diamedes Archive. He must not be allowed to die before he gives that information up’.

Steltz turned back to look at the unconscious heretic, a bleak smile on his lips. ‘He’ll soon think that servitor you vaporised got the better of the swap’.

***

There was silence in the Inquisitor-Lord’s offices as Solkayn finished his debrief. Cyarro leaned back in his wooden chair, nodding to himself as he mulled over what he had just heard.

‘So what will your report recommend?’ he asked, giving the younger man a level, neutral stare.

Solkayn shifted uneasily under the scrutiny, aware of the importance of the correctness of what he would say next, but not getting any cues from Cyarro’s impassive scrutiny.

He steeled himself and looked his superior in the eye. ‘My report will conclude that there is neither reason nor need to invoke any sanction at this time. Captain Erskine and his men discharged their duties with admirable zeal and efficiency. I would recommend nothing further than discrete continued surveillance’.

Cyarro nodded slowly, obviously considering this from all possible angles. ‘Very well. Thank you for carrying out a difficult and delicate task with such aplomb. It bodes well for your future’.

He quirked a smile at Solkayn and turned his gaze to the window wall before them, resting his chin in his hands.

Solkayn took his cue and stood, smoothing down his formal robes of office. He bowed deeply then turned and exited the chamber with a spring in his step, reassured beyond measure by Cyarro’s approval of his activities.

As the door ground closed behind the departing Solkayn, Cyarro allowed the smile that he had kept locked within himself to show on his face. He rubbed his hands together, nodding in quiet satisfaction. The young ambitious fool had played his unwitting part to perfection, buying the Relictors precious time to continue their sacred work.

The Diamedes Archive would soon be found. And Cyarro would possess it.
]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/428849/3893728.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/428849/3893728.page GMT 40k fluff... ever. So please don't be too harsh, I know that its not entirely correct, but I am going to work on it! =][/i][/b]

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A harsh wind crept against the side of his pale, ashen face with sentiment that felt oddly calming in the present circumstances. It had been days since he had last seen another living soul, and before that he had only came into contact with the filth that had captured him from his own home a month ago today. His situation didn't feel right, and even though he knew it futile, he constantly cursed into the empty darkness that had settled around his now fragile body. To be taken prisoner, and neglected in such a way as he had been, was not only a great dishonour amongst his people as it was well practiced that one should commit suicide during capture, but it was also highly embarrassing and degrading. No food was provided to him, no light shone into his cage that hung precariously from a surface he could barely see, and as the hours passed by the more weakened his body became. His glorious white robes of his kin had been stripped from his flesh and cast into fire; his captors shrieking about xenos filth, and his many trophies had been taken away and destroyed by the humans that had placed in a cage like a filthy animal.

And Galianthias, Archon from Commaragh, wasn't best pleased.

A slow grumble of obscene language in his native tongue escaped his lips as an eerie scratching noise of his long nails scrapping against the iron floor of his prison echoed through the blackness. Then, silence met his ears again, and he came to rest against the bars with a slow yet pained sigh that formed white, funnelled fog that lingered from his lips. His black hair was matted by dirt and sweat, but it still managed to swim around his shoulders which framed a series of runes and symbols across his upper arms and back. Each one had been tirelessly etched into his skin with a blade, a long time tradition amongst his kabal.

Most of the scars looked similar, some identical but a few spanned most of his skin and engulfed him in places. They catalogued a story of his existence so far, the bloodshed, the women raped, the men cast into pain and anguish and the worlds destroyed by his people. Yet, the largest one told a complete story of how he came to be so honoured amongst the Dark Eldar people, its surface littered with Eldar symbols that had been defaced heavily, leaving gruesome gaping hole in his skin. Over the symbols lay an elaborate pattern, one that formed a picture of a male screaming in agony, blood dripping from his already mangled corpse...

"Xenos scum..."

A voice, it was femine yet harsh and brutal at the same time, but Galianthias made no attempt to look up. His eyes stayed glued on his scars, his fingers dancing over them, his skin tingling from the sensation, a sick smirk lurking on his face as he recalled long gone memories. The smell of blood, the sound of pain... oh how glorious such things were! Oh what he would give to relive them...!

"How dare you ignore the Canoness?"

Another female voice boomed through the darkness around him, making him lightly chuckle before he brought his purple eyes up and finally locked eyes with the ones who had him. Humans were always repulsive, so her chubby face and pimpled skin didn't surprise him, she was as ugly as the slaves that scrubbed his floors back home.

"My apologies."

Galianthias muttered, his voice nothing more than a coarse waspish sound as he moved slowly to face the two Battle Sisters peering at him. The sudden urge to launch him at them and try to rip their tiny eyes from their heads was overwhelming, but he fought it back regardless. It was a pointless act, and no good had come from it before, only a cry of anger and several more days of solitude.

"Filthy Xenos."

The canoness muttered beneath her breath before she simply turned around and vanished into the darkness, the sound of heavy boot echoing until she grew too far for him to hear her departure. The other human had followed, and so once again he was alone, but just as he went to sit back his eyes caught glimpse of something and he turned his head to see the large barrel of a bolt gun take aim through the bars...




To be continued.
]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/428514/3888059.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/428514/3888059.page GMT

P.S. I know that the begining doesnt make a lot of sense with the "Lords of Kraw" amd whatnot, but I plan on making another story about the future of Death's Head, my chapter.





You see, I was there, long ago, before the Lord of Kraw, before the Doomsayers, before the Siegebreaker, even. But I suppose you want me to start from the beginning. All right. It was the 41st millenium. The green armour of the Death Guard clanked as they trundled down the fortress passageway. "Hah! This was too easy!" said Felonius Caucus, his mouth making an unpleasant squelching noise as he did so. He and the others in his squad looked ahead to their destination, the black door to an ancient vault of the ruined castle. The coast seemed clear, but the whole place so far had an eerie feeling that put even their superhuman nerves on edge. They continued, that feeling growing as the statues that lined the walls seemed to be watching. Suddenly the hand of one of the statues shot out and grabbed Caucus' throat. He turned with his bolter ready, but too late. The last thing he ever saw was the expressionless mask of an Astartes helmet and a flash of light. His squadmates quickly ran from the statues, thinking them trapped. The two first to step throught the door, bolters raised, went flying out seconds later, bowling over their comrades. They were then ruptured by a hail of shells, ending all but one. He quickly jumped up, opening fire with his bolter into the dark room. A single Astartes rushed out, enduring the withering hail of fire. The the marine cackled as he took fire, and then, closing, drew his chainsword. The other attempted to use his boltgun as a club, but one arm was quickly hacked off. The mad marine then proceded to carve his way through the nurgle worshipper. 

"Emperor, Tyrone you are a lunatic." rasped Honoured Brother Geld.

"Just doing what I do best Geld. But what about those chunks of festering meat on the ground? Didn't they used to be soldiers?" asked Brother-Seargent Tyrone in his mad voice.

"Let's move out. This place has outlived it's utility." murmured Epistolary Accanthus.

The Astartes strode purposefully throught the wide, echoing corridors towards the entrance. 2nd Company Captain Leontius rumbled "I hear something out there. Be ready for a fight." checking his heavy bolter as he did so.

As they neared their goal the sound grew more pronounced, eventually becoming distinguishable as marching. They exited the ruined door, courtesy of Geld's fist, and saw a veritable horde of Death Guard preparing to enter the fortress. "Am I seeing this right? That's a lot of rotfucks." growled Leontius.

"Steady. Defensive positions men! Leontius, covering fire! Tyrone keep Leontius out of the melee and stay back! Accanthus take out their armour!" Caeler said in his metallic voice. 

"What are my orders?" Geld asked.

"Make chunks, my friend." Caeler replied.

The Death Guard began a slow, relentless advance, chaos marines keeling over or exploding in sprays of gore. It was a desperate last stand, to be sure, but marines know no fear. Chaos Terminators advanced on their flank, Accanthus moving to hold them off. In a whirlwind of metal, three died. As he swung to end a fourth, his arm was caught. The terminator shoved his gun barrel into the epistolary's abdomen, laughing. "Accanthus!" bellowed Leontius as he raised his pistol, emptying it into the festering giant's head. 

The terminator fell and Accanthus began glowing as he clutched his wounded arm. Seconds later, terminators toppled over or shattered like glass. Geld announced "Sir! Cannon's dry! Don't know how much longer we can last!"

"Fear not! We are the Emperor's finest, and we shall not be felled by pathetic traitors!" Caeler cried as he despatched three of the enemy in as many seconds.

The battle raged on, the Death Guard relentlessly advancing, and being cut down as they did so. Just as all hope seemed lost, ammunition depleted, the scream of an engine resounded through the plains. Scores of Death Guard fell, and a Stormraven shrieked into view. Five Marines dropped from it's grav-chute, guns blazing. I was one of the five that dropped. But of course, I was not the old wretch you see now. I stood resplendent in my armour, sword aglow, heart filled with conviction. 

"Brother Talos! Good to see you! I was afraid we would miss tea time!" Tyrone joked over the vox.

I walked towards the enemy slowly, running one through without breaking stride, turming felling another with my bolt pistol. As the horde thinned, a rotten lord strode forth from it. Cackling and waving his power fist in the air, he advanced toward the heroes of our chapter. Accanthus hissed "Fight me." and leveled his blade with the heretic's head.

The battle raged around them as the duel commenced. Accanthus bowed to his opponent, who, laughing, swung at him. The clumsy strike was evaded easily by the agile psyker. Taking advantage of this, Accanthus struck the rotting fiend. Though he was deflected, the chaos marine was now off-balance. Enraged, he charged. Accanthus unleashed the power of his mind into the frenzied brute. The power fist slowed as it's wielder was assailed, but still swung with immense force. The spyker released his mental grip and swung his fist to block the weapon. The crackling bludgeon glanced off Accanthus' shoulder plate, sending him hurtling to the ground. Laughing, the chaos lord prepared to finish him. Still on the ground, the Epistolary swept his legs out from under him. He lept upon the stricken heretic and began to beat him senseless. Though the blows would have killed a hundred mortal men, this was a champion of Nurgle. Spitting pestilent blood, the traitor mocked "You Imperials may slaughter the pathetic humans who fight for their freedom from your crumbling Imperium, but I will not succumb!"

The rotting champion threw him off and rose to his feet. Accanthus lept up, only to be forced to make a desperate dodge from a furious strike. Seeing he was losing, I attempted to make my way to him, but to no avail, many Death Guard still stood between us.  In a last ditch effort, Accanthus  thrust his blade into the Death Guard, yelling "You WILL succumb to the Emperor's will! Feel His wrath!" 

The Death Guard leader shuddered and sprayed his vital fluids as the wounded Psyker channeled his might into the blade. Accanthus cleaned it and rejoined the battle.
]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/428493/3887655.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/428493/3887655.page GMT
*Warmaster Durandal's Journal*
"Over five million Guardsmen and at least a thousand capital ships...can't say I'm surprised, considering we have Inquisition backing, but after all we've heard about the Ghoul Stars, I can't help but wonder, how many will be coming back? It's not that I'm unsure of victory, but as a Commander, I have to look out for my men, good men and women them all, no matter Commissar Lady Maria saying I'm too sentimental. I'm more concerned about the integrity of the Astartes though. The Blood Ravens and the Black Templars have been at loggerheads from the start, and the fact that Captains Fabian, Ventris, and Sinon of the Ultramarines are the ones keeping them apart worries me, although I'm sure we can count on them all when the time comes. Emperor help us all if they don't. I'm grateful though, that the Mechanicus has decided to send a Legion to help us. Once the Legio Astorum arrive, we can begin. Yes, I'm looking forward to it, an end to this indecisive feeling."

*Inquisition Report - Crusade Forces*
Adeptus Astartes
- Blood Ravens Chapter 4th Company, Captain Aramus
- Black Templars Chapter 19th Crusade Fighting Company, Castellan Cruze
- Ultramarines Chapter 3rd Company, Captain Fabian
- Ultramarines Chapter 4th Company, Captain Ventris
- Ultramarines Chapter 9th Company, Captain Sinon
- Sons of Orar Chapter 5th Company (decimated by enemy, withdrawn) - replaced by Novamarines 8th Company
- Death Spectres Chapter 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th Companies
Imperial Guard
- over five million Guardsmen, and over five hundred thousand armored vehicles (not including non-combatants and support units)
Imperial Navy
- at least one thousand capital ships, indeterminate smaller vessels, attack craft, support units
Titan Legions
- Legio Astorum, en route, at least 50 Titans, includes full Skitarii detachment and naval and aviation arm]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/428333/3884348.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/428333/3884348.page GMT
The Wanderers

Chapter Master: (Council of the Angels ? members)

Homeworld: Neckia (Destoryed) Occupies a star fortress, and garrisions a small fleet

Geneseed: Dark Angels (Fixed)

Founding: Fourth Founding

Chapter No.: 130

Symbol: Darkened Angel

Man-Power: 520

Chapter Tactics: Hit And Run, Close combat Experts, Fast and Forceful Attack, Infiltration

Brotherhoods: Sword Templars (Life debt, as the Sword Templars provided The Wanderers a battle barge that had been recovered, and saving them from the Necrons.) Dusk Guard (War against the Wild Cats, received a Homeworld in aiding in the assault.) Storm Crusaders (aided the 29th company during a Campaign against a Necron Fleet), Ice Angels, Emperor’s Shields (Aided in a small battle against a Wild Cat Company that had survived)

History:

The Wanderers Chapter have been under Strength for at least 150 years. As their planet was destroyed in a war against the Necrons awoke underneath their homeworlds very surface. The Wanderers sent 780 Battle Brothers to fight the Necrons driving them into the very planet itself, activating a self destruct on their Main Battle Barge the Furious Spirit, using this, the wanderers used it as basically a giant ticking time bomb as their numbers fighting against the threat had little to no effect on the Necrons. The Battle Barge crashed itself into the planet, taking the entire planet, the entire Necron tombworld and the remaining Wanderers with it into oblivion. ( I am planning on writing an epic tale of the last stand of the Chapter Master and his forces)

The Chapter was fortunate in that the Libariaus, its forgefather, and its cheif apothecary were not present along with 2 other companies. They had significant loses come across as they looked for the shattered remants of the chapter.

The Chapter had been highly active in its search. Its Original Name has been lost in records but it has taken a new name fittingly The Wanderers. But it is clear they are devoted to the Imperium and they have a deep seated hatred of the Necrons. The Chapter also hunted down [u]artifacts[/u]. These artifacts are to be used for the Chpaters Survival. Though most of the artifacts which are from the Dark Age Technology, they gladly turn it over to the Ordos or the Mechanicum.

The Chapter’s most famous artifact raid was against the Eldar of Ulthwe in the Ghoul Stars. The Wanderers were traveling in a system when they came across a Adeptus Astrates Signal, too weak to be a recent attack. But it was several thousands of years old. The Angel Prince at the time, Altoris (Angel of Honor) lead the Wanderers came across a Desert Planet and detected a large superstructure on the planet below. Wanting not to have an problems arise if it was a trap. The Wanderers sent down their forward Stern Guard and their tactical squads to capture the Superstructure.

When they arrived on the planet below they found a doorway to a massive armory, which contained relics such as Terminator Armor, Relic Blades, Conversion beams, and land raiders, and 500 suits of Power Armor. This founding made The Wanderers praise the Emperor as their luck had finally turned to good. Not only did they find this but as they searched deeper they found technological wonders. And Eldar Relics, the Librarian accompanying The Wanderers forces accidently activated a Eldar Distress beacon. Not knowing what he had done he remained ignorant until it was too late.

The Eldar of Ulthwe arrived in large numbers of Storm Guardians lead by a single Farseer called Ja’loti the so called keeper of relics. Immediately on arrival the Eldar Ground forces attacked The Wanderers Guarding the Superstructure. While the Eldar Ships engaged The Wanderers Fleet above.
Surrounded and almost completely outnumbered Altoris scattered the fleet making it harder for the Eldar to target them. He then sent down his newly Equipped Terminator Squads to the ground below to provide aid to the besieged units below. Also simultaneously sending out Cobra Fighters, to engage the Eldar Fighters.
The Librarian who was at the command of the Ground forces of The Wanderers immediately on sensing a Eldar Pysker nearby bolstered the defenses of the Superstructure by collapsing tunnels and by using the ancient Land Raiders to aid them in their battle against the Eldar who had believed to find only infantry. When the ancient Machines roared to life thanks to their Techmarine Plato they immediately took the battle to the Eldar by driving them back from the caves.

When the Terminators Arrived to provide aid they found The Wanderers pushing the Eldar but still not gaining as much ground as they would like.
With a Final Push the Librarian immediately Engaged Ja’loti in combat, slicing through the Seer Council with relative ease with his assault Squad. The two Pyskers battled each other with their minds and finally the Librarian disemboweled the head of Ja’loti. Taking the force weapon away from the Farseer’s corpse; as a prize. They secured the last of the cargo and prepared for transit. But before they could leave the Eldar attacked yet again. Seeing no other way to aid his brothers Techmarine Plato planted within his land raider several melta charges that he rammed straight into the Eldar Webway gate destroying himself and a large chunk of the Eldar forces.

With no route of escape the Eldar Storm Guardians were quickly mopped up by suppression fire laid down by the enraged Terminators. After Successfully retrieving all the relics and the remnants of the Land Raider that Plato used it was rebuilt and is called Plato’s Fury. The Librarian that had slew the Eldar Farseer is now the Chief Librarian of The Wanderers Chapter as it was still vacant since 50 years before.

[spoiler]The wanderers were once called the Knight's Legion. A secret within the chapter, the Knight's Legion were formerly one of the brightest and staunch warriors of the imperium. The Wanderers are now a shadow of their former selves as their chapter planet and their original head quarters staff were slaughtered. The chapter renamed itself the Wanderers as they felt that they would wander the universe to fight the enemies of the Imperium.

[/spoiler]
[size=18]Organization[/size]
The Wanderers No-long follow the codex astrates, deeming it ignorant of all current events. And as their number is only 520, they denote each Knight Host by angelical markings which are invisible to the naked human eye. Much to the dismay of the Ultramarines, the Wanderers do not keep a single color according to where they are in correlation to what system they enter. They are known to paint their armor into camoflaguing colors to ensure the maximum survivability.
The Wanderers Organize their chapter into Angelic Cells, Knight Hosts, and Grand Companies.
Grand Companies are all that remain of the first company and the major companies of the chapter. Instead of just 100 battle brothers the Grand Companies are 120-140 in strength, there are only 2 active at a time. Both are lead by Archangel Gabriel and Archangel Tyrael. Keltizifiel was once granted Tyrael’s Grand Company, but immediately after the battle of merianis, it was taken from him.
The Knight hosts are known for being larger in campaign and Greater in numbers (roughly). Most of the members of the knight hosts are initiates, and neophytes. The Knight hosts sometimes have veterans of the chapter, these form the backbone and the image of the chapter. There are only 8 Knight hosts comprising of 30-60 Astrates, all knight hosts are lead either by an Angel Prince or Angel Priest or an Angel Noble. The 1st Knight Host is the exception, the largest and most elite, it is lead by the legendary Angel Prince Keltizfiel. Knight hosts are organized similar to codex in that they have tactical marines, devastator marines, assault squad marines, and command squads.

Angelic Cells are smaller and rarer consisting of 10-25 battle brothers, they usually maintain recruiting worlds keeps or smaller campaigns. Three cells are lead by Angels or any other officers. Each Angelic cell holds a recruiting worlds for a Knight Host that they originate from or the entire chapter. For example the Forcas’s Avengers recruit from the World of Tanil a minor hive world. They recruit specifically for the 3rd knight or Gavreel Slayers. Which are famous for conducting lightning fast raids upon Ork Waghs!

The wanderers are spread out considerably far apart from each other. The Chapter is very well known for appearing on the battlefield in times of abosutle need. And then disappearing when Imperial Forces gain the upper hand.

[size=18] Beliefs[/size]
The Wanderers know they are not like other Astartes. As they consider themselves too human to be considered Astartes. More common among their number, the wanderers stand apart from other chapters. Being notably quieter, shorter, less angered and patient. They unlike the Storm Crusaders rely on short but efficient close combat. They also hold the Emperor as a Spiritual Guardian and Sole Founder of the Imperium. -Like many other astartes- Each Wanderer is considered by the chapter to be a resource. Each Astarte's death is tragedy upon the chapter. Most notably the Wanderers are extremely well trained. Even more so than a Regular Astartes. The chapter has since disbanded any ideals of increasing the chapter size. Instead they will remain only 520 in number at one time. The Wanderers rarely take credit for their battles. Usually giving imperial forces that were fighting the credit.

The chapter is also noted in having one member of their chapter being called the Angel of Death or more famously known as The Reaper. He is the chapter Champion and the spiritual link to the chapter's past. His armor unlike the rest of the chapter is always denoted in jet black, and he is always carrying a Man Reaper. The Reaper is known to always be elected if the individual before hand had commited an act that may have caused harm to the chapter. This individual gives his name, his rank, his honors, and everything he once was into the fires of the past. Forever being cladded in the Armor of The Reaper.

[size=18] Notable Characters [/size]
Chapter Master  Arch Angels –note, the Wanderers are lead by 7 ArchAngels and 1 Herald, Each stands for a different part of the chapter and each is granted power, all are equal and all vote on the Herald. This relatively new
The First Gabriel  Angel of Messengers(alive)- Lord of the Fleet Holds control of the Chapters Star Fort and maintains all communication within the chapter, such as campaigns, current standings and diplomatic affairs.
The Second  Raphael  Angel of Knowledge(alive)- Chief Librarian of the Chapter, Maintains Library, has redoubled the efforts to allow Librarians to run as Captains or Angel Princes with the loss of Arch Angel Jacob, this allows a fresh source of new Angel Princes and Captains to always been open to any member of the chapter.
The Third Tyrael  Angel of Justice(Alive)- Is one of the few surviving members of the original Chapter Council, administers cleansing of the chapter of taint if needed.
The FourthJacob Angel of War(Deceased)- Killed during the Second Invasion of Meranis. Was noted in having a man reaper as his main weapon. His armor and his weapons were given to the Angel of Death.
The Fifth   Angel of Healing(Alive) Chief Apothecary, maintains geneseed.
The SixthFlatinus Angel of the Forge (alive)-Forge Master, maintains the Tech Marines of the Wanderers, but increasingly the chapter has heavily relied on Forge Master to gain support for their growing armory.
The SeventhAngel of Litanies(Alive) Leader of the Chaplains, or Master of Sanctity, which maintains the chaplains of the wanderers.
The Herald The First Angel The Chapter Master and figure head of the Wanderers, maintains the chapter secrets.

Please comment on this lore!
This lore is far from complete!


[size=9]Automatically Appended Next Post:[/size]
Dang it! Miss spellings EVERYWHERE!]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/428209/3882167.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/428209/3882167.page GMT 40k universe meaning some of the equipment/insignia etc might be off. On another point I'm not sure which area to post this is so if the mods want to move it I'm fine with it. I'm thinking of making a few more or should I be locked up for my insane chicken scatchings? I will let you all be the judge.

[IMG]http://i1269.photobucket.com/albums/jj597/PvtJoker23/P2040059.jpg[/IMG]

I was stumped on what subject to draw and after a while I decided to make Death Korps inspired guardsmen in a trench war with mutated Chaos guardsmen. Comments are always welcome! ]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/427882/3876929.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/427882/3876929.page GMT
The locals had reacted....strangely, to their presence, watching them carefully, going inside as they neared, and acting as one to just...stare at them as if they were as soulless as the abominable Tyranids. The farm finaly comes into sight, its dark form silhouetted against the very nearly set sun. A faint, red light comes out from between the shutters, lighting up the nearby terrain with a ghostly glow. All is silent. The six men slowly walk up to the forboading building, the dread lit up on their faces. The man at the back, stephen, shaking in fear as he is the youngest. Jenkins was the first to come close to the building. He knockes on the heavy, wooden door. Instantly, the lights go out and a quiet sound, almost a whisper, comes from the house. And again, all is silent.

"Uhhhh, Jenkins? JENKINS!" The whole squad turns as Stephen squeals. Standing a few metres behind the squad is a tall, dark figure. He wears smooth, onyx armour. He is heavily armoured in the stuff and his arms, legs and torso are covered in it. At his hip lies a skabard in which lies a long sword, glowing with baleful red light. On his face is a slab of the black metal, seemingly without any eye holes. A large, red star of chaos covers the black slab. The whole squad remains still at the stranger's aproach.
"Imperial guard, state your Business here civilian."
The figure remains still, tilting its head to the side before making an electronic-sounding growling. Michael, the squad's plasma gunner, seems utterly unpeturbed, and Casually strolls up to the stranger.

"Hey, I don't think you heard, FREAK! He said, STATE YOUR BUSINESS!" Michael shouts at the figure.
For a moment both stand still and silent. Then Michael slumps to the ground with a thud.



(What do you guys think? This is my first attempt at a story so it probably is not that great, but please suggest ways to make it better if you can and tell me what you think :) )

By the way, its not yet finished.]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/427787/3875468.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/427787/3875468.page GMT
I've spent the last few months with absolutely nothing to do, so I had a go at writing some WFB fan-fiction, hope you like it :)


[b][i]The wind blew harshly over the dark sea, showering the Endeavour with icy spray. The crew were used to the harsh conditions of the northern seas and continued their tasks, un-phased by the icy spray. Phillipe was not. Each spray stung his face like a thousand glass needles, forcing him to hide his face under his hooded cloak, every movement taking enormous effort, the icy winds that blew over him seemed to freeze his very bones together.
"Phillipe my friend! What are you doing out here on deck?" came the enthusiastic voice of the ship’s captain, barely audible above the crashing of the sea against the ship’s hull. "You should be inside with the others, enjoying yourself in the warm comfort and company that is mine!"
"I cannot my friend" He replied calmly as he turned to face him. "I cannot enjoy myself while my people fight for survival, I have no right" he spoke softly as he turned to once again face the stormy seas.
"Do not worry my friend, we will find what it is your are looking for, then your people will be free of the horrors they are forced to endure" The captain said solemnly, gently placing a hand on Philippe’s shoulder.
"Thank you captain, but it is not finding the object that is my concern, it is those whom are following us" he replied, a distraught look on his face as he looked up at the captain. "They know what I am seeking, and they know what will happen to them if I am successful in my search. I am afraid captain that I have put your ship and the lives of yourself and your crew in terrible danger. They will catch us, and when they do so they will show no mercy" Spoke Phillipe quietly, gripping the edge of the ship tightly.
"How can they catch us Phillipe, when they do not know where we are heading? When we do not know where we are heading? We are safe Phillipe, even if they knew where we were, they could not catch us in this storm" The captain replied, a slight chuckle in his voice.
Phillipe wanted to believe him, truly he did, but inside he knew this was not true. They would catch them, he could sense it. He could sense the evil in their hearts, and he was terrified. Not for himself, but for his people. If he was caught he would be killed where he stood as a traitor, but his people, they would be subject to horrors unimaginable, tortures too terrifying to even think about.
Suddenly a scream seemed to fill his head, one of such ferocity he fell to his knees clutching his ears, he screamed for the noise to stop, writhing in agony as it grew louder and louder.
The Captain was confused, Phillipe was on the deck, clutching his ears screaming that he could here an agonising scream, yet he could hear nothing. He looked around him and saw no reaction in any of his crew.
He looked over the prow of the ship, and then he understood. There in front of them, the black silhouette of a warship broke through the storm, he knew the instant he saw it that it was them, Phillipe was right, they knew where they were heading, and they had caught them.
As if by some unnatural force the storm seemed to move around the two ships, the moonlight illuminating the ships as they closed towards each other. The Endeavour was outmatched in every way, she was a small, sleek trading vessel, designed to make long, essential trading runs to the north in a matter of weeks, and the enemy ship was 5 times her size. As she drew closer the disgusting decayed symbols of the chaos god of plague became visible, torn into the sails of the Imperial warship, a great cloud of flies hung around the chaos ship like a fog around the coast, filling the air with the sound of flies. Even though she was much larger than the Endeavour, she was still able to match her in speed and manoeuvrability, as if she was being carried upon the waves by some magical force.
The Captain prepared his ship and crew for a battle he knew he could not win, but he would not go down without a fight. If he could damage the enemy in any way possible then some other unlucky trading ship might just have a chance to escape. He looked down at his friend Phillipe who still lie screaming, he knew there was nothing he could do for him, they were inside his head, and they were tearing him apart from the inside.
"Prepare to defend the ship!" he roared as he drew his sword. "This will be our last fight, there is no doubt. But we will not sit like wounded cattle and wait for death, we shall charge towards her, fighting like true warriors of the white wolf! Dyeing like true warriors of the Empire!" He bellowed into the night. His crew gave an almighty roar as they drew their weapons, every one of the knew they would not see the light of day again, but they were safe in the knowledge that they would die as they lived, screaming into the face of adversity.
Suddenly the smell hit them, the smell of unholy decay, of a thousand dead bodies rotting where they stood. Every sailor and soldier doubled over as they grew closer to the plagued ship, not a single man could stand the smell. Now the imperial ships fate was sealed, if the chaos warriors that were onboard the unholy atrocity of a ship that faced them, then the many diseases that they carried would. The slightest touch would cause their skin to break out in boils and pustules of every size and colour, the diseases pulsing round their bodies, killing them within seconds, if they were lucky. If they were not they would be cursed to live their life as a servant to the chaos god of plague and corruption, the chaos god Nurgle.
Suddenly a light shone brightly from behind them, splitting a passage through the flies, removing the stench and decay of the enemy.
The Captain turned to see Phillipe standing behind them, his eyes shining with a holy flame as he chanted words in an incomprehensible language. Relief spread across his face as he turned back towards the chaotic vessel, now they had a chance, with a wizard on their side the chaotic diseases and corruption could not harm them, and even the toughest armour was not able to stop the power of one versed in the arts of magic.
[/i][/b]]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/427681/3873410.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/427681/3873410.page GMT

This is my chaos warband which i HAVE made models for and painted. This is the overview of the host and and feedback will be welcome.
I am new here and have only just made an account. Here's what i got so far:

Name: The chimeric host

Primarch: Mortarion/Angrom

Warcry: ROT THEIR ARMIES, SPILL THEIR GUTS!

overview: The chimeric host are unique in a way, as they are a genetic combination of both the world eaters and the death guard, meaning their armies have equal amounts of blood-thirsty berserkers as rotting plague marines. giving them various tactical options. This unique heritage does come at a price, however, as the warband suffers from rampant mutation, which reflects the individual. For example, plague marines sport rat-like heads while berserkers possess beast like heads and limbs. The chaos spawn and possessed in their armies are not the result of the blessings of the gods, but those who could not handle the gene-seed, and were overcome with mutation, becoming horrific amalgamams of man and foul beast.


LEADER: The cloven, Chimeric demon prince of the Gods.

SECOND IN COMMAND: Mortis, chaos lord of the chimeric path

FLAGSHIP: The Wyrmmaw.

How does it look?]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/427509/3870817.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/427509/3870817.page GMT
Valerian held the training spatha in a two-handed grip above his head. "The hawk", a stance he had learned when only a youth. His bare feet padded across the cold diorite floor as he circled his opponent warily. Side-stepping with a tigerish grace, the warrior facing him mirrored his orbit. Valerian's eidetic memory replayed their earlier exchanges in crisp clarity. His gene-enhanced mind maintained combat-focus even as it rapidly dissected each move and counter-move, searching for flaws to exploit. He was forced to admit that the warrior was more than merely competent. His adversary's technique was as unorthodox as it was formidable.

From across the ring, Jamukha broke the silence, "Is this a staring contest, Ultramarine? Do you envy my handsome face, or is it my lustrous hair?" The White Scar wore a lusty smile, one that belied his ferocity in battle. Ceremonial scars crisscrossed Jamukha's leathery face. His scalp was shaven clean save for a central strip of cropped black hair running from the nape of his neck to his forehead. The White Scar's left ear was fringed with half a dozen gold rings, and another two pierced the flesh of his nose.

Valerian smiled. "Your appearance is as atrocious as your accent, Brother. After I finish this lesson in swordplay, I'll teach you proper Gothic."

Guttural, grating laughter from Jamukha. Almost playfully, the White Scar twirled his sparring sabre in a relaxed hand. During their bout, Jamukha had relied almost exclusively on a single-handed grip. That little detail had not escaped Valerian's notice.

The Imperium of Man was not known for its tolerance of diversity. The myriad space marine chapters were a notable exception. Each chapter had its own customs and traditions, its own way of thinking. Back on Macragge, banter in the training ring was a rare thing. Any distraction from the fulfillment of duty was frowned upon if not outright punished. But this was not the realm of Ultramar. This was the Armageddon Sector, a war-torn region of space guarded by the unblinking eye of Watch Fortress Panoptes. Rooted to a rocky planetoid bereft of atmosphere, this bastion of Imperial vigilance was one of the largest Deathwatch strongholds in the segmentum. Its brutal, glowering mass, composed mostly of armoured basilica, domes, and spires, bristled with a vast array of heavy ordinance. At Fortress Panoptes, Brother Astartes hailing from over two dozen chapters made up the current taskforce.

To fight effectively as a Deathwatch member, Valerian had realized he could no longer adhere rigidly to the ways of his chapter. At first, this had bothered him a great deal, but ultimately he had recognized efficiency as the Codex's central tenet. To serve the Emperor efficiently was thus the ultimate goal of any true Ultramarine, even if it meant bending certain rules.

The distance between the two Astartes had grown shorter. Jamukha lunged. His sabre darted out like a snake. Responding almost instantly, Valerian twisted, barely deflecting the blow in time with his heavier spatha. The White Scar's blade grazed Valerian's side and retracted as swiftly as it had struck.

Jamukha smirked. "That would have drawn blood." The White Scar undulated his wrist, knees crouched, his sabre held out in front of him. The curved sword swayed from side to side, like a cobra waiting to strike. "By the Khan, you are slow," he taunted.

"Perhaps," Valerian replied coolly, "but you know…" Without warning, Valerian launched into a furious barrage of two-handed downcuts. Though each strike was slower than one of Jamukha's own, together they were enough to put the White Scar on the defensive. Jamukha's sword arm shook with each impact as he parried. The clashing of their blades rang throughout the training ring. The Ultramarine's final stroke scythed downward at the White Scar's head. Leaning to the side, Jamukha raised his sword to intercept Valerian's, but the lighter sabre held in one hand gave way to the heavier spatha swung by two. Valerian's blade rested next to Jamukha's neck. "You know," Valerian finished, "that I'd never lose to a barbarous son of Chogoris."

"Well fought, son of Ultramar. Few have bested me." Jamukha grinned, flashing gold incisors. " Consider yourself ridiculously lucky." A moment of silence, then Valerian chuckled. The Ultramarine's controlled laughter was quickly joined by the White Scar's hearty guffaws. They disengaged, returning to opposite sides of the ring.

Valerian's face returned to a mask of focus. "Ready when you are, Brother."

II

After sparring, Valerian would sometimes pass through the Grand Ossuary, a vast cavernous chamber carved into the rock below Fortress Panoptes. After the physical exertions of training, walking there was almost a form of meditation. Chandeliers fashioned from xenos bones hung from the ceiling, grim banners of flayed alien skin were nailed to the rough-hewn, gently arched walls. Countless rectangular pedestals were neatly arranged in kilometre-long rows that formed a vast grid covering most of the smooth, marble floor. There was enough space among these rows for an Astartes to walk as a giant striding through a city of skycrapers. On top of the pedestals, xenos skulls lay in silent repose. Valerian walked, surrounded by the glorious work of Battle Brothers who had come before him.

To the Astartes of Fortress Panoptes, this was truly a hallowed place where soldiers of the Emperor could revel in their hatred of the alien. The Ultramarine never dallied, rather, he would pick a new area to explore each time he visited the Ossuary, committing what he saw to eidetic memory. Ork skulls abounded, most of them larger than average, no doubt taken from the war chieftains of that vile, bestial race. Valerian saw a pair of Genestealer skulls resting on a single pedestal. Bile rose in his throat as he thought of the Tyrannic invasion and the First Company's sacrifice. One day that loss would be avenged with the total destruction of the Tyranid race. Balancing his humours, Valerian turned away and his attention fell upon the skull of an unfamiliar creature. During his meditations in the Ossuary, it was not uncommon for the Ultramarine to discover strange species beyond his ken. The skull before him was large and exceptionally grotesque: a pair of deep-set orbital cavities, four fanged mandibles surrounding the mouth. Bony peaks ringed the creature's massive crest-shaped forehead. The back of the thing's head was covered by sockets.

Eye-sockets? Valerian wondered silently. More likely, whatever passed for the creature's hair sprouted from them.

High Gothic script was inscribed on the forehead. It was not unknown for Deathwatch veterans to commemorate victories in this manner. Valerian read the inscription:

Alien filth ambushed Squad Remiel on Gyges IX. Brother Herger and Brother Mardonius were struck down by xenos treachery. Our wrath was great, our vengeance irresistible. I smote off the leader's head as blessed bolter fire wiped out the remaining scum. Sergeant Remiel

Laying low two Astartes was no mean feat. The Ultramarine wondered how many of the creatures had attacked, what foul weapons had they wielded. Valerian honoured Squad Remiel's victory by making the sign of the Aquila over his chest. The Emperor's work had been done. He thought no more of it and went his way.

III

Alone in the massive pit, a Hunter waited for the Kainde Amedha, they of the acid blood and ebon armour. Known to shrug off weaker ballistics, the creatures were called Kainde Amedha - "Hard Meat" - for good reason. Fortunately, against the blade of a Hunter or the searing intensity of his burner, that black armour was all but useless.

Aboard the clan mothership, the Pit was one of the few training rings reserved for senior Hunters. A crowd of yautja, mostly students, had gathered around its circumference, baying harsh, bellowing cheers for the older Hunter below them. Today, they had come to witness the skill of a veteran known as Warkha. It was said that students who were able to learn from him rose quickly through the ranks.

Steel sinews rippling under mottled yellow-green skin, Warkha stood at ease, waiting for the Hard Meat to be unleashed. The dark tendrils snaking from the back of his scalp were tinged blue, a sign of age. He wore this "hair" in a ceremonial topknot, each tendril adorned with ornate metal ringlets. Little else distinguished him physically from the average Hunter.

On the far side of the pit, hidden hydraulics hissed as a large metallic gate was raised. Six of the Kainde Amedha, eyeless drones all, slunk into the ring. Metal-fanged jaws drooling saliva, the creatures hissed sibilantly at the rowdy spectators. A few attempted to scale the walls of the pit, but slipped and slid down the varnished surface. Frustrated, the drones fanned out. They seemed to follow the lead of one stalking ahead of the others. Warkha knew that this was the alpha, the pack leader. It would die first.

The Hunter held out a polearm before him, each end a jagged, irregular blade the shade of midnight. Hunter symbols etched in red stood out from the onyx blades. Warkha twisted the grip hard, and the weapon detached into two halves, each now a serrated, vicious-looking sword. The Hunter rested the blade-tips on the scratched surface of the arena floor, holding the long-handled swords in relaxed grips. The drones were observing him, sizing him up as a potential threat. Raising outstretched arms, Warkha chanted that most holy of holies, the Warrior's Song, that blast of wind and fury able to cow greater prey than these.

Unmoved by the Hunter's display, the drones snarled and began to lope in his direction. The pack leader broke into a lightning sprint, the others not far behind. It pounced through the air. Like a scorpion's sting, the creature's tail-blade lashed out at Warkha's head. The Hunter's timing was superb. He exploded into motion, swords blurring as he leaped to the side. His first strike, an upward backhand, severed the blade from the rest of the tail. Acid blood gushed from the stump. The Hunter was already off to the side. A split second later, his second strike, a lateral blow with the other sword, caught the pack leader between its open jaws. The blade of his sword proceeded to slide lengthwise through the creature's head, splitting it like a banana. The alpha's carcass hit the ground behind Warkha.

A hissing pair converged on him, angled in from the sides. The Hunter was already reversing his grip on each sword. With great bounding strides, he rushed between the attacking drones. As he passed them, his blades swept toward each other in great scissoring arcs, shearing through black chitinous midsections. The drones fell screeching. Acid blood sprayed in a torrential release, but Warkha had stepped clear. The Hunter whirled around, took a split second to aim, and hurled one sword like a javelin. The blade caught a drone in the chest and sent it crashing to the ground in a jumble of clattering limbs. Warkha spun the remaining blade around, switching back to a forward grip.

Two more. They circled him warily now, one moved off to the left, the other to the right in an attempt to outflank him.

With abrupt swiftness, Warkha lunged like a fencer at the one on his right, the closer of the two. It was true that Kainde Amedha had the gift of speed, but the yautja were not far behind. Warkha's sudden initiative caught the drone off guard. As the creature began its ill-timed pounce, the Hunter's sword-tip slammed into its mouth at an upward angle. Warkha twisted the blade as it erupted from the Hard Meat's shiny dome.

The Hunter whipped his blade out and spun around in one fluid motion. The remaining drone was already in mid-air, hurtling at him, claws outstretched. Warkha rolled onto his back, legs that could propel him forty feet into the jungle canopy caught the pouncing drone in its abdomen. He kicked, assisting the creature's momentum. The flailing, hissing drone sailed over the rolling Hunter and landed in a heap before skidding across the arena floor. As the thing scrabbled to its feet, the Hunter was already plummeting from above like a meteor.

With both hands on the grip, Warkha plunged his sword into the creature's dome. The point exploded from the drone's chin and continued to descend. Swordguard slammed into cranium and proceeded to push it down. The tip of Warkha's blade bit into the arena floor, nailing the Hard Meat's phallic head to the ground.

The Hunter stood amid the destruction he had wreaked. Acid blood coating the length of his blade smoked impotently, powerless against the treated metal. No roar of triumph, no howl of victory from the veteran. Warkha raised one fist in the air as the throng of Hunter youths chanted his name.

IV

Since rising from the Cold Sleep, the Hunters had stalked the length and breadth of the Milky Way, pitting their strength and cunning against the galaxy's deadliest prey. The strong among the Hunters collected grisly trophies to prove their status as True Dominators. The frail perished in battle and in dying, cleansed their race of the taint of weakness. By this process, each Hunter contributed to the inexorable progress of the Overpath.

Warkha was old, even by Hunter standards. Though no longer in peak physical condition, he was still fit for the Hunt, a seasoned veteran forged by centuries of experience. These days, what Warkha could no longer accomplish by brawn, he would achieve by skill and guile. Contrary to what many novices thought, that made him more, not less, dangerous.

A host of young amateurs had learned at his feet. A survivor of ten thousand hunts, Warkha had scoured the galaxy for worthy prey. One by one, he had bested them, ripping out skulls and spines when anatomy had allowed. Over the long centuries, Warkha had amassed a collection of trophies most Hunters could only dream of accumulating. Of course, many of these youths would never achieve true greatness, but the exceptions would eventually rise to the ranks of the elite, as Warkha himself had once risen.

In search of new challenges, Warkha had looked to the annals of his race. Of the prey memorialized, many were now extinct, a testament to how far the ancient history of his kind stretched back. Other species praised in the accounts as worthy prey were nothing but disappointments. Through lofty embellishment, the scribes of those accounts must have transformed unremarkable hunts into tremendous feats of skill.

On the verge of giving up, Warkha had come across an ancient record made by some long-dead scribe. It told of a Hunter called Skemte. The scribe's tone was one of amusement rather than respect. According to Skemte, he had crossed a bridge to the other side, a realm where he had witnessed Ooman warriors the size of Hunters, warlike species unknown to him, and endless conflict enough to make a Hunter's mandibles click with battlelust. His only souvenirs of that twisted reflection of reality had been a pair of strange skulls. The scribe described one as blunt and heavy, with over-sized tusks jutting from a prominent lower jaw. The other was described as angular and delicate, similar to an Ooman skull in overall appearance but distinct in its slender proportions. Insisting on the truth of his tale, Skemte had given the location of the bridge, but the coordinates had been those of a primordial Abyss, a swallower of stars. Skemte's peers had laughed heartily at his tall tale. The account concluded that after being met with disbelief, Skemte had vowed to revisit the other side, claiming that he would return with the skulls and weapons of those giant Ooman warriors. Embarking with a few gullible youngsters in tow, he had vanished without a trace.

At first, Warkha too had chuckled after perusing this strange account, but ere long he had grown somber as the prospects of challenge dwindled. Some veterans of his age were content to take their place among the Clan Council, gradually retiring from the Hunt. Warkha dismissed the notion. No, he yearned to feel lightning rush through his veins as he battled truly worthy foes. No desire had he to engage in lengthy debate over the laws of the clan. He lived and breathed the Hunt, was not old enough to forsake its thrill. To feel his heart beat with the song of battle...that was the reason for his existence. It was clear to Warkha that a life separated from the Hunt was no life at all, and so he found himself doing something desperate, ridiculous even.

The spacecraft shook with juddering force. Strapped to the pilot seat, Warkha could only brace himself as he offered a silent prayer that his vessel would survive the gravitational riptide. Warkha heard the screech of warping metal as the swirling eddies within the gravity well sought to crush his ship into oblivion.

The juddering suddenly stopped, and just as abruptly, darkness enveloped the Hunter. Silence. Warkha was unsure whether the ship's systems had failed or he had died for his foolishness. The latter seemed more likely for he could no longer feel his limbs...he could not feel his body at all. Was he already in the Black Warrior's embrace? His consciousness existed in this disembodied state for what felt like several minutes.

The Hunter was not afraid, the experience was almost...mystical. But he had no wish to stay like this forever, and so Warkha prayed to Paya for light. The god must have heard him for light finally came. As swiftly as the world had been stolen from him, sight, sound, and sensation returned in an instant. Still strapped to the pilot throne, Warkha let out a long breath and shifted in his seat. He thanked Paya for answering his prayer.

Warkha quickly turned his attention to the ship's control panel. All systems were online. His eyes met the navigational display. According to stellar alignments, he was still in the Milky Way. His vessel was a relatively short but safe distance from the Abyss that had swallowed it. Preposterous. Had he been swallowed and then spat out as a cruel joke? He checked the energy readings. Normal, normal…all normal except for what must have been background radiation of an unidentifiable form. Very faint, but still detectable by the advanced sensors.

This piqued his interest. Warkha switched on the long-range comm array and cycled through the channels one by one. Nothing. Even the familiar Hunter channels returned only static. Of course the comm system could have been damaged, but he doubted that. There was something different about this place. Upon closer inspection, he realized that the distances were not quite right, the alignments were slightly off. The discrepancies were subtle but unmistakable. The befuddled computer had simply found the closest match. For the first time in over a century, anticipation tingled through Warkha's whole being.

V

The equatorial jungle that girdled Armageddon's main continent was dying an infinitely slow death. Hive-generated fumes wafting on continental air currents had seeped into the biosphere, inflicting irreparable damage. The endless rainforest no longer teemed with the life and sound once omnipresent ages ago. The only rain that fell nowadays was of the foul-smelling sulfuric variety. The vegetation was uncharacteristically sparse for a tropical jungle. Clinging to life, the hardy native plants would continue to survive for a while to come, but the local fauna had long ago dwindled to near-extinction.

The Ork infestation made the jungle even less pleasant. Jonah Zorn hated this place. When it fell, the stinking acrid rain turned the loamy ground to sludge and soaked his camouflage fatigues. The trees and underbrush were sufficiently dense to be a nuisance, but not close-knit enough to provide proper cover. Trooper Zorn eyed the other member of this miserable two-man patrol, a young greenhorn called Goral Leng. They were both part of the 21st Aquilonians, one of the many regiments tasked with rooting out Ork contamination of the Emperor's blessed forests. Imperial command had quickly realized the extent of the blight: ragtag elements repelled from the ruined Hives, feral Orks spawned from wind-blown spores, occupants of misguided Roks. Zorn would have laughed at the utter incompetence of Ork "navigation" had it not been his job to eradicate the xenos. Goral almost tripped over a fallen branch as he trod on the rotten vegetation littering the forest floor. The young trooper launched into a string of Aquilonian curses.

"Keep it down," Zorn snapped.

"Sorry", Goral offered sheepishly, his tone hushed this time.

Zorn sighed to himself. Aquilonia was one of the more mundane Imperial worlds. Its single continent was dotted with an ordered network of small cities, each with huge silo-structures and its own star port. The silos were for the storage of grain, the planet's chief export. The farmland surrounding each city produced enormous quantities of Triticum and Setaria to feed hungry Imperial mouths on distant worlds. Relatively high living standards meant that the local population wasn't exactly the best raw material for the Imperial Guard. On top of that, it just so happened that the 21st was teeming with inexperienced recruits fresh from beginners' boot camp. No doubt high command had considered these factors before ordering the 21st to join mop-up operations in the rainforest belt.

Zorn was one of few within the regiment who had seen actual combat on several occasions prior to this deployment. That and his grizzly stubble made him a veteran in the rookies' eyes. He and Goral moved as silently as they could through the quiet jungle. The sun was starting to descend from its highest point in the yellow-brown sky. Light streamed down through the relatively scant canopy. It cast leafy shadows over the two guardsmen and the jungle floor far below.

Zorn halted abruptly. "You hear that?" he breathed.

"Hear what?"

"From there." Zorn jabbed his finger to his diagonal left.

Goral strained to hear, a look of concentration on his face. "Shouting, gunfire, it's faint…sounds like a skirmish."

"You think? Let's see if we can get a glimpse without being spotted."

"It would probably be wiser to return to the compound," Goral suggested, hesitation creeping into his voice, "for reinforcements of course."

Zorn rolled his eyes, "It would probably be wiser to do our job. Shall we?" It was a statement, not a question. .

For a moment, Goral's face was a mask of dismay, but then he seemed to muster his courage. "For the Emperor," he muttered.

Zorn and Goral scurried off toward the source of the disturbance as quickly as they could while trying to keep their own noise to a minimum. Once the gunfire reached a certain volume, Zorn signaled Goral to get down on his stomach. Bellies dragging across the jungle floor, the two guardsmen crept forward on their elbows. They stopped at the edge of a clearing. From behind a giant fern bush, the pair watched as a strange scene played out before them.

At first Zorn wasn't quite sure what was going on. A gang of Orks, over a dozen, seemed to be attacking each other…no, attacking something in their midst, something he couldn't see. Several of the Orks were armed with primitive solid-shot guns. The rest wielded crude axes more effective as bludgeons than as blades. The Orks fired wildly. One of the battlemad greenskins lit up a hapless comrade. Zorn could've sworn he heard bestial laughter.

"What in the Emperor's name?" he whispered to himself. He glanced over at Goral.

The young man wore a stupefied expression. No answers there.

Zorn looked harder. He caught a blur of motion, literally a blur. A transparent silhouette weaved among the bellowing, frenzied Orks. The shimmering distortion was roughly humanoid in shape. Bullets pinged off its surface as it carved through swathes of greenskins with something long and similarly translucent. The weapon...a glaive of some sort...spun elegantly in the creature's grip. Jagged blades sheathed in blood wove a crimson web of destruction amid the sea of green. Severed Ork limbs tumbled to the ground, xenos blood sprayed from the stumps.

The foul liquid was an inhumanly dark shade of red, alien yet still familiar to Goral. A frantic Ork waved its axe wildly and was split from head to groin for its trouble. An explosion of blood doused the near-invisible figure. The effect was that of crimson paint splattered onto crystal-clear glass. At first, Goral dared to hope that an Imperial agent was responsible for the slaughter…but the thing was huge. It towered over the muscle-bound greenskins by at least half a metre. The grim expression on Zorn's face suggested to Goral that the older man had not shared the false hope.

Zorn turned slightly to the other trooper. "That's not one of our boys," the veteran breathed. Each move, each strike by the camouflaged creature displayed a lethal fluidity, an otherworldly grace. It skewered an Ork, ripped out the bloodied glaive and proceeded to butcher the remaining survivors. The way it killed hinted at mastery of some intricate martial art resembling a deadly dance. The thing moved with astounding swiftness for its size, or perhaps its transparency produced merely an illusion of blurring speed. Zorn wasn't sure, he didn't really care. It was as much a threat as the Orks it slaughtered. "Shoot it once it's done. I don't want that thing to come after us."

Goral swallowed and nodded. The last Ork leaped at the glass silhouette, axe raised above its head. An invisible blow sliced through the greenskin's weapon arm and sheared off its skull above the cheekbones. The corpse flopped to the ground at the feet of the cloaked reaper.

Zorn aimed his las-carbine. "Now," he hissed.

VI

As Zorn applied pressure to the trigger, his target leaped. Zorn's shot lanced through the space where the thing had been a moment ago. The trooper had never seen anything vault that kind of distance with such casual grace. Goral's beam sizzled through the air a fraction of a second later. It missed the same space by about half a foot. In one effortless bound, their target had pounced across the clearing. Another jump and it sailed into the waiting boughs of a thick-branched tree.

It was Zorn's turn to curse. He blasted a few more shots into the tree's foliage. To the rookie's credit, he quickly joined in, but Zorn knew it was pointless now.

"Hold your fire. Hold you fire! We withdraw."

"With that thing hiding in the trees?" Goral's voice cracked with the onset of panic.

Zorn whirled on the young trooper, "You wish to stand here? Wait for it to drop down on our heads? We keep our eyes open, head back to basecamp." He saw that the younger man was trying not to panic. The veteran softened his tone. "Goral, we can't beat that thing out here. We have to move, it's our only chance…the Emperor protects."

The younger man gritted his teeth, "the Emperor protects," he repeated.

The two guardsmen moved at a brisk pace, covering each other and scanning the jungle canopy for signs of a camouflaged figure. About eighty metres from the carnage in the glade, an odd clicking noise emanated from above them. Zorn froze. Goral heard it too. They spun around, trying to track down the source.

A thick beam of blue energy stabbed down from the crown of a tree. It burned through the side of Jonah Zorn's head, vaporizing everything in its path - skin, bone, tissue - before kicking up a prodigious gout of earth. Above his shoulders, nothing was left save for the smoking charred stump of his neck. The searing light had atomized Zorn's grizzled head almost instantly.

Grotesquely, the headless body remained standing for a moment before crashing forward onto the jungle floor. The suddenness of the attack along with its gruesome aftermath threw Goral into a state of shock. He fired up into the boughs of the tree where the thing must have lurked, but it was already gone. He fired blindly into other trees then realized the futility, forced himself to stop shooting. Goral tried to calm his frayed nerves. The trooper's hands were sweaty and shaking. "What do I do, what do I do, what do I do?" His voice was tremulous from the adrenaline rush.

The chance was slim, but with some luck, he might just make it if he ran. Goral squeezed off a few more shots in a clumsy attempt to lay down suppressing fire. Anything to give him a lead. The guardsman broke into a sprint, feet pounding against the forest floor, heart thundering in his chest. He vaulted over shrubs and bushes, weaved around trees and larger plants. In the back of his mind, the trooper told himself to slow down a bit, to run at a pace he could sustain.

Goral was about to follow his own advice when he slammed into an invisible wall. He bounced back, skidding through decaying plant matter covering the ground. The dazed trooper sat up, cursed under his breath. The glass giant stood before him. He realized how easily he had been outmaneuvered. After staking out his trail, the creature had simply stepped out to greet him.

The thing began to materialise. Electricity crackled around it. Patches of a massive humanoid figure shifted in and out of visibility. A burst of yellow light flashed from his assailant's eyes as if the thing were mocking him for trying to flee. Despite himself, the trooper couldn't help gawking at the fully revealed creature. Without a doubt, it was some kind of giant xenos freak, its appearance the stuff of nightmares.

The alien warrior must have been eight feet tall compared to Goral's measly six. It wore an emotionless mask of grey metal, featureless save for two dark-tinted eyeslits. Behind its head, thick snake-like tendrils slithered and swayed as if by their own accord. The alien's battleplate covered much of the limbs and torso. The whorled surface of its armour was cross-stitched with hundreds of scratches and gouge-marks. Underneath, the creature wore a bodysuit of black mesh. Over its chest hung a necklace of bones, and armbands adorned with fanged teeth were wrapped around its biceps. What looked like a bloody human vertebrae, flecked with flesh, dangled at the creature's hip.

Goral was still sitting on the jungle floor as he looked up in grim fascination. He pawed the decaying ground around him, searching for his gun. To his horror, he saw that the las-carbine lay at the monster's feet. The creature snatched it up with preternatural speed and examined the weapon. It seemed to know how the gun functioned. The carbine looked absurdly small in the giant's massive hand. It pointed the longarm at Goral as a trooper would point a pistol. The creature made that strange clicking purr again, the same Goral had heard before the disintegration of Zorn's head. The monster turned the muzzle away from Goral, grasped the barrel with its other hand. With sickening ease, it snapped the weapon in two as if it were no more than a brittle twig.

Slowly, the guardsman climbed back to his feat. The creature made no move. Goral reached down for the combat blade strapped to the side of his calf. He slipped the blade from its sheath and held the knife in front of him. Stripped of his lasgun, the common guardsman was left with only seven inches of sharpened plasteel to fend off the horrors of the galaxy. Goral swallowed his fear.

"The Emperor protects," he whispered.

+ The Emperor protects +

He was surprised to hear the alien repeat his own words amplified several times. The playback had the tinny, crackling quality of words spoken over an old vox unit. Its slightly muffled timbre pointed to the interior of the creature's helm as its source.

+ Shoot it once it's done. I don't want that thing to come after us +

His dead comrade's voice was warped almost beyond recognition. The heavy distortion made it sound almost daemonic.

Goral felt a pang of regret. He knew that the old veteran had thought him a coward. When he had mentioned going back for reinforcements, Zorn's face had betrayed his disgust. Goral knew he felt fear like any other man, but he also knew he was no coward. He simply wished to avoid a needless death, but death, it seemed, could not be avoided this day. He pictured Zorn's expression of disdain. It stung him deeply.

"For the Emperor!" The trooper hurled himself at the waiting giant, knife-tip pointing forward. He had not lived like a hero, but perhaps he could die like a man. Goral prayed that his blade would find an opening in the creature's armour.

Using its obscene reach, the thing slapped Goral aside as if he were a small child. The casual backhand sent him sprawling onto the earth. His knife hadn't even touched the armoured giant. The trooper lay on his back, dazed, head throbbing with pain. He felt as if he'd been bashed across the face with an Arbites nightstick. The guardsman tasted blood. A few of his teeth were definitely missing. His vision cleared. A mellow breeze rustled the leaves overhead. Armageddon's sun showered soft, golden rays through the gaps. Strange that the ugly jungle would now grace him with this moment of beauty. With grunting effort, Goral heaved himself up again.

His legs wobbled, buckled at the knees but he steadied himself. He realized that he had let go of the knife. It had flown out of his grip when the monster had struck. The towering humanoid reached the fallen blade in two strides. It scooped up the tiny knife. With a flick of its wrist, it sent the combat blade shooting down into the soil near Goral's feet. The trooper stooped to retrieve it, his face a battered mess. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He held out the knife in front of him, arm trembling against his will.

The monster stood there in a relaxed stance, looking almost bored. It bent its wrist, and two wickedly serrated blades sprang out of its vambrace. They looked obscenely sharp.

"For the Emperor," intoned Goral with a conviction that surprised even himself. Perhaps it was a trick of the mind, but this time he felt warmth flow into his limbs followed by strength. The fear lurking in the back of his mind began to wither, peeling away layer by layer.

The murderous beast played with him as if it were a predator toying with some feeble prey-thing. Goral thought of the things he would never do because this sadistic creature desired to slay him. The life he would never have. He would never see Aquilonia again, never raise a family. He armed himself with the sword of contempt. His loathing burned pure. This miserable jungle would be his grave. Knife raised, Goral Leng charged a final time, screaming his hatred at the alien fiend.

VII

Beneath the overshadowing canopy of branches, leaves and vines, a platoon of guardsmen slogged through Armageddon's quiet jungle. At their head strode a black-armoured colossus, an Angel of Death guiding stunted mortals. To Lieutenant Balthus of the Nemedian 68th, it was remarkable how the Angel's massive bulk slid through the underbrush with such graceful stealth, noiseless save for the soft humming of servos in the mechanised joints. Silently, he thanked the God Emperor for the presence of an Angel on this particular occasion.

Even among the Adeptus Astartes, the chamber militant of the Ordo Xenos was considered elite. The Deathwatch rarely gave direct assistance to the Imperial Guard, but the hive world of Armageddon could not be lost. The devastation wreaked by Warlord Ghazghkull had been so total and the size of his green horde so vast that Fortress Panoptes could not idly stand by. Once initial victory had been achieved, Imperial commanders desperately sought to minimize any probability of an Ork resurgence. When high command discovered that Orks were gathering in the equatorial rainforest, a campaign was initiated to utterly exterminate the surviving xenos. The greenskins' ability to release reproductive spores throughout their lives made this goal all the more urgent. If the infestation could not be cleansed by conventional means, the Inquisition would likely resort to more extreme methods.

The Astartes glanced back at the troopers behind him. Their faces were cheerless but determined. Unlike some of his prouder Battle Brothers, Valerian held no disdain for human soldiers. Every loyal Imperial subject was worthy of respect. Worthiness was measured in one currency...dedication to duty. Against the terrors of a hostile cosmos, mortal courage was often the last and only line of defense. Valerian did not dismiss that courage for he had witnessed the sacrifices made by Ultramar's human defenders. Lord Calgar himself had praised those acts of heroism.

The courage of mortals was in many ways more a miracle than the gene-bred fearlessness of his kind. That such strength of will could take root in fragile human minds housed in weak human flesh…that was truly inspiring. Perhaps his views were influenced by his recollection of mortal life. For most of his brothers, such memories were no more than snippets of fading dreams, but despite his own psycho-indoctrination, Valerian recalled his mortal youth with uncanny clarity. On occasion he had shared his musings with his old comrade in Sixth Company, Horatius. His friend had jokingly dubbed him "Valerian the Philosopher".

A Mark VI Corvus helm concealed the Ultramarine's patrician features as he cut through the jungle. He had chosen the helm for its craftsmanship and the sleek avian appearance. Within his own chapter, Mark VI and other earlier variants were no longer used by the rank and file. They were preserved as relics reserved for use by a select few veterans. Mark VII Aquila was the current Codex standard, and Lord Calgar had recently approved the introduction of Mark VIII Errant. Uniformity and efficiency outweighed something as trivial as personal preference. After being loaned to the Deathwatch, Valerian had enjoyed the small freedom of selecting wargear from the fortress armoury.

The remote sensors housed in the helm's beak detected movement. A small circle containing glowing dots appeared on the retinal display of his right eye-lens. Each dot represented a moving body. There were eight of them, 60m ahead and moving almost in single file. The immediate area was clear of other Imperials. The Ultramarine smiled. A band of the greenskin filth were skulking through the jungle. If he cut diagonally to his left, he would be in position to spring upon what passed for their rearguard.

The Angel halted. Lt. Balthus stopped immediately and signaled his men to do the same. From the mag-holster on its hip, the Angel plucked a huge bolt pistol. A fearsome-looking chainsword was already in its other hand. Without turning, the Angel addressed Balthus in a low, vox-filtered growl. "We have contact, lieutenant. Pack of eight ahead of us. I will deal with them. Stay behind me. Provide supporting fire only if necessary." Before Balthus could say "aye", the Astartes was loping through the undergrowth like a predator homing in on prey. "Follow him," Balthus hissed.

With the force of an armoured freight train, the Ultramarine slammed into the first Ork to turn. A human warrior might barge into a foe to stun or bewilder. The same maneuver executed by an Astartes generally spelled death.

The impact splintered the creature's bones and pulverized internal organs. The green thing flew into a tree, bounced off and crumpled into a broken heap. A second Ork took a bolt to its ugly face. The mass-reactive round detonated inside the beast's head a microsecond after entry. Skull fragments and bloody brain matter exploded in every direction, splattering onto Valerian's sable armour as his chainsword roared to life. He swung the weapon in a vicious howling arc. The blow struck off an Ork's head as it tried to bring its crude shooter to bear.

Hunkered down behind a bush, Lt. Balthus watched the Angel smash into a surprised Ork. The impact was spectacular, flinging the thickly muscled greenskin like a ragdoll. Balthus kept the muzzle of his las-rifle trained on the other xenos as the Astartes wheeled about. Balthus and his Nemedians had partaken in the defense of Aventine Secundus just prior to deployment on Armageddon. The frontier planet had inexplicably been targeted by Eldar raiders. Still fresh in the lieutenant's mind was the lethal finesse with which the xenos had fought, their graceful movements almost mesmerizing in their deadly beauty. In comparison, what Balthus witnessed now was the application of brutal, overwhelming force. The Angel was a hurricane of destruction, each sweep of its chainsword, each crack of its bolt pistol dealt bone-cracking, flesh-mangling death. If only they had been blessed with Angels on Aventine…how many Nemedian lives would have been spared?

He had their attention now. Primitive slugs ricocheted off his Astartes warplate, chipping off paint but inflicting no further damage. Angry bellowing filled the air as the other xenos came at him with no semblance of order or discipline. Their swinish faces and hunched backs made them a hideous mockery of men. A mockery Valerian would soon erase. He cracked off two more shots and two more Orks fell, chests ripped open by the exploding bolts, shattered rib-cages exposed.

Valerian parried the overhand swing of a snorting greenskin. The Ork's crude scimitar slammed into the activated blade of his chainsword. The vicious cycling of the hooked teeth tore the creature's weapon from its grip. The piggish thing grunted in surprise. The grunt turned to a gurgled yelp as the screaming chainblade chewed into the creature's waist. Dark blood sprayed in every direction as the carcass fell in two ragged pieces.

An enormous greenskin exploded through a dense wall of vegetation. The giant Ork must have been lumbering out in front when Valerian had fallen on the straggling rear. Twice the height and width of a regular Ork, the towering monster dwarfed even a space marine. It took Valerian less than a heartbeat to appraise the first real threat of the day: an Ork lieutenant. They were called "Nobs" by some of his Deathwatch comrades. Each pounding step it took sent slight tremors through the jungle floor.

In fists the size of small boulders, the hulking Nob clutched the handle of a massive axe, its huge blade honed to a razor's edge. A jagged metal plate both masked and resembled the creature's tusked lower jaw. Seemingly nailed in place, a large piece of rusted scrap metal protected the front of the Ork's torso. The monster sported huge pauldrons painted in a ridiculous checkered pattern of red and black squares. Its head was topped with hair, rare among greenskins. That hair was tied in a long dark horsetail bobbing madly as the creature picked up speed.

The ease with which Valerian had dispatched its minions seemed to anger the giant Ork as it trampled the undergrowth. The Nob's sole surviving lackey tried to scamper from the path of its rampaging leader. The smaller creature's effort seemed to annoy the Nob even more. With a downward chop, the brute murdered its lesser kin, reducing the hapless creature to a mess of dark red and green on the jungle floor. The Nob issued a wet throaty roar as it closed in.

Valerian sensed a psychic pressure. He could feel it almost physically as a leaden weight on his head and shoulders. He knew he was experiencing the effect of the greenskin's aura. The psychic field was generated by nothing more than the powerful Ork's belief in its own invincibility. For a moment, the creature's will strove to crush his own. His mind, however, was a fortress crafted by the Emperor himself, and His will was as unassailable as the sheer face of a mighty cliff. The moment passed. Against his fortitude, the xenos mind-assault broke like a harmless wave. Valerian aimed his bolt pistol and opened fire. He emptied his clip on full automatic. Single precision shots no longer worth the time required to aim.

Bolt rounds pounded into green flesh and junk armour. Impossibly, the beast's crude breastplate withstood the barrage. Rounds that struck exposed skin left bloody craters of ruined meat. To his disappointment, those craters were miraculously small, only flesh wounds on the Nob's hulking mass. Either the monster's hide was ridiculously tough, or its simple-minded confidence was affecting reality in yet another way. A bolt slammed into the junk metal covering the Ork's lower jaw. The detonation left a black smudge on the jagged plate. Yet the beast advanced without so much as staggering. Valerian holstered his bolt pistol. He held the handle of his chainsword with both hands at chest-level. The weapon extended upward from his grip at a forty-five degree angle. Knights of an old Terran race had begun their honor duels from this stance. Valerian had mastered their ancient form.

The Ork swept its massive axe down diagonally. Unlike the wild overcommited swings of its minions, the Nob's stroke was measured and efficient. Too fast to dodge, it could only be blocked. For all his gene-enhanced, power-armoured strength, the Ultramarine's entire frame shook from the impact of the blow. The beast's strength was prodigious. The roar of Valerian's chainsword heightened to a grating metallic shriek as diamond-hard teeth ground against the massive axe-blade. Sparks showered the jungle floor. Fibre-bundles and enhanced muscles alike strained to hold off the crushing weight of the Ork. The greenskin glared down at the space marine. Red eye-lenses met beady black eyes, bestial and fierce but not devoid of intelligence. Saliva splattered Valerian's helm as the Nob roared into his face. Grunting into his vox-grille, Valerian shoved with all his might. Their weapons disengaged as the Ork reared back. He hewed at the greenskins's belly. The chainsword slammed into the huge plate of scrap metal nailed to the monster's torso. A cascade of sparks...then blood rained as the cycling adamantine teeth breached the crude armour, chewing into the flesh beneath.

Valerian did not continue to press the ravenous chainblade into the beast's flesh. He was keenly aware that each moment he spent trying to disembowel the brute was a moment of vulnerability to counterattack. Valerian sprang back as a huge fist swung in from the side like a green wrecking ball aimed at his head. It passed the front of his helmet by less than half a foot. Instead of being thrown off balance by its missed punch, the greenskin simply lowered the shoulder of the arm it had swung. The beast barged forward, slamming its massive shoulderplate into the space marine's face and upper chest. Valerian reeled and staggered back.

His Astartes nervous system responded instantly, minimizing the shock. The Ultramarine recovered in time to register the Ork's next blow as it scythed down. He raised his weapon to block, both arms braced for the impact. This time, the force of the Ork's downstroke was enough to drive him to his knees. The roar of his chainsword had begun to sputter ever so slightly. The entire weight of the creature bore down on him. The beast seemed intent on locking blades with him as two rams would lock horns in a contest of strength. Whatever the brute's intent, Valerian had no wish to lose his footing. Being buried under a mountain of green muscle did not appeal to him. He began to rise very slowly. The joints of his power armour whined under the enormous strain as his real joints ached from the herculean effort.

From behind Valerian, thin shafts of blue light speared through the humid air, whizzing by him on both sides before slapping into crude armour and green flesh. It was enough to distract the Ork. The weight bearing down on his chainsword was abruptly lifted. The greenskin stumbled back, creating distance between them. Valerian saw the ragged gash in the creature's abdomen where the chainblade had dug a furrow of churned flesh and ruined armour. Dark red blood, almost black, still wept from the ugly wound as Valerian prepared to make it even uglier.

The beast roared in frustration as it was pelted by a second barrage more concentrated than the first. The Ultramarine lunged in, ramming the tip of his chainsword into the bloody gash. The creature yowled in pain. The howling chainblade drew a trail of gore through the air as the Ultramarine yanked it out hard. The Nob staggered. Its counter-swing was poorly aimed and sluggish. Valerian ducked it easily. He backpedaled, moving just beyond the Ork's striking range. The beast clutched its axe tightly in both hands. Snarling like a wounded bear, it had the look of desperation now. A river of blood bled from the aggravated wound. He would let it bleed out before delivering the coup de grace. The greenskin took a step forward, axe raised to strike. Valerian tensed, ready to deliver his lethal counterstrike.

The Nob stopped dead in its tracks. The brute's pupil-less black eyes bulged as blood streamed from its flaring nostrils. The Ork swayed as a tree about to topple. Then the creature's massive frame suddenly tipped back. With a thunderous crash, the huge xenos hit the ground. The abrupt victory left the space marine stunned momentarily. The blow had not been fatal. He was certain of that. Crippling perhaps, but not enough to kill a monster of this size. Valerian looked down at the fallen Nob. Several of the Nemedians, Balthus included, had slunk out of cover and were approaching the greenskin's corpse.

The lieutenant spoke softly, his tone reverent. "You've achieved a fine victory here today, Brother-Angel."]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/427357/3867685.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/427357/3867685.page GMT

--OPENING UPLINK TO DATABASE - AUTHORIZATION CODE: ****** --
--AUTHORIZATION CODE [color=Green]ACCEPTED[/color]. ACCESS [color=Green]GRANTED[/color].--
--WELCOME COMMANDER--

--UNIT QUERY, DESIGNATION: 3rd KUY'ARDA HUNTER CADRE--
--PROCESSING...--
--ACCESS [color=Green]GRANTED[/color]. DATA [i]CLASSIFIED[/i]--
--PROCEED, COMMANDER.--

-- QUERY, CADRE COMPOSITION--
--PROCESSING...--

DESIGNATION: 3rd Kuy'arda Hunter Cadre "[i]Blade of Light[/i]"
LOCATION: Kuy'arda 3rd planet in T'ros system
FOUNDING: Early-Mid 999.M41

HEAD ETHEREAL: Aun'El K'alu M'ylisha
COMMANDING OFFICER: Shas'O T'ros Mon'wern'a Rai'nau "Swift Strike"
OFFICERS: Shas’El Nar'sera "Sapphire", Shas’Vre Vi'ra'ny , Shas’Vre O'res Siej'na, Master Shaper M'yen Ur'lian "Shadow Walker"
PERSONNEL: 124 Shas, 24 Kroot'Vesa, 20 Gue'Vesa
CURRENT STATUS: Defend the Sept of T'ros
CURRENT LOCATION: T'ros Research Center

-- QUERY, PERSONNEL PROFILES--
--PROCESSING...--

--HEAD ETHEREAL: Aun'El K'alu M'ylisha
--PERSONEL FILE.--
--QUERY IMAGE, UPLOADING....
[img]http://i332.photobucket.com/albums/m323/vascious_fire/Tau/IMG_0461.jpg[/img]
--BIOGRAPHY: Aun'El was originally from Fal'shia before the T'ros Campaign where he was asked to help lead under Aun'Vre. IT was a great honor for him to assist in expanding the Greater Good. Aun'El assisted in calming the broken minds of the Fire Caste after major conflicts and letting them know that through their efforts the Great Good was being shown to the Imperium. When Aun'Vre was assassinated, Aun'El was devastated by the death of his friend. Because of this incident, he has decided to stay off the battleground and decided to help direct the from Orbital Stations and rely on the field knowledge of the Shas'O.

--COMMANDER: Shas'O T'ros Rai'nau "Swift Strike"--
--COMBAT PROFILE.--
--QUERY IMAGE, UPLOADING....
[img]http://i332.photobucket.com/albums/m323/vascious_fire/Tau/IMG_0460.jpg[/img]
--BIOGRAPHY: Commander Rai'nau is known among the Shas'La as a reserved and great strategic commander, holding the lines against multiple Dark Eldar Raids in the T'ros system countless times. Rai'nau served as a 'Vre under Shas'O R'ymer during the Taros campaign and received his praise defending and expelling the Imperial attackers when Aun'Vre was assassinated. In a rare ocurence he was field promoted to Shas'El and lead the assault to drive the Imperium off the Taros. Shortly after the formation of the T'ros Sept Rai'nau went through the Trials one last time and earned his promotion of 'El just like his peers and to remain faithful to the tradition laid before him like countless others.

--EXECUTIVE OFFICER: Shas’El Nar'sera "Sapphire"--
--COMBAT PROFILE.--
--QUERY IMAGE, UPLOADING....
[img]http://i332.photobucket.com/albums/m323/vascious_fire/Tau/IMG_0458.jpg[/img]
--BIOGRAPHY: Nar'sera has recently been given the task of field testing the the XV-86 "Samurai" a new variant to the XV-8 Crisis Suit. So far the tests have come back positive. She prefers leading the battle with Shas'Ui than the ususal bodyguard retinue, as she believes them to be "too much of a hassel." There are those that wish she would head caution, primarily the Shas'O. Though her actions have saved in the past when she had a run in with Necrons on a recently reawakened Tomb World.

--QUERY PROCESSING FURTHER ENTRIES--
--PROCESSING...--
----ACCESS DENIED:[color=Red][i]FILE CLASSIFIED[/i][/color]--


-- QUERY, CADRE HISTORY--
--PROCESSING...--

--ACCESS [color=Green]GRANTED[/color]. DATA CLASSIFIED--


The Cri'misa Hunter Cadre was originally formed for the T'ros campaign from Fal'shia under the guidance of Aun’el K’alu M'ylisha. The cadre excelled at night operations when most enemies were sleeping or had poor visibility and often deployed in raids on the Imperium's munitions convoys. The 1st Cri'misa Cadre headed the attack on the Imperial Guard's forward airbase lead by Shas'el K'irri. The rest of the cadre that did not participate in the raid mourned greatly for the loss of their Shas’el. Due to having no commander and low manning, the cadre was not present at the famous Hydro-Processing Plant 23-30 battle by orders from Shas'o R’myr, who disbanded the cadre shortly after.

After Aun'Vre was assassinated, R'myr promoted Shas'Vre Rai'nau to Shas’el through his heroic actions repelling the Imperial attackers and defending the firebase. To remedy the new Shas’el not having a cadre to lead in the upcoming battle, R'myr reinstated the Cri'misa Cadre with Shas of other undermanned cadres. It's is during the Evacuation of Taros that Rai'nau earned his nickname "Swift Strike," jumping into the midst of enemy armor, disabling them and moving onto another target leaving the fire warriors and Crisis suits to finish off the survivors. His anger for the death of Aun'Vre fueled his desire for revenge. A lucky shot from his plasma rifle ripped straight though a weak point on a Predator striking the fuel tanks causing it to explode sending molten slag into the Raptors Brother Captain Kaedes mortally wounding him. Seeing the captain fall, Rai'nau quickly departed the scene as bolter fire rained down on his suit.

With the success of driving the Imperium off Taros, the Tau coalition starts building up defenses of the planet and talking control of the rest of the system Aun’el K’alu M’ylisha settled on Kuy’arda, the third planet in the system, with the rest of the Cri’misa Cadre. As the planets were forming the 2nd Cri’misa Hunter Cadre was transformed into the Kuy’arda Defense Force. During this time Kuy’arda came under many real space raids by Archon Sorien Gomaeth and his Kabal of the Slashing Talon.

These raids were very costly and deadly on both sides. The Defense Force succeeded in the end countless of heroes were made namely Shas’el Nar’sera and her XV-86 battle suit. The incorporation of the Vectored Retro-thrusters into the suit allowed many successful hit and run attacks into the thicket of enemy raiders. There are still raids done by the Slashing Talon but the Defense Force is ready for them.

Currently the 3rd Kuy’arda Hunter Cadre lead by Shas'o Rai'nau and Shas'el Nar'sera is enroute to Crenax IV to provide security for the Water Caste as they trade with the Eldar populace inhabiting the planet. There as whispers in the rumor network that the Imperium will attack the planet in the near future.

--[color=Red]LOGGING OUT[/color]--

--UPLINK CLOSED--]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/427352/3867665.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/427352/3867665.page GMT Expect regular updates.
Feel free to comment if you want. I'd like that.


Necropocalypse



‘There’s two more downstairs…’
Kyll looked up from his stale excuse of a sandwich and peered into the deep shadows near the stairwell. He could hardly see where his compatriot Jackson was, despite the big man’s white suit and ridiculously large haircut. Somehow he always managed to blend in to his surroundings. At times it was just creepy how easy he made it seem.
‘So? They can’t climb ladders, the stairs have collapsed, and the building across the walkway is safeguarded by them boobytraps Clay set up.’ He returned to his sandwich and shrugged.
‘Besides, look at the bright side. Snow and her punks will think twice about attacking us here.’

Jackson Borr stepped out of the shadows and sat down on a stack of crates overlooking the staircase. He picked a few specks of dust from his jumpsuit before rummaging through his pack.
‘Where is Clay anyways?’ he asked as he opened a rusty can with his knife. The delicious smell of cheap canned dogfood caressed his nose.
‘Damned if I know,’ Kyll answered truthfully as he tried to chew through a piece of hard old bacon.
‘Probably on the roof though… He’s still trying to get that communicator to work.’
‘Let him. He needs to fiddle with things, you know that. At least this way he doesn’t touch any of our stuff.’

Both men chuckled, Kyll nearly choking himself on his meal. Enjoying the first relatively safe rest in days did them both a world of good. The last week had been hectic to say the least, with the group getting into three gang fights and two confrontations with the tainted, not counting the current one. Ever since their leader had gotten the idea into his head to pick a fight with one of the biggest gangs in the Angelon District. They were lucky enough to have escaped with their hides intact. The gang was now holed up in an apartment complex in the small town of Resilience, two days driving away from Angelon Prime. They had no idea where they were going now, but at least they were safe. Or so they had thought when they stopped here for the night. They had only just decided to use the house across the street as a rest-stop when the tainted showed up. They came from everywhere, and the quick decision was made to relocate here because of the limited accessibility. So far that had proven the right decision.
‘Any you boys want a drink?’
Abelard Alaerd’s bald head popped down through a hole in the ceiling. His one good eye, deep in the scarred socket, scanned the makeshift base the two men one floor below him had created for themselves. It wasn’t all bad, he decided. Some crates, a few horse blankets, good line of sight to both the stairs and the walkway. Some cover from an old cabinet and a pile of garbage. Almost habitable. ‘Got some good brandy here ya know… Some caffeine too if ya want it.’ When both men shook their heads Abelard quickly pulled himself back up and away from the gap. He shrugged and sat back on the soft bed he had found scavenging the third floor. As the scent of fresh caffeine slowly filled his post he took a quick sip of a ’56 bottle of ‘Emperor’s Blood’. The strong liquor warmed him, albeit shortly. It was getting colder, and nights were getting longer. Soon snow would come. Abelard hated snow. He hated winter. He hated the cold, the wet, the long nights. Cursing his luck like many times every day he took another swig. Ah, Caffeine was ready.
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Following posts will detail the fluff of my new IG army, 415th Haruukian Regiment of Foot, as a story of a regiment, as told from the viewpoint of various guardsmen of the 415th Haruukian and other Imperial Guard formations supporting them in my army roster(s).

Story will expand to cover AAR's of our local six round league, which will commence on 10th Feb, with approximately two weeks per round. So the full extent of the story will take some time to develop. And as always with fan fiction, lenght of the story will depend on time available, responses of the audience and my general interest in 40K. :)

Enjoy or hate, and feel free to comment. Although you might take into account that english is not my native language. This story is, however, written directly in english and not traslated. Some of the league background fluff will of course be translated.

Text is my own creation, except the league fluff for which I give full credit to league admin. This story will also appear first on the finnish miniature site, sotatorvi.net, at Joensuu gaming section.

Hf,

Timmon]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/427181/3864355.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/427181/3864355.page GMT

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The return of the imperial serpent

Late M37 warp storm Bathos scurge began to subside, opening up travel beyond the south east corner of the Segmentum Tempestus. An expedition of inqusishen and mechanicus staff soon departed to investigate the legends of a lost group of populated systems and a forge world beyond.
Progress was slow as warp currents fort them every step of the way the navigators described the region “as of a mighty river sided by sheer cliffs of turbulence likely to dash any ship folly enough to enter.” And moral was weathered as withered world after warp withered world was found. But for a chance encounter the expedition would have been a disaster and the leaders disgraced.
Over a dead and twisted world plagued by ferial mutants the expedition was hailed by a rapid strike vessel of an unknown chapter of Adeptus Astartes. Distracted from their reconnaissance for a crusade to reclaim the space and re-join the imperium the strike vessel Hydrophis had been shadowing them for some time. Little is known of that first encounter but it affects echo on to this day. So the Imperial Serpent intertwined with the humanity once more.
With the aide of the Astartes this lonely expedition retraced its path and looped back to the “well spring” of the warp current. With local knowledge, following the currents the little expedition retuned to well charted imperial space within twelve months now swelled with rogue traders political envoys of many worlds, including the forgotten forge world Areas and a detachment of the Imperial Serpent carrying their first tithe of gene seed for several centuries.
So the little expedition was greatly rewarded many of its captions became planetary governors. So that dead and twisted world was purged of taint and became our green and pleasant world of concord and why son when I am gone you must be ever vigilant of taint returning.



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The Reckoning
[color=green]…[code]Speech given by Chapter Master Mambra to Deathwatch volunteers.
Recorded by Inquisitor Chorb Ordo Xenos M38-457… [/color]
And lo we were re-joined with the glory of the emporia but in our solitude we had turned our backs on our for-father, The Grate Guilliman surrounded by xenos and without support we had turned our back on the Codex and vastly exceeded the Organizational doctrine. So Master Hansere ordered two crusade’s, one to the outer fringe and one to the Heart of Terra. These men were never to return but to take and holed ground held by the grate foes of man so dishonour was turned to Glory so potential disaster to triumph. It is from this victory that you now take your stations in the outer fringe to holed and keep watch over that sacrifice but know this you unlike your lost bothers will always return ether with your comrades or on them.



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Counter strike on Herodicus hive.
[color=green]Extract from debriefings following the liberation of Herodicus hive[/color].
Dug in and nothing to do but weight. Suppose I was lucky dug in defending is far better than the street fighting that the others had been through I saw them coming back arms or legs missing and horrible burns the green skins where vicious no matter what the primer says. Anyway there we were looking over the fire brake as sarg called it about a hundred and fifty meter of rubble flattened by shells and the odd demo charge. Then they came out raged and staggering, starving thousands of them as far as I could see the captured populace where being used as a meat shield. Just as the first of them reach our lines out came the orks screaming and howling mowing down anyone in their path. Our guns didn’t open up till the green skins where within spitting dissidents, so much breathing room. Any way I was trying to find targets through the throng when this lumbering brought smashed through a group of civilians and knocked me off my feet and was about to finish me off when he bust in to meaty chunks. Only then did I hear the change, a new instrument in the orchestra of battle. Then I saw my saviour striding through the chaos constantly firing even as he picked me up and rumbling “privet back to your post” then he was gone. Out into no-man’s land shots bouncing off his armour the green skins faltered then fell back soon we were ordered to push on and I saw my fair share of street fighting but lots more ork dead and wounded. I never saw an Astartes agene but there was plenty of Sine of their passing.
[color=green]…It may be of note the privet did not bear witness to a fully-fledged Astartes but a neophyte acting it support to guard units in the aria. There armour being closer to inquisition power armour without a back carapace…[/color]



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Inquisition Trial
[color=green]Recovered fragment after cognatior crash[/color]
“Inquisitor Reack this hearing has found you guilty of heresy treson and with the intent to sow destruction within the ranks of his holy Emperor by the abuse of your station. Any last words befor your summary execution.”
“This is not the last, you will rue this day where I have been others will follow, and you can be ashorid the path becomes easier with each who tread it. With every deceit you billed your house of cards soon it will topple, the truth will out, and righteous fire will rain down on you. Oh you hide in plain sight, but your arrogance will be your down-fall. YOU ARE NO SONS OF GUILLIMAN…”
BOOM!
[color=green]Believed to be the last words of inquisitor Reack brought before lord inquisitorial hearing by the imperial serpent chapter.
[/color]


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The legend of Horatius.
The scum of Tibre II had turned their back on the light of our Grate Farther tacking with them the guard regiment sent to watch over them. So as the regiments of 435th Aris armoured unit and the Phoeb 708th infantry formed up to face the enemy our Sargent so young and full of lime watched from on high, as is the place of a war god. While battle commenced the filthy heretics rolled out a mighty beast snorting fire and plasma. The grate Stormblade threatened to break loyal lines and blunt the campaign so our brothers knew what they must do. With helmets sealed they leaped, from the stars to smite the enemies of the emporia. With wings of promethus fire they fell from the heavens right in the heart of the enemy horde crashing squarely on the mighty beasts back. With field fist and plasma pistol Horatius set to with his brothers tearing off small arms and rending armour when our hero riped off a top hatch with his mighty fist vaporising the creation within before a heart beet could pass. Seeing cooling ducts within he destroyed them releasing the icy breath that cooled it’s belly. His arm iced rigid and his work done he reformed with his squad. Seeing the enemy reaction force on root there sergeant bid them away to tarry riper foe. Of they flew on pillars of smoke as the beast limped back to its lair, machine spirit crippled by the fears frost systems failing. Without the mighty engine the outcome was clear, the enemies faltered and fell.
Though victory was grasped it was not without sacrifice. That frost not only jammed his armor burnt his flesh. With the loss of his arm our brother had one of cold steal made with the parts of his pistol incorporated within. So Horatius the chilled touch became renown.
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Fire and Ice

Part One

“For ice to defeat fire, the ice must melt”
Halis Mekan, strategist



Chapter one



Ansgard marched down the streets. The heavy thuds of his footsteps on solid rockcrete were mixed with that of his loyal Wolf Guard. He ordered his pack to stop. The quarry was close.
Ansgard tore of his helmet. His features were straight and clean, unlike many of his brothers. He had a ponytail with red hair and a short beard in the same color. His armor was adorned with wolf tails and talismans, but his helmet was without decorations. He was a Wolf Lord, one of the twelve lords of the Space Wolves, and leader of the eighth company, Ansgard Greypelt’s Great Company, and he had come here to save a planet.

Two days ago, Ansgard and his bodyguard had arrived at Selixis. He had received a distress call from the planet, but the woman who had sent the message had not said who she was. Most of Ansgard’s warriors had been fighting elsewhere, and only Ansgard and his Wolf Guard had been available. But that did not deter him; surely nothing could stand against a Wolf Lord and his bodyguard, none with less than three hundred years of experience?
The night was quiet and cool. The Iliges Stratum was a relatively open area, so the deep blue sky was visible, stars shining like a thousand eyes. This cool night reminded Ansgard of the day of his recruitment, three hundred and seventy five years ago. It had been a cool night like today, and as he had entered a local tavern, the Space Wolves had come to recruit. He gained the honor of being beaten to the ground by Wolf priest Ulfvar himself that day. Ansgard smiled at the happy memory.

As the squad progressed down the Stratum, he noticed a subtle difference in atmosphere. Before, it had been calm, almost peaceful. Now, it had become… threatening. He did not know the nature of the foe. But it did not matter; his tactics would be the same.
“Ansgard! Thorleif found this.”
The grumpy voice of Gunnar, one of his Wolf Guard, sounded through the night. Gunnar, always the dour, pointed at Thorleif. The boy was the youngest of his warriors, only seventy-four years, but his actions had put some of the older veterans to shame. Thorleif walked to Ansgard, holding up a small, round device.
“Looks like Eldar.” Ansgard did not like the look of the device.
“Trouble?” Gunnar wondered.
“Nothing we can’t handle. Keep on lookout.”

As one, the rest of his warriors tore off their helmets. They knew the helmet’s auto-senses were outmatched by their own.
“Ansgard? This doesn’t look like something of any Eldar I’ve ever seen.”
Gunnar brought up the device, and removed the upper part. Inside, there was a small white symbol. It seemed like a white spiral. It looked unnerving.
“What does this mean?”
“ Looks like Dark Eldar to me.”
“Dark Eldar?”
“I’ll tell you more about it later. All that it matters to us, is that Dark Eldar use less armor than others, to increase mobility”
“So we should shoot them, eh?” Thorleif said happily, hefting his plasma gun.
“Fight them as you want to. All that matters to me is that you kill them.”
“Very well.” Gunnar concluded.

The squad moved on. As they reached the inner parts of the city, they saw more and more trace of the enemy. A purple toxic-looking crystal in a pillar here, a mutilated Guardsman corpse there.
“Ansgard? What about the planetary governor?” Gunnar asked.
“He is either dead or hiding. Finding and killing the enemy is our first objective. Finding surviving Imperial forces is secondary. But not by far. Likely is the governor, if he is even alive, located in the central structure. There.” Ansgard pointed towards a large tower a few kilometers away.
They attacked without warning. The squad had just reached the plaza before the structure when a dark purple beam lanced down on Bjagin, and he was knocked to the ground by the force. Simultaneously half a dozen of lightly clothed female warriors darted from hiding. Each carried little armor more than a tight suit, but they had deadly weapons. Some carried a combination of blades and pistols, while some carried nets and harpoons. Others carried wicked flails.
They crossed the distance between their hiding spots and the Wolf Guard in less than five seconds, leaping and somersaulting. Thorleif fired a blindingly bright bolt of plasma, but the mysterious warriors avoided the shot. The rest of the squad opened fire, but no shots connected with their targets. The warriors dived in among the Wolf Guard, and Ansgard howled his battle cry. The cry was taken up by his warriors, and they went to the counter-attack.

Ansgard brought his great frost axe around in a decapitating blow, but his enemy was behind him in less than half a second. Their enemies was impossibly fast, always avoiding their blows and sending a quick strike at their armor before dodging away. Frustrated, Ansgard suddenly dropped before sending a kick to his opponent’s body. Incredibly, the attack hit. The warrior was sent flying, crashing into a wall. Ansgard could hear the snapping of bones. The rest of the enemies seemed as surprised as he, and this gave Gunnar the advantage he needed to bring up his melta gun. He vaporized four and left the last one with one leg and one arm melted into gruel.
The battle was not over. Bjagin rose to his feet, being far too stubborn to die. Ansgard saw a terrible would in Bjagin’s chest, but he thought the man would survive. The warrior who had fired took aim and fired once again, this time targeting Ansgard. The shot impacted, but did no harm. The force was negated by the force field of his his belt, one of the sacred Belts of Russ that was given to every Wolf Lord. Thorleif fired a bolt from his plasma gun, and this last assailant was also melted beyond recognition.

“What were those?” Thorleif asked, venting his plasma gun.
“Dark Eldar. As you noticed, the speed they gain by their lack of armor is… significant.”
“How is Bjagin?” Thorleif asked.
“He will live, but he will likely lose an arm.”
“They were fast.” Thorleif said, his plasma gun now cooled and ready again.
“Yes. We would still have defeated them; they lacked the punch to breach our armor. But we were vulnerable to that… sniper.”
“They will not be so lucky as to avoid our shots next time.” Gunnar snarled.
“Next time they will be dead.” Thorleif stated, with a laugh.
“Indeed.”

The structure was imposing. Constructed of multiple layers of rockcrete and adamantium, it would surely be able to withstand most attacks. But, by the look of its blown-apart front doors, it had been compromised. Ansgard led his squad inside. He knew the enemy could hide anywhere, and the squad checked every hiding spot.
Once they found a wounded Administratum adept. The man had been grateful for his rescue, but he had died of injuries before he had been able to tell them much. They had only learned that the local Guard forces had been all killed, or captured.
The structure was largely empty. The roof had fallen in on the third floor, so nothing could get in our out. Seeing that there was nothing more to find, Ansgard moved his squad back out onto the plaza.
Then he heard something. The Firewolf, his strike cruiser, was contacting him. He heard the clear voice of Helmsman Jagor.
“My lord. We have locked on your position, and are sending down a Thunderhawk now. You won’t believe what happened. All the enemy signatures we were receiving have disappeared. It would appear….. They have left.”
“What? You did not detect any ships?”
“No, my lord. They just disappeared.”
“Check your sensors again. They must still be here somewhere.”
“Yes, my lord.”

In the dark of space, a dark ship watched the Firewolf silently......
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I want to make a homebrew chapter of my own gowever i having trouble creating it. I have few ideas but need some help.
I am new here but have been visiting this site since the start of 2011 and have only just created an account. Anything that has N/A means i havent thought about or have no idea.Any C&C is wlecome, Here's what i got so far:

Name: The Coven.
Primarch: Unknown.
Warcry: Not sure.
Specialty: Chaos and traitor marines. ( Willing to change this)

Chapter Master: Telric Valouris.
Chief Librarian: Manus Farin
Chief Chaplain: Gerric Manor
Chief Apothecary: Fulgris Goren.
Chief Techmarine: Adrium Inus

Homeworld: N/A

Once again, Any C&C is welcome and thank you very much. :)

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So here it goes, a short story about my favoured Warboss and his Warband:

After the Prophet of the WAAAGH!!! descended upon the Armageddon system for the second time, Warlord Grugzak Nobchoppa saw opportunity to prove himself to the grand warlord that was, Ghazghkull Mag Urak Thraka, as a capable attribute to his massive and still growing WAAAGH!!! Nobchoppa was a beast of an Ork, standing 8 feet tall, scarred and battle-damaged, his left eye battered deep into his thick, deformed skull, a result from his initiation ceremony into his tribe, his wide and salavating gob filled to the limit with "teef" and a long, purple tongue hidden behind, he wore looted scraps of armour, adorned with skulls and the skins of his former enemies that had once crossed him, he also wore a patchwork robe, jet black with the tribes insignia poorly stitched into the center of it, beneath this robe he kept his pet Jungle tree squig, simply named; [i]"Facesnatcha"[/i] , derived from it's nasty habit of aiming for the face of it's prey. He held a vicious looking claw in his right hand, hard-wired into his forearm with the word;"DEFF" crudely carved into its brace and a twin-barrelled machine gun in the other, decorated with flames and a skull wearing an Imperial Commissars hat, both chained to the under-slung barrel of the massive weapon. Truly an individual whom dressed accordingly to his status.

Nobchoppa had already been employed by the Prophet during his first defeat at Armageddon, Nobchoppa himself already arisen to the rank of Warboss in his own tribe, "Da deffly skarz" were contacted by Ghazghkull and bullied into joining his second invasion force under promises of loot and plunder and threats of death and destruction should Nobchoppa and his lads choose otherwise.
When Ghazghkull contacted Nobchoppa, the meeting was brief, and few words were uttered, as Ghazghkull approached the camp, he shouted at the top of his voice:

[u]"Oi! Me and me boyz 'ere gotz a propasal for ya!"[i]

A large figure slowly arose from a huge hut in the center of the camp, hundreds of boyz gathered around to audience the large silhouette that stood. He moved forward into the bleak sunlight that shone through the ash ridden sky.

[/i]So you'z dis Nobchoppa I been 'earing about den?"[i]

[/i]"Yeah, who wants ta know?"[i]

Ghazghkull's face grew red with rage;
[i]I'ze da Prophet of da godz ya stoopid git! 'Ow da bloody 'ell you not heard 'o me!? I'ze 'ere to take dis rok, and da rest of da ooniverse!"[/i]

Nobchoppa simply replied;
[i]"Dat so iz it? then why you 'ere den?[/i]

[/i]"I'm 'ere coz itz ma job, given to me by Gork n Mork, to get all da boyz to fight togetha, and do wot da godz put us lot in da ooniverse for, ta fight and win and crush da over races! And now I'ze 'ere to get you lot to join me in me WAAAGH!!! Dey'll be gunz, land, and all do oomies ya can stomp if ya join my WAAAGH!!!"[i]

Nobchoppa uttered an ugly grin that spread across his wretched, scarred face, and he asked;
[i]Oh yeah? And wot 'appenz if we dont join yoo lot?[/i]

Ghazghkull roared:
[i]If yoo dont join me then I'll rip yer 'ead off and eat ya insidez! And do rest of me boyz will stomp dis 'ole camp flat ya 'ear![/i]

Nobchoppa knew, despite his arrogance, that Ghazghkull was right, he could not possibly stand up against the grand warlord or his WAAAGH!!! after all, they were the toughest Orkz in the known galaxy.
and with a moment of thought, Nobchoppa simply looked the Prophet in the eye, and said;

[i]"Youz'e got yourself a deal"[/i]

And with that, the agreement was sealed.

When the time came of the second attempt of planetary invasion of Armageddon, Nobchoppa was appointed leader of the assault on the eastern sector of Hades hive, leading his Warband of tens of thousands of Greenskins daubed in all forms of tribal markings, face paints and self-scarring on the attack of the eastern wall, Klaw and double-barrelled shoota in hand, Nobchoppa opened his huge maw and screamed at the top of his deep, croaky voice, a deafening "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!" and began the charge towards Hades hive...

So that's a little starter for all of you, hope you enjoyed, and I will update daily until it comes to a point of starting the next of Nobchoppa's adventures and campaigns.

C&C is welcome! :thumbsup:

Cheers

Calv,]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/426753/3855870.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/426753/3855870.page GMT
On the very birthday of warhammer 40k itself my Local GW store will launch a kill-team tournament which will hold on for a month.

It involves getting blessings because the backrgound is that many an army got staged by the chaos gods to fit as playing pawns on a ruïnous chaotic planet., whenever a battle is won, you receive a blessing.

I'm fielding a deceiver shard, (they allowed me to even field him 10 points over the allowed 200, bcse a 4+ inv and 4 wounds aren't all that difficult to take down, and also to prevent people from nagging, meh meh meh you MUST take two powers, meh meh, so I have two powers!)

Now we can invent any kind of blessing, ANY kind, even rules etc. But we need to assist these blessings with a freakin awesome fluff story behind it and a really cool conversion as well. So here's my starting fluff for when I enter the tourney, from there on I can build the blessings up and running with cool background!

hope you like! =

[color=yellow]The deceiver's ascend
While Bruno angered the chaos gods (mostly khorne, he really loved that plant) by his most dishonoured deed, Tzeentch came to overlook the situation as well. As his swirling presence took time to study the army strewn planet, he finds an ancient adversary lying dormant. The Necrons, but Tzeentch felt a great power source in the center of a small tomb which was somehow very different than any other power source. Tzeentch wanted whatever was hold down there. The Necrons restrained a c'tan shard. Tzeentch send his Horrors and the Necrons were quickly overthrown. Once the c'tan shard was released Tzeentch felt that he found the very being that could give him a huge dual he always wanted. This shard belonged to no other than the deceiver, yet even with its release, the shard is still but a mere shard.

Tzeentch, no matter how much his material nemesis it is, wanted to challenge the shard. The slight conscience of the shard took better manifest over a while and realised what it was. Freed from Necron shackles it wanted nothing more than revenge,Tzeentch promised him revenge if he would play his game.
The deceiver took the challenge.

But while Tzeentch wasn't probing the shard, he deviced a plan of himself to trick Tzeentch and only take benefit out of this challenge. Since the shard with even the slightest part of his thinking that once belonged to the full Deceiver, can trick any other living being, it's only a matter of some growth and planning to trick the trickster. The game is on, both deceiving and planning entities are getting ready to trick each other in twisted plans and faiths. The victor of this challege will neither win or lose, yet if Tzeentch were to lose this race to trick, it might end the God's chaotic life forever for the entity of planning and scheming has been out-planned and out-schemed. A facet no mortal could ever even slightly pathom for it could guide the galaxy to a strong and heavy collapse. This can only be staged amongst Gods. Careless and selfish Gods.
[/color]
And for people who wanna see the cool picture


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[i]The offensive had not gone well for the sergeant. He and his men were pinned down in a trench, facing the mass onslaught of the Ork Waaagh. The orders the sergeant had received were simple; a rapid insertion by thunderhawk to secure a landing zone for his battle brothers, ready to deep strike via drop pod. The initial engagement had started well; the sergeant’s tactical squad had cut a bloody swathe through the Greenskin horde with holy bolter fire and cleansing flame. It was only after contact was made with the predator tank that things had started to deteriorate. The presence of the Orkish leader had swelled the ranks of the Greenskins forcing the Blood Ravens to give ground. Now they were forced into a trench with limited ammunition left and the threat of ever more Greenskins looming. Even though they occupied a strong defensive position, especially against the melee loving Orks, the sergeant knew the last of their ammunition would soon be exhausted and they would be overwhelmed before the main strike force could arrive.
The sergeant desperately called into the vox network, while taking cover behind the trench wall.
“Our position is almost overrun, we need support now!”
The voice of the communications officer sharply replied:
“Hold out for as long as you are able, reinforcements are en route.”
The sergeant stood up to peer out over the battlefield, hoping he might glimpse the fiery trails of incoming drop pods but the only things that greeted him were the fast incoming missiles of the Greenskins.
The rockets found their mark and the predator, which had previously reaped a bloody toll on the Greenskins was now obliterated in a ball of flame. The sergeant was flung to the ground by the force of the blast, along with several of his men. As they recovered, they saw that the Greenskins had begun a renewed charge toward their position. A shout of “INCOMING!” rang out from one of the men and bolters desperately flared. Just as the Greenskins were upon them help arrived from an unexpected quarter. A sacred Dreadnought emerged from the smoke and cut the wave of advancing Greenskins down with a single burst from its assault cannon. It then proceeded to punish the larger group of Greenskins in the distance.
The sergeant knew this was his chance to bring honor to himself and his squad, some say that his thirst for glory clouded his judgment. Ignoring every tenant the Codex Astartes had taught him in the field of tactics he gave a mighty cry and charged out of the trench, up the hill toward the Greenskins. The cry was quickly taken up by his men and ignoring their better judgment followed their sergeant into the fray. The Greenskins took up a cry of their own and charged to meet the approaching Blood Ravens. When battle was joined chaos reigned. The sergeant further ignoring the teachings of the Codex had decided to keep his squad in loose formation and as such each man fought an individual battle.
Greenskins and Blood Ravens alike fell in the brutal close combat, the sergeant killed many with his chainsword, with great cleaving strokes. The Blood Ravens had somehow managed to gain the upper hand, when disaster struck. The blessed dreadnought who had crushed many an Ork with its mighty power fist was reduced to a pile of burning debris when an Ork managed to destroy it with a stick bomb. The almighty explosion threw Greenskins and Blood Ravens to the ground; many did not live to fight again. The sergeant soon recovered and looking around saw that his squad had been decimated by his poor judgment and his mission had failed. Hoping to restore some small measure of his shattered honor, he took up the fallen standard and dashed as fast as his shattered power armor would allow to the top of the ridge. The surviving Greenskins did not make his assent easy; they opened fire with their great, ugly shootas, peppering the sergeant with bullets. While his power armor protected him from the worse, one bullet hit the back of his neck and the sergeant cursed his decision not to wear a helmet in battle. Some say that this injury would later lead to a crippling speech impediment but luckily did not prove his undoing.
With a cry of pain he sunk to the ground and with the last of his strength planted the standard in the hard earth. As his vision darkened from the sky he saw the fiery trails of a hundred drop pods from the Blood Ravens strike force, a maneuver particularly dear to the sergeant the Codex Astartes named “Steel Rain”. As the sergeant beheld this wonderful and terrible sight he new a day would come where he would use the same tactic himself. After realizing his mission had finally been successful and the Blood Ravens victory assured he allowed unconsciousness to claim him.
Truly this was a good start for Sergeant Indrick Boreale.[/i]
]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/426143/3845546.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/426143/3845546.page GMT WIP projects to be completed the year.[/b]


[b][u]Rogue Trader/Necromunda(Count As Van Saar Gang):[/u][/b]
[[i]He[/i] hasn't been given a name yet so i have inserted _underscores to hold the place where the name should be entered.]
[quote]Imperial Guard, Lord Marshal _, born of Terra, is posted with his fleet in the Ultima Segmentum to slow the Tau expansion.
A long time spent fighting and learning the ways of the Tau doesn't go unnoticed and he is soon trained and indoctrinated as an Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos.
Now, Inquisitor Marshal _, his unparalleled knowledge of the species turns to intrigue and quickly spirals into obsession.
During a short term at home on Terra he spends time with an old friend who is serving a period as Inquisitorial Representative. The friend finds his behavior concerning but as a final act of friendship and due to a sense of loyalty he simply arranges for him to meet with The Speaker for the Chartist Captains. The Speaker seems wary of engaging in conversation but [i]offers[/i] a Warrant of Trade before dismissing him.
There are only two personal conditions of the Warrant issued. Firstly, the boundaries of his jurisdiction are Tau airspace and the surrounding areas. Secondly, he must aid in policing the Underhives of the Segmentum Solar. The latter condition is soon embraced by the Marshal as a perfect method of training his recruits.
_ slowly integrates himself with the Tau and begins recruiting individuals to work in all parts of his fleet and armed forces. To ensure their is no animosity between species he commands there be at least two Tau recruits in each unit that are sent to the Underhives.
His interest in Tau technology eventually leads him to upgrade most of his Imperial Sanctioned tech.

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The individuals sent to the Underhive receive, arguably, the best training in the galaxy although they don't all come out alive, if at all. They go in as individuals but those that come out come out as a unit with a bond that cannot be broken. Not only do they have to contend with and purge unruly gangs and outlaws but their Tau companions put the entire unit in the firing line of any other policing force they encounter. If they make it out they are prepared for anything. To add to their problems, they are only issued with Imperial weaponry and low level Tau tech, this includes a flight suit which [u]doubles[/u] as armour. This isn't due to a lack of Tau resources or the risk of losing expensive weaponry but simply that it would make it far too easy for them. Each unit is expected to complete a few random objectives, often delivered to them while they are already in the Hives, and most importantly they have to try and survive until they have served their full time. Anyone who manages to exit early will be turned away on return to the fleet or, often, simply killed for disobedience.[/quote]


[b][u]Hive Fleet Blackbird/Tyranids/Ymgarl Infection:[/u][/b]
[Where someone or something hasn't been given a name yet i have inserted _underscores to hold the place where the name should be entered.]
[quote]A merchant ship digests into a reclamation pool along with the half dissected corpse of a, sub-species Ymgarl, Genestealer. A capillary tower pumps the biomass high into the atmosphere where a small Hive Ship waits to absorb it. It doesn't take long for the Hive Mind to sense the error, the Hive Ship breaks free of the tower, spraying the vile fluid into the planets orbit, but it's too late. As a single entity, the tide that is but one tendril of Jormungandr alter their course with silent determination. The lone Hive Ship and the few smaller ships that accompany it have no hope of making contact with the fleet again. This unerring fact drives them back to the forsaken planet to gorge on it's forbidden fruit. Bloated and without guidance the tiny fleet find a new trajectory, hoping one day to put themselves in the path of Jormungandr and be embraced by the Hive Mind once again. In the deafening void of space the bio-fleet enter a peaceful slumber and carve their way through the endless night.

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[quote]His eyes flash, searching the darkness. "The shadows walk among us!"
"Daemons prowl through dreams." Agony tears across his face. "Nae, through [i]nightmares[/i]!"
"Mourn! Mourn your own deaths for He hath forsaken us!" He twists and writhes as terror grips his very soul. "...the shadows."
"Fight! said they. Where are they now?! Vanished, absent! Taken!" His voice breaks and strains.
Clawing at his face, "Haahahahaha! Morrow will not come! Darkness will be our final embrace!"
"[i]Your[/i] final embrace." A shadow crosses his face as he looks down.
Looking straight into the camera he raises a laspistol to his pale, sweat drenched temple. And squeezes.[/quote]
That, gentlemen, is. ...[i]was[/i] Planetary Governor _ _ broadcasting to an entire solar system four days after the last of his family, friends and confidants had disappeared. [i]Fifty-seven[/i] days before there was any reported Tyranid activity on the planet... It is now day ninety-five and we are twelve days too late to recover anyone alive.
Study the holo-tablets you have been given, know them better than you know your soul and you [i]might[/i] see one of these beasts before it kills you.

[color=black][quote][b]-- ]Hive Fleet Blackbird - Page 1: Documented sub-species[[/b]
[b]-- ][/b]All species are capable of advanced infiltration and tactics commonly associated with Lictors and Genestealers.[b][[/b]
[b]-- ][/b]Reports compiled from data streams concerning Solar System: 'Alpha Crucible' governed by Lord _ _[/color][color=red] [b]]Deceased[[/b] [/color][color=black][b][[/b]
[b]-- ]Hive Ship[ - ][/b]There is evidence of a single Hive Ship, dubbed 'Blackbird.' It is most often accompanied by smaller bio-ships which have yet to be identified. Always appears suddenly and capable of bypassing defense systems, radar and psychic probing.[b][[/b]
[b]-- ]Winged Hive Tyrant[ - ][/b]Present from the earliest stages of infiltration, often seen in the nights sky. Does not take an active roll until the planet is assaulted. Assumed to be [i]guiding[/i] and [i]overseeing[/i] infiltration and disruption. The sub-species is widely known as '_.' [/color][color=green][b]]Would you like to read 'Article: Hive Fleets' now?[[/b][/color][color=black][b] [[/b]
[b]-- ]Lictor[ - ][/b]Reports suggest that every member of this sub species is as great a threat as the fabled 'Deathleaper'. [/color][color=green][b]]Would you like to read 'Article: Deathleaper' now?[[/b][/color][color=black][b] [[/b]
[b]-- ]Warriors[ - ][/b]Diverse beasts who can infiltrate early and become dormant or be delivered, during the assault, in Mycetic Spores. [/color][color=green][b]]Skip to 'Mycetic Spores' now?[[/b][/color][color=black][b] [[/b]
[b]-- ]Genestealers[ - ][/b]Possibly of the well known sub-species 'Ymgarl,' [/color][color=green][b]]Would you like to read 'Article: Ymgarl' now?[[/b][/color][color=black] more information required.[b][[/b]
[b]-- ]Mycetic Spores[ - ][/b]Capable of bypassing defense systems, radar and psychic probing just like 'Blackbird.' [/color][color=green][b]]Skip to 'Hive Ship' now?[[/b][/color][color=black][b] [[/b]
[b]-- ][/b]There is evidence for many other sub-species but the data is inconclusive or classified. [/color][color=green][b]]Enter passcode now? ---- [[/b][/color][color=black][b] [[/b][/quote][/color][/quote]


[b][u]Apostles/DIY Space Marines(Blood Angels Codex):[/u][/b]
[There have been multiple working titles, most notably: "The Béziers Crusade: 'Kill them all. For He knoweth them that are His.'" And: "Possession is nine-tenths of the Law"]
[quote][What i wrote for: "The Béziers Crusade: 'Kill them all. For He knoweth them that are His.'" Just copying it in, in case it comes in useful later.]

[spoiler][b][u]"The Béziers Crusade: 'Kill them all. For He knoweth them that are His'"[/u][/b]
[b][u]Gaia[/u][/b]
The [b]Inquisitorial Béziers Crusade[/b] concerns a small ternary system named [b]Gaia[/b] on the northern spiral arm of the galaxy. The seventeen planets orbiting in the system are populated by Imperial citizens. The smallest planet, a now desolate rock also named [b]Gaia[/b], is entirely covered in giant hive cities that stretch far above the toxic clouds. The largest planet in the star system, [b]Kanban[/b], has a similar acrid, dead environment to [b]Gaia[/b]'s. [b]Kanban[/b] is an industrial planet full of factories the size of countries and trillions of lives that know only the drudgery of work. The other notable body in orbit of the stars called, [b]The Three Sisters[/b], is a man made planet. Akin to a space hulk, [b]Damocles[/b] allows the ternary system's defence to remain mobilised and prepared. The incredible populace of these three planetary bodies means that the fourteen other planets are solely tasked with providing for the star system but still many items must be sourced from nearby Imperial systems.

[b][u]Lost Souls[/u][/b]
The defence of [b]Gaia[/b] consists of a small Space Marine Chapter called [b]The Lost Souls[/b], or, [b]Pandora's Lost Souls[/b] and a small territorial fleet of part time Imperial Guardsmen who fight alongside the Marines. The Chapter is led by [b]Chapter Master Pandora[/b] and [b]Captain Titan[/b] using [b]Damocles[/b] as a base of operations.

[b][u]Stearne[/u][/b]
During a basic reconnaissance mission to [b]Gaia[/b]'s outskirts [b]Chapter Master Pandora[/b] received word of an Imperial message that he was to personally collect back on [b]Damocles[/b]. Sensing that he should not delay, [b]Pandora[/b] had his cruiser rerouted and was soon in holographic conference with an [b]Ordo Hereticus Inquisitor[/b] named [b]Stearne[/b]. [b]Inquisitor Stearne[/b] was extremely aggressive and scathing in his attitude to [b]Pandora[/b] and he had every right. [b]Stearne[/b] had received word from multiple Rogue Traders that they would know longer enter [b]The Three Sister Star System[/b] due to strong rumours of underhive heresy on planet [b]Gaia[/b]. The Inquisitor was on his way to investigate and ordered [b]Pandora[/b] to meet him personally and escort him to [b]Damocles[/b]. [b]The Chapter Master[/b], ashamed and embarrassed, made arrangements for a large contingent of the fleet to move out but ordered his [b]Head Chaplain[/b], [b]Ammal[/b], to take some Marines and investigate the rumours.

[b][u]Counsel[/u][/b]
On arrival at planet [b]Gaia[/b], [b]Chaplain Ammal[/b] docked his shuttle and boarded the highest spire of the Hive City [b]Béziers[/b]. With him he brought; four Marines from his personal guard; a [b]Scout Sergeant[/b] called [b]Gabe[/b], who was a close friend; and all four Scouts under [b]Gabe's[/b] command. The group were escorted to a large chamber where many of the highest ranking dignitaries of the planet had assembled. Before [b]Ammal[/b] and [b]Gabe[/b] entered the chamber they gave orders for the Marines to take up guard duty around the room and for the Scouts to infiltrate the nearby populace and dig for information. As Ammal entered the room, around fifty dignitaries fell into silence and turned their gazes onto the two newcomers. The next day was wasted mainly on bureaucracy and paperwork with many heated discussions flaring up. By the time all the necessary decisions were reached and the correct paperwork signed, [b]Pandora[/b] and [b]Stearne[/b] had almost arrived at [b]Gaia[/b]. With the meeting adjourned for the time being there was just enough time for [b]Ammal[/b] and [b]Gabe[/b] to meet with the Scouts who had sourced information from the civilians. Where the counsel of dignitaries had only been aware of [b]Stearne's[/b] report and some rumours of heretical beliefs in the underhive; the four Scouts were able to source many names of possible ringleaders and found that the heresy was contained to approximately the three-hundred-and-thirty lowest levels of the underhive. The most important piece of information acquired was that the ringleaders may have preparations underway to summon a demon!

[b][u]Waiting[/u][/b]
Well rested and ready for whatever the enemies of the Imperium had to throw at them, [b]Stearne[/b], [b]Pandora[/b], [b]Ammal[/b], [b]Gabe[/b] and now [b]Titan[/b] met in the large chamber that had been used the previous day. It didn't take long to outline an action plan and after a few hours the room fell into silence. [b]Stearne[/b] sat alone looking thoughtful and troubled as the huge [b]Chapter Master[/b] paced aggressively up and down the main walkway muttering loudly. He bore the look of a man embarrassed, furious and willing to prove himself. [b]Gabe[/b] felt out of place in this room of high ranking men and it showed. He sat on a chair in a corner of the room near a door. If [b]Ammal[/b] hadn't requested he be included in the logistical planning and execution personally then he would have excused himself. The [b]Chaplain[/b] knelt in the middle of the room facing a large Imperial Eagle on the wall, deep in prayer or contemplation. The newcomer, the great [b]Captain Titan[/b], was a vision of supreme majesty. He attentively stood near [b]Pandora[/b] but he was much larger, in fact, he was much larger than most Space Marines, and more graceful too. His pose was one of a soldier under inspection yet he seemed to be the only one unaffected by the tension in the room. [b]Pandora's[/b] muttering finally got the better of the [b]Inquisitor[/b] and he slammed his fist on the table. The already uncomfortable [b]Gabe[/b] jumped from his seat to attention, [b]Pandora[/b] stopped dead and the playful grin that had been on [b]Titan's[/b] face dropped. [b]Ammal[/b] opened his eyes slowly but did not flinch. It was time.

[b][u]Logistics[/u][/b]
[b]Ammal's[/b] valued counsel with his superiors had granted the [b]Scout Sergeant[/b] a very large amount of responsibility in the [b]Crusade[/b]. [b]Gabe[/b] was given control of all the Scouts[i](49)[/i] in the chapter, the local Imperial Guardsmen[i](3000)[/i] that could get there in time, the local law enforcement[i](1600)[/i] as well as [b]Stearne's[/b] Adeptus Arbites[i](63)[/i] and Imperial Assassins[i](2)[/i]. His mission was to go ahead of the other troops and use mobility, numbers and local knowledge to herd and contain the populace. With the vast number of sharpshooters under his control, [b]Gabe[/b] was also charged with the task of eliminating all known and unknown ringleaders. The logistics of this plan were extremely complex but this is where [b]Gabe[/b] excelled, that and marksmanship.
The part of the plan [b]Ammal[/b] was to conduct was much simpler but carried just as much importance if not more. [b]Ammal[/b] was charged with the lives of every [b]Lost Soul Chaplain[/b][i](13)[/i] and every preacher [b]Stearne[/b][i](4)[/i] and the Imperial Guard[i](25)[/i] could muster. On top of this, the [b]Head Chaplain[/b], was aided by the [b]Inquisitor's[/b] Sisters of Battle[i](87)[/i] for support. With a total of [i]42[/i] Spiritual Leaders, [b]Ammal's[/b] mission was to preach [b]The Emperor's[/b] word to the herded civilians face to face and via a comm link. The comm link was networked to the Hive Announcement Speakers all over the underhive, many of which were still working. The link allowed [b]Ammal[/b] to constantly fill the underhive with the amplified sound of his booming voice. This mission had great importance, there were five-hundred levels of underhive which had been condemned meaning around three-million lives to be destroyed. Every life that could be saved would be another life in service to [b]The Emperor[/b].
[b]Pandora[/b], [b]Titan[/b] and [b]Stearne[/b] each took [i]200[/i] of the [i]600[/i] [b]Lost Soul[/b] Space Marines. Each of the three leaders would lead the forces separately but to the same ends. The Marine's duty was simply to remove the condemned populace using a large repertoire of tactics including the tactical bombing of large areas and, of course, brute force.[/spoiler]
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[What i wrote for: "Possession is nine-tenths of the Law." Just copying it in, in case it comes in useful later.]
[spoiler][u][b]Possession is nine-tenths of the Law[/b][/u]
[b]Prologue - The Setting Of A Son[/b]
A tired sun sets over a golden field while a tormented galaxy rots around it. Oblivious to the cancers plaguing the stars, a boy of fourteen ambles through vast oceans of cor[1].
Allowing the sweet fragrance of the crop to fill his lungs he studies the glistening kernels brushing past his soil stained hands. Raising his gaze he lopes off toward an ancient tree atop a knoll of lush, emerald grass. He savours the feeling of the crisp stems biting at his bare shins and the soft, warm soil compacting between his toes. With ease and grace the boy bounds over the steep hillock, halting by the tree. His eyes widen as he absorbs the vibrant, red sky and the sun that crests the horizon. He seats himself against the tree in the cool shade of its leaves. On his private island amidst undulating tides, the boy gives in to his intoxicated senses and rests his weary eyes.

[b]Chapter I - Blind-Sided[/b]
My jaw smarts, a lucky swing. The sickly stench of incense burns my nostrils and the droning chants of my Brothers and Fathers distorts my hearing. He breathes heavily, he steps no lighter, he tires. A cumbersome foot falls to my right, i block a clumsy hook from his, the fool. From my other side, a lighter step and a long fisted jab to my ribs, maybe i was wrong. I clutch my flank and stumble back, searing pain, probably a fracture.
I see him now, Brother Stearne, time to react; Silently i strafe his position, stalk my prey, he's loud, easy to locate. Ignore the pain or i'll compromise my position. The cold metal flooring numbs my feet and the treads press uncomfortably into my soles. He stumbles, swings, pants, he isn't even facing me, i crouch. I concentrate on his movements, he conceals them terribly.
Like a fela-thera[2] with a veenu[3] in its sights i prepare to pounce. Finally my moment presents itself; he drops his guard to clutch the tendons swelling in his neck, a weakness i caused with an early blow. I explode into action, my movements are quick, my blows precise. I drop on my prey from behind, an open handed blow to either side of his neck leaves him reeling. I duck and slide to my left, he turns one-hundred-and-eighty degrees and swings a fist hopelessly at my previous location. I bury my left fist in his ribs, winded, two clean breaks, he'll heal. I move again and before he can react i follow up my attack by sweeping his legs from behind. Catching him by his throat i lower him silently to the ground.
Silence. I stand tall and remove my blindfold.

[b]Chapter II - Abbot Judge[/b]
Warm light from the ceremonial candles flooded my vision. Blinking hard i managed to refocus, the room was dimly lit and my Family were all present in their Ecclesiastical robes.
"Well done, my Son!" Came the genial voice of Abbot Judge, head of the Chapel, approaching from the gloom behind me. Placing a wrinkled hand on my shoulder, "Yet another victory! And a man nearly twice your age no less!" He scoffed.
"Yes, Abbot." I turned to face him, he was an old man, heavily wrinkled under his hood. I loomed over his frail body as he loomed over many of the Fathers.
"Aha! Modest to boot!" He throws a simple gesture and two people step from the shrouded crowd. Gathering up Stearne's unconscious body they silently exit through black curtains at the back of the Chapel. Despite their hooded, black robes, i knew these men. A physician, Father Meyer and the apothecary's aide Brother Pulfer. A delicate bell rang and the rest of the congregation began to exit through two smaller sets of curtains to the fore of the room. Only when the room had emptied did Judge speak again.
"What troubles you, boy?" He paced back and forth in front of me.
"Pardon, sir? I am without worry." Even i didn't believe that, it sounded so rehearsed. I suddenly felt quite naked in just my training shorts, he seemed to notice as he handed me my robes to put on.
"Here. Son, i have seen you grow from a baby. You have excelled in everything you turn your hand to, and yet, you show no joy. You rarely smile, you walk alone when you have the time, i have seen this behavior before."
"Really?" I was surprised, maybe he knew me better than i thought. Maybe others had felt this, this restlessness.
He smiled at me, "Of course! Who is she, Son?"
"Oh," Great, he had no idea what was wrong, "No one, can we talk about this another time, Abbot?" He'll forget with any luck.
"Ah, yes, i understand." He paused momentarily. "Your fighting is improving daily, child. You have clearly been practicing!" I hadn't. "But how is your academic learning? Is it still as strong? I can give you more time, after all your sitting your final exam almost four years early." He chuckled as he said this. He always seemed to take great amusement in my abilities.
"I am prepared, Abbot." The exams were far too easy.
"Good! Now off with you! Prayer time for you, my child!"
"Yes, Abbot."

[b]Chapter III - Solar Flair[/b]
After prayer i went for a shower. I turned the temperature up to its maximum and let it cleanse my very soul. I often used this ritual when i was restless, the steam envelops me, allowing me to clear my head. I suggested it to Brother Stearne and he laughed, he said it would scald the skin right off of a man, i just laughed politely. Knowing that the second sun has yet to set i relax and allow my mind to wander.
I visualize Graia, my beautiful home, slowly revolving on a black backdrop. I see thirty-one orbiting moons, i follow the largest, a black rock, my namesake. Law. I trace it until it wraps its orbit around Graia, then i allow myself to cross the void. The endless void is pockmarked by countless specks of light, each one is another Sun according to the Fathers. I come across our own Suns, The Three Sisters. Mens[4], Cor[5] and Nima[6]. They dance around each other for what seems an eternity.
Unusually, the hot water starts to run out so, grabbing my towel from over the door, i exit the shower cubicle and get dressed quickly in my ceremonial robes. As i walk through the Chapel on my way back to the Dormitory i notice it's eerily empty, no praying Fathers, no lit candles. I lower my hood to use the face scanner that unlock the huge oak doors at the entrance. The red glow momentarily warms the cold, vast entrance hall and with a satisfying click, beeeep, the door unlocks. Upon opening the door i am startled to find that it is already dark, i take a step back, i must have been daydreaming for hours. I close the heavy door behind me and it clicks shut again. The cobblestones shine by the light of the many moons as they pass underneath my feet. A mysterious beast lets out a long howl from the cor fields.
I hang a left a couple of streets from the Chapel to cut down my journey time, a habit of mine. The small alleyway is always pitch black at this time. No light could penetrate it. No matter, i knew exactly where to step to avoid anything that could trip me up. To my surprise, light flooded the area, the old, stone walls flickered a fierce, fiery red. My eyes smart and then, before me, there are the figures of four men.
"Who are you!"
"Your late." Came a rough voice. Others laugh.
As my eyes acclimatise, i realise i have seen these men around town before. The man in front, holding a match, probably the speaker, he is very familiar to me.
"Whwhat?!"
"Get'm."
Something slammed into the back of my calves. Sweeping the legs from under me. Someone must have been hiding at the entrance to the alley. I watched from underneath, somehow, as my body fell, arms flailing, slow motion, like the planets earlier. I hit the ground, no pain, and then my body fell through me, pain shot up my spine. And now i was seeing myself fall again, a third time, slower. This third, translucent me, steadily filled with blinding white light. Just as i hit the ground again, the light exploded from me, filling my vision.

[b]Chapter IV -[/b]


[b]Glossary/Footnotes[/b]
[1][b]Cor(lowercase c)[/b] - A cultivated crop, similar to wheat, that serves as a mass produced staple food source.
[2][b]Fela-thera[/b] - A large stealthy plains predator similar to a panther. The most notable difference is the presence of a sharp predatory beak
[3][b]Veenu[/b] - A small herbivorous creature similar to a horse or deer. After its size the main visual difference is a long vertical beak.
[4][b]Mens[/b] - A small new star orbiting Nima[6].
[5][b]Cor(uppercase C)[/b] - A small dying star in an elliptical orbit around the two other stars in the tertiary system.
[6][b]Nima[/b] - A large dying star at the centre of the tertiary system. [/spoiler][/quote]
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[Where someone or something hasn't been given a name yet i have inserted _underscores or avoided using a name to hold the place where the name should be entered.]
[This is [i]still[/i] a [i]very[/i] rough draft. I have taken the first pass and tightened it up a bit, reformatted it and built a story around the character but it's no where near finished yet. In fact i'm refusing to read it back until i've had another pass over it because i know it's been written so badly. I really need to rethink the battle with the daemon and do some research on possession, i'm not at all happy with it which is why i've stopped rewriting at a strange place.]
[quote]Planet, _, was brought under control by Rogal Dorn and his Imperial Fists during the Great Crusade, M31. When Dorn and his legion landed on _'s surface, with Phalanx hanging in the sky above them, they were praised as gods. Crowds gathered to cheer and praise the Angels of Death. During a parade to celebrate _'s integration with the Imperium; grown men wept; mother's held out their babies for the marines to touch; the lame cried out to be healed; even the poor offered the clothes from their backs in submission to the one, true Emperor.
One Marine, unaware of of his latent skill as an Empath, stopped beside a hysterical mother attempting to force her crying baby on him. He took the boy in one arm wrapping his loin cloth over it, and with that he turned and continued on the parade route. The mother wept tears of hysterical joy, not because she had lost her only son but because he had been favoured by the gods. She was quickly absorbed by the crowd that ebbed and flowed, each individual trying to make their own offerings.

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_ participated in defending the Imperium with Dorn and the Imperial Fists during the Horus Heresy.

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The time of the Great Scouring saw _ don black armour, like his Primarch, in mourning of his fallen brothers. During the standard but vicious cleansing of a planet from Chaos taint, _ and nineteen of his brothers were tasked to check that a ruined and abandoned Imperial fortress was in fact completely unoccupied as it appeared to be. A simple task for the masters of siege warfare. The group split into two reconnaissance groups of five marines, Beta and Gamma, and one commanding group of ten, Alpha, of which _ was part of.
Beta Unit, with flamer specialists, goes to the below ground areas of the fortress but loses radio contact early on.
Gamma Unit are assault specialists, they use jump packs to search the fortress from above. They clarify that the ruins appear unoccupied from above and that the higher areas of the bastion are empty or destroyed. The Sergeant, leading Alpha, orders them to relocate to where they will be better used to eradicate the traitors.
Alpha unit find evidence that the traitors had been held up here but preliminary bombardments had killed them all, bodies are found scattered all over the building, some heavily mutilated by the artillery, others just mutated by Chaos. Satisfied that the building is unoccupied, they head below ground to rejoin with Beta Unit so the squad can relocate to a more useful position.
They have trouble locating Beta and still aren't getting a reply via comms. The interior below ground has been much further tainted by the traitors, vile ruins are found all over he place. They come across a room where one member of Beta Squad is crouched down in the corner of the room. He looks terrified and maddened, most disconcerting in a Marine. They approach him and he lashes out with his combat knife stabbing one marine in the jugular. Another lets loose a couple of bolt shells, killing the maddened marine. After tending to their injured brother but loosing him they push on through the fortress, much more carefully now. One at a time they find the other four Marines dead and often mutilated.
The Sergeant makes the call that they should leave and call for backup although the threat is unknown. A couple of Marines mysteriously disappear at different times leaving the group at only seven strong from twenty. They eventually near an exit but are cut off by a daemon from the warp. A fight ensues, the daemon is playing with them at best. After dispatching or grounding the marines the daemon turns its attention to _ who is getting to his feet again. They engage in close combat, again the daemon is playing with him. It disarms him, uses its warp powers to lift him from the ground and, without causing damage, plunges it's translucent arm through his power armour and chest. It grips his first heart, the one he was born with and slowly applies pressure, it takes time to enjoy his pain. Though his secondary heart taking over the pain is excruciating, through the haze of warp energy and searing agony, _ becomes aware that time around him and the beast has all but stopped. His brother Marines lie dead or are getting very slowly to their feet. His heart about to burst, he looks the foul beast squarely in the eyes and against all odds forces a single powerful beat of his heart. And another, the daemon is enraged by the act of defiance and drops him to the floor, it places a huge taloned foot on his chest pinning him in place. It bends down to stare into his eyes. Time is still creeping forward around them, two marines are almost on their feet. _ struggles to prise the beasts foot from his chest. In it's right hand the daemon materialises a large blade. At that moment the Sergeant pulls the trigger of his boltgun and lets loose a single shell from the barrel. Sensing this, the beast turns and parries the shell with the side of the blade, suddenly time around them reverts to normal speed. The Sergeant lets loose a few more rounds which hit the daemon, it charges him, and although he puts up a valiant fight with his chainsword it eventually removes his head in one broad swing of its foul blade. The third Marine counter charged but is thrown callously to one side as the daemon strides back toward _. Meanwhile _ had managed to get to his feet and regain some composure, he had managed to grab the Chaplains Crozius Arcanum and now brandished it in defiance. The beast accelerated, blade held high, ready to kill _. Just as the creature brought the blade down and was about to run into _. He raised the Crozius, said a prayer, and with all his might struck it between the eyes. Showered in warp energy he was fired across the room and hit the floor unconscious.
When the other surviving marine brought him round he informed _ that he had dragged him outside and apothecaries were on their way. The Marine soberly praised him for banishing the foul daemon back to the warp but he quickly lost consciousness again.
...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Over many Millenia the Illuminati have hidden Ammal in many Chapters and Retinues under many guises. Ammal has been made Chaplain and also and an Inquisitor of the Ordo Malleus in recent times. Most recently the Illuminati, with a mind for him to do their bidding, have given him his own ship and a small contingency of Marines and vehicles. Among the many gifts he has received he has an new ornate suit of power armour and two matching Crozius Arcanum's with blades protruding from the bottom of the shaft.
The training he has received has allowed him to harness the potent psychic ability that he is now showing and assumed to have been latent.
Ammal experiences a lot of inner turmoil. He is living well beyond his years and his strength and psychic abilities are continually growing. He is distraught as he doesn't know whether his psychic abilities were latent and the extensive juvenats are keeping him alive or whether the daemon never left him.[/quote]]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/426066/3843743.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/426066/3843743.page GMT I am going to have it in the structure listed below:
10 men make a squads,
10 squads make a company and
10 companies make a chapter.
There called the blue tigers because they are adorned with blue and black camoflauge (Purely it makes them look bad ass).
The Chapter Council.
There chapter master will be called angelo della morte. (angel of death in italian.)
There will be 10 captains.
1st avenger company captain Sabre,
2nd assault company captain Orbit,
3rd raider company captain Church,
4th rapid deployment company captain Scar,
5th roaring tiger company captain Hawk,
6th tactical company captain Grimice,
7th reserve company captian Murdoch,
8th reserve company captain White,
9th reserve company captain Howitser and
10th recon company captain Ghost.
Any comments on how to improve would be accepted.]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/425779/3837842.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/425779/3837842.page GMT


The Machani Carrion Crows-
An Air Cav/ Air Assault regiment from the Imperial world of Macha, a planet of heavily wooded peaks and gaping chasms channeling torrential rivers. Macha rotates about its axis about once per rotation around its sun, this results in three seasons; night, day, and anything in-between. During these long nights, vast glaciers form in the narrow valleys and canyons of Macha, thawing into seething rivers in the day. Machas scattered population builds their communities high in the mountainous platueas precisesely to avoid these crushing natural phenomena.



Modus Operandi-
The Carrion Crows are known for using autoguns and for placing an emphasis on demolitions training; believing as they do that the report of the rifle and the explosion of the satchel charge please the Carrion Lord even as they bring death to his enemies. They excel in establishing beachheads, surgical strikes, and rapid response operations. Descending from the skies like so many murders of the corpse eaters they are named for, the Crows plunge upon their foes, releasing a devastating hail of solid projectile slugs and satchel charges in praise of their Carrion Lord.


Regimental Culture-
The Cult of the Carrion Lord- an Imperial warrior-cult who worships the Emperor as the Carrion Lord of Battle. The Deathbirds consist of veteran members of the regiment who are initiated into the innermost circles of the Cult of the Carrion Lord. Acceptance into this circle of the cult, and thus the veteran squads of the regiment, is an honor highly sought-after by the Carrion Crows. The Deathbirds can be distinguished by the black markings on their otherwise standard regimental uniforms. Cult practice centers on making offerings of blood, viscera and raw meat to The Carrion Lord, which is then consumed by his worshipers, all save the eyes which are left out for the lesser servants of their Lord. The Crows execute their prisoners in ritual fashion as well, constructing towering gallows capable of hanging hundreds, or simply throwing a rope over a suitable limb, and leaving the corpses of their enemies to swing in the wind for the birds to feast upon. Whispered myths tell of the old ways of the cult, including gruesome ritual executions, and consuming the bodies of the fallen, rather than sacrificial beasts. Whether these whispers are based in fact is unknown, though there are many among the Deathbirds who would return to "The Old Ways"..


Notable characters-
Major Rex Kory, CO of Bravo Co, 2 Bn, "Blackbird Bravo". Callsign: Black Death.
Initiated into the Deathbirds and promoted to Lieutenant for his actions during the brutal fighting in the Gel'bryn woods. Then-Sergeant Kory led his platoon in a vicious skirmish against a Krootox herd. Sgt. Kory was able to maintain the integrity of his platoon despite a well-executed Kroot ambush which saw his platoon commander killed in the opening salvo. Sgt. Kory assumed command of the platoon and quickly initiated a counter-charge, ultimately killing many of the enemy and driving off the few remnants of the herd. Sustaining grave life-threatening injuries in close combat with a Krootox, his promotion and initiation into the Deathbirds were filed as posthumous; however his fighting spirit and devotion to the Carrion Lord saw him through the tortures of the battle-surgeons, and back into service as the respected commander of a Deathbird squad. His actions reflected the highest credit upon himself and the Machani Imperial Service.


Major Engagements-
Among the regiments to answer Cardinal Esau Gurneys call for action against the Tau in the Damocles Crusade was the 501st Regiment of the Carrion Crows. The 501st, informally known as "The Corpse Swallowers", participated in Operation Pluto on Dal'yth alongside the Rakarshan Rifles through the Gel'bryn woods in action against the Kroot. In the fierce fighting that followed, the Kroot formed a wary respect for the 501st.

That's as far as I've gotten; ideas are appreciated.]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/425607/3834362.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/425607/3834362.page GMT
Chapter Name: The Angels of Despair

Founding: 3rd (001.M32)

Chapter World: Xavier ( Civilised Desert World ) Located on the border line of Segmentum Temptus and Segmentum Pacificus

Fortress Monastery: Rogal Dorn's Keep

Gene-seed: Imperial Fist

Known Descendants: None

Inquisitor Arely Investigating:
*Avenging Angels Xenos Technology Rumors*
*Repeated War Crime Offenses*

Planet fall on Xavier went as planned, the Imperial Governor meet all of my demands providing me with all the resources I would need for my inspection of the Angel’s of Despair fortress monastery. I have made contact with the Chapter and I expect to be inside the monastery searching for answers within the next few days, until then I will stay with the Imperial Governor.

*Day 11*

The Angels of Despair claim that they are unable to verify my rosette. I would believe that to be true if it were not for the ease of the Imperial Governor to confirm the authenticity of it. I have earn the right to bear that rosette, I have the power to purge entire worlds if I deem fit, their mockery of authority is legendary and it will cost them dearly if my investigation finds any flaw.

*Day 30*

The Angels of Despair continue to persist that they are unable to verify my rosete. This is unnecessary and I am starting to believe that they are hiding something. My retinue has been monitoring the monastery and there has been little to no unexpected activity. I am growing weary of their lame excuses, soon I will be forced to force my way into the monastery.

*Day 42 Recording*

The Angels of Despair finally confirmed my rosette and gave me full access to their fortress monastery, Dorn's Keep and Chaplain Xynas was appointed my guide.

My first conversation with him was as followed:

“We are thankful for your patience, we welcome any and all guests ordain and sent by the Emperor.”

"If you welcome all guests then why have you denied other Inquisitor access to your monastery?" I asked.

Chaplain Xyna replied, "We could not verify their rosette".

"What about our request for explanations of your various War Crimes?"

"Who and what defines a war crime?" he answered.

"A third founding chapter should know what defines a war crime, and if you must know having an Inquisitor of my ranking wait 42 days is another infraction comparable to that of a war crime".

Chaplain Xyna facial expression changed almost as if he had caught the scent of something foul before saying, "We require verification from two different sources even if it is from Terra, you see the Angels of Despair have a trust issue with psykers, such as yourself."

"Is that a threat, typical behavior for arrogant Astartes, but know this my large retinue will search every inch of this gargantuan monastery and if we find any sign of taint your chapter will have to answer to the might of the Imperium." I said while making eye contact with the marine.

While maintaining eye contact he said in a different voice that made his previous one sound artificial, "The only sign of taint you will find here, is yourself" .

“We shall see” I said before closing the door to my new room.

]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/425425/3830647.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/425425/3830647.page GMT
Blood Lords
The Blood Lords are a successor chapter of the Blood Angels Chapter. They were created by the High Lords of Terra during 977997M41 after a Tau Empire expansion was imminent upon the Eastern Fringe Imperial Worlds. Out of caution about the growing disturbance of Tau Empire, the High Lords of Terra summoned Dante to notify him that ten of his fastest most accurate Veteran Sergeants of his 1st company will become the captains of 9 companies and one being the Chapter Master. The Blood Lords 10th Company, being the Company of Neophytes, is led by a group of Scout Sergeants instead of one Captain. This was requested by Dante out of fear of losing ten of his finest Battle Brothers.
The First Blood Lord was named, Murax Fulkrim of the Blood Angels First Company. Murax served in countless Campaigns against all those who threatened the Imperium and his Battle Brothers. Murax Fulkrim was promoted to Chapter Master of the Blood Lords by Dante personally. Murax was given the responsibility of choosing the Iconography, Organisation and Heraldry of the Blood Lords. He was also given the great responsibility of assigning the Nine Captains to their Respective Companies.
Under Murax’s leadership was,
Hulgrim Fidel – Captain of the First Company. Hulgrim is a War Veteran of many campaigns surpassed only by his former brothers from the Blood Angels First Company, Commander Dante, and Murax himself.
Oran Lerman – Captain of the Second Company. Oran is a master tactician of the battle field and a hardy man. Many times, Oran has used the phrase “Come on then you filthy Sluggaz!” This is because Oran states he likes the noise Ork Sluggaz make when you behead them and thinks all his foes should be Sluggaz for this reason.
Hadril Cassius – Captain of the Third Company. Dubbed Carnifex Slayer, Hadril is known for his historical torture of a Tyranid Carnifex. Severing the Carnifex’s limbs one by one Hadril simply smiled as he drove his sword into the Carnifex’s heart.
Argus Morgan – Captain of the Fourth Company. Argus makes best use of the Jump pack launching him deep into the enemy lines, bludgeoning anyone near with his hardy power fist.
Chief Apothecary Nestor Sultan – Captain of the Fifth Company. Nestor spent many years as a Sanguinary Priest in the Blood Angels, even fighting at Brother Curbolo’s side on many occasions. Nestor’s Weapon of Choice is a Thunder Hammer.
Invictus Lorien – Captain of the Sixth Company. Invictus was a member of the Blood angels Terminators therefore is blessed with the Honour of Tactical Dreadnaught Armour. This makes Invictus or “Vic” as he likes to be called, very hard to hurt and even harder to stop.
Dargus Blanter – Captain of the Seventh Company. Dargus is Chief of Scrolls. Tapping into the Warp for his power, Dargus is under Constant attack from temptation of the Warp and the rage that curses all Blood Angels.
Sicarius Tridon – Captain of the Eighth Company. Sicarius is a very renowned Assault Marine and continually defies death in countless situations. Sicarius equips himself with a lightning claw that has tasted enemy blood more than once.
Jacobus Primus – Captain of the Ninth Company. Jacobus once was a great Devastator, Master of the Lascannon, being a deadly shot. Jacobus now favours the power fist.
Scout Sergeant Demos Clavero and Scout Sergeant Lycus Septimus were originally assigned to lead the 10th Company. Since then Demos had been slain in battle against a band of Orks, and Lycus has been reported missing and is under investigation for suspicion of Heresy. Due to vacant leadership, All Neophytes have been shuffled into each company to be trained by the older Battle Brothers until a leader can be chosen by Murax.

Heraldry
Upon election as the chapter master Murax was in charge of Heraldry and Icon for his chapter. Claiming in blood they are still Sanguinius’ precious Blood Angels so they kept the Classic Bloody Red armour colour with the exception of the left shoulder pad inlay dictating which company the battle brother is from with a coloured blood drop. Due to the Sanguinary Gene-seed becoming more and more unstable the Blood Lords have fits of Rage, therefore have been nicknamed the dead men. For this reason Battle Brothers, Death Company, Sanguinary Guard, Sanguinary Priests and even the Captains will have bones painted on their armour somewhere, usually the mouth guard on their helmets or toes or fingers.

Homeworld
The Blood Lords homeworld is Baal Prime. They recruit from Baal Prime as they feel they are still Blood Angels in body so they want their brothers to be Blood Angels by birth. It is for this reason, Women on Baal Prime who are able to bear a child get the starting DNA strings injecting into the unborn baby giving its body plenty of time to adjust to the life ahead. From birth the child will go into the Fortress Monastery of the Blood Lords where they will spend their life training until they are of age to go into surgery to gain the Sanguinary Gene-seed.

Combat doctrine
The Blood Lords fight incredibly similar to their predecessors. Though they look at the Black Rage as a gift of power and immortality from their Primarch Father. Using the most they can out of Deep Striking and Drop Pods, The Blood Lords state they feel “alive” when they are knee deep in enemy blood pouring from corpses they have cut down with chainswords and lightning claws.
Whilst the Blood Lords were founded to tackle the incoming Tau threat, the Blood Lords constantly find themselves engaged in warfare with Eldar, Dark Eldar, Ork and Tyranids. Most notable of warfare was the attack of Starcruiser VII. A strand of Hive Fleet Behemoth forcefully boarded the Starcruiser slaying many Space Marines caught off guard. The Tyranids overran the Starcruiser leaving the halls drenched in blood and not a living soul left aboard. A mayday call from the Admiral was sent to Baal Prime before the Cruiser got overrun so when the Starcruiser floated back into Baal orbit Lascannon beamed fired at the Starcruiser killing all Tyranids left aboard.



:bloodangel: 3000 Point Death Company


]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/425225/3827101.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/425225/3827101.page GMT
This is my first attempt at a Warhammer 40K story. It has a somewhat sweeping scope, from which I plan to write more stories about this particular corner I've made in the universe.

Please feel free to comment

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

[b]Legacy of Steel[/b]

The dropship began its descent.

He was already putting his life at risk. The Estimates indicated that one in every thousand landings ended with a fatal accident, even without ground-to-space fire contesting it.

Yet he felt no fear and paid no heed to the possibility of death. For Brother Belisarius was of the Adeptus Astartes. The Angels of Death. The Space Marines.

He was going in alone. It had been determined that only a single battle-brother was needed to fulfill this Quest. And even if The Estimates were wrong and the odds were against him, Belisarius had no doubt that he would triumph.

The dropship began to buckle as it entered the atmosphere in earnest, but Belisarius ignored it in favor of beginning the Rite of Inspection. This was the most sacred rite of his Chapter: the exalted Steel Wardens of the Forge World Cuxehaven.

Other Chapters were content to simply procure their arms and armor from the vast stockpiles provided by the Mechanicum, but the Wardens took a direct interest in the production of their own wargear. His primary armament - his boltgun - had been hand-crafted by his Brother-Sergeant Darius. The power armor was fitted to perfection by the ancient Brother Medeus, who still served as the Chapter's Chief Armorer despite spending decades entombed in Dreadnought armor.

And then he had his war knife. It was a backup weapon of limited combat value. But Belisarius admitted to himself that the knife nonetheless carried great sentimental value. He had forged the knife himself, for his chosen craft was that of the blacksmith. Unlike most of his brothers, who were trained by the Tech-Priests of Cuxehaven, Belisarius had come from the fief world of Brennus. It was a simple, medieval world still dominated by knights on horseback, and whose technology was backwards save for the fine psi-swords forged by its Priest-Smiths.

It was also the reason why he was chosen for this Quest. During the Rite of Selection, it was pointed out that Helvetica was also a backwards and feudal world. The appearance of a mere hundred Ork pirates had frightened them, for they could not match even the Ork's primitive Shootas. The arrival of a "regular" Steel Warden - whose lexicon was laced with Mechanicum terminology - would only serve to bewilder and frighten them further.

Besides which, Brennic sons were also known for their hatred of Orks, and Belisarius had fought against them before in both his current and previous life.

Belisarius felt the drop ship shudder as it met the ground. The warning sigils turned green. He stood up as the door fell open. He took his first step on Helvetican soil.

He did not know it at the time, but he was actually the first off-worlder to visit Helvetica in a hundred years.

He would also never know that he would be the last off-worlder to visit Helvetica for the next three hundred.

------------

It was hard to tell, but Lieutenant Thor Abernahty was pissed off.

Thor had a handsome face that went very well with his uniform, and he always made an effort to keep it looking calm and collected to project an aura of easy confidence about him. He struggled to maintain that demeanor even as he found himself stuck with yet another stupid assignment; there was never a shortage of them in the Imperial Guard.

The locals were clearly mad at them. Most of the villagers were throwing rocks at him. A few were shooting at him with their archaic stub-guns or crossbows. He'd already be dead if he wasn't safely buttoned up inside an armored vehicle.

His driver, the veteran Sergeant Finch, was also getting annoyed. He was slowly backing their Chimera away from the unruly mob, but they didn't seem to care. Their missiles were still bouncing off the Chimera's thick front plate.

"What the hell are we doing here sir?" Finch grumbled, to which Thor did not respond. They both knew exactly why they were here. The people of Helvetica hadn't been paying their tithes for the past four hundred years, and the Imperium had finally come to collect. Their regiment was one of the units deployed by Administratum officials to ensure this mission was completed - using force if necessary.

Thor didn't see the point however. Helvetica was an extremely poor and backwards world, barely into its Gunpowder Age. The tithe was supposed to come in the form of agricultural produce - to supply the starving citizens of the Hive World Akkadia - but the Helveticans were suffering from a planet-wide famine themselves.

"Can we at least shoot back sir?" Finch finally said as his commander stonewalled him. Thor wasn't sure if Finch was joking, but he had to admit they were all on edge. A nagging voice in his head kept telling him that something wasn't right. That there was something unnatural about the anger of the villagers they were facing.

Suddenly, Thor realized that the nagging voice in his head was very real.

+Oh, sorry Thor. I didn't realize my thoughts were already intruding into yours,+ said a woman's voice directly into his head, +Did I frighten you?+

Normally, Thor would have answered "Yes". No sane Guardsman welcomed having a psyker for a passenger. But Sanctioned Farah Toth was different. She was actually pretty grounded and normal, with a pleasant face and short black hair. The two of them had somehow forged a friendship after the bloody events that marred the regiment's Founding Day.

+Why, I'm flattered that you consider me a friend, Thor,+ Farah said mentally as she sensed Thor's thoughts, +Medicae Jantryce would be _very_ jealous if she found out.+

Thor found himself physically chuckling at that last comment, joining Farah's mental laughter. They both needed a moment of levity while they figured out a way to deal with the unruly mob.

Finch, however, had not been privy to their mental conversation. He raised an eyebrow at his commander and said, "I wasn't joking about shooting at them sir. I'm not used to getting shot at without being allowed to shoot back."

"I'm sorry Sergeant, I just remembered an old joke," Thor said to cover their tracks, before going back to business, "Mamzelle Toth, can you sense if our target is in the area?"

"Still working on it, Lieutenant," she answered with her real voice, "But I can sense the unease in the minds of these villagers. They're... hiding something."

"You should just let us deploy and disperse them," added a new voice to the conversation. Sergeant Garonne was the leader of the elite Huskarl squad assigned to guard Sanctioned Toth, and they were well-equipped with body armor and specialized weapons. However, Thor was reluctant to deploy them. Ten men - no matter their gear - would have a tough time against nearly two hundred angry villagers.

"Our mission isn't to disperse the mob or wipe this village off the map. Our mission is to capture high-ranking nobles that are refusing to pay the tithe," Thor reminded, "We only deploy once we're sure that this Baron Xevan is in the area, and not a moment before."

It was a testament to Thor's reputation as a leader that both Sergeants stopped griping and did as they were told. The crowd continued to hound them, but they were running out of things to throw at the Guardsmen. Some people were now turning around to go home, their anger already satisfied.

Farah, however, had also picked up on another reason why the mob was beginning to disperse.

"This was just a distraction. They're trying to cover his escape," Farah said suddenly.

"What? Where is he now?!" Garonne demanded.

Thor ignored Garonne as Farah again explained to him the imprecise nature of divinations. Instead, he flipped open the map.

"Where to boss?" Finch asked automatically.

There were only two roads going out of the village, and Thor knew the Baron was road bound if their intelligence on the size of his retinue was correct. Thor and his companions had been sitting on one of the roads this whole time, so their target had to take the other. It led to an old abandoned windmill. Thor pointed to that spot on the map.

"Make it quick Finch."

Finch nodded and went to work. The Chimera lurched as he took a roundabout route, bypassing the town and quickly leaving the mob behind. Thor opened the commander's hatch as soon as the villagers were out of sight. He needed a better view of the countryside, and he couldn't do that while peering out of the tiny vision slits on the Multi-laser turret.

It didn't take long before he spotted the mill from a distance; it was sitting atop a hill that had a commanding view of the fields around it. It seemed like a perfectly defensible position.

And then, he saw a flash.

A cloud of dirt and smoke appeared behind their Chimera, as a cannon shell struck the ground. The sound of the explosion temporarily deafened Thor, but he smiled through the pain. They were now facing the best of Helvetican technology, the kind only nobles could afford. They were on the right track.

"I think we've found our target! Evasive actions, Finch!" Thor shouted as he got on the Multi-laser and opened fire. The enemy cannon was an antique by Imperial Guard standards. It was muzzle-loaded, had no auspex, and didn't even have gun shield. By contrast, Thor's Multi-laser could fire on full auto, was gyro-stabilized, and had powerful optics. Thor easily tore the crew to pieces with blazing blue beams of light before they could reload and fire a second shot.

But the rebels had more than one cannon. Two more were man-handled into view. Thor shredded the crew of a second gun, but the third managed to fire. The round fell short.

"Frakking hell!" shouted Sergeant Garonne, "Request permission to deploy!"

"Not yet," Thor countered, "Open the top hatch and give me more suppressing fire!"

Garonne grunted, but followed Abernahty’s command. The Chimeras of their regiment didn't have hull-mounted lasguns to let the squad fight from within. Instead, a large hatch was fitted on top of the passenger compartment to let the infantry shoot out with any weapon they had. Garonne's men had a pair of grenade launchers for long-range engagements, and they began lobbing Hi-Ex shells at the enemy positions.

The Multi-laser fire and grenades soon drove the third crew from their gun. Other rebels moved forward and tried to re-man the cannons, but the fire of the Guardsmen was too hot. After losing over a dozen men, the rebels gave up on their big guns and switched to their small arms.

The enemy was now shooting from every hole and window in the crumbling mill, and their fire was surprisingly accurate. Thor was forced to duck back down the turret, and so were Garonne's grenadiers. Finch ignored this all and drove the Chimera up the hill. As soon as they crested the slope, he switched on the hull-mounted heavy flamer and incinerated all of the cannons to prevent the rebels from using them again.

Thor took a deep breath, then turned to look at Farah.

"He's definitely inside," she promised.

"I can just burn them out sir," Finch pointed out, motioning to his flamer controls.

"Alive, Finch, we need him alive," Thor reminded, before turning to Garonne, "I'll lay down smoke and suppressing fire. Launch your assault to capture the target whenever you feel feasible."

Garonne nodded in agreement, and Thor went back to manning his Multi-laser. Where fire came, he shot a burst in return. It continued for a few minutes, but enemy fire quickly slackened as Thor inflicted casualties on the defenders.

When the enemy fire had died down to almost nothing, Garonne led his men out the Chimera's rear hatch and charged the windmill. Thor fired the Chimera's smoke launchers at the same time to help cover their advance.

Despite the cover, they almost didn't make it.

Realizing enemy infantry was coming, the rebels braved Thor's Multi-laser and renewed their fire, shooting blindly into the smoke. Trooper LeGrand was hit in the shoulder and fell bleeding on the ground. Garonne took a round in the chest, but the bullet bounced off his chest plate. Two others were hit, but were likewise saved by their body armor. The Huskarls as a whole pressed on, firing their hellguns and grenade launchers at the windows to eliminate the persistent enemy.

Finally, Garonne reached the base of the mill. As the smoke cleared, Thor watched as each trooper primed a stun grenade, while Specialist Arvani readied his meltagun. The Huskarls didn't believe in breaching through doors that could be defended and booby-trapped, so Arvani blew out a section of wall with his weapon. The grenades were tossed in through the new opening, and the Huskarls charged in a moment after they detonated.

From outside, there was nothing else Thor could do. There were more sounds of shooting and screaming, but none of rebels were firing at the Chimera waiting outside. He could tell Farah was trying to read the minds of the combatants to figure out what was going on, but she remained silent. Seconds ticked by. Then it became minutes. Finally, a voice came in over the vox.

"We have him. Alive," Garonne reported, "Arveni's dead though. Some bastard stabbed him with a knife. We eliminated all other defenders."

"Any other casualties?" Thor inquired, trying to get Garonne's mind off losing one of his men and prevent a last-minute prisoner execution.

"Took a couple of scratches, and Corporal Dasul has a nasty head wound," Garonne said, "Considering there were almost twenty of them in here, I think we got off cheap."

A final count would reveal that Baron Xevan had fifty-four men in his retinue. Seventeen were killed manning the cannons. Thor's suppressing fire eliminated five more. Garonne's squad of nine men had taken on a force three times their size in close combat and won. Even considering the fact that the rebels only had bolt-action slug rifles compared to the autofire hellguns of the Huskarls, it was still quite a feat.

But the counting would have to wait. Thor had to report the success of their mission first. He turned on the vox and sent a signal to their waiting Colonel.

"This is Steel Double-Two. Blueblood is in custody. I repeat, Blueblood is in custody."

"Acknowledged Double-Two. Good work," replied the Colonel, "Get your people home."

Thor took a deep breath, and allowed himself a smile. Garonne's squad emerged from the ruined mill, their captive in tow.

Baron Xevan seemed like a pathetic thing. Blood was dripping down from his face, after Garonne had broken his nose with a rifle butt. His hands were bound and his clothes were tattered. The only sign that he was nobility was a silver amulet that he wore around his neck.

"Oh Throne..." Farah suddenly said, as the temperature inside the Chimera dipped. Thor turned to her worriedly.

"What's wrong?"

"That amulet..." she started, before grabbing the vox, "Sergeant Garonne, can you examine the amulet the Baron is wearing?"

Even from afar, Thor could tell that Garonne was confused by the order, but he followed them nonetheless. He was clearly shocked by what he saw.

"You bastard! Where did you get this amulet?!" the Sergeant shouted, as he yanked it off the Baron's neck. He then kicked the nobleman to the ground and aimed his hellgun at him.

"Sergeant! We need him alive!" Thor shouted, and just in the nick of time. Trembling, Garonne pointed his gun away.

"The bastard was wearing a defaced relic!" Garonne finally said as he caught his breath, "He's not just a rebel. He's a damn heretic!"

"How do you know it's a relic?" Thor asked as he stole a glance at Farah, who was already turning pale. She already knew what it was.

"He tried to scratch them off with infernal sigils, but I can still make out the original design," Garonne explained, giving the treacherous Baron another kick for good measure, "It's a flaming sword, with the words "Vae Victis" engraved under it."

Thor and Finch stared at each other, before their eyes turned to the regimental patch sewn on each other's uniform. Every member of the regiment wore one, depicting the cleansing sword of Saint Velcita and the two-word motto of her homeworld.

Somehow, this Baron from Helvetica had gotten hold of a relic from Brennus.

------------

Four hundreds years before, the relic was not yet an amulet. It wasn't even a relic at all.

Brother Belisarius of the Steel Wardens had landed far from the Helvetican capital, not wanting to attract the attention of the High Lords. Attracting their attention meant politics, and he didn't want to be caught up in any of their pointless feudal struggles. He was only here to eliminate the Xenos threat.

So he instead landed on an open grain field, abandoned by a farmer fleeing from the enemy horde. Aside from the advantage of solitude, it was also closer to the target area.

After securing the perimeter, Belisarius began unpacking the rest of his equipment. Besides his armaments, the Chapter had provided him with ground transport. It was a Cuxehaven-pattern combat bike, also known as the Cataphract.

He rode it like it was a horse from his homeworld, from a time when he was still just a boy. Ruggedly built with durable wheels and a powerful engine, the Cataphract could endure rough terrain easily even at high speeds. It didn't take him long to find evidence of the enemy's depredations. A burnt-out village, its inhabitants reduced to smoking bones. Grain fields still ablaze, the bodies of defeated knights cremating within. A caravan of refugees slaughtered on the road, their blood soaking the ground.

But there was something wrong about the blood. Belisarius immediately felt uneasy upon seeing it. He killed the engine and stopped to take a look.

What he saw were symbols not meant for mortal eyes. They were the symbols of the Dark Gods. The marks of Chaos.

And Belisarius knew for a fact that Chaos and Orks did not mix.

His senses then alerted him of something else. It was the sound of war cries. Of steel meeting steel. A battle was being fought without him.

Working quickly, Belisarius dropped a thermal charge in the middle of the caravan and sped towards the fighting. As he left, the charge consumed and purified every trace of corruption on the ground.

His steed then groaned and buckled as he guided it over a hill, and then through a forest. The fight was still miles away, but he could hear every detail. One group was shouting praises to Khorne as they hacked and cleaved their way forward on foot. A second, dwindling group was fleeing as fast as they could from the first.

He locked on to the sounds of the first group, and gave thanks to the Emperor for giving him yet another chance to face the hated Archenemy. Brennic sons may be known for their skill in hunting greenskins, but the Orkish infestations were a relatively recent development. Their true foe had always been the Ruinous Powers. Their patron Saint was a homegrown champion who freed her world from their grip a thousand years before the Steel Wardens arrived to bring order to the rest of the Cuxehaven subsector.

Finally, he burst out of the woods and entered clear ground. He could see the line of Khornate warriors now, chasing the helpless men-at-arms trying to escape their wrath. He pulled the trigger on the Cataphract's twin heavy bolters.

Where there were once warriors quickly turned into a sea of blood and gore. Belisarius had taken the enemy by flank, and their primitive armor offered no protection against the explosive bolter shells. Ninety out of the ninety-six enemy warriors died on the first gun run, and none of the survivors were prepared as Belisarius turned around for a second. There would be no need for a third.

Pausing to inspect the remains of his enemy, Belisarus noted the terror in the faces of the men he had just saved. They were simple foot soldiers, conscripted by their lords against their will and thrown against an unrelenting enemy. Some were still running. They feared the giant encased in ceramsteel almost as much as a hundred Khornate fanatics.

"Who is your leader?" Belisarius decided to ask.

None dared to answer

"I said who is your leader?" Belisarius repeated.

Finally, one trembling man raised his hand.

"Your name?"

"Captain Alexis Drahn. Under the Barony of House Xevan," the man managed to reply without stuttering in panic.

"Captain Drahn, I am Belisarius of the Steel Wardens, and am therefore your lawful lord above even Baron Xevan himself," the Space Marine explained very clearly, ignoring the hushed words being said by the other soldiers, "You are aware who the Steel Wardens are, yes?"

"Of... of course my lord!" the Captain replied, losing his grip on his stutter, "It... it is an honor to meet one of the knights who lead crusade in the stars, from the shining fortre..."

"Enough. I need information," Belisarius interrupted, not in the mood for hearing myths, "What happened here?"

"They started killing everyone!" Drahn answered, as though finally finding someone he could vent his confusion to, "These... madmen appeared from the Skullspire and slaughtered anyone they could get their hands on! At Hongrad they burned everyone alive... even the women and chi..."

"What is this Skullspire?" Belisarius asked, more interested in finding the source of the problem rather than the lurid details of what the problem had already done.

"It's a mountain in the south, past the Immastad river," one of the other soldiers explained, speaking despite a bloody wound on his forehead, "It's dotted with caves that we use to entomb our highborn dead. We had no idea anyone could even live in there until these bastards showed up."

Belisarius nodded thoughtfully, but then realized there was one missing detail.

"Wait, where are the greenskins?"

The soldiers all exchanged looks. Drahn answered this time, "My lord, what do you mean by greenskins?"

"Did your leaders not petition the Steel Wardens for aid against a greenskin incursion?"

Drahn shook his head, "We have encountered no greenskins my lord. And from what I understand, the High Lords are still deciding whether or not to ask the Steel Wardens for help. Your arrival was most unexpected."

Belisarius frowned mightily under his helmet. Something had gone terribly wrong with The Estimates. He was fighting Chaos instead of Orks, as part of a Quest that had not yet been requested.

"Since I am already here, I shall investigate this... anomaly," Belisarius concluded, before tossing something to Captain Drahn, "Give this to your apothecary. These supplies will help your wounded survive."

Drahn and the soldiers watched as Belisarius turned south, riding away on his metal steed. They did not avert their gaze until he had left their sight.

Only then did Captain Drahn notice the item that the Steel Warden had left them. Just as Belisarius promised, it contained wondrous medicines that would help save the lives of seven men that day.

But the Space Marine had failed to mention that the container itself was a masterpiece. Made of steel and silver, it was nothing like the crude products made by Helvetican forges. Its surface was full of engravings, depicting events and rituals that Belisarius found important to his existence.

Among the images was a flaming sword, and two words in High Gothic whose meaning Drahn did not know.

------------

Despite his homeworld's motto, Colonel Marten van Helden found that bringing woe to the vanquished of Helvetica was a rather distasteful affair.

The show trial had finally ended. One by one, the nobles who had resisted paying the tithes were hanged. There were thirty in all, including Baron Xevan. The crowd threw rotten vegetables at them as they died.

"A fine day for the Imperium!" said Representative Stefan Drahn, whose Revolutionary Council had promised to pay the tithes the nobles would not, "Perhaps we should celebrate with a drink, Colonel van Helden? Without you none of this would be possible!"

The Colonel of the Brennus Mechanized chose not to respond. Politics wasn't his arena. He was an officer who saw soldiering as a profession and a duty, and nothing else.

That was what his grandfather taught him, a Pardus tank general whose army group had mustered out on Brennus after serving honorably in a twenty-year campaign. That was what his mother had taught him, the daughter of native Brennus nobles who fought to maintain the traditions of honor and chivalry even as the world progressed into a more "modern" age. And that was what his father had taught him, the Colonel of the original Brennus Mechanized - the world's first Founding - who had died unknown and unremembered in a campaign still considered classified by the Munitorum.

And he wasn't about to dishonor their memory by wasting time with this useless bootlicker.

"The Colonel does not drink on duty," a booming voice answered for him, "For he knows that I will swiftly punish ANY offense that is committed in my presence."

Marten managed to hide his smile. The one speaking was Commissar Justinian Stark, a monster of a man who was intimidating even if half of his face and right arm hadn't been replaced by augmentics. The Commissar had a flair for these kinds of theatrics, and the Colonel was glad that he was around to deal with the annoying politicians. van Helden began to read through a couple of dataslates while the Commissar did the talking.

"Then I hope that the Commissar is also pleased by how swiftly we dealt with these rebels," Representative Drahn said, "With the rebel Barons eliminated, I am certain we can soon pay the tithes that we owe the Imperium!"

"Bluntly, eliminating rebels should never have been our concern," the Commissar replied angrily, fingering his bolt pistol, "We are not Arbites, and you should have been able to handle this on your own."

Drahn looked offended by that remark, "Sir, I must protest! The world was in turmoil! We didn't have..."

"You didn't have the skills to organize an effective army or police force to maintain order," the Commissar reminded, "You are weak, and we will not be here forever to prop up your regime, Representative Drahn."

"How... How dare you!" Drahn shouted, not yet learning it was a terrible idea to argue with a Commissar, "May I remind you that you are only here because of our invitation?!"

"Perhaps we should leave then, and leave you with the Akkadians," the Commissar countered, "We still have thirty thousand of them waiting in the transport ships."

Drahn turned pale at the suggestion. The initial intervention, led by three huge regiments of hungry Akkadian conscripts, had been a fiasco. Discipline broke down soon after landing, and several "rebel" provinces had been laid to waste along with their farmlands before the Commissars regained control. To prevent a repeat, more “professional” regiments had been deployed – the Brennus Mechanized and two smaller regiments of Cadian Shock Troops – who were more suited for surgical “police” missions.

"Honestly, I think we should leave regardless. The Representative knows there is no way they can pay the tithes," added another voice, her talents lending particular weight to her assessment. Mari Sakhson was the regiment's Senior Sanctioned, whose beautiful face and long, silver hair belied an extraordinary level of intelligence and analytical skill.

"You... you witch! Mind-reading is not allo...!" he started.

"I didn't need to read your mind to know that you cannot pay the tithes. I only needed to look at your production records for the past five years," Mari replied icily, as the temperature began to drop unnaturally, "However, I can demonstrate for you how my particular brand of mind-reading works if you insist on calling me a witch."

Drahn took a step backwards. He turned to look at the silent Colonel van Helden for help.

"I honestly don't give a frak about the tithes anymore. I'm more concerned about Sanctioned Toth's report," van Helden said, his eyes still glued to the dataslate, "Is she sure about this? A possible Archenemy threat?"

"She's my best," Mari assured, "And her interrogation of Xevan was most comprehensive."

van Helden nodded, then turned to his second-in-command, Major Yalen Cadogan.

"Major, take Steel Squadron down south to investigate this place called Skullspire," van Helden ordered, "Have Double-Two take the lead with Mamzelle Toth. Put a reconnaissance Lance under his command."

"Yes sir!" Cadogan replied enthusiastically, before turning around to head for the command post. Drahn, bewildered, tried to protest.

"Wha... What are you doing? You can't send that many men south! We still have other provinces to pacify!"

"I can, and I will," the Colonel replied firmly, "Because if Mamzelle Toth is right, then the Brennus Mechanized finally has a real enemy to fight."

------------

It took only a few hours for Brother Belisarius to reach the Skullspire. Along the way, he encountered more Khornate warbands. None proved a match for his Cataphract and twin heavy bolters.

The last group had made its stand at the base of the mountain itself. Nearly three hundred warriors, all calling for his blood. It took the last of his heavy bolter ammunition to destroy them all.

Dismounting from his bike, Belisarius began his trek up the steep mountain. He soon found the first of dozens of cave entrances, each leading to a desecrated tomb of Helvetican nobility. As usual, the Archenemy took glee in destroying and defacing the bones of the Emperor's loyal servants. In some cases, the perpetrators of the dastardly act had long gone. But in most, Belisarius found fresh targets for his boltgun.

By the time Belisarius had cleared all of them, the sun was beginning to set. He knew that his supply of ammunition was all but gone. He was down to the last clip for his boltgun. He was also completely out of explosives, for he left an explosive charge in each and every tomb he visited in preparation for a mass cleansing. But his instinct was telling him to press on. To claim victory, he had to reach the summit and take the top of the spire.

He found someone waiting for him, sitting on a throne made of stone. Wearing crimson armor and wielding a gigantic waraxe, Belisarius had no doubt that he was coming face to face with their champion. His opponent stood up and roared at him, challenging him to battle.

Belisarius imagined himself drawing his knife and fighting the Archenemy Champion in honorable melee, like the Brennic knights back home. He would bide his time, stab the champion in the heart, and complete this Quest in the name of the Emperor.

But he allowed his imagination to grip him for only a moment. Instead, his body reacted as dictated by the training of the Steel Wardens. He raised his boltgun and fired a burst. He waited a moment. The champion's broken body twitched. He fired another burst. This time, there was nothing left of the champion's head and torso.

Finally, Belisarius took a moment to survey the scene. He managed to smile. All of the Archenemy warbands had been destroyed. Every tomb had been cleared. Their champion had been beaten. And he still had seven rounds left in his boltgun.

He was about to shout in triumph when victory was literally yanked out from under him.

The ground he stood on suddenly gave way, revealing a hole dug deep into the mountain. Belisarius tried to grab something - anything - to slow his fall, but it was too late. His left leg snapped as he hit the ground several stories below.

Fighting through the pain, Belisarius opened his eyes and allowed his helmet's sensors to adjust to the darkness. He managed not to curse at what he saw.

The enemy had been at work here longer than he had estimated. They had dug countless of passages within the mountain itself, to house hundreds more cultists and followers. And now, they were all streaming out of their hiding places to attack him.

Belisarius fired a burst, killing dozens in the enclosed killing ground with his explosive rounds, but it emptied his boltgun. He threw it away and drew his knife.

For a seeming eternity, Belisarius held his ground. Even with a broken leg, he hacked, slashed, and stabbed. He ignored the pain of hammer blows and spear points.

But in reality, it lasted only a few seconds. By their sheer weight of numbers, the swarm overwhelmed him. Belisarius lost his grip on his knife. Hands were grabbing his arms and legs and pinned them to the ground. Another armored figure loomed over him, wielding a wicked warhammer. Belisarius took a look at its face, and felt physically ill at what he saw.

It started to laugh, and raised its weapon high over Belisarius' skull.

The hammer came down. Darkness followed.

------------

"Ambush! Ambush!"

Those were the first words that Thor heard as he regained consciousness. His first thought was to wish that the warning had come a few minutes earlier.

Memories of what happened came flooding in. Suspicions of Chaos taint after the interrogation of Baron Xevan. A drive south to a place the locals called "Skullspire". The discovery of a gigantic pile of rocks where the mountain should have been. Farah getting fidgety as she sensed a dark and sinister force. And then, a loud crash as their Chimera took a direct hit from something that nearly flipped it to its side.

Thor then realized that he was bleeding, and he would have cracked his skull if he hadn't been wearing his helmet. His passengers were all moaning in pain, having suffered similar injuries. Finch was unconscious beside him. Only the vox was full of animated voices shouting at him.

"This is Two-Three, we are taking fire! Repeat, we are..."

"Double-Two, what's your status?! Respond!"

"Enemy on the ridge line! Engaging!"

"We're hit! We're... aaa... Aaaargh!!!"

The last voice thankfully faded into static as the flames consumed him, his Chimera, and its vox set. Thor wasn't sure who had just died, but he was determined not to be the next victim.

"All units, get out of the kill zone!" Thor ordered as he shook his driver awake. Finch opened his eyes, surprised, and instinctively grabbed the wheel.

"Where to sir?!" Finch said automatically.

"Anywhere but here!" Thor replied as he manned the Multi-laser and searched for targets. He found an abundance of them.

Enemy cannons had been hidden among the rocks, shooting powerful explosive shells at the Imperial vehicles. They were supported by a flood of mutated and misshapen things who might have once been men. Living in a hidden, subterranean world for generations, the heretics of Helvetica were now streaming out of their holes to finally make war on the Imperium.

Thor obliged them by gunning down as many as he could while Finch started the Chimera's engine. They tried to swarm the Imperial vehicle, firing their rifles and hurling flaming grenades, but the armor held in spite of the earlier damage. Finch then switched on the hull-mounted flamer, burning away entire mobs of mutants and crushing the few screaming survivors under the treads of his tank.

The other surviving vehicles in the Lance were following suit. Out of the five other Chimeras under Thor's command, four were still mobile. They were quickly putting distance between themselves and mutant swarm, and they were rapidly moving out of range of the cannon's guns.

But the enemy cannons roared once more before they escaped. Thor's Chimera was rocked by a near-miss. Another Chimera had its Multi-laser turret knocked out, killing the commander. But the vehicle that found itself in the greatest peril was Steel Two-Three. It had taken a direct hit to its engine compartment, bringing the Chimera to a halt.

Thor was about to order Finch around. The men of the Brennus Mechanized tried their best to never leave anyone behind. But another voice said otherwise.

"Leave us Thor!" said Lieutenant Mahlney, commander of Two-Three, "If you stay, we're all dead!"

"To hell with that!" Finch started, "We..."

Thor grabbed the wheel and held firm. He looked Finch in the eye and said, "No, he's right. Get us out of the kill zone!"

The Sergeant looked as though he was ready to mutiny, but did as he was told. The four mobile Chimeras quickly moved on, leaving the crippled one behind. The sight of Two-Three being swarmed by the mutants would haunt Thor for the rest of his life.

But he still had a duty to do. There was another voice still shouting over the vox which he had been ignoring for too long.

"Steel Actual, this is Double-Two. We got ambushed," Thor reported to Major Cadogan, "We've lost two Chimeras. We are falling back to rally point Epsilon."

"Opposition?" the Major replied, sounding calm and professional despite the fact that Thor had been ignoring him for the past few minutes. Cadogan now understood that Thor had been busy with the ambush.

"Twenty plus large enemy cannons, and five hundred plus infantry with small arms and light explosives. It looks like a damn nest of mutants and heretics!"

"Five hundred?" Cadogan sounded incredulous.

"There are probably many more than that sir," added Sanctioned Toth as she poked her head into the driver's compartment, having finally recovered from her own injuries, "I... felt thousands of them, crawling up from their warrens deep underground."

"Well, let's see how well they fare against an entire squadron from the BrennMech!" the Major replied, "I'm moving all my forces to rendezvous with you!"

He was true to his word. When Thor reached point Epsilon, he was greeted by a force of over a hundred Chimeras and other armored vehicles, supported by a thousand infantry. It was nearly a third of the regiment's entire strength, and they were already digging in for the coming onslaught. "Steel Actual" himself rode forward to meet Thor personally, sitting atop his ancient Leman Russ Vanquisher tank.

Thor felt intimidated by Major Cadogan's steed. It was one of the regiment's most treasured relics, handed down from a Pardus tank regiment that had mustered out on Brennus. It had been continually updated and refurbished, and he'd heard rumors that their Tech Priests had even acquired new gun barrels from Stygies VIII through clandestine means. In comparison, Thor’s Chimera had had been bought from the crude stocks produced by the Forge World Dorcet, which was still trying to rediscover the technological glories lost after Forge World Cuxehaven was claimed by a supernova along with its Astartes guardians.

But the feeling of intimidation was nothing compared to the grip of fear that nearly overwhelmed him. He remained control only because he knew the source was friendly: the temperature dropped precipitously whenever Farah lost control of her powers.

+Farah, this isn't a good time to panic.+ Thor reminded.

+Thor... look behind you.+ she replied.

Thor was about to scold her again, when he realized that the Major was also turning pale. Not even the majesty of his ride could shield him from his fear. Over the vox, Thor could hear him curse, "By the Saint!"

Hesitantly, Thor did as Farah had told him. As he saw what she had already seen with her mind, he managed to maintain his usual calm demeanor, but in truth he was terrified.

It wasn't the fact that the true size of the mutant horde was now apparent, being tens of thousands strong.

It wasn't the fact that the mutants were now bringing out armored machines belching steam and smoke to counter the Brennic vehicles.

It was the fact that he spotted the leader of the enemy army.

He was a giant, over eight feet tall. He was wearing ancient power armor, but it had been twisted and corrupted by the Ruinous Powers. Horns were growing out of the helmet, and a glowing red war axe had been grafted to where its right arm should have been.

But most terrifying of all, the former Astartes was wearing the desecrated livery of the Steel Wardens.

------------

Belisarius could no longer see, for they had taken his eyes. He could no longer hear, for they had taken his ears.

But he could still speak. They wanted him to scream.

He denied them at every turn. He ignored them as they cut, flayed, and burned his body. There was only one foe that he was focused on.

And it was the one trying to claim his soul.

"Who sent you?" the voice in his mind repeated, clouding his thoughts with images of endless war and bloodshed.

Belisarius refused to reply. In truth, he did not know. Whoever had given him this false Quest would remain unknown to him forever. But there was a secret he was still keeping from the warp-spawned voice.

"Tell me!" the voice shouted, feeding agony directly into the Space Marine's mind. Belisarius felt blood pouring out of his broken nose. His mind began to swirl. He finally opened his mouth to speak.

"How long have I been down here?" Belisarius said calmly, as though he was asking the time from a passing stranger.

"Stop fooling around!" the voice shouted, causing him more pain, "I have been trapped on this worthless world for millennia! I will not be denied again by The Deceiver!"

"How long have I been down here?" Belisarius repeated, menace now in his voice. His torturers ignored him and took off his right arm.

Belisarius just laughed at them as he felt the pain.

The voice then paused, taken aback. Slowly, more carefully, it began to probe Belisarius' mind.

The Space Marine finally allowed it a glimpse of the secret that he had been hiding.

The explosive charges he had planted around the mountain were still active. They were now moments away from detonating. His captors had been too busy "playing" with him to notice.

The voice in his mind shrieked. It tried to burrow itself into the Space Marine’s dying body. Belisarius laughed in triumph, even as his soul was consumed by the monstrous voice. His last conscious act was to sear two words into the mind of the Daemon foe.

And then the Skullspire came apart with an earth-shattering blast.

------------

The Daemon that now possessed Belisarius' broken body smiled. For two hundred years it had laid buried under the rocks thanks to that accursed Space Marine’s final act of defiance; until a band of foolish grave robbers had finally freed it. It then spent another century gathering strength and followers, preparing to turn this planet into a true hell.

It had hoped to remain in the shadows until it had regained all of its power. But discovery by the Imperial Guard had changed everything.

The plan now was to crush the Guardsmen as an offering to the Blood God. Then, it could finally return to the stars to take its vengeance on The Deceiver. It raised its war-axe and shouted for the army to attack.

On the other side of the field, Thor braced himself for the coming fight. Garonne's Huskarls had already deployed. Farah had regained control and was pushing back the waves of fear and rage emanating from the enemy champion. Major Cadogan had regained his color.

"Remember boys, they call us the rejects of the Steel Wardens!" the Major reminded, referring to a slur used by the Cadians against them, "Well it's time to show everyone that we're _better_ than the Wardens. That we remain true and loyal to the Emperor even though he gives us lasguns instead of boltguns, and flak jackets instead of power armor!"

The reply was less enthusiastic than the Major had hoped. Despite his speech and Farah’s efforts, Steel Squadron was still shaken. It was further compounded by the fact that Cadogan’s opening shot - a hyper-velocity round from his Vanquisher cannon - had been absorbed by the enemy Champion without ill-effect. It simply laughed at the Guard's feeble attempt to hurt it.

"Focus on the enemy infantry," Thor ordered, trying to get everyone's mind off the apparently invincible monster. Their mortars were already hard at work, killing scores with indirect fire, while long-range Multi-laser bursts were bringing down dozens more. Meanwhile, the enemy machines were being picked off by Lascannon teams sniping from concealed positions.

+We can't win this. Their champion... he’s too powerful+ Farah told him, not wanting to say it out loud and spread further panic among the ranks.

+You think we should run?+ Thor countered.

+Major Cadogan has already gotten permission from the Colonel. We're about to begin a phased withdrawal.+

Thor suddenly realized that Farah was right. The troopers of Third Company were already reboarding their Chimeras. Fourth Company had already left the field altogether.

He got confirmation from the Major a second later.

"Steel Double-Two, fall back with your Lance to point Beta in thirty seconds. Keep up the fire and cover Third Company until they're clear!"

"Somebody has to stay behind to be the rear guard, Major," Thor pointed out.

"Are you volunteering?"

Thor fell silent, then stole a glance at Finch and Toth. They were afraid, but they didn't object.

"Sorry Lieutenant, somebody already beat you to it," the Major said before Thor could respond.

------------

Colonel van Helden ignored the madhouse outside. The Representatives had been thrown into panic after being told of the size of the horde, and they were demanding action from the Imperial Guard. A mixed force of Cadian and Brennic troopers led by Commissar Stark was holding them back. In another room, the two Cadian Colonels were mobilizing their regiments to move against the Revolutionary Council itself. The Inquisition had sent word that the current government of Helvetica was now suspect.

But van Helden’s eyes were still glued on Mari, who was still busy "talking" to the Astropaths on the fleet.

Finally, she spoke.

"Commodore Troubridge agrees with your assessment. He's assigning two frigates and his flagship to conduct a full-scale lance strike on the entire area. It’s the only way that we can be sure of destroying that... thing."

van Helden nodded, then got back on the vox.

"Steel Actual, how is your withdrawal going?"

"Ninth Company has just completed its withdrawal. We're in the clear!" the Major reported, "Their war machines are trying to pursue, but they're too slow. They've no hope of catching us."

van Helden nodded again, then took a deep breath.

"Everyone, please go outside. Help the Commissar control the Representatives. Make arrests if necessary."

The command staff looked at him strangely, but did as they were told. Mari was the last to leave. He could feel a cold embrace trying to fish the thoughts out of his mind, but he mentally rebuked her. He had to do this alone.

Finally, with Mari gone, van Helden’s only companion was the vox set.

"Steel Two-Three, this is Brennus Actual," the Colonel said, "Please respond."

"Colonel?!" Lieutenant Mahlney shouted in reply, surprised by who was calling him, "Sir, the situation is critical! We’re still holding on, but we’re getting swarmed and half of my men are down. We need..."

"Your name is Ignatius, isn't it?" the Colonel interrupted, trying to keep his voice from cracking, "Ignatius Mahlney?"

There was a long pause on the vox.

"You're not coming back for us, are you sir?" the Lieutenant said.

"I'm afraid not," van Helden sighed.

"Do we at least get to take them with us?"

"We’ve locked on to your coordinates. It will be a full-scale orbital strike. Destruction will be total."

The vox went silent again.

"Alright sir, we knew what we were getting into. We'll do what we can to draw them in. Especially that Traitor Marine."

It was van Helden's turn to pause before speaking, "Thank you Ignatius."

"Can you do us one last favor sir?" Mahlney asked.

"Anything, Lieutenant."

"Tell our moms we did our best."

------------

Steel Two-Three only had sixty seconds left before the orbital bombardment began.

Mahlney's Armored Fist squad was still busy fighting from the passenger hatch, gunning down every mutant that tried to get close. Half were dead, and all the rest wounded. His driver was trying to put out a fire started by one of enemy’s flaming grenades.

But Mahlney could still see the monster, directing its minions to pursue the fleeing BrennMech. The Multi-laser had almost burned out, but he knew that it still had one shot left in it.

He fired and struck the beast's head.

Like before, it did not die. A single Multi-laser shot was a pinprick compared to a Vanquisher round. But Mahlney got its attention. It laughed at him, and began slowly walking towards Steel Two-Three.

The laughter vanished when the sky suddenly turned white. It looked up, and howled in rage as it realized what the Imperials were doing. Even it could not withstand the multi-megaton payload that was coming.

Smiling grimly, Mahlney set the vox to full power. His last words were broadcast on every frequency for all to hear:

"Vae Victis!"


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http://en.sturmkrieg.com/Gretel_Ehrenstein

Any thoughts on canon consistency?

Also, am I being too heavy handed or is it good?]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/425045/3823769.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/425045/3823769.page GMT Based on the Roscovian XIII (My Imperial Guard Army)
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[b][u]Awakening[/u][/b]
The weather puts a shiver through an Imperial Officer's spine, [i]darn weather, make up your mind, frost or not[/i]. The world around him has an everchanging cycle of condition, one day it is fifty below freezing, the next it is boiling. "Hanz, tell your men in the decontamination area to make a move on, my boys are getting sweaty!". Hanz nods and tilts his cap in a commanding position. As he walks toward the shower complex, he passes buidlings no smaller than a pod. "Alright sons, get out here!" He barks up at the sounds of laughter. "C'mon Marshal, who wants dirty troopers?" yells down Roy, a hearty thin fellow. His long, thin, black hair and frail limbs show that he never worked out much. Hanz curses the ground, dreading that title of "marshal".
On this backwater colony station there is no discipline, no veterans, no events. The "sons" have never seen anymore combat than the occasional brawl between eachother. The strong shouldered, dark haired man called Hanz moves on toward the drill yard, where instead of training, there is a drinking contest riling up the men. "Heya, Marshal!" Hanz curses again at the title, which has turned into his moniker. He was promoted to the rank by the Magistrate himself, the promotion sending him to the backwater station of Roscovia to oversee things. His autopistol at his side, his fingers twitching for combat. his wish is granted, as a cloud of dust and fire appears in the distance. His receiver screams to life as sentries are yelling at eachother in confusion.
"What in blazes is that?" roars Hanz. He looks at the cloud where the fuel facility was, about forty clicks in the distance. Hanz fumbles for his com and barks, "Orbital watch, why are you not at your post!", the receiver replies, "Sir, nothing is, or was in the scanners!" Reaching for his spyglass, he peers at the explosion and sees a dreaded sight, the glowing of an energy unharnessed by mankind, gauss fire punches holes through the cement as he spins around, catching sight of skeletal beings with crackling, green weapons bore at there side. Rolling toward cover, he screams into the com "We have got company, battlestations! And get me some back-up!" The signal he recieves is that of panic and chaos, the gaurdsmen are crumpling under the attack, running, screaming, and some even fainting. "Darkin, get your sons down!" Hanz screams at those in the drill area. "Give me some cover!" Screams and fumbling emanates from the group in the field, as they bring their weapons to bear, their fire is dispursed and inaccurate, pinging off of the walls and barrels in the vacinity.
"Blasts, Roy, get your snipers together, we need some fire on these tin heads!", "Ay ay Marshal!" Hanz keeps himself from wincing at the name as he lifts his aim toward one of the necrons. There is chaos all around, a big hole is blown out of the side of the recreation center and the men behind it. Hanz takes this advantage to make a move toward the barracks, slinging himself under the awning an yells into the ground to space transmitter, "Magistrate, we need some support, my men are getting swat like flies!" He turns toward the men inside the complex, "Alright, Tinman, Gril, and Ciaran, get these dolls some leadership and round up the others for evacuation." The others nod. Hanz peers over to Roy's position and sees las-fire pour into the necrons below.[i] I like that kid. [/i]
Roy dodges his eyes left and right, barking locations and targets to the groups he is with, yelling toward the shell-shocked to get out of there. "Watch for crossfire, as you retreat!". The intercom screams to life, "Make toward the transport, we are getting out of here!" Roy acknowledges with a few bursts, and then grabs his men running for the exit.
Hanz's party give covering fire to eachother as they advance toward the transport. Las-fire arcs toward the sounds of gauss fire, while the covered men run for their lives, clutching only their rifle, and whatever was near and thought useful at the time. The transport bay doors slide and weeze open as the gaurdsmen kick their feet up in a sprint, a sprint or die. The autocannons and lascannons aboard the ship fire death upon the attacker, while Hanz sees as the rest of the boys make it in. The doors close as they lift off, hearing an orbital bombardment of the base.
Hanz takes a look around seeing only a few hundred men, all in despair, a few are in fetal positions. He stops himself from saying anything and just watches the fires of his station.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Congrats Hanz, Roscovia is now free of the necrons onslaught. You are free to return. After three months of bombardment.", Hanz ears perk up at the sound of his name. "I am not returning Magistrate, I saw what that station did to these men, during the attack they fell over like daisies, reduced from a company to a platoon in seconds."
"The colonel was lost in the first explosion, Hanz, you are now the commanding officer of the Roscovian XIII", "What's left." snides Hanz, dreading this position of command. "You are a great leader, you are their hope and guidance Hanz." adds the magistrate. Hanz curses the magistrate's lack of emotion.
Aboard the[i] Hallow[/i], Hanz goes toward the bunks of his group of men. Roy, Tinman, Ciaran, and Grils all stand in salute. [i]Darkin, may the emporer recieve your soul[/i]. "Stop that." The four men stop. "You are aware that now the four of you are my junior officers, correct?", "Marshal?", "Yes, and I am assuming Senior Officer.", "No not that, are we going back?", "No, we are not, instead we are going to serve and die for the emperor, on some forsaken battlefield." The others nod silently.[i] I hope I can take these dolls and turn them into fighting men[/i]. "Our first mission, Magistrate wants us to support the Deathcorps in the assault on the Slov system.", "Sir, we only have seven hundred men, three chimeras, and two hydras. How can we present much power?", Gril argues. "Gril, we can't, but we will have to." [i]This is a suicide mission.[/i]

This is the first part of my book, concerning Hanz and his slapped-in-the-face troops. Feel free to C/C and give suggestions for their adventures. Their story is goign to be based around the fact that they were a slack bunch of boot-camp-noobs now facing the hells of war. I will update this thread as I continue the plotline, but for now this is the awakening.]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/425035/3823538.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/425035/3823538.page GMT
[b]34th Tekla Well X Rourke’s Drip 25 Kilometres North of Alpha Complex[/b]
It was a dark smoggy day even within the mountains. These grey dead ashy wastes were utterly different to the green verdant plains of home. The gritty ashy gravels felt completely alien as well. Mondli shuddered as he lent within the trenches around the well house. The trenches made a 4 pointed star around the tall bronze machinery of the pumping house. Within it dwelt thirty of the strangest creatures Mondli had ever seen. For all his elders had tried to convince him otherwise at the core of his soul Mondli doubted their humanity. He frowned their regiment was stretched thin. There was no way his squad could hold if they were seriously attacked and they were isolated in this desolate mountain range. Nobody knew quite where the ‘Nids from the spore had ended up and he’d heard legends about the Hungry Ones and worse the veteran’s tales about their encounters on Cobris.
He’d never quite realise what happened. He’d been alert and paying a hunters attention to his surroundings. For ages all that could be heard was the quiet wheezing of the Derrick going up and down, and then suddenly, behind him, was screaming and the most horrific fleshy tearing sound. He swiftly turned around beating the alarm signal on his shield. Then he saw it and screamed as his friend Lindelani drooped sliding down from the claws of the monster. The thing was twice his size tall and lithe like a giant Praying Mantis. Its mouth was ringed with tentacles which seemed to sniff the air hunting for him. But by far the worst thing was the giant blood stained claws dripping with Lindelani’s remains. They were at least the size of him and as he watched the skin began to shift changing colour. He couldn’t grasp how it had snuck so close to them. Then fortunately his mind shut down and his training took over as he brought his Lasgun to his shoulder and began to fire. Placed shots. Hunter’s shots. It worked the beast began to head towards him away from the well house. He carried on firing; it carried on advancing, slowly and surely. Obviously in some pain but not enough to stop it.
Mondli was relieved to see the rest of his squad begin to come out onto the roof of the Well house. Mandla and Kwanele began to set up the squads’ missile launcher as Sifiso shot a Krak grenade into the monstrosity. It screamed badly hurt its ichor mixing with Lindelani’s gore. Mondli began to relax with the rest of the squad in a good position the monster was dead. It might kill him but it would fail.
He never understood what happened next. Where once there was a single monstrosity suddenly there was three. How had he failed his comrades so? How had he missed them clamber up onto the roof and hide behind where the squad had appeared? With the monsters so close and among them in a flash his friends never had a chance. The monsters made short brutal work of them. With their screams in his ears, seeing his failure he charged the beast shooting as he came. He never saw the claw that killed him.
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For the past ten or so minutes, this though had crossed the mind of every Private huddled inside the foxhole, though Lars was the first to voice it. He was the closest to Sergeant Avis and as such he could get away with saying statements that might be judged as 'moral damaging' or 'heretical' and as such were liable ground to execute him. The foxhole was unusual in that it was located at a slanted angle on a steep hill, giving it more depth and room inside but also meaning that it was harder to enter or leave. Suddenly, a frag missile exploded violently, shaking the Earth and loosening the foundations of the improvisate shelter; dust and grit rained down on the besieged soldiers. The entire squad broke out coughing and sneezing.

"Here's--ahhakc!--what we-we-we're gonna do!" stammered Avis. "We're gonna--ahaggck!" For a handful of seconds he was forced to cease speaking as he hacked monstrously. "We-we're gonna wait---uhhigh!---wait it out! We're gonna wait it out. They only have so much ammunition."

"This... erm, what's word? ....isn't going to hold much longer," said Cyne, a tall, ugly man with a crooked nose and bald head. Shane interjected, "Foxhole." "Yeah, this foxhole isn't stable. We can all see that."

"It'll hold," vehemently said Avis. "The Emperor protects." Another explosion rocked the ground again, pouring even more dust. A rock dislodged itself from the ceiling and landed painfully on Lars' foot, causing him to cry out in pain and shirk back. "Aaaach! Ahaagk! Okay---uhhik!---okay! The Emperor helps those who help themselves. Shane, Aelius, Sarkth and Domitan, I want you to lead the charge into the enemy! Felix, Lars, Cyne and me will offer cover fire." At first no one dared move a muscle, but the veteran Sergeant easily broke the silence by drawing his holy bolter pistol. "Move!"

Shane crawled up to opening, pausing as the first beam of sunlight hit him. Finally he stuck his head out. Almost immediately his neck snapped back and, mere microseconds later, his head exploded, showering all nearby soldiers with gore. His headless corpse tumbled back inside the foxhole, landing squarely on Domitan and pinning him under his gory bulk. The whole squad pitched in, prying the corpse off of him and heaving it out the entrance. A good dozen more bolts pierced into Shane before the Traitor Legionnaires finally realized he was dead.

"Avis," Sarkth said. "Look at what happened. You can't expect us to go out there."

"Oh yes, I can and will." Avis fixed his bolter pistol on the soldier and hissed, "MOVE."

Inspired by the holy bolter pistol, his demeanor immediately changed. Sarkth charged out at full speed, screaming, "FOR THE EMPEROR!" Aelius and Domitan, followed close behind him, struggling to keep pace. "DIE HERETICS! DIE HER-AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" The roar of an autocannon could be heard. "Aaaah! Shit! Shit! Aelius, come on!" The soldiers were interrupted by a deafening explosion. This was followed by an extremely tense silence.

"I think they're dead," slowly said Cyne. He repeated it with emphasis. "I think they're [i]dead[/i]."

"Gee, we got ourselves a real Obiwan Sherlock Clousseau here," Felix spat. "Great work Inquisitor, another case solved."

"Shut up," ordered Avis. "Unless you have something that'll help alleviate our current situation Felix, shut up."

A spherical piece of metal suddenly flew in through the entrance and landed in the center of all the men. Upon closer examination, its origin became obvious. "GRENADE!" shouted Cyne, cowering in the corner of the foxhole. "GRENADE! DUCK!"

Lars hid his face in his hands, because he couldn't quite think of anything else. Avis, with his years of duty and combat reflexes, knew better and instead wrapped his flak jacket around his head. Felix scrambled for the exit. A third explosion jolted the earth, dumping more dust than any of the previous ones. The exit was sealed shut by a large mound of earth.

"Was---aaagghk! aaahhgk!---was th-th-that it?" Felix asked timidly.

"No you stupid shit!" Lars exclaimed just before sneezing profusely. "AaaaaCHOOO! Aggh, damn dust. We'd be dead. That was an explosion on the outside of the foxhole. Wait... why aren't we dead?"

Avis cautiously picked up the grenade and examined it. "This is a timed grenade," he said, as he carefully lifted up a piece of mechanics and peered inside the explosive. "The idiot who threw this thing accidentally put the timer on five minutes instead of five seconds. I thought these damn Legionnaires were supposed to be veterans of a thousand wars or something."

"Can you disarm it?"

"Who the Throne do you think I am, Ciaphas Cain? It'd probably do more harm than good if I tried to disarm it."

"It'll kill us all," said Lars sadly. "Throne, we're all dead."

"No we aren't," Cyne replied. "We aren't even close to dead."

"Shut the fuck up Cyne. You don't exactly have the best ideas you know."

"You shut up! All someone needs to do is throw them self on top of it and absorb the blast. I saw it in one of the Space Marine Holo-shorts they play on those big hive screens."

Everyone just stared at each other, the entire squad contemplating the implications of Cyne's suggestion. Only one of them had to die. And each and every one of them was sure that it would be someone else. After all, they were all loyal servants of the God Emperor, surely someone would be willing to sacrifice himself for the good of the Imperium. As the Emperor had said, 'The Imperium is built on the graves of martyrs.'

"Alright," said Avis. "Lars, you've always been a devoted soldier. Go throw yourself on the grenade. Try to cover it as best as you can."

"This is how you reward my years of service? You should do it! You're the Sergeant! You have an obligation to the squad!"

"As my inferior, [i]you[/i] have an obligation to [i]me[/i]! Stop whining soldier and fulfill your duty to your squad, your regiment, your planet, the Imperium and the God Emperor."

"Felix should do it," grumbled Cyne. "All he does is whine and insult people."

"He's got a point you know," agreed Lars. "Felix is a jerk."

"Feth you! Maybe it's because of shit like this that I'm a jerk! Every though of that?"

"You know," Cyne said. "A dead body would work just as well as a live one."

Everyone simultaneously drew their weapons as quickly as possible. Avis shoved his bolt pistol into Lars' forehead while holding his combat knife to Felix's neck. Surprisingly enough, the gentle Cyne hovered a combat shotgun in front of Avis' face. Lars fixed his lasgun on Felix's heart. Felix himself put his combat knife on Cyne's throat. The entire squad stood deadly still, staring at the weapons. They were all equally liable to die and were all still convinced that someone else would die, now save the pessimistic Felix who was struggling to think of badass last words that could be engraved on a statue of him somewhere.

And then the grenade went off, killing them all. ]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/424755/3818634.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/424755/3818634.page GMT
We are in our friends house and we wake up after a party, My friend Jack gets up for a pee and walks straight past a zombie. He goes in his bathroom then comes out after about 1 minute and walks past the zombie but high fives it this time, he enters the bedroom again and shuts the door but realises what he just done. He wakes my first friend he gets up opens the door then quickly shuts it then they wake me up I open the door and it leaps on me but I hold it back when I'm pinned down my friends get it off me and we pin it down making sure it doesn't bit us then one of us get a phone call off our family explaining what's happened and they are being evacuated.......(Basically we have to make it to a area to be evacuated.)

So far that's what I got. We have a idea on where we need to go but the end will remain a secret just encase anybody wants to watch.

So if anybody can help please do.]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/424211/3808694.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/424211/3808694.page GMT



All I wanted to do was explain why my nid carpace is boltgun metal.]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/424164/3807945.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/424164/3807945.page GMT
The Sons of Glory.

This chapter was created as a crusading force.

The chapter was founded in the 32nd Millennium.

They are a successor of the Space Wolves. Designed as a new generation of the gene seed, hoping to breed out some of the flaws.

They have a “Swift as the Wind” demeanor, they value swift and decisive action over prolonged planning. Recruits are quick to find promotions or a gruesome end, as this trait has lead to rash initiative for better and worse.

The chapter is flawed in the sense that they do not trust other space marine chapters, over their millennia of crusading they have witnessed much betrayal and heresy. They will only fight alongside the Space Wolves willingly. When in dire situations they will often allocate forces to watch “allied chapters”, as to not ever be taken off guard. They are generally trusting of imperial guard and pdf’s because they don’t think unmodified humans pose a legitimate threat.

This chapter has a reputation for their devastating melee skills. While most of this reputation is well earned, it is bolstered by their inclination to make stories much grander then the actual events. They have never been criticized for their martial pride because they have always been able to live up to their tales.

The chapters most famed hero was Grimlfyr Jundarl. He was the captain of the 8th company in the first years of the chapters founding. They were fighting alongside a blood angels successor chapter, Sanguine Fury, against an dark eldar raiding force. The dark eldar were trying to recover a warp tainted artifact from a daemon world just outside the eye of terror. The space marines defeated their foe with little difficulty. When Grimlfyr went to destroy the artifact he was stabbed in the back by Venerus, the leader of the Sanguine Fury forces. Venerus stole the artifact and declared his loyalty to Khorne, the blood god. Wounded and alone, Grimlfyr killed his foes honor guard, and faced Venerus in single combat. He was ultimately victorious over Venerus, and The Sons of Fury killed all of the Sanguine Fury marines that were on the planet. Sanguine Fury was declared excommunicate and retreated to the eye of terror. Grimlfyr returned to the fortress monastery and over time became the master of the chapter. He lead The Sons of Glory to a level of renown previously unknown to the chapter. Over a century latter Venerus had return as a daemon prince! He lead his old chapter out of the eye of terror and began attacking imperial territory and attempting to corrupt loyal systems. When Grimlfyr learned of his old enemies rebirth, immediately requisitioned a battle barge and brought the full fury of his chapter to bear. He practically destroyed the worlds that had paid fealty to Venerus the Thirsty. Upon finding his nemesis, he defeated Venerus again in single combat. The daemon prince would not be bested so easily though and in his death throes flung himself and Grimlfyr into the warp. The Sons of Glory have long awaited the day when their old chapter master will return to them, they jest that he is busy dueling Khorne himself and will return bearing the blood god’s head. Out of respect for their lost chapter master they have not filled the position since his disappearance. Instead they have the Militant Supreme, who essentially fulfills the same role but is always ready to give up his position if the chapter master were to return.

The chapter’s home world is the medieval planet of Jarlsreach in the northern region of Segmentum Pacificus. Their fortress monastery is on the moon dubbed Asgard and is called Unending Glory. They hold direct rule over Jarlsreach, the planets royalty consists of trusted marines who forsake their power armor. The regents hold tournaments every 2 months to see who is worthy of being recruited. An unmodified human must put up a decent fight against one of the regents to be considered. The chapter maintains a high level of successfully modified initiates, but only maintains the sanctioned 1000 power armored marines. Anywhere between 500 to 1500 initiates remain on the planet to act as rulers and can be taken at a moments notice to bolster fallen members of the chapter. Upon their home planet they are allowed to lead relatively normal lives and even marry, but their genetic modifications prevent them from pro-creating.

The Sons of Glory have deviated significantly from the codex astartes but not to the extent of the Space Wolves.

The chapters combat doctrine strongly relies on shock and awe, as well as a strong focus on close combat. They have a huge focus on orbital bombardment of fortified structures and well defended positions. This in turn allows for greater glory of rushing through the shambles of enemy fortresses and meeting their foes in hand to hand combat. Because of this they do exceptionally well in space combat. The precision of their ships guns, and their ferocity in melee have left them almost undefeated in space battles.

They have breed a species of wolves close to the fenrisian wolves the space wolves fight alongside. They rarely use such creatures, but maintain them out of respect to their progenitors.

While The Sons of Glory revere the emperor as much as any other chapter, but their true loyalty lies to Grimlfyr. They utter prayers to him during battle to lead them to greater glory.

While the chapter is technically over standard chapter strength, they only maintain nominal strength as to not catch flak from the Inquisition.

The Chapter is on generally good terms with most factions within the imperium but have a particularly good relationship with the space wolves. They are also well respected by the adeptus sororitas, as they always tend to fight a little harder out of a misplaced sense of chivalry. They have a strong distrust of the blood angles and all blood angels successor chapters and outright refuse to fight alongside them in all but the direst situations. They are also constantly vigilante for the return of Venerus the Thirsty and any remnants of Sanguine Fury. They have also had multiple run ins with the dark eldar archon Naverax, and his Kabal of the Weeping Night.

Battle Cry “No Surrender! Glory Awaits!”

They take pride in their progenitors so their heraldry mirrors very closely to that of the Space Wolves. They often bear wolf themed equipment, and even their livery isn't too far off of the Space Wolves. They have a large respect for the ancient norse mythology of terra, and incorporate it into much of their culture and traditions.

Characters in development

Drakken Hastur
Bjorn Kragsmark
Torvald Stone-Heart
Vlaskir the Destroyer
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To get this rolling, here is one of the newest characters I've added to the army, Paradrian.
It starts off with him entering Slaanesh's realm of ecstasy from deep within the Northern Wastes. It will go through all the the tests he endures upon his journey and fall to the service of the Dark Prince.
It's only the first part of his descent (ascent?) into Chaos, as I imagine Slaanesh has plenty more tests in store for what will become his personal splendor!

[quote]Paradrian turned around as he entered the cryptic plane. The gleeful grin that had been stretched across his face turned to an adoring look of awe.
From this side of the gated portal, the Chaos Wastelands looked like a lush paradise. Tall green grass flowed aimlessly in a soothing sunlight while the
bristling palm trees surrounded the surreal landscape. He slowly paced forward, the temptation of returning to the now flawless land exceeding his previous intentions.

“Entrancing, isn’t it?” came a voice from behind the knight. He jerked around to see the slender form of a psychedelic girl whose view was obscured by the heavy haze
of the realm itself. From afar, all he could note was that she stood awkwardly, one leg perched against the other while she leant forward.

“Quite.”

“I often catch myself staring out at it for hours, dreaming of the day when I can enter such a place. It’s never the same though.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. You see it reacts to the every want and whim of its visitor. You unknowingly wished for a personal paradise, and so you were shown it.” Paradrian
turned to look at the portal, but now the lush landscape was seething in a miasma. The trees were strewn with the corpses of flayed men
and women and it seemed as if their souls were what made up the purple haze. “Because we are both present, it has merged our desires into a single one.”

His shocked and disgusted face turned to radiance, now blistering with discovery. “It’s absolutely splendid!”

“We could create such a thing together.” The cloaked figure pranced into view, her skin as pale as the snow that failed to show through the gate and her apparel a
display of differently shaded hues of purple checkers and stripes. His grin widened further at the sight, the smile reaching an impossibly long length. She sprang
towards Paradrian, nearly forcing him back in surprise. From this close, it was apparent that her face was masked in white makeup. Violet eyes peered back at his,
a smile equally as wide as his accompanying it. Her hand caressed the burnished breastplate as he watched, the warmth of its touch both surprising and delighting
her. “There will be time for such things later. For I am sure you come to see the Prince, yes?” A simple nod acted as a reply, his mentality still obscured by the feminine jester.

In front of them a blue and white transparent road formed, going on farther than he could imagine. The pair walked along the crystalline passage, Paradrian still too
distracted to realize the girl was holding on to his arm as if they were lovers. The deep fog that had originally shrouded the area now lightened. An entire world of bleak
lands and morbid scenes surrounded them. Every side encountered a different environment, but each one housed a host of beautiful figures, both male and female. He
watched as they moved in an almost stealth like fashion, dancing in excess and glee.

[i]Come to usss… Paradrian.[/i]

He jerked around, removing the jester’s grip to search for the source of the whispering voice.

[i]Join usss… gleaming knight[/i]

Paradrian reeled back, his face cringing and shifting as if something was taking hold. His once blue eyes swirled and trickled purple until it was nothing but a vortex.

[i]Dance with usss… magnificent warrior.[/i]

“Of… of course,” he replied this time. Slowly he moved to the edge of the crystal road, his movements not entirely his own.

[i]Play with usss… beautiful champion. [/i]

“I… I will…” footstep fell in front of footstep.

[i]Beee with usss… radiant prince.[/i]

The footsteps stopped. His head turned towards the pass as though resisting the urge and his eyes reverted back to their normal sapphire appearance.
He extended his view again, searching for the ones who whispered the temptations.

“Prince? Yes, I do believe I have come for an audience with such a person,” he spoke out at the edge of the road, his tone cocky as the words drifted on the wind.

[i]Come to usss…[/i]

It came more demanding this time, unwilling to except that he had resisted.

“No.”

Shrieking crys of agony came out of the mist in reply. Paradrian grinned a wicked smile at the sounds of such pain.

[i]Then youuu will dieee…[/i]

Serpentine forms appeared in the distance. The obscuring mist kept them at seemingly farther range but no less detaining the speed of their advance. The lower
part of their bodies slithered with unreal speed and the slim scales and plush skin tone mocked the lurking snakes of the real world. The upper half of their bodies
continued to echo their shrieks at Paradrian, their mouths opening like the endless maw of a banshee. The demons lent forward, the serrated claws that had
replaced their arms twitching in anticipation for the first strike.

Paradrian drew an elegant sword from the sheathe resting at his waist. He held it high, letting its silver metal gleam in the low lighting, seemingly illuminating the
entirety of the realm. His eyes darted back at the serpents. A trail of silver light flashed in front him, streams of black ichor following in its path. He turned to look upon
the fallen form. The dying body shrieked its last breath as it lay separated from the twitching tail.

The charging cry of another demon reverted his attention back to the assault. He leapt out, impaling the attacker through its chest as he hit the ground. His face
grimaced at the serpent as it slid from his blade, staining it with blood.

He rose to his full height again, extending the sword out in the direction of the remaining demons. He turned in place, allowing the sword to aim at every serpent
that encircled him. Screams of disapproval returned the gesture.

“Allow me to relinquish you of this place,” he offered sarcastically, still aiming his sword out as he continued to turn.

[i]Youuu cannot kill ussss.[/i]

The demons charged, six of them ready to dismember the unwilling warrior with their serrated claws. Paradrian sidestepped away from the first blow, quickly
retaliating with a blow from the pommel of his weapon. A second serpent struck out. The warrior spun around, quickly driving the blade into its bare neck. The rest
of the serpents screeched as they watched the two others fell, still encircling Paradrian with a relentless charge.

Once more he swiftly dodged an oncoming attack, this time lunging forward instead to decapitate the next demon.

Cries of pain erupted from Paradrian. Agony coursed through him as his silver armor sundered at his back, exposing his flesh to the fiends. The clash of metal and
screeching delight filled the realm as he lost grip of the sword and fell to his hands and knees.

Paradrian refused to look up upon the chastising demons that had bested him. He had never been beaten before today. How could he have come this far only to let
himself be consumed by his own ego? Five of the attackers lay dead around him, and now he would become a simple play toy to these demons of Slaanesh until he
too lay dead, and probably even after that.

He laughed.

The screeching ceased and the serpents stared at him in confusion as the laughter continued to grow until tears fell from his eyes. The pain in his back slowly seeped
away as the cackling continued to fill him. Then the pain turned into comfort. The warmth of the place had finally managed to reach his skin, and the large gash in his
backside seemed to soothe the cold chill that surrounded the rest of his body. With ease he pushed himself back, resting soley on the strength in his knees.

His eyes widened as the laughter finally left him. He stared up at the serpents, once more aware that there was still a fight to be won.
“Amusing isn’t it?” he asked, picking up the fallen sword and raising himself to his feet. “I find it quite funny how one moment you feel as though you’re a god!” the silver
light flashed in front of him, slicing the nearest demon in half. No screeches of displeasure accompanied the kill, the serpents still too confused to even move. “But the
next moment, you lie face down in a pool of your own blood! Your life resting on the whim of some foolish rabble!” the sword struck out again, taking one of them straight
through the gut. “But that’s when you realize it,” he continued to talk in between kills.

The last of the fiends’ eyes filled with fear at the renewed figure. He had taken the pain of his loss, and the pain of his wounds, and used them to fuel an unnatural desire
to succeed. It slithered back as Paradrian slowly walked towards it.

[i]Youuu musssstt notttt.[/i]

“That’s when you realize that it’s all about the thrill! The experience!” he ignored the plea. Lunging forward, the sword splayed out in a multitude of gestures as its foe let out
a final desperate screech. The serpent’s head rolled from the dismembered body, its eyes and mouth wide with shock. He stared down at the corpse, finally indulging in the
beauty and temptation of its form. The delicate coloration of scales and intricate details of its form seemed almost alluring to him.

Gentle applaud caught his attention. Behind him, the jester crouched at the end of the crystal passage. She jumped up from the low position, a large smile still stretching
across her face as Paradrian approached. “Simply marvelous!” she titillated.

“Oh yes, quite a spectacle indeed,” he agreed. The pain from the wound at his back coursed through him, no longer overwhelmed by the laughter and experience of such an
action. “I’ve never received quite a wound. It’s an enthralling feeling to say the least.”

The girl’s smile faded into a sympathetic frown. “Such experiences bring us delight. But what good would it serve if you held on to that wound. It would become as much a part
of you as your body, and there would be little excitement left to dwell in!” Her hand caressed his breastplate again, feeling its texture as she spoke until at last, she held her hand
upon the spot of his wound.

As if the metal was bound to her will, it began to mend. Tendril like portions of it slithered out from the ended of its ruptured surface, grasping onto the other end until it was
completed healed in a patchwork manner. And even as if it was not enough that the armor had been restored, it continued to shift under her hand, the stitch like repair turning
until it reformed into its original intricate shape.

“Astounding…” he whispered.

The smile returned to her face as she interlocked arms with him once more. [/quote]

]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/423968/3804026.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/423968/3804026.page GMT WIP and few things will remain constant. Thank you.


---++//BEGIN TRANSMISSION//++---

[b]Name:[/b] Apostles of Dorn.

[b]Founding:[/b] Unknown. Imperial records indicate that the chapter was created during the 13th or 14th founding.

[b]Gene-seed:[/b] Imperial Fists.

[b]Homeworld:[/b] Arcuriis Prime. Located on the western fringe of the Segmentum Ultima in close proximity to the anomaly known as The storm of the Emperors wrath.

[b]Organization: [/b] The chapter adheres to the Codex and follows its notes of chapter organisation almost to the letter. However due the the rather unorthodox way the chapter works a few things have been altered and added. One example to this is the use of exemplars instead of sergeants and veterans. This rank is given to anyone who truly has proven that they embody the values and beliefs of Dorn and has proven themselves time and time again on the battlefield. They work in exactly the same way but they are a constant source of inspiration to the newer recruits and it is a rank that all brothers want to aspire to.

[b]Combat doctrine:[/b] The chapter highly values the teachings of the book of five spheres and prefers to fight the enemy face to face. Therefore vehicles are used almost exclusively as a transportation method unless the battle requires otherwise. A slow and steady advance is preferred.

[b]Beliefs:[/b] The chapters loyalty to the Emperors and his Imperium is without question, there has never been any corruption found within the chapter. However, due to their fanatical devotion to their primarch Rogal Dorn they have been visited by more than one Inquisitor from the Ordo Hereticus. So far their rather unorthodox beliefs have been tolerated. They hold a deep seeded hatred towards the Iron warriors and will often go out of their way to hunt them down and destroy them. Once every 7 years (Rogal Dorn was primarch over the Imperial fists, the seventh legion) the Chapter master meets with the head librarian, the head chaplain and the captains of the first and second company to participate in a ritual performed deep within their fortress monastery. They all assemble in a chamber with a large statue of Dorn at its centre. Incense and various other precious herbs and oils are burnt to honor their primarch and when these are lit the ritual known as the Council of the Pure has begun. The following three days their are locked within the underbelly of the fortress monastery, meditating. After this each member of the council will be asked if he has chosen the Hammer or the Shield. If shields outnumber hammers then the chapter will focus the following 7 years on defending the Imperium as best as they can. Coming to the aid of anyone who calls for them. If the hammers outnumber the shields then the chapter will spend the next 7 years on the offensive, seeking out and destroying the enemies of the Emperor anywhere that they can be found, usually through a series of Crusades. This ofcourse usually leads to a high amount of casualties and it is highly likely that a period of the hammer will be followed by atleast one period of the shield.

[b]Colours and heraldry:[/b] +++; TRANSMISSION ERROR ;+++

[b]Battlecry:[/b] Emperor protect us. Dorn guide us!

[i]"To Him, we owe our very existence. So I ask you brothers, what could possibly honor Him more than to devote our lives to His service?"[/i] Brother-Chaplain Nikolai Varmov.

[b]Recruitment:[/b] The recruitment process for this chapter is also rather unorthodox. The Apostles of Dorn pull in recruits from all over the Arcuriis system and even beyond, as long as the candidate is dedicated to a life in the service of Dorn and the Emperor he is accepted into the recruitment program. Each candidate goes through a myriad of physical and psychological test similar to those of any other chapter. After he passes these he is questioned by the head chaplain himself as only those who truly think and act like Dorn will ever have the honor of joining the chapter ranks. A true brother of the chapter must not only give his life in service of the Emperor but also to his favoured son, Rogal Dorn. If a candidate does not pass this final test he has ultimately failed his trial and is denied. He will spend the rest of his days in the chapter monastery (The Iron fist) or the chapters crusading flagship (Imperator) as a servitor or acolyte so that he may come to know the glorious and just ways of Dorn through a life of service.

[u][i]Notable members of the Apostles of Dorn.[/i][/u]

[b]Chapter Master:[/b] Titus Wrex

[b]Head Librarian:[/b] Brother Enoch

[b]Head Chaplain:[/b] Nikolai Varmov

[b]Captain of the 1st company:[/b] Brother-Captain Carius

[b]Dante[/b], venerable dreadnaught. Previous captain of the second company and High exemplar of the Apostles of Dorn.

Legendary within the chapter, Dante is the subject of countless tales of glory and he is a living role model for every single member of the chapter. As a previous captain of the 2nd company and High exemplar his list of achievements is great indeed. He grew up in an orphanage in one of the many hive cities that cover the surface of Arcuriis secundis. From an early age it was clear that he embodied the values and beliefs of a true son of Dorn, protecting the weaker children and being truthful in almost every occasion. His one flaw was his fiery temper that sometimes got the better of him and eventually would get him thrown out on the streets where he quickly learned to fend for himself. His charismatic and protective behaviour quickly gained him lots of friends and before long he was the head of one of the largest gangs within the Hive city. He spent many years leading the gang known as The Bloodbrothers where he gained knowledge within administration, recruitment, training and Urban combat. After working with The Bloodbrothers for a decade he decided to leave his newfound family in search for something greater, a noble cause, which then led him to a recruitment shrine belonging to the Apostles of Dorn located just outside the city walls.

He was looking for a family and a purpose, and that is exactly what he found. He passed all tests with flying colours and was accepted into the ranks of the chapter early in the 38th millennia. He quickly rose through the ranks and after only two decades of service he was honored with the title of Exemplar. During the following century he proved himself time and time again on and off the battlefield and so after the death of the captain of the second company in a crusade against the iron warriors, Dante was promoted to captain of the second company and given the honorable title of High Exemplar. For over 200 years He served with High distinction as the captain of the second company in dozens of notable campaigns and hundreds of engagements. His deeds are still celebrated today and he is considered one of the most successful marines in the chapters history.

His most legendary victory was during the siege of Coorma V, an Imperial planet that had fallen to the ruinous powers. Tens of thousands of traitor guardsmen were supported by a cohort of traitor marines belonging to the Emperors children. The leader of the traitor forces was a demon prince of Slaanesh known as Plutus.

After a intense three day bombardment of the city where the traitors were holding up the Apostles of Dorn stormed their fortifications under the command of captain Dante. In the final hours of the battle Dante approached the daemon prince and challenged it to a duel. The abomination accepted and a bloody and furious battle ensued. The melee lasted for hours before finally Dante managed to find and opening in Plutus' defences and decapitated the creature. The remaining traitor guard scattered and fled and the traitor marines were killed down to the last man. The city had been taken and the corruption had been sought out and destroyed but at a heavy price. During his duel with the daemon prince Dante was mortally wounded. He had lost an arm and had received multiple deep wounds to his chest and back. He was dying. However the Emperor and his favoured son had other plans for him. He was kept Alive and put inside a Contemptor pattern dreadnaught in honor of his service to the chapter and the Emperor.

He spent the Next millennia in stasis and has only recently awoken from his great slumber. Although he is not able to stay awake with his brothers within the chapter all the time He insist on being as active as possible within the chapter and participates in everything from daily prayer and the training of new recruits to offering council to the chapters commanders in various ways whenever possible. He has watched many of the chapters current captains and veterans grow from initiates to full fledged warriors and is often seen as a father and a mentor to his fellow marines. His guidance and council is highly respected by all and he remains one of the most inspirational characters in the chapters history and even to this day he still inspires incredible acts of courage and strength to his brothers on the battlefield.

[u][i]Notable engagements.[/i][/u]
[b]The 5th Black Crusade (723.M36)[/b] - This is the first recorded conflict of the Apostles of Dorn. The crusade came during the season of the shield and the whole chapter was mobilized to fight the ruinous powers that were spewing out of the Eye of Terror. It took over half a century for the chapter to recover after the heavy losses it suffered, including the loss of the their chapter master Thorim Steelfist and the entire 5th company, the 8th company and the 9th company. It was after this conflict that the recruiting process of the chapter was changed to adapt to the highly active chapters needs.

[b]The 4th Crusade of chapter master Ahron Vizus (488.M37)[/b] - After two consecutive seasons of the hammer, chapter master Ahron Vizus finished a glorious campaign against the Dark eldar raiders from the Kabal of the Bloodied moon. They had raided numerous neighbouring systems and after some small scale skirmishes against the raiders and over a year of chasing shadows the foul xeno's were finally cornered and destroyed.

[b]The Cleansing of Coorma V (495.M38)[/b] - This was the conflict that came to a climax when Dante led his men in the assault against the traitor guard and the foul warriors of the Emperors children legion. The conflict was short, bloody and brutal and after the fighting on Coorma V had seized, a fifth of the chapter lay dead or dying on the surface of the planet and the chapter had almost lost one of its greatest hero. After the final battle Dante was the given the incredible honour of continuing his service for the Emperor and Dorn through a Contemptor pattern dreadnaught.

[b]The 10th Black Crusade (001.M39)[/b] - During chapter master Fervious Ovarion's first season of the shield the entire chapter was again mobilized to deal with the forces of Chaos. This time they would go up against the Iron warriors, their most hated enemy. A gruesome war of attrition began between the two foes that lasted almost 6months. It was a sweet victory indeed when the dust had settled and the battle was finally over. Though the casualty rate was high, this war is still celebrated within the chapter as a milestone in avenging their lost primarch.

[b]Sabbat Worlds Crusade (755-765.M41)[/b] - The chapter participated for a whole 10 years in the Sabbat Worlds Crusade under the guidance of chapter master Heinrich Vermicks, the only chapter master to have instigated 4 consecutive seasons of the hammer. The chapter served with distinction in the crusade before leaving to investigate rumours of chaos taint in the far northern reaches of the Segmentum Ultima, here they spent the next 18 years rooting out and cleansing any signs of chaos that could be found.

[b]Third war of Armageddon (998.M41)[/b] - During chapter master Titus Wrex' 2nd season of the shield, three companies from the Apostles of Dorn was sent to aid in the defence of Armageddon under the command of Brother Carius, captain of the 1st company. The battle force were mostly on the defensive but also participated in missions behind enemy lines and several ambushes on the Orks supply lines, proving the versatility of the chapters fighting capabilities.


[i][u]Recent Engagements[/i][/u]
This section is devoted to the games that I will play with my chapter. I will do my best to convey the games into short stories that hopefully will be to your liking.

[b]The Battle for Hive Gorgon[/b] - Small skirmish game. 2v2 500points per player. SM and IG vs Orks and Chaos. Report can be found on Page 1.



]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/423914/3802884.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/423914/3802884.page GMT I wanna be the very best,
Like no one ever was.

To collect them is my real quest,
To paint them is my cause.

Attending Tournies across the land,
Gaming far and wide.

Teaching new players to understand
The power of the dice.

[i]Warhammer! Gotta play'em all![/i]
It's you and me.
I know it's our destiny!

[i]Warhammer![/i]
Ooh, you're my best man,
In this world we must defend.

[i]Warmhammer![/i]
An army so true,
Our courage will put us through!
You fight me and I'll fight you!
War-ham-mer!

Gotta play'em all'
Gotta play'em ALL!
WARHAMMER!]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/423874/3802220.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/423874/3802220.page GMT

CHAPTER 1
COURAGE ONLY GETS A MAN SO FAR
F-DAY -15





The sky began to melt into an elegant orange sunset, the most beautiful array of colour that had been seen on Syrius in the past two years. Cities fell, valleys flooded, the population massacred and its survivors thrown into slavery.
What was it now? The two hundred and sixty-first day of vanquish? Danny Lander’s didn’t know. He’d lost count. Danny was drowsy, hungry and covered in murky swamp water that darkened the remains of his trousers. His young arms and spine ached in pain from the endless weeks of slave labour to the chaos loving Zyfarians.
It had been seven days since he escaped. Seven miserable days surviving off black swamp berries and water that gave him diarrhea. They pushed on without hesitation, through the harshest of conditions. There was only one option. Survival was it. He gripped tightly around the body of his acquired las-rifle as the sound of gunfire echoed blindly through the setting sky. He made his way through the thigh-deep swamp, kicking the water into the air, splashing and sending ripples. He breathed in heavily, sucking in the smell of the dead and decaying as if it were the air that he’d lived with for his whole life. For the last few months it was true.

He looked around him. The last ten of his tiresome moved quietly, weapons at the ready. They looked to him like he was a father, making him quietly in charge. Maybe it was because he was ex-military or because his unit was the one that held out the longest against the enemy before being captured. Where was the rest of the Syrius resistance now? Probably wasting away under a rock.
He recognised the area well now. He’d spent a lot of his youth hiking through the swamps doing junior scouts. A lot remained the same, except for the smell and the destruction of the native forna. It had once been a beautiful place looked after by the local Commercia. Now, it had become a graveyard for the fallen, human, animal and plant alike. Swamp reeds the size of an overgrown trees grew on the waters edge and weeds the size of a fully grown man created paths and mazes through the enchanted swamp. It was like moving in-between two buildings, perfect for an ambush.
The body of a fallen comrade floated passed him in the murky water. He was littered in bolt wounds across his body as a slimy shield of blood engulfed the water around him.
A war cry spat out and was followed by a psychopathic man charging blindly out of the plantation. Gunfire hissed out of the reeds and from behind the trees. Lander ducked and fired blindly into the bushes, spending his entire power-cell, cutting three Zyfarian men down. The men around him followed his lead like dogs.
“What do we do sir?” whispered his closest ally, Timmothy Rangler as he took cover behind a rough blood-covered rock.
“Stay alive!” Lander’s muttered silently, directing the men down a fork in the swamps flow. Three men moved ahead of him and the others fell into position.
Out of the reeds, gunfire ripped through the air, rippling the murky water as it did so, carving holes through the reeds and through the tree vines that hunched over the swamp. The enemy slowly revealed themselves to the men. Lander’s watched as two of his men took up cover, firing blindly into the reeds.
]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/423796/3801202.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/423796/3801202.page GMT Beginning of a Champion
Stories to be Told
Vows to be Taken[/b]


[b]30182994.M41 TST
Darian Crusade
Chapel, Strike Cruiser Sigismund’s fist[/b][/size]

It was black.

Pitch black, black as the soul of Horus, or maybe the Armour of the Templars, yes that sounded better, armour, my armour, Power Armour provided by the Mechanicus, granted by the chapter, blessed by the Emperor. the black turned red, well not exactly red more like molten steel, or lava fresh from a fissure in the rock. this red started at a point beyond the horizon and grew upward as if burning the sky, burning it into a radiant sunrise, but as i looked down to the ground, a vibrant green grass was pocked with blast craters and traitor's bodies, dead or dying, the wounds of war festering on their flesh, the stink of burning promethium permeated the air as if the smell is the air itself. The cries of the men were muted echoing softly back and forth as if my ears were filled with wax.

As I strode through the field I saw a small number of my brothers lying on the field, the most worthy of men, left to rot on this lonely planet, far from the love of their family, far from those who adore their sacrifice the air turned cold as their dying breath left them. I bent down to a brother who was reaching for me, I gave the final benediction as was taught to us in the first days of our training in the chapter keep, that is when the cross on his chest started to glow. The glow grew as his form was lifted off the ground, what was before me was not his form anymore, but that of our father the Emperor, beside him and to the right was his praetorian our Primarch Rogal Dorn and Sigismund the first Emperor's Champion and first High Marshal to his left.

The Emperor then spoke to me, His words where great though I remember them not, there meaning struck me to the core however, as if he spoke straight into my soul, his meaning was simple, I was to lead my brothers into combat as his hands and voice, i was to take his banner as his son Sigismund did at the behest of our Primarch, this call struck me to my core, the meaning was so deep I was jarred from my dream, if you call it that, it was a vision, if i have the right to say so, a vision provided by the Most Holy Emperor.

Kifus finished his recitation of the speech, the master of sanctity, chaplain Chandish stood from the stool he was sitting on in the corner of the chapel on the Sigismund’s Fist. Chandish pulled his cruzious from it scabbard at his wast, despite the obvious weight of the staff his symbol of office seemed comfortable in his hands, at this the chaplains swung, stopping centimeters from the chest of Kifus. the chaplain nodded in approval, "good brother, you have excelled in this first test of many, that of trust in those in your chapter to be the most loyal and honorable to you, to protect you and never bring direct harm to you." Chandish lowered the weapon deactivating the powerful field. “You are about to enter into a brotherhood more revered then any other in the whole of our glorious chapter, you have been selected to continue a tradition begun by our Father the Emperor and given to the first of your line, the High Marshal Sigismund the first Champion of the Emperor, and greatest of Black Templar. Are you Ready Kifus, Are you ready to become a Champion, The Emperor's Champion, the first Champion of the Darian Crusade?” Looking Chandish Square in his eyes, Kifus solemnly nodded, “I will stand for my brothers and protect the honour of the Emperor, Dorn and Sigismund.”

The procession was solemn and slow, The Master of Sanctity led the entourage, followed by Kifus and then a number of servators, each carring a piece of the Armour of faith before them, heads bowed in subservience to the glorious relic. Brother Initiates lined the passageway, their Neophyte charges standing in reverential quite at their masters sides.

As the procession continued the lights dimmed as the neared the end, the dome of the Primarchs. this chapel was the glory of the both Marshal Calin and the Master of Sanctity Chandish. The dome rests at the base of the super structure, just behind the armoured prow of the mighty vessel, as the Champion and his companions entered the Dome the splendor of it hit all in attendance once again, the Loyal Primarchs in all their glory Ringed the room with mighty splendor, as if these avatars would come to life themselves.

As kifus entered the dome he looked up, the armour plates were retracted from the crystalline dome, the lights of the stars and the blueish glow of Darians moon was all that lit the chamber. His first step in the chamber was met by a choir of young acolytes singing the praises of the chapter and the vows of the Champion of the Emperor in praise to the Father Emperor. As Kifus passed a Statue of a Primarch a young Acolyte reminded him of the aspects of the Emperor they each represented and thus the aspects of the Emperor he must live, passing Corax and Vulkan, Guilliman and Khan, Manus and Russ, Sanguinius and El'Jonson, and finally Rogal Dorn.

As Kifus approached the statue of brilliant yellow marble quarried from the depths of Terra herselfan honor guard of 10 Sword Brethren Encircled Kifus each with a Servitor at his side, Chandish held the Black Sword and Calin the Helm of Faith, all were ready for the ceremony to begin.

As the songs silenced and only the hum of the engines could be felt or heard a bell of ancient naval origin was rung and heard throughout the ship.

The first brother came forward with the lower torso, “do You Brother vow to stand firm as a foundation for those that may need it, to support the crusade as this piece of your new Armour will act as the foundation in it's own right?” Kifus looks to his Brother in Arms “I will lead us from despair to hope, from faith to slaughter.” the Sword brother nods and signals the servitor, “so be it brother.”

the Second Sword Brother steps forward bearing the greaves of the suit, speaking, “do you Brother Kifus, Vow to keep the chapter moving ever forward on this great crusade, to always defend the future of mankind and to not stop until the end overtakes you?” Kifus took a step forward and saluting as the old traditions of Terra hitting his closed fist to his chest he responds, “I vow as Champion of the emperor to move always forward, never back.”

again and again the Armour of Faith is presented to Kifus he takes a vow on each item presented and then the piece of Artificer Armour is assembled slowly encasing Kifus in solid adamantine.

As the entire suit is assembled two items remain, the sword and the helm, both are ancient tools, passed from one champion to the next always recovered, always repaired, always blessed.

Marshal Calin stepped forward holding the helm aloft before him, “this helm has seen many a war, many foes have died to the bearer of this helm, many enemies have wished for the head under this helm, but that is the fate of one blessed to fight as the Emperor's Champion, to live a life of valor and he honour, and to die in glorious battle by those you hate the most. Do you Kifus swear to live and die by all of the oaths you and every Champion before you have made?

Taking the helm in his hands and examining it as if for the first and last time, Kifus looks up the Marshal, "I Kifus, vow to protect, serve, and if the emperor calls for it, die, for the sake of chapter and thus the Emperor." The last man in the Circle, Chaplain Chandish comes forward a sheathed sword in his hands, present it to Kifus, "this, Kifus, is the sword of faith, it will strengthen you and your resolve, wield it rightly, and true, this last and final vow you shall take to become the missing link our crusade has long been without, the emperor's champion." continuing with his statement Chandish stepped closer to Kifus and handed the sword to Kifus pommel first, Kifus grasped the blade by the grip, yet Chandish did not release the sheath. "do you, Kifus, as the emperor's champion, vow to uphold the honor of the emperor through service and sacrifice,will you accept any challenge no matter the cost for the betterment of the crusade, will you suffer not the unclean to live for they are the embodiment of heresy and must be cleansed, and will you abhor the witch, for they are the gateways through which chaos flows? will you Kifus, do this for the crusade, the chapter, the Imperium, and the father emperor?"

looking the master of sanctity right in his eyes Kifus repeated back the vow “I, Kifus, as the Emperor's champion, vow to uphold the honor of the emperor through service and sacrifice, i will accept any challenge no matter the cost for the betterment of the crusade, i will suffer not the unclean to live for they are the embodiment of heresy and must be cleansed, and i will abhor the witch, for they are the gateways through which chaos flows. I Kifus, do this for the crusade, the Chapter, the Imperium, and the Father Emperor." at this the chaplain released the blade, looking up at the stars in the panoramic view, Father Emperor, I dedicate this brother marine to you as your champion, guide him and protect him, lend him your strength as you have done in the past for the Champions that fought in your name." looking back down the chaplain proclaimed in a large unearthly voice, "it is done, the new champion has been hailed and sealed, we are now ready for battle and victory.”

looking at the entirety of the crusade in this grand hall all together marshal Calin Smiled for the first time in a long time, “Break open the wine, fire up the galleys, tonight we dine, for tomorrow our enemies must die!” a great cheer erupted and was silenced once more as the chapter echoed the sentiment of their own Marshal.]]> http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/423592/3797626.page http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/preList/423592/3797626.page GMT