You fools have almost killed this thread with off-topic. I'll do the event this weekend though, seeing as how it's 5 days long for me . Then y'all better get roleplayin'!

Darkvoidof40k wrote:You fools have almost killed this thread with off-topic. I'll do the event this weekend though, seeing as how it's 5 days long for me . Then y'all better get roleplayin'!

That's what I've been waiting for Dark! Jeez, I was worried everyone forgot about this one! I put a lot of effort into being a Warboss and I hope like hell that this RP doesn't die anytime soon

WARORK93 wrote:

Darkvoidof40k wrote:You fools have almost killed this thread with off-topic. I'll do the event this weekend though, seeing as how it's 5 days long for me . Then y'all better get roleplayin'!

That's what I've been waiting for Dark! Jeez, I was worried everyone forgot about this one! I put a lot of effort into being a Warboss and I hope like hell that this RP doesn't die anytime soon

Same. This one is set to be quite possibly one of the most successful roleplays ever, because there is such a long plot. But 5 pages of off-topic?

No more posts until the event.

Good news: New page!
Bad news: Monday, I leave for Berlin on a school-trip. I know, I can't RP in that period, but I'll be back on friday.

Scrazza wrote:Good news: New page!
Bad news: Monday, I leave for Berlin on a school-trip. I know, I can't RP in that period, but I'll be back on friday.

This defeats the point of not posting.. and I hope you have not cursed another page to off-topic.

Seriously dudes, no more postin' here after this post.

PLAYER EVENT: Death From Above - Part 2

The Imperial forces - specifically the Ousian 23rd - were being overrun. Hundreds upon hundreds of good, honest men would never again see their home; embrace their loved ones or share a bottle of their regiments' finest Lausk with their comrades and friends after a hard-won battle. They lay, crumpled and brutalized; most barely recognisable. But that didn't matter now. Their deaths didn't matter now. All that mattered now was the death of Warboss Warklaw Gordakka, the terrible beast that was responsible for all these deaths. Not because he killed them all - though kill many he did - but because a horde beyond counting of his own hated kind had flocked to him at his call, like hungry birds to bread crumbs.

The ground was literally a green tide as far as the eye could see, however Captain Jordan Gaius' genhanced vision could pick out each and every ramshackle Ork vehicle as he observed the great battle below them from his Thunderhawk's porthole. He watched with a smile as other Thunderhawks strafed the Ork forces with bombs and shots from the great cannons mounted on their backs; and he took great delight in observing the destruction those mighty craft caused. Other, more ponderous Thunderhawk variants carrying heavy armor deployed further back, lowering the revered Land Raider and Predator battle tanks to the ground with utmost care, so that their destructive purpose may continue to be fulfilled with all haste. He also noted the deployance of one of the two Vindicators that had been attached to his large task force. Sergeant Cruor was sure to reap much glory from this battle as he lead the Imperial Fists' armored forces from his ancient Land Raider, the Gladius, which had an impeccable record of service that stretched back almost eight-thousand years. The right to command it was only gifted to the most talented of the chapter's tank commanders. Turning his gaze back to the warriors that accompanied him, he and tactical Sergeant Vorus exchanged glances; the veteran-sergeant's expression telling him all he needed to know. But he already knew that his men would be battle-ready, for Sergeant Vorus was diligent in the extreme in the execution of his duties, and in the one-hundred and fifty-six years they had fought alongside each other, no battle-brother under Vorus' command had ever performed in a manner other than exemplary. But his squad had suffered many, many casualties over the years, and none of the Marines under Vorus' command were from the original roster - the seven Marines that had not been killed over Vorus' eighty-two years of command in his current position had all been promoted to either the Veteran company or as Sergeant's of their own squads in Gaius' company. What was more, Vorus was absolutely loyal to him, for he had twice been offered a place in the Veteran company, but had declined both times, deciding instead to remain in service of his Captain and friend. It was nigh-unheard of for any Space Marine to turn down such a promotion, let alone twice, and Gaius allowed himself to indulge in pride at the notion that he inspired such complete loyalty in his warriors.

From further down the Thunderhawk, he heard Sergeant Aurellias' deep voice chanting the Litanies of Devotion with his Assault squad whilst they oversaw final preparation of their wargear. But perhaps greatest of all of them, was Miguel. Old Miguel. The venerable Dreadnought stood motionless in the dark rear of the Thunderhawk, held in place by support pylons and mag-clamps. His enormous power fist and assault cannon lay still now, but when combat reached them, which soon it would, the serene stillness and silence of Miguel's armored form would disappear, shed like a snake's skin, and replaced by unstoppable battle-rage and fury as he waded through the greenskins. Gaius did not know exactly how old the Dreadnought was, but Miguel had served under nine Captain's previous to himself, making him the tenth commander of the fifth company that Miguel had fought, and imparted wisdom, for over the last two-thousand years. Gaius had himself served the Emperor as a Space Marine for two-hundred and seventy-six years, and one-hundred and four of those years he had spent as Captain of the fifth. But Miguel had always been there, ever since he had first layed his awestruck eyes upon the mighty Dreadnought as a Scout when his squad was attached to the fifth battle company for an extended campaign, and as he had risen through the ranks from Devaster to Assault Marine to Tactical Marine, and eventually to Sergeant and soon after Company Champion. Even now, as Captain, he was humbled in the presence of such a great warrior, who stood immune to the degrading affects of time.

As if sensing the Captain's thoughts, Miguel spoke quietly to Gaius, the fake voice emitted from the sarcophogus' vox-grille chilling him more than the Daemon-spawn of Korask or the rigorous and excrutiatingly painful genetic modification and initiation he had undergone to become one of the hallowed Adeptus Astartes, for he knew that it took a greater soul than his own to endure the terrible half-life of a Dreadnought.
"I.. remember.. when you were just.. a Scout, raw as uncooked fish," the Dreadnought rasped.
Jordan chuckled, "In the many centuries I have known you Miguel, you have never changed. You are one of the greatest heroes of our chapter, and I hope one day you will finally agree with me on that."
"Jordan.. I have told you.. many times.. I am no.. hero!" Miguel replied, hidden anger registable in his tone, "This.. is a tomb.. of living torture.. for myself and.. all other Ancients.. I wish for it to end so dearly.. but.. I live to serve, and live I do."
Captain Gaius bowed his head. To most Space Marines, to be, as Miguel would put it, incarcerated into a Dreadnought was a great honour - to serve the Emperor evermore. He had thought like that once, too. But having risen to his current rank, he learned over the years that to be a Dreadnought was to suffer and to become less human than the Adeptus Astartes already were. Never again would Miguel shout a warcry from his lips; never again would he tear out a traitors throat with his own hands or cut down a charging horde of Greenskins or Tyranids with boltgun and blade. Never again would he feel the warmth of the ground underneath his feet. Truly, Miguel had sacrificed everything it meant to be human in his pursuit of eternal service in the name of the Emperor of mankind. Gaius asked himself once again, was it worth it? Is there a point where service becomes too pure, and too much is lost? Or perhaps to not strive to reach such a state was blasphemy, and worthy of execution? Jordan sighed, and hefted his mighty Thunderhammer, gripping it tight as the voice of the pilot sounded over the vox, "Prepare for landing!"

The craft shuddered and slammed down to the ground with a clunk that reverbrated throughout its frame. Simultaneously, the restraints on the Marines and Miguel released, and as the ramp hit the ground, Gaius was already out, thumbing the activation rune on his weapon, and it crackled to life; dangerous energy corruscating about its head.

Oh thank GOD the new events are starting. They're only three days late...

Chowderhead wrote:Oh thank GOD the new events are starting. They're only three days late...

Only three? Not too shabby, not too shabby at all, if I say so myself.

And don't ya worry yourself Chowder, you'll get your event conclusion soon enough.

As for the irony? Scrazza just left for a week.


Edit: And yes, you may thank me for the new events.

"The Runes have been cast, the pieces are in place, it is time that i made my move..."


Character name: Farseer Eluna
Character age: Long forgotten, never heeded
Character race: Eldar(assisting the Imperials.)
Character profession: Farseer of Ulthwe
Character personality: Quiet, calculating, and unlike many of her race, Eluna respects the Imperial of man as a valuable ally and buffer-zone between her people and total-destruction
Character appearance:
Character height: 6' 2'
Character equipment: Shuriken Pistol, Soul Stone, Wraithbone amour, Ghost helm, Runes of Witnessing, Singing Spear.
Character bio/background story: Eluna is unusual for an Eldar Farseer, she prefers to work alone, respects the Mon'keigh if not as equals then at least as a valued servant. She has assisted Imperial Forces in battle, manipulated the fates in man's favor on multiple occasions and even served the Living Saint Ferosia as an adviser during her crusade to reclaim the worlds that now bore her name. Other Eldar consider her an outcast, and mock her for involving herself so closely with a "lesser" race, but they have not seen what she has seen, and even now, as she walks willingly into the depths of an ancient space hulk alone, she still fights with her people and her Craftworld foremost in her mind.

OCC: will post an introduction soon, just let me get it sorted out.

Looks good Harrab, I hope you enjoyed the read.

Perhaps you should team up with our resident Death Jester?

Within in the bowels of the hulk energy began to trickle through ancient systems within the no longer sleek hull of an Elder cruiser, now nothing more than another part of the shapeless tumble of warp-twisted rock and dead metal, the energy flare grew stronger, stronger, untill suddenly the Webway gate flared like a super nova and a single figure stepped through.

Farseer Eluna turned to seal the gate behind her with a thought, then shattered the power-stone with another. no reason to risk the craft-world any further.

The room around her was darker now the sole source of illumination was gone, but she could make out the slumped and long rotted bodies of the cruisers crew, their soul-stones cracked and dark. She who thirsts had claimed these brave fools long ago.

Eluna knelt beside the captain, turning him over gently to check his stone, then sighed with regret at the also dark gem.

A bellow of rage caused Eluna's head to snap up as an Ork, dwarfing the farseer still on her knees before him and brought his huge axe down to cleave her head in two.

The blade stopped. The ork gave an almost comical yelp of surprise before it felt it's entire body was encased within bands of air now stronger than steel.

Eluna stood, dusted off her robes with an unhurried air, glanced at the ork, then walked slowly away from it as it bellowed curses and threat at her in it's crude tongue. She paused on the threshold that the beast had used to enter the portal room, raised her right hand as if in response, then clenched it into a fist.

The Ork imploded. Eluna lowered her hand and walked on as what was left of the ork joined the remains of her kinsmen, walked calmly into the depths of the hulk in the same unhurried pace she had arrived in, without a backwards glance.

Nice, it seems we have a rather powerful psyker on our hands. Interesting.

Lets just hope our resident Black Templar doesn't meet you .

Darkvoidof40k wrote:Nice, it seems we have a rather powerful psyker on our hands. Interesting.

Lets just hope our resident Black Templar doesn't meet you .

OCC: Indeed, Farseer Eluna has had a long and full life of not being burned alive by zealous humans, and she wishes for it to remain that way./OCC

Edit: Stand by, the Farseer is going to assist her unaware allies, just let me edit this post again to include it.

Lord Harrab wrote:

Darkvoidof40k wrote:Nice, it seems we have a rather powerful psyker on our hands. Interesting.

Lets just hope our resident Black Templar doesn't meet you .

OCC: Indeed, Farseer Eluna has had a long and full life of not being burned alive by zealous humans, and she wishes for it to remain that way./OCC

Just to be sure; you have read the entire roleplay?

Darkvoidof40k wrote:

Lord Harrab wrote:

Darkvoidof40k wrote:Nice, it seems we have a rather powerful psyker on our hands. Interesting.

Lets just hope our resident Black Templar doesn't meet you .

OCC: Indeed, Farseer Eluna has had a long and full life of not being burned alive by zealous humans, and she wishes for it to remain that way./OCC

Just to be sure; you have read the entire roleplay?

Yep. (inculding the rather bizzare tangent that laster a few pages, was a good read though)
Let me see if i've got it right:

Imperials trying to take over or destroy hulk, currently engaged in a massive chamber and numerous side passages/chambers with a huge horde of greenskins, including armored elements, their position is balanced on a knife edge, but Imperial fists have shown up to kick some tail.

orks are, well, hitting stuff with other stuff and a merry time was had by all.

Chaos elements are tearing through an imperial flank, Player marines are engaging.

Farseer Eluna is on her way to help the Imperials

I'm not sure what everyone else is doing.

Mostly correct. But we have quite a few inactive characters that will meet their demise shortly..

The GKs/Chaos fight is happening away from the main battle in some other part of the space hulk.

Our resident Inquisitor is chilling in the Imperial headquarters with some notable NPCs and now some Space Marines as well.

A re-read of the event summary on page 20 really does give a good overview. I find myself looking back at it a lot.

You also forgot about our Necrons. They're just terrorising people, like Necrons do.

Dark, the cat is pissing me off a bit.

I don't want to be forced to kill you over the interwebz.

Chowderhead wrote:Dark, the cat is pissing me off a bit.

I don't want to be forced to kill you over the interwebz.

Do your worst!

Alright.

Chowderhead wrote:Alright.

Aw hell no. This sh*t just got serious.

Your Shoop Da Whoop/Lazer/Doctor Octagonapus-related .gif bounces off my mighty plot armor which is mighty.

Edited 3 times? Wutnow? And whatever gif is now in that spoiler.. is broken.

Oh wait. It works now.

ADD will do that.

And now your cat bugs me even more. I will be forced to take drastic measures...

Ha HA!

Dancing monkey, HO!

Chowderhead wrote:Ha HA!

Dancing monkey, HO!

Touché.

They are almost Synced.

It's quite creepy, really.

Anyway, how are the events coming? (Wink wink, nudge nudge, shotgun barrel in your mouth)

No more events tonight. Probably one tomorrow. Involving your character. (Wink wink, nudge nudge, NFW in your mouth)

Anyway, I have to have a roleplay done in another game by half an hour ago. Fool, you held me up.

In Shai's RP?

I have plans for that. Are you heading to Troy?

Chowderhead wrote:In Shai's RP?

I have plans for that. Are you heading to Troy?

Yeah, I can't be bothered with killing half of London.. for now..

...For now?

What the hell is with you and random sporadic murder sprees?

Chowderhead wrote:...For now?

What the hell is with you and random sporadic murder sprees?

They excite me, especially when they involve shotguns and knives.

I prefer the cool, collected sniper shot to the skull.

Also, I got my character one of those Bolter Things. You know, the XM-25.

I've heard of them. Hard to come by.


edit: oh sh*tsticks, another page of off-topic. CURSE YOU CHOWDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!11!

Dark I hate reading the massive amounts of posts DAMN YOU!! Almost done, though havn't decided on race and unit(Dark Eldar Klaivex Or Eldar Autarch, Maybe eldar Warpspider Idk Yet)

Character name: Sithus, Archon Of Sanguines' Blood(Name is from Oblivion NOT 40K!)
Character age:Unknown
Character race: Dark Eldar
Character profession: Archon
Character personality: Mercyful By Dark Eldar Standards, Favor's Eldar To his own Kinmen, Rich enough to buy A great meny troops, but favors small,elite, semi-trustful bands
Character appearance: Olive Skin, To Eldar Standards he is similar an exodite, Hates Commorragh, Enjoys Arcane Weaponary
Character height:Tall For a Dark Eldar 6'6
Character equipment: Two Carved Family Huskblades,Night Mothers Ghost Plate Armor,Family Hierloom Helmet, Shadow Field, Phantasm Grenade launcher, Blast pistol(For Potshots Not CC), Animus Vitae,
Character bio/background story: Hearing Of massive Souls to be collected and sent to Commorragh, Sithus plans to send Chaos Followers and other Undesirables back, He wouldn't have the hatred to send screaming gaurdsmen back. His group plans to advert the space hulk away from the massively populated planet(Orders From Vect)so others can harvest it.

Raiding Party
Archon Sithus, 3 Ssylth

5 Incubi Including a Klaivex

10 Trueborn Kabalite, 3 Blasters, 1 Darklance,1 Shredder cannon, Rest equiped with Carbines

Four 5 man sqauds Of Kabalite warriors, No Special Weapons

( I sure see a lot of dead boyz around! Dont worry, theres ALWAYS more orks! Hurry it up Dark I WAN MAH STOMPAS!!!!! XD )

"Archon Sithus We are nearing the space hulk, prepare to jump" The radier pilot Said. All in all there were 7 Raiders, Archon Sithus was in the Incubis' Raider.He nodded and the ships darted into the opening of thw warp. 'Good Nobody is dead' he thought to himself."Ok Team Sufferthorn Branch off into those corridors," he told a sqaud he knew was unloyal. Seconds later a scream echoed out and a Headless body stumbled back out of the corridor."WHAT IS THAT!"A warrior shouted."Prepare your weapons," He told the group around him. 3 Men stumbled out dragging a limp body cut off at the upper legs. A large warp beast jumped on the retreating men, Eating the man alive.The other two fired(unsuccefuly) at it. When the beast was done with the warrior on the ground he slashed one of the two left in half.The last man Now to terrified to move was also devoured."Ok, blow it to pieces,"He qued.

Killing the unloyals

A few things, TWH.

1) Far too many weapons on your character. 3 Max considering how many you've got.
2) Raiders.. in space? That doesn't work. I'd suggesting boarding the Space Hulk in a similar way to our resident Farseer; use the Webway. Even if Raiders and Ravagers could go in space, their weapons wouldn't be able to even reach the hull; in the first event you can see that the strongest weaponry of the assembled Imperial Fleet had no affect.
3) It's a tad bit annoying to read your post entirely in italics.

Not having a go at you, just saying it as it is.

WARORK93 wrote:( I sure see a lot of dead boyz around! Dont worry, theres ALWAYS more orks! Hurry it up Dark I WAN MAH STOMPAS!!!!! XD )

Haha sorry dark, Ill remove some of the things(Animus Vitae isn't a weapon more of equipment just to tell) and I beilieve raiders do fly in space I'll check my dex cuz' I might be wrong, thanks for the advice.

"Sithus, I dont think your fit to be leading this Raid. I as the Syrabite of Poi-" The archon swiftly sliced the man and all moisture was drained from his body. " You planned to back him up, didnt you?" the archon questioned the sqaud of Warriors alf,
. "Nu-nu-nu- no sir! We called him a fool!" the warrior blurted out. "Liar. "He muttered. After whispering something in his Klaivexes ear, the warrior sqaud began to sprint off. "Fools,Oh well two sqauds down." Archon sithus put away his Huskblades and pulled out his Blast Pistol."Left corridor,"the archon told the warrior sqaud to scout out. Once the warriors returned the archon was told dsturbing news "There is a large group of Adeptus Astartes ahead, we need to move with cautio-GAAAH!"The dark eldar warrior screamed out as the bolter shell tore him in half,"KILL THEM"The archon yelled as one of his Ssylths took a bolter shell without even showing pain "If i get back to commargh im buying more!"He thought about the Sslyths. A flamer flew through the Incubi,not even touching them, but scorched an entire warrior sqaud, a dark light lance blew a space marine to dust as did multiple blasters. THe incubi faced fierce resistance from the marines, but with Sithuss' help they chopped through them. All that remained of his strike force were 5 Incubi, 2 Sslyths(One took 12 heavybolter bolts and died shortly after), 3 warriors,9 Of the trueborn(one with the blaster was reduced to ash by the flamer.)"We Can still complete the mission"Sithus told his remaining troops.

Which Space Marines were you fighting?

Step. Step. Step.

This passageway had obviously never been traveled, the only prints within the thick carpet of dust and grime were left by the Lone Farseer and those were barley visible even to her eyes.

Her hand ran across the warped hull plate that formed part of the bow of an Imperial frigate as she walked, the human ship poking through the jumble of other Deris like a remarkable fossil of some great beast, she stared up at it for a moment, the cavern she occupied illuminated by the light of her spear.

"So primitive." she thought, giving the dead ship a gentle pat, "yet so much potential. so much at stake."

She reached into the pouch at her belt, and pulled out a handful of wraith-bone symbols, casting them like sand towards the long-dead ship, the runes glowed, then the Farseer was the centre of a miniature system of rune planets, symbols flashing past her vision in a certain order, revealing a small portion of the future to their charge.

Sudden sound to her left made her start, yet she was quickly in an defensive position, forward by here runes, singing spear held over her head ready to throw into the darkness, and her body lowered into a crouch in order to present a smaller profile to an attacker. The runes around her blazed like small sun as she focused her willpower through them, and her eyes glowed with energy as she focused that power within her mind, ready to unleash a storm of fury.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHH!" came a yell from the darkness, and a mob of Orks charged forwards, friends of the one she had ended earlier she judged axes held high and pistols blazing, but in their rage they hardly even bothered to aim and the shots went wide.

The first to enter the pool of light, the squad leader judging by the amount of trophies on its blood splattered armor , took the singing spear in the throat, Eluna called it back with a thought, and burned another to ashes with a bolt of pure psychic energy before it had even competed half of the journey towards her.

Another rushed her before she could gather her will for another attack and slashed at her exposed face with its crude axe, Eluna blocked it with the haft of her spear, then countered with the blade, the ancient weapon tearing through the beats vulnerable throat and severing his head.

A third charged her and impaled himself on the longer weapon as the Farseer braced her self against his rush, then threw him back off her blade with a blast of energy as another rushed her, bowling her to the ground with it's sheer bulk then hacked down at her with a blade larger than her entire body.

Time slowed as the blade fell, and Elune focused her mind, searching for the strand of fate that would allowed to continue her work, her mind was clear of everything except the fates, her fear of She who Thirsts who would claim her if her Soul-Stone was shattered was locked outside her consciousness. Nothing mattered except her task. Go for her own pistol? No. she would be cut in half before it even cleared it's holster. return her spear? No the Ork was within her guard, again she would die here forgotten and alone...

There.
She rolled aside, leaving her spear were it had fallen and plucking up a fallen orks pistol as she did so, and fired the huge and unwieldily weapon and she rolled to her feet, the heavy caliber shells pulping the orks skull with explosive bolts and causing Eluna to wince as the recoil punished her slender wrist.

But the fight was over, the orks lay slain and the Farseer dropped her captured weapon with a grimace of distaste, wiping that gauntlet on the wall as she summoned her spear back to her grip. the floating runes slid back into their pouch with another gesture.

Eluna gave the trapped human ship another glance, noting it's fresh coat of ork blood, she smiled, thinking the old ship would like having witness the deaths of some of it's enemies, then she hurried on, her step quickened now she was closer to the battle, the battle that now balanced on the narrowest of blade edges.

She must ensure it fell the right way, or her life's work would be in vain.

Lovely post Harrab!

I was just making filler, Something to kill most of my warriors, Ya know the guys roaming around....Idk random marines

Darkvoidof40k wrote:Lovely post Harrab!

*Happy Dance*

Lord Harrab wrote:

Darkvoidof40k wrote:Lovely post Harrab!

*Happy Dance*

Keep this up and you'll find that your mighty plot armor is mighty.

ROFL

TheWildHost wrote:ROFL

I fail to see the point of your rolling on the floor laughing at this occasion.

In other words, what's so funny dude?

Nothing it's just funny,would you preffered me to use ROFLCOPTER?? How bout ROFLBLADES, With a side of ROFLMAO

TheWildHost wrote:ROFLCOPTER

Soi Soi Soi.

Lol i havn't slept in 24 hours because of my uncles double lung transplant back to rp'ing(Hey Harrab in the Future could we possibly group up? Just maybe?)

TheWildHost wrote:Lol i havn't slept in 24 hours because of my uncles double lung transplant back to rp'ing(Hey Harrab in the Future could we possibly group up? Just maybe?)

Hmm, that would be interesting, Dark Elder Archon, and Craftworld Farseer... I'm pretty sure that'll end in tears/fistycuffs, BUT it has been done before... tempting.

EDIT: BTW, I hope your uncle is recovering ok.

TheWildHost wrote:Lol i havn't slept in 24 hours because of my uncles double lung transplant

1) Get some sleep, you'll feel a lot better.. tomorrow..
2) Sounds like he survived, which is good to hear. I wish him and yourself all the best.
3) I should do an event at some point.. but.. meh..

Darkvoidof40k wrote:

TheWildHost wrote:Lol i havn't slept in 24 hours because of my uncles double lung transplant

1) Get some sleep, you'll feel a lot better.. tomorrow..
2) Sounds like he survived, which is good to hear. I wish him and yourself all the best.
3) I should do an event at some point.. but.. meh..

Perhaps a certain Farseer could help certain Imperial forces by casting certain spells, like fortune on them and/or doom on their foes, er... certainly?

Darkvoidof40k wrote:

TheWildHost wrote:Lol i havn't slept in 24 hours because of my uncles double lung transplant

1) Get some sleep, you'll feel a lot better.. tomorrow..
2) Sounds like he survived, which is good to hear. I wish him and yourself all the best.
3) I should do an event at some point.. but.. meh..

It is 6 AM here, The transplant isn't over, and yes! Please do an event.Im suprisinlgly not tired but a little bit.I get the day off(WOOT!) I have been here since 9PM with him,He went in at 1:30AM and stayed at the hospital, And thank you for the Wishes

Sorry im talking about myself waaaay too much I will post some RP material later

I wake up for school at 5:30 in the morning

DO an event!!!!

TheWildHost wrote:DO an event!!!!

Because this will make it happen faster.

I do have a life y'know, and I don't have time for an event right now.

Haha,I understand I will stop bugging you, and what happened to the others?

TheWildHost wrote:Haha,I understand I will stop bugging you, and what happened to the others?

They're waiting for the all-encompassing event to complete.

Ahh Lol, Mordo has not posted in a while has he? I was trying to find his last post but gave up

TheWildHost wrote:Ahh Lol, Mordo has not posted in a while has he? I was trying to find his last post but gave up

Yes, but himself and LLF both gave themselves rather unusual characters that, whilst interesting, are no real fun in the long run.

Ah, I was reluctent to make a dark eldar because I was afraid he would hunt me down

Ok below is the link to what my archon looks like

http://www.dakkadakka.com/gallery/199389-Dark%20Eldar%20Archon.html

TheWildHost wrote:http://www.dakkadakka.com/gallery/199389-Dark%20Eldar%20Archon.html

I assume you want this to be your characters image in the OP?

Yes, please.

Ah! Can we start RPing again now? or will those with events in progress (eip) have to wait longer?


On an off topic note, just bought minecraft yesterday... and now I'm wasting twice as much time as I did before!

Well.. seeing as how you're online wizard, and I don't see any real necessity to hold your characters in limbo anymore.. go ahead! Just try not to directly or indirectly effect the areas of the roleplay still in "event limbo" and I suggest re-reading your characters' events, just to refresh your mind.

Lets get this ol' thread moving again!

Edit: My having told you you can roleplay again is not an excuse not to roleplay, soldier! Now get back to the front lines!

Archon Sithus Noticed it before he left Commorragh. He noticed the chest pains, the headaches, and at points the vomiting. In Commorragh the cure would be 4-12 slaves slowly tortured, but Sithus knew that wasn't what was wrong. He felt a hand clam on his throat, slowly closing his airways,"No, Nightmother, do not take me now!"He thought. Archon Situs crumpled onto the floor passed out, and sweating.
"Wake up you worthless sh**," Sithus heard his Klaivex say"WAKE UP!" He could only see darkness. All of the sudden a hand gripped him by his throat, but not as hard as the one that put him there. Suddenly his eyes shot open and he saw it. There was a massive body slumped by the wall, and 14 other bodys.9 true born, 3 warriors,2 incubi,and the second Sslyth lay dead."Whu-whu-What happened"Sithus said with half a breath. His airways were still clogged." My brother and two incubi were killed by a blasster barrage from the warrioss" His last Sslyth Bricha."Bricha you are a good warrior, go back and get more of your own kind, take the incubi to get more of them also, Klaivex and I will stay, Bricha if I don't make it back, the Kabal is to destroyed, Do you understand me, the curse is getting worse, destroy it."Sithus said to His Bodyguard."Sir, You don't want your son to take contr-" Bricha started to say but sithus cut him off with a hand"No my son shall not take the Kabal under any circumstance, even if you have to kill him," Bricha Nodded understanding. With that they left through the webway portal.
"So what is this Curse?" Klaivex Ares asked. "My Father Made this Kabal with a pact to a spirit, The Night Mother, who would lead him to greatness if he would well I don't like to talk about it,but the Night Mother is not kind, This is the first all out attack though, My helmet usualy stops her but as you saw i Had it off(Im adding Family Heirloom Helmet to my wargear Because of this) and she attacked."Sithus explained. "So your Son is at risk?!" Ares exlamed."No, I told the Sslyth to kill him if he tried to take over,so his son couldn't take over and be eternaly bound a diffrent person will. Ah the boy, My grandson, Will rise to greatness a diffrent way.

Is the read easyier to red then white or what? What is the best color for reading?

Red is perhaps only slightly easier to read.. but I usually reserve that colour for player deaths.

Aren't colored posts GM only?

Oooooooooh

TheWildHost wrote:Ahh Lol, Mordo has not posted in a while has he? I was trying to find his last post but gave up

Y'know, if you guys were, I dunno, DOING SOMETHING, I might consider jumping back in.

Mordoskul wrote:

TheWildHost wrote:Ahh Lol, Mordo has not posted in a while has he? I was trying to find his last post but gave up

Y'know, if you guys were, I dunno, DOING SOMETHING, I might consider jumping back in.

Plenty has happend and is happening.

Darkvoidof40k wrote:

Mordoskul wrote:

TheWildHost wrote:Ahh Lol, Mordo has not posted in a while has he? I was trying to find his last post but gave up

Y'know, if you guys were, I dunno, DOING SOMETHING, I might consider jumping back in.

Plenty has happend and is happening.

Such as? All I see are pages upon pages of off-topic. This RP had a groove going on, let's return there, shall we?

Hey! Hey! I have been Rping! been off topic alot but still

Mordoskul wrote:

Darkvoidof40k wrote:

Mordoskul wrote:

TheWildHost wrote:Ahh Lol, Mordo has not posted in a while has he? I was trying to find his last post but gave up

Y'know, if you guys were, I dunno, DOING SOMETHING, I might consider jumping back in.

Plenty has happend and is happening.

Such as? All I see are pages upon pages of off-topic. This RP had a groove going on, let's return there, shall we?

Pages 20-25. That is all. Page 20 contains the event summary of the first half of the event.

Most of the reason why not much has happened with your character is that.. well.. not much has happened with him. He's killed a few dudes, but isn't involved in the main war either way.

Darkvoid notified me; I'm in!



Character name: Warlord Gorskar Ugskragga da Lost
Character age: 132
Character race: Orks
Character profession: Warlord
Character personality: Violent, authoritarian, thuggish and cunning. Very much a traditional Speed Freek, though with unusual elements of strategy to his thinking. Cannot read maps at all.

Character appearance: Massive. Gorskar is covered in muscle and scar tissue from the various fights he's been in, and has had one arm and part of his head replaced entirely due to injuries. He takes pride in this, as to him it's a sign of his courage and toughness. His skin is a vibrant, dark-toned green.

Character height: 11ft 11in

Character equipment: A suit of patchwork heavy armour, a kustomised twin-linked shoota, a bionic arm ending in the boss' favourite power klaw, a few "special brew" stikkbombs (napalm smells good to orks, apparently), a bionic bonce with inbuilt targeter and thermal lens and a bosspole with his personalised glyph on it.

Character bio/background story: For the past few years, Gorskar has been searching for something. What it is, he hasn't told his inferiors, only that it's very, very important and they have to find it fast. Now, in this remote and somewhat unlovely part of space, Gorskar has found what he was looking for. The Space Hulk Tomb Sanguinis. With his previous hulk, the Starkrusha's Revenge having been fatally damaged by an attack fleet of the Imperial Navy some time ago, Gorskar desperately needs a new flagship with which to try and steer his Waaagh! towards Armageddon; without such a vessel, his paltry collection of Kill Kroozers will be hard pressed to even fight their way into orbit. Gorskar will have his prize, the Sanguinis or death...

I got an invintation to join this so here i got.ps thanks for that darkvoid

Character name:lord commissar klimino alexander
Character age:25
Character race:imperial guard
Character profession:leader of planet catalices 4 best regiments
Character personality:tough,but cares for his men. resentful. does not forgive easily. does not retreat unless no possible way to win.
Character appearance:bionic arms.scarred face.kinda young.a little skinny. brown hair and eyes. a "matirx" jacket (dont know wat its called ) thats sandy yellow. a dark blue hat with yellow trimming.
Character height: 5.5
Character equipment:power sword,meltagun,carapace armor,bionics,refractor shield.
Character bio/background story:he is the only survivor from his home planet heavinii which was destroyed by chaos marines when he was 5. he was taken and trained as a commissar. he became one at 18 due to his wits and hatred for chaos. after proving himself in several battles,he became a lord at 22.however he has his own agenda some say is heretical and some think its loyal. because of this he has been called in by the inqusition for questioning but they couldn't ever find anything wrong with him.however,he is now being watched by them.

http://www.games-workshop.com/MEDIA_CustomProductCatalog/m1241835_99060105215_Commissarpowerswordmain_873x627.jpg

best i could find :(

Darkvoidof40k wrote:

Mordoskul wrote:

Darkvoidof40k wrote:

Mordoskul wrote:

TheWildHost wrote:Ahh Lol, Mordo has not posted in a while has he? I was trying to find his last post but gave up

Y'know, if you guys were, I dunno, DOING SOMETHING, I might consider jumping back in.

Plenty has happend and is happening.

Such as? All I see are pages upon pages of off-topic. This RP had a groove going on, let's return there, shall we?

Pages 20-25. That is all. Page 20 contains the event summary of the first half of the event.

Most of the reason why not much has happened with your character is that.. well.. not much has happened with him. He's killed a few dudes, but isn't involved in the main war either way.

Ah, I see. I'll jump back in with an awesome post.

(Hey Mordo, Wanna kill my incubi Klaivex?)

TheWildHost wrote:(Hey Mordo, Wanna kill my incubi Klaivex?)

Are you intentionally trying to kill all your men?


edits:

@ Gorskar - Welcome to the Hulk bro, I can't wait to see the animosity between Gorskar and Warklaw (read the whole thread if you haven't)!
@ Kilimino - Welcome dude, but when I put your character into the OP, I'll make a few changes (ie age and such things). Lord Commissar would usually be at least 35-45 I should think.

Why yes, Yes i am

(OI!!! OO"S DIS GIT!?!?!?!...........I mean, welcome to the roleplay guys!

In other news, um, Darko, wasn't my guy fighting a commissar last? Do I get to take his pointy hat?)

Scrazza wrote:Nope, Mods don't check on the RPG board.

We do.

WARORK93 wrote:(OI!!! OO"S DIS GIT!?!?!?!...........I mean, welcome to the roleplay guys!

In other news, um, Darko, wasn't my guy fighting a commissar last? Do I get to take his pointy hat?)

Yes. Warklaw is still in event limbo. Don't worry about Gorskar.. much.. he's a well-established character.. or something.. mighty plot armor; insert here.

reds8n wrote:

Scrazza wrote:Nope, Mods don't check on the RPG board.

We do.

None can hide from the scrutinous and unforgiving eye of the Mods. Fear them like you fear drunk drivers.

The Troop carrier shuddered, it's Grot crew sliding around and generally hanging onto whatever they could as turbulence shook them from their posts. Around it, several thousand other dropships headed towards their target; the lower levels of the massive space hulk that now filled the ship's buzzing and occasionally flickering viewing screen.
The pneumatics in Gorskar's klaw hissed and whined as he impatiently flexed it. The huge greenskin glanced down, momentarily distracted by the sound, and made a mental note to have Mek Zagwurr check it a bit after they'd landed. He was sure klaws weren't meant to sound like that. It would be typical for it to jam shut just when he needed to scissor off an opponent's limbs; of course, he could still beat said enemy to death with it in short order, but that was not as satisfying.

His roving eyes picked out the pilot of this particular troopship. With a grunt, Gorskar examined the ork from his perch, a crudely battered together throne of Ceramite and bits of Imperial tanks his bodyguard and himself had personally destroyed. By the looks of it, the pilot was not perturbed by the shaking of the craft, and in that case, Gorskar thought, neither was he. It was probably just anti-ship fire from whoever was on board already. Gorskar snarled again, and for the fifth - or was it the sixth? - time, checked his favourite shoota. The big gun rested in his massive paw, it's magazine freshly loaded and multiple barrels gleaming. That new Grot had done a great job getting it ready.
An alarm sounded in the cavernous troop bay; the ship was drawing within the final few hundred metres of the enemy craft. Gorskar roared, rising from his chair and letting off a therapeutic salvo of shots into the air. His roar was echoed by the horde below him, as his personal warband rose from their seats or the floor or wherever else they had been sitting and waving their weapons in the air, the bloodlust and rage almost a physical sensation.
KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL!
The warcry was incredible, and Gorskar allowed it to flow through him, the familiar sound splitting his ugly face into a hungry grin. He reached up with his flesh hand, and toyed with one of the shoulder-pads strung up onto his bosspole. It was white, with a trio of jet black tears on it; a trophy from a mighty warrior of the humans who had sought to destroy him in personal combat. Gorskar had loved that fight. Maybe there would be more warriors like him aboard this hulk, more of the big armoured humans that were such a challenge to kill. He brought it down and tried to read the Human writing on it.
"Kap-tin... sumfing... Obb-sid-ey-unn...."

The final alarm rang before he could finish, and the ship shook with an impact; they had landed.
Leaping aboard his battlewagon and grinning at his Nob drinking mates there, Gorskar howled with rage and joy, and stared impatiently at the massive ramp that led to the outside. Let it drop, let it drop soon...
With a cavernous grinding sound, the ramp lowered, and the hold echoed and danced to the roar of hundreds of crude engines and motors.
Gorskar smiled, teeth glinting in the dim light.
Then he gave the roar that started the charge of his mechanised horde.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

((I love introductions to things.))

What colour are ya boyz? I needs ta know so I can differentiate 'em from da uvver ladz.

(*applauds politely* That was a pretty nice intro Gor, Cant wate fer dis uvver mob ta get stuck in, we'll muck dose umiez and dem beakiez up royt propa now!!!

Though I imagine Gor's and War's first meeting will be.......less than pleasent )

WARORK93 wrote:(*applauds politely* That was a pretty nice intro Gor, Cant wate fer dis uvver mob ta get stuck in, we'll muck dose umiez and dem beakiez up royt propa now!!!

Though I imagine Gor's and War's first meeting will be.......less than pleasent )

Oh I can assure you of that. *suggestive wink with a hint of malice*

So.. here's "some" background info on ol' Gorsky. 'Some'.. hah.. And before you ask Gorskar, yes, I did feel it necessary to post all of this. It demonstrates the might of the entity known as Gorskar.Da.Lost.. and you should all rightly fear his character, for his mighty plot armor is mega mighty(x15.2). Mwahaha.

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PART 1: The Invasion Begins

Day 1: Space above Rylus Majora

With a tortured shriek of twisted metal and rock, the space hulk StarKrusha lurched from the Warp, and entered real space once more. It slowed down, trying to relieve itself of some of the momentum of the journey through the Empyrean, and began to approach the planet before it. For a few seconds, Gorskar dared to hope that, just maybe, their luck had changed and his Waaagh! would find itself in orbit above Armageddon. Then Wurrmek spoke up, and the hope was shattered. They were above a human world, but not Armageddon. Now, normally it wouldn't matter whether the world was Armageddon or not, but ever since the StarKrusha had become hopelessy lost (the map grots grew ever more incompetent as the days rolled by) a good fight had become a rare treat for Gorskar and his ladz. Even on those rare occasions Wierdboy Skar had been able to direct them from warpspace into a nearby solar system, more often than not there was nothing to do there but burn a few isolated worlds devoid of anything more than basic animal life, barely worth the Speed Freeks' attention. In truth, Gorskar longed for a great battle, something that would be worth getting his snazzy trukks and wagons out for. He doubted he would get such a battle on this world; it wasn't Armageddon, and so wasn't where he wanted to be.
"Dere anyfing out dere for us ter kill?" he snarled hopefully at the Big Mek.
Before Wurrmek could reply, the hulk shook with the force of weapons impacts.
"Don't bovver asnwerin' dat, Wurrmek, I fink I can guess."
"Boss, da skannerz is pickin' up shootin' from dat planet over dere!"
"Hurr hurr, Looks like we got a fight on our hands, Boyz!" With a roar of glee, Gorskar picked up his favourite shoota (the one that had cost him nearly all of his old teef to buy), strapped on his power claw and lumbered towards the launch bays, barking orders at anyone that he happened to pass on his way there.

The human system ships put up a courageous fight, but they were ancient models, outdated and in need of refitting. One by one, they were either crippled or destroyed by the space hulk's gun batteries, the giant vessel simply too large for the humans to be able to defeat. Though the StarKrusha was battered by the ferocious defence, it emerged triumphant; only one of the system ships had escaped the fight.

Twenty minutes passed, and the space hulk was now in position. Swarms of fighta-bommas began their approach from the launch bays to the planet below, braving the anti-aircraft fire of the planet's defenders to get at their targets; the ground-to-orbit weapons attempting to destroy or drive off the orbiting hulk. Many planes were lost, but soon the greenskins' numbers began to tell, as the torpedo silos and planetary lasers went silent. Then the drop-ships and landing craft began their descent; the Waaagh! had begun.
The Imperial forces, although taken by surprise, were not idle as the greenskins prepared to land. On the planet's surface, tanks rumbled out of their repair depots, artillery pieces were deployed in combat readiness and the streets of the cities trembled with the thunder of thousands of marching feet as the Planetary Defence regiments began to emerge from their barracks to defend their home world. War had come to Rylus Majora. The Imperial Governor hoped only that Rylus' destruction had not come with it.

................................................................................................................................................

Day 36: Surface of Rylus Majora

The war had raged incessantly on Rylus' surface for just over a month. The greenskins had roared out of their crude dropships in their tanks and had fought a blitzkrieg campaign against the beleaguered PDF, smashing through several key defensive lines and scattering the defenders with comet-like force. Once through, the warbands would often attack the PDF's supply routes, cutting off the precious ammo and materiel that the humans needed to hold out. The first major blow to Imperial morale was the fall of Rylus' primary space-port, captured in the first two weeks by a war-horde of buggies and trukks led by the Warboss himself, seated comfortably in his favourite battlewagon. Though the fighting in the spaceport complexes was brutal and costly for both sides, the defenders were outmatched. Gorskar now had the facilities to begin landing his heaviest weapons; the ramifications for the Imperial forces were grim, to say the least.

Inside the Imperial palace, the Imperial Governor's Telepathic Choir began speaking of messages incoming; reinforcements were on their way. The Imperials redoubled their efforts, denying several hive-cities to the rampaging xenos forces, but it was clear that they could not hold out for much longer; the Waaagh! was too strong. The aid promised by the Telepaths would have to arrive soon, or they would find themselves facing an invasion of an ork-held world.
her
Gorskar was delighted. Finally, after all that time wasted trying to find his way to Armageddon, here was a real fight. He loved it. His Ladz were doing extremely well; they now had a spaceport to land all of their biggest kit for when it was time to attack the human cities, and the humans themselves were in disarray, trying to plug the gaps in their lines even as the speed freeks streamed through. in the areas where the fighting was fiercest, Leman Russ battle tanks and ork battlewagons clashed while all around them the gutted hulls of their comrades burned. Yes, this was definitely worth getting lost for.

...........................................................................................................................................

Day 68: Hive Corinthia and Hive Styx

Hive Corinthia was the first to fall. For weeks previously, the orks had blown gaps in it's defensive wall and attempted to break through, only to be hurled back by the efforts of the PDF, though with each attack more and more guardsmen went down, never to get back up again. Even so, the Hive was holding, with the orks unable to gain a firm foothold within the city. The end came in the form of one of Gorskar's secret weapons, if "secret" can be applied to something as noisy as a Gargant mob. The great metallic monsters pulverised the defences of Corinthia with their cannons and missiles, before levelling parts of the city nearest to the huge holes. The surviving defenders mounted a desperate last stand amidst the ruins of their city, but it was in vain. Within the day, the hive belonged to the orks.

At Hive Styx, a similar situation developed. Once again, the application of Gorskar's Gargants had all but destroyed the city's defences, and the PDF troopers still alive were preparing to sell their lives as best they could against such odds. However, even as the tanks of the orks began their charge, everything changed. The skies filled with the roaring forms of Valkyrie gunships, and platoon upon platoon of drop-troopers began landing, strengthening the Imperial troopers and throwing back the orks amidst bloody fighting. Reinforcements had arrived.
Even so, the Gargants would have swung the battle back in the favour of the greenskins, had another development not occured. The first thing the orks knew of it was the earth beginning to shake; from the south, great armoured forms could be seen, striding towards the hive. With their vox-grilles howling, the gargants turned to face this new challenge. Hive Styx could wait; here were Imperial Titans, foes worthy of their attention.
The casualties were high on both sides; many of the massive war machines needed extensive repairs. Some would never fight again. The PDF, Drop-troopers and their ork opponents fought furiously, and the death toll on both sides was enormous. But Hive Styx did not fall. The orks had lost their first major engagement, and the humans began to hope that the tide was about to trun.

.........................................................................................................................................................................

Day 92: The Imperial Palace, Hive Athena

The Imperial Governor, Marcus Caecilius, gasped a heartfelt sigh of relief. The Imperium had come to their aid, and in time too. Seated with him were the Commander of the PDF, the Head Arbites Judge and the Administratum representative for Rylus. Each of them gratefully greeted the new arrivals; the Regimental commanders of no less than five of the Imperial Guard's finest. With them, represented via hologram, was the Princeps Prime of a demi-legion of the Legio Titanica.
"Thank the God-Emperor, we were sorely pressed. The xenos have all but decimated our forward regiments, and we are running dangerously low on ammunition and medical gear."
The most senior commander, General Abel of the Elysian 112th, nodded politely, and smiled reassuringly at Marcus.
"Not to worry, sir, we are just the first wave. More regiments are being shipped here even as we speak, and I have received confirmation that three Astartes chapters have pledged forces to aid us in removing the greenskin threat from your system. It will be bloody, but we will crush the invaders, you have my word."
Marcus nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. All the horrors of the last few months had taken their toll on the governor; whereas once he had been a tall, fairly content looking individual, he now looked anything but. Many sleepless nights had formed bags under his eyes, and his cheeks were hollower than before. Stress had put him on medication for elevated blood pressure. In short, he was exhausted.
"Thank the Emperor," He muttered again, before carefully sitting down. "Thank the Emperor."

PART 2: The Imperium retaliates

Day 119: Hive Hephaistos

Hive Hephaistos was a vital industrial hive, home to some of the most important maufactorums on the planet. Here, the tanks of the Rylus PDF and their sister regiment the Rylus Dragoons were constructed, ready to fight in the Emperor's service both at home and across the galaxy. Here, the lasguns, mortars, armour and equipment for these two regiments was rolled out from huge factories and put in transports bound for the front line. In short, it was a huge tactical asset to whichever side owned it, and both the High Command of the Imperial forces and Gorskar knew it. It was late summer, at the height of the western continent's dry season, when Gorskar decided to make his move. Racing towards the Hive's outer defences at the head of a column of his speed freeks, Gorskar unleashed the second of his "secret" weapons. He ordered his new fleet (constructed from the wrecks of several Imperial vessels the StarKrusha had crippled in the last few months) to bombard the hive's wall and anything on it. The effects were mixed at best, but nevertheless, the job had been done; the surviving speed freeks now had a way into the city.

Even so, the hive is not without it's defences; though many of the guardsmen are killed by the extensive (if inaccurate) bombardment, many more have survived. As the speed freeks hurtled into the city, it is these men and women who put up the fiercest resistance. Trukks and their occupants were destroyed by home-made explosives rigged just moments before, rampaging mobs of orks were ambushed at every corner by fire teams, and snipers reaped a grim tally of boyz foolish enough to stray into the open for too long. In retaliation, the orks act with bloody-minded fury, charging fearlessly into the most desperate firefights without a heed for their safety and attacking everything that so much as twitches in the rubble and shadows. Slowly, the greenskins pushed their way into the city, hampered by the efforts of the PDF troopers and even citizens who have taken up arms in the defence of their homes. The casualties were incredible. Corpses were scattered everywhere, and the buildings burned with the ferocity of the fighting. So furious was the fighting in some areas that the streets and doorways were covered in the blood of the fallen. Still the two sides fought on.

Finally, the battle reached it's violent climax, at the centre of the industrial complexes of the hive. Here the defences of the PDF were so great, the orks could no longer make headway; each charge was flung back by the dug-in guardsmen. Gorskar looked at the scene, and knew it was time to act. Gathering his 'ardest Skarboyz, Gorskar led the final charge. This was it, death or glory. Behind the defensive lines, the then colonel of the PDF 12th, Julius Stern, saw what was happening, and in panic ordered all units to concentrate their fire on the approaching horde. Though the weight of fire felled many of the screaming Nobz, it was not enough. Breaking through the barriers with a hate-filled scream, Gorskar seized the colonel and, in front of the remaining PDF troopers, tore out the man's thorat with his power klaw. The sound of their leader's hideously broken death-rattle was too much for many of the troopers; they turned to flee, only to be caught and slaughtered by the frenzied Nobz who had followed Gorskar into the breach. The defence lines, only moments ago holding out, began to crumble in the face of the ork's newly restored resolve, and as more and more of the greenskins began storming the barricades in imitation of their boss, the remaining few troopers knew it was over. The new commanding officer, Ssgt. Nicholas, decided upon the only course of action left available to them. While his men bought him the time he needed with their lives, he ran for the ammo dump he knew to be nearby, a desperate plan forming in his head.

The first the orks knew of this plan was when the dump unexpectedly detonated, taking with it several nearby factories in a devastating chain reaction. Many of the greenskins were incinerated by the explosions, with many more horrendouly wounded. Gorskar himself lost an eye to a flying chunk of masonry, and his Waaagh! banner gained a few new shrapnel holes. The damage done, though extensive, was by no means disastrous. Many of the Manufactorums were still unharmed or needing only light repairs from the blast, and the majority of the ork force had escaped the brunt of Stern's final strategy.

............................................................................................................................................................................

Day 140: Rylus Spaceport Complex

The orks had held the spaceport complex since the early days of the war, using it to land the Gargants they had deployed at Hives Corinthia and Styx. The Imperial generals knew this had to change. Without the spaceport, landing reinforcements would be difficult and slow, something that could prove fatal against an enemy capable of striking with shocking swiftness. Therefore, they decided that it must be retaken, and began drawing up plans to use the Elysian regiments and any available Titans to attack the port. Remembering the "surprises" that Gorskar had used to capture the Hives of Corinthia and Hephaistos, the generals planned to unleash some surprises of their own.

At first, the battle swung in the orks' favour; their Gargants outnumbered the Titans two to one, and the orks themselves fought with a berserk fury, using any available advantage to cast the guardsmen back. The Elysians were gaining no ground; worse, they were being pushed back due to the fury of their greenskin adversaries. Suddenly, all of that changed. The first the orks knew of the danger they were in was the sudden appearance of fiery meteors, hurtling towards their positions. The Space Wolves had arrived, and were making planetfall.

Leading the initial wave was Old Haakon, a venerable dreadnought who had served with the 11th Grand Company for three millenia. Howling great war-oaths through his vox-grilles, he laid about him with his adamantine talons, carving apart the greenskins surrounding him. From behind, he could hear the berserker-screams of the Blood Claws as they gave vent to their fury in the swirling melee, and in front of him, the fiery veterans of the Wolf Guard led by example, plunging into the fray courageously, trusting their terminator armour to protect them from the blows of their enemies. Slowly, but surely, the tide began to turn. Though the orks fought on, often to the death, the Imperial forces had outmanoeuvred them, and were now pressing home their advantage. Even then, it was a costly victory for the humans. All but three of the Titans fighting there were crippled, and would need months of repairs just to return to service. The Elysians were reduced to just over half strength, even after the intervention of the Space Wolves, and the sons of Fenris themselves had lost many a brave warrior to the fury of the enemy. However, the mission's objectives had been achieved; for the first time since the start of the war, Imperial forces had control over the spaceport. It was the victory the Imperials needed.

........................................................................................................................................................................................................

Day 180: Hive Corinthia

It fell to the warriors of the Space Wolves to once again lead the charge against the orks. Wolf Priest Ulf Longmane swore that he would take back the city and free it's people or die in the attempt, an oath his battle-brothers of the Wolf Guard echoed with a roar.

Acting immediately, Ulf redeployed his men into their two Thunderhawks, and led a lightning strike into the heart of the city, where he knew the beast that led the horde would be. If he could slay it, he reasoned, he would be able to destabilise the horde and end the Waaagh! then and there. The Space Wolves struck, deploying in good order and quickly securing a landing zone, before opening fire on the Ork units emerging from the nearby buildings. Initially the greenskins were caught completely by surprise, and put up a disorganised and poor resistance; the Space Wolves pressed the advantage, Ulf at their head, and forced their way into the warbosses command chambers. There, they found their target.

Gorskar snarled, furious at the interruption of what had been a very promising squig-fight. Glaring at the Astartes with his new bionic eye, he decided that this was unforgivable, and with a bellow of anger he gathered his Nobz and charged. The resulting brawl was deafening, as the Space Wolves attacked with a roar of their own. In the centre of the swirling battle, Ulf and Gorskar fought, each combatant's rage eclipsing everything but the need to kill their opponent. Despite the courage of the Space Wolves, the Nobz were holding their own via sheer bloody-minded determination. Finally, the end came. Ulf launched forward, and brought his Crozius crashing down onto Gorskar's shoulder, the impact crushing the iron plate and part of the muscle and bone underneath. In reply, Gorskar howled, and with a single brutal motion, lifted Ulf high above his head and brought him sharply down onto his knee, breaking the Wolf Priest's spine with a sickening crack, before throwing him to the floor and crushing his skull with a vicious stomp. The remaining Space Wolves fought fiercely, but the horrific death of their leader had galvanised the Nobz of Gorskar's bodyguard into a frenzy of violence; not a single member of the twenty Astartes emerged alive. Even so, the Warboss' wounds were serious, and some of the larger Nobz were surreptitiously sizing him up. There would be trouble with challengers to his throne for many weeks to come, something that would buy the Imperial forces the time they needed to gather their forces for the next phase of the Imperial campaign: nothing less than to drive the greenskins completely off Rylus Majora and out of the system.

PART 3: Retribution

Day 200: The Imperial Palace, Hive Athena.

General Gregory Abel mopped his brow, and slowly reached for his glass of water, the stifling atmosphere in the palace beginning to get to him. It was now the middle of summer on Rylus Majora, and the heat wasn't helping things; if anything, it made the pressure of the past few months seem even worse. He knew their position, though better than it had been, was still very dangerous. Though the invading greenskins had been beaten back at the spaceport, and now seemed to be interested in tearing each other apart, Gregory knew from experience that the xenos were by no means defeated. Once a leader had emerged from the rabble, they were sure to go back on the offensive, and Gregory was not sure that the tattered Imperial forces would be able to withstand a new wave of assaults, even with the presence of the Space Wolves. Gregory looked across the table, to where their representative sat, and felt some of his fears die. The warrior, who had introduced himself with a garrulous smile as Jarek the Grey, took up an impressive amount of space at the war council's table. Clad in full Astartes plate, Jarek stood head and shoulders above even the tallest human in the room. With his strange tribal trophies, ash-coloured hair and grizzled features, Jarek would have been considered an intimidating sight, were it not for his surprisingly friendly nature. Gregory remembered meeting him for the first time. He had saluted, only to have the veteran Astartes slap him on the back (the bruises from that were almost faded now) and laugh, calling him Brother and asking him his name. After Gregory had told him, Jarek had smiled at him (God-Emperor, those teeth!) asked if he wanted a drink, "to loosen those nerves of yours. You look like you haven't had a good ale in ages!"

Yes, Gregory thought, whatever happens, at least we have them with us. He looked at the other members of the war council. To the left of him was Princeps-Prime Alain, once again represented via hologram. His demi-legio had been mauled heavily by the enemy; he had refused to leave the front line so as to be ready to throw back a surprise assault with the firepower of his Titan, an ancient Warlord-Class machine. Gregory admired the man's courage, if not his attitude, for the Princeps was a terrible pessimist, always predicting the worst and preparing for it in what Gregory suspected to be a case of mild paranoia. From what he could see of the Princep's face due to the hologram, he was paler than he had been, a sign of the exhaustion and stress he was under. Gregory sympathised with him; with a fresh Imperial counter-attack only a matter of days away, the Princeps would soon find himself in the thick of it again. A slight movement drew Gregory's attention to the others in the chamber, and once again Gregory's fears were calmed slightly. Seated to his right were the three generals of the recently arrived reinforcements, hailing from Krieg, Athonos and Vostroya. In addition, beyond them he could see his companions, the commanders who had joined him here to aid this world. Elias and Jansen were Elysians, commanders of the 231st and 223rd respectively. Colonel Bromhead was new to him, but still a solid, dependable man. His regiment, the Harlech 12th, were responsible for guarding the capital hive, a duty Bromhead took very seriously indeed. The final two commanders of the off-world regiments were more of a mystery to Gregory. Both hailed from the same world, a snow-covered planet in the galactic south-west called Kursk, but neither had been around long enough for him to get to know them properly. The senior of the two, Field Marshal Vashenko, was in general calm and composed, providing a pronounced contrast with his junior, Commander Pavilov, whose laughter rivalled that of Jarek.

"Gentlemen, if I could have your attention?"
It was General Voltimand of the Rylus PDF who spoke. He was the most senior officer at the table, having made his career in the Rylus Dragoons before retiring to take command of his home world's defence force.
"As you all know, we have been granted a window of opportunity by the actions of our comrades. My condolences for your loss, by the way, Brother Jarek."
Jarek nodded ruefully in acknowledgement.
"Aye, we shall miss the warriors of the Longmane. They died well, however, buying us time with their lives, so let us remember them for that."
"yes, of course, time we must not waste. Our intelligence reports that the actions of Wolf Priest Ulf have destabilised the enemy's chain of command; the savages are fighting amongst themselves to determine who has the right to lead the horde. We don't yet know if the original leader of the greenskins is still at large, but at this stage it makes little difference. We must strike now, before they have a chance to reorganise."
Voltimand paused, gathering his thoughts, before continuing.
"It may interest you to know we are not to undertake this struggle alone. Gentlemen, if you would consult your datapads? You may be pleased at the news."
There was a moment of silence, as each member of the council digested what was in front of them, before Alain spoke up, his voice distorted with static.
"Is this confirmed?"
"It most certainly is, Princeps-Prime. They are making planetfall as we speak. With them come the replacement God-machines you requested, as well as the supplies of ammunition, weapons, armour and medical equipment we need if this next phase of our war effort is to be successful. Make no mistake, we will not fail, not with three of the Emperor's most lauded chapters of Astartes fighting with us. Brother Jarek, have you heard anything from them?"

Jarek stood, and stroked his beard. Once again Gregory thought how terrifying it must be to to face him in combat; Jarek was alarming even when he was joking with the soldiers.
"We have, friend, we have. As I understand it, our lord will be receiving Brother-Captain Agatone sometime around now, whereas Brother-Captain Aditrus will be making planetfall in the next twenty minutes. With them come 100 warriors of the Salamanders and 60 of the Obsidian Tears, though the Tears have sent their finest to this world's aid."

"Wonderful news, comrade, but the real question is, what is our directive?"
It was the calm voice of Vashenko now which rang out.

"That will be answered in the next few hours, commander. I would suggest you take notes, for it requires a great deal of co-ordination."

..............................................................................................................................................................

Day 215: Hive Corinthia, Warboss Gorskar's chambers

Ugrodd yelled, and brought his axed down onto the back of his rival's skull, crushing it with a satisfyingly gruesome noise. The fighting in the throne room and beyond had raged for several days now, and showed no signs of stopping. Led by Taugrek, Gorskar's former second-in-command, a part of the kult of speed had rebelled against the Warboss, no doubt due to his injuries. The nobz still loyal to Gorskar had fought back, and thus the entire war effort had been put on hold as the leadership struggle played out. Ugrodd was a loyalist; that is to say, he believed Gorskar was the boss who could lead them to victory on this planet, not Taugrek. Snarling, and with his axe dripping gore and brain tissue, he stalked forward, taking the opportunity to see what was going on downstairs. What he saw made him angry. Although the fight on the balcony was going well, down below in the main hall things were going to hell in a hand-basket. Taugrek himself had joined the fight, and Ugrodd was astounded at how much he'd changed. The former Nob was now huge, his muscular frame now truly looking worthy of a leader of the Waaagh! He was no slouch in combat, either. Ugrodd watched, impressed, as he cut a Stormboy in half with a well-placed chainaxe blow, and began to wonder if he'd made a mistake in his choice of side. After all, here was Taugrek, putting his life on the line as true orks should, and where was Gorskar? Ugrodd didn't know, but he knew it wasn't here, and that was all that mattered. Maybe Taugrek was a good leader after all, maybe Gorskar really was too weak to rule.

Just as that thought entered his head, Ugrodd was suddenly and dramatically proved very wrong.

"YOUUUUU! I'M GONNA EAT YER 'EAD!"

Bursting out of the doors behind the throne like an out-of-control juggernaut, Gorskar made his entrance. He seized the nearest rebel, and with a brutal motion tore him apart with a yank of his power klaw.
"I'M DA BOSS 'ROUND THESE PARTS, RUNT!"

If Ugrodd was surprised, Taugrek looked like he had just been punched in the face and couldn't quite figure out how. He was astounded to learn that Gorskar wasn't a cripple, and it was this astonishment that cost him his life. The enraged Warboss swang his power klaw into his rival's chest, and Ugrodd distinctly heard the crack of hardened ribs. Taugrek wheezed, but recuperated long enough to launch a blow of his own, directly at Gorskar's spitting face. The blow never landed. With a backhand, Gorskar deflected the swing, and to the delight of Ugrodd, there followed another loud snap as Taugrek's arm broke under the force. It was at this point that Ugrodd realised that nobody was trying to kill him; a quick look around confirmed this. Every ork in the building had stopped fighting, and all eyes were on the duelling pair.

The end came soon. Taugrek had fought well, but he was no match for the Warboss. Gorskar finished the would-be usurper off in a distinctly gory fashion; by grabbing hold of his opponent's head and crushing, the power klaw's shears making short work of Taugrek's skull.

Ugrodd knew he had backed a winner all along, of course, as did every other ork in the building, quite conveniently. Gorskar was back in power.

PART 4, CHAPTER I: Counterattack


Day 223: Hive Hephaistos

Captain "Ace" Jansen gritted his teeth and leapt.
The wind hit him like a truck as he left the Valkyrie's rear ramp, plucking at his fatigues and tossing him around like a puppet. Below him, he could see the landing zone, far away now but rushing up to meet him with deadly speed. Jansen began to count in his head; "Ten...Nine...Eight..."

The ground was much closer now, and he estimated there to be maybe forty or so metres to go.
"...Three...Two...One..."

Not ten metres above the earth, Jansen activated his grav-chute, slowing his murderous descent to a safe speed within seconds. He hit the ground, rolled, and immediately sprung up, scaning the area for threats. A few hundred metres away, he could see one of the Kursk squadrons engaging the enemy; their austere grey-green uniform a stark contrast to the bright arterial reds of the greenskins. The rest of Platoon Alpha finished the descent a mere second later, landing as smoothly as Jensen had. Immediately, two squads got into a firing position, snapping off quick shots into the mob of orks attacking the Kursk guardsmen. Some of the savages broke off, alerted by the lasfire to this new opponent, and began to charge up the hill towards the threat.
"Bravo, Charlie, light 'em up!"
The two squads obeyed Jansen's order, turning to face the onrushing orks in good order. With a loud crack, both squads opened fire, the shots slashing into the enemy. Several greenskins went down, clean headshots stopping them in their tracks, but many more carried on running, intent on tearing squads Bravo and Charlie apart.
"Squad Echo, NOW! Send them to Hell!"
The heavy bolter squad responded with gusto. Unlike the lasguns of Bravo and Charlie, these were the bruisers of the anti-infantry weapons used by the Elysians; each bolt fired was as big as a man's fist, and the damage they could wreak on lightly-armoured infantry was extreme. The guns shredded the lead orks, blowing them apart or severing limbs with the ferocity of their firepower. The next wave fared no better. By the time the heavy bolters had ran out of bolts to fire, half of the charging greenskins were dead. Even so, the remaining half managed to make it up the hill and began evening the score with the Elysians. Blood flew as the axes of the orcs fell, cleaving apart the Elysian troops. Jansen knew it was time to act.
"Elysians, combat knives! CHARGE!"
The next few minutes were the most brutal and hectic of Jansen's career. Thumbing the activation button on his chainsword, he charged into the melee, his soldiers following him with yelled battle-cries and screams of rage. A crude blade slashed out at him, forcing him to step back in order to avoid disembowelment. Even so, it tore at his flak armour, cutting into the skin beneath. He snarled, the cut hurting like hell, and retaliated, burying the whirring teeth of his chainsword in the ork's guts. For a moment, the creature looked surprised, as if it couldn't believe what had just happened to it, then it kicked out, it's foot slamming into Jansen's chest, knocking him to the floor. He rolled out of the way as it's cleaver came down again, narrowly missing his head, and rammed his chainsword into it's face. Once again, the teeth tore the ork to ribbons. This time, however, it collapsed to the floor, a ragged hole where it's mouth and nose had been. Jansen picked himself up. Around him, all was chaos. Men lay dying from bloody wounds caused by the ferocious enemy, while the three surviving greenskins fought to the death in the centre of a crowd of Elysians. He gathered himself, then strode towards the centre of the brawl. Now only one ork was left, a huge brute of a creature, fully half as tall again as Jansen was. The beast had it's back turned to him, busying itself with beating a guardsman to death with his own severed leg. Jansen paused, spotting something he could use on the ground, and picked it up, blowing the dust of the Rylian plains from it.
"Hey!"
The ork paused, and turned around, confused noises coming from it's throat.
Jansen shot it with the squad's meltagun.

For the next five hours, the combined efforts of the Kursk Red Troopers and the Elysian Drop Troops kept the orks at bay, throwing back every bloody assault aimed at clearing them from the drop site. Things were starting to look desperate. Ammunition was running low; many Red Troopers were forced to scavenge for energy packs amongst the bodies of their fallen comrades. Jansen had been wounded three times now. The second wound was fairly superficial, a mere cut across his arm, but the third was agony. A stray bullet from an ork machine-gun had clipped his shoulder, tearing through the flak armour and ripping off a large part of the muscle. he supressed another groan of pain as Medic Irvine began seeing to the wound.
"How bad is it?"
"You were lucky, sir. Another few inches to the left and you'd have lost your arm. As it is, this is gonna be a nasty problem, but it's fixable. You'll have one hell of a scar to show off to the ladies."
Jansen chuckled weakly.
"Bloody hell, doc, remind me to buy you a drink when this is all over. That's the best news I've heard in a long time!"
Irvine smiled, and carried on tending to the wound.

The ground began to shake.
"What?- Henricks! What the hell is going on?"
Trooper Hendricks came running over.
"Sir, vehicle movement. It's coming from the direction of the hive."
So this is it, Jansen thought to himself. The final stand. He'd known it would happen, of course; known it the day he'd signed up. A captain's life was often short, depending on where he was sent. In many cases, a potentially great career would be suddenly and violently terminated, either by the bullets or the blades of the enemy. Jansen sighed. He knew it would come to this, but he still found himself wishing it hadn't.

"Very well, tell the men to be ready for them. Fire when ready."
A movement from the east suddenly caught Jansen's eye. Something in the dust cloud there...
There it was again. A brief flash, a glimmer of metal, and it was gone. He strained his eyes, desperately trying to pick out the damn thing.
The rumbling of the vehicles was getting louder. It was now too loud to ignore.
Jensen looked towards the hive, and saw them. A huge crowd of crude red buggies and trucks, all swerving and careening towards the drop zone. Not the largest warband he had ever seen, but more than enough to crush the remaining guardsmen preparing to defend this place. From the mound to his right, the missile teams of both regiments fired, scything towards the oncoming fleet. The effects, though destructive, were pitiful, claiming only a handful of the vehicles. Limping up next to him, Captain Satyev surveyed the scene.
"It is bad, isn't it, comrade?"
"Yep. I'd say so."
"Drink?"
Jensen laughed despite himself, and accepted. He had only just met the Kursk man, but already liked him.
"Ah well, a guy's gotta go sometime. I just wish it wasn't today."

That glimmer from the East again. Jansen swore, surprising his new companion, and glanced over there one more time. What he saw froze him to the spot.
The speed freek warband never made it to the drop zone.

The Iratus Deus strode from the dust cloud and opened fire , the sound of it's weapons, distant though they were, hurting Jansen's ears. The explosions came next; dazzling displays of pyrotechnics that blew apart the suddenly disorganised ork vehicles, making the missiles of the Guard seem pathetic by comparison. It's carapace weapons finished firing, and for a second, everything seemed calm. Then the main guns opened fire. The damage was horrendous, reducing what was left of the warband to it's component atoms. Finally, Jansen could move.
"YES! By the Emperor, they're here!"
The vox operator shouted across the zone.
"Sir! Reinforcements inbound! We've got six companies of our boys plus Alain's Titan supporting the attack!"
Jansen turned to Satyev, who was speaking into his Comlink. He looked up at the Elysian and grinned.
"Our tanks will be here within the minute, comrade."

Above them both, the sky filled with the shapes of Valkyrie gunships, making for the drop zone. The attack had begun in earnest.

PART 4: CHAPTER II

Inside the Hive:


Big Mek Kogg frowned at the news he was being told. The humans had got their act together, and were finally showing some backbone, attacking the ork's new main factory with a surprising amount of recklessness. Once his faithful messenger grot had finished squeaking out the tale, Kogg paused, and considered what to do next. Now, if the Boss Mekanik, Wurrmek, were here, he'd come up with some ridiculous and probably un-orky plan involving silly maneuvers, a suspiciously human-like lighting raid or two, before using a unnecessarily complex plan that involved outflanking, huge amounts of unit co-ordination and probably some new-fangled technological wotsit that Wurrmek had knocked together just that morning. Kogg sneered at such daftness. He often thought that the only reason Wurrmek was top and not him was because he had the sheer luck to come up with radical new Tellyporta designs before Kogg could improve on the older, more reliable versions. Yes, that was it.

At heart, Kogg was something of a traditionalist (inasmuch as the term could ever apply to an ork) and could not understand the success of Wurrmek's human-based designs and light fighting vehicles. Kogg believed in the key tenets of good old fashioned greenskin war machines; armour plating and big gunz always came out on top, no matter how much speed and manoeuvrability (which Kogg had always felt was a pointy-ear thing, rather than something befitting the boyz) were touted as being the future. Ever since the Warboss had put him in charge of this nice big war factory, he had strived to build newer and more powerful fighting machines that stayed true to this belief, and he felt he had done a fine job.

Now was the time to test this. It was no coincidence that the units he had positioned out as the first wave of defence were those which held allegiance to Wurrmek. He wanted them out of the way, the better to showcase his new designs and prove his superiority to the radical upstart. With a grin, Kogg turned to the messenger grot.
"Nibbla, get down to da hangers and tell Kaptin Skargrim to get mounted up and rollin'. Then foot it double-quick to da special hangers, and get Kaptin Urgor's brigade ready. You get all dat?"
The grot saluted.
"Yes, boss! Want me to get da Big Hitta started as well, yer Greatness?"
Kogg halted in his tracks.
"Yerr, YERR! Get Grokkit to get da Big Hitta runnin', and prime all it's gunz!"

Kogg hurried now, a new urgency in his step, as the thought of the coming battle filled his mind. He thought back to what Nibbla had told him about the human Gargant attacking the factory.
"We'll see just how tuff yer are pretty soon."
Kogg grinned again, and walked faster.

Twenty minutes later, hangar doors all over the city began to creak open, groaning in protest due to corrosion. Then, with a thunderous rumble, the tanks came rolling out. They now barely resembled the Leman Russes they had once been. Upgunned and with new armour plates everywhere, the Kill-wagons of Big Mek Kogg began their ponderous advance to the frontline. But even these metal-skinned monsters were just a prelude to what would come from the biggest hangars. Roaring like the wrath of the gods, great red leviathans trundled from their colossal hangars, guns the size of small buildings for arms, and eagerly waddled towards the fight. At their head was Kogg's pride and joy, a beast so large it dwarfed it's compatriots and the buildings around it. Indeed, many of the metal mines in the south of the city had been exausted and the human slaves worked to death to find enough material to build it. It's guns had the capability to level entire cities, and atop it's robust frame, a large, ugly command centre constructed to resemble a snarling orkish visage sat, glaring out at the plains of Rylus.

This was the Big Hitta, a war-machine the Imperium classified as a Great Gargant. Kogg, on the other hand, classified it as "da reason I'm a better mek than that idjit Wurrmek."
With a shout through it's vox-grilles, Kogg led his Gargant brigade to war.


PART 4, CHAPTER III: Thunder and Steel

On the Hephaistan plains, outside the hive.



Princeps Prime Edward Alain frowned, a small throbbing in his head indicating the weapons impacts on the void shields, and began to move the Iratus Deus forward, further into the fight.
"Moderati Chekov! Prepare to fire the Turbolasers, target the centre of the horde!"
"Aye, Princeps."
On the Titan's viewing screens, Alain saw the explosions a moment later; great white clouds of energy bursting forth from where the lasers impacted. The destruction must have been impressive, thought Alain. Inwardly, he sneered. There was nothing in this enemy force that could truly threaten his war machine, nothing that would count as a challenge to kill.

"Princeps, our scanners are registering massive heat signatures from the hive city!"
Alain started.
"How big?"
"Super-heavy size, at least. There's also a crowd of smaller signatures."

Alain began to turn the Titan towards the city. What he saw there startled him into silence.
Out of the city, great moving fortresses were waddling towards the Imperial positions, each one festooned with guns and what appeared to be clan banners. At their feet, a host of smaller, but still impressively sized tanks charged towards the Kursk defence line, and with a sick feeling in his stomach Alain recognised them as former Leman Russ battle tanks. And then he saw the beast leading this new threat. His throat seemed to clamp shut and sweat beaded his brow.
"Spirit of the Omnissiah... a Great Gargant."
And then the panic was over, Alain's will clamping down on the unwelcome feeling.
"Moderati! Both of you! Open fire with all carapace weapons, and give me control of the two main weapons! Take it's shields down!"
The moderati responded, and moments later the turbolasers fired again, targeting the behemoth. It's shields flickered and several collapsed, but there were still enough left to shield the Gargant from harm. It responded immediately, turning to face the Iratus Deus, and opening fire with the massive cannons on it's chest and arms. Alain flinched and swore, as several of the void-shields collapsed and caused a stinging sensation in his head. As it receded, he saw that the massive war machine was advancing towards him, and he snarled.
"Right, if that's the way they want to play it!"
He began to make the Iratus Deus move towards the Gargant in turn, watching as it's smaller brethren began to tear apart the guard defensive lines. Four hundred metres to go. Alain powered up the Titan's chainfist. Three hundred metres. The Gargant saw what was happening, and fired again. This time, Alain felt real pain. The shots had breached the void shields of the Titan, and it had taken damage; Alain felt the residual trauma of this, and cursed, the fiery pain in his chest causing his control to falter for a second. He recovered, kept going. Two hundred metres. The need to tear the ork war machine to shreds now clouded Alain's mind, blocking out everything else except his target. One hundred metres. The Gargant span,and powered up it's own chainfist.
The Iratus Deus' combat weapon swung, tearing a great gouge from the Gargant's chest and removing several of the smaller cannons there. In response, the ork mostrosity smashed it's claw into the chest of Alain's Titan, knocking it backwards and buckling the armour. It's shoulder cannon barked, and Alain screamed as a part of the chest carapace of the Titan was blown free. He fought to keep the Deusstanding, and in that moment he knew. This was to be his last battle, his last contribution to the Imperium. Were the Deus at full battle capacity, this would be an even fight, but the war on Rylus Majora had taken it's toll on the god-machine and the enemy machine, fresh from the forges of it's birth, was more than a match for Alain's battered Warlord Titan. Aalin made his peace with the Omnissiah and the God-Emperor, and prepared to sell his life as dearly as he could.

.....................................................................................................................................................................................................

Captain Satyev looked out from his command bunker, and privately despaired. Even though the dust cloud produced by the attacking orks was enormous, he could clearly see the forms of the Iratus Deus duelling the big ork monster, and he could see that it was a one-way battle. The Titan was fighting bravely, but the beast had it overpowered, and knew it.
In front of him, the earth heaved up as another shell from the ork tanks hit the trenches, killing a score of his men and wounding many more.
"Missile teams! Take out the enemy armour!"
The two remaining missile squads responded, their shots slashing out at the tanks approaching and blowing several to scrap. Satyev knew it would not be enough. He steeled himself, and prepared to meet the charge of the greenskins, ordering his squad's heavy bolter to man the firing slit of the bunker. A roar got his attention. Behind the immediate carnage, he saw the final stages of the duel being played out. The Great Gargant had smashed apart the shoulder weapons of it's rival, and was closing in for the kill, seeking to punch it's claw through the torso of the Warlord Titan. Satyev briefly muttered a prayer for Alain's soul.
He needn't have done.

The only warning the orks had of their doom was of the sky beginning to burn; groups of meteors seemed to punch through the clouds, streaking towards the battle. Then they impacted, releasing their cargo. The Space Marines had arrived.

Aboard the Big Hitta, Kogg snarled, his face a mask of concentration and fierce joy. He was ripping the human Gargant to shreds; one more blow and he would have got the biggest kill of all, showing that Wurrmek who was top ork once and for all. The blow never landed.

A bright blue light suddenly balsted forth from the centre of the Gargant's control room, blinding both Kogg and his gretchin assistants. When it had abated a moment later, he found himself staring at a group of immensely armoured giants, their armour painted black, except for one shoulder pad, on which there were three tears of obsidian.
"What da -"
Kogg's words were drowned out as the giants opened fire, shredding the control room and it's occupants. One stepped up to the command chair, and before Kogg could pull his slugga, drove a blade wrapped in amber fire into his chest, twisting and ripping it out before slicing Kogg's head in two.
Brother-Sergeant Eisel Grimm of the Obsidian Tears 1st company voxed the Iratus Deus.
"The target is neutralised, Princeps. Fire your Volcano Cannon in three seconds."
The Terminators teleported away from the Gargant, and a second later the Warlord's main gun delivered the killing shot, tearing through the helpless war machine's reactor and detonating it with immense force.
Aboard his Titan, Alain smiled, and spat out a mouthful of blood.
"Better late than never, I guess. Now get into the damn fight, we've got a battle to win here."

PART 4, CHAPTER IV: The Art of War

Inside Hive Hephaistos
Part I

The drop-pod rumbled and groaned, the force of atmospheric entry still shaking it's frame, and Haarek muttered another war-oath. He disliked these drops from space. Much better to have your feet on solid ground and risk the fire of the enemy, in his opinion, than risk these madcap dives. There was no honour in being blown out of the sky before you'd had a chance to get to grips with the foe. The altimeter above his head chimed, and he looked up. Three hundred metres to go. Haarek loaded his storm-bolter, and let his voice drown out the scream of the jets activating.
"Brothers, look to your weapons! Glory awaits!"
The rest of the Wolf Guard yelled back, war-cries and oaths of courage mingling as one.
The drop-pod slammed into the floor, the jets slowing it down just enough for it to survive the impact, and it's doors folded open. The harnesses of the Terminators released their grip.
"For Russ and the Allfather!"
Haarek charged out of the pod, and opened fire. The nearby greenskins were caught completely off-guard, not expecting such an audacious attack, and their hesitation was what killed them. Haarek's bolt rounds struck three orks, their heads and chests exploding as the ammunition detonated inside them. The rest turned, and began to fire back. Their shots were nowhere near as impressive, most of them missing. The few that did hit Haarek simply bounced off his armour, the suit protecting him from their fury. Brother Heimdall stepped forward, the barrels of his assault cannon rotating faster and faster. A second later, he pressed the trigger, and the gun spat forth a hail of bullets, shredding the greenskins to the left of their position. The rest of the Wolf Guard now joined the fight, and for the next few minutes, the air was alive with bullets and shells of all kinds as the two forces engaged each other in a bloody firefight.
Bloody, but short-lived.

Of the Wolf Guard, only Haarek and Jorim had been hurt, Haarek suffering a minor flesh wound due to a lucky shot into his arm, between the shoulder plate and the torso. Jorim had been hit in the leg by a high-calibre round, but was able to continue fighting, the armour more or less soaking up most of the damage. The orks had been wiped out, refusing to flee from the fight, and the large balcony the drop-pod had landed on was now empty. Nearby, the sounds of war still rang out, and Haarek knew the rest of his brothers were now engaging the enemy.
"With me, brothers! Be wary, these are close surroundings, the enemy may use that to their advantage!"
"Acknowledged, brother."
The Wolf Guard began to advance, scanning the area ahead for threats. After a few metres, the weak daylight gave way, replaced by a neon gloom as the Terminators entered the hive itself. Here, the surroundings were close, and the warriors found themselves hampered by the narrow streets and tight corners, around which an enemy could be waiting, unseen. The fighting sounded closer, now; Haarek guessed it could be no more than fifty metres away, though he thought it more likely to be forty, due to his enhanced senses. He could smell the cordite from the crude ork firearms in the air. Rounding the corner, he found his guess was right.

The street opened out ahead into a large square, clearly intended to be some sort of resting area originally. Now the trees and bushes had been destroyed, and the square was the scene of a vicious brawl. On one side, nearest to Haarek, the orks had thrown up barricades and gun nests of all kinds, and were using these to their advantage, setting up a murderous field of fire. Beyond that, Haarek could see the rest of the attack force, the Grey Hunters fighting valiantly but unable to close with the gun nests under such heavy resistance. With them, Brother Alric, a Battle Leader the Wolf-Lord himself had chosen for this mission, urged his men onwards, howling great cries of defiance and hate. Haarek answered his roars with a battle cry of his own, and began to charge into the unprotected rear of the ork lines.
"Aim for the gun nests, they're the key to the defences!"
Some of the greenskins turned, their attention drawn by the rumble of the Terminator's heavy advance, and having seen this new threat began to run at the Wolf Guard, their chunky handguns barking as they charged. Haarek felt the shots strike, scattering off his torso and legs, and activated his frost axe. The ancient weapon hummed, and sheathed itself in ice-blue fire. Behind him, he heard the telltale whirring of Heimdall's chainfist, and the deeper, bass hum of Jorim's thunder hammer.
"Fire at will! Bring them down!"
The Terminators fired at the advancing greenskins. Many went down, bolt rounds smashing apart limbs or removing heads. It was not enough. The orks charged on, and Haarek could see that they were going to reach him. He snarled. The orks would get more than they bargained for.
"Attack! Cut them down, brothers! For the Allfather!"
The Wolf Guard leapt forward, their combined weight shaking the ground as they moved, and ploughed into the charging orks. Haarek's blade lashed out, and a greenskin warrior crumpled, his torso sheared in half. A powerful blow slammed into his chest, and Haarek was forced back, the massive greenskin preparing for another strike. He parried the monster's next blow, sending it wide, and kicked it in the leg, feeling it's knee break with the impact. The ork dropped, howling, only to be silenced as Haarek put a bolter round through it's skull. The greenskins surrounded him, their axes and blades slicing down at his form only to be defeated by his armour. A sharp pain flared in Haarek's side; a lucky blow had caught in the gap of his armour's torso joint. He swang his frost axe, feeling the hint of resistance as it sliced through an orkish neck, and tried to maneuver himself back into the Terminator squad. He had been cut off; between him and Heimdall stood most of the greenskins who had attacked them. He could see Heimdall's chainfist punch through another enemy's ribcage, the whine of the blades only just audible over the battle. Another blow, this time in the shoulder joint. Haarek swore, and fired at point-blank range, the bolts carving through the surrounding foes. At this range, they did not have time to detonate, but their calibre ensured at least a few greenskins went down. A huge ork leader stepped from the crowd of warriors, and bellowed in challenge, his powered claw hissing as it flexed. Haarek howled in reply, and threw himself at the creature. His first axe-stroke went awry, deflected by the intervention of the beast's subordinates. The creature punched him with it's claw, and Haarek's breath was driven from his body by the force of the blow. He staggered backwards, narrowly avoiding the slicing stroke of those pneumatic talons, and attacked again, this time aiming for the shoulder of the giant warrior. The blade cleaved through the ork's flesh, tearing free a great portion of the muscle and narrowly missing the bone. The ork howled in pain, and kicked out, the blow striking ineffectually at Haarek's thigh. Sensing victory, he closed, and punched the greenskin in the face as it tried to attack again, feeing it's nose break.
"Die, you swine!"
With a yell, Haarek beheaded the ork sergeant.

Seeing the intervention of the Wolf Guard, Alric leapt up.
"Look, brothers! The mightiest of our kin have joined us! See how they crush the enemy!"
His warriors roared, their spirits bolstered by the bulky forms of the veteran Terminators.
"Now is our time! Up, brothers! Up! For Russ and the Allfather! Glory awaits!"
The Grey Hunters needed no more telling. As one, they rose, unsheathing chainswords and bolt pistols, and began to run at the enemy, oaths and curses filling the air. The orks on the barricades fired into the charge, but with a great many of their number busy stemming the Wolf Guard, they could not hope to stop the Grey Hunters from reaching their lines. Though warriors fell, their helmets breached by orkish bullets, the majority of the attack force remained on their feet.
Clambering over the barriers, the Space Wolves brought the fight to the enemy.

The orks surrounding Haarek wavered, torn between killing him and attacking this new foe, and Haarek seized his chance. With the servos in his armour groaning, he slammed his body into the tide of greenskins, cracking bones with the force of his tackle, and began to force a path towards Heimdall and Jorim. His frost axe sang as it sliced, shearing apart any greenskin brave enough to stand in his path. The blades of his enemies bounced off his armour, some shattering with the force of the swing. Haarek fought on. The skull of the ork next to him imploded, crushed in the grip of a powerfist, and Alric joined him in the fight. With him came the Grey Hunters.
The orks fought bravely, and many fought to the death. By the end, Haarek was breathing fairly heavily, his arms burning with the exertion of the fight. Not a single greenskin survived.
Alric clapped him on the shoulder guard.
"Well met, Haarek! You timed that nicely, would've had a hell of a time getting through that many of the buggers otherwise."
Haarek smiled.
"That so? Well, you can repay me with a pint or two after we finish this. Emperor knows I could do with a drink."
Alric laughed, and strode off, seeing to his squad. Haarek turned and found Jorim waiting for him.
"How far are we from the objective, brother?"
Jorim checked his auspex.
"Not too far now, lad. I'd say maybe a few minutes away, if you'd shift your arse faster."
Haarek laughed. The greybeard had a sardonic sense of humour, and Haarek liked this.
"All right, old man. Brothers, let's go, before Jorim's impatience gets the better of him."
The attack force set off, towards the centre of the hive, and the central manufactorum control.

PART 4, CHAPTER V: Die with Honour

Haarek checked his ammunition. He was running low; the orks were many in number, and he had expended a great deal of bolts in the fighting. His Terminator armour was chipped and in some places small amounts of the armour plating had been torn away. He had switched to his Frost Axe now, if only to conserve his ammo for when he needed it. Beside, him, Jorim lumbered, flexing his arms and giving his thunder hammer test swings.
"Bloody hell, it's been a while since we've had to fight so many at once."
Haarek smiled.
"We'll have earned our mead tonight, eh? Garulf, how far now?"
Garulf consulted his in-helmet auspex.
"Three hundred metres to the target, brother."
The Wolf Guard strode on, passing through darkened corridors towards the greenskin central control room. Here, the lights were weak and flickering, as the orks diverted power to their command hub, no doubt powering the communications network or some other piece of strategic equipment. It mattered little; Haarek knew his mission, and would not fail in it. Besides, he thought with a slight glow of pride, the senses of the Space Wolves combined with the auto-senses of their helmets made a mockery of the gloom.
At the head of the squad, Snarri halted, and held up a fist. Haarek contacted him over the inter-squad vox.
"What is it?"
"Movement ahead, eighty metres. Corridor opens up there into another one of them courtyards."
Haarek tensed.
"Brothers, enemy near! Advance!"
The Wolf Guard began to move faster now, powering up their combat weapons. They knew the corridors and courtyards of this place were enclosed, and made close assaults easy to pull off. It was best to be prepared. They broke into a run.
Forty metres away, Haarek saw what they were moving towards.
There were eight huge orks in the courtyard, and by the looks of them, they had been expecting trouble. Each one was clad in a massive exoskeleton, all steel and looted ceramite. Their armour dwarfed that of the Terminators, and Haarek saw that their arms ended in wide-bore guns and huge power shears. This would be brutal.

The first of the MegaNobz saw the Terminators and opened fire.

Haarek swore as the shots whipped past their target and smashed into him, the force nearly knocking him off his feet. He recovered, and ran faster, snapping off shots with his storm-bolter. Jorim and Heimdall followed him, Heimdall beginning to power up his chainfist. To Haarek's left, Garulf and Beorn unsheathed their Wolf Claws and charged forward, their war-howls echoing around the corridors.
The groups met, and all hell broke loose.

The first of the MegaNobz reached Haarek, and swung at him with a blow that would have crushed his torso to pulp. Haarek jerked out of the way, the shears of his enemy tearing across his breastplate and obliterating the aquila there. He snarled, his rage stoked, and hacked out at the beast, feeling his Frost Axe bite into flesh. The ork howled, it's gun arm nothing more than a shredded ruin, and flinched backwards. It was a fatal mistake. A mechanical roar blasted forth, and the ork's head was torn apart, shells flying at a stupendous speed from Heimdall's assault cannon disintegrating it's cranium. From the other side, Haarek heard Garulf's scream of rage. He turned, in time to see Garulf smash headlong into another massive ork, his claws raking across the chest and stomach of his opponent. The ork staggered, but recovered well, and punched forward, bellowing. Haarek could do nothing but watch as the massive blades were rammed through Garulf's chest, tearing through his internal organs and slicing through his spine.

Heimdall roared in fury and grief, and opened up on the nearest MegaNob, forcing the creature back with the force of the cannon's shots. Haarek parried as a third ork attempted to disembowel him. The strength behind the blow was staggering, and Haarek felt the servos in his armour strain to contain it. He responded quickly, retaliating with an underhand swing and ripping open his opponent's throat. The ork gargled, blood spraying from the gouge, and desperately tried to fend Haarek off, shoulder-barging him to the floor. He knew he had to get up; on the floor, he was immobile, and the ork could crush him easily even with the mortal wound in it's neck. Even as he struggled, he knew it would be too late. The beast stood above him, and rasped, an expression of agonised triumph written on it's ugly face, before raising it's shears for one last blow. The swing never landed; Jorim's thunder hammer smashed apart the ork's upper body.
"Bloody hell, young 'un, do I have to do all of your fighting?"
"Enough! get back in the fight!"
Haarek snarled, and rose to his feet, charging into the melee as Beorn and Heimdall held back the remainnig MegaNobz. Beorn's claws hacked apart another greenskin even as Heimdall pulled off the head of another with his chainfist. The last three enemies realised the game was up. They could not hope to stop the Wolf Guard from passing through to the control room, and they knew it. Even as Haarek realised their intent, the orks charged. Beorn was caught completely by surprise. He lashed out, scoring the face of one of his attackers and drawing a howl of pain from the victim, but it was not enough. The other Nobz tore him limb from limb. Haarek screamed a denial, and smashed into the rightmost ork, toppling him forward before burying his Frost Axe in the creature's back. Jorim blocked a frenzied punch with his storm shield, the claws slamming against the localised force field created by the relic. The old veteran responded quickly, crushing the attacker's chest with a snake-fast blow.
Now, there was only one left. Even as Haarek and Jorim had stemmed the counter-attack, Heimdall had used his superior firepower to good effect, tearing through the armour of yet another ork at point-blank range. The last MegaNob braced itself, and bellowed what seemed to be a challenge. Haarek accepted. He strode forward, an ugly grimace on his face. The ork bellowed again, focussing on the advancing terminator. It snarled, then, unexpectedly, began speaking in crude Gothic.
"Runt, I iz gonner Tear yer 'ead from yer body and eat it!"
"You'll be dead before you even take the swing."
"O Yerrr? Who say-"
The ork never finished his sentence. Haarek's Frost axe carved his skull in two.
"Move on, brothers, the objective is near."

PART 4, CHAPTER VI: Necessary Sacrifice

The gunfire and roars outside the control room had stopped now, and Skargrim chuckled, an ugly grin on his face. He secretly hoped that the enemy had managed to win through. That would mean they were tough indeed, and therefore a worthy fight. Skargrim could do with a worthy fight. It was very dull monitoring the comms and telling units what to do. The mountainous ork flexed, warming up, and chucked again. It was a good job he'd got Mek Kogg to make Skargrim's mega-armour specially customised, otherwise he might have been slightly concerned about the approaching foe. Behind him, he could hear his 'ardboyz suiting up, preparing to defend the area even as the sounds of armoured footsteps drew closer. This was going to be good. The ugly grin got wider.

The first thing Haarek noticed about the control room was it's size. It was cavernous, filled to the brim with computers, tactical displays and communication booths. At that moment, he spotted the target. The ork leader was huge, far larger than any Haarek had faced before, and it was wearing the same bulky exoskeleton as it's subordinates had been. Haarek bared his teeth. It didn't matter how big the greenskin was, he would die all the same.
"Brothers, the enemy is here! By Russ, attack!"
The ork just grinned as the Wolf Guard began to charge.
"Get 'em, Ladz!"
The orks behind him howled and whooped, running at the terminators. These ones were more heavily armoured than the previous rank-and-file troopers Haarek had encountered, but that didn't matter; their armour was of no use against his Frost Axe. He raised his stormbolter and fired into the approaching horde. A few orks fell, but not enough. Heimdall added his own gunfire to the effort. Not even the addtitional armour plating worn by the greenskins could stop the rounds of the assault cannon, and the orks fell in droves. Beside him, Haarek heard Jorim curse and plant his feet, realising that no matter how much the Wolf Guard fired upon their foes, they would be charged.
The orks reached the terminators, and the slaughter began.
The first beast to reach Haarek swung at him with a clumsy overhead slash. He parried the blow, and flung the ork's arm wide, forcing it to step back. Before it could attack again, Haarek shot it in the face. A blow smashed against his helmet, and Haarek stumbled, temporarily wrong-footed by the force of the strike. Another blow, this one slamming against the back of his knees, nearly knocked him over. Haarek lashed out, and felt the impact as his axe cut through a few of his attackers. Making use of the newly created space, Haarek followed up, shoulder tackling one of his attackers to the floor before bringing his foot down on the creature's neck, breaking it with a loud snap. Nearby, Heimdall bisected a greenskin with a particularly vicious overhand swing of his chainfist. Furthest away, separated by a sea of orks, Jorim crushed attacker after attacker, his enraged insults carrying over even the din of battle.
Haarek began to move towards his brothers, his axe carving a path to them through the bodies of the enemy.
He had only taken three steps when a blow sent him toppling to the floor.

"Geddup, 'uminn, I wantz a fight, not a slumber party!"
The giant ork leader loomed over Haarek, a toothy snarl spread across it's face, and punched downwards. Haarek managed to roll to one side, but even so, the blow caught the edge of his shoulder guard, pulverising it with the tremendous force of the hit. However, the ork's blow had resulted in it's fist getting caught in the ground. As it heaved itself free, Haarek caught hold of the creature's gun arm, allowing it to pull him to his feet with it's momentum.
"What da - You cheatin' skumbag!"
The beast roared in indignation, and raised it's gun for a shot. Haarek had a fleeting impression of brilliant light before the gun discharged a massive energy bolt, missing Haarek by inches and instead blowing apart one of the last few 'ardboyz still standing. The boss swore, and instead took a swing at Haarek, it's massive steel claws buzzing with a crude energy field. Haarek parried, and the blades met with a thunderclap. With a metallic screech, several of the servos in Haarek's suit snapped trying to contain the strength of the ork's attack, and his arm was jerked back, his counterblow only just deflecting the massive shears from his torso. The ork smiled, displaying it's huge yellow tusks, knowing what had happened.
"Gonna be hard to do dat agin, 'uminn!"
Haarek responded with a swing of his own, aiming for the shoulder gap on the ork's claw arm. Caught in the middle of it's boast, the ork responded slowly, jerking awkwardly away from the blade. The Frost Axe instead struck the edge of the creature's shoulder, tearing it and ripping free some of the plating. Now it was the ork's turn to stumble.
The roar of an assault echoed from the walls, and shots struck the huge greenskin, forcing it further back. Haarek turned, and saw that between them Jorim and Heimdall had disposed of their attackers. He smiled. Things would now be even. He turned around, just in time to see the ork's headlong charge.

Ignoring the shots, Skargrim ran at the warrior with the big gun. He was furious now, his shoulder stung like hell and the armour he was wearing was costly to fix. Someone was gonna pay for this. The warrior tried to step away from his charge, but by then it was too late. With a roar of fury and battle-lust, Skargrim kicked the man to the floor, and swung downwards with his klaw. The human jerked and spasmed as each shear tore through his helmet, pulverising his skull and destroying his brain. He lifted the corpse and, with a yell of triumph, threw it at the other human, watching it knock the hammer-wielder to the floor.

Haarek could only scream a denial as Heimdall died. The ork moved fast; even as Jorim freed himself from his comrades' corpse, the creature was bearing down on him. Desperate to prevent his friend's death, Haarek opened fire on the beast, the shots causing it to flinch and miss it's target. Jorim, now on his feet, made the most of the opportunity. His hammer swung down, aiming for the ork's skull. The creature saw it coming, and seized his arm mid-swing. It wrenched; with a hideous tearing, Jorim's arm was pulled from it's socket. Jorim stumbled back, and Haarek heard him groan in agony over the squad comlink. Haarek advanced, knowing it was now or never. he had to kill the beast before it killed them.
Just as he reached it, the room filled with blinding light.
Haarek's stomach felt like it was dancing, and his head would not stop spinning.
The light stopped.

Haarek and Jorim were in a dark, ornately carved chamber. Built into the alcoves were various machines, each one monitored by a servitor. Haarek suddenly stiffened, his enhanced sight picking out warriors surrounding them. Each one wore black power armour, their helms shaped to resemble knights of old. On each of the astartes' left shoulderpad, three black teardrops were set against a background of purest white.
"What the hell? Why are we here?" Haarek snarled to the chamber at large.
One of the astartes stepped forward.
"Brother, be grateful. You have just been spared death."
Haarek bared his fangs, incensed at the percieved insult to his honour.
"We would have killed that greeskin had you not intervened, brother."
"I was not talking about that. Your team was taking too long to complete it's objective. We withdrew you all so as to conduct an orbital strike. The target has been neutralised, but your efforts shall be noted."
Haarek's in-helmet vox crackled quietly as Jorim grumbled.
"Smug b*stard."
Haarek voxed an agreement. The leader of these warriors would hear of this in no uncertain terms.
"Welcome, brothers of Fenris, to the strike cruiser Faithful Heart. We will take you to the Thunderhawk bay and transport you back to your ship now. "
The Obsidian Tears space marines turned, and as one, led Haarek and Jorim away.
Soon, all was silent in the chamber again.

...................................................................

Skargrim's first thought was to wonder what he had been drinking. Then he remembered the explosions. He cursed, realising he could not move, and looked up. His lower body was buried in a huge pile of rubble. The only thing stopping it from being crushed was his mega-armour; he was glad he had paid so much for it now. Luckily for Skargrim, the control room had just about withstood the punishment of the barrage, thanks in part to it's positioning deep within the hive. Even so, he could see that it was near to collapse. The humans had tricked him; they were just distracting him so their mates could drop the roof in on his head, just as they got clean away. He cursed.
"Dem zoggin' runts, can't fight proper like what I can, I dunno what dem 'uminns is comin' to dese days..."
With a therapeutic grumble, Skargrim began to dig himself free.

PART 4, CHAPTER VII: Hammer of the Emperor

Jansen was bleeding. A piece of shrapnel had cut into his leg. He was lucky, it was a minor wound, and he could still fight. Others were not so lucky.
He dragged himself to his feet, ears ringing, and forced himself to look over what was left of the barricade. His men were dying. The huge orkish tanks, though crude, were smashing through the imperial defensive line, crushing scores of soldiers and killing more with thunderous blasts from their guns. Jansen's own position had taken a direct hit. If it weren't for the dug-in position, he thought, they would all be dead. Still time for that, he admitted to himself.
As powerful as the metal behemoths were, they were meeting some resistance. Heavy weapon teams, realising the danger, had managed to destroy several, and were even now trying to stop the vehicles from overrunning their comrades-in-arms. Some Guardsmen, choosing to risk the danger of crushing, were running up to the tanks and attempting to put grenades in the tank's smoke stacks.
Coughing, Jansen limped over to the comms-man. Hershey was lying down, covered in dust, and speaking furiously into the vox.
"How bad is it, son?"
"Very bad, sir. The Kursk regiment is holding, but Captain Satyev reports that they are low on ammo. Princeps Alain is attempting to hold off those gargants, but he's being overrun. In short, sir, we could use some reinforcements."
"Hah, you don't say? Get me General Abel."

PART 4, CHAPTER VIII: Tears of Stone

The Thunderhawk's frame shuddered. Ciaphas ignored the tremors, and continued to softly intone a prayer, chanting as he prepared himself for the fight ahead. He checked his boltgun's ammunition counter, before gently affixing a purity seal to it and applying holy oil to the wax seal atop the piece of scripture. It was a ritual he had acted out a thousand times; it had always given him comfort before a battle in the past. Today, the stakes were higher. On the main front, the regiments of Imperial Guard and their green-skinned opponents were locked in a bloody stalemate. Their ferocious allies, the wolves of Fenris, had struck at the core of the enemy-held city, very nearly interfering with the plans of the Obsidian Tears. Ciaphas had heard that Captain Adritus had been incensed at the Space Wolves' apparent recklessness. Personally, he thought the attack to be a foolish but undeniably brave act, one that he could at least admire for it's audacity if not it's timing. Now, it fell to the Obsidian Tears to even the balance of the battle. Their directive was to attack from the rear of the Ork forces, and apply enough pressure to fracture the horde. Three minutes ago, the First Company Terminators had begun their assault on the factory district of Hive Hephaistos. In one minute, it would be their turn; the regular troops of the First, the veterans of the chapter. Ciaphas was one such veteran. He and his squad had made a name for themselves as close-quarter and city-fighting specialists over the decades they had been together, and it was now that their skills would come in handy. Ciaphas checked to his left. Brother Beo stood there, quietly loading his flamer with a promethium tank. He nodded when he spotted the sergeant looking at him.
"Near to target zone, Brother-Sergeant?"
"Aye. Ready yourselves, we go in hot."
The Thunderhawk shook as, from below, weapons impacts slammed into it's hull. It's own guns returned fire, and Ciaphas knew it was time. He hefted his boltgun, attached his chainsword in it's sheath to his back, and stepped towards the assault ramp.
"Squad Virtus, prepare to disembark! Look to your boltguns!"
The squad affirmed the command, and moved into position.
The Thunderhawk touched down, and the assault ramp slammed downwards. In an instant, Squad Virtus was moving.
"GO GO GO!"
The Astartes immediately moved out, hugging cover to avoid the majority of the fire aimed at them. The moment they were clear, the Thuderhawk took off again. Brothers Daedalus and Orestes covered the rest of the squad with controlled bursts of fire; the percussive bark of their bolters echoing across the landing zone. Ciaphas got behind one of the more ungainly piles of rubble and took stock of the area. They had landed on an outthrust landing pad, on one of the higher levels of the hive's western sector. Before them, the orks had set up barriers of sandbags and torn-down panels of plasteel, fortified with razorwire. Clearly they had thought to guard the Hive's landing zones well. Ciaphas looked around, seeking for a way to overcome the barrier. There. To the right. An exposed venting duct, large enough to fit his bulky frame, was visible. It would do. He signalled to Beo and Decius.
"Ventilation duct, far right. use it to outflank the xenos, and burn them."
The two Astartes confirmed, and began to make their way across the landing zone, making use of any available cover.
"Squad, cover fire! Keep the b*stards' heads down!"
Squad Victus opened fire as one, buying time for Beo and Decius with a storm of bolt rounds. Behind the barrier, some of the orks ducked, trying to avoid the incoming fire. Others, either bravely or stupidly, ignored the danger and carried on firing their own crude machine-guns; many of them were struck by the shots of the Astartes, and did not get back up. Ciaphas ducked back behind his piece of cover, and looked over at the vent. the two warriors he had sent were gone; Ciaphas counted maybe twenty seconds since he'd last seen them. He reloaded his boltgun, and leaned over the rubble, aiming at the most prominent ork he could see. A large, ivory-tusked individual caught his eye. The beast was sporting a large automatic weapon, and was firing it carelessly in the direction of Squad Victus. Ciaphas focussed. His vision homed in on the snarling, dirty face of the ork. He squeezed the trigger. The greenskin jerked backwards, gun firing with it's death spasm as it's brains exploded out of the back of it's helmet. All that was left of the ork's skull was splattered across it's comrades, bits of bone sticking out of their armour and flesh. Several of the nearby warriors flinched, surprised at the gory death of their companion. It was the opening that Squad Victus needed. Taking advantage of the hesitation, the Astartes managed to pick off several more orks before the rest ducked. Ciaphas cursed. Now the greenskins would be much harder to oust from their position. He only hoped that -

A roar sounded, as a massive tongue of flame shot out from a vent next to the ork barrier. Mere seconds later, it was joined by another. The orks screamed and bellowed in agony as the flames consumed them. Some tried to leap the barrier to escape the conflagration, only to be gunned down by Squad Victus. The stench of burning flesh was near overwhelming. The orks didn't stand a chance.
Ciaphas began to walk over to the barricade, moving briskly. After the reappearance of Beo and Decius, the fight had been a great deal easier; the barriers set up by the greenskins were of no protection against the flamer-wielding Astartes who had outflanked their position. Here and there, a scorched ork corpse could be seen, arms out-thrust in it's death throes. Ciaphas knew they had to move fast. He knew well that the other veteran squads would have touched down by now and would be taking the fight to the enemy, but even so the orks outnumbered them ten to one. They must keep moving, and isolate the enemy; one by one they would fall, if necessary. He began to climb over the barrier. Squad Victus followed his example.

...................................................................................................................

Twenty minutes had passed. Tearing apart any isolated units of orks they came across, Squad Victus had slowly made their way to the greenskins' new command post; a huge tower, once the outpost of the Adeptus Mechanicum, now a gun-studded ork fortress. The greenskins had prepared surprisingly well for the Imperial attack, Ciaphas thought. Perhaps they were not as simple-minded as most believed. Certainly they had enough sense to have a backup command centre. Ciaphas halted, and signalled to the squad to move up. Brother Janus came up to him, careful to stay in the shadows.
"Brother-Sergeant, what is your plan?"
"We cannot assault the command post directly. That would be foolhardy, the place will be too well-guarded for just ten of us to handle. However... see those fuel tanks over there? Attached to the side of the tower?"
"Aye, Brother-Sergeant. Sabotage, is it?"
Ciaphas chuckled.
"Well, if they are stupid enough to put such things there..."
Squad Victus began to advance, moving slowly so as not to attract undue attention. The orks filling the square in front of them were too busy to notice them, however; the elite Terminators had turned up, and were attacking along one flank of the greenskins' lines, forcing them to throw their troops at the hulking Astartes warriors, with the hope of driving them off. It was the distraction Squad Victus needed. All that separated them from their target was a gantry running across the battleground. Ciaphas thought fast.
"Dante, Ignaitus, Orestes, Daedalus! Cover fire on my mark! The rest of you, run like hell 'til you get to the target!"
Squad Victus slowly edged across the gantry. The orks did not notice.
"Now, Brothers! Kill for the Emperor!"
Four of the Astartes halted and opened fire on the orks below, causing havoc and throwing confusion amongst the already embattled greenskins. The rest of the squad sprinted across the gantry to the platform and the fuel tanks, following Ciaphas' lead. Shots whistled past them as they ran. Some found a mark. Charon fell, a bullet punching through the eye-piece of his helm, his body crashing to the floor, shockingly loud. Ciaphas had known the man for almost a century now, had seen him best many enemies single-handed. This was not the death he would have expected for him. They carried on running. Ciaphas pulled out a krak grenade.
"Wire them round the base, and get ready to run when I give the order."
For a few terrible minutes, the Astartes worked, bullets flashing and skimming all around them. It was heartstopping. Several times, a bullet ricocheted off Ciaphas' helm, causing a prayer of supplication to spill from his lips. Finally, it was done.
"GO, brothers, GO! Run, for the Emperor's sake!"
The Astartes ran, trading shots with the greenskins below. Seeing their brothers returning at some speed, the four on the gantry too began to retreat. They only just made it.

With a deafening bang, and a filthy cloud of smog, the wall of the command centre blew outwards. The structure groaned, weakened by the massive punishment inflicted, but remained standing. Many of the orks below were not so lucky. The blast threw many of them to the floor, and crushed yet more to a pulp with flying masonry. Those closest to the blast were simply annihilated by the explosion. All around, orks lay stunned, easy targets for the newly galvanised Terminators.
Looking up, Ciaphas snarled.
"That was for Charon, you b*stards."
The rest of the squad picked themselves up. They were dust-covered, and grim, but unbroken.
"Squad, move out. Secondary target is within 800 metres."
Squad Victus passed into the shadows once more.

The vox-man nodded, and contacted the Elysian general.
[Echo One, this is High Command. What is the problem?]
"High command, Echo One here. We're under heavy attack, situation critical. Reinforcements requested at this time."
[Request acknowledged, Echo One. We'll send a few squadrons down, should help you out. Over and out.]
Jansen put down the receiver and grunted.
"Better get here soon, or there won't be much to reinforce."

When the Vendettas of Eagle Squadron began their strafing run, things were almost desperate. The Elysians had been pushed back, and had formed a defensive circle Many were dead, shrapnel cutting through limbs and arteries, or crushed under the mass of their attackers. The tanks of the greenskins pushed forward, knowing that victory was in their grasp. The first few lascannon shots changed all that. The massive vehicles, utterly unprepared for the speed of the attack, were slow to respond. Even as the beasts moved to track the new threat, more were reduced to burning wrecks.
The tanks returned fire, driving their attackers off, but by then it was too late. The momentum of their charge had been broken, and they were vulnerable to counter-attack.
Jansen did not hesitate.
"Heavy weapon teams, focus your fire! Wreck these b*stards!"
The guardsmen immediately responded, pounding their shots into the now-exposed flanks of the enemy. Once again, the foe tried to turn to present their thick front armour to the threat, but by this time the Vendettas had swept around and were coming in for another run. Shells began whistling as the tanks attempted to fight off both attacks.
Behind Jansen, a shell impacted on Bravo Squadron's position. Screams and the smell of burnt flesh immediately reached Jansen, and he grimaced. Yet more men to avenge. More mothers to comfort with tales of heroism. He swore, and turned to the nearby squads.
"Prepare to advance! I want everyone carrying a weapon that can hurt these things with me!"
Jansen clambered and slid down the slope, towards the vehicles. His men followed. The tanks were by now hopelessly disorganised, trying to fend off two attacks at once, and only a few thought to target the approaching soldiers. Their turrets roared, and Jansen scolded himself for thinking of them as "a few." Men were blown into the air or cut into ribbons, and the Elysians quickened their pace. Looking up, he saw that the Vendettas were now engaging crude flying vehicles, each piloted by a whooping greenskin, and knew that they had moments at best to get to the tanks.
Then they were there. The behemoths were intimidating from a distance, but up close they were utterly terrifying. Jansen swallowed, and hefted a meltagun. The trooper carrying it had been killed in the last few moments; Jansen would make sure he hadn't died in vain. He aimed at the nearest vehicle, a huge, smog-belching monster covered in glyphs and bolted-on armour plates, and pulled the trigger. The effects were impressive. The shot punched through the side of the tank, molten metal running like water, and detonated something inside. The tank screeched to a halt as thick black smoke shot out of the hole made by Jansen's shot, and promptly burst into flames. he knew the crew must be dead; nothing could survive such a conflagration. Nearby, more tanks fell to the fury of the Elysians. Grenade launchers destroyed engine stacks, hatches were torn open and flamers used to burn interiors, and when all else failed lasfire was poured through the top hatch in the hope a stray shot would kill someone important. Jansen roared with excitement and fury, all of his fears thrust away as his body dumped adrenaline into his system. They could do it!
One of the tanks began to bear down on him. It's driver had seen what Jansen's gun could do, and was in no mood to have it happen to him.
"Shiiiit...." Jansen span and fired. The gun melted through the front armour, but did not stop the tank. He could feel it's advance make the ground shake. He desperately tried to scramble out of it's way, sweat streaming down his brow as he panicked. It's shadow covered him, and he screamed a prayer, closing his eyes and waiting for the inevitable.
A massive crumpling of metal reached his ears, making him flinch and cover his ears in pain.
He looked up.
A grey-green tank had smashed into the side of the orkish vehicle, ploughing it aside as it's battle-cannon targeted another greenskin machine. Jansen laughed hysterically, tears of gratitude running down his cheeks, and spluttered his thanks, as if the Leman Russ could hear him. Nearby, more of the imperial tanks were beginning to assault their rivals. Atop one, a red flag flew, with a black aquila set in a yellow star in it's centre. The Kursk Red Guard were counter-attacking. The day could still be theirs.
Jansen picked himself up, and stumbled back into the fight. He would do his duty. His men followed him.
The tide had turned.

PART 4, CHAPTER IX: Resolve of Obsidian

Thick black smoke billowed into the air as the command post burned. Inside, panicking grot fire-crews attempted to halt the fires caused by the Obsidian Tears' sabotage. They needn't have bothered. Outside, the last of the post's defenders were being wiped out; soon, the corpses of the gretchin were amongst those of the other defenders.
Brother-Sergeant Barbatio stepped across the body of a huge ork leader, and scanned the area for any more attackers. What he saw answered his question; the havoc wreaked by the guns of Squad Lacertus had slaughered the pitiful remnants of the greenskin command staff. To his left, Brother Menelaus signalled him to come over.
"What is it, Brother?"
Menelaus pointed to a slightly singed but still active view-screen.
"I believe we need to contact the Princeps..."
What Barbatio saw made a shiver run up his spine, even with his long experience seeing the horrors of war.
"Princeps Alain? This is Brother-Sergeant Barbatio. You need to hear this..."

....................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

Brother-Sergeant Ciaphas moved fast, careful to stick to the shadows where the darkness of his armour would camouflage him best. Beyond them, separated from the squad by a maze of smog-stained gantries, was their target; a landing pad, used by the greenskins to fly in supplies. It would be down to squad Victus to capture it. Behind him, Beo swiftly reloaded his flamer, and checked the nozzle. Ciaphas nodded in approval; if things got too hot, they'd need the flamers to hold back the horde.
As they reached the edge of the surrounding buildings, Ciaphas signalled a halt. Before them lay the landing area. It was sparsely manned, with just two small groups of ork warriors in the vicinity of the pad. Ciaphas studied them closer. These ones were better armed and armoured than the greenskins they had previously encountered, with large suits of of what looked like ill-fitting salvaged tank armour plates. Clearly the orks had seen fit to re-use these tracks to protect themselves better. Not that it mattered; Ciaphas had great faith in the abilities of Squad Victus. He knew they would come out on top.
The squad began to move as one, encircling the pad and it's current owners.

Grotzeg yawned, and scratched himself. He wasn't sure why the Boss had made them stay here when there were human fighters to be killed elsewhere. The Boss' only explanation had been to punch Groff in the face after he'd questioned it. That was good enough for Grotzeg. Beside him, Zagwurr belched. The stench was foul.
"Oi, keep it down!"
Zagwurr raised a finger.
"Zog dat, you grot. What'sa matter, too soft ter handle it?"
"I'll have yer gutted for that!!"
Zagwurr got up, a belligerent look on his features. He took two steps towards Grotzeg, snarling.
And with a whistling sound, his head expoded.
Grotzeg barely had time to register this before shots began to slam against his armour. He roared, and opened fire in the general direction of the shooting. Looks like looting the human tanks was a good thing. He ran towards the rest of his mob, who were already shooting in every direction they could. He felt more secure here; no enemy could beat him and his mates, they were too strong. This would be over soon.
A small rattling near his feet caught his attention, and he looked down. Before he could even swear, the grenade went off.

Ciaphas blew apart another ork's head with a round from his boltgun, keeping them distracted as Beo, Dante and Daedalus advanced from behind. Though the plating the greenskins wore was strong, it was weak around the face, and Ciaphas wasted no time in taking advantage of this.
At the rate Ciaphas and his squadmates were killing their foe, they would not be done in time for the second phase of the plan. Fortunately, Beo and his Brothers would solve that.
As their grenades began to detonate in between the tightly packed orks, Ciaphas suppressed a smile. One more victory for the Emperor.

Ten minutes later, a pair of thunderhawks streaked through the sky, aiming for the liberated pad. The new front was now open, and with the Obsidian Tears leading the attack, the momentum of the imperial war machine started to build.
For the first time in a very long time, the Imperial forces were on the cusp of a great victory.

(GOOD GOD!!!!.....................................meep...

You didnt tell me this guy writes for BL! If plot aror counts for what I think it does the we're all screwed!!!!!!!!1111111)

So you can write this wall-o-text in ONE day, but writing one little event takes whole week?

*Is confused*

Devastator wrote:So you can write this wall-o-text in ONE day, but writing one little event takes whole week?

*Is confused*

That's all Gorskar's work. I just organised it in one place.

edit: Typo.. grrr..

WARORK93 wrote:You didnt tell me this guy writes for BL!

Gorsky won't admit it.. but he did secretly work for BL. They just fired him without printing his books because his stuff was so awesome-licious-gasmic-sauce that it overshadowed all other authors and made Matt Ward cry in a corner whilst soiling himself and weeping as realisation of the atrocious abominations of background writing he's done overcame him. So now Gorskar floats umong us other entities and inhabitants of the warp.. um.. I mean Dakka members.. doomed to forever be exiled from the mighty palace of publishing that he so greatly deserves residence in, for his literary works are pure genius, and make even the likes of Dan Abnett and Graham McNeill tremble in awe.

Chowderhead demands his event!

And a sandwich!

*Hnads chowder a Sandwich* Your mom made it for ME! But WHATEVER!

Holy crap thats ALOT of text... if i tried reading all that to fast,id get sucked into a void were letters taunt me...evil o's.
so were does my guy come in? or are we not starting? my head still hurts o.o ...

Darkvoidof40k wrote:

WARORK93 wrote:You didnt tell me this guy writes for BL!

Gorsky won't admit it.. but he did secretly work for BL. They just fired him without printing his books because his stuff was so awesome-licious-gasmic-sauce that it overshadowed all other authors and made Matt Ward cry in a corner whilst soiling himself and weeping as realisation of the atrocious abominations of background writing he's done overcame him. So now Gorskar floats umong us other entities and inhabitants of the warp.. um.. I mean Dakka members.. doomed to forever be exiled from the mighty palace of publishing that he so greatly deserves residence in, for his literary works are pure genius, and make even the likes of Dan Abnett and Graham McNeill tremble in awe.

Dude, my modesty's gonna kill me!
But yep, that was me. Did you really track down that whole fanfic?
(Also, Gorskar's orks are speed freeks, so red with yellow flames on their armour.)
(PPS: Great to meet you, Warork, though the Boss may not think so, know what I mean? )

Flaunt it Gorsky!

Flaunt it!

Gorskar.da.Lost wrote:

Darkvoidof40k wrote:

WARORK93 wrote:You didnt tell me this guy writes for BL!

Gorsky won't admit it.. but he did secretly work for BL. They just fired him without printing his books because his stuff was so awesome-licious-gasmic-sauce that it overshadowed all other authors and made Matt Ward cry in a corner whilst soiling himself and weeping as realisation of the atrocious abominations of background writing he's done overcame him. So now Gorskar floats umong us other entities and inhabitants of the warp.. um.. I mean Dakka members.. doomed to forever be exiled from the mighty palace of publishing that he so greatly deserves residence in, for his literary works are pure genius, and make even the likes of Dan Abnett and Graham McNeill tremble in awe.

Dude, my modesty's gonna kill me!
But yep, that was me. Did you really track down that whole fanfic?
(Also, Gorskar's orks are speed freeks, so red with yellow flames on their armour.)
(PPS: Great to meet you, Warork, though the Boss may not think so, know what I mean? )

(Good to meet you too, lets just say I think War and Gor are gonna have one fun time, though I think in the end no matter who wins we should both be happy cause I can tell you now, when two WAAAGH's clash NOTHING is left standing.

Hmmmm...might be a problem considering my orks are also supposed o be speed freaks. Anyway, their banner would be something like an orky version of a jolly roger: ork skull with two chainaxes crossed, something like that.

And yes, the only thing is, I'm currently shaking in my boots at the amount of awesomeness Gor represents.........on second thought, anyway two warbosses can see tusk to tusk? )

Well.. Gorskar is a Warlord.. Warklaw is a Warboss.. go figure..

And curse the fates, I might be totally unavailable all weekend, so I'll do my best to get some event done tonight.. but with me and events, it's very "all or nothing". It'll either all happen, or not happen.

@ klimino - the roleplay started ages ago; I hope you've read the entire thread. But that long piece of text was taken from my good friend here's (Gorskar.da.Lost) fanfic of the Ork Warlord of the same name.

If you haven't read the entire thread, then I suggest (order ) that you do so.

edit for early spelling.

Gorskar.da.Lost wrote:

Darkvoidof40k wrote:

WARORK93 wrote:You didnt tell me this guy writes for BL!

Gorsky won't admit it.. but he did secretly work for BL. They just fired him without printing his books because his stuff was so awesome-licious-gasmic-sauce that it overshadowed all other authors and made Matt Ward cry in a corner whilst soiling himself and weeping as realisation of the atrocious abominations of background writing he's done overcame him. So now Gorskar floats umong us other entities and inhabitants of the warp.. um.. I mean Dakka members.. doomed to forever be exiled from the mighty palace of publishing that he so greatly deserves residence in, for his literary works are pure genius, and make even the likes of Dan Abnett and Graham McNeill tremble in awe.

Dude, my modesty's gonna kill me!
But yep, that was me. Did you really track down that whole fanfic?
(Also, Gorskar's orks are speed freeks, so red with yellow flames on their armour.)
(PPS: Great to meet you, Warork, though the Boss may not think so, know what I mean? )

1) Screw your modesty, put that in your sig and have an ego inflation everytime you post.
2) Yes, I got all your fanfic together .
3) Warklaw's dudes ain't speed freaks.. they have lots of foot sloggers and vehicles and Kommandoes and such. Just a mix. His original horde might have been speed freaks.. but now all the orks in the hulk are following him.

Two ork waaaaaghs colliding you say?

As the resident Eldar Farseer of this thread, i feel i'd be doing my character a disservice if i did not perform the ancient elder ritual when something interesting/awesome/bad news for someone else happens.

*steeples fingers.*

"Just as Planned"

Darkvoidof40k wrote:

1) Screw your modesty, put that in your sig and have an ego inflation everytime you post.
2) Yes, I got all your fanfic together .
3) Warklaw's dudes ain't speed freaks.. they have lots of foot sloggers and vehicles and Kommandoes and such. Just a mix. His original horde might have been speed freaks.. but now all the orks in the hulk are following him.

(3. Okay, srry I imagined them as speed freaks, and BTW whats the difference between the titles Warlord and Warboss? Thought they were the same thing...)

A Warlord has subordinate Warboss', the latter of which have their own mobs. A Warlord is in charge of the entire Waaaagh! (big waaagh!)

Darkvoidof40k wrote:A Warlord has subordinate Warboss', the latter of which have their own mobs. A Warlord is in charge of the entire Waaaagh! (big waaagh!)

(Well..................you smell funny!!!

*runs away and cowers in corner, crying over his loss of dominance* )

WARORK93 wrote:

Darkvoidof40k wrote:A Warlord has subordinate Warboss', the latter of which have their own mobs. A Warlord is in charge of the entire Waaaagh! (big waaagh!)

(Well..................you smell funny!!!

*runs away and cowers in corner, crying over his loss of dominance* )

Pussy! Man-up and assert your dominance!

Darkvoidof40k wrote:

WARORK93 wrote:

Darkvoidof40k wrote:A Warlord has subordinate Warboss', the latter of which have their own mobs. A Warlord is in charge of the entire Waaaagh! (big waaagh!)

(Well..................you smell funny!!!

*runs away and cowers in corner, crying over his loss of dominance* )

Pussy! Man-up and assert your dominance!

(And I will, as soon as my character is out of limbo, I'll end up setting out on the near impossible task of trying to make Warklaw sound more awesome than Gor....

In other words, MOAR EVENT, DARK!!!)

Meh. I'll see what I can do about rapping it up tonight. So many good characters; so hard to choose who to kill.

WARORK93 wrote:(And I will, as soon as my character is out of limbo, I'll end up setting out on the near impossible task of trying to make Warklaw sound more awesome than Gor....

In other words, MOAR EVENT, DARK!!!)

Well, think about it this way. Your Boss has the height and weight; mine has the experience and know-wots. Should be fairly even!

Gorskar.da.Lost wrote:Well, think about it this way. Your Boss has the height and weight; mine has the experience and know-wots. Should be fairly even!

(Thats actually a decent point, sounds about right. )

Afraid to inform y'all that there'll be no player event tonight.. just ain't got the time for it, unfortunately. *shrug* Life calls, so there probably won't be any event tomorrow or Saturday (I won't even be at home.. untimely family business..) and on Sunday, whilst I might (read: won't) have time in the morning, I'm going out all day with friends.. so.. yeah. Sorry dudes. Don't give me grief over it, and enjoy the event summary.

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


PLAYER EVENT - Summary


Death From Above - PART 1
Major Mortensen sighed heavily as he looked out across the massive, open battlefield that was now filled with craters, smoking vehicle wrecks and choked with the corpses of hundreds, their blood mixing together in disgusting pools. The medicae had insisted that he remain in the medical tent for a few hours, but he had declined, knowing that his men needed him and he had only suffered a flesh wound anyway - a slugga round had grazed his left side. Accepting only a heavy dose of stims, he hurried out of the tent, leaving the howls of injured men behind him. He called his vox-man, Bern, and when the man arrived he pulled the handset from the heavy radio pack, before speaking into it. "This is Major Mortensen to all Platoon commanders, sound off!"
"This is Lieutenant Garl," "Lieutenant Charkos here sir," "Lieutenant Thomson, reporting sir!"
Mortensen waited for a few seconds, but nothing but static greeted him. He sighed heavily. "What's the status down there? Looks like all hell's come to give us a visit out there!"
"The Orks' numbers are swelling far beyond our control, we'll either all be slaughtered or all pushed back within the next hour, if that," Garl informed the Major grimly.
"I'm pretty sure Lieutenant Briggs is dead sir, I saw his unit get overrun about twenty minutes ago - the Orks broke through our lines, but my unit managed to push them back. However, we're stretched thin sir! We need reinforcements!"
Major Mortensen stood thoughtfully, "Charkos, what's your situation?"
"Well Major, I believe I sighted the Ork brute that's in charge of this horde earlier!" Charkos reported.
Now this was important. Cut off the head and the body will die - the universally accepted way of defeating an Ork horde. "Lieutenant, find that Ork and kill it! It's our only chance! I'll be with you shortly!"
"Yes sir!"

Finally, a plan of action thought Kyel Charkos. He discarded the empty pack from his Lasgun, and having used up his own ammo, leaped onto a dead Guardsman, and scavenged two fresh power packs, and he loaded one into his Lasgun. He then assembled a team of eight men from nearby; including one Melta gunner, and after briefing them on their mission they set about looking for their prey. Kyel knew, however, that finding the Ork wasn't the hard part, it was killing it that was tricky. He'd heard that these monstrous aliens could withstand even a Krak missile to the face! Vrek, Krak missiles could blow through a Chimera or even a Leman Russ, but the idea that the Ork they were trying to kill could survive a hit like that? It sent a shiver down his spine.

What Charkos didn't know however, was that Warboss Warklaw Gordakka was looking for him too. His bionic eye never lied, he knew the humie that'd busted his ride, and he was gonna find 'im and tear him apart. He felt hot impacts on his back, and he spun round to see a few Guardsmen futily trying to bring him down. "Vrek you, you ugly green bastard!" One of them shouted defiantly. Warklaw laughed loudly, and ran at them. Two Guardsmen ran, but the one that had shouted at him stood his ground, firing his rifle straight into Warklaw. The humie was so incredibly outclassed, but still he stood fighting. Even as Warklaw towered over him at double the man's height, and even as Warklaw plucked him from the ground with his power klaw and eviscerated him, the man still stood defiant. He screamed as he died, "For Ousia! Brave as a Gator--" his defiant last shout was cut short by his screaming, which quickly turned into gurgling as blood filled his throat and dripped out of his mouth as he died. Warklaw discarded the messy corpse. "Dese 'umies ain't 'fraid a' nothin' - I likes dat! Shame dey can't fight fer nuffin, though," he grumbled.

The vox was filled with the voice of Lieutenant Garl. "Garl here, Thomson's down - just saw some bloody huge Ork rip through 'im! Vrek me, he must be at least twelve foot!" He exclaimed. This didn't comfort Charkos one bit, but he knew that he would have to find this Ork. He acknowledged the information with thanks, and his team began moving in the direction of where Thomson's platoon was positioned.

Warklaw bellowed a mighty Waaagh! and he was soon surrounded by a large mob of thirty Orks who took up his warcry. A Platoon of men shouted their own battle cry in reply, defiantly swearing on the honour of their homeworld that they'd see the greenskins dead. "For Ousia!" Shouted Lieutenant Garl, vowing to avenge Thomson's brave death. With his men and the battered remains of Thomson's platoon, they charged as one, and the Orks surged forward with animalistic ferocity to meet them. Garl fired his Boltgun into the mob with practiced precision, dropping two Orks before they knew what had happened. The loud cracks of Lasguns filled his ears, complimented by the loud bangs of the Ork Sluggas. Warriors from both sides dropped in the fury of the shooting, but before long the two sides met in vicious close-combat. The Orks natural brutality met by the Ousian's rage and hatred for the greenskins. The Orks had an advantage in melee, but Garl's Platoon had risen to almost double the Orks' numbers when they had met up with the remains of Thomson's men. The fighting was furious. An Ork wielding a crude axe slashed at him, and he ducked the overhead swing, firing three bolts into its chest, which detonated inside the Ork, killing it instantly. Burk dropped next to him, his face cleaved off by an Ork choppa. Garl rammed his bayonet through the Ork's skull, killing it. All around him, the bloody fury of the close-quarters fight raged. Twenty Guardsmen had already died, and thirteen Orks had fallen. Garl turned to his left, and saw the Ork Warboss chopping and hacking left and right, killing with every blow. Mike died, his head and torso crushed beyond recognition in the Ork's claw, and Paul was smashed into the ground as the Warboss slammed his giant chain-axe down on him. Then a heart-warming cry filled the Ousian's ears, driving them to fight all the harder out of fear, respect and pride.
"Ousian's! Fight like there's no tomorrow damn your sorry arses! Give these green bastards hell, Emperor damn you! Fight harder!"
Garl smiled at the sight of Commissar Matthew, watching in awe as his crackling power sword cleaved through Orks left and right, and his Plasma pistol melted every Ork he shot. The experienced Commissar was respected by the whole regiment, and Garl would be damned if he'd fail Matthew now. He ran to his friend's side, shouldering his boltgun in favor of his own Chainsword. "What took you so long?" Matthew asked with a grim smile as he cleaved the head of an Ork. "Oh, you know, the small matter of an Ork horde!" Garl said as he cut down a charging greenskin. "We have to kill that Warboss!" Shouted Matthewson, and Garl nodded. The two company heroes turned to face the towering greenskin, who had also focussed his attention on them. With a warcry, they charged.


Shadow Fiends
It watched and it waited, patiently observing as the Humans advanced cautiously down the corridor, three abreast. There were normal humans, clearly better equipped than the normal human warriors, yet more surprisingly in this unusual party whose motives were a mystery, there were many of the elite human warriors. They were all fully within the long corridor now, so none of them would have time to escape the ambush.

Nyragaz raised his hand and his force halted. Something was awry, he could feel it. "Brother, what is the purpose of our delay?" Queried Sergeant Ulrich. Nyragaz did not reply, for no reply was necessary. Something was heading towards them. Soon it had enveloped them all - an all-consuming darkness that appeared out of nowhere. "What manner of witchery is this?" Growled Brother Ascherfeld nearby. The darkness encompassed the entire corridor now, and none of them could see - not even the Adeptus Astartes with their genhanced vision and the compensators in their helmets. They were in total darkness. That was when the screaming began.

It was Brother Elmar, he screamed out as his throat was slit by a darkly metallic warrior with scythe-like claws instead of hands. They were amongst them all now. More screams. Boltguns fired, Lasguns flashed, offering glimpses of skeletal warriors from the darkest nightmares of mankind. Seven were dead before they knew it, eight, nine, ten - the Necrontyr flaying their skin from their bodies in a vicious and remorseless assault.

Nyragaz unsheathed his Power Sword, thumbing the activation rune, causing the blade to crackle with blue energy. He brought it up to block scything claws that attempted to remove his head, his ancient blade cutting through them. The return thrust went straight through the chest of the Necron, destroying it. It collapsed to the floor, before disappearing in a green glow. Sergeant Ulrich lost an arm to a stealthy attack from behind him, but he decapitated his assailent deftly with his chainsword; the grey metallic head clumping on the steel floor of the Hulk before disappearing.

The attack was over almost as quickly as it began, the darkness fading and leaving no trace of their foes. The floor was, however, littered with dead Imperials, at least twenty-three by Nyragaz's count. A serious loss to his strike force.

Ascherfeld roared in anger nearby, "We must avenge these deaths!"


Knights and Daemons - Part 1
Khan'das roared in delight at the sheer number of skulls they had reaped and the amount of blood that now flowed freely in Khorne's name. Indeed, his hounds had killed many hundreds of the Humans and Orks fighting in this area, and Khan'das himself had dispatched a particularly large group of Greenskins known to themselves as 'Nobz'. The relentless slaughter had lasted many hours. But he had now grown bored of such simple prey; the slaughter was great and it was true that the Blood God cared not from whence the blood flows; but there was no glory in this slaughter - these deaths meant nothing in the greater scheme of things. If Khan'das was to be elevated to the hallowed ranks of the Daemon Princes', he would have to kill many more of greater standing.

Then he sensed something; a new presence that revolted him. He turned to see a giant Daemon; whose body flowed with distorted colours not of this realm; whose position Khan'das eternally coveted. That despicable Slaanesh-worshipping dog Celestus Maglovin had joined the fight.

Celestus rejoiced in the delight of slaughter, snuffing out the lives of the pitiful mortals surrounding him. His warband charged into the remaining Humans and Orks, butchering them swiftly. A roar from nearby attracted his attention, and when he turned to look, he saw Khan'das. Celestus laughed mockingly at the servant of Khorne who was no doubt enraged that Celestus' warriors had stolen the fight from him. He grinned widely as the blood-red Herald of Khorne rode over to him atop his Bloodcrusher.

"Khan'das, to what do I owe this pleasant visit?" Celestus asked mockingly.
"This was our fight! Those souls were to be slaughtered in the name of Khorne and their skulls taken for the skull throne! Not to be used to satisfy your own warped delights!" Bellowed Khan'das.
Celestus always enjoyed the conversations he had with Khan'das. They.. amused him. The very fact that he had once been a mere mortal, a Space Marine amongst many thousands of the Emperor's Children Legion, and now he was a Daemon of far greater stature than Khan'das had ever been in its impossibly ancient existence endlessly enraged the Herald, and Celestus took great delight in that.
"Calm yourself, little Herald," Celestus said, his voice filled with mischief and deceit, "for there are many more skulls for you to reap,"
"What are you up to?" Khan'das snarled in reply, his Daemonic horde gathering around him.
"The Daemonhunters of the corpse-God are here, Khan'das," Celestus explained simply. He felt Khan'das's interest peak instantly.
"Show me where they are! I will take their skulls for the skull throne!" Khan'das demanded.

A great roar that created terror in every Daemon and mortal present sounded from behind them all. The Unbound was here. The massive Bloodthirster towered over even Celestus, and many lesser Daemons scattered in his presence.
"The Grey Knights!" Hissed The Unbound. "I will claim the head of their leader myself! Yes.. I can feel their presence now! You, servant of the Dark Prince," the Bloodthirster indicated to Celestus, "You will take us to them!"
Celestus recoiled in anger, "You expect me to march into battle against the Grey Knights and die for you?"
The Unbound gave voice to a mind-shattering roar, "You dare defy my will? You will fight the Grey Knights with us, or I will destroy you here!"
Celestus was filled with rage. He knew he had no choice; The Unbound was quite possibly the most powerful being aboard the Space Hulk. "Very well," he conceded, turning to lead the massive horde of Daemons and traitorous Space Marines. The coming fight would be brutal.

The Grey Knights all felt it at once: a large warp signature that could mean only one thing: Daemons were coming. Many hundreds as far as Brother-Captain Glaudian could tell. "Brothers, ready yourselves! The Great Enemy is coming for us, and they shall not find us wanting!" He shouted. They were in a large storage bay, and his men quickly created a defensive perimeter out of the many supply crates and scraps of metal they found lying around. They had created themselves a defensible position.
"What is it?" Asked Marshal Night.
"Daemons are coming."
"How can you be sure?"
"We have felt them; the denizens of the warp have a malign psychic signature - part of being a Daemonhunter is knowing when the Daemons are coming."
"Of course," replied the Marshal.

Glaudian surveyed his force. There was Justicar Venatio's Purifiers who were reciting the Litanies of Purity in preparation for battle off to his left. Justicar Cross's Purgation squad, who were checking their weapons. But the bulk of his force were the revered Terminators of Justicars Gideon and Hiracio. But mightiest of all his warriors were the Paladins. These fabled warriors were second in skill and experience only to him, the other Brother-Captains and the Grand Masters.

It did not take long for them to come. It started as just a faint noise, coming from the dark and labyrinthine corridors and access ways that opened into the storage bay. But then they came. Hundreds of howling, snarling, blood-red Hounds of Khorne, charging madly in their blood lust. As soon as they had appeared, dozens were banished back to the warp by a hail of fire from the Grey Knights. Storm Bolters barked, Psycannons thumped and Psilencers rattled as they fired round after round of psychically-charged bolts. But soon there were too many; the Hounds' numbers swelling too large for their guns to kill them all, and then it was down to bloody close-combat. The Terminators, with the Purifiers and Purgation squad either side. The Grey Knights were unmovable. The Daemons poured forth from the depths of the Hulk, and were pushed back time and time again. Justicar Venatio and his Purifiers unleashed a great Psychic flame, incinerating large swathes of Daemons, the Purgation squad laying down point-blank fire that decimated just as many, and the Terminators fought back with unmatched ferocity. But it was not long before more opponents presented themselves - screaming Cultists sporting hideous mutations charged madly at the Grey Knights, followed by their vile masters: Chaos Space Marines. Tied down in hand-to-hand combat, the Daemonhunters could do nothing to stop the first volley of shooting from their traitorous counterparts. A storm of bolter rounds, searing plasma bolts, and from some, vicious sonic attacks, hit the Grey Knights' lines like a thunderstorm. Daemons and Cultists were cut down by their own allies' fire without a thought; their lives inconsequential. Two Terminators from Justicar Gideon's squad died, their ancient Aegis armor vulnerable to the super-heated plasma. Three Purifiers and one of Justicar Cross's Purgation squad also died.

Michael Cross shouted a curse at the Heretics and Traitors before raising his Storm Bolter and snapping off a hail of shots that killed a dozen Cultists, his remaining battle-brothers following his example. The Psycannons reaped a fearsome toll upon the Traitor Marines, killing five, whilst the Psilencer felled another two. The Terminators also fired back, killing another six. But then the Traitorous host advanced, followed by more screaming Cultists. More were cut down in the crossfire, but the two sides met in combat once again.

"Push the Heretics back, in the name of the Emperor!" Shouted Glaudian, rallying his troops as he and his retinue joined the fight, counter-attacking with a skill and fury that had so far been unprecedented in the battle. The Paladins tore into the Traitors, and between themselves, Marshal Night and their Brother-Captain they accounted for a further twenty-seven Traitor Marines, the other Grey Knights finishing off the rest. But it had been a bloody fight - only Justicar Cross remained of the Purgation squad, and as well as a Terminator from Justicar Hiracio's squad another Purifier had been killed. In the darkness, something stirred. More Daemons. a tide of Daemonettes and Bloodletters charged in, hacking and slashing madly at the Grey Knights. Justicar Cross picked up an Incinerator from the corpse of his fallen brother and emptied it into the Daemons, killing many. Even as he was surrounded and hacked apart by five Bloodletters, he smashed three of his killers asunder with his Daemon Hammer.

Glaudian knew that there was only one way to stop this great tide of Chaos. "I am the Hammer," he began intoning. His Paladin squad felt the Psychic energy building up within Glaudian and they too pooled their considerable psychic strength into him. "I am the sword in his hand," Glaudian continued, the Psychic energy welling up inside of him, "I am the gauntlet about his fist," the energy was building up to breaking point, and an aura of silver energy was forming about him, "I am the bane of his foes and the woes of the treacherous," the Daemons too now felt the great build up of Psychic energy, and attempted to scatter and flee before him. But there was no escaping his fury, for there was nowhere his mind could not reach, "I am the end!" Glaudian finished with a great shout that echoed in the warp; and the immeasurably destructive powers of the Holocaust were released; instantly destroying the Daemons around them. Glaudian dropped to one knee, the great strain it took to summon the Holocaust taking its toll on him. He was breathing deeply, his energy almost spent. But now was when he needed it most, for as they looked, two great monstrosities of Daemonkind advanced, surrounded by many terrible horrors of the warp. Glaudian saw Bloodcrushers of Khorne with devil-like Bloodletters riding them amongst the horde.

Feris recovered from his shock and anger at the great Psychic witchery enacted by his brothers as the great, towering Daemon leaders finally revealed themselves. The fight so far had been tough, and he had already suffered a wound on his chest where a Hellblade had pierced the ancient battle-plate of his armor, but he knew the battle had only just begun - for what was to come would see the deaths of many of the noble and pure men that he had been fighting alongside. For coming towards them, at the dark heart of the Daemon horde stood a Daemon Prince, and worse, a Greater Daemon of the Blood God, who emitted a palpable aura of malice and murder. Thoughts that weren't his found their way into his mind; whispering to him, telling him to turn on his brothers with promises of power beyond his wildest dreams. Enraged, he forced them out of his mind, deciding to allocate himself many hours of gruelling physical and mental punishment for his lapse in mental strength; should he survive.

As the Grey Knights charged, it was Marshal Feris Night of the Black Templars who was at the front with his sword raised high.


The Emperor Protects - Part 1
Inquisitor Marcus Profugus studied the holographic display in front of him with great interest. Things were looking bad. Though several regiments of Imperial Guard were engaged in the battle for the gargantuan, cavernous sections of the Hulk they were currently occupying, there seemed to be no end to the Ork reinforcements; their numbers swelling with every passing minute.
"How many men do we have engaged?" Marcus asked one of the officers next to him.
"Almost twenty-thousand foot soldiers; though estimates suggest that we may have already lost as many as four thousand," the man replied darkly.
The Inquisitor, despite his stereotypical unshakable mindset, raised an eyebrow in surprise. He had fought Xenos countless times before.. but he had never seen anything of this insane magnitude. The fighting had only been going on for five hours, and if they continued to lose troops at the current rate their forces would be spent by the morning.
"And what of the Orks? How numerous are their accursed forces?"
"Projections show that we're facing a horde of at least thirty thousand, perhaps more," the Officer replied, a shiver running down his spine as if it was painful to say the words. It almost was.
Marcus nodded contemplatively. Looking across the holographic display once more, he noticed their western-most line was held by the woefully outnumbered Ousian 23rd. Three-thousand men. Only three-thousand against almost triple their own number. The odds were not good. That wasn't even factoring in casualties; according to the display they had lost close on a third of their men already. Multiple requests for armored support from desperate and angry Ousian commanders flashed on the display, but they were all unanswered and all at least two hours old. Marcus wasn't surprised. Firstly, armored support had already been sent to their positions, but it had been entirely destroyed. Secondly, the Orks were well and truly amongst the Guardsmen in many places, so he was certain that the commanders were now too busy trying to hold their battle lines to be demanding support anymore.

He looked at their other forces - there were the Ousian 21st who were defending their current location - the strategic command of the Imperial forces itself - and they weren't doing too badly. However the Orks continued to charge at them madly and wrack their lines with dozens of crude artillery positions. For the most part, however, this was their most stable front. But Marcus knew that if the others fell, this position would be quickly overrun.

Their eastern forces were composed of the 8th Perciprian Dragoons heavy infantry and the 3rd Reth drop-troopers, who were currently doubling up as an airborne hit-and-run surgical strike force, swiftly eliminating small, vulnerable Ork targets before moving on. The 9th and 10th Perciprian regiments were going to be landing soon, which was definitely good news - a further eight-thousand heavy infantry was to be a very welcome sight. But where was the bloody armor? They needed tanks, Emperor damn it, and the Orks were taking full advantage of the Imperial's lack of armored support.
"When are we going to get armor reinforcements, Lord-General?" He addressed the overall commander of the Imperial Guard forces directly.
"Inquisitor," Lord-General Allanus turned to reply, "The Hikkian 17th are en route, eager to avenge their fallen company I might add."
"Excellent, but when they arrive have the Perciprian reinforcements accompany them; we can't allow the Orks to eliminate our armor before it even reaches the battlefront this time."
"Agreed, I was just thinking the same," replied the venerable tactician.
"What time can we expect them to arrive?" Marcus asked.
"Unfortunately, they are due to arrive tomorrow morning."
Marcus cursed quietly under his breath. "That means we'll have to hold out overnight. As I'm sure you're well aware, our eastern forces - the Ousian 23rd - are set to crumble within the next eight or so hours; by the evening that front will be lost unless we reinforce them."
The Lord-General nodded in agreement, "True, but I have decided upon a plan of action. When the 9th and 10th Perciprian Dragoons arrive in two hours, we will lead a mass counter-attack, combining their strengths with the Ousian 21st, in an attempt to destroy the Orks attacking our position. Once we have accomplished that, we can set our goals to relieving the embattled Ousian 23rd."
"A risky strategem, Lord-General, which will be both costly in time and life. Do you really believe we can accomplish this before the west falls?"
"Inquisitor, we have little choice but to hope we can and have faith in victory. The Emperor protects."
All officers within earshot repeated the phrase, simultaneously speaking and making the sign of the Aquila over their chests.
"Indeed he does, but it's men that win wars at the cost of their own blood," the Inquisitor said, the grim truth of the statement not lost upon any of the officers.
"If this gamble doesn't pay off, then we may as well just consign our souls to the Emperor now and put a Las bolt through our brains. It'd save time," moaned a junior liaison officer from one of the various regiments stuck in this meat-grinder. A single shot rang out from across the hologram display board, hitting the liaison officer square in the eyes, taking his head off messily. All eyes in the room turned to the intimidating form of Lord Commissar Praxuss, who holstered his smoking Bolt pistol without a word. "Carry on," he said quietly. Slowly, the command centre regained its chaotic atmosphere; everyone working all the harder after the execution that had just occurred. A small Servitor appeared quickly to clean up the mess.
"Well gentlemen, there you have it. I think that-"
"Lord-General!" Came an anxious shout from across the room.
"What is it?" Allanus spun on the spot to look at the speaker, angry at being interrupted. The whelp had better have a good reason for his rudeness, or else he'd have Praxuss expend another round. The communications officer stood to attention and offered a curt salute. "Sirs," he glanced nervously around at the mighty Imperial heroes that gazed back at him with mild interest, "We just received a transmission, Emperor bless us, reinforcements have just arrived!"
The interest of the commanders peaked instantly. Lord-General Allanus was the first to speak, "Is it the Perciprian Dragoons? They're not scheduled to arrive for another two hours!"
"No sir, even better!" The excited communique officer exclaimed.
"Well have out with it boy, who is it?" Marcus ordered.
The officer handed him the data-slate that recorded the message, explaining vaguely as he did so, "Angels sir! The Emperor has sent his Angels to save us!"

Inquisitor Marcus Profugus smiled. "I think this war just turned in our favor."

The Emperor Protects - Part 2





The ramp slammed down on the metallic ground with a clank, the Thunderhawk it was attached to hissing out out of vents and its engines were whirring to a stop. Out of the massive gunship came a retinue of awesome warriors; clad in the finest armor and armed with the finest weapons the Imperium could muster. They were the Adeptus Astartes; the Emperor's Angels of Death; the Space Marines. One of the approaching warriors stood out from the rest; his armor far more magnificent than those he commanded. He carried a great warhammer in one hand, and a Mk 7 Power Armor helmet in the other. He was flanked by ten warriors with white helmets; veterans of their chapter - warriors who had served for centuries, and could slaughter dozens with but their own fists.

The hallowed veterans met with the Imperial officers, dispensing with pleasantries.
"Captain Jordan Gaius of the Imperial Fists fifth Battle Company," the lead Marine introduced himself, "and you would be?"
"Lord-General Allanus," the grizzled commander turned to introduce his fellows, each by name, until finally he indicated to the armored figure hovering nearby, "and that is Inquisitor Profugus."
Captain Gaius acknowledged the young Inquisitor with a curt nod, before turning to a second warrior behind him, "This is veteran-sergeant Santos, my second-in-command."

Marcus studied the Captain; his face was covered with scars earned in battle centuries before he had even been born, and his silver hair was close-cropped and pristine. His yellow armor was covered in ancient battle damage, and a long, flowing cloak trailed behind him. The Thunder Hammer he held at rest was easily as tall as a man, and hummed with hidden power. An archaic Bolt pistol was holstered in a well-worn holster at his side. Truly, they were in the presence of a mortal God.

"What is your situation?" Demanded the Captain, and Lord-General Allanus met the gaze of the Space Marine that towered above him at almost double his height. "Our western forces are set to crumble by the evening, they need immediate support Captain."

Gaius nodded. Both men were wise enough to know that no more time need be wasted here, for every second spent in discussion was a second that could be spent putting a Bolt round in an Orks' skull. "Very well, I shall take the bulk of my forces there," He turned to Santos, "You will remain here, keep me updated and act as my presence here until such a time that I am reunited with my Guard counterpart."
"Yes, Captain," Santos replied, his disappointment at not joining the battle plain in his voice, but he corrected himself, knowing that it was his duty to serve in whatever way Gaius deemed fit. He also knew that his Power sword would taste greenskin blood before this war was done. He and his squad turned to join the entourage of Guard officers. Gaius turned and embarked his Thunderhawk, the mighty craft roaring as it took off. Soon after, half a dozen more such craft followed it, heading west.

Santos spoke to the Lord-General, "We must return to your command centre."
"Yes, let us return," Allanus replied, walking off to their headquarters.

Marcus smiled.

Death From Above - Part 2
The Imperial forces - specifically the Ousian 23rd - were being overrun. Hundreds upon hundreds of good, honest men would never again see their home; embrace their loved ones or share a bottle of their regiments' finest Lausk with their comrades and friends after a hard-won battle. They lay, crumpled and brutalized; most barely recognisable. But that didn't matter now. Their deaths didn't matter now. All that mattered now was the death of Warboss Warklaw Gordakka, the terrible beast that was responsible for all these deaths. Not because he killed them all - though kill many he did - but because a horde beyond counting of his own hated kind had flocked to him at his call, like hungry birds to bread crumbs.

The ground was literally a green tide as far as the eye could see, however Captain Jordan Gaius' genhanced vision could pick out each and every ramshackle Ork vehicle as he observed the great battle below them from his Thunderhawk's porthole. He watched with a smile as other Thunderhawks strafed the Ork forces with bombs and shots from the great cannons mounted on their backs; and he took great delight in observing the destruction those mighty craft caused. Other, more ponderous Thunderhawk variants carrying heavy armor deployed further back, lowering the revered Land Raider and Predator battle tanks to the ground with utmost care, so that their destructive purpose may continue to be fulfilled with all haste. He also noted the deployance of one of the two Vindicators that had been attached to his large task force. Sergeant Cruor was sure to reap much glory from this battle as he lead the Imperial Fists' armored forces from his ancient Land Raider, the Gladius, which had an impeccable record of service that stretched back almost eight-thousand years. The right to command it was only gifted to the most talented of the chapter's tank commanders. Turning his gaze back to the warriors that accompanied him, he and tactical Sergeant Vorus exchanged glances; the veteran-sergeant's expression telling him all he needed to know. But he already knew that his men would be battle-ready, for Sergeant Vorus was diligent in the extreme in the execution of his duties, and in the one-hundred and fifty-six years they had fought alongside each other, no battle-brother under Vorus' command had ever performed in a manner other than exemplary. But his squad had suffered many, many casualties over the years, and none of the Marines under Vorus' command were from the original roster - the seven Marines that had not been killed over Vorus' eighty-two years of command in his current position had all been promoted to either the Veteran company or as Sergeant's of their own squads in Gaius' company. What was more, Vorus was absolutely loyal to him, for he had twice been offered a place in the Veteran company, but had declined both times, deciding instead to remain in service of his Captain and friend. It was nigh-unheard of for any Space Marine to turn down such a promotion, let alone twice, and Gaius allowed himself to indulge in pride at the notion that he inspired such complete loyalty in his warriors.

From further down the Thunderhawk, he heard Sergeant Aurellias' deep voice chanting the Litanies of Devotion with his Assault squad whilst they oversaw final preparation of their wargear. But perhaps greatest of all of them, was Miguel. Old Miguel. The venerable Dreadnought stood motionless in the dark rear of the Thunderhawk, held in place by support pylons and mag-clamps. His enormous power fist and assault cannon lay still now, but when combat reached them, which soon it would, the serene stillness and silence of Miguel's armored form would disappear, shed like a snake's skin, and replaced by unstoppable battle-rage and fury as he waded through the greenskins. Gaius did not know exactly how old the Dreadnought was, but Miguel had served under nine Captain's previous to himself, making him the tenth commander of the fifth company that Miguel had fought, and imparted wisdom, for over the last two-thousand years. Gaius had himself served the Emperor as a Space Marine for two-hundred and seventy-six years, and one-hundred and four of those years he had spent as Captain of the fifth. But Miguel had always been there, ever since he had first layed his awestruck eyes upon the mighty Dreadnought as a Scout when his squad was attached to the fifth battle company for an extended campaign, and as he had risen through the ranks from Devaster to Assault Marine to Tactical Marine, and eventually to Sergeant and soon after Company Champion. Even now, as Captain, he was humbled in the presence of such a great warrior, who stood immune to the degrading affects of time.

As if sensing the Captain's thoughts, Miguel spoke quietly to Gaius, the fake voice emitted from the sarcophogus' vox-grille chilling him more than the Daemon-spawn of Korask or the rigorous and excrutiatingly painful genetic modification and initiation he had undergone to become one of the hallowed Adeptus Astartes, for he knew that it took a greater soul than his own to endure the terrible half-life of a Dreadnought.
"I.. remember.. when you were just.. a Scout, raw as uncooked fish," the Dreadnought rasped.
Jordan chuckled, "In the many centuries I have known you Miguel, you have never changed. You are one of the greatest heroes of our chapter, and I hope one day you will finally agree with me on that."
"Jordan.. I have told you.. many times.. I am no.. hero!" Miguel replied, hidden anger registable in his tone, "This.. is a tomb.. of living torture.. for myself and.. all other Ancients.. I wish for it to end so dearly.. but.. I live to serve, and live I do."
Captain Gaius bowed his head. To most Space Marines, to be, as Miguel would put it, incarcerated into a Dreadnought was a great honour - to serve the Emperor evermore. He had thought like that once, too. But having risen to his current rank, he learned over the years that to be a Dreadnought was to suffer and to become less human than the Adeptus Astartes already were. Never again would Miguel shout a warcry from his lips; never again would he tear out a traitors throat with his own hands or cut down a charging horde of Greenskins or Tyranids with boltgun and blade. Never again would he feel the warmth of the ground underneath his feet. Truly, Miguel had sacrificed everything it meant to be human in his pursuit of eternal service in the name of the Emperor of mankind. Gaius asked himself once again, was it worth it? Is there a point where service becomes too pure, and too much is lost? Or perhaps to not strive to reach such a state was blasphemy, and worthy of execution? Jordan sighed, and hefted his mighty Thunderhammer, gripping it tight as the voice of the pilot sounded over the vox, "Prepare for landing!"

The craft shuddered and slammed down to the ground with a clunk that reverbrated throughout its frame. Simultaneously, the restraints on the Marines and Miguel released, and as the ramp hit the ground, Gaius was already out, thumbing the activation rune on his weapon, and it crackled to life; dangerous energy corruscating about its head.

.....

You know, I still have hope in this RP.

If I don't then this place is doomed.

I am content to wait.
After all, I made you wait like a million years for the next instalment of my fanfic, right, Darko?

Gorskar.da.Lost wrote:I am content to wait.
After all, I made you wait like a million years for the next instalment of my fanfic, right, Darko?

[I see leverage for my argument] Why yes.. of course..



I always forget with my roleplays that I'm writing events, not books.

are we still permitted to do character posts? So long as they don't affect the main plot?

Lord Harrab wrote:are we still permitted to do character posts? So long as they don't affect the main plot?

Yep.