hmm, this Thread seems to have slowed a tad, can't have that!
So, here's the final section of Farseer Eluna's past, (but first an extra helping of Saint Ferosia.)
vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
A fearsome wind howled across the plains around the great host of Imperial Might, its birthplace high in the mounts above the ruins of the secot capital.
It whipped Saint Feorisa hair up and around where she stood at the vanguard of her crusade, Cryptkeeper held low at her side as she stared at the distant fortifications, she knew she had the forces to dig them out, but she had the numerical and logistical advantage, and no desire to combat demoniac hordes within the tight confines of a city. So her artillery were hammering the city non stop for weeks, and little remained of their target by now. Still the Earth-shakers rumbled.
Around her guardsmen where hurriedly digging foxholes, setting up weapon emplacements and bracing themselves for the counterattack that would surely come. Her Astartes bodyguards had been scattered throughout the force, reminding the guardsmen that the Emperor was watching them and expected them to do their duty.
'Movement, Your Holiness." Reported a storm-trooper beside her, passing her a pair of binoculars, "looks like the scum want us to put them out of their misery."
Ferosia said nothing, instead she examined the approaching foes with calculating eyes, noting distantly that it was primarily an armored force, tainted Leman russ tanks swarming around the massive form of a blood-red superheavy, and through the dust-cloud left in its wake she could make out the shrouded forms of troop carriers.
"Let us begin." she said softly, but everyone within sight heard it, and the sound of over three million guardsmen reading weapons cut through the howling wind.
Ferosia lifted her axe above her head, half turning to the Shadowsword and two Baneblade escorts parked at her shoulder, "Will of Steel, are you ready to do the Emperor's work?" "Ave Imperator!" the Super-heavy tank's commander replied, "Tracking target! Capacitors charged! All supporting forces, brace for volcano cannon fire and support!"
A soft wine grew louder and louder as a bright light began to form at the barrel of the tanks massive weapon then with a blinding flash and rumble like thunder, it fired.
For a split second a bright beam of energy connected the traitor super-heavy to it's loyalist cousin, before even the saint was forced to shield her eyes, when she allowed herself to look again, the Chaos tank was ablaze, the volcano shot having stuck it just below the turret.
a cheer rang out across the Imperial Lines at the sight, quickly drowned out by the rumble of tank engines as the Loyalist armor began to move to intercept the approaching column, spearheaded by the pair of Baneblades and the battle was joined.
soon the western section of the battle had become a ballet of armored vehicles weaving around each other in attempts to get a quick killing shot through their rivals rear armor.
The Imperial Baneblades didn't bother with such nonsense, instead they crushed those hostiles too slow to avoid them beneath massive tracks, before gutting others with bright las-cannon blasts from their sponsons, or annihilating them with a single shot of their main weapons.
confident that the first part of her plan was going to plan, she turned to the area of field directly to her front, where, just as Eluna had predicted, chaos infantry were approaching at a run, taking advantage of the distraction of the imperial tanks to close the distance and even at this distance she could see that they bore the most horrific of mutations, yet they should not be that fast....
"Inform all section commanders," she ordered, "Demoniac forces assail our centre line, have them be alert for possible flanking movements. We take not one step backwards. The Emperor protects."
"For the Emperor!" the men around her bellowed.
Feroisa closed her eyes, hefting Cryptkeeper in both hands before her, listening to the song it sang in her mind, then without full understanding what she was doing, she turned it so the blade was upright, facing the horde, then slammed it hilt first into the soil at her feet.
immediately the wind rose in ferocity, shrouding the imperial line in smoke and dust, then all of a sudden it died, and silence fell.
Yet the dust raised by the storm did not fall. Instead it had taken on the form of guardsmen, these shadow-forms forming a wall between the daemons and imperials, and angelic forms hovered above, their wings beating silently above the battle-line.
The deamons didn't slow at the unexpected reinforcements, and across the line heavy weapons found their range, autocannons scything down dozens of the inhuman hounds that lead the charge, while mortar shells landed behind them, ripping apart the pestilent infinity that followed.
But Ferosia didn't notice, her eyes where locked on the massive daemon at the heart of the horde, lithe and beautiful, yet deeply horrifying, directing the actions of its minions with numerous clawed limbs. a Secret Keeper, Eluna had called it, the embodiment of the Prince of Excess, and the focus of this wave of filth that had spewed from the festering wound that had been the city.
then the Saint was moving, axe held tightly in both hands, and the Angelic host soaring at her side as she charged. this is why she was here, why she had been born, no one else could face this horror and she would ask no other to do so. this was her destiny.
"For Eluna and the Emperor!" she bellowed, then with a crash like thunder, the Divine and Daemonic were locked in the battle for the very soul of the Crusade.
Cryptkeeper now proved her worth as a weapon, seeming to move in her hand to block, parry, and behead the horde of lesser daemons that sought to bar the Living Saint's relentless rush towards her foe. as each died, their was a thunderclap and they vanished, the blade of her axe glowing brightly, the curse of the blade living up to its promise.
Suddenly, she was alone, a circle of waring daemons and Angels surrounded her and the Secret Keeper, the massive creature swaying seductively as it regarded the human before it.
"i've been waiting for you." it hissed, its voice husky and beautiful, "I have so much to offer, if you would but listen." "Be silent daemon!" Ferosia bellowed, pointing the head of her axe at its face, "I am the Chosen Daughter of My Emperor!' She swung the axe to a low position behind her, its blade cutting through the loose topsoil, "And now it is time for you to die."
Feroisa charged, a hymn on her lips and his name in her mind as she slashed upwards at the creatures vile heart. But the Keeper of Secrets moved leisurely aside, its laughter soft and delicate, serving only to increase Feroisa's fury. the blade in her hand shifted as if to follow the foes evasive action, and the laughter turned to a scream of rage and pain as it severed an arm.
"Yngrnallen!" the Deamon shrieked, its almond shaped eyes locked on the axe, then snapped them up to those of the human facing her, but before it could continue, Ferosia revered the attack and slashed a deep wound across its chest, permitting dark ichor to splash the golden armor of the saint, and the creature dropped with a cry of anguish.
Ferosia stepped forward to finish it, raised the axe high in both hands, and paused in Confusion
Farseer Eluna knelt in the dirt at her feet, her face twisted in pain and shock, trying to hold her entrails inside her body as she looked up at her.
"what-?" Ferosia began, then the daemon struck, driving its fist through the Saints torso with a hiss of triumph.
"i'll claim her soul also," the Keeper of Secrets laughed, as Ferosia fell to the dirt, and licked her blood from its fingers with a long and sinuous tongue, "my Lord will suck her stone dry!"
The daemon threw back its head and laughed, ignoring the twitching of the human at its feet.
"you.....dare...." Ferosia muttered, "you..." her hand was reaching for the haft of her axe, which had fallen just out of reach, and the daemon, wanting to hear its foe's dying words, leaned in closer, "you.... dare.... wear her face?" Ferosia threw up her head as her hand found the axe, her eyes ablaze with holy light, "i will see you suffer within the depths of the Void!" Am explosion of divine energy thew the Keeper of Secrets on to its back, and as quick as it regained its feet, the Saint was faster, surrounded by the flaming form of the aquilla. the daemon tried to strike her down again, and was easily parried, the counter stoke removing another limb, than another, until the secret keeper was nothing more than a crippled torso, unable to flee and abandon its mortal shell by the fury of a living saint.
Ferosia knelt beside her crippled foe and wrapped its hair around her fist tugging its head up so she could whisper in her ear. "I would tell you to convey this message to your infernal master," she told it softly, her eyes still ablaze, "but i know you will never see him again from your prison in the Void, so you'll just have to remember these words:
"I love two things in this word, The Immortal God-Emperor, and the Woman you tried to imitate, and there is nothing your Dark Lord can offer me more valuable than that."
then with the daemons pleading and promises of power ringing empty in her ears, she adjusted her grip on Cryptkeepers haft, and slit its inhuman throat.
Character name: Tyrial Bledsoe
Character age: 27
Character race: Space Marine
Character profession: tactician
Character personality: Bold, Natural leader
Character appearance: Dark hair, Green Eyes, 5 o'clock shadow, ostentatious armor
Character height: 7' 2"
Character equipment: MK6 Armor, combi-melta, satchels, frag grenades
Element206 wrote:I would like to join the game or rpg.
Character name: Tyrial Bledsoe
Character age: 56
Character race: Space Marine
Character profession: tactician
Character personality: Bold, Natural leader
Character appearance: Dark hair, Green Eyes, 5 o'clock shadow, ostentatious armor
Character height: 8' 4"
Character equipment: MK6 Armor, combi-melta, satchels, frag grenades
Welcome aboard, although.. your Marine is seriously lacking in age and height, so I've taken the liberty to amend this.
As for his profession/rank.. "tactician"?
Other than that; read the entire thread and you're set to go!
Character name: Painhook da Fast'un
Character age: 30
Character race: Ork
Character profession: Biker Nob
Character personality: Sadistic, Speed addiction
Character appearance: Burly, Green and just generally orky
Character height: 8'
Character equipment: Big, fast and flashy bike (rocket engine and small wingz-ta help with da jumpin), big choppa, cybork bitz and da painhook- a whip that can be attatched to his bike that has barbed hooks-catching on those (un)fortunate enough to be missed, dragging them behind the insanely fast bike.
Character bio/background story: A speed addicted ork nob. With a big, barbed whip. Part of Warklaws WAAGH. End of story.
Element206 wrote:I would like to join the game or rpg.
Character name: Tyrial Bledsoe
Character age: 56
Character race: Space Marine
Character profession: tactician
Character personality: Bold, Natural leader
Character appearance: Dark hair, Green Eyes, 5 o'clock shadow, ostentatious armor
Character height: 8' 4"
Character equipment: MK6 Armor, combi-melta, satchels, frag grenades
Welcome aboard, although.. your Marine is seriously lacking in age and height, so I've taken the liberty to amend this.
As for his profession/rank.. "tactician"?
Other than that; read the entire thread and you're set to go!
Ok will do. I will change the profession -- Bledsoe is a Sternguard Veteran
Rabtorian wrote:Seeing as people are joining, could I?
Character name: Painhook da Fast'un
Character age: 30
Character race: Ork
Character profession: Biker Nob
Character personality: Sadistic, Speed addiction
Character appearance: Burly, Green and just generally orky
Character height: 8'
Character equipment: Big, fast and flashy bike (rocket engine and small wingz-ta help with da jumpin), big choppa, cybork bitz and da painhook- a whip that can be attatched to his bike that has barbed hooks-catching on those (un)fortunate enough to be missed, dragging them behind the insanely fast bike.
Character bio/background story: A speed addicted ork nob. With a big, barbed whip. End of story.
I suggest that you either:
1) Be apart of Gorskar's Waaagh!
2) Be apart of Warklaw's Waaagh!
3) Be the leader of your own (small) tribe of speed freaks.
Otherwise, welcome to the roleplay, read the whole thread and get posting!
Vulkan_He'stan wrote:I think I'm going to have to drop out of this one
can't keep up and write enough, often enough.
Seems like a good enough move.
Element206 wrote:
Darkvoidof40k wrote:
Element206 wrote:I would like to join the game or rpg.
Character name: Tyrial Bledsoe
Character age: 117
Character race: Space Marine
Character profession: Stern Guard Veteran
Character personality: Bold, Natural leader
Character appearance: Dark hair, Green Eyes, 5 o'clock shadow, ostentatious armor
Character height: 8' 4"
Character equipment: MK6 Armor, combi-melta, satchels, frag grenades
Welcome aboard, although.. your Marine is seriously lacking in age and height, so I've taken the liberty to amend this.
As for his profession/rank.. "tactician"?
Other than that; read the entire thread and you're set to go!
Ok will do. I will change the profession -- Bledsoe is a Sternguard Veteran
Painhook was enjoying himself. As he and his biker boys drove through the tightly packed men of the imperial guard, he laughed. They lef a trail of visceral destruction, entrails spread all over the place. Painhook caused the most damage. As he drove, Guardsman upon guardsman was sucked under the tires of his massive warbike. The came out the other side a fine, pinkish paste. He took a swipe with his big choppa, decapitating or otherwise killing ten men. The last was smarter than the rest, jumping backwards, out of his way. Unfortunately, the man could not get out of the way in time, and his stomach was sliced open and his entrails caught on the choppa. Even more unfortunately for the man, his innards were so firmly attatched to the rest of his inner workings that he was half turned inside out and promtly smeard across five metres of floor. Painhook couldn't remember having this much fun since that time where he and his boys had a race through that chaos ritual. Heh. Good times. As he drove pain suffering and death were in his wake. One guardsman had his hand sucked into the engine of the bike and one of his knuckle bones was shot back out, passing through his eye and loging through his brain. He twitched and spasmed, fallin g to the ground. Painhook didn't notive. He revved his engine, clearing its gears and sending an arterial shower over those nearby. One man retched and bent over, trying to vomit only to have his torso ripped off by a passing bike. His legs remaind standing for a moment, then toppled over. A man got caught on Painhook's namesake weapon, the painhook. He was dragged behind the bike by the viscous spikes and barbs of the whip and his legs were slowly sanded off by the rough metal floor, his arms coming off in chunks every time he bounced down. he would be dead before too long. Painhook swa a Comissar. Accelerating as fast as possible, his boys following his lead, he drove at the Comissar. It was over in seconds. The man impacted the front of the bike, his legs and waist being puled off by the tire. The forced of the impact caused his bones to smash into a pulp and his spine to come out of his back. His head came off and both eyes popped out. One was held in place by the potical nerve but the other busrt out and flew directly into Fugnut's face, where it liquidised upon impact. Fugnut wiped his face clean, and followed Painhook and the rest of the boys down a long metal corridor.
(That was actually a more enjoyable post than some of the others I have seen on here, there were some ways of dying in there that my orky mind had not yet contemplated
Marcus jogged across a cratered landing strip. Nearby the burning wreckage of both imperial and ork planes alike turned the night sky an orange hue. Marcus stopped for shelter under a small bridge over a small trench to avoid falling bombs, bits of planes and other junk. As he went to move Robur appeared from the shadows, just out of nowhere. Marcus almost jumped, normally Marcus could sense the presence of nearby souls through an innate psychic power but there was something about Robur that just made him so damn hard to detect...
"Inquisitor!" Robur shouted out over the din of explosions and flak fire, "It is not safe out here!"
Marcus pointed to a burning streak which zoomed closed and impacted the ground. The unrecognizable plane bounced once... twice.... three times before sliding to a slow, screeching halt. When it finally halted, Marcus raised his eyebrows as he said "I can tell."
"Come with me!" Robur shouted, though he more or less grabbed Marcus' arm before he could reply and was dragged off by what must have been a very stressed out bodyguard...
-------------------
Later, when in a sheltered dugout, the two finally sat down.
"I was hoping to get to Navy Command you see." Marcus started, "I was going to look for..."
"No need to explain yourself for that Inquisitor, but I have to say you were very blunt with the Lord Commissar."
"You were blunt yourself." Marcus said hurtfully, rubbing his arm.
"There is a difference when I'm being blunt to do my job and protect you and where your accusing the Lord Commissar of not for-filling his duty to the Emperor. He is a dangerous man Inquisitor, you must be careful."
"Yes, but I know that we could survive if he ever turned against us. It has been a long time but I found I have a few friends in this task-force."
"The Commissar's bolt pistol trumps your friends Inquisitor."
"Well I still have you..."
"Your mad, you'll get us both killed in the end."
"No Robur, I'm going to get myself killed and you'll die trying to protect me, that's how it works."
Robur chuckled, "I guess" He leaned forward "but your still young, you have yet to learn the subtleties of politics; as you proved today."
"I think I remember you saying the same thing to Felix back on Paxx..."
-------------------6 years previous------------------
They had survived; sneaked, crawled, starved, played dead, hid and ran. By all odds Marcus and Felix should've been dead, but after three days of surviving they were in a hitch.
Caught among 50 members of the mountain resistance. Most were surviving members of the militia who had held off the first waves of attacks at the beginning of the civil war. They were veterans, survivors, like the inquisitor and his student. In a conflict known as ' the Michael pocket' to those few historians who bothered to looked at the relatively unmeaning events of the Paxx X-IIV civil war.
Armed with autoguns, grenades and flak armour; the fate of these outnumbered, outgunned men against Skittari and monster-men as the resistance called them should have been certain death, but something miraculous happened...
---------------------
Marcus ran through the trench, shells fell either side of him. The supposed 'AdMech' forces had been shelling the resistance pocket for three days flat. Quad launcher mortar shells and heavier calibre fire power had been brought to bear against the mountain top base of operations. The motley army of 50 fighting men, less than a platoon, had been cornered in this place. A large stretch of trench lines, bunkers, dugouts and bastions. Overlapping fields of fire, large 'dead zones' and a huge no-man's land between the 'AdMech' and the resistance coupled with terrain allowing only light amour and infantry made sure that it was a death trap.
Marcus slid into one of the bunkers, here the officers and leaders of the rag-tag resistance were gathered round a map of the area. Somehow the resistance had procured a single Leman Russ Battle Tank - Exterminator patten - and dragged it up into the hills. Equipped with heavy bolters on sponson mounts it would be pivotal for the defense of the Michael Pocket, just, that was the problem, everyone was arguing where it was needed.
Moving up behind Felix, Marcus observed the plans. There were two ways into the pocket, via a steep gully or via a flat slope. Armour was expected on the flat slope but a heavy infantry push was expected up the gully. The leaders argued the tank was needed on the slope to halt the armour, the other argued that it was needed in the gully to stop the wave of infantry. In the end Felix put an end to it. Ordering that it should be place by the gully, but some of the men there were to move to the flat slope. If the tank was needed it could fall back to the command bunker and defend both passes. Within minutes of the decision being made the shelling stopped.
They were coming....
Ooc: I would finish this but I'm too tired at the moment.
Painhook looked over his shoulder. He saw his Deffbikers, as the were known by friend and foe, behind him, and the wannabees behind them. There was Rolla, a monstrous hybrid of Deff dread and warbike, an ork who loved speed and wanted to be dead killy. There was Eata, the slightly mad ork who relished every chance to eat his foes, alive or dead. He was currently licking the brand new red paint job off his bike. Then there was Kwikfiks, a mek who was at first an assistant of the big mek when Warklaw orderd the Deffbikers be the test-bed of any new gadgets who had come to be an expert in these particular bikes, calling them by name as one would a faithful squig. There was, of course, himself, their fearless and peerless leader. And then... then there was Fugnut. The luckiest/unluckiest ork alive at the same time. He was a wierd one. Painhook couldn't put the wierdness down to one thing. Maybe it was being teleported into the wall of the big meks shed and crawling out of a tiny pipe a week later. Maybe it was firing the boomgun welded onto the front of his bike, flipping upside-down and landing on his head. Maybe it was being fired through a Shokk Attack gun with his bike and coming out the other side on fire. Maybe it was taking a lascannon blast to the face. Or maybe it was the fact that he permanently glowed pink after driving through the exact centre of a chaos-boy ritual just at the climax. Or maybe it was one of the smaller things like driving into tanks and always getting zapped by everybodies Wierdoys. Ah well. He could still fight, and drive, which was all he needed to be able to do. The wannabees, or cannon fodder as Painhook liked to call them, were hangesrs on who hoped to be selected to join the prestigious ranks of the Deffbikers one day. Idiots. Painhook gunned his engine and carried on.
++++++++SCANNING TARGET++++++
++++++THREAD DETECTED+++
++++STATUS: AWESOME. CURRENTLY INACTIVE+++
++++CO-ORDINATES LOCKED++++
++++PLANNING POSSIBLE HOLDING PATTERN UNTILL FURTHER ACTION IS AUTHORIZED++++
+++++PLEASE STANDBY++++
++++FURTHER CHARACTER HISTORY POST INBOUND++++
Eluna stood at the summit of Heaven's Peak, the fearsome winds that prowled the Mountains of the Moon here on this Imperial Shrine world were constant and unforgiving, tugging at the Farseer's robes and hair so much they were horizontal yet no force in the Galixy could tear her eyes from the sight before her.
The Tomb of Saint Feroisa occupied the summit of the Mountain, surrounded by an ocean of white cloud while far above the stars she had loved so much shone uncaring upon the final marker that a proud and noble warrior had ever existed.
Behind The Eldar intruder were the miles and miles of steps that climbed the cliff face of the mountain to lead to this place, accompanied by the fast flowing and Crystal clear waters of the stream that started here, beside the Tomb. Some Mon-keigh legends state it sprang from the rock the moment the Saint had died. They had named the waterfall that fell into the Cathedral gardens as The Tears of The Saint
Eluna could not believe that. She dipped her hand into the water. It was colder than ice. Ferosia had never cried.
Walking as if the strong wind was not present she closed to the marble structure, its surface engraved with Imperial Symbols and statues of her commanders standing seninel at ever corner, their swords raised in mournful triumph.
The thick doors were unlocked, as her vision had predicted, and the Farseer pushed them gently open and stepped through.
Stairs led the way down into the body of the mountain, glowing braziers providing illumination for the pilgim to navigate the path, and Feroisa noted that the walls of the tunnel were as smooth as glass and engraved with the names of soldiers, from lowly troopers and NCOs to Generals and Space Marines, all who had fallen in the quest to reclaim these worlds were here, their memory carved into the rock so that they would also never be forgotten.
For almost half an hour the Eldar descended, her hand running down the sooth surface of the wall of Remembrance as she counted the names, until the passage opened out into a larger one, the floor made with a dark and smooth looking rock that the Eldar knew was not native to any of the worlds reclaimed, but instead had been carried from the Saints Homeword, some backwater on the other side of the Imperium, doubtless that world had been risen to Shine world too, but where she had come from was unimportant to this unusual visitor.
In the centre of the chamber was a Hololith, projecting the worlds reclaimed and the crusade's path between them in a series of lines and crystal like dots, the planets themselves growing larger and displaying facts about the battles raged there as the glowing line reached the, then shrinking again as the Imperial host moved on.
For a while the Farseer watched the display for a while, memories of each battle flashing though her head as she took the time to reorganize her hair, untill the final planet filled the display. the One battle she had missed, and the once where the saint had died. As she had foreseen.
Feeling guilty she wrenched her attention away and to the relics that stood in their own alcoves around the walls. There was the sword she had carried as a Stormtrooper sergeant, the ragged and camo painted armor from that time in the alcove beside it, then the helmet of the Chaod Space Marine that had tired to assassinate her on the day of her rise to sainthood, an Alpha Legionnaire that had taken great pains to gain acess to the saints chambers, only to have his plans ruined by an unwelcome factor.
"Me." Eluna thought proudly as she moved past, examining the Hull plate of the Baneblade "Soul Warden" that the saint had stood on during that celebration where she had honored her non-human friend so.
The opposite side of the room held more treasures, the instructions Feroisa had left for her tomb and her shrine-world that it would live on, suspended in a stasis field so her written hand would never fade, the blood-splattered guard issue notepad note book she had written in on, and the regimental standard of the Armageddon 567th Mechanized that she had been wrapped in as they carried her from the field.
Eluna was now standing before the doors to the tomb proper, engraved with payers to their emperor and inlaid with his symbol, yet that was not why the Eldar hesitated.
She knew that Ferosia had suffered a fatal wound that day, knew that the saint had held onto life for weeks, knew that she had hoped her friend would return before the end, and knew that the final betrayal of her continued absence was what had killed the saint. the wound suffered by the enemy's hand was nothing compared to that of her friend.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Eluna pushed the door open and stepped into the inner sanctum.
And there she was, still wearing the golden armour Eluna had seen her in last, mended to hide the wound, and the saints hands still clasped around the hilt of the axe as she lay as if sleeping within a glass case surrounded by fresh flowers from her Homeworld, and lit by candles that flicked in brackets across the walls.
The shape of the walls intrigued the visitor, and she followed their carved image up, recognizing the folds of the robe and design of the waithbone armor until she came to the marble face of herself, holding cryptkeeper out to the hands of the saint, the haft of the blade forming the central rafter of the roof, and the carved likeness of the sait formed the other wall, the eyes of the two locked in stone across the weapon. an eternal reminder of the duty she had bestowed upon the human woman and the lies she had told for the future of both their races.
Eluna crossed the floor to stand beside the body, reaching into a pouch at her belt and pulling a bright red stone from its depths. with a flick of her hand the clasp of the case opened silently, the stasis field within dissipating as the Eldar woman placed the Soulstone within a recess built for it within the chestplate, gave the blonde hair a gentle touch, then quickly resealed the casket, turning and striding quickly away.
She knew the Human warrior-women that tended this place would not notice her intrusion and addition, yet it would not be a good idea to be here when they returned.
Ouside and back within the grip of the wind once more, she paused to regard the tomb again, then vanished into the dawn light, she had wasted enough time on personal feelings. now she must continue her work, as she had promised the woman that rested below.
The Planet of Radia needed her influence, and the fates were alining one more time.
She would fulfill the role they demand, then perhaps she would finally be allowed to rest beneath cold stone and glass, beside the one person that had known her pain.
Chowderhead wrote:Where the hell can I find a steamroller?
Damn it, Dark, always making me get the heavy machinery...
PLAYER EVENT
A Steamroller lands on Chowder, crushing him and causing his body to explode into a massive messy paste all over the ground under the steamroller. An old women destined to die of gonorrhea appears and licks up aforementioned Chowder-paste.
Sawbones turned the Krork's skinless kull over in his shiny metallic claw, inspecting it in the same manner a butcher might inspect a prime cut of meat. Krork. How much they had changed? How far had their empire expanded across the stars to plague the young races? If he cared, these are the questions the Necron would ask. But, he did not. Immortality would do that to you.
The battle, if it could be called that, had gone smooth enough-Sawbones amd 5 of his Flayed ones had matirealised in the midst of a mob of surprised Krorks doing something foul with the mutilate dbody. The razor-sharp needle fingers had penertrated the Green hides with worrying ease, audibly snapping bone and sending a spray of viscera splattering against the walls. 7 of the Greenskinned brutes had died in the first minute, either at the 'hands' (OOC; heh heh...) of Sawbones or his minions. One thing to be said for these aliens, the lord conceded, they didn't scare easy, and within a moment of the initial assault the shock had worn of and the monsters had charged, yelling their oh so inventive battlecry of "WAAAAGH!!!" as they went. The monsters never changed. All that said, it had been over in minutes; an entire mob annihalated with not a single casualty. It almost made the Lord wish he could still smile. Almost.
What concerned sawbones was the gunfire that was growing louder and louder-it appeared that, perfectly timed though their ambush had been (he had hoped the sound of the larger battle would hide them), it hadn't been enough, and now more of the Krork had come expecting a fight. They'd be dissapointed. The Flayed ones fell limp before dematerilising back into a green flash of light. As Sawbones turned to follow his warriors, he noticed the corpse of one of the Krork that was still pretty much intact. The Surgeon part of his brain started talking.
Little lord Fauntleroy wrote:No matter the situation there is always time to dissect some Orks in interesting ways.
(Will the player who has not killed any orks yet please stand up?
*cricket chirps*
Thats what I thought.....
Srsly thought where are all the genestealers? This is a friggin SPACE HULK after all.... )
Well they're not the only trump card I'm holding back, so those of you that survive long enough (another good 20-30 pages ) will still have plenty of surprises to face!
Well, we will survive...But we need an event first, to know IF we will survive, and get this thing back on the road. Damn, it's been so long, I don't know what my character was doing in my last IC post.
Scrazza wrote:Well, we will survive...But we need an event first, to know IF we will survive, and get this thing back on the road. Damn, it's been so long, I don't know what my character was doing in my last IC post.
It's been 15+ pages, Scrazz. No-one knows what's going on. I've been trapped in Event Limbo with Kais and Darko, and don't know if I should drop out of Kais', and gak squat has been happening over there.
Scrazza wrote:Let's get to the point. Can I do some minor RPing today?
Chowderhead wrote:I wish I could, but Dark has evented me into a corner.
Alright, alright, I give in. You can both do a tiny little bit of roleplaying. But don't do anything major please. Character feelings and thoughts are a good idea.
But leave the whacky whacky smacky smacky BOOM! to me.
Character Name: Orto Lucian
Character Age: 176
Character Race: Space Marine
Character Profession: Epistolary
Character Personality: Reserved, Calm
Character Appearance: Tall, with a shock of pure white hair
Character Height: 8' 6
Character Equipment: Artificer Armour, force lance and storm shield
Charcter Bio: The second most senior librarian in the Sons of Orar chapter, Orto Lucian is both a fearsome warrior and a learned librarian. His hate of tyranids has driven him many a time to leave the fortress monastery on Armato to scour space hulks in an attempt to forever cleanse the galaxy of their stain, accompanied only by his bodyguard of sternguard veterans.
Character Name: Orto Lucian
Character Age: 176
Character Race: Space Marine
Character Profession: Epistolary
Character Personality: Reserved, Calm
Character Appearance: Tall, with a shock of pure white hair
Character Height: 8' 6
Character Equipment: Artificer Armour, force lance and storm shield
Charcter Bio: The second most senior librarian in the Sons of Orar chapter, Orto Lucian is both a fearsome warrior and a learned librarian. His hate of tyranids has driven him many a time to leave the fortress monastery on Armato to scour space hulks in an attempt to forever cleanse the galaxy of their stain, accompanied only by his bodyguard of sternguard veterans.
The imperial fleet had taken a battering from the heavy fire it had sustained from the Tomb Sanguinis. As such, it could not respond as a single unidentified spacecraft sped past it, plummeting towards the surface of the hulk.
Inside the modified drop pod, Orto Lucian readied himself for battle, chanting the litanies of faith as he checked his weapons. Around him, ten other imposing space marines were gathered, they too were making sure that they were ready to do battle. These men wore ornate armour, with components from various marks of armour, drawn from the armour of the chapter's famed heroes of old. All were members of the first company, veterans of decades of bitter warfare in mankind's struggle for survival amongst the stars.
Suddenly, the drop pod impacted on the surface of the hulk, and the doors slammed down, revealing their hellish surroundings. Lucian looked out through the cloud of dust thrown up by their landing as the veterans fanned out and secured their drop zone. A hundred years of constant warfare could not have prepared him for this.
"Emperor have mercy on our souls," he whispered as he stepped out into the dusty air.
He lay against a wall, blood steaming from a gash above his eyebrow. How long he lay there, he couldn't tell. Hours? Minutes? Seconds? The explosion sent him flying backwards against a wall, the bang sending vague memories from his youth through his vision. He could see his father speaking to him, but he couldn't hear him. His father's voice was muffled, and a high, shrieking sound pierced his ears. Charkos couldn't tell how these two different sound pitches could be combined, but it must have been something strange going on. His vision slowly dissapeared, the two different noises coalsing in one sound. More explosions. He opened his eyes, wiping away the blood with his shirt. It didn't do much good, as his sleeves were drenced in blood as well. Not his blood. Ork's blood, Ousian's blood. Gathering his senses, he pulled out his laspistol, and picked up his machette. He had lost his lasgun earlier on in the battle. It didn't matter much, it's ammo was long spent. Checking his laspistol's ammo pack whilst running on, he tried to locate his comrades. He could ee sergeant Blach, Pulver, and some other sergeants organising a defense whilsth Orks ran freely in Ousian battle lines. He would avange his kinsmen.
The drop pod had punched through the outer layer of the Tomb Sanguinis, landing in a dingy chamber a level below the surface. Accordingly, the sounds of battle above were muffled to the ears of Lucian, despite his many genetic implants.
He looked around the place he had landed, and a wave of nausea threatened to engulf him. Strapped to a table in front of him was a bloody mess that once had been a human being. All of the skin was missing from the body, as well as both of the eyes. The removal had been surgical, clean but no less horrifying. Lucian recognised the work of an old nemesis, one that had killed his one, best friend and mentor.
"Sawbones..." Lucian's voice was harsh with hatred as the word left his lips. Suddenly, a figure shifted in the shadows. Blindingly fast, it lept on to one of the veterans, who fell screaming as the monsters claws dug into the armour, trying to find a gap. The others opened fire wildly, bolts and bursts of gunfire lighting up the darkness. The flayed one fell chittering to the floor, great rents torn into it's metallic form. The veteran got up and picked up his boltgun, swearing profusely.
Lucian himself was the next to come under attack. A savage blow to the side of his head sent him reeling as another creature jumped on him. His reaction was much faster. In one fluid movement, he seized it around the neck, holding it high, as with the other hand he raised his lance and drove it straight through the body. The monster twitched and fell still. Lucian pulled out the lance and spat on the body.
"Suffer not the alien to live, scum!" He wasn't even sweating.
Getting an Ork to describe the thrill of speed is like getting a druggie to describe a high. You can't. The feel of the wind in their face and the adrenelin pumping through their systems is, to them, near orgasmic. It is a bombartment of the senses, activating a hard-wired high in their brain. This was built into them. To stop one from enjoying speed would be to stop a human from feeling love, or pain, or anger. It would be to stop a Slaneshi cultist from excess or one of Khorne from slaughter. It would be to remove a part of what makes an Ork. Of course, Orks don't understand this, but it Helps to explain why they drive vehicles that are as likely to blow up as to move forward. It is, more importantly for Conscript Delfus at least, the reason Conscript Delfus was bouncing up and down behind a bike, a thousand Barbs embedded in his skin as Painhook Roared in laughter.
Yeah.. um, sorry about the lack of event. Spontaneous sleeping, a large, complicated social life and rather painful injures have gotten in the way.
Apologies dudes. I have long since planned out what the outcome of the remaining events will be, I just haven't had the time or mental energy to do them. Rest assured that no event will ever stall the roleplay like this again.
black templar wrote:Rammstein is my second favorite band.
Off the top of my head, nothing tops them for me when it comes to sheer rocking. Metallica are close, but just nowhere near as brutally heavy as half of Rammstein's songs.
Seriously, I fall asleep listening to this stuff on loud volume.
Ah, love that song. It used to be my favorite (and it was the first of their songs I ever heard.. incidently Du Hast was the first Rammstein song I heard - and it's still my favorite. In fact I first heard them both in the same video on youtube! It was a Warhammer 40k stop-motion and all.. ah, the joys of coincidence!), but I have since decided that Master of Puppets is a superior album to Ride The Lightning.
IamIronMan wrote:I knew that a black sabbath reference would crop up somewhere
Dun, dun, dun dun dun, dunna dunna dunna dun dun dun. Say it in tune (as best as you can) now, whilst watching the video. That's right, I can now write sounds! *cool shades: on!*
IamIronMan wrote:I knew that a black sabbath reference would crop up somewhere
Dun, dun, dun dun dun, dunna dunna dunna dun dun dun.
One of the best tunes ever
Now available in Darkolyrics! Buy now, and get absolutely nothing FREE! That's right, on top of completely nothing, I am now offering an additional absolutely nothing as well for FREE! So hurry up and gimme cash - you don't want to miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to make me richer!
Several posts deleted. We appreciate and understand that threads of this nature will naturally wander a little bit off topic, but this board/thread is not for discussion of bands/similar or for "funny" pictures of cats"
reds8n wrote:Several posts deleted. We appreciate and understand that threads of this nature will naturally wander a little bit off topic, but this board/thread is not for discussion of bands/similar or for "funny" pictures of cats"
Push old people away in favor of self preservation.
Load up the shotguns.
Go zombie hunting.
...
Braaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinsssssssss for the Braaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinsssssssss God! Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimbsssss for the Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimbsssss Throne! Waaaagh! For Tanith! /confusement
Been busy with mates most of the week, and I've got mates staying over tonight.. so we're probably looking at next weekend for the event.
Scrazza wrote:Darko's busy modifying F:NV. I think.
And failing in that.
QFT
Guilty as charged.
Shattered after a night with the guys, mostly from high sugar intake and lack of sleep.. went to bed at about 8AM this morning and collapsed from exhaustion.. only woke up about fifty minutes ago.
Y'all should read it all again from the beginning to regain the sense of epicness this roleplay once wore like an aura. ---------------____________________---------------____________________---------------____________________---------------____________________---------------____________________---------------____________________
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, and as they did so they made the symbol 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.
His Will Be Done
Matthewson raised his Plasma pistol and fired with a speed and precision that he had honed over thirty-five years of fighting alongside the ranks of the Imperial Guard. A blinding plasma bolt was projected from the barrel of the handgun, incinerating the artificial air that it passed through, before hitting the massive frame of Warboss Warklaw and searing through his right flank - the crude armor made up of plates of metal offering absolutely no protection to the archaic weapons' attack. The great greenskin roared in anger and pain, but was undeterred in his alien rage, and began to charge towards the Commissar and Lieutenant. Garl felt sweat running down his back; the hot blood on the side of his face; the roaring chaos of the brutal mêlée that had utterly engulfed them; the iron of his Chainsword's grip which he clasped firmly within a two-handed grip growled like a homicidal turbine out to mince some kittens. He was acutely aware of the screams of dying men and greenskins as they were cut down viciously by each other all around him, the bright flash of Lasgun's discharging registering in the furthest extents of his retinas, and the clash of standard issue steel Imperial Bayonets and some more esoteric blades such as swords and machetes that were wielded by a few of the immediate combatants clashing with the unreliable and ramshackle metal of the large Ork cleavers and axes. The sickening wet crunch as limbs were separated from bodies and skulls were crushed whilst arteries burst and exploded, showering blood over those nearby made him feel sick in the pit of his stomach. Truly, this was fighting at its most brutal and bloody.
This was the type of fighting that left most of the few survivors as empty, withdrawn shadows of their former selves. Either that, or it made them fething heroes.
For one, Lieutenant Khan Garl wanted to be a fething Terra-damned hero out of the two oh-so pleasant choices that remained to him. "Men of Ousia, it's Martyr time you sons of scum-sucking whores!" He shouted in an attempt to rouse the men, before the rest of the vicious close-combat ceased to be something he recognised. All that mattered was that they took down the great fething gargantuan Ork that surely heralded a horrible, thankless death that was charging straight towards them. Heh, no problem, he thought. Damn, I'm either going batgak crazy or I'm just a fearless bastard.
Matthewson admired the Lieutenant's bravado and courage, despite the fact that it bordered on insanity and the withdrawn but savage look that now played across the man's eyes like a raging fire. His gaze returned to the great charging greenskin before him, and he raised his Power sword high in an attempt to rally whatever warriors he could to aid himself and Garl in the epic combat that was about to unfold. He shouted something inspiring, though he didn't notice what - such things had merely become second-nature to him, and at times like this he ceased to register the externalisation of such encouraging thoughts.
Warboss Warklaw Gordakka grinned a wide Orkish grin as he reached the two tiny, defiant human warriors that stood before him. He swung at one with his giant chain-axe and reached down for the other with his even bigger Klaw. However, the pesky runts avoided his blows and manoeuvred to get inside his guard. The one in the weathered, flowing black storm coat stabbed him with a crackling energy blade in the burnt and charred area of flesh that was now unprotected after being recently hit by a plasma bolt. Warklaw roared out in pain, and even moreso as the other humie drove his screaming chain-blade into the biceps of his unaugmented left arm. The terrifying roar of anger and pain he emitted intensified ten fold, and he sent the black-coated humie flying with a backhand hit that involved slamming his entire Klaw backwards into the humie, leaving the energy weapon impaled in his side, piercing one of his lungs as Orkish blood tried to flow but fizzed as it was incinerated by the Power sword that remained in the wound. To dispatch his second assailant, he bunched his muscles, choking and jamming the teeth of the vicious chainsword, before delivering a bone-shattering down-thrust with his elbow onto the humies' head, causing it to collapse with a grunt. He bellowed with delight at his victory over these two humie champions even as he clumsily removed the humie blades, discarding them on the artificial ground. He then brought his chain-axe down on the humie next to him, obliterating the man's left shoulder and arm, as well as making a bloody mess of his left flank and a lot of his innards. He decided to let the human insect choke to death slowly on his own blood that even now overflowed from its mouth. Then, a fresh wave of pain reached his primitive brain as further plasma bolts, albeit on a lower and more frequently firing power setting, impacting on and melting straight through his crude armor and burning through several layers of even his tough hide. He spun around to see the black-coated humie lying in a crumpled and bloody mess about two dozen metres away amongst the vicious combat, firing at him. Warklaw swiftly discarded his Chain-axe and unholstered his shoota, and fired a hail of shots at his opponent, although his aim was characteristically awful.
Commissar Richard Matthewson slumped back down onto the arteficial ground, his Plasma pistol still gripped tightly in his hand. He felt a wet, sticky liquid about himself, and realised without looking that he had been shot - several times - by the greenskin's large-calibre slugs. Two had taken him in the collarbone, one in the right arm and one had pierced his stylised flak-chain armor broken and split in several places. He managed to snap off a shot, killing a nearby Ork and saving a Guardsman before slipping into unconsciousness as quickly as his sidearm slipped out of his hand.
Calling up on reserves of strength from the from within his soul that he didn't even know he had, Khan Garl ripped his bolt pistol out of its holster, and aimed it manically at the Warboss that had ravaged him so. He emptied the entire clip into the beast's back. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Warboss Warklaw fell to his knees as the raging mêlée around him began to conclude. Blood streaked down his maimed back and out of his shredded left bicep. Was this it? No. It couldn't be. He refused to die here, to some pansy humies.
Warboss Warklaw Gordakka struggled to his feet, and let loose a Waaagh! that could be heard for a mile all round.
"I can't reach Garl's mob,sir." Vox trooper Mirdin tried to be heard over the noise of battle. "I think they be dead."
"Vrek 'em, they can't be dead." Charkos replied, getting another shot off with his lasgun, killing an ork. "Garl's a tough one, he won't go that easy.
Charkos linked up with his platoon again, together with some remnants they rounded up from other platoons. All in all, Charkos had 49 men under his command now. His platoon dug in on the front lines, The Ousians had gone on the offensive to take those back.
"I heard they went up against the warboss", said sergeant Viggo, a man Charkos liked a lot for his stand up attitude. "Bloody heroes. The commissar was there too."
"is, ...have some faith sergeant." Charkos said.
"Having faith, sir." Said a saluting Sergeant Viggo.
His platoon was doing a bloody good job holding the orks off. Major Mortensen was busy hunting the orks caught between the front and second Ousian lines, so Charkos was sure his back was covered. His mind was somewhere else. He just had to take out that warboss. If it was true, that that thing killed Garl and Mathewson, he had to avenge their deaths. His decission was quickly made.
"Listen up lads, " He spoke through the combead. "we're going after the warboss."
Wild cheers were heard from the men.
"Don't tell Mortensen, Sarge, he'll be pissed." Said Sergeant Pulver.
"Nah, he'll be damn proud of us, " retorted sergeant blach. He unsheathed his machette. "Let's het 'em!' he yelled, and leapt over the barricade.
"Come on!" Yelled Charkos. "Into hell and back!"
His platoon let out a mighty cheer as the surged forward, straight into the front ranks of orks who were in the path between the Ousians and the warboss.
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, and as they did so they made the symbol 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.
His Will Be Done
Matthewson raised his Plasma pistol and fired with a speed and precision that he had honed over thirty-five years of fighting alongside the ranks of the Imperial Guard. A blinding plasma bolt was projected from the barrel of the handgun, incinerating the artificial air that it passed through, before hitting the massive frame of Warboss Warklaw and searing through his right flank - the crude armor made up of plates of metal offering absolutely no protection to the archaic weapons' attack. The great greenskin roared in anger and pain, but was undeterred in his alien rage, and began to charge towards the Commissar and Lieutenant. Garl felt sweat running down his back; the hot blood on the side of his face; the roaring chaos of the brutal mêlée that had utterly engulfed them; the iron of his Chainsword's grip which he clasped firmly within a two-handed grip growled like a homicidal turbine out to mince some kittens. He was acutely aware of the screams of dying men and greenskins as they were cut down viciously by each other all around him, the bright flash of Lasgun's discharging registering in the furthest extents of his retinas, and the clash of standard issue steel Imperial Bayonets and some more esoteric blades such as swords and machetes that were wielded by a few of the immediate combatants clashing with the unreliable and ramshackle metal of the large Ork cleavers and axes. The sickening wet crunch as limbs were separated from bodies and skulls were crushed whilst arteries burst and exploded, showering blood over those nearby made him feel sick in the pit of his stomach. Truly, this was fighting at its most brutal and bloody.
This was the type of fighting that left most of the few survivors as empty, withdrawn shadows of their former selves. Either that, or it made them fething heroes.
For one, Lieutenant Khan Garl wanted to be a fething Terra-damned hero out of the two oh-so pleasant choices that remained to him.
"Men of Ousia, it's Martyr time you sons of scum-sucking whores!" He shouted in an attempt to rouse the men, before the rest of the vicious close-combat ceased to be something he recognised. All that mattered was that they took down the great fething gargantuan Ork that surely heralded a horrible, thankless death that was charging straight towards them. Heh, no problem, he thought. Damn, I'm either going batgak crazy or I'm just a fearless bastard.
Matthewson admired the Lieutenant's bravado and courage, despite the fact that it bordered on insanity and the withdrawn but savage look that now played across the man's eyes like a raging fire. His gaze returned to the great charging greenskin before him, and he raised his Power sword high in an attempt to rally whatever warriors he could to aid himself and Garl in the epic combat that was about to unfold. He shouted something inspiring, though he didn't notice what - such things had merely become second-nature to him, and at times like this he ceased to register the externalisation of such encouraging thoughts.
Warboss Warklaw Gordakka grinned a wide Orkish grin as he reached the two tiny, defiant human warriors that stood before him. He swung at one with his giant chain-axe and reached down for the other with his even bigger Klaw. However, the pesky runts avoided his blows and manoeuvred to get inside his guard. The one in the weathered, flowing black storm coat stabbed him with a crackling energy blade in the burnt and charred area of flesh that was now unprotected after being recently hit by a plasma bolt. Warklaw roared out in pain, and even moreso as the other humie drove his screaming chain-blade into the biceps of his unaugmented left arm. The terrifying roar of anger and pain he emitted intensified ten fold, and he sent the black-coated humie flying with a backhand hit that involved slamming his entire Klaw backwards into the humie, leaving the energy weapon impaled in his side, piercing one of his lungs as Orkish blood tried to flow but fizzed as it was incinerated by the Power sword that remained in the wound. To dispatch his second assailant, he bunched his muscles, choking and jamming the teeth of the vicious chainsword, before delivering a bone-shattering down-thrust with his elbow onto the humies' head, causing it to collapse with a grunt. He bellowed with delight at his victory over these two humie champions even as he clumsily removed the humie blades, discarding them on the artificial ground. He then brought his chain-axe down on the humie next to him, obliterating the man's left shoulder and arm, as well as making a bloody mess of his left flank and a lot of his innards. He decided to let the human insect choke to death slowly on his own blood that even now overflowed from its mouth. Then, a fresh wave of pain reached his primitive brain as further plasma bolts, albeit on a lower and more frequently firing power setting, impacting on and melting straight through his crude armor and burning through several layers of even his tough hide. He spun around to see the black-coated humie lying in a crumpled and bloody mess about two dozen metres away amongst the vicious combat, firing at him. Warklaw swiftly discarded his Chain-axe and unholstered his shoota, and fired a hail of shots at his opponent, although his aim was characteristically awful.
Commissar Richard Matthewson slumped back down onto the arteficial ground, his Plasma pistol still gripped tightly in his hand. He felt a wet, sticky liquid about himself, and realised without looking that he had been shot - several times - by the greenskin's large-calibre slugs. Two had taken him in the collarbone, one in the right arm and one had pierced his stylised flak-chain armor broken and split in several places. He managed to snap off a shot, killing a nearby Ork and saving a Guardsman before slipping into unconsciousness as quickly as his sidearm slipped out of his hand.
Calling up on reserves of strength from the from within his soul that he didn't even know he had, Khan Garl ripped his bolt pistol out of its holster, and aimed it manically at the Warboss that had ravaged him so. He emptied the entire clip into the beast's back. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Warboss Warklaw fell to his knees as the raging mêlée around him began to conclude. Blood streaked down his maimed back and out of his shredded left bicep. Was this it? No. It couldn't be. He refused to die here, to some pansy humies.
Warboss Warklaw Gordakka struggled to his feet, and let loose a Waaagh! that could be heard for a mile all round.
His Will Be Done - Part 2
The great call Warklaw had sent out had brought Orks flocking from all around, even as more Guardsmen ran to join this battle that could have a profound effect upon the outcome of the entire war itself. Whilst mobs of Ork Nobs madly charged headlong into the increasingly massive mêlée whilst heroic and stalwart Space Marines bolstered the Imperial forces, steeling the resolve of the lesser men around them. Truly, this is what Orks, Guardsmen and Space Marines alike lived for. Orks, for the thrill of the fight, Guardsmen to fulfil their sacred duty to protect the Imperium and likewise the Space Marines.
Warklaw charged alongside his Nobs, alien adrenaline flowing through his circulation even as his life-blood flowed out of his wounds. In a matter of seconds he had cleaved apart thirteen Guardsmen, and each of his Nobs equalling around half of that. It was brutal, and blood flowed underfoot. In his great rage, Warklaw left no human in his path recognisable.
But their great charge had left them separated from the rest of the Orks, and they began to be overwhelmed. Still, they killed dozens upon dozens of Guardsmen in the close combat.
A well-placed Bolter round took a Nob in the head, and the Ork crumpled. A Melta shot turned another into molten slag. Three more were cut down in mêlée by an Assault squad who suffered two casualties in return.
Lieutenant Kyel Charkos was almost there. Seven of his Platoon flanked him, and their target was up ahead. "Form a firing line and first rank fire!" He ordered. His men obeyed, forming a frontal line of three men and a rear of four. "First rank fire!" He shouted, and the first three men opened fire, then ducked, "Second rank fire!" The secondary line followed suite. Two Nobs dropped. Then the Warboss himself charged towards them. The Guardsmen scattered instinctively. Charkos didn't stop them, he would rather they run and live to fight another day instead of being crushed into a bloody smear on the ground. He ran whilst taking pot-shots with his Laspistol. He also stumbled upon the bloody and crumpled form of Commissar Matthewson. "Vrek, I need a Vox!" He shouted, but his Vox-man was nearby and he quickly relayed a message back to the field medicae centre demanding an immediate detachment of armed Sister Hospitala to be dispatched to his position. Despite being informed that the Medicae field base was overwhelmed with casualties, he was relieved to find out there was a force of Adepta Sororitas with accompanying Sister Hospitala nearby, and grateful when he was informed they were going to be re-routed to his location. His men stood over him and the prone Commissar, defending them with their very lives.
Charkos was startled by a terrifying war cry above him, and he looked around to see a crazed Ork Nob running through his men, hacking them apart with a great chain-axe. The massive Ork was upon him in a matter of seconds, Charkos' pistol out of energy, leaving him defenseless. He fell on his back as the Nob raised his axe to deliver the killing blow. It was then that Kyel knew he was dead. It was also then that he felt something metallic in his hand. He instinctively pulled it up and aimed at the Nob; the familiar grip of a pistol something he knew all too well. He pulled the trigger, but to his great displeasure, instead of firing the Plasma pistol overheated, and plasma vented over his hand, liquifying it instantly. He screamed in pain. The momentary look of terror on the Ork Nob's face was quickly replaced with delight, and the terribly crude but vicious axe came down, teeth revving.
It never reached him. The axe and the massive Ork that was holding it suddenly turned molten and melted into a viscous liquid slag puddle nearby. Charkos rolled out of the way of the molten liquid before it reached him, deftly dragging Matthewson to safety as he did so. Looking up at his saviour, he saw a young Guardsmen standing over him, a Meltagun clasped in his right hand and a dazzlingly ornate Power sword in the other. He recognized it as Matthewson's. The Guardsman was tall, broad and evidently very strong - stronger than himself, Kyel knew, to be holding two such weapons single-handedly and with such applaudable accuracy with each. Two Ork's charged towards them, and Kyel watched in partial awe and in greater relief as the man cut them down deftly with a parry and reverse sweep decapitating one and a follow-up swing removing the head of the second. The man slung his Meltagun over his back, the leather strap worn and dirtied. A mighty paw reached down to help Kyel up, and he gratefully accepted.
"Thank you trooper," Kyel gasped through the searing pain of his burning left arm.
"Just doing my duty sir," The man replied modestly.
"If we get out of this one, you'll be commended, I've never seen a man do anything like that!" Kyel replied.
The man seemed embarressed, "It was the adrenalin sir."
"What's your name soldier?" Kyel asked.
"Private Robin, sir!" The ragged giant answered.
Kyel grinned. "Well Private Robin, you'd better keep me alive until the blasted Medicae arrive!"
"Shouldn't be a problem sir," Robin explained, indicating to the group of Sororitas moving through the raging combat, Bolters blazing and blades flashing as they cut down greenskins. Some Sisters fell, but the group continued, attending to the few living men.
Kyel picked up a nearby Laspistol, and began to fire.
Oh hell yeah guys! I've beaten my own event size record already! 8,421 words already! Get in there. My previous record as from RZ&LWC with an impressive 5.5k words. 3k more this time - probably gonna hit 10k!
Scrazza wrote:Are we allowed to continue role-playing now?
Got, I'd say, one more part of event to do, perhaps two as a max. At least for the main conflict that is, there Knights and Demons event is a whole separate matter, but less important as the involved players haven't posted here in awhile.
Just going to point out though, there really isn't anything stopping the majority of players writing IC.
Scrazza wrote:Alright then, let me just reread the last part of event to get everything right, and I'll be doing a piece of RP.
Mis-communication methinks, your character is still involved in the event. I doubt that he will be in any more of it other than perhaps in the medicae tent at the end. Nonetheless, still something I'd like to do.
I'll try and do it tonight. But sadly, in an hour and a half, gotta go get an injection against some disease or other..
I'm Khan'Das? The deamon? I've been active here for a while?
Yeah, I know. I was talking about since I brought the roleplay back to life after awhile of nothing - in other words, when I posted the last two parts of the event.
Regardless, it's good to know you're still with us on this one.
Scrazza wrote:Alright then, let me just reread the last part of event to get everything right, and I'll be doing a piece of RP.
Mis-communication methinks, your character is still involved in the event. I doubt that he will be in any more of it other than perhaps in the medicae tent at the end. Nonetheless, still something I'd like to do.
I'll try and do it tonight. But sadly, in an hour and a half, gotta go get an injection against some disease or other..
Scrazza wrote:Alright then, let me just reread the last part of event to get everything right, and I'll be doing a piece of RP.
Mis-communication methinks, your character is still involved in the event. I doubt that he will be in any more of it other than perhaps in the medicae tent at the end. Nonetheless, still something I'd like to do.
I'll try and do it tonight. But sadly, in an hour and a half, gotta go get an injection against some disease or other..
Alright, I'll wait.
Good man. While you're at it, send me a PM with any ambitions you have for your character(s) and their involvement in the roleplay as a whole. Hell, everyone may as well do this.
Cool, seeing as most events are done I may get back to doing proper posts.
Edit: h and they may be slow coming currently as not only am I helping a friend script an abridged series but I also have Piano and Singing exams coming up.
Marcus snapped back to reality. The bombing had stopped... for now at least. He motioned for Robur to follow him.
"Now we can get to Naval command. If it's still there. That was quite the air raid wouldn't you say?" Marcus started up in a light hearted tone.
"Quite so inquisitor..." Robur mumbled, knowing that Marcus wouldn't really be listening to his response.
"I do say that I should requisition a squad of storm troopers. I don't have the time to wait for inquisitorial men to get here so I'll have to take some of the Guards grenadiers. And some transport... oh and provisions and..."
"And what, may I ask, is this for Inquisitor?"
"Oh! Have I not mentioned? We're going on an expedition Robur! I've been studying the maps of this hulk and there appears to be a shaft somewhere in sector 35-XFG that leads straight into an old trader ship. From there we can make our way towards a relatively intact and by the looks of things quite inactive tyranid bioship. Not one of their big ones but I hav a few tests in mind to do. Think Robur, we could discover a weakness in one of our most terrible foes yet! Think of the fame, glory and renown!"
"It would defiantly make a name for yourself Inquisitor" Robur sighed, many inquisitors had done similar things and yet there were any useful results. Worse still, as the ship hadn't decayed that meant it was still alive, meaning there was a chance of hostile contact... "remind me inquisitor, why are we going to naval command again?"
"All will become clear soon..."
------------------ At naval command --------------------
Commander Zhakov, acting commander of the 38th Reth Air Crops stared at the depressing data slate. The malicious piece of hardware spread a sickly green glow across his face in the dimly lit room. He put it down briefly as he spotted a squadron of ork fighta's on the hololithic display table moving through the first defense line. He picked up yet another data slate then addressed his command staff.
"Send commanders Rever's, Galali's and Hawk's squadrons to intercept those fighta's and drive them off. Tell them to be prudent, I'm low on machines and pilots as it is so tell them if they can just scare the buggers off then I'm happy. Leave the killing to them AA regiments."
He turned back to the first slate, an update and overview of all available naval forces. He sighed as the names of Rever, Galali and Hawk turned from light blue to yellow to indicate they weren't engaged but were on sortie. He would have like to give them more time to rest but he didn't have the squadrons. Four other thunderbolt squadrons were either temporally out of action or unable to take off due to bad runway conditions. He'd also lost too many men in the last night. All squadrons had lost some machines and many pilots who survived were critically injured. He was down to only a handful of marauders and his lightning squadrons were on detachment to the drop troops and recent reports said that they'd inflicted a high kill to death ratio but he was saddened by the prospect of calling them back. Lightnings were murder to the orks crude craft but the drop troops needed air cover and to provide decent cover he'd have to give up more thunderbolts than he needed to keep the orks from hitting vulnerable targets.
Well, at least it wasn't raining orks... but now a bombshell had just walked into the command center and it was ripe to go off.
"Inquisitor, I really can't do anything for you." Zhakov moaned.
"I don't need much, only a Land Attack Craft attached to my personal retinue."
"I can't give you lightnings or thunderbolts, I could give you marauders but since they're bombers they're slightly useless to you I guess. I could convert the bombers into destroyers but that would take around 6 hours trusting the orks don't come at us again. Then all my marauder runways are bombed to hell so we'd have to spend about another 6 hours getting it ready for flight; again, assuming the orks don't come, and then the destroyer is still slow and needs an escort, one which I can't provide."
"And vultures?"
"I have a single vulture, currently attached to the Vendetta hunter squadron code named 'Burning Horizon'. They're conducting hit and run attacks on the enemy supply lines and I can't pull that vulture away from them."
"And why's that, all reports point to the vendetta's receiving little resistance."
"Because when the orks get tired of it then... then..." Zhakov signed, "Fine, you win. Have your damned vulture; but know this. If it is shot down I'm holding you personally responsible for the loss of my Vulture." Zhakov spat out both bitter and exasperated. All of naval command was dead tired. He was unwilling to risk his vulture in the hands of someone who didn't know aircraft but... he was too tired to put up a fight of any worth. He couldn't win against the inquisitor who was lucky enough to see sleep everyday. He was too persuasive, too powerful, too energetic and most of all sickeningly naive. "And know this, a secret of my family that none should know of" Zhakov leaned closed to the inquisitor until he could wisper "It is frowned on to have family among your own regiment on Reth. The pilot of the vulture, she is my sister. None can know or I would lose this position."
"Such sentiments would be called a conflict of interest, I should have you replaced..."
"But you won't as you need that gunship and everyone else here is too stubborn to co-operate. I tell you so you know what is at stake, not just a machine, not just any old pilot but a family member you get me."
"I understand" Marcus stood back, "My thanks Commander. Also, is there a vox station I can use?"
Zhakov waved in the generally direction of the vox-man, turning back to his data slates and holo table. If the light hadn't been so dim Marcus could have sworn the commander had tears in his eyes.
Marcus smiled. His plan was falling into place.
-------------------------
OC: slightly cheesy I know, but I needed a plot device and the pilot being a family member was better than it just being a good friend or it being a strange attachment to a machine.
Going a bit heavy on the aircraft inside the Space Hulk, eh wiz? I'll roll with it, for now, but try and cut down on the exaggeration of just how massive I said this Hulk is.
Darkvoidof40k wrote:Going a bit heavy on the aircraft inside the Space Hulk, eh wiz? I'll roll with it, for now, but try and cut down on the exaggeration of just how massive I said this Hulk is.
Space hulks usually are the size of moons and have their own atmosphere, amirite?
Darkvoidof40k wrote:Going a bit heavy on the aircraft inside the Space Hulk, eh wiz? I'll roll with it, for now, but try and cut down on the exaggeration of just how massive I said this Hulk is.
Space hulks usually are the size of moons and have their own atmosphere, amirite?
Actually, they're mostly made up of ships, so a lot of their space is made up of tight corridors, hence why Terminators are commonly deployed in boarding actions against them.
However, this one is real big. Like, really really real big. Like "small planet big". So the lower sections have a lot of open space, but the upper sections are more corridor-like.
Darkvoidof40k wrote:Going a bit heavy on the aircraft inside the Space Hulk, eh wiz? I'll roll with it, for now, but try and cut down on the exaggeration of just how massive I said this Hulk is.
Space hulks usually are the size of moons and have their own atmosphere, amirite?
Actually, they're mostly made up of ships, so a lot of their space is made up of tight corridors, hence why Terminators are commonly deployed in boarding actions against them.
However, this one is real big. Like, really really real big. Like "small planet big". So the lower sections have a lot of open space, but the upper sections are more corridor-like.
Oh I'd thought that the hulk literally had a small moon or really big asteroid attached which was where the front Marcus currently resides is located.
But I can always just RP a bit about Zhakov moaning about how actions in space are taking up valuable time and machines I guess. It would make sense since I haven't heard you say anywhere that the fighting outside the hulk has ceased.
Darkvoidof40k wrote:The Imperial Fleet is currently engaged with the large majority of Gorskar's fleet - several billion Orks, so I've been told.
I think that's why Warklaw's ambition is just gonna be to make the biggest bang possible, he's got the next Macharian crusade on one side, he's got a bigger rival Waaagh on the other....
In other words, I dun think Izzy's gonna have a master for much longer...
The Red Thunda shook, impacts smashing against the battleship's already battered and scarred hull, and Gorskar snarled. Time was wasting; every minute the Imperial fleet held his own at bay was a minute in which he wasn't in control of that hulk. On the viewing screen, amid the crackle of occasional static, a Kill Kroozer's engines detonated, hit by a well-timed lance bombardment from a nearby human ship.
As the Kroozer broke apart, Gorskar looked impatiently to his First Mate. Skargrim, for his part, was screaming orders into about a dozen communicators.
Well, at least someone was doing their job properly.
"How's the fleet holdin' up? Why 'avent we broke through yet?"
Skargrim looked up.
"They's more ships than we was expectin' Boss. The first bunch o' Kroozers can't get through 'em. I'm sendin' some more t' do the job."
Gorskar nodded impatiently. Though he took pride in his ships and Rokks, he had never much cared for naval combat. The enemy was too far away, for his liking; he also found it irritating to have to rely on the reactions of his crew. No, much better to face an enemy in hand-to-hand combat, where the biggest and strongest warrior would carry the day, and where victory came down to who hit hardest and fastest.
Gorskar had never yet had any reason to doubt that he was such a fighter.
The ship shook again, and this time he roared in displeasure.
"Enuff! Bring us about, let's get at 'em! Fire up them front guns, and power up th' Killkannon!"
The bridge crew, a collection of grots, their respective runtherds and various meks, began to run this way and that, carrying out the Warlord's orders. Beneath the bridge, Gorskar heard a slight whirring, and an increasing hum. He grinned. He'd never had time to test his new toy before.
A shearing bright light slashed out from the orkish battleship. A Lunar-class cruiser, taken competely unawares, was hit; the beam cut through it's midsection, and on the viewing screen explosions could be seen ripping it's hull apart. As the cruiser attempted vainly to limp away from the onslaught, Gorskar gave a curt nod to Skargrim, who howled an order into the gunnery comms network.
What the looted triad lance array, known affectionately as the Killkannon, had started, regular orkish ordnance put an end to. The human cruiser was torn apart by the artillery, it's shields no longer operational and reactor damaged by the previous blast; it exploded, the brilliance of it's demise like a star. Then it was gone.
Gorskar smiled, then grunted.
"Right, that's one out of it. Where's th' rest of the fleet? Why ain't they 'ere yet?"
Skargrim started to reply, then checked himself. On the viewing screen, clearly visible even through the debris of battle, came the shapes of the second wave of Kill Kroozers and Terror Ships.
"They's here, Boss. I'll get 'em into position."
Gorskar nodded, and glowered out at the vidscreen from his throne.
Now the battle was going more his way. With the timely reinforcements joining the attack, the Imperial battle-line was starting to wear thin. All that was needed now was a decisive blow at the point where the enemy stretched too far...
Gorskar waited for that moment impatiently.
Soon. It would be soon.
The question did specifically state that the sorry amount of time it took was not to be included in the vote, I wanted to know what y'all thought of my literary skills.
(OCC: took a bit of liberty with this one, hope it doesn't overstep its bounds.)
Something odd was happening along the Imperial line, Ork marksmanship, never the greatest at the best of times, had suddenly gotten much worse, with their hail of shots going wide or rebounding from flack armor or their intended targets ducking into cover without injury, their close combat skills seemed to be suffering as well, with guardsmen parrying, ducking or avoid the xenos attacks with scant inches to spare.
And the guardsmen were winning, disciplined volleys of lasgun fire was mowing down scores of orks, and several greenskin mobs were run down by the determined counter-charge of furious humans.
The Imperial line wasn't just holding, it was gaining ground.
Suddenly the air felt damp and heavy, like the fetid air of a swap as lighting suddenly lashed down from the distant ceiling of the massive cavern,incinerating dozens of orks with blasts of furious energy, and a fierce wind began tossing ork tanks and buggies around like a giant displeased with his toys, while the imperials advanced untouched.
Far above on an outcrop of twisted metal, Farseer Eluna stood with her spear raised above her head in both hands, the runes around her ablaze like the storm she had conjured around her, and her eyes aglow with the full power of her psychic might, in contrast to the storm around her, her mind was tranquil and focused. She could feel the fates aligning as she had intended and had unleashed her full potential in order to achieve it.
She swung the spear around herself, its blade and haft moving in carefully managed movements as she focused her energy, then slammed its blade heavily into the metal at her feet. at the same moment, a lighting bolt blasted apart another battlewagon. Eluna pulled it free easily, and continued her dance-like movements.
The tide was turning, she could feel it, but it was not yet done. She had more work to do yet.
She spread her mind across the battlefield, searching for a single mind, the one holding these beasts together, the leader....
There.
Smiling to herself, Eluna closed her eyes and focused her will upon that single bright light that was the Ork warboss, looking for an opening, any opening in its defenses, then she would slip in unheeded.... and crush his mind like rotten fruit.
(Oh thats great, now not only do I have an Imperial crusade on my hands, I've got a frakin farseer hunting my head. Add that to all the space marines, necrons and other sharp and pointy things that have so far only killed my orks and I have to wonder what I'm gonna get in return...
All I've got to say is that it better be good or I will be severely dissapoint... )
WARORK93 wrote:(Oh thats great, now not only do I have an Imperial crusade on my hands, I've got a frakin farseer hunting my head. Add that to all the space marines, necrons and other sharp and pointy things that have so far only killed my orks and I have to wonder what I'm gonna get in return...
All I've got to say is that it better be good or I will be severely dissapoint... )
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, and as they did so they made the symbol 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.
His Will Be Done
Matthewson raised his Plasma pistol and fired with a speed and precision that he had honed over thirty-five years of fighting alongside the ranks of the Imperial Guard. A blinding plasma bolt was projected from the barrel of the handgun, incinerating the artificial air that it passed through, before hitting the massive frame of Warboss Warklaw and searing through his right flank - the crude armor made up of plates of metal offering absolutely no protection to the archaic weapons' attack. The great greenskin roared in anger and pain, but was undeterred in his alien rage, and began to charge towards the Commissar and Lieutenant. Garl felt sweat running down his back; the hot blood on the side of his face; the roaring chaos of the brutal mêlée that had utterly engulfed them; the iron of his Chainsword's grip which he clasped firmly within a two-handed grip growled like a homicidal turbine out to mince some kittens. He was acutely aware of the screams of dying men and greenskins as they were cut down viciously by each other all around him, the bright flash of Lasgun's discharging registering in the furthest extents of his retinas, and the clash of standard issue steel Imperial Bayonets and some more esoteric blades such as swords and machetes that were wielded by a few of the immediate combatants clashing with the unreliable and ramshackle metal of the large Ork cleavers and axes. The sickening wet crunch as limbs were separated from bodies and skulls were crushed whilst arteries burst and exploded, showering blood over those nearby made him feel sick in the pit of his stomach. Truly, this was fighting at its most brutal and bloody.
This was the type of fighting that left most of the few survivors as empty, withdrawn shadows of their former selves. Either that, or it made them fething heroes.
For one, Lieutenant Khan Garl wanted to be a fething Terra-damned hero out of the two oh-so pleasant choices that remained to him.
"Men of Ousia, it's Martyr time you sons of scum-sucking whores!" He shouted in an attempt to rouse the men, before the rest of the vicious close-combat ceased to be something he recognised. All that mattered was that they took down the great fething gargantuan Ork that surely heralded a horrible, thankless death that was charging straight towards them. Heh, no problem, he thought. Damn, I'm either going batgak crazy or I'm just a fearless bastard.
Matthewson admired the Lieutenant's bravado and courage, despite the fact that it bordered on insanity and the withdrawn but savage look that now played across the man's eyes like a raging fire. His gaze returned to the great charging greenskin before him, and he raised his Power sword high in an attempt to rally whatever warriors he could to aid himself and Garl in the epic combat that was about to unfold. He shouted something inspiring, though he didn't notice what - such things had merely become second-nature to him, and at times like this he ceased to register the externalisation of such encouraging thoughts.
Warboss Warklaw Gordakka grinned a wide Orkish grin as he reached the two tiny, defiant human warriors that stood before him. He swung at one with his giant chain-axe and reached down for the other with his even bigger Klaw. However, the pesky runts avoided his blows and manoeuvred to get inside his guard. The one in the weathered, flowing black storm coat stabbed him with a crackling energy blade in the burnt and charred area of flesh that was now unprotected after being recently hit by a plasma bolt. Warklaw roared out in pain, and even moreso as the other humie drove his screaming chain-blade into the biceps of his unaugmented left arm. The terrifying roar of anger and pain he emitted intensified ten fold, and he sent the black-coated humie flying with a backhand hit that involved slamming his entire Klaw backwards into the humie, leaving the energy weapon impaled in his side, piercing one of his lungs as Orkish blood tried to flow but fizzed as it was incinerated by the Power sword that remained in the wound. To dispatch his second assailant, he bunched his muscles, choking and jamming the teeth of the vicious chainsword, before delivering a bone-shattering down-thrust with his elbow onto the humies' head, causing it to collapse with a grunt. He bellowed with delight at his victory over these two humie champions even as he clumsily removed the humie blades, discarding them on the artificial ground. He then brought his chain-axe down on the humie next to him, obliterating the man's left shoulder and arm, as well as making a bloody mess of his left flank and a lot of his innards. He decided to let the human insect choke to death slowly on his own blood that even now overflowed from its mouth. Then, a fresh wave of pain reached his primitive brain as further plasma bolts, albeit on a lower and more frequently firing power setting, impacting on and melting straight through his crude armor and burning through several layers of even his tough hide. He spun around to see the black-coated humie lying in a crumpled and bloody mess about two dozen metres away amongst the vicious combat, firing at him. Warklaw swiftly discarded his Chain-axe and unholstered his shoota, and fired a hail of shots at his opponent, although his aim was characteristically awful.
Commissar Richard Matthewson slumped back down onto the arteficial ground, his Plasma pistol still gripped tightly in his hand. He felt a wet, sticky liquid about himself, and realised without looking that he had been shot - several times - by the greenskin's large-calibre slugs. Two had taken him in the collarbone, one in the right arm and one had pierced his stylised flak-chain armor broken and split in several places. He managed to snap off a shot, killing a nearby Ork and saving a Guardsman before slipping into unconsciousness as quickly as his sidearm slipped out of his hand.
Calling up on reserves of strength from the from within his soul that he didn't even know he had, Khan Garl ripped his bolt pistol out of its holster, and aimed it manically at the Warboss that had ravaged him so. He emptied the entire clip into the beast's back. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Warboss Warklaw fell to his knees as the raging mêlée around him began to conclude. Blood streaked down his maimed back and out of his shredded left bicep. Was this it? No. It couldn't be. He refused to die here, to some pansy humies.
Warboss Warklaw Gordakka struggled to his feet, and let loose a Waaagh! that could be heard for a mile all round.
His Will Be Done - Part 2
The great call Warklaw had sent out had brought Orks flocking from all around, even as more Guardsmen ran to join this battle that could have a profound effect upon the outcome of the entire war itself. Whilst mobs of Ork Nobs madly charged headlong into the increasingly massive mêlée whilst heroic and stalwart Space Marines bolstered the Imperial forces, steeling the resolve of the lesser men around them. Truly, this is what Orks, Guardsmen and Space Marines alike lived for. Orks, for the thrill of the fight, Guardsmen to fulfil their sacred duty to protect the Imperium and likewise the Space Marines.
Warklaw charged alongside his Nobs, alien adrenaline flowing through his circulation even as his life-blood flowed out of his wounds. In a matter of seconds he had cleaved apart thirteen Guardsmen, and each of his Nobs equalling around half of that. It was brutal, and blood flowed underfoot. In his great rage, Warklaw left no human in his path recognisable.
But their great charge had left them separated from the rest of the Orks, and they began to be overwhelmed. Still, they killed dozens upon dozens of Guardsmen in the close combat.
A well-placed Bolter round took a Nob in the head, and the Ork crumpled. A Melta shot turned another into molten slag. Three more were cut down in mêlée by an Assault squad who suffered two casualties in return.
Lieutenant Kyel Charkos was almost there. Seven of his Platoon flanked him, and their target was up ahead. "Form a firing line and first rank fire!" He ordered. His men obeyed, forming a frontal line of three men and a rear of four. "First rank fire!" He shouted, and the first three men opened fire, then ducked, "Second rank fire!" The secondary line followed suite. Two Nobs dropped. Then the Warboss himself charged towards them. The Guardsmen scattered instinctively. Charkos didn't stop them, he would rather they run and live to fight another day instead of being crushed into a bloody smear on the ground. He ran whilst taking pot-shots with his Laspistol. He also stumbled upon the bloody and crumpled form of Commissar Matthewson. "Vrek, I need a Vox!" He shouted, but his Vox-man was nearby and he quickly relayed a message back to the field medicae centre demanding an immediate detachment of armed Sister Hospitala to be dispatched to his position. Despite being informed that the Medicae field base was overwhelmed with casualties, he was relieved to find out there was a force of Adepta Sororitas with accompanying Sister Hospitala nearby, and grateful when he was informed they were going to be re-routed to his location. His men stood over him and the prone Commissar, defending them with their very lives.
Charkos was startled by a terrifying war cry above him, and he looked around to see a crazed Ork Nob running through his men, hacking them apart with a great chain-axe. The massive Ork was upon him in a matter of seconds, Charkos' pistol out of energy, leaving him defenseless. He fell on his back as the Nob raised his axe to deliver the killing blow. It was then that Kyel knew he was dead. It was also then that he felt something metallic in his hand. He instinctively pulled it up and aimed at the Nob; the familiar grip of a pistol something he knew all too well. He pulled the trigger, but to his great displeasure, instead of firing the Plasma pistol overheated, and plasma vented over his hand, liquifying it instantly. He screamed in pain. The momentary look of terror on the Ork Nob's face was quickly replaced with delight, and the terribly crude but vicious axe came down, teeth revving.
It never reached him. The axe and the massive Ork that was holding it suddenly turned molten and melted into a viscous liquid slag puddle nearby. Charkos rolled out of the way of the molten liquid before it reached him, deftly dragging Matthewson to safety as he did so. Looking up at his saviour, he saw a young Guardsmen standing over him, a Meltagun clasped in his right hand and a dazzlingly ornate Power sword in the other. He recognized it as Matthewson's. The Guardsman was tall, broad and evidently very strong - stronger than himself, Kyel knew, to be holding two such weapons single-handedly and with such applaudable accuracy with each. Two Ork's charged towards them, and Kyel watched in partial awe and in greater relief as the man cut them down deftly with a parry and reverse sweep decapitating one and a follow-up swing removing the head of the second. The man slung his Meltagun over his back, the leather strap worn and dirtied. A mighty paw reached down to help Kyel up, and he gratefully accepted.
"Thank you trooper," Kyel gasped through the searing pain of his burning left arm.
"Just doing my duty sir," The man replied modestly.
"If we get out of this one, you'll be commended, I've never seen a man do anything like that!" Kyel replied.
The man seemed embarressed, "It was the adrenalin sir."
"What's your name soldier?" Kyel asked.
"Private Robin, sir!" The ragged giant answered.
Kyel grinned. "Well Private Robin, you'd better keep me alive until the blasted Medicae arrive!"
"Shouldn't be a problem sir," Robin explained, indicating to the group of Sororitas moving through the raging combat, Bolters blazing and blades flashing as they cut down greenskins. Some Sisters fell, but the group continued, attending to the few living men.
Kyel picked up a nearby Laspistol, and began to fire.
Death From Above - Part 3
A pitiful red slab of meat on legs with a gun mounted atop it ran towards Captain Jordan Gaius, madly squealing, and he smashed it under his Thunder Hammer, turning the squig into a gorry mist of blood.
"Orkses never lose a battle...
Warboss Warklaw was close to death, he could feel it. But in the last hour, his force had become maddened by the power of the Waaagh! and had ravaged the Imperial lines. Warklaw himself, if he could've counted that high, would've known that he'd personally killed a eighty-seven Guardsmen and nine Space Marines. But now his immediate forces had been spent, and his attack was faltering. Ethereal energies flowed about the place, and great bursts of warpfire and great tempests of lightning scored the ground and devastated Orks by the dozen or more.
"Boyz, it's time ta fall back!" He roared.
"Lets get outta here!" A runty Ork exclaimed nearby. Warklaw crushed him underfoot.
The Ousian 21st, though heavily battered and their numbers extremely depleted - over half their number having died already - managed to form firing lines, rag-tag bands of men lead by random officers; be they Sergeants, Lieutenants or a captain. Even the Major was up and fighting, leading sixty-two men in a counter-attack at the Eastern-lines, supported by other groups and Space Marines.
Warklaw was running towards his personal Battlewagon - it was directly ahead of him, he was almost there as enemy fire filled the air around him, and then, he was aboard, safely in the confines of his kustom ride. His moment of respite was short-lived as a shot from an Imperial Fists' Vindicator obliterated the vehicle.
***5 hours later***
.. If we win we win. If we die we die fightin', so it don't count. If we runs for it, it don't count neither, cos we can come back for annuver go, see!"
"Boss.. you dere?" Said the first voice.
"Iz 'e awake?" Asked the second.
"I dun fink so, he seems propa sleepy ta me," continued the first.
Warklaw opened his eyes. But his vision was different. He was seeing, but he wasn't really. What he saw was not with his eyes, but through some know-wotz tek that he didn't understand.
"Where am I? Why can't I move?" He demanded, noticing that his voice had changed, it was metallic and cold.
"Err, boss, dem humies messed you up real good, so we had ta put you in a Kan," the first voice explained - Warklaw now recognised it as his Mek, and the second must have been his chief Dok.
Warklaw roared in anger, knowing what such confinement would mean.
"Now boss, don't worry yerself, we didn't put ya in no runty Kan like wot all da uvver boyz gots, we put ya in a speshul, kustom Kan!"
"Yeh, we'z put ya in a Mega Dread!" Exclaimed his excited Mek, who was marvelling at his newest creation.
As Warklaw's new body powered up, he vowed to reap revenge on those who had entombed him in this prison. Seeing his new weapons, he grinned, realizing that it wouldn't be too hard to fulfil his vow.
"Boss, there's sumthin' else ya should know about," his Mek continued.
"What?" Warklaw bellowed out of his crude vox-grille.
"There's annuver boss, calls 'imself Gorskar, 'e says 'e wants ta take over da Hulk, an' 'e'z got lotsa boyz with 'im."
Warklaw grinned even more. He could malipulate this other Warlord into serving him, and then usurp leadership of his Waaagh! from him when he no longer needed him.
The Emperor Protects - Part 3
It had been six hours since the Astartes had arrived. During that time, the 9th and 10th Preciprian Dragoons - another eight-thousand heavy infantry - and the Hikkian 17th Heavy armour regiment, including their two Super-Heavies, had arrived and reinforced the faltering lines. The Orks had fled back to their holes, and the Imperial forces had been content to let them run, needing to regroup and resupply at their lines after eleven straight hours of constant brutal warfare. The Ousian 21st regiment had suffered particularly badly, having lost close to 1700 men out of their starting strength of 3000. The other regiments had suffered as well, but no other had been as unsupported and outnumbered badly as them. They were saved purely by the intervention of the Space Marines, a fact that the only surviving Ousian commander, Major Mortenson, was not going to forget in a hurry.
For now at least, a calm had descended upon the two warring factions of the Space Hulk. Lord-General Allanus sat in contemplation over the recent events. The situation had improved drastically, but if reports from the Imperial Navy fleet, then everything could become very dire very quickly - a massive fleet of Ork ships had entered the system hours ago, and ever since had been fighting with their holy fleet, both sides suffering terrible loses. Though the Imperial fleet killed dozens of Ork kroozers, every ship they lost was irreplaceable at present and yet the Orks always had more. However the two fleets had disengaged, neither wanting to risk any more casualties for the time being, and the Orks had begun boarding the Ork-held section of the Hulk. Allanus knew they didn't have much time. They had to destroy this Hulk and soon. But until then, he left his adjutant officers in-charge, and retired to his quarters for some desperately needed sleep.
Tough as a Gator
In the field medical station, the hundreds upon hundreds of Ousian soldiers were being treated as best as the Sisters Hospitaller could manage, but the compound was literally over-flowing with injured men. It was rumored that no man had survived without any injury, no matter how small or large, and every man there could believe it.
Lieutenant Kyel Charkos sat outside the medical centre, still getting used to his prosthetic left hand. His new friend and bodyguard, the recently-promoted Corporal Robin, stood nearby smoking a Lho-stick. Despite the horrific casualties, Kyel was glad. Glad to be alive. Glad that he had done his duty and they had won. He was also glad to hear that Commissar Matthewson was likely to survive, but was still under intensive care, likewise the extremely brutalised Lieutenant Khan Garl, who was by far the most horrifically injured man still alive. Kyel had been told that there was a very slim chance that he would survive, and the Sisters Hospitaller had given him top priority, recognising that he was considered a great regimental hero and his survival would be a massive moral boost, rather than just letting him die so that resources could be spent elsewhere. Even if Garl did survive by some great miracle, Kyel knew he'd be half machine now. He smiled at the thought that they might have their own "Iron Hand Straken" amongst their ranks. Kyel closed his eyes and prayed to the Emperor.
----
Alright, that's the event finished! Asides from Knights and Demons, but my "top man" should finish it today. regardless, we should be seeing some new characters surfacing soon (glances at Chowder and Devastator).
Warork, sorry about the fact your character has had a rough time of it in this event, but now he's back.. and bigger and meaner than ever.
Now get back to roleplaying, you miserable literary-wretches! *cracks whip*
Character name:Azrael Character age: n/a Character race:Chaos Space Marine Character profession:Sorcerer Character personality:Cynical and paranoid. Character appearance Character height:7f Character equipment: Power armor,force sword,bolt pistol Character bio/background story:Little is know of Azraels background.He is apparently one of the original members of the Thousand son legion and have played part in casting of the Rubric of Ahriman.
100 of the Precipian finest, a combined strike force of the 9th and 10th Dragoons grenadier regiments, sat outside the briefing tent. It was rare that everyman in an operation received the full briefing but Marcus decided it was for the best. This was a dangerous mission. He needed every man's trust and trust wasn't something an Inquisitor of the most holy ordo's received often.
Each man wore a full suit of carapace armour, complete with respirators and reinforced face visors. Most carried a deadly hellgun, outdated when compared with the hotshot lasgun, it's increased firepower was more than enough to make up with its lack of penetration power. Several men were grouped into support stubber teams. The high caliber, high rate of fire weapons would be deadly in fighting orks and any bugs that happened to lurk in the hulk. Others had flamers, vicious dragons which would burn though armour, carapace and flesh alike. They were even vaguely useful as anti-tank weapons, setting fire to most armoured vehicles and forcing the crew to either burn or bail out. Often the fire would trap the crew and they either were slowly burned alive of, if lucky, the fire would reach the magazine and the whole crew's lives would end in a mercifully quick explosion. Everyman carried a las pistol as a backup and carried long knives. Many of the hellguns sported modifications such as grenade launchers and lamp packs. Marksmen in the strike force had laser sights attached to theirs.
Consisting of 10 officers and 20 sergeants the men were well led under the command and staff of captain Nicolas Cecil. The gruff man had been raised from years of combat. He had one or two scars but surprisingly for a man of such long service no bionics or missing limbs. He didn't seem at all phased by the inquisitors presence or status, a trait which Marcus liked.
Added to this formidable attack group, was a single vulture gunship. While it would be unable to provide air support for the entire mission, it would at least give a helping hand. As well as the vulture, the squad of combat engineers were also tagging along. Domini and his team had been at HQ assisting in repairs but Marcus had brought him along for one task only: cutting the corridors of the hulk apart. The men had brought along several las cutters. High powered laser cutters which could cut though sealed doors, closed bulkheads and ships hulls.
Marcus stood in front of the assemble men who he'd temporally added to his retinue.
"As you all know, our standing orders are to destroy the hulk. But as of yet no one has come up with a plan to follow these orders. I intend to investigate a section of the hulk which has intrigued me from the start." Marcus turned to a large map of the hulk sector they were in and pointed to a strange, irregular shape roughly twenty-six levels down from their currant position. Between them and the shape was a series of large and small chambers, some the size of capital class hangers in space ports and others so small that men would have to crawl their way though. "This shape here, we thick is a tyranid bio ship. How it got there, why it hasn't deteriorated and if it is alive or not are all questions that have yet to be answered. My theory is that it was trapped in the hulk and is somehow feeding off supplies that were on various ships in the hulk. I highly doubt that we will encounter any tyranid biorganisms but there is an ever present threat from the orks and other interested parties."
"The quickest way to there is through these sections of the hulk." Marcus pointed to the applicable sections "but unfortunately, to get to these we have to go down an access shaft located here." He pointed to an ork encampment. It was commonly known as 'The Scrapheap' and was one of the most fortified ork positions on the hulk as of the moment. "Now the orks have been on the retreat since the Ousian's made their breakthrough, but this is still held strongly by the orks. HQ has made the decision to go around it mostly but know it has started to become a refuge for the withdrawing ork forces. If the scrap heap is to be taken we must take it know. As such, you and several companies of the dragoons will be at the forefront of an armoured assault supporting the Hikkian armour. This is going to be a hard and fast encounter. If you get the chance to push your advantage do so. Our forces have better armour than the orks but they have the numbers. Naval command has denied air support for this mission due to the enemies air superiority and the large amount of anti-air emplacements in and around the fort. I'm not going to lie, this is the hard but once we secure this not only does our front line advance but we get our access route. Any questions?"
"What are we looking in this bioship?"
"Clues to defeating the tyranids, clues to destroying the hulk... anything of use really."
"Couldn't we just cut through the surface here?"
"This compartment is extra thick, it would take months to cut through, months we don't have..."
"Will our forces be enough?"
"I have no doubt that under the Emperor's guidance that we will be victorious and that our might will not be blunted by this attack. Anything else? Good. Dismissed."
"Under the Emperor's guidance? Indeed, for He protects," said a gruff voice from nearby, and as the Preciprian Dragoons filed out, five colossal figures made themselves known to the Inquisitor, who turned and acknowledged them with a nod.
"Captain Argus," Marcus replied. "Well met, Inquisitor," answered the hulking Astartes, clad in Tactical Dreadnought Armor. The four men of his Terminator squad stood to attention behind. The Deathwatch had arrived.
"These are your men?" The Inquisitor asked, implying his question.
"Indeed. Brother Carbeail, an expert in melee with his twin Lightning Claws, Brother Orborus with his Chainfist will ensure that no bulkhead or vehicle delays us, Brother Valus with his Assault Cannon shall kill the Xenos in swathes, Brother Rio shall purge the unclean with his Heavy Flamer and our revered Brother-Epistolary Kaus shall bring the power of the warp to aid us in our cause."
"I am glad to fight alongside you once again Captain, it's been too long since I've seen that Hammer of yours smite the enemies of mankind."
"Fear not, Inquisitor, for Xenobane has not rested idle since our paths last crossed," Argus replied with a wolfish grin, the fangs that his chapter's flawed gene-seed produced adding to his lupine appearance, as did his ragged grey hair.
The following event was written by Little Lord Fauntleroy by my request. I don't care if it has inconsistancies or the odd spelling mistake, he did a good job and I'm more than happy to post it here with my own work.
Player Event - Knights and Daemons: Part 2 - Righteous Judgement
The clash between the two forces was no mere physical engagement-rather, it was the eternal battle waged by the Imperium within a microclimate. On the one had stood the avatars of humanities’ purity, zeal, and desire to rule the stars; on the other, physical manifestations of mankind’s darker side come to devour the mortals for their sins. It was the siege of Terra, the Age of Apostasy, the War within the webway re-enacted in modern times. Although, at the time, none of combatants particularly appreciated the more poetic nature of the engagement.
Feris Night was oblivious to the Grey Knights that fell around him as he charged forth, Dorn’s name etched upon his lips. His anointed Blade rose and fell in wide arcs, spilling Daemonic blood with every blow. Ducking under a hellblade swipe, Feris administered a lethal slash across the Bloodletter’s chest, causing it to dissipate in a blinding flash of light. Bringing his sword round to block a second hit, Feris left his left side exposed; a nearby Hound took advantage of this, leaping at him with a howl. A Purgator moved to block the beast’s path, pelting the infernal creature’s body with close range Psycannon fire as the unearthly talons simultaneously ripped through his armour. The creature exploded in a violent discharge of pent-up rage as it died, and with a grunt, the heavily bleeding Purgator collapsed with a thud to the Hulk deck. Snarling with anger at the loss of his brother, Feris reversed the grip on his blade; momentarily taking the Daemon of guard-that moment was all he needed, as the Templar dispatched him with an efficient Decapitation. Turning to face the encroaching mass of blood-red bodies, the Marshal met them with hatred and holy fire in his eyes, roaring a challenge to them.
Khan’Das sung his hellblade with what anyone who did not appreciate the finest points of swordplay would have mistaken for wild abandon. The weapon met the blessed steel of the Purifier’s Warding stave with a clang, both warriors struggling to overcome one another as around them Grey Knights and Bloodcrushers fought. The Herald grinned manically, throwing his head back and cackling manically.
“Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull throne!” roared Khan’das.
“Go to hell.” was the Grey Knight’s simple reply. He reversed his grip on the stave and swung it for the Daemon’s head. In response, Khan’das hugged the back of his mount for all he was worth, before taking advantage of the slight opening created by his enemies’ reckless attack and drove his hellblade straight through the Knight’s chest. The dying warrior had just enough strength to bring his storm bolter to bear and fire-Khan’das howled in pain as his incorporeal body was rent by bolts, acidic ichor beginning to pool upon the ground. His anger was increased tenfold moments later as a blinding white light consumed his Daemonic brethren, banishing three of the Bloodcrushers and many of the surrounding, lesser creatures back to the abyss. The Justicar and two remaining Purifiers readied their weapons and took advantage of the aftermath of their psychic assault, leaping into the fray with renewed vigour. Bloodletters, Daemonnetes, Flamers, even one of the Bloodcrushers fell before the zealous assault of the Knights, though one fell, his consumed by raging balefire. Khan’das met their charge with one of his own, lips curled in a wordless scream of pure rage.
The Purgators, despite having lost one of their number defending the life of the Black Templar, would not be deterred from playing their role in the battle. Taking up a firing position behind a collapsed piece of debris-most likely part of the roof-they began to pump fire into the encroaching horde. If they still had a desire for notions such as pride, they would have relished the feeling of raking what seemed to be hundreds of lesser Daemons with Psybolt and Incinerator fire, their anointed armour shrugging off any return shots of sorcerous, Tzeentchen fire. Forming up around the body of their fallen Justicar, whom they swore to defend until the very end, they sang the litanies of battle as they slew, every kill consecrated to the Emperor. But, it was hopeless-despite the vast numbers they had sent screaming into the warp, there was nothing to be done. A shambling mob of Plaguebearers, shrugging off what appeared to be every single shot sent their way, hacking apart brother Ajax with their noxious blades. 5 of them were gunned down by the two vengeful knights, but by focussing on them they had ignored the rest of the threat; 6 fiends of Slaanesh vaulted over the rubble and began to tear through them, slaying Brother Gideon with a claw through the eye socket. The final knight, Arminius, hefted his fallen sergeant’s thunder hammer, and fell the way any Grey Knight should-swinging his blade and smashing apart 4 of the monstrous daemonic cavalry. If the creatures of the warp comprehended such a thing, they would have considered it a noble death-3 brave warriors tearing what seemed to be the beating heart out of the horde.
The Unbound roared the name of his blasphemous god in frustration, swinging his colossal axe with barely-contained fury at the Terminators that surrounded him. One moved slower than the rest, and paid the price for his tardiness, neatly bisected clean in half by the evil blade. Swinging his body around quicker than anything of his size should be able to, the Unbound grabbed a Terminator and unceremoniously crushed him in his red talons. This proved to be an error of judgement-whilst he focused one way, he left the back of his legs exposed, and the Grey Knights took advantage of this. Laying into the exposed calves with glowing halberd and holy fire, they warriors of Titan fought like (ironically) men possessed, bringing the Daemon-king to his knees with a hefty clang. The Bloodthirster still refused to give the Grey Knights the mercy of his banishment, and with the cruelly-barbed whip he held in his left hand he lashed at his attackers. Two Terminators were caught by the weapon and hurtled into a nearby wall, their armour rent open like it was made of nothing more than cardboard. Turning back to the rest of the aggressors, the Unbound was just in time to see the Justicar swinging his Daemonhammer right for the Bloodthirster’s now vulnerable head. And, for a moment, time seemed to slow down as the Greater Daemon both whispered and shouted Khorne’s name. And then the world exploded in a flash of white light, and for what could have been days or millennia the Unbound saw no more.
Glaudian, having been helped to his feet by his loyal Paladins, raised his halberd at the last minute to parry the rune-inscribed, pulsating spear of the Daemon prince. For several seconds Astartes warrior and Daemonic champion clashed, before breaking off and sliding across the floor to face one another. Glaudian knew he was panting hard, exhaustion even for a Marine beginning to set in, but so too appeared to be the Daemon Prince-and that meant victory seemed close at hand. Meeting the creature’s eyes, Glaudian spoke in as clear a tone as he could manage.
“Celestus Maglovian, spawn of darkness, infernal gutter-child of Slaanesh, I commend thee back to the shadow which made you. You shall not pass this border by my honour, and the honour of Titan. I shall end you!” With that, Glaudian gave the signal, and the Paladins loosed their storm bolters into the Daemons tainted body. Seemingly rent by hundreds of bullets, Celestus grunted, but eventually the firing ceased and he looked up at the Knights once again, a manic grin etched upon his face.
“If that is the best you can do, dear human, then commend your soul to Chaos.”
Sensing that the time for talk was over, Glaudian charged once more at the beast, this time supported by his warriors. Ducking under a slash of the Dark blade of the Prince (a feat not easy in Terminator armour), Glaudian unleashed a torrent of soul fire straight at Celestus. The Daemon howled in agony as the sanctified flame rage across his body, not to mention the remorseless blows of the Paladins. Hatred burning in his eyes, Celestus brought his wicked claw in a brutal uppercut, catching one of the Paladins unawares and catapulting him into the air. He landed hard on his back, but before he could rise Celestus had leapt atop him and impaled him with a spear. The Grey Knight did not scream as he died, rather meeting the unearthly gaze of the Slaaneshi-creature with a look of simple human defiance, before his head finally fell back to stare blankly at the roof.
Celestus realised his mistake only as he turned to regard the rest of the Paladins, his look of triumph soon replaced with one of horror as he saw Glaudian charge towards him, Force halberd lowered. Before he could react the Brother Captain lance the weapon through Celestus’ chest, pouring all of his holy hate and faith and belief in Humanities destiny to master the stars into that strike. For the briefest second Celestus felt his body begin to crack open, and realised his master had left him when he had need His aid most, before collapsing in an ethereal blast of warp-energy.
With the deaths of both the Greater Daemon and the Daemon Prince, The Daemonic horde began to retreat; first as small pockets, but the en masse into the shadows of the hulk. Khan’das hung on until the end, decapitating the Terminator with whom he had duelled in a spray of arterial gore. Finally realising that the battle was hopeless, he screamed a wordless bellow of rage to the heavens, before he too began to run alongside his host towards the safety of their layer. The Grey Knights considered giving chase, but realised the pointlessness of it; they had suffered grievously for their victory. None of the Purgators, two Purifiers, 5 Terminators-now a single squad, for Justicar Gideon had been felled by the Bloodthirster- and 4 Paladins, as well as the Marshal and the Brother-Captain himself were all that remained of the task force. Finally allowing himself to collapse to his knees with exhaustion, Glaudian struggled hard to return his breathing to normal. Many good men had been lost this day, warriors who had not deserved to die yet. But, they had slain two lords of Daemonkind and cast back the horde-at least for now-and that was what mattered.
From the shadows at the edge of the blood-caked arena, hunched warriors watched the Grey Knights with soulless green eyes.
And with that, I pronounce the current event COMPLETE!
Where applicable, could you all write out updated character profiles? So I can put them in the OP to show what their current state is and also as an interesting contrast to how they started. Thanks.
And if everyone could compile a list of the various NPCs under their control, that would be helpful. Apply common sense.
Player: WARORK93
Character name: Warboss Warklaw Gordakka
Character age: 103
Character race: Ork
Character profession: Warboss
Character personality: very orky, mean, bossy, cunning, supremely destructive in his new form
Character appearance: Hulking, massive, metallic assortment of orky killpower, The big mean an green version of Iron man
Character height: 20ft (my guess anyway, how tall would you say that dread is Dark?)
Character equipment: Massive amounts armor plating, massive power claws for hands, arm mounted rokkits, waist mounted autocannons, huge bosspole, augmetic eyes
Character bio/background story: Warklaw's boyz have been stuck aboard the hulk for as long ans anyone can remember, having carved out and maintained a good bit of territory for themselves over the mass of ships. Now, with his meks and wierdboyz telling him that the hulk is about to hit, or at least come near a planet inhabited by the umies, Warklaw figures its time for his Waaagh! to branch out....but not before finishing up the party on the barge...
Edit: The battle of the outter Hulk injured Warklaw gravely and hence the remainder of his enormous body has been placed into one of his Big meks greatest creations: Da Mega Dread. The umiez think him dead, they're about to be in for some proper learnin.
Major NPCs:
Big Mek: Gutkrunch- big ork that abviously likes to tinker with stuff, mostly stuff that kills indescriminately, commands mekboys, has a custom forcefield and a mechanical arm that has multiple attatchments for the job at hand.
Second in command Nob: Borgutz- Mega armored nob that, with his retinue of other nobs, make up up the backbone of the leadership of Warklaw's Waaagh! Likes throqin his weight around and such orky things.
Pain boss: Sawtoof: Big pain boy nob who keeps the boys goin with his retinue of pain boyz and batches of fightin juice of which he keeps his own brew for constant dispersal through an intravaneous unit attatched to his back.
There are also other nobz I may or may not refer to by name who command the other diverse set of mobz that Warklaw has in his Waaagh! I've also got plans for a personal "retinue" of other smaller dreadz to tag along with Warklaw but seeing as that might be overkill, its in the workings.....maybe....
Will that do Dark? You already have the pic right?
EDIT: I just now noticed...there is an entire one sentence part...dedicated to the pathetic death of Izzy...
Also wondering if that commissar made it out? Don't remember reading if he lived or not...
Character name: Marcus Profugus
Character age: Unavailable though but by looks somewhere in the late thirties.
Character race: Human
Character profession: Inquisitor (Ordo Xeno)
Character personality: While seemingly friendly on the surface, he is always in pursuit of his own agenda. Always scheming, always manipulating; he has few friends apart from a select few men in his retinue and a close circle of like minded Inquisitors. He believes that human life is highly important and his objective in life is to aid in any way in reducing loss in human life in anyway. Do not be fooled though, he would still have entire armies march to their death if it progresses his aims...
Character appearance: Quite lean, with a short blond hair and a clean shaven face.
Character height: About 6 foot
Character equipment: Carapace armour, refractor field, hell pistol and a sword with rites of swordsmanship inscribed on it, as well as access to some standard guard equipment (I'm giving him a shotgun later for CQC.) He also has an innate physic power allowing him to sense the presence of souls nearby.
Character bio/background story: From the Calixis sector, there is very little actually known of this man. He recently took over from his mentor, the late Inquisitor Felix, after Felix's death in combat with the leader of a genestealer cult. Marcus still have much to prove to his betters and has yet to earn much renown. He received a lot of experience in various forms of combat on Paxx under the tuition of Inquisitor Felix. Preferring covert operations to full out assaults Marcus hates the idea of having to waste imperial lives in wave based assaults, as such the plan to take 'The Scrap Heap' revolves around a hard and fast mechanized assault supported by heavy armour, intended to crush all enemy resistance within hours. Such an assault, if successful, could give the imperial forces the momentum to remove the orks from the current section of the hulk, but if it fails, not only does Marcus' expedition fall apart but a large amount of the currant sectors mechanized forces will be bogged down in a protracted engagement without air support...
Retinue: 100 Dragoon Grenadiers as described above. [temporary]
A vulture gunship [temporary]
5 combat engineers [temporary]
5 Members of the deathwatch equiped with terminator armour
Robur, the serious, quiet stormtrooper bodyguard who has been with Marcus since the final engagements of Paxx.
Important members of his retinue; Robur, as above.
Sergeant Domini, the good humored engineer who wears the characteristically thick, blast resistant carapace armour of the engineer corps. He carries a revolver shotgun (does what it says on the tin)
Captain Cecil, the grim war veteran who wears the same armour as the grenadiers he commands. He bears a double bladed power sword and a hellgun. On top of this he carries an old revolver, a trophy of some previous victory...
Flight Lieutenant Adlinea Zhakov: the pilot of the vulture gunship and sister of flight commander Zhakov, a fact that is hidden due to the fact that high command would remove Zhakov from control of the naval forces should this 'conflict of interests' be discovered.
I also intend to upload a map detailing the rough deployments of various guard units for the engagement against 'The Scrap Heap'.
A battered looking Major Mortensen walked up to Charkos. Stopping just a metre in front of him, Mortensen saluted respectfully.
"Kyel, your actions were admirable. Therefor command has seen fit to allow me to promote you. Congratulations Captain Charkos, you may lead 1st Company. " Mortensen said. "Your men who fought with you will stay with you ofcourse, they will be moved to 1st company. Kick some arse Captain."
Watching Major Mortensen leave, he wondered what had been so special about it. He hadn't killed the warboss, and had lost his hand in the process of not fulfilling his duty. It didn't matter to him, he had to lead a company. Well, what was left of the company.
He started reorganising. Sergeant Blach got promoted to first lieutenant. Mohane got promoted to sergeant to fill in Blach's vacated spot,... The list went on. Having spent half an hour reorganising his company, he sent his bodyguard, corporal Robin, to tell the officers and troopers in question of their promotion, and how this company would work from now on.
"Captain Charkos..." Kyel spoke these words softly, he could get used to it.
For now, it would be waiting for the next order to move out. The 21st was battered, but still combat-able, so, by Ousia, they would kick some arses.
OC: the rough sketch is just a bit of fun. The detail of it are all in the IC post so feel fee to ignore my bad handwriting and drawing skills...
IC: Marcus looked at the scrappy plans he'd drawn up for the assault. He sighed. He hoped his intelligence was accurate, without airborne surveillance photo's it was hard it be sure of the forts composition. By the scout teams report there was a large, diamond shaped bastion just south of the main fort itself. There were earthworks, more like scrap works, surrounding the fort and both tank traps and obstacles for infantry and armour alike surrounding the fort, many just bits of rubbish, others purposely built to deter attack. The fort itself was located on a mountain of rubbish, rusted vehicles and old ship parts. Its walls were raised a good four meters, not the highest wall the guard had had to cross but still quite high. The north and west sides of the fort was impassable, the other sides guarded by earthworks and gun emplacements.
Marcus had underestimated the orks capabilities in building forts. The layout meant that there was no space where the attackers could be both safe and scale the scrap heap. But by the looks of things, the orks had no way of getting their armour out of the forts. The scout team had noted in their report a likely location of a sally port, located at the base of the scarp heap on the west side. To this effect Marcus had tasked three whole armoured companies to engage the west fortifications. Should the orks attempt a sally their forces would be caught up in the attack on the west side. The center of the attack would revolve around a large push by seven companies of dragoons, supported later by 2 tank companies and, if the taking of the bastion went well, one or two additional companies of dragoons after the bastion fell. But the site where Marcus intended to break through the ork defenses was the east. His taskforce and eight companies of dragoons would assault the east side supported by three armoured companies. From an outlook, the east did look the most heavily defended, but once past the earthworks the center earthworks would also fall. One nagging issue in Marcus' mind was the lookout tower. Was it really just that? Or something more...
A key part of the plan though was to draw the orks out of their fortifications. To this end Marcus' forces would occupy the bastion first, thus taunting the orks to come out. Assisted by the deathwatch squad teleporting in, it should fall within minutes of the first attack. Any normal enemy wouldn't fall for this, but Marcus was confident that the orks would. If not the assaults would continue and, in theory, crush all ork resistance within the first day or so of fighting. If not, they could always fall back to the bastion.
To keep the orks aircover away the guard had lend a detachment of three AA batteries. A mix of hydra flak tanks, manticores with eagle strike AA missiles and hydra flak emplacements it formed an odd contingent. Taking the center behind the 1st to 7th dragoons, their range would ensure that no aircraft bothered any of the assault teams.
With eighteen dragoon companies and 8 tank companies on the field as well as the newly named task force 318, with two dragoon and two tank companies in reserve along with the vulture and the engineer squad, Marcus was leading roughly 2500 men and around 1500 vehicles. A substantial force, still outnumbered by the orks. But Marcus had resolved that numbers wouldn't win this battle, but skill.
It was all in place, Marcus polished his new shotgun he'd 'borrowed' from the guards armoury for the fifth time this evening as he wondered just how many men would die tomorrow.
Die at dawn...
dit: yeah, ignore the numbers on the sketch as well...
Second edit: still messing with the numbers to set this up...
Wizard, where are you getting 20,000 men from? For one thing, ~16,000 Preciprian Dragoons have just arrived, but they are mostly reinforcing the three fronts - the east (where Charkos' lot are), the centre/front (where the HQ is located, along with the Ousian 23rd) and the west (the first Dragoon regiment and the Reth Drop Troops).
What you're suggesting involves pulling away the majority of the Imperial forces for one attack, save the Marines (of which two more battle companies have arrived).
So, for a start, state which front you are assaulting, and try to use a reasonable amount of force.
Not to mention the Ousian's suffered large casualties and are absolutely tired to the bone (10 hours straight fighting, same with the Reth and the first Dragoon regiment), and the reinforcements have been fighting for about half that time.
The men are tired you know.
I had intended for there to be a period of rest from the action, for players to develop character and whatnot further. Don't forget, the Inquisitor was part of the fighting as well, so he's going to be just as knackered as all the other men.
Wizard, where are you getting 20,000 men from? For one thing, ~16,000 Preciprian Dragoons have just arrived, but they are mostly reinforcing the three fronts - the east (where Charkos' lot are), the centre/front (where the HQ is located, along with the Ousian 23rd) and the west (the first Dragoon regiment and the Reth Drop Troops).
What you're suggesting involves pulling away the majority of the Imperial forces for one attack, save the Marines (of which two more battle companies have arrived).
So, for a start, state which front you are assaulting, and try to use a reasonable amount of force.
Not to mention the Ousian's suffered large casualties and are absolutely tired to the bone (10 hours straight fighting, same with the Reth and the first Dragoon regiment), and the reinforcements have been fighting for about half that time.
The men are tired you know.
I had intended for there to be a period of rest from the action, for players to develop character and whatnot further. Don't forget, the Inquisitor was part of the fighting as well, so he's going to be just as knackered as all the other men.
Yeah... still messing around with numbers here... sorry.
Lord Harrab wrote:I don't think anything has changed with my character, and she has no mooks to command either.
So i'll just use this post to show I'm still active and kinda scared of Warorks new form, it needs more dakka though.
Scrazza wrote:Mine's quiet the same I think. Except the latest addition of Corporal Robin.
Ah, but you have many more NPCs to command. Mortenson, the various Sergeant's (hell, make some more up!), and you have to note your prosthetic (and hence much stronger) left hand, and also any fancy new gear that your position might allow you to get ahold of.. You could just take Matthewson's sword, or leave it in the caring hands of Robin instead. Either way, you have it.
Also, the many Space Marine NPCs I've introduced are basically yours to command, but play them well, for they are still mine. And a visit from the Lord Commissar might be in order..
Wizard won't be the controller of the Lord Commissar and Lord-General any longer, so they're yours as well. Same with Devastator's old character.
Use and abuse them. (Well, more of the former and hopefully very little of the latter!)
Wizard, where are you getting 20,000 men from? For one thing, ~16,000 Preciprian Dragoons have just arrived, but they are mostly reinforcing the three fronts - the east (where Charkos' lot are), the centre/front (where the HQ is located, along with the Ousian 23rd) and the west (the first Dragoon regiment and the Reth Drop Troops).
What you're suggesting involves pulling away the majority of the Imperial forces for one attack, save the Marines (of which two more battle companies have arrived).
So, for a start, state which front you are assaulting, and try to use a reasonable amount of force.
Not to mention the Ousian's suffered large casualties and are absolutely tired to the bone (10 hours straight fighting, same with the Reth and the first Dragoon regiment), and the reinforcements have been fighting for about half that time.
The men are tired you know.
I had intended for there to be a period of rest from the action, for players to develop character and whatnot further. Don't forget, the Inquisitor was part of the fighting as well, so he's going to be just as knackered as all the other men.
Yeah... still messing around with numbers here... sorry.
No worries, I'll just get my "apply common sense here" stamp and then we're done.
Should help with organisation. (In other words, I want the organisation of your forces written out! That means you, Mr. Ousian! As for you Wizard, you were just going on about lots of companies, so I felt it necessary to set things straight)
OC: just a short post to explain the plan a little more since my IC post is vague.
The assault is taking place in the central front, taking 2000 dragoons who had recently arrived and 500 crew members for trucks, chimera APC's, LMBT's and the Hydra and AA manticores (idea is from an IA book so don't make that look. ) along with the task force save those in reserve.
Ork forces (ignore my sketch, I did that quite early in the planning of the post) are in excess of 3000 orks and in excess of 2000 vehicles of various sizes.
Don't worry darko, the assault is going to take place in a few days (the ending bit is a tad misleading but I was just using it to round off the post in my typical metaphorical/mysterious way)
Time for Marcus to get some sleep... if the bombing permits.
Edit: and the companies I'm talking about in the sketch are more around 100 men for the infantry and about 12 LMBT's for the tank companies. I was looking at that time at modern day military companies (80 - 225 men if wikipiedia is correct)
Should help with organisation. (In other words, I want the organisation of your forces written out! That means you, Mr. Ousian! As for you Wizard, you were just going on about lots of companies, so I felt it necessary to set things straight)
I am correct though. Charkos is now a captain, and leads a company of 6 (depleted) platoons.
Should help with organisation. (In other words, I want the organisation of your forces written out! That means you, Mr. Ousian! As for you Wizard, you were just going on about lots of companies, so I felt it necessary to set things straight)
I am correct though. Charkos is now a captain, and leads a company of 6 (depleted) platoons.
I am aware that you're correct.
Anyway, Scrazza, there's a new roleplay up-and-coming, you might want to join it. It's got an interest thread and it's about ships and stuff.
Now, y'all should check the OP, I've made changes to the layout and to various character profiles. Check carefully.
Should help with organisation. (In other words, I want the organisation of your forces written out! That means you, Mr. Ousian! As for you Wizard, you were just going on about lots of companies, so I felt it necessary to set things straight)
I am correct though. Charkos is now a captain, and leads a company of 6 (depleted) platoons.
I am aware that you're correct.
Anyway, Scrazza, there's a new roleplay up-and-coming, you might want to join it. It's got an interest thread and it's about ships and stuff.
Now, y'all should check the OP, I've made changes to the layout and to various character profiles. Check carefully.
I already checked that one out, but I don't know I will be joining that one. I'm already in this one, and in EF's one. Two major RP's.
And what, am I in control of Martelius? You do know that I do not know where he is, and that their is a grudge between the Ousians and Martelius.
So... I guess that Darko asked me to change my Character. So I picked something just as evil.
Character name: ++PURGED FROM IMPERIAL RECORDS++
Character age: Unknown
Character race: Space Marine
Character profession: Legion of the Damned
Character personality: Never speaks, never stands down. When confronted with a problem, he is always going to beat it to deal or set it on fire.
Character appearance: 10 feet tall, Jet Black armor decorated with skulls and flames, an aura of death seems to follow him
Character height: 10 feet tall
Character equipment: Legion of the Damned armor, Flamer, Frag/Krak grenades, Bolt pistol, combat knife
Character bio/background story: ++ CLASSIFIED IMPERIAL RECORDS++
NPCs:
8 Legion of the Damned brothers, one with a Multi Melta, a LotD sergeant, and a LotD in TDA with a Multi-Melta. All are silent, all hunt in a pack, delivering the Emperor's justice to those unclean on the Space Hulk.
Should help with organisation. (In other words, I want the organisation of your forces written out! That means you, Mr. Ousian! As for you Wizard, you were just going on about lots of companies, so I felt it necessary to set things straight)
I am correct though. Charkos is now a captain, and leads a company of 6 (depleted) platoons.
I am aware that you're correct.
Anyway, Scrazza, there's a new roleplay up-and-coming, you might want to join it. It's got an interest thread and it's about ships and stuff.
Now, y'all should check the OP, I've made changes to the layout and to various character profiles. Check carefully.
I already checked that one out, but I don't know I will be joining that one. I'm already in this one, and in EF's one. Two major RP's.
And what, am I in control of Martelius? You do know that I do not know where he is, and that their is a grudge between the Ousians and Martelius.
Heh. I'm in all three.
I'm aware of the grudge and whatnot, as for where he is, just have him appear. The grudge could be softened by him being the one that created the augmetics used on Charkos and also those being used in an attempt to save Garl's life. Basically, Charkos is still duty-bound to protect him, so just have him as an attachment to his company/command squad (the latter of which you might want to assemble). Besides, it'll make the whole thing a lot more interesting! Shenanigans!
Chowderhead wrote:So... I guess that Darko asked me to change my Character. So I picked something just as evil.
Character name: ++PURGED FROM IMPERIAL RECORDS++
Character age: Unknown
Character race: Space Marine
Character profession: Legion of the Damned
Character personality: Never speaks, never stands down. When confronted with a problem, he is always going to beat it to deal or set it on fire.
Character appearance: 10 feet tall, Jet Black armor decorated with skulls and flames, an aura of death seems to follow him
Character height: 10 feet tall
Character equipment: Legion of the Damned armor, Flamer, Frag/Krak grenades, Bolt pistol, combat knife
Character bio/background story: ++ CLASSIFIED IMPERIAL RECORDS++
NPCs:
8 Legion of the Damned brothers, one with a Multi Melta, a LotD sergeant, and a LotD in TDA with a Multi-Melta. All are silent, all hunt in a pack, delivering the Emperor's justice to those unclean on the Space Hulk.
Hehe, you do enjoy purging things from Imperial records.
Not sure how easy this character will be for you to play.. but if you can pull it off, then good on you.
Darkvoidof40k wrote:The grudge could be softened by him being the one that created the augmetics used on Charkos and also those being used in an attempt to save Garl's life.
There is also the fact that Martelius was under effects (near overdose) of the combat drugs that may have effected his actions.
Darkvoidof40k wrote:The grudge could be softened by him being the one that created the augmetics used on Charkos and also those being used in an attempt to save Garl's life.
There is also the fact that Martelius was under effects (near overdose) of the combat drugs that may have effected his actions.
Darkvoidof40k wrote:The grudge could be softened by him being the one that created the augmetics used on Charkos and also those being used in an attempt to save Garl's life.
There is also the fact that Martelius was under effects (near overdose) of the combat drugs that may have effected his actions.
When was this?
Since beginning? Vlad(Skitaari sergeant) did imply that someone had been giving combat drugs to people in secret. (Its also the easiest way to "reset" the Tech-priest to normal. )
Darkvoidof40k wrote:The grudge could be softened by him being the one that created the augmetics used on Charkos and also those being used in an attempt to save Garl's life.
There is also the fact that Martelius was under effects (near overdose) of the combat drugs that may have effected his actions.
When was this?
Since beginning?
Vlad(Skitaari sergeant) did imply that someone had been giving combat drugs to people in secret.
(Its also the easiest way to "reset" the Tech-priest to normal. )
Player: Scrazza Character name: Kyel Charkos Character age: 33 Character race: Human (from the planet Ousia) Character profession: Guardsman, Company Commander, Captain Character personality: Fierce, tries to take care of his company , medium faith in the Emperor. Character appearance: (See picture) though, heavily scared, bionic left hand. Character height: 6ft 4 Character equipment: Lasgun, Laspistol, Frag grenades, Short-sword ( = bayonet), Bionic left hand Character bio/background story: Hailing from the swamp world Ousia, Charkos is like all Ousian men, raised in the swamps and the bayous, between dangerous animals. He used to hunt for Gator with his father before he grew tired of the monotonous life, and left for a life within the Ousian Guard, a regiment specialized for warfare in bayous areas. He joined at the age of 21, so has a lot of experience. He survived long enough to become Lieutenant. On board of a space hulk, h lost his left hand due to a malfunctioning plasma pistol, and has a bionic left hand as a replacement. For great merit, and leading an effective counterattack against orks, he got promoted to Captian of 1st company of the 21st Ousian Riverine.
Charkos' command squad.
Corporal Robin Though, big and mean, he saved Charkos' live, and has earned his trust to serve him as a bodyguard. He is armed with a powersword and a laspistol.
Techpriest Martelius. Large and mechanic. He has various mechanic gizmos and whatnots. Got attached to this Ousian Company as main techincian. Charkos is in charge of his safety.
Vox Trooper Mirdin Has been in service of Charkos for he past two years, and has proven his skills with the vox. He is armed with a standard vox caster, a lasgun and a machette.
Platoon comanders
1st Lieutenant Blach Got promoted from Sergeant to 1st lieutenant on the space hulk to fill in vacated commanding places. He has proven his worth countless times. He is armed with a lasgun, laspistol, machette and frag grenades.He is in command of 1st platoon
Lieutenant Pulver Just like Blach, he got promoted to 2nd lieutenant on the space hulk. He is a trusted friend of charkos. His armed with a mechanic right arm, a lasgun, laspistol, frag grenades and a machette.In command of 2nd platoon
Sergeant Mohane He is in command of 3d platoon, the smallest platoon in the company. 3rd platoon only numbers 18 men, so Charkos had seen it fit to get trooper Mohane, who had some great tactic insight, promoted to sergeant and lead this depleted platoon.
Lieutenant Garl He is momentarily in the field hospital, but with the aid of the hospitalliers and Martellius, Garl should be able to fight in a weeks time. Garl is armed witha lasgun, Machette, and Frag grenades. Garl has a mechanic righ leg, and right arm. His right shoulder is mechanical. Garl is the commander of 4th platoon
Sergeant Jethro. A young sergeant, he showed great command talent, and he temporarily leads 4th platoon until Garl gets back. Jethro always tries to get the job done the fastest.
Lieutenant Viggo Promoted to 1st company's 5th platoon commander after he impressed Charkos on the space hulk with his tactic insight. He is armed with lasgun, Krak grenades, Machette and a meltabomb
due lack of other fitting commanding officers, sixth platoon is led by Charkos himself.
___
That enough Darko? Or do you want me to describe how the different platoons are. You know, size, armed with what special and heavy weapons and whatnot.
Player: Scrazza Character name: Kyel Charkos Character age: 33 Character race: Human (from the planet Ousia) Character profession: Guardsman, Company Commander, Captain Character personality: Fierce, tries to take care of his company , medium faith in the Emperor. Character appearance: (See picture) though, heavily scared, bionic left hand. Character height: 6ft 4 Character equipment: Lasgun, Laspistol, Frag grenades, Short-sword ( = bayonet), Bionic left hand Character bio/background story: Hailing from the swamp world Ousia, Charkos is like all Ousian men, raised in the swamps and the bayous, between dangerous animals. He used to hunt for Gator with his father before he grew tired of the monotonous life, and left for a life within the Ousian Guard, a regiment specialized for warfare in bayous areas. He joined at the age of 21, so has a lot of experience. He survived long enough to become Lieutenant. On board of a space hulk, h lost his left hand due to a malfunctioning plasma pistol, and has a bionic left hand as a replacement. For great merit, and leading an effective counterattack against orks, he got promoted to Captian of 1st company of the 21st Ousian Riverine.
Charkos' command squad.
Corporal Robin Though, big and mean, he saved Charkos' live, and has earned his trust to serve him as a bodyguard. He is armed with a powersword and a laspistol.
Techpriest Martelius. Large and mechanic. He has various mechanic gizmos and whatnots. Got attached to this Ousian Company as main techincian. Charkos is in charge of his safety.
Vox Trooper Mirdin Has been in service of Charkos for he past two years, and has proven his skills with the vox. He is armed with a standard vox caster, a lasgun and a machette.
Field Medic Tolin Joined 1st company after treating Charkos' wounds onboard the space hulk. He is armed with a laspistol, machette, surgical satchel attached on his utility belt. A backpack full of medical items.
Cadet Comissar Holt Heyliger. Attached to 1st Company during the actions on the space hulk. Due to a shortage of fitting Comissars, Cadet Heyliger gladly took the commission to join 1st company. He has a lot to prove, both to the comissariat and the Ousians.
Platoon comanders
1st Lieutenant Blach Got promoted from Sergeant to 1st lieutenant on the space hulk to fill in vacated commanding places. He has proven his worth countless times. He is armed with a lasgun, laspistol, machette and frag grenades.He is in command of 1st platoon
Lieutenant Pulver Just like Blach, he got promoted to 2nd lieutenant on the space hulk. He is a trusted friend of charkos. His armed with a mechanic right arm, a lasgun, laspistol, frag grenades and a machette.In command of 2nd platoon
Sergeant Mohane He is in command of 3d platoon, the smallest platoon in the company. 3rd platoon only numbers 18 men, so Charkos had seen it fit to get trooper Mohane, who had some great tactic insight, promoted to sergeant and lead this depleted platoon.
Lieutenant Garl He is momentarily in the field hospital, but with the aid of the hospitalliers and Martellius, Garl should be able to fight in a weeks time. Garl is armed witha lasgun, Machette, and Frag grenades. Garl has a mechanic righ leg, and right arm. His right shoulder is mechanical. Garl is the commander of 4th platoon
Sergeant Jethro. A young sergeant, he showed great command talent, and he temporarily leads 4th platoon until Garl gets back. Jethro always tries to get the job done the fastest.
Lieutenant Viggo Promoted to 1st company's 5th platoon commander after he impressed Charkos on the space hulk with his tactic insight. He is armed with lasgun, Krak grenades, Machette and a meltabomb
due lack of other fitting commanding officers, sixth platoon is led by Charkos himself.
Player: Gorskar.da.Lost
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...
major underlings:
Mek Wurrdakka: A relatively new edition to Gorskar's cronies, the Mek is a highly talented engineer and weapon designer. Indeed, he'd be brilliant if only he could keep his mind focused on one task, something Gorskar has yet to teach him to do, despite his usual response to incompetence. Wurrdakka is most at home building the various fighting vehicles used by the Waaagh! to spread chaos amongst their foes.
First Kaptin Skargrim: a veteran of the Waaagh! for a very long time now, Skargrim has fought alongside Gorskar for almost as long as both of them can remember, which is a very long time indeed. He is usually to be found organising the various forces Gorskar uses to wage his wars, a job he doesn't exactly relish but happens to be good at. Whenever the opportunity arises, Skargrim will don his favourite kustom-job mega armour, and take to the front himself, using his tremendous size and strength to deal with the enemy personally.
Weirdboy Zag: Gorskar's chief warp route plotter by dint of not being dead yet, Zag has spent most of his career in space. Indeed, it is questionable as to whether he remembers what it's like to be on a planet, so long has it been sine he set foot on one. His psychic powers, though somewhat unpredictable at best, have been honed through years of use, and this makes Zag probably the closest any Ork will get to being a Navigator equivalent.
Master Wierdboy- Zappathrasha: An old an extremely powerful weirdboy, came into Warklaw's retinue by the virtue of surviving the threats of chaos forces and necrons alike.
THERE, that concludes my retinue.)
As warklaw got used to his new body and weapons, his second in command, standing on top of a battle wagon as to be heard by the now huge Warklaw, appraised him of the situation.
"Da boyz iz fallin back all across da hulk boss. Wez still got plenny ov dem kommando boyz lurkin da tight spaces but fer da most part da boyz is mannin da wallz"
"Whyz dat Borgutz?" Warklaw asked harshly in his new metallic voice.
"Dats what yer last order waz boss, ta fall back."
"Oh, so et waz." Warklaw responded.
"Youz gonna go stomp sum umiez boss?" Borgutz asked. Warklaw thought about this for a moment but decided against it for now. The umiez would be making ready for another attack, possibly a counter attack. No, Warklaw needed this chance to fully rouse his Waaagh! So far only the orks from this central part of the hulk had been summoned.
"Iz got a new order fer you boyz." Warklaw said. "Tell Gutkrunch ta start spreadin da word over da voyz bawkses, get up some runners and start wavin da polez and shoutin, make as much noyz as ya can, get all my boyz here for dis fight..."
"Okay boss--" Borgutz started until Warklaw interrupted him angrily.
"An squish any ov da grot lovers dat dont come, I'm da boss, dey better do as I tell em!"
"Anyfing else boss?" Borgutz asked.
From the confines of the mega dread, the sound of a throaty and raspy chuckle could be heard.
"Bring me dem freebooter boyz from da udder side ov da hulk."
"Dem ones dat zogoff near da bugs?"
"Yeah dats dem, I'm in need ov dere speshul services..."
Borgutz nodded and started barking orders, thats when Warklaw's mind remembered something.
"Tell Gutkrunch ta get me dat udder git, wots iz name? Gorskar on da voice box, I wanna see if eez ard or not."
With that, Borgut filed away, leaving Warklaw to plot and plan and sulk for being encased in this metal box...
He wondered though, it might not be all bad.
Warklaw turned to find some mekboyz, shouting. "Oi you lot! Can I still drink grog tru dis voyzy box ting?"
Oh man, I'm just waiting for Warork to get fed up and head-butt a Warhound titan in the crouch or something. He's far too much awesome for one mega-dread
I'll post more later, got a lot on my plate at the moment, and I LOVE it.
Lord Harrab wrote:Oh man, I'm just waiting for Warork to get fed up and head-butt a Warhound titan in the crouch or something. He's far too much awesome for one mega-dread
(I just about died laughing trying to imagine that...
BTW Gorskar, note that Warklaw would like a word in private....)
Lord Harrab wrote:Oh man, I'm just waiting for Warork to get fed up and head-butt a Warhound titan in the crouch or something. He's far too much awesome for one mega-dread
(I just about died laughing trying to imagine that...
BTW Gorskar, note that Warklaw would like a word in private....)
I've been sigged?
Yay! *Happy dance*
Now do you see why Eluna trying to kill him, he's just going to keep getting bigger and bigger and bigger until he's wearing the Hulk like a hat!
Lord Harrab wrote:Now do you see why Eluna's trying to kill him? He's just going to keep getting bigger and bigger and bigger until he's wearing the Hulk like a hat!
That's the plan, the next step is to be interred into a gargant and dance on the planetary capital while singing orky show tunes and waving a cane that is actually a kill-kroozer cannon...
It had taken almost seven hours for the Imperial fleet to cut their losses and disengage. By the end of it, Gorskar was almost murderous with impatience. Space battles were irritating at the best of times, and that was when they only took a few hours.
"Boss! We's clear t' start landin' dem warbands you brought."
Gorskar nodded, and spat his orders.
"Send in da fighta-bommas first, soften 'em up a bit. Then send in th' Warboats, an' get da lads into the scrap quick. I'm gonna lead dat first wave m'self. Got dat?"
Skargrim grunted, and relayed the orders to the troop bays of the Red Thunda, as well as the other surviving ships. Soon, the ship shuddered again, as the disorganised mob of crude fighter aircraft began to leave the hangars in a steady stream.
Gorskar watched as his bridge crew scattered about. Grot mappers began to confusedly pick their way across the various star charts pinned to the walls, trying to pinpoint exactly where they were. Runtherds watched their charges with a mixture of amusement and frustration, occasionally electrocuting the odd wayward Grot out of boredom. Gorskar sniffed. He flexed his klaw, and got up from his throne.
At once, the bridge became silent, except for Skargrim, who continued to give orders.
"Right den, where's Wurrdakka? I needs dis klaw sorted afore I goes to da front."
The assembled greenskins pointed this way and that, and one Grot squeaked that the Mek was down in the launch bays watching his latest planes in action. Gorskar started to lumber to the doors. A sudden yell stopped him in his tracks.
Skargrim was waving one of the recievers to the voicebox.
"Hey, boss! Seems dere's some boyz already on dat dere hulk. One of 'em's callin' ya, calls hisself Warklaw or summin'. Wants a private word."
Gorskar paused, to think about this.
"Get me to dat hulk. I'll meet 'im there, if he wants a greetin'. Make sure we's ready fer anyfing, though, he might want a bit more than t' say hi."
The mad cat approves of what you have done here, Scrazz.
I aim to please.
I want you to focus on the misery of the soldiers next, because they're all going to be pretty miserable, what with all the miserable going-ons and miserable whatnots and things and stuff that are miserably miserable.
The mad cat approves of what you have done here, Scrazz.
I aim to please.
I want you to focus on the misery of the soldiers next, because they're all going to be pretty miserable, what with all the miserable going-ons and miserable whatnots and things and stuff that are miserably miserable.
The mad cat approves of what you have done here, Scrazz.
I aim to please.
I want you to focus on the misery of the soldiers next, because they're all going to be pretty miserable, what with all the miserable going-ons and miserable whatnots and things and stuff that are miserably miserable.
But... cat says 'no'.
You should do a yes nodding cat.
Cat doesn't say 'no'.. Cat says "wiggle yo booty - wiggle wigglewigglewigglewigglewiggle"
And also.. it would appear I've inadvertantly stumbled upon a phrase from Little Britain.. whoops. I don't even watch it, thought from what I hear it's very funny.
Lord Harrab wrote:Red is like Admiral Ackbar, he pops up now and again with helpful warnings:
"Its a trap, and that's off-topic" Then he's gone again.
*ahem*
Back to roleplaying everybody.
And he tells me I'm spamming.
Aw hell no Scrazza, don't you go starting this off again.. otherwise before you know it we'll be ten pages down the line and heading towards a swift lock.
Seriously guys, do some roleplaying. Either that or bugger off.
The Deamon horde cane screaming down the hallway, Khan'Das at the head. Charging towards their foe, they began to wonder why the men didn't move. They soon got their answer.
The Legion lowered their damned bolters and opened fire. The cleansing flame of the Flamer was ripping the hounds apart, and the assault cannon was tearing the dogs into tiny morsels. Khan'Das screamed as his horde became torn down by these foolish marines. He tried to cut one of the marine heads off as he tore by on the Bloodcrusher, but the marine simply grabbed the sword. Khan'das was torn from his steed for the first time. Screaming at the marine, he spouted "You will never kill me!" He lunged for his sword in the massive black-clad man's hand. Sadly, it wasn't that easy. The marine grabbed the head of the Deamon and smashed it up against a wall. Using the Deamon's sword, he pinned the vile creature to the wall. Taking his flamer, he showed the Deamon the emperor's fury. The flame charred body of the monster was still twitching, so he did was all Legion marines would do. He drew a krak grenade, stuffed into the open mouth of the deamon and left.
"Ha! Mere Mortal cannot kill me!" Khan'das spat the words as his head was blown open by the Grenade.
Warklaw's new form was still, he surveyed his boyz work from atop a platform that was conveniently cleared. Earlier, the mekboyz had brought him some grog and had poured into Warklaw's mouth by unclasping the face hatch. Warklaw's head was remarkably intact besides the half that had been replaced long ago, it was just his body that was ruined. His giant orky form was without arms or legs and scars crisscrossed the rest of his still overly muscled frame. The grog was good, the best in fact, and one of his mekboyz had gotten electrocuted while doing it.
So the Warboss had had a good drink and got some entertainment watching the feeble boyz twitch and foam, it had lightened his mood from earlier when he had kicked a wartrukk through the air out of sheer frustration, the thing had landed in a squig pit and there it sat for the time being. Gutkrunch ambled his way up to the new and improved Warklaw and got his attention.
"Ey bozz, wez got dat udder git on da line, wotz calls imself Gorskar."
"Dat so?" Waklaw answered in his booming metallic voice "Wot ee say?"
"Got iz ead nob bozz, said eed meet ya on da hulk wen ee got ere. whyz you wanna talk to dat git anyway?"
"Derez lotz ov dem umiez on dis ship now, dem cahos boyz and da nids, da skeleton boyz, dey were wun ting, but derez a lot of dem umiez now, dem squishy pink uns gayv us a good lickin, course dat was just da front boyz, but deres dem sapce marines too, bottum line iz, if wez gonna have a WAAAGH, wez cant be fightin anudder bunch ov boyz from outzide da hulk."
Gutkrunch thought about this for a moment. "Youz dun mean..." He began.
"Wez gonna have ta work tugevver if either ov us wants ta come out on top. Dat Gorksakr should know dat, after all de udder boyz on dis ship iz done, den me and Gorskar can go at it, but until den wez got ta be two WAAAGHs on da same side."
It was then that Borgutz stomped up to report to Warklaw.
"Juss caym ta tell ya boss, boyz is comin form all over da hulk now, we got dem looterz oo haz all dem fancy umie tanks and udder good stuff, lots of speeders came too all on dere shiny bikez, dem ard boyz and da stormerz came too. And ov course deres dem sneaky gitz oo iz already ere but mefinks deres more ov em."
"Good, good.' Warklaw said approvingly "Dis is comin up ta be royt and propa orky like."
"Ol Zappa sez deyz lots a dem udder wierdys out dere, hez gatherin up da wierdboyz ta make sum shield or sumfing ta protect da boyz from em."
"Dem flashy gits ere yet?"
"Oh yeah bozz, all dem flash gitz iz already ere, plus dere dreads and kanz and wot ave yah."
"Good, send dem over here, I gotz a speshul job fer em. an waht about dem freebooterz? Dey bring wot I wanted?"
"I tink so boss, least as far as I can tell..." Warklaw grinned broadly in his dread.
"Good den, doez umiez iz in fer a nasty surprize..."
The fighta-bombas whirled and dove, delivering their payloads into the side of the hulk. From this distance, Gorskar could just make out their forms, as well as the pin-prick explosions their missiles and bombs made. He snarled, and flexed his newly repaired battle klaw. Wurrdakka might be a strange one, and Gorskar did not trust his obsession with new-fangled gadgets, but he had to say, the Mek could fix anything.
Skargrim's voice hollered out of Gorskar's personal speaker. The Warlord looked at it for a second, then picked it up.
<<Boss! Da second wave is ready t' go, jus' give us da word!>>
Gorskar grunted, and considered for a moment.
"Right den. Wait ter lauch 'em til I gives da order. If you don't gets any word from me in, uh, two hours, launch 'em anyways. Got it?"
<<Got it, Boss. Any speshul orders?>>
Gorskar thought about this.
"Yeah... get dis Warklaw on da speaker, tell 'im t' meet me in da dropzone. Let's see what 'e wants."
Gorskars plan here was actually rather simple. He would meet the other warboss, and would come to some agreement with him over the hulk. It seemed there was more than just him and his new rival aboard; a temporary alliance might shift things in their favour. Then, he would either come to another agreement with Warklaw, or he would kill him.
Either way, thought Gorskar, his boredom was about to come to an end.
I'm still trying to think of something for My Farseer to do, as most factions are now either too large for her to disrupt (orks) or would kill her on sight (Imperials) I'll post a holding post once i've figured one out.
Lord Harrab wrote:I'm still trying to think of something for My Farseer to do, as most factions are now either too large for her to disrupt (orks) or would kill her on sight (Imperials) I'll post a holding post once i've figured one out.
Well, if you check back through your inbox, I think you'll eventually find a PM explaining what you can do. Alternatively, I could just send it to you again. *sends PM*
Lord Harrab wrote:I'm still trying to think of something for My Farseer to do, as most factions are now either too large for her to disrupt (orks) or would kill her on sight (Imperials) I'll post a holding post once i've figured one out.
Well, if you check back through your inbox, I think you'll eventually find a PM explaining what you can do. Alternatively, I could just send it to you again. *sends PM*
Yeah, i can't find it, could you send it again please?
Marcus leaned back into the wooden chair. His tent was dimly lit, only a small lantern gave light. Outside the percussive booms of artillary and tank duels echoed in the night. Not that it was really night inside the hulk. Just a period of time when the hulk had rotated so no light could shine through windows or, a period of time where any remaining systems switched to a night cycle or sometimes just a period of time when the soldiers were told to sleep.
He sat polishing the new shotgun, thinking back to Paxx, and looking forward to the oncoming battle...
------ 6 years previous --------
It was hell on earth.
Men screamed in both rage and fear as hellgun bolts screamed overhead and the resistance line was raked with support weapons fire which had either been dragged up the gully or mounted on top of light armour.
Marcus carefully picked his shots. He was running low on ammo for his bullpup compact autogun; with it's suppressor removed each shot cracked out with the sound of thunder, but amidst this carnage the sound was lost. On Marcus' right a man stood to fire, only to have his head explode as a well aimed, or just lucky, hellgun bolt turned his head inside out. The heat of the shot seared and burnt much of the blood and brains but still the trench was splattered with the man's mind.
An overly adventurous tank of unrecognizable design charged up the slope, only to be first immobilized, then destroyed, as flanking anti-tank gun positions blasted it's side armour. The first shots blowing off it's tracks, then a killing blow which hit the engine. The whole armoured machine suddenly caught fire as burning promethium spurted out of the damaged engine. The crew screamed but within seconds the ammunition caught fire and the whole tank exploded quite spectacularly.
Over on the other side of the pocket, the tank was reaping a grim harvest as all it's guns poured fire into the steep gully. Musclemen and skitari alike fell to the power of it's twin exterminator autocannons and the three heavy bolters attached to it.
There was a clanking noise and Marcus looked down suddenly. At his feet was a fragmentation grenade. He dropped his gun and dived sideways covering his head. He hit the duckboards of the trench and...
Nothing, absolutely nothing, the hell of battle still continued above him. Marcus shakily looked at the grenade. The Emperor must really protect as the safety had failed to come off and was stuck. A bad grenade. Manufacture failure. A dud. Call it what you like but Marcus was still alive. He let out a dry chuckle that dried up quickly. If they were close enough throw a grenade into the trench, then how close were they?! Marcus jumped to his feet, swinging his side arm of a small calibre stub pistol to point at the advancing skitari, but they were falling back. That truly was a miracle...
------ Present -------
Marcus sat up, he had felt something; a strong presence. Normally his ability only allowed Marcus to detect the presence of those near but this was far away, but powerful, really powerful.
Marcus frowned, he was starting to think there was more to this battle than the orks and humans...
Ooc: not amazing I know but Marcus' flash backs to paxx are almost at an end.
I find it amusing that an Eldar is offering to help a man whose entire life is devoted to killing Xenos and is accompanied by five Deathwatch - including a Librarian who is far more psychically powerful than Marcus.
Darkvoidof40k wrote:I find it amusing that an Eldar is offering to help a man whose entire life is devoted to killing Xenos and is accompanied by five Deathwatch - including a Librarian who is far more psychically powerful than Marcus.
She's a Farseer who's been mind-waring for a very, very long time, so she at least thinks she'll be able to suppress them both, plus she doesn't really care about her own survival, only that of her race. If helping these deathwatch brings the destruction of the hulk closer, she'll gladly work with them to achieve it.
*sigh*
20 days and still going with writer block.
I am starting to believe that it would be best to drop out (again ) of this just to prevent me from slowing this thing down.
Devastator wrote:*sigh*
20 days and still going with writer block.
I am starting to believe that it would be best to drop out (again ) of this just to prevent me from slowing this thing down.
Character name: high-inquisitor-arch-magos Deltrian of mars
Character age: 87
Character race: human/imperium/ordo xenos
Character profession: high-inquisitor-arch-magos-over-exploritor.
Character personality: Has a remarkably humorous attitude for a tech-priest, (being relatively young)
Character appearance: dozens of augmentations litter his mostly mechanical form and he wears a scarf covering his 'mouth'
Character height: 8'4
Character equipment: rosaius, refractor field, teleprtor, bolt pistols (2). plasma pistol. laspistol. heavy bolt pistol (treat as heavy bolter with an ammo max of 20) bolter (drum mag) heavy bolt rifle (treat as heavy bolter with a quarter of the firing rate scoped with the range of a sniper rifle) psycannon, mechadendrites, "switchblades" (treat as scything talons) three psycicly bound lictors who underwent surgery to have their connections to the hive mind removed and replaced the gap left by the mind by him. combat shotgun lasgun.
Character bio/background story: though his method of finding rare STCs is deemed heretical by some (though the high lords of terra granted him clemency, the disturbing truth is: he employs Xenos. hundreds of xenos mercenaries readily work for Deltrian for their preferred payment, whether it be sentient flesh,as many teeth as they can carry in a bag,land, resources to save their craft-worlds or imperial scrip or weapons, he hires them. Orks, kroot, tau,vespids or evan eldar,. As long as he pays they will fight. (the arch-magoses personal gaurd consist mainly of a group of skitarri, raptors and even some terminators and sorortitas along with th group of tech-adepts.
eunterage: sister Samantha Dell:adepta sororitas commands a squad of sisters and a squad of serephim as his representitive as an inquisitor.
brother he'stan: commands the twenty strong terminator gaurd of deltrian.(salamander)
adept Grassus: second in command to Deltrian armed with a pair of wrist mounted storm bolters and a pait of frost axes.
commander Kassus Ryyn: commander of the 4 of the 5 titans unearthed by deltian , (2warlords, 2 reavers)
shaper drexl: kroot leader has become one of the few xenos deltrian holds in confidence. commands two hundred kroot carnivores, 60 krootoxen, 20 greater knarlocs and one warsphere.
boss gorok (ork): blood axes overork under deltrian. commands onethousand 'boyz' and two killkroozas.
colenel aun'la (tau): commands 100 fire worriers and 10 devilfish transports.
captain dcha'dchin (vespid):commands 40 vespid stingwings and a firestorm frigate.
genaal lazic: commands 2000 steel legionares and assorted tanks.
skitarri commander van cleef: commands two hundred skitarri.
captain verus: commands 100 raptors (loyalist)
eldar ranger Korvare: commands 20 rangers
Dude, I'm not sure words can properly express how over-powered and impossible this character is. He has about 20 weapons, a non-existant rank, an unexplained height, absolutely rediculous force under his command. Hell most of his character contradicts itself (Ordo Xenos, but employs Xenos? Is an Inquisitor and Tech Priest? ).
Haven't seen you down here in the depths of the Chain Fiction board, so I assume this is the first roleplay you've tried to join.
One thing you should know: Roleplay is about fun and interesting characters and story lines, not creating the most insane, impossible and overpowered character ever to have existed.
I'll have to spend a good half-hour or so picking that mess of a character form apart at a more conveniant time. No offense dude, really, but that's insane. I suggest PMing some of the other players, such as Scrazza or Warork for advice and help with your character.
Character name: high-inquisitor-arch-magos Deltrian of mars
Character age: 87
Character race: human/imperium/ordo xenos
Character profession: high-inquisitor-arch-magos-over-exploritor.
Character personality: Has a remarkably humorous attitude for a tech-priest, (being relatively young)
Character appearance: dozens of augmentations litter his mostly mechanical form and he wears a scarf covering his 'mouth'
Character height: 8'4
Character equipment: rosaius, refractor field, teleprtor, bolt pistols (2). plasma pistol. laspistol. heavy bolt pistol (treat as heavy bolter with an ammo max of 20) bolter (drum mag) heavy bolt rifle (treat as heavy bolter with a quarter of the firing rate scoped with the range of a sniper rifle) psycannon, mechadendrites, "switchblades" (treat as scything talons) three psycicly bound lictors who underwent surgery to have their connections to the hive mind removed and replaced the gap left by the mind by him. combat shotgun lasgun.
Character bio/background story: though his method of finding rare STCs is deemed heretical by some (though the high lords of terra granted him clemency, the disturbing truth is: he employs Xenos. hundreds of xenos mercenaries readily work for Deltrian for their preferred payment, whether it be sentient flesh,as many teeth as they can carry in a bag,land, resources to save their craft-worlds or imperial scrip or weapons, he hires them. Orks, kroot, tau,vespids or evan eldar,. As long as he pays they will fight. (the arch-magoses personal gaurd consist mainly of a group of skitarri, raptors and even some terminators and sorortitas along with th group of tech-adepts.
eunterage: sister Samantha Dell:adepta sororitas commands a squad of sisters and a squad of serephim as his representitive as an inquisitor.
brother he'stan: commands the twenty strong terminator gaurd of deltrian.(salamander)
adept Grassus: second in command to Deltrian armed with a pair of wrist mounted storm bolters and a pait of frost axes.
commander Kassus Ryyn: commander of the 4 of the 5 titans unearthed by deltian , (2warlords, 2 reavers)
shaper drexl: kroot leader has become one of the few xenos deltrian holds in confidence. commands two hundred kroot carnivores, 60 krootoxen, 20 greater knarlocs and one warsphere.
boss gorok (ork): blood axes overork under deltrian. commands onethousand 'boyz' and two killkroozas.
colenel aun'la (tau): commands 100 fire worriers and 10 devilfish transports.
captain dcha'dchin (vespid):commands 40 vespid stingwings and a firestorm frigate.
genaal lazic: commands 2000 steel legionares and assorted tanks.
skitarri commander van cleef: commands two hundred skitarri.
captain verus: commands 100 raptors (loyalist)
eldar ranger Korvare: commands 20 rangers
Dude, I'm not sure words can properly express how over-powered and impossible this character is. He has about 20 weapons, a non-existant rank, an unexplained height, absolutely rediculous force under his command. Hell most of his character contradicts itself (Ordo Xenos, but employs Xenos? Is an Inquisitor and Tech Priest? ).
Haven't seen you down here in the depths of the Chain Fiction board, so I assume this is the first roleplay you've tried to join.
One thing you should know: Roleplay is about fun and interesting characters and story lines, not creating the most insane, impossible and overpowered character ever to have existed.
I'll have to spend a good half-hour or so picking that mess of a character form apart at a more conveniant time. No offense dude, really, but that's insane. I suggest PMing some of the other players, such as Scrazza or Warork for advice and help with your character.
I was actually planning on having about ninty precent of his force killed off by orks and cannons only leaving the eliites
Don't multi-post dude, just edit your previous post.
Tip - the shift key is your friend.
Dude, you don't need to write every single weapon you plan on "finding" and there's no way he'll use them all. Look at the other character profiles for an idea of what's acceptable.
I think that's why Warklaw's ambition is just gonna be to make the biggest bang possible, he's got the next Macharian crusade on one side, he's got a bigger rival Waaagh on the other....
