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Moon #2, Hive Cogger.

Deep in the depths of Hive Cogger, a long abandoned Webway gate stood silently. It was ancient even when the human settlers of Crion first set down the foundations of Hive Cogger in the distant past, and for years it had stood abandoned in the depths of the Hive. Its’ existence completely unknown to the inhabitants of Hive, but the Eldar remembered. They remembered back when this world had once been a part of the Eldar Empire, and now they used that knowledge to gain access to the Hive. For many years the Hive had stood inviolate, with invaders being unable to break through its’ thick walls into the Hive proper. But no longer. In a flare of light the Webway gate activated, and the first warriors of the Eldar strikeforce began to make their way through into the Hive. First came the Striking Scorpions, who immediately disappeared into the shadows that surrounded the gate. Their job would be to eliminate any humans who were too close to the gate, for the rest of the strikeforce would need some time to get through the Webway gate and assemble themselves. Several Flayed Legion Cultists, along with a few civilians who had the misfortune to be nearby, were eliminated with swift, shocking bouts of violence. Their corpses dragged off and hidden in the shadows, leaving little sign that they had ever been there. Their task done, the Exarch of the Scorpions and his squad settled down to wait. It would be some time yet before the rest of the Strikeforce were able to get through. They had to time their entrances carefully, for any big flares of energy might be detected by the primitive sensors of the mon’keigh. While it was unlikely, given how primitive the sensors of the Hive were, Lilliana had given strict orders to not push their luck by going for a massed invasion of the Hive. No, the Strikeforce would trickle into the Hive a little at a time, and when they were ready, the enemies of the Eldar would feel their wrath. Farseer Lilliana had seen a vision of this Hive. The fouls servants of Chaos had begun to set their claws into the Hive, and if they were not stopped this Hive would become a stronghold for the foul servants of Chaos, and so the strikeforce had their orders. They were to sabotage the efforts of the servants of Chaos in this Hive in any way that they were able, ensuring that the efforts of these foul degenerates were made moot. If all went well the servants of Chaos would fall before them like wheat before the scythe.

Warlock Raela stepped through the Webway gate, and looked around at the rest of the assembled Eldar warriors around her. Nearly every Aspect was represented here, with the sole exception of the Shadow Spectres and the Crimson Hunters. Her heart swelled with pride as she gazed upon the proud visages of her fellow warriors. The memories she had of being an Inquisitor of the Imperium seemed to fade a little more with every day that went by and strangely enough, Raela didn’t miss those memories at all. This was where she truly belonged, amongst her kin, and she never tired of her new role. She turned to the Guardian Squad that had traveled through the portal with her, and made a series of hand gestures, issuing orders to her squad, and as one the Guardians began darting down the corridor towards where the rest of the Strikeforce were awaiting in ambush. Lilliana’s vision had shown a rather sizeable group of Chaos worshippers heading their way not long after the last of their Strikeforce came through, and Lilliana had ordered that they be crushed with extreme prejudice. None dared risk speaking aloud as they darted from cover to cover, the servants of Chaos had ways of keeping an eye on things that bordered on the supernatural. A few minutes later Raela’s squad arrived at the ambush point, and took up position with the rest of the warriors, and Raela received a silent salute from her counter-part Warlock Viksanis, as he stood silently in the shadows alongside his own squad of Guardians. Now they just had to wait for the humans to arrive, and play their part in fate’s tangled web.

There! Raela’s keen ears could faintly detect the sounds of approaching cultists, their boots making obnoxiously loud sounds on the ferro-crete and adamantium that made up the floor of this section of the Hive. She glanced towards Viksanis, who gave Raela a nod that spoke volumes in of itself. His squad was ready for action, and as she glanced at the Exarchs that were command each squad of Aspect Warriors she received similar nods. They were all ready. The first of the humans rounded the corner and began walking towards where she crouched amidst the shadows, and even from here Raela swore that she could smell the taint of Chaos on him. The sour smell of metal mixed with something foul and indescribable. It would be her pleasure to wipe it from existence this day, she just had to wait for the right moment. The Scorpions would be the ones to initiate the attack, everyone else would wait on them before launching their assault. Then the moment came. With a cry that was swiftly cut short, one of the cultists in the rear of their formation was dragged into the shadows, and as the rest of them began to turn to investigate the noise, the ambush was sprung. Mandiblasters spitting death, and pistols blazing the rest of the Scorpion squad leapt into action, with 6 humans being cut down in the time it took them to blink. Then came the Banshees, whose keening wails dropped several of the humans to their knees, with blood leaking out of their shattered eardrums. They were shown no mercy, and the silvered blurs that were the power blades of the Banshees were swifly colored crimson, as heads were parted from necks by their lethally accurate blows. The few cultists who still had enough of their wits about them raised their weapons and began to fire wildly, desperate to hit the deadly warriors who were now amongst them, and far more often than not their inaccurate shots hit their comrades, and the few shots that did hit home on an Eldar warrior were easily deflected by their masterfully crafted Aspect armor.

Through it all Raela stalked forward like a Goddess of War, her Guardians and Warlcok Viksanis at her side snapping off shots at any of the humans who tried to engage her. One part of her mind stayed disengaged, and focused on what was happening in the battle at large, and she was constantly issuing mental orders to the warriors around her, ensuring that they fought like a well-oiled machine. Desperate counter-attacks by the cultists were swiftly blunted, and then driven back in disarray by the fury of the Aspect Warriors. As she strode forward, she was lit up by a psychic nimbus as she used her powers to sway the battle even further in her warriors’ favor. Blows that would have been mortal wounds to an Eldar warrior bounced off of armor like rain, and wounds that should have been trivial for a human warrior were suddenly much more devastating, and cultist after cultist was cut down. Raela was jolted out of her battle-trance by a faint noise behind her, and she turned to see a truly massive brute behind her, with a weapon poised to bring down upon her unarmored head, but he didn’t move. Raela glanced down for a second and saw why. There was a long, slender blade stabbed through his chest, and Raela heard the cultist gurgle as his lungs began to fill up with blood. Then with a swift jerk the blade was removed, and once it was gone the warrior collapsed bonelessly to the bloody ground, and Raela saw her savior. It was Aelvin, one of the few male Howling Banshees of Iybraesil. He gave her a warriors salute with his blade before diving back into the fray, his sword a crimson blur as human after human fell to his skill. By the time Raela shook herself out of her fugue state, the battle was over. The entire group of humans had fallen, and the Strikeforce had mercifully taken very few casualties, the speed and fury of their assault ensuring that the humans had had no chance to respond to their attack. The bodies of the few Eldar who had fallen were already being borne respectfully back to the Webway gate, while the human bodies were being left where they fell. In the distance Raela could hear explosions, and she knew instinctively that another part of Lilliana’s vison had come true. The last part of her vison had been of human warriors loyal to the Imperium also fighting inside this hive, and Raela knew deep in her bones that her Strikeforce was not along in their desire to punish the foul scions of Chaos, and the thought brought an almost feral grin to her face. This was only the beginning, Raela thought with some satisfaction, as the Striking Scorpions set off again into the shadows already hunting for their next target.

“Now, I've been wrong before,” Imryll began slowly, “But I believe the key to opening the door resides in those four statues.”

“Hmm,” Fallacy stroked her chin thoughtfully as she studied the room, “And what leads you to that conclusion?”

“I believe I may have a guess,” Dranc ventured thoughtfully, “Is it that they're the only things in the corridor that aren't either the door itself, the trap, the burnt corpse, or us?”

They were referring to the four statues that dotted the corridor. The one furthest to their left was of an Imperial Space Marine, holding a globe. The second was of a different Space Marine, this time thrusting a spear through another Marine whose armour was different – likely supposed to represent one of the traitor marine groups. The third was of a Marine kneeling with a sword, and the last was of a Marine with another wounded or dead Marine in his arms.

“That would be around fifty-percent,” Imryll agreed, “The other fifty comes from the fact that they're statues of Space Marines holding weapons in what I believe are supposed to be dramatic poses. Humans love that sort of thing. Almost as much as Craftworlders love vague prophetic statements about doom. It is highly unlikely they aren't relevant in some way.”

“There is an inscription above the door, as well,” Fallacy mused, “Vigilance, Victory, Honor, Sacrifice. Amusing, that last one. These apes have a habit of clinging to concepts they don't understand, don't they?”

The other two Harlequins in the room suddenly felt distinctly uncomfortable. It was one of the few taboo topics within the Masque, or among Harlequins in general – the fate that awaited every Solitaire. That when they inevitably met their end, their souls were the property of She Who Thirsts – unless their own Patron, Cegorach, could win them back with his cunning. Needless to say, that contest did not always end in favour of the Laughing God.

“...Okay, I have absolutely nothing,” Fallacy confessed after a moment, unaware of the discomfort she had inadvertently caused her fellows, “There is some kind of secret, here, but I can not fathom what it is at all.”

“Nor me,” Dranc shook his head.

“I'm afraid I have also come up short,” Imryll admitted, “I need time to think on this.”

And so, they studied the statues, and the door. They studied them long, and hard. After roughly half an hour, the Shadowseer and Death Jester looked about ready to give up, when Fallacy suddenly perked up.

“I have an idea,” she began, “Now, what if these statues, and bear with me on this,” she stressed, “Are actually supposed to have some kind of meaning?”

“What do -” Dranc went very still. “You can't mean...”

“Meaning? Wait, you can't be implying what I think you are,” Imryll recoiled in horror, “Are you saying that these crude lumps of stone are supposed to be Art?!”

“Yes,” Fallacy forced the words out painfully, “Think about it. What would art look like if it was... attempted, by a human?”

“I didn't believe they were capable of producing it,” Dranc said honestly, “So I did not ever consider the possibility. But I can see where you are coming from. To their unsophisticated minds, these brutish stone carvings are probably masterpieces.”

“Excuse me, while I resist the urge to regurgitate,” Imryll shook her head, “I'm sure I once saw an Exodite's pet dragon produce a more meaningful exhibit via the end result of it's digestive system.”

“So,” Dranc said, “Obviously, those four words each line up to a particular statue.”

“Yes,” Fallacy agreed, “I also think so.”

“This one,” Imryll walked around the statue of the Marine holding a globe, “My first thought would be 'Human distracted by shiny ball'. But I don't believe that is one of the options, so… a human watching over a planet, perhaps? I'd presume it's supposed to indicate vigilance.”

“The one with the human skewering the other human would be victory,” Dranc nodded, “His technique is shoddy. Skewering an enemy all the way through with your pole-arm is an excellent way to end up unarmed in the middle of a battle.”

“And I think that one is supposed to be a human leaning over another, slightly more dead human,” Imryll sighed, “I imagine that is supposed to be the 'sacrifice' statue, meaning that the kneeling human represents 'honour'. Trust the humans to find their honour in kneeling to their betters.”

“So clearly there is a trick to them,” Fallacy mused, before her sharp eyes caught sight of something. “There.” Leaning down, she tapped her finger to a small nodule on the base of the 'Vigilance' statue. “Something unusual. There are more of them, too. A small grid. I wonder...” idly, she wrote 'vigilance' by tapping the grid of nodules with her finger.

The statue promptly responded by turning, fully, until it was facing the door.

“Well, well,” Imryll tilted her head, “How quaint.”

It didn't take long for them to do the same with the other three statues. And, sure enough, as soon as the last word was entered, the stone door in front of them began to slide open.

Fallacy took the lead as they cautiously entered what looked to be a library of some kind. Most of the books and tomes they could see were long since ruined.

“You know, I'm kind of disappointed,” Fallacy sighed, “Only a fire trap and a simple ruse? I thought this place would be guarded with the same level of zealotry the humans manage to put into everything else they try to protect.”

“You've said it, now,” Dranc sighed, before he was promptly proven right.

“WHO ENTERS THE LIBRARY?”

Striding out of the shadows, every footstep seemingly shaking the earth, a giant human war machine made itself known. A construct the humans called a Dreadnought, this one coloured in grey and looking aged, but no less dangerous for it. It's right arm was fitted with a large, whirling cannon, while the left had a clenching fist that could no doubt crush any of them into paste.

“On the other hand, that,” Fallacy grinned, “Looks like a party.”

The Dreadnought paused, seemingly observing them.

“XENOS DETECTED,” it boomed suddenly, “PURGING WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE.”

The cannon on it's side started spinning, letting loose a hail of high-calibre bullets on the Harlequin's position as it charged forward. None of them stayed idle – blurred, distorted figures darting away in different directions.

Dranc found cover behind a large pillar, and let loose with his shrieker cannon, spraying the side of the Dreadnought with hyper-velocity monomolecular discs. He grimaced as he noticed that, while the discs were cutting into the heavy armour plating of the machine, none of them were penetrating the armour deeply enough to do damage. As the dreadnought returned fire with a significantly more deadly and uncomfortably accurate barrage, he dived out of his cover and sprinted toward another pillar before his current spot was too damaged to protect him from the metal monstrosity's cannon.

“PURE IS HIS FURY THAT ERUPTS FROM SIX BARRELS.” The Dreadnought's voice seemed to shake the room.

As he did so, the Dreadnought's fire became less accurate – not erratic, but more as though it was targeting something else that only it could see. The reason soon became clear – Imryll, glowing with wispy, ethereal energy, stood with a hand outstretched at the combat walker, throwing it's targeting astray with images and sensory readings of imaginary foes.

As it tried fruitlessly to destroy its non-existent foes, a prismatic blur of colour descended upon it – striking at it from every angle, cutting through the plating with ease, but seemingly not affecting its combat ability negatively in any way. Enraged, the Dreadnought brought up a foot, and slammed it down on the ground, shaking it and disrupting the footing of Dranc and Imryll as Fallacy leapt back to avoid the extremely localised earthquake that ensued. The problem became quickly apparent – while the Harlequin's Caress could easily phase through the metallic war machine's armour, it didn't have the reach to hit the vital systems without risking the wielder's life severely from the possibility of a counter-attack.

“IMPENETRABLE IS THE BULWARK THAT HE GRANTS US THROUGH FAITH.” The dreadnought continued to chant as he turned his attention to the Solitaire at his feet.

Seeing an opportunity to attack from behind. Imryll changed tactics, and charged at full speed. Leaping high into the air, she gripped her miststave in both hands and brought it down with a cry – right as her enemy suddenly turned, with surprising dexterity, the powerful claw on its arm clenched into a fist as it tried to punch her out of the air. She angled the stave to intercept the blow.

Boom.

Adamantium fist and Wraithbone stave collided as the mechanical matched power with the metaphysical. The two attacks connecting resulted in a shockwave that blasted throughout the room, scattering rocks and rubble, blowing away the remains of long-forgotten books, and staggering the dreadnought back – however, the war machine had the better of the encounter, as the force sent the Shadowseer flying away with a cry. Dranc was blown off his feet by the wave.

“Well, Mighty Metallic Champion of Mankind,” the Dreadnought turned to face Fallacy, “I must admit, I am disappointed!”

She strode out from behind another pillar, around a hundred meters away from the Dreadnought, staring him down with a wide grin. “You said you would be purging us with extreme prejudice, but the prejudice you've shown so far is really rather tame! You've spent all this time in a library, surely you must have had plenty of time to practice proper use of adjectives.”

For a moment, they stood off against each other; two ancient warriors. Brute force against impossible speed, mighty strength against peerless finesse, cold calculation against depthless cunning.

“DEATH IS HIS GIFT TO THE ALIEN AND THE TRAITOR.”

The dreadnought opened fire as the Solitaire moved.

The hail of bullets pelted the shapeless mass of colour as it charged directly toward the dreadnought. A literal wave of metallic death surged forth to obliterate the Harlequin, who in turn began a death-defying dance toward her opponent.

Duck. She let a round fly over her head.

Lean. Another passed through the air where her torso used to be.

Weave. She snaked around three more.

Flip. She passed between another two.

Spin. Another six flew by.

Roll. Another three.

Slide. Another four.

Leap. Another five.

Strike. Her leg lashed across the front of the Dreadnought's torso, right into the face-plate. It did not penetrate completely, but her eyes narrowed as she identified what may have been a weak point in the otherwise impenetrable armour.

In a flash, she zipped away from the war machine as it tried to grasp her with its crushing hand.

Her two allies had not been idle as they observed this, and both of them had seen it. Dranc was first to reach the dreadnought as it turned to face Fallacy, climbing up the lumbering giant with typical dexterity. He pulled himself up onto the top of the walker with an easy flip, before opening up on the face-plate with his shrieker cannon at practically point-blank range.

The Dreadnought reached up to grab the unwanted rider, but was cut off as a series of glowing projectiles slammed into it's side, staggering it. Imryll rejoined the fight with a vengeance, charging forward with a swarm of psychic energy projectiles floating around her, each one pelted at the guardian instantly replaced. Dranc continued to pelt the face-plate with shuriken, natural balance and grav-belt ensuring he did not lose his footing on the unsteady and impromptu platform.

Suddenly, the dreadnought opened fire again, this time on the Shadowseer, who was forced to reform her projectiles into a circular shield. The burst of fire connected, kicking up a significant cloud of dust. When it cleared, it was clear that the shield had held, but the moment's respite was all the dreadnought, a veteran of a thousand battles needed.

The fist shot up to grab Dranc. He neatly side-stepped the arm – but was not prepared for the giant hand to come loose from the arm, attached to a chain as it grabbed him. The dreadnought was rewarded with a startled cry from the Death Jester as he was pulled off the top of the walker, followed by a roar of pain as the hand began to close. The sound of bones snapping was drowned out by the triumphant rumble of the ancient war machine.

“FUTILE IS THE STRUGGLE OF HIS WRETCHED ENEMIES.”

A mighty crash staggered the Dreadnought again as Imryll's stave smashed down upon it's face-plate, smashing it off cleanly and revealing the near-corpse underneath. The once-mighty marine inside had long been reduced to a withered old husk, kept alive only by the life support systems inside the machine.

Imryll kicked away from the face plate as the dreadnought dropped Dranc in an attempt to bring it's arm to bear and defend the now-exposed weakness.

It wasn't fast enough. Fallacy's foot lashed down in a savage axe kick, finally ending the long, pained life of the operator. The dreadnought suddenly stuttered to a halt, before the lights across its hull began to power down, along with its limbs.

“Silence,” Fallacy finally declared once it became clear that the fight was won, “Is the gift that he just keeps on giving.”

--

“I think,” Dranc groaned, “I will endeavour to avoid your parties from this point on, Fallacy.”

Imryll checked him over with a shake of the head. “Left arm broken in three places, several broken ribs, other less significant injuries. You'll live, and you're not in any immediate danger, but we should not take any more chances. We should head back.”

“No,” Dranc rejected the idea, “As you said, I will live. Take this opportunity to search this place. I would rather this hadn't been for nothing.”

It took a few minutes of debate, but Fallacy and Imryll finally relented and began to search the ruins of the library. As they had previously noted, a significant number of the tomes present were ruined by decay – and even more were ruined by the fight. But they managed to find two books of interest.

One was a book detailing the psychic discipline of the Marine chapter who once lived there. The Tome of Black Fire would be studied extensively by Imryll, before it was handed to Fallacy to bring back to the Black Library – knowledge of any kind was to be treasured and stored there, even that from the lesser races. The other was an indecipherable book titled 'The Times of Fire', written in an unknown language, that Fallacy was absolutely sure was vital for them to take with them.

It seemed that, despite Dranc's injuries, the incursion was a success.

They had found their first clue.

Mordecai looked at the map layout of the 4th level of Cogger Hive. Eleven flags rested inside model buildings that indicated where these new intruders have taken up lodging. Mordecai looked at them with intrigue, who would be so bold as to enter the domain of the Flayed Legion, who would dare to defy the will of Father Lazarus. Reports suggest they are penal legionnaires, it is unlikely they came from Hive Cogger’s Prisons so where did they come from, another hive perhaps? Ultimately It mattered not who they were or where they came from, they would die like all the others. Mordecai looked to his would be sergeants and spoke “I want these lot to be made an example of, swarm the houses bring ten times as many men as we need. I want the bulk of these men alive, we will be sending them home fleshless.” The officers of chaos grinned at the prospect. Before Mordecai could give the final order a the crack of gunshots and las fire could be heard outside his den, by the sound Mordecai judged it some distance away from his den. Mordecai raised an eye brow beneath his mask “What in the warp?” Less than a minute later a messenger came storming in through thee doors “My Lord we are under attack.” Mordecai growled “You can’t handle some penal Legion dregs, you are a disgrace to our lord.” The messenger stuttered “My Lord I…” Mordecai raised a blade to the messenger's throat and growled “You what?” The cultists panicked fearing for his life “It’s the Inquisition my Lord, they march under the Inquisition’s banner.” Mordecai smiled beneath his mask “Good to know.” He then proceeded to slice the courier’s throat. Mordecai looked over to the Sergeants “There is no room in our ranks for cowards. This will be your only warning.” Everyone in the room nodded in understanding.

3434 knelt in cover behind a burnt out car avoiding the worst of the cultists auto gun fire. He blindly returned fire from his position, only to be met with more bullets. 34 looked to his left and saw Halouck and 1597 in a similar predicament hiding behind a car across the street. Halouck shouted “Frag out.” Before unpinning a grenade rising from his position and chucking it towards a cluster of advancing cultists. The bulk of the cultist scattered away for cover but a corrupted servitor that accompanied them was not so fortunate. The lobotomized heavy weapons platform was destroyed in a shower of blood, oil, meat and iron. The Grenade detonated the servitor’s pack of heavy bolter rounds taking with it an additional three cultists. However, these losses were ultimately meaningless, the Flayed Legion was an immortal brotherhood without number. Halouck barked into his wrist com “This is Operator Halouck squad 37582, requesting immediate reinforcement.” Prisoner 7387 was hit the throat by a sniper, the convict fell to the ground gasping for air. 34 watched as 7387 squirmed and suffer prisoner 5219 went to him. The convict had no intent of helping the dying man rather he sought to rob his still undug grave. 5219 claimed 4 LHO-sticks, 7387’s lucky shiv, a lewd picture of two women, and his boots which he tied around his neck. 1597 was disgusted by this at least two of those LHO-sticks were his. However, 5219’s loot grab seemed rather pointless as in less than a minute they would be overrun by cultists. A reply came from Halouck’s communicator “Operator Halouck this is crusader; reinforcements inbound stand by.”

From the streets behind the penal squad came the rumble. Three Malcador Assault Tanks came rolling up the boulevard. They fired their full arsenal at the cultists hordes, Heavy Stubbers and Bolters cutting down the horde, and the primary battle cannon demolishing the buildings they took cover in. The front of the tanks opened and thirty inquisitorial Storm Troopers clad triangular black silver carapace poured from them leading the charge was Captain Amanda Kid.

The sight of the Storm Troopers made many of the cultists break ranks and retreat. However many of them feared Mordecai more than they feared the inquisition. Kid began firing her hot shot las gun at the cultists as did the rest of her men. The cultist attempted to dig themselves back in but the heavy fire from tanks made it near impossible ass a single shot from the primary gun would crumble any defense they may erect. Arbitrator Halouck grinned at his good fortune and shouted “Prisoners advance.” The orange jump suit unit arose from their cover and finally got the chance to get some pay back. Their las guns set to half charge was able to cleanly pierce through the cultists salvaged flack armor. Kid slung her rifle around her back and drew her power axe and bolt pistol. Kid with a former Faustian knight and Catachan devil charged for their enemy. The cultists knew nothing of close combat and had naught a proper blade to defend themselves. Kid cut through ranks of the foes as did her subordinates, all the while the remaining troopers continued to rain hell fire upon the heretics. Realizing this firefight had become unwinnable the remaining cultists fled praying for their master to be merciful.

Kid spoke into her com bead “Fire team thunder report three casualties, negative on fatalities, sector 4-02 secured.” Arbitrator Halouck removed his helmet and approached Kid. The officer pounded his fist to his chest and spoke “Thank you Captain I appreciate your sudden intervention; I realize we are not high priority.” Kid wiped a swath of blood from her face and spoke “Think nothing of it, we were in the neighborhood. How many men did you lose?” “Only four.” Came Halouck’s reply. Kid sighed “You have my sympathies.” Halouck needed no such sympathies but would accept them regardless.

Meanwhile

Commissar Jethro Alenko shouted atop his lungs at the penal troopers under his command. “Focus fire on the heavy weapons teams.” It was after he said this he was forced to tackle a Arbitrator to the ground when he saw a molten beam fired from a las cannon approach him. The Arbite Sargent shook his head at the Commissar to thank him for his sudden intervention. Alenko quickly returned to shouting “I said focus fire damn it.” Warden Hoffman Fired his laslock at the advancing cultists and took out one of the Las Cannon operators, it was not long after another took his place, Hoffman shouted over at Alenko “We need to decommission that weapon battery.” Alenko nodded “Ajachus begin your assault.” It was Utilitarius who replied “We bring doom.”

Two groups of five terminators appeared in the flash of an eye the enemy learned what fear looked like and it was the sons of Titans. The hulking behemoths unleashed their Storm Bolter upon the cult before charging them with their glaives. Brother Athenar being adept in Biomancy casted iron arm and with a single cleave of his blade sent a dozen cultists flying. None escaped the paladin’s wrath such was his hate for the filth of traitors.

Mordecai watched his men flee from atop his tower. He would have each of those scum pay for their sins with a slow death. But that would have to wait, he needed each of them for the fight to come. Mordecai looked to his sergeants and spoke “We are moving deeper into the hive.” One of the men scoffed “Retreat Lazarus won’t like that.” Mordecai felt his rage grow as he took the soldier by his collar and growled “Do not pretend to know his will.” The man spat in return “You are a coward, and he will punish you like one.” Mordecai growled in a rage and lifted the soldier over his head and threw him over the tower balcony where he splatted on the metal ground bellow. Mordecai looked over to his remaining officers and growled “Anyone care to join him?” silence “I thought not.”

Inquisitor Garrett Randall holstered his plasma pistol and stepped over the half corpse of a dead cultist. Randall looked over to Alenko “I think we’ve made a good first impression.” The commissar grinned as he pried his blade free from a corpse “They are everything.” Captain Kid spoke her voice more serious, “Sir we have our enemy on the run, let us give chase into the underbelly of the hive.” Randall spoke “Don’t worry they won’t escape us, they’ve nowhere to run. We will tend to our wounded first then we will finish cleansing this place.” Paladin Utilitarius approached he seemed almost happy “Our work is not done here Captain, but we have struck a mighty blow against the fiends of the warp, take pride in that.” Captain Athenar was pleased by the paladin’s relatively friendly demeanor battle against the most detestable foes of the emperor had a odd way of calming Utilitarius. Randall spoke “Yes we have struck a mighty blow, but remember the beasts fights hardest when it is on the verge of death. This is not let over.”

Faolan awoke to see the sky moving yet he was not or so he thought. Upon inspection he realised that he was being dragged through the mud by his brothers as he tried to gather his senses and realise what was going on. Then he remembered the trees, the orks, the ambush all of it, even getting plucked up like a flower in a colourful garden by those trees, the ones that moved ? A group of greenskins pounced out from the swaying treeline onto the retreating marines, a purple figure leapt forward to engage them. “Keep on moving, get the Alpha out of here, Pryce to me !” Faolan realised the figure was Cearul who had quickly taken command of the rapidly declining situation. Out of the ten orks charging the two astartes one leaped ahead thinking he could wipe the forest clean of the three squads of astartes scrambling to escape whatever madness they waltzed right into. All it earned him was Pryce Nye’s power sword through his groin nearly cutting him in two, Pryce went right and Cearul went left hacking, slashing and blocking blades with the greenskins in an attempt to buy their Alpha time to escape. As Cearul ran his power axe through the back of the last xenos the trees shuffled again revealing three dozen more orks charging and screaming for their heads. Like his Alpha Cearul order Pryce to disengage and fall back. With the ork mob in tow Cearul and Pryce saw the sweet sight of three thunderhawks loading their Alpha aboard, Cearul motioned for his brothers to take up firing positions “Orks are on there way set up a killzone !” The marines held their fire until all the orks had entered the killzone. In unison a chorus of bolter fire and dying screams echoed throughout the nearby jungle as ork blood flooded the clearing saturating it with both the blood and spores of the greenskins. As soon as the last round was fired Cearul went to check on Faolan, Faolan seemingly fine put one hand on Cearul’s shoulder and grinned, “Fine job lad, now make sure to incinerate this clearing, we do not want more ferals to sprout out of the ground” nodding Cearul relayed the order to Pryce who would see it done. With their heads hanging in defeat the Emperor's Hounds headed for Canis Caelum, just in time for dinner.

The Cuir Airde land back in Canis Caelum where Apothecary Siron was awaiting by the landing pad to examine the Alpha’s injuries. Faolan stepped out onto the landing pad, the rain from earlier had picked up and the mist had parted, reminding Faolan of home. Siron approached Faolan to examine his “injuries” but Faolan was in no mood for check ups and told the apothecary to call by his quarters later. Faolan attempted to wander in the vague direction of his quarters, the fall to the head he sustained left things a little blurry, not that he would admit such a thing that would lead to more medical examinations. Luckily he found his way to the door to his quarters and entered inside. Faolan eagerly embraced the comforting arms of his chair as he fell into it. Pouring himself a drink he waiting for the inevitable company that would knock on his door at any moment. Faolan closed his eyes and enjoyed the brief moment of peace and quiet before Techmarine Cadfael barged in. “Not even a knock ?” Asked Faolan as he came crashing down from his peaceful slumber. “Apologies my lord, this is something that cannot wait, our scanners have picked up the location of nearby ruins which I believe may have once belonged to the Blood Dragons Chapter that once prowled this moon. I believe power artefacts may still yet remain and it would be worth our while to secure them.” Faolan frowned and scratched his head, trying to keep track of every chapter in the Imperium from memory is an impossible task “Is there any chapter related to these Blood Dragons ?” “Besides from the Blood Angels or the Blood Ravens due to similar Iconography no nothing” Faolan nodded “Very well then anything we find is ours seeing as can not find a next of kin as it were. You may go as soon as you are able brother Cadfael but take Rhodri with you and two tactical squads just to be sure” Cadfael donned a expression that was a mix of confusion and caution “ May I ask why am I bringing Rhodri my lord ?” Faolan shrugged “ Just to get him out of my hair” Cadfael bowed and began to make his preparations. Faolan called out to the techmarine before he departed for his excavation “ Send in Siron, tell him to get this medical examination over and done with !” Siron stood back up, checking Faolan’s vitals for the nineteenth time “ Your injuries were not fatal but I would advise against any operations for the next twenty four hours, nothing some good rest will fix” Faolan scoffed “Rest ? The Emperor’s Angels of Death do not need rest just enemies to smite” a few seconds of silence passed before being broken by a guilty Faolan “Apologies Siron my mood has been foul of late and you are just doing your duty I can not be annoyed at you for that” Faolan sat up from the bed “Be on you way brother” Siron bowed and departed without saying a word.

Cadfael’s pace quickened to he closer he got to the landing pad where Tactical squads Mara and Uirlis awaited his arrival. One of the tarantula turrets went on the fritz must as he was about he depart, merely an issue with the wires, so easy a servitor could have done it thought Cadfael as he raced around the second to last corner to the thunderhawks. To say Cadfael was excited was an understatement, he was giddy almost like a child awaiting a present. The kind of ancient technology was could have been left behind by his brethren had him grinning ear to ear, thank the Emperor and the Omnissiah that I donned my helmet this day reflected Cadfael as it hid some of his excitement from his brothers, yet despite the helmet his voice betrayed him bearing the slightest tone of excitement in it. The same grin vanished like a sugary donut in Tobias Payne’s presence as Cadfael rounded the last corner to see Hound Master Rhodri impatiently tapping his foot on the spot. “Did you rewire half of Canis Caelum ? I do not have time to be waiting around or visiting dusty ruins, I have work to do directly from Baltair Seoc himself” declared Rhodri “Seems you will have to make time then, Faolan Gall wants you on this mission Emperor knows you are not here on my request” retorted Cadfael “Enough” sighed Rhodri “Let us get this over with, I will fly with Mara” said Rhodri as he entered the awaiting thunderhawk to the left, suits me just fine thought Cadfael as he entered the thunderhawk on the right with squad Uirlis.

The journey to Site Henry was silent, Cadfael stared at Rhodri and Rhodri pretended not to notice, but he did. Every marine in that thunderhawk could feel the tension between the apothecary and the techmarine. Brother Dai broke the silence over the onboard communications “Brothers, sensors indicate the fortress is down below but it is covered in foliage, there a small clearing to the north I will set you down there, you must hike to the south to reach the fortress” Cadfael moved his gaze from the apothecary “Very well brother, do what you must”. A few moments later a green light flashed indicating the marines to get ready. Brother Dai set the gunship down “Good fortune in your search brothers, Emperor guide you” “And you as well” muttered Rhodri as he brushed past Cadfael out onto the jungle floor. Setting out in the vague direction of the ruined fortress according to their information. The jungle was thick and no natural paths had been made, Cadfael estimated that they may have been the first people here in centuries. Drawing his chainsword his began cutting back the foliage, his brothers began to do the same with their combat knives. “This will slow our travelling time immensely” sighed Rhodri as he chopped through a bush, “Indeed it will but we should still reach Site Henry before the moon rises” stated Cadfael stepping over a hacked shrub. As the marines headed deeper and deeper into the green abyss the thicker the overhanging canopy had become, so much so that only a sliver of sunlight was shining through the canopy illuminating the various insects that lived amongst the overgrowth on the ground. Fours hours later after they decided to carve their path through the jungle, Cadfael studied his dataslate to gauge their progress, they were close, after carving a few more trees down in the general direction of the fortress he discovered a clearing in the woods, looking up he saw no sun, no sky, no moon. All he saw were more damned branches and leaves. “As far as I know Site Henry should be in this clearing” announced Cadfael “Fan out and search this area”. The limited sunlight highlighted the treeline to his left where he spotted a grey surface beneath the raging overgrowth, hacking away the vines Cadfael placed his hand over this new surface, stone, deduced Cadfael. Turning to his right and traced the length of the wall. The grey surface that he was trailing his finger along suddenly gave way. Stumbling forward through the sprawling overgrowth, Cadfael discovered a highly ornate door. Cutting away the vines surrounding the door he took a step to examine his find. A pair of twin doors stood slightly ajar, they were thick,made out of oak and reinforced with steel. A dragon was exquisitely carved on both doors. “Brothers !” Smirked Cadfael “We have found our prize” the doors hinges protested as they creaked open.

Darkness greeted them as they entered Site Henry through a narrow passage that stretched ten meters and two marines could fit abreast.The air was stale and dusty and their enhanced eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness. The passage opened out onto a large hall. Cadfael imagined his brothers stalking this hall and greeting visitors here, now all that remained was dust and filth. Searching the hall they discover four passages similar to the one they entered through, two were blocked off due to the roof collapsing in on them, leaving two to be explored. “I’ll take the left you take the right” decided Cadfael as he went off to search the ruins eagerly. Rhodri was also eager but not for the same reasons as his brother, he was eager to end this foolish mission and return to tracking that beast that Turlach had tracked, not crawling around in a dusty tomb like scavengers. Rhodri navigated his way down the right passage and something caught his gaze, a corpse. A corpse ? Here ? Must have been recent reflected Rhodri. Upon inspection the corpse was quite old but not as old as the fortress itself otherwise it would be naught but dust. Many of it’s innards have decayed, it’s once fine thick hair was now matted and grey, Rhodri spotted dried blood around its mouth, this one went down fighting deduced Rhodri. As he left the decaying dog behind he continued on into the room at the end of the passageway. Dozens of similar corpses littered the room along with many dead orks. Rhodri’s heart sank as some of the corpses were no more than puppies, they died defending their young realised Rhodri as he searched for anything of use. Disappointed and disheartened Rhodri made for the door back down the passage, the scraping of wooden startled Rhodri who spun on his heels and was now scanning the room. Out from under a wooden plank stumbled a young pup. Rhodri’s instincts kicked in as he moved to comfort the terrified puppy. The puppy attempted to run away but Rhodri was too quick and picked up the dog with ease. The puppy was just skin and bone barely hanging onto life, it was a male and was perhaps related to if not the same breed that Turlach had found on Pratt. Cadfael’s voice boomed down the corridor as he walked into the room “Rhodri my passage led to a door, I believe that if we can re-” Cadfael looked up to see the massacre and the young in Rhodri’s hands “What in the Emperor's name is all this ?” “A massacre, orks stormed this place probably looking for loot and killed most the the hounds that were only trying to defend their young, I will be taking this one back to Canis Caelum” Cadfael nodded “Fair enough, join me in the hall when you are ready to discuss this door I mentioned” Delighted with his find Rhodri turned and perhaps this was not a wasted trip after all smirked Rhodri as he made his way to the hall back through the narrow passage to see what Cadfael was babbling on about this door.

=====Conference Room, Yankor, Luna Epsilon=====

Grulahk, Tach’var, and Numek sat in the ventilated conference room, both Grulahk and Tach’var stared at Numek uncomfortabley. Numek took a deep draw from his cigar and blew a smoke ring, he obvious enjoyment at his new found talent began to subside as he looked at his companions.
“What are you two looking at?”
“Don’t play that gak with me Numek, you know exactly what we’re looking at.”
“My new lungs are of no concern to you.” He looked at Tach’var and held out the cigar, “Want to try it?”
“Sure.” He reached over the table and grabbed the still lit cigar and took a couple puffs before passing it back, “Not bad.”
“You two are joking right? Am I actually going mad?”
“Stop being over dramatic, you should be pleased to know that progress is going very well.”
“Good to hear…” It was again silent in the room, Grulahk swiveled in his chair, “Numek, by the time I get to the deployment bay, I want 4 squads of Warriors, 3 squads of Immortals, and a squad of Praetorians ready. Send the Scythes to drop us off outside of Hive Cogger, I’m going to see how are cultist friends are doing.”

=====The Maw, Hive Cogger, Dierdra, Luna Epsilon=====

The Scythes screamed over the ground seemingly splitting the air as the flew, their impeccable speed allowing them to reach the drop zone in under an hour. All 8 Scythes passed over the target without slowing, an amber radiance coming from under their hulls. Grulahk looked around and did a headcount, making sure everyone was there, all was well. He motioned for them to move towards the Hive and they began their metallic march. Grulahk was in the mood for some song but decided against seeing his Legion probably wouldn’t sing, and he wouldn’t force them. It was a simple 5 minute walk to a collapsed portion of the wall known as ‘The Maw’. As he approached he saw several Cultists appear and aim weapons at them. His Warriors began to raise theirs but he motioned from them to lower them. A couple autogun shots went off striking the ground in random areas, they stopped and a cultist stood up and lowered a radio from his head, “Y-You may enter!” Grulahk nodded and renewed his march into the city. Grulahk was escorted by a few Cultists towards one of the spires. On his way he caught a glimpse of a particular group adorned in banners and iconography of a dragon, these men seemed more competent than the average cultist, and better equipped to. After a few more minutes of walking through war torn streets they reached a spire. He walked inside and into a foyer unsure of where to go next. He heard a voice come from his left, who ever spoke was apparently recovering from injury,
“When my men radioed me and said we had men made of metal at the gate I almost didn’t believe them.” Grulahk walked into a room that appeared to be an office. “But here stand a member of the Necron regent, I am Father Lazarus, and what is your name?”
“I am Grulahk, Second Nemesor of Kageros.” Grulahk hung his staff on a coat rack and sat in one of the chairs, it creaked and groaned under the weight of the Necron. “Kageros has spoken with one of the Flayed Lords captains, he has told me to come speak with you here, how can I be of assistance?”
“As of current i’m organizing the Hive’s defenses. Are you aware of the Blood Dragon ruins present in the system?”
“Indeed I am. Are they of much use?”
“They are, you see, some of these Ruins contain magnificent artifacts. Perhaps you can help us find them?”
“I’d be glad to, we have scanners at the Megalith that we can use. In the meantime, I will leave my men here to help with the defense.”
“Your help is appreciated Grulahk.”
“I will contact you when we find one of these Ruins.”
Grulahk exited the spire and gave his Praetorians commands to aid the Cultists. A Scythe screamed overhead and picked him up.

=====Megalith Site, Yankor, Luna Epsilon=====

Grulahk sat in the scanning room observing the monitors. So far nothing had been found, but Grulahk had an idea.
“Boost the signal, perhaps we can find something deep in the jungle.” The Warrior in charge began boosting the signal more and more. The room suddenly lit up in an amber flash as the equipment before him exploded. Grulahk stood back up and spoke into his communicator, “Numek, come fix the scanner.”
“What happened?”
“I may or may not have blown it up…”
“How?!”
“Just come fix it.”
Numek was at the rooom in under 5 minutes and surveyed the damage. “This will take at least a week to fix.”
---About A Week Later---
“Fixed.” Numek looked over the machinery and nodded in confidence.
“Thank you Cryptek, help me boost this signal. I am looking for Ruins of these ‘Blood Dragons’.” They began pressing buttons and monitoring screens, it took about an hour before something pinged on the screen. Grulahk grinned and grabbed the communicator he had attuned to Lazarus’ signal.
“Lazarus, we’ve found one.”

Following the creation of an entry point into the ruins below, the excavation of Site Delta had commenced in earnest, Astartes and human working alongside one another to clear the vast halls and rooms of rubble and debris. Although the old outpost had suffered a long period of disuse, its structure and interior had held up rather well against the passage of time thanks to the thick layers of ice shielding it from the elements.

Unfortunately, this was also the case for the internal defence systems, which had cost the life of a single cultist and had put several others into the care of the Remnants' Apothecarium.
Three groups of Astartes carefully descended deeper into the complex, hoping to find a way to disable the defence systems before any more casualties fell. After several hours, and many lucky escapes from activated boobytraps, Lord Breacher’s group stumbled upon the command centre, from which he managed to reprogram the defences.

From that point on, the Remnants went unopposed in their efforts to claim this ancient structure for themselves.

After the rubble was cleared, the rest of the Remnants' equipment and personnel was brought down to the surface, and the base was soon bristling with all kinds of activity. The structure was fortified, vox-scramblers and jammers were planted in a large area around the base, rooms were reorganized and retrofitted with equipment, all to turn the base into a veritable fortress.

The Commander was coordinating the situation from within the command centre, whilst the other Lords were mostly busy with keeping their charges in check. Lord Breacher had been especially excited about the local armoury, while Lord Executioner and Lord Apostate were fascinated by the impressive fresco's and inscriptions covering the walls of the base.

But the Remnants were on Crion for more than simply creating a base for themselves. It was time to discuss what their next move would be...
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Commander stood in the centre of the command hub, his eyes locked on the hologram of the three planets in the system floating above the room’s central table. The other Lords did the same, occasionally sifting through the dataslates that a couple of servitors were passing around.

All eyes looked up when the door to the command centre slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the grand shape of the Sorcerer’s heavy Terminator armour. A keen eye could still see the faint traces of deep cuts and rents across the exquisitely crafted chest plate, a reminder of the diabolic power of the Daemon Prince he had helped slay.

Lord Apostate’s face contorted into an amused grin as the Sorcerer stepped into the room.

“Well, well, well”, he spoke, as he locked eyes with the Sorcerer. “If it isn’t our Lord Sorcerer. How good of you to finally join us.”

The Word Bearer’s sarcasm garnered no response from the Sorcerer, who calmly took his rightful place at the command table.

“You’re late”, Lord Breacher grumbled.

The remark seemed to amuse the Sorcerer, who tilted his head in the Iron Warrior’s direction.

“On the contrary, Lord Breacher. I arrive precisely when I mean to”, the Sorcerer replied, his grin hidden behind his gold-plated helmet.

“Perhaps now that we are all here, we can discuss our current predicament”, the Commander spoke, his voice carrying a hint of irritation.

Everyone turned their eyes towards the hologram, as the image zoomed in on Crion itself.

“Crion. Breadbasket of an entire sector. Up until six months ago, one would have had difficulty finding a world more untouched by conflict.”

The hologram zoomed in again, focussing on one of the great green plains of the planet. A dirty brown smear appeared in the centre of the screen. Upon closer inspection, crude buildings and vehicles could be seen, alongside several brutish figures pacing back and forth.

“Orks”, Lord Ravager snorted in disgust. “The Greenskin menace rears its ugly head again.”

“Indeed it does”, the Commander continued. “The last reports we’ve intercepted hinted at the Ork factions on this world uniting to strike at the Imperial presence.”

“Reports that turned out to be truer than the Governor had expected”, the Sorcerer added. “A crew of their Kommando’s managed to strike at the Governor’s Mansion itself, while the Imperial forces were gathered there no less.”

The other Lords were taken aback by that information. The Orks were a tenacious species, but for them to be so audacious in their efforts was… unexpected.

“Speaking of the Mansion, did we not have an informant placed there?” Lord Apostate asked.

“We still do, fortunately”, the Commander replied. “Our informant not only managed to survive the Greenskins’ raid, he also gave us valuable intel on the Imperial presence assembled in this system, did he not, Lord Sorcerer?”

The Sorcerer unclipped a dataslate from his belt, and connected it to the hologram. A list of names, accompanied by heraldry and a somewhat accurate pic-capture of their face appeared in sequence in the hologram.

“As you can see, the Imperium is not planning on leaving anything up to chance.”

“Then perhaps we must search for suitable allies”, Lord Apostate spoke, his eyes lingering on some of the projected names. “Was there not word of a rebellion on one of the moons?”

“I suppose you mean Hive Cogger, on Luna Epsilon?”, Lord Executioner retorted. “The Imperials have lost contact with it some time ago. Whether the rebellion was successful or not is yet to be determined.”

“We will discuss that matter later”, the Commander spoke, his voice suddenly weary. “For now, we will keep ourselves off everyone’s radar, so that our activities may continue without unnecessary interruptions. Return to your charges, and see to your respective duties. Dismissed.”

With that, the group dispersed, each of the Lords heading back to their assigned quadrants. The Sorcerer remained, surrounded only by the noises of the machines lining the walls and the servitors pacing around the room.

He disconnected the dataslate, clipping it back to his belt, and watched intently as the hologram of Crion and its two moons appeared again.

He felt his mind tingle as he reached out into the Etherium, there were the future was already written, although the words were ever-changing. His eyes rolled back into his skull as he opened his mind to the madness beyond.

Three worlds burn, their surface turning to ash;

A bloodied jester smiles, and another weeps;

Four giant machines march to their doom;

Dogs and wolves cry to the heavens;

A blood-red eye casts a baleful gaze;

A flayed man lays his head to rest;

And above them all;

The moon waxes.

[Jorgan, Crion]

It was time.
Dig
The small force of raveners began to claw their way underground. The ground easily gave way beneath their sharpened talons. They had started the tunnel well into the tree line outside of the ork settlement. Their job was to dig underneath them, and sow terror and destruction in their wake as the main force charge through the front. They would not know what hit them, and then they would be biomass for the reclamation pools. Like the rest of them.

The main bulk of the swarm still consisted of warrior forms and raveners ever since the failed assaults on the trees. Half of the force was given rending claws or other close combat weaponry, while the others were given devourers and deathspitters. The infiltration force was in place.
Begin the Attack. Slaughter them all. Leave none standing. For the Hive.
The Great One charged out of the tree line, with the Leaping Terror right behind it. Warriors and raveners were spilling out of the gaps between the thick jungle trees. Bio-acid and beetles rained down upon the surprised greenskins. All manner of shots began to bounce off of the hardened carapaces of the tyranid mass. For every bio-form knocked down, another took its place. The swarm was not as big as it should be, but they were still tyranids.

Under a hail of fire, the wooden walls protecting the orks were brought down. The Waaagh! Of Kort BloodSpitta met Hive Fleet Cerberus. It was brutal. Both sides took massive losses upon the first impact. The Great One fired its venom cannon point blank into one nob, completely shredding the flesh off of his bones, before those too, were shredded. The Leaping Terror attacked and eliminated any ork racking up a kill count. Just then, the lictor jumped over a fallen warrior form to land squarely on the back of a victorious nob. He just had time to glance up before he never could again. The charge was halted as the overwhelming numbers of the orks started to show. The bio-forms continued the struggle to gain the upper hand.

The sounds of footsteps could be heard overhead. As it got louder and louder, the ambush was sprung. With a massive roar dirt and mud gave way beneath the gathering ork horde. Raveners climbed out to rend and tear. They wouldn’t be able to. With this sight, the orks were not willing to lose their force from two sides. The ambush force from the back was the final straw. The ork horde retreated by cutting through any opposition they found until they were running into the jungles to find somewhere else to go. The ork fortress had fallen, but many greenskins remained, including Kort BloodSpitta. Much still needed to be done to finish them off. For now, the hive had to consume and fall back. Reinforcements must be made.

Long Live the Hive

A Ferrasian feast

Yarl Agmar tidied up the last of his dark beard and checked the result in a dented metal mirror hung off a broken bracket on the bare wall, the base was Spartan but now lit and heated seemed alot more like a home. Next stop the Knight Scions floor, Amanda valorn stepped out waiting, “ your late Agmar, never keep a lady waiting” “ja but in ferrasian the time felt right” She had to laugh the wolves where a odd lot but
Honest and loyal to those they choose, if maybe a bit more lose on timing than some. “Shall we go to the feast then?” “Aye but first, “ handing her a small token in a old knight tradition. “Old wolves learn new tricks too”

Thee feastvwas a loud affair and boasts, tales and sagas grew in magnitude as the ales consumed increased, several fights, drinking contests and bouts of competive telling of sagas later the various space marines and humans of the two allies staggered back to the upper levels of the storm battered tower they called home. Winds howled and mighty forks of lighting lit the sky like day light for a fraction of a heartbeat.

No one noticed two figures huddled close fpr warmth together on a small flat balcony huddled in thick furs watching the storms lash the northern bastian of the space port and lighting illuminate the shape of towering space marines Manning the storm battered defences.

A lords anger

“Eldar, eldar… enough of just orks and chaos we get the space elves too! Rumurs of those in masks who dance in shadows and impossible acrobatics. Could it be?”

“Mask clad shadows, the ainciant for of the shrine world? It could be Lord Storm claw” Conan replied, but when you found one, you normally found more of the elagant and arogent xeno. “Aye conan, the dancing trickster, the mask hiding al
, the harliquin. There aims unknown” slamming a fist into the table there emnity was earned long ago and rumurs of involvement in the death of a previous great wolf was enough to heat the blood in the coldest ferasiasn winter.

“Damn them, reckoning be it when we catch them. Put extra wolves on guard on the permitter, there smell will serve better than sensors vs this for. Order a small task force to purge the small ork boat camp located on the coast while your at it, burn the boats”

“Aye lord storm claw, it will be done”

Part two to follow

Taskforce Alpha

Harland cowered deeper into his hood. It still smelled of the dead street beggar he'd hauled it off. Vestiges of blood caked the interior - the Gue'vesa wasn't sure if that was the previous owner's cloak, or the rats' that were devouring his corpse. There were no rats in the Tau Empire. Harland had been taken aback by the brutes' ferocity. That didn't stop him from putting two pulse rounds into their dank furry hide.

The human auxiliary slumped next to a street corner - his dark eyes peering out from under the hood. A team of Arbites strode through the rain, regarding Harland with disdain. The silver rain ran off their black carapace and combat shotguns. Harland turned away from them under his hood, and they passed by him. Stupid Arbites.

Warm amber light spilled out from an opening door. Inside, a throng of civilians made merry, singing and carousing. Drinking away reality. The cantina doors shut almost as soon as they had opened, and a ragged mess shuffled out into the dark cold rain. The other hooded figure splashed across the street. Harland glanced up, and grinned. Water dripped from his face.

"A Throne, please? For the Greater Good?"

The figure gave him an indecipherable glance, and moved closer to Harland. She pulled back her hood, and whispered into his ear.
"Just wait for the sun."

The two auxiliaries crept into the shadowy side street, their cloaks barely keeping out the cold. They sheltered under an overhang, and removed their hoods. Harland could just make out Sera's dark face in the shadows, and he bade her give her report in a hushed whisper.

"The chief figure here is a Lord Mayor Javier Maldonado. He's not really seemed to have taken a side in this civil war, and has ignored the Tillers in the city. Apparently, being the only stable city on the continent has led to a lot of ork attacks. There's been no rebellions to take power, not just yet, but there are certainly rebels in the city. For now, the nobles and the impoverished have joined forces, although I suspect that this is a fragile peace."

"Excellent work, Sera." Harland muttered. "Let's get that back to Ghostwalk."
The two Gue'vesa pulled their stolen goods over their heads, and crept down Ros Hannoi's dark streets.

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

Taskforce Sigma

"You've got the package?"

The auxiliary at Vandred's side nodded, and gestured to the the sack of guns. Vandred peered inside. A veritable treasure trove of Tau pulse weapons looked up at him. Mostly pulse pistols, but a few rifles and carbine were thrown in the mix too. Of course, only a scant few of the guns had magazines, but there would be enough for a few test fires if the clients wanted a trial run. He'd made sure that after last time, they were ready.

His meeting the day before had been with the rebel Tillers, and whoever was leading their section against the loyalist troops. Vandred and a team of some of his best had snuck close to their barricade and asked to trade goods. After a few minutes of negotiations, the Tau were let over the walls and the rebels oversaw a test firing of the weapons. Vandred saw the look in the eyes of their commander, and knew he had him. No man could resist the promise of a bigger gun. When Vandred brought up payment, the man faltered. They had nothing to pay the auxiliaries back, but would get to it. He swore an oath on it - it had seemed genuine. Vandred had smiled, and said they'd be back to sort out payment. If the loyalists didn't give them a better offer.

This time, Vandred had his men hang back, save for his adjutant. The two of them crept in front of the loyalist barricade, and asked for the trade again. After a few moments of muttering, the sentry let them in. Oil can braziers lit up behind the barricade. There was hardly any men behind it - the only resistance was a three man team, and a heavy stubber. Vandred ignored it, and began his sales pitch.

"You boys look like you could use some more firepower here."

"We'll manage. What have you got? Food? Ammo? Spare parts?"

Vandred grinned. "Better." He gestured to the open bag of guns. He brandished a pistol from it, and blasted it at the wall. It tore through the ferrocrete, sending chunks of rock skittering everywhere. The soldiers looked impressed. Now Vandred would need to use his bluffing.
"These are Imperial Mark Seventy-Four plasma weapons, and they're all yours, if you can pay up."

The soldiers didn't seem to buy it. "Mark Seventy-Four? I swear we were only on Mark Twenty-Six?"
"That's also what I heard. And 'em don't look like any Imperial plasma gun?"
"Exactly what I was th-th-thinking."

Vandred raised his hands in mock surrender.
"Easy, lads. I'm only just passing on what I got told. And I can assure you, this is what the new Mark Seventy-Fours look like. Perhaps you'd like to trial one?"

"I dunno who sent you, but th-those don't look right."
"And if those ARE gen-u-ine plasma guns, why are we payin' for 'em?"
"Yeah. You some kind of scavenger? Or some Tiller traitor selling gak unto us?"

Vandred brandished the pulse pistol onto them, and warned them. "Listen, I'm giving you these guns here, if you're willing to buy. If you don't want to, we'll move on by and-"
"Sell them on to them Tillers? I don't think so!"

The guardsmen rushed Vandred and his adjutant, fists clenched. Vandred squeezed the trigger. Out of ammo. Vandred had a moment to curse his own error when a fist smashed into his face. His adjutant went down next to him, bleeding from a nasty gash. Vandred started to get up, and found a thick boot holding him down.
"Sorry pal, but I think these are our guns now."
The guardsman hauled up the sack of pulse guns, and sprinted further back into Imperial lines. The other two guardsmen hauled Vandred to his feet. One pulled the auxiliary's arms back and the other pulled his fist back to punch. Vandred was ready for the wind to be knocked out of him.
He wasn't ready for a pulse round to take the guardsman's fat head off.

The other man holding Vandred back staggered away from the spurt of blood, releasing him. The Sub-Commander followed up, elbowing the Imperial in the face, sending him sprawling into the filthy street. The guardsman shuffled away from Vandred, and his eyes widened as the rising Sub-Commander was flanked by a pair of Fire Warriors, toting "Mark Seventy-Four plasma guns". His bloody lips trembled as he uttered his last word.

"Tau?"

The sound of gunfire and bright blue flashes rippled down the street.

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

Taskforce Ultra

Shas'O Skyhunter strode into the barn. All pretences of fear or worry had left the elite strike cadre: no Imperials had investigated the old man's crops, and Shadowbrand's automated drone network would pick up anything larger than a field mouse. They were untouchable. Inside the barn, the team's various Battlesuits hung limp and dormant, their pilots enjoying the downtime.

Shas'vre Fue'Tan was the first to aknowledge Skyhunter's presence, and raised his bonding knife in his direction. The rest of the team followed suite, saluting their commander. Skyhunter dismissed them, and continued on. Shadowbrand approached him.

"Any word from our stealth drones, Shas'El?" Skyhunter spoke.

Shadowbrand grinned. Her blue-grey skin pulled away to reveal a sharp, white grin, and her amber eyes lit up.
"All that we need. Black Water Bastion, as the humans call it, has been fully mapped out. No-one saw our drones, and we now have accurate readouts on all the ammunition stores, barracks, surgeries, latrines, power generators and heaters, and command posts. And whatever else. All the data's been sent back to Cadre Command, and they're calculating the garrison's response times to an attack." She seemed flushed with victory, as if the battle had already been won. In many ways, it could have been. She continued. "This is easier than I thought - you'd have thought they weren't at war."

Skyhunter grinned from inside his Crisis suit. "I've heard the older Gue'vesa use an old Imperial phrase - I think it's rather apt now."
Shadowbrand cocked her head, expecting him to continue.

"No-one expects the Imperial Inquisition."

++LUNA EPSILON//HIVE COGGER++

The Drachen trucks lumbered through the streets of Cogger's lower levels, lighting up the debris-ridden streets ahead with flickering headlights and the occasional chatter of bored gunfire. Lamech stood in the back of the third truck, resting his arms on the top of the cab while his gunner swung the gun back and forth. The missing patrols had last been in this area, and Lazarus seemed cautious, but Lamech was convinced it was nothing more than leftover orks from the Maw. He hissed frustration through the beaten-iron skull helmet he wore, and debated for the eighth time if he was going to try to paint it white. It was rumored that the Flayed Legionnaires wore white helmets out of deference to the Flayed Lord. Perhaps the Chaos Lord himself would smile on Lamech if he did the same? No, Mordecai had worn a white mask for years, and Lamech was determined not to follow in anyone's footsteps. He would find his own way to-

The truck lurched to one side, clipping a nearby promethium supply line and throwing a shower of sparks. Snapping from his thoughts, Lamech snarled into his radio.

"Mind the pipes! Don't want to go up like some sort of-"

The lead truck exploded in a storm of flame, slamming sideways off the road, trailing smoke and screams. What might have been written off as a freak accident didn't fool the Cogger natives, and the blast illuminated a brief glimpse of slender red armor, painted like fire, melting away into the shadows near the pipe. Eldar! Lamech had never seen one himself, but he had heard a thousand terrifying stories, and with a malicious grin he determined to write the thousand-and-first himself.

"Xenos!" He snatched the electro-whip from his belt and pointed ahead. "Light them up!"

The trucks swung around to broadside that part of the pipes, and the heavy stubbers began to beat a steady drumbeat, showering the shadowy areas in sparks, shrapnel, and a cacophany of ruin. It was a warning to the rest of the trucks more than anything. The Eldar were like ghosts, gone the moment one fully set eyes on them, but Lamech caught the flash of a single green-armored leg, extended a heartbeat too soon from its cover. He pounded once on the top of the cab.

"Haul right!"

The truck skidded sideways, slamming into the green-suited warrior as he stepped into the street and sending him crashing to the ground. Lamech leaped down, lashing the electro-whip around the eldar's legs and triggering the hilt. The whip was normally used to bring down Ogryn's and even aspect armor couldn't keep out the scalding bursts of energy. The warrior convulsed on the ground, and a half-dozen cultists immediately set upon him with spikes of rebar.

Lamech ignored the alien screams, yanking the whip free with a laugh. The shadows were alive with movement, there were dozens more of the xenos, but any hiveganger knew the key to a fight was the other gang boss. As if on cue, the warlock, glowing with psychic power, was within his sight. Had he a single thought to appreciate beauty, Lamech might have compared her to an angel or a spirit from another realm. But the Drachen had no head for poetry or art, and he was having far too much fun to stop and admire anything but blood.

Lamech cracked the whip, discharging the lingering current into the air with a loud snap. He grinned behind his skull mask, advancing steadily on the slender warlock, already envisioning the barbs making her dance in agony on the street. She turned towards him, but did not retreat, or even flinch as he stalked closer. Her face had a curious expression, even for a xenos.

Was it surprise? Irritation? Fear, even?

No, he realized suddenly, skidding to a halt. It was patience. The warlock was waiting calmly for something.

The cultist to Lamech's left split in half without more than a gurgle, and a crimson sword lashed out between the falling remains, scything through the air where Lamech would have stood a heartbeat later. The Drachen laughed behind his mask, snapping his right arm back to slash the electro-flail across the Eldar's torso.

The strike never landed. The whip rolled out in front of Lamech's feet, accompanied by the sudden, bodily chill of shock and blood loss as he realized his arm had been neatly shorn away above the elbow. The banshee champion drew the blade, cutting loose a thunderous shriek from his helmet, and made to disembowel the stunned cultist.

The heavy stubbers thudded to life, scattering heavy slugs across the street in a random blitz of iron hail. A handful of eldar, closing in around the wounded cultist, were beaten back in a spray of xenos blood and armor shards. Aelvin spun away, cutting his sword through another cultist as he leaped away from the flying debris of the roadway. Cultists surrounded Lamech, their autoguns chattering blindly in all directions as the sheer weight of the fire pushed back the Eldar counterattack, and a steady hiss rose in the background.

"Get back! Get back!" Lamech felt them lift him up, slamming him into the back of one of the gun trucks, but the world was a dull roar around him past the freezing horror spreading through his body. "Move! Cut the line!"

The background hiss became a roar, accompanied by the sickly pungent smell of promethium. A snap, a flash, and an explosion erupted up from the pipeline, launching a curtain of fire behind the trucks as they sped away from the battlefield. Wracked with pain, curled up in the back like a shameful child, Lamech stared at the ghostly images of the Eldar on the other side of the flame. For the first time in a life of violence, death, and anger, he understood what true hatred felt like.

Spoiler:

Victory against Eldar, which in this case just means minimal casualties. And Lamech could really use a hand.

----- New Pavus, slums -----

'' That's the slaughterhouse the major's living in '' said Garvel

'' He lives in a slaughterhouse? Kinda messed up don't you think '' said someone else

'' Mhmm, big building, can fit many defenders, lots of room, lots of accesses, that'll be a bitch to take with only five of us ''

'' What! You mean the team hidden in the woods ain't gonna help us, that's ridiculous! ''

'' Higher ups want to give one last change to stealth, I guess, we're still under the radar as far as the Tillers know ''

'' Mhmm, how are we going to to do that, then? ''

It was at that time that Mallear came from his initial recon.

'' Bad news, there's three access, means we'll be only two in there, that'll be trouble ''

'' And with pistols only? ''

'' We'll '' acquire '' their rifles if need be, but the point is to get in and out with the prize, not wipe out the Tillers where they stand ''

'' Who's going in then? ''

'' I will! '' two voice spoke almost as one, Garvel was one of them.

The team had agreed to wait till the night before hitting the rebels. Garvel and his comrades decided to hit the western door, it was less exposed on the main street and the dumpster nearby would be ideal to hide the dead guard.

'' Wait till they switch guard, then we'll take him out, you kill him, I'll hide the corpse '' the other Scion nodded and the pair proceeded to wait until the guard was relieved by his comrade. That took about an hour and Garvel's comrade walked up to the man, pretending to be a beggar, the guard had allowed the stormtrooper to get within melee range and he never saw the knife that went through his throat, he died quick, and died silently. Garvel raced out of the shadows and lifted the guard while his buddy made sure no other Tillers would sneak up on them.

'' Any weapons? ''

'' Just a baton to beat up wanderers, don't think the Tillers are quite to the point where they can wave rifles around in the streets ''

The duo entered the building. They could hear the conversation of a few Tillers nearby and took out their pistols.

'' Keep one alive, we can't walk waste time walking all around the place, and we don't have the ammo to kill everyone, speaking of, you got flashbangs? ''

Garvel nodded and prepared his grenade.

'' How many? ''

The other Scion took a quick look in the room.

'' Three, that's awfully convenient for us, one has a flamer, I'll kill that one, kill the one further away from the door, we'll interrogate the other one really quickly ''

Garvel thew his grenade in the room.

'' MacAnnan, is tha- '' the Tiller would never finish his sentence, as a bright flash overtook his sense, followed by bullet smashing his brain. The other man died in a similar way, the last one was tackled down and had a pistol silencer shoved in his mouth to prevent him from making too much sound.

'' You so much as speak one letter too loud, our Inquisitor's gonna keep you alive for weeks, understood ''

The mention of an Inquisitor removed all colors from the face of the Tillers and he slowly nodded.

'' I am taking out my pistol, you will tell us where major O'Connell is sleeping now ''

'' Th-, I mean second floor, room in the ba-ba-back ''

Garvel brought his pistol and shot the Tiller in thead. The stormtroopers proceed to the second floor unchallenged. The room mentionned by the traitor seemed pretty obvious, with two guards at the end of the corridor. The Scions made quick work of the suprised men and entered the large room.

'' You watch the door, I'll look for the bastard '' said Garvel. The Scion looked around the room, seems it was split in smaller rooms, with no bed obvious in the one he was in. Garvel went to the next door and found a bed, Garvel took out the injector and readided himself, uncovering the form on the bed. It a pig carcass, someone had a very sick sense of humour, or... he heard the click of a snub revolver being cocked. Feth.

'' Hands behind your head, now ''

The major, ah, so he was pretty good. Garvel complied, hitting his vox-link while moving up his hands, atl east his comrades out would know he's in trouble.

'' Arcadis Bay my ass, couldn't fake the accent to save your life, get up ''

Without lots of options, the stormtrooper stood up and exited the room, passing by the corpse of the other Scion, his throat having been slit open.


----- Two hours later, 85th Command post -----

Gallus slammed his fist on the table, Castella had brought the news just now. Two men missing, possibly dead, no prisoner, no progress. Both his seconds were there.

'' To hell with stealth, Riley, take your best twenty and three Valkyries, you're going hunting, when can you be in that building? ''

'' Five hours, add fifteen minutes to that and I can have the building empty of life, with that guy in a Valkyrie ''

'' Get to it then, bring a vox clarion, you'll get specifics regarding your target while you're in the air ''

Riley nodded, saluted and ran to his men quarters. One Scion on watch saw him approach.

'' Uh... sir? ''

'' I want 1st platoon 5th and 6th sections, fully geared for a raid, with flamers, we're clearing a building and we're already late ''

'' Yes sir! ''

A Ferrasian feast part two


It took over a day for the storm to weaken and for the bases aircraft to fly again safely for the small raid on the ork coastal camp. Too small to be a huge threat but a single ork could cause problems yet alone a small organized camp.

The mission was a combined assault with elements of Yarl Agmars auxiliary forces, Space wolves marines and Amanda Valorns armsman backed by airborne gunships for fire support during the rapid raid.

“Your flying in the chomand hawk knight Scion Valorn, pad 10, the armsmen are already gathering near the hangers ready to leave soon as go ahead is given” the female serf excused her self politely and took to her other duties about the base. On the hour mark she borrowed one of the old Jeeps to drive to the pads. “Amanda, you join us on this one, now we are comple, let us go” boomed Yarl Agmar over the engines idiling whines, hugging him and ignoring a few jokes from the Ferrasian officers, “orks, aircraft and danger, never miss a solid second date” “ja, but it's not going to be boring” laughed the Yarl as they boarded.

The Flight to the camp was not a long one but the officers soon had got the plans, tactics and final details worked out quickly and making best use of the mixed forces capabilities and unique skills of the supporting humans, the marines where taking the first blood. “Agreed, we go with it, any objections” none where raised and it was decided, the wolves where to target boats and docks, Auxiliary was to cut off retreat once the docks burned and take the camp from behind, lastly the volkite equipped armsman job was to take the jungle gate and cut off the escape route there. With a final nod and a round of amsac the first aircraft screamed in low and fast over the water to the target.

A sudden wall of bolter and rocket fire lit up the sky as dawn broke over the docks scattering orks and meks working on constructing the crude boats from large tree trunks and heavy scavenged armour. Even before the smoke had begun the clear the sky claws where soon amongst the orks and fighting a fierce battle jumping from boat to dock and roof to roof each engaging multiple orks in rapid duels. On the jungle gate near a large sea cave the Armsmen of house valorn pressed forward and several where felled by crude traps of wood and stone yet where effective and soon found the route was emptey but the small mob whose resistance lasted very little when the volkite fire ofn the highly drilled force took them by surprise.

Taking the fight forward the armsmen pressed forward and hit the boat yards flank hard firing volleys of relentless flaying energy, yet even there armour was not impenetrable and several fell to crude boom spears or richer orks with crude but powerful blunderbuss firearms the size of small cannons. Despite its gains Amanda valorn and her guard where fighting a dangerous closed qauters fight.

Waiting for his turn Yarl Agmar had placed his forces well and watched as melta bombs set large fires by then docks and drove some of the orks heading for the rear gates of the crude but we'll fortified camp. They line held but soon a large nob gutted several troops on its way and then faced the Yarl. “Oi humie, ya ruin our fun, our boats, now ya die” despite his increased strength and stature the ork was stronger and this find would be won by brains not brawn. Ducking low he saw his chance to strike and swung the massive bladed axe into a defensive block, and pulled the fuse on its crude grenade harness before ducking as the green skin exploded in a pile of green and burned chunks.

Turning round he saw a sudden ork about to charge impaled on a sword before he could raise his weapon. “Ja, thanks, still say it was a good date” laughing as she quickly beheaded the ork, “aye. But next time maybe somewhere less … orky, the locals are a tad less welcoming “

As they colated the reports and bodies stacked and set aflmae in a great pyre to prevent some of the spores forming new orks and future warghs. Boats destroyed, the base was a burning ruin I'm the distance with great black plumes towering overhead the warboss escaped the docks and had managed to sneak out to live another day, despite many woumnds it took far more than that to slay a mighty boss. “Il get ya gitz, I'm not dead yet” The loss of all the gunz had hurt, metal, all scavenged hard, it would take to rebuild his clan.

In the ruins they found somthing a ainciant sheild with a boss in the form of a dragons maw and long defiled aqulla hanging off the bosses throne, an artifact of the lost chapter perhaps?

As Amanda Valorn charged towards the Ork Camp, surrounded on all sides by her loyal armsmen, she realized that she was not afraid. There was a little bit of apprehension there yes, as thus far she had only experienced the thunder of war from the relative safety of her Knight suit, and now here she was leading a charge against some Orks. The fear should have been overwhelming, she had heard many stories of others freezing up under pressure, leading to them or others being hurt and killed, but that wasn’t the case for Amanda. She had never felt so alive in her life. It was intoxicating, she realized, the thunder of war. One could easily get lost in it, and lose sight of their objective. She had been given an objective, she and her Armsmen were to take the Jungle Gate and hold it, ensuring that the Orks had no way to escape the furious Space Wolf assault. They were to be the anvil that the Orks broke against versus the Hammer of the Wolves, and Amanda gave the Armsman next to her a fierce grin, excited by the prospect, and the armsmen returned the grin. House Valorn would prove themselves in the fires of war, and they would show the galaxy that they were not defeated by the losses they had experienced. They would come out of this even stronger than ever before. Let the enemies of the Imperium tremble, she thought as she caught sight of the first Orks up ahead, for the Wolves of Valorn were on the hunt.


Before any of the armsmen could open up on the Orks, there was a flash of movement and the armsmen to her left slumped to the ground dead, caught through the chest by a fiendish Ork trap, and several more spears were hurled by the Greenskins before the Armsmen could respond to the ambush, and two more armsmen fell, impaled through the chest and neck by the crude, but lethal weapons, and Amanda burned their faces into her memory. She would not forget their sacrifice, and she would burn a hundred Orks for each Armsmen who fell in her defense, and she would begin to even out the tally with these Orks near the gate. All around her Armsmen fell into formation around her, and as one they raised their Volkite rifles and opened up, and the Orks who were foolish enough to have thrown the spears were the first to die, incinerated by the vengeful Armsmen in flashes of burning green energy. The Ork mob ahead had noticed the ruckus and they began sprinting towards the advancing force, excited by the prospect of a good fight, and as they drew closer Amanda could make out every detail of their disgusting faces. The Orks had green, sallow skin, crude stone and wood choppas, and each one was clad in scraps of what appeared to be great beasts, along with crudely woven cloth. The mere sight of them filled her with a fiery hatred, and the deaths of her Armsmen only added fuel to the fire, and she raised her sabre and pointed it at the onrushing Orks and spoke one word. “Fire.” In another hail of light the onrushing Orks were incinerated, and the wavered for a second as the sheer weight of fire, and the burning corpses of their comrades tripped them up and forced them to slow as to avoid a potentially lethal fall. This pause was to be their undoing, and the Volkite rifles of Valorn spat death again and again, until the Orks charge went from wavering, to breaking as the few remaining Boyz attempted to flee back towards the main camp. They didn’t make it, as the vengeful Armsmen scythed the last one down just a few short yards away from the Jungle Gate, which was slowly opening to reveal another Ork horde bearing down upon them. Realizing that this horde would not be as simple to break, the Armsmen raced for cover. The Orks, perhaps sensing that they had the advantage, opened fire on the Armsmen. Most of them had crude BoomSpears, but a few of them had different weapons that resembled the Blunderbusses of old Terra. Despite how crude the weapons seemed, they were still lethal, and a few more Armsmen were shredded by the ferocious strength of the Blunderbusses, or torn apart explosively by the BoomSpears, despite their advanced armor. As they fell Amanda let loose a shout of furious denial. No more of her men would fall her, and she rose from behind the stump she had ducked behind and leveled her volkite pistol at the Orks. She would show them how a daughter of Valorn fought!


Her Armsmen rose along with her, and their Volkite rifles once again sang a song of death, and Orks began to fall by the dozens, their crude armor no match for the flaying energies of the Volkite rifles. Similar to the previous mob of Orks, the sheer firepower their small group unleashed sent the Orks back in disarray, and Amanda was quick to seize the moment to order the advance, and her forces pushed forward. The next few minutes were a blur as the Armsmen slowly pushed the Orks back into their camp, towards where Amanda could hear howls of the Space Wolves as they unleashed their fury upon the Orks. The sound brought another fierce grin to her face, something that was echoed by the men around her. Over the last few weeks the Armsmen of Valorn had become close to the Space Wolves that they now fought alongside, and the two groups were ferociously proud of the achievements of the other. And then of course there was Agmar…. She and him had become extremely close to each other over the last few weeks, and he had asked her to accompany his brothers in their assault on the Ork Camp. A good first date indeed! Then Amanda saw something that made her blood run cold. Ahead she could see Agmar in a furious duel with a massive Greenskin. What he couldn’t see was the smaller Ork that was creeping up behind him raising a weapon, obviously intending to stab him. She raced forward towards them and lunged with her sword, praying that she wouldn’t be too late to save him….

Amanda removed her helmet and wiped the sweat off her brow. It had been a long, hard fight. But they had won, and all around her the Orks burned, along with the remnants of their camp. The Warboss and a few other Orks had managed to effect an escape, but Amanda knew that they would be hunted down and killed in the next few weeks. No one escaped the wrath of Fenris, and this Ork would be no exception. Then her thoughts turned to the fallen. Too many of her Armsmen had fallen today, and she knew that their faces would probably haunt her for the rest of her life. She accepted this simple fact with all the grace of her lineage. They had died in her service, and in her defense. The least she could do was remember their sacrifice, to ensure that they hadn’t died in vain. Their bodies were laid out back on the drop ship, and they would be prepared for shipping back to their loved ones, wherever they might be. House Valorn would ensure that they were given every possible dignity, after all, they had earned it. Satisfied, Amanda put her helmet back on and sealed it, and then she turned and began walking towards the drop ship to join her men. The day was not yet over.

Six human psykers were dragged into a ritual circle that had been scorched into the earth just moments earlier. Each human was a virgin, just as the ritual demanded. Each human was bound and gagged with the vines of the Rose of the Heshlik Gardens. The thorns of the vines bit deeply into their skin and they made their agony known. Five of the six humans were arranged into a five pointed star while the sixth was placed in the center of the star. Each human was held in place by an Absent of Ewryht'eikl, whom wielded a shard of the Razor of Esekuur.

The ritual took place on Crion, though the reason behind this was hidden like an Absent in the shadows. Ewryht'eikl only alluded to the fact that it aligned with his master plan. The ritual circle was drawn far from any civilization besides a scarce amount of native tribes, which had already been killed, sacrificed or enslaved by the Servants of Ewryht'eikl. Deep in the forest they burned the circle into the ground. A large mass of mortal followers of Ewryht'eikl surrounded the circle along with Absents, who patrolled the area like rabid dogs in search of scraps. Not one soul would disturb the ritual.

"Why must we wait so long, Pneuma?" Raak'tiil groaned. She despised the way the material universe looked in comparison with the Warp. It was dull and stale unlike the ever changing see of the Warp. How she hated that.

"We wait for night fall. That is when the ritual must be completed," Peuma Plagueborn gurgled, the nearest cultists passing out from the foul stench that left his gaping maw. He reached a disease festered arm out to the sky, "It draws close... We are on the eve of something monumental."

"I have an eternity. This is hardly monumental in the scheme of that time."

"Yes, but our lord, Ewryht-"

The ground shook like an earthquake. Something very large had entered the forest.

"It is time..." Pneuma uttered. Another small quake rattled the earth and knocked a few cultists down. The shaking drew closer. Each quake was bigger and more pronounced as if a giant was heading towards the ritual circle.

"I AM RETURNED!" a voice thundered and shook everything nearby to the bone. If any cultist had been left standing, they were now prostrating themselves towards the direction of the voice. The giant kneeled so its upper body was below the tree height and it gazed at the Raak'tiil and Pneuma. Its voice was hushed and emanated from the grotesque mouth in the giant's chest, "Start the ritual."

Raak'tiil nodded to the Absents holding the five outermost humans in the circle. Each human had its throat slit in unison and a cry of sorrow and mental anguish came from the human in the center of the circle, who was to witness the atrocities of the ritual first hand. The giant withdrew a large book from it's side and began reading an incantation. Energies from his words whipped around the circle and flew into the bodies of the dead human sacrifices. Each body was raised up and its arms were outstretched. The incantation lasted for what seemed like hours until a single phrase was spoken.

"Suolyn'ne..."

Each of the bodies, including the living sacrifice in the center of the circle, exploded into pure, unyielding darkness. It engulfed the vicinity of the circle and devoured all noise, light and blocked every sense. All the humans nearby experienced acute agony in their heads while the darkness lasted, the giant however, felt something different. He heard a voice and saw a figure. A tanned human with a long, dark brown and black tail ending in a rattle that shook when the creature spoke.

"It has been so long since I have been in the presence of another being... Who is it that has managed to summon me?"

"I am Ewryht'eikl, lord of Darness and the Undeath," the giant spoke confidently, a wide grin splitting each of its three faces. It lowered its massive heads so it could address the she-snake face to face.

"In another life, I would call you by another name... Your faces remind me of a young, hot-headed psyker from a desert planet far from here..." the half-snake said drawing her hand up to touch one of the giant's faces.

"I do not go by that name any longer. I am Ewryht'eikl. I am your patron," the giant reassured.

"I understand, Ewryht'eikl."

Rhodri comforted the young pup in his arms for the hundredth time, in an attempt to make it hang on just a little bit longer,but unless they move out soon the pup will die. There was no food or water in this dusty tomb of Marine and Hound as far as Rhodri could see and the pup was starving for he was nought but skin and bone. As a Hound Master Rhodri had grown attached to the hounds in the kennels, perhaps more so than the ones in the barracks. They were as loyal as any marine and followed orders without question. They only sought Rhodri’s attention and affection and perhaps the odd meal and hunt, in Rhodri’s mind they were the perfect companions and just as a techmarine would risk his life for some technological marvel, Rhodri would do the same for everyone of his hounds. As such Rhodri would do everything in his power to keep this pup alive, not only because it would help in his mission given to him by Baltair Seoc himself but because it broke his heart to see such a magnificent creature in pain.

Cadfael cursed under his breath as his latest ritual had yet again failed to get the power restored to the old fortress. He was about to perform the proper rites again when Rhodri barged in with Tactical squads Mara and in tow “Rhodri, I told you I need my privacy if I am to re-” “Forget about that door,forget about this place, you have been trying all night to restore power and we have not seen so much as a spark.” Spat Rhodri annoyance clearly present in his tone. “What about the possible artefacts that could be behind this door ? Powerful weapons and armour could prove invaluable to the chapter” argued Cadfael, Rhodri stepped forward closer to his brother “Forget about your swords and armour” said Rhodri as he lifted up the pup in his arms “This is the weapon we need, this is the future of our chapter”.Cadfael tilted his head in confusion “ What do you mean” “If this pup is from the breed I think it is this could make our hounds on par with the Thunderwolves from Fenris, they could cut through not only light armoured infantry but more heavier armoured troops such as nobz and our traitorous brethren, perhaps even light armoured vehicles” grinned Rhodri, “So Cadfael we have found a weapon just not in the form you were expecting. Now let us move, the future of our chapter is dying.” Saying what he had to say Rhodri spun on his heels and began the trek back through the passage they had cut their way through to get to Site Henry. Brother Dai brought the Cuir Airde around to collect his brothers so they could report their “success” to Alpha Faolan Gall.

Cearul patted Brother Alwyn on the back, “Good Sparring session brother your defensive stance was good while your footing in your aggressive stance could use some work. How is your new leg ?” Alwyn shook his new bionic leg “It will serve Commander, but I must admit I am still adjusting to it, my balance is not quite right” Cearul smirked “I noticed, stop limping, put some weight on it and you will be back slaying xenos in no time”. A steel haired man approached the two robed giants, “Idris !” Bellowed Cearul “I was not aware you made it to the surface” Idris slammed his fist onto his breastplate “Only temporarily, I will be returning to Aspen’s Claw in a few hours but alas we must catch up another time, I come bearing summons from Faolan Gall for Cearul Adair, the old dog said it is urgent”. Putting his training blade back on the adjacent rack, “Very well, best not keep him waiting, Alwyn, Idris I will see you when I see you” with a slight nod Cearul left his friends in the training room and made his way over to Faolan’s office.

Cearul knocked on his Alpha’s door three times. Faolan’s familiar rough voice echoed from inside his office “Come in”. Faolan Gall was sat down behind his desk reading reports and studying maps, His once proud black mane now fostered many grey streaks in it, once Cearul entered he put down a dataslate he was studying and rose out of his chair. “Cearul, I appreciate you coming here with haste, i’ve been reading our allies reports and i'm happy to say they have made some progress which means we have to step up our game and put this Gorehound Da Cook down” Cearul could see the rage boil within his Alpha by the mere mention of the greenskin, “How do we approach him ?” Asked Cearul “The trees themselves protect the orks any approach into the forest would be suicide” Faolan walked into the adjacent room where a map of the nearby region which housed Gorehound, Cearul followed suit. “We will set up a killzone and lure the orks in, hopefully Gorehound himself will show and we can cut the head off the snake and shatter the orks in this region”. Faolan turned to Cearul and the atmosphere in the room changed completely “ I have failed this chapter and you particularly. You have always been in my shadow, by my side, I have never trusted you to take command independently, leaving such command to Ardan believing you were not yet ready. I have decided due to my recent disaster that you Cearul Adair shall have the command, prove to me that you are ready to command and bring me Gorehound Da Cook’s head”. Saluting his Alpha Cearul made way to ready his forces, it was finally time he got his own command, it was time to hunt some ork.

++HIVE COGGER//OUTER LEVELS++
Mordecai knew what chaos sounded like. He had been trapped in its embrace when the feral orks attacked the Maw, and had stood his ground as blood and madness stormed all around him. They had faced a tsunami of rage and lived, but this was different.

Now they faced a lightning strike of fury which they could not deflect.

A battle cannon's hideous echo thudded from behind him as he sprinted down the ruined street, the shot passing overhead and ripping the heart out of a nearby building. The roof blossomed upwards on a sudden flame, and cultists were thrown from within as the enormous shell detonated. Reflexively, he raised his shield, hearing the patter of shrapnel on its beaten surface. Ahead, a group of the enemy's prisoner-soldiers had broken through, streaming from a gutter below and catching the group of cultists from the flank.

“The lift!” Mordecai shouted, vaulting a tumbling piece of rubble. “Secure the lift!”

He slammed his shield hard into the first of the penal legionnaires, feeling something crunch beneath the impact as he sped onwards towards the central lift. The gargantuan elevator, once used to transport heavy construction equipment up and down the levels, was a surefire way to transport the heavy Malcador tanks up to the higher levels without opposition. Smoke streamed overhead as a handful of cultists fired home-made rockets from the rooftops, scattering broken stone shards and nails through the penal legion ranks. The accompanying screams were satisfying, but Mordecai knew those flimsy shots would have no effect on the silver-armored knights advancing down the alleyways.

“Brother Mordecai!” A masked cultist, bearing the weight of an older-model vox-caster on his back, limped his way forward. “Brother! We've re-armed the far defense gun! Where are the tanks?”

“Nurgle take the tanks!” Mordecai grabbed the man's arm, dragging him along towards the lift. “Tell him to swing the gun west! West!”

Ahead, the cultists had reached the lift, turning around to form a gunline at its edge. Mordecai leaped over the crate barricade and landed hard on the iron grate floor. He kicked the controls hard, and with a titanic groan of effort, the lift began to rise. Mordecai gasped for breath, but he knew his task was not yet done.

“Tell the gun to lock onto the lift.”

“Brother!?”

“Lock onto the lift! There will be more tanks, and more soldiers, but there will be no easy road for them.”

For three agonizing minutes, the lift rose, finally coming to rest at the next level up. The cultists poured out of it as if it was already aflame, and Mordecai pushed and shoved the last ones to hurry. “Move! Move!” The overhead light clicked green: someone had summoned the lift from below. His hustle broke into a full sprint. “And fire! For the Flayed Lord, fire!”

A series of thunderclaps rose from the east, and with a roar and flame that rivaled the dragon beyond, the lift shattered into debris and slag, collapsing down in a useless scrap heap. Mordecai mustered as much saliva as he could and spit it down the smoldering shaft.

* * * *
++HIVE COGGER//GOVERNORS SPIRE++
“Father!” Mordecai slammed into the door, throwing it open as he stumbled into the governor's library. “They are here! Silver knights in the outer sectors!”

Lazarus stood over a large desk, his one good eye staring listlessly down at the surface as his blue artificial eye gleamed and blinked with information. “I know. The day has come sooner that I thought it would.” Lazarus rested his hand on the desk, closing his eye and shaking his head. “I had hoped that we would have found it by now. But since we are short on days...” He motioned Mordecai towards the map, and the rebel approached, his panic replaced by a cold curiosity. On the desk was a sprawling paper, retrieved from the archives below them. And on that paper was the end of Hive Cogger.

The paper was a map of the lower levels of Hive Cogger, in all of its Imperial-sanctioned ramshackle organization. Dozens of servitors had diligently slaved over the map for decades, updating it as new sections were built and old ones collapsed. Cogger had lived like a parasite growing on its own corpse, like many hive cities, and the revision number printed in bold on the map gave testament to that.

But far more chilling was the elegant, twisting rune Lazarus had drawn on top of the map. Inked in deep red, it overlaid the streets of Cogger, connecting alleyways and industrial complexes into a profane sigil ripped from another realm. The symbol curved and snaked its way through the map, passing seven different points before terminating at the center: the Governor's Spire.

Even on such a mundane medium, the symbol shivered with untapped power, drawing energy from the Immaterium and emanating an unnatural hiss just beyond normal hearing. Mordecai turned in shock, but Lazarus was already on his feet and moving.

“It's time we reminded this world that we are the true children of Chaos.”

Hannibal looked out from the walls of Iron Skull fortress. It had been some time since he had wrested it from Skull Eater’s grasp. Somewhere in the jungle, Skull Eater was gathering his forces, and Hannibal made sure that when the time to fight did come, that he would be ready. Guts had helped the iron horde place traps in the jungle, and they had paid off with the prize of one of Skull Eater’s trucks. While he placed more traps around his Fortress, Hannibal’s eyes turned to the south. Nogrod, the boss of the spider riders, had been a constant rival to Nerozz due to their neighboring territory. But since the Iron Horde rose, Nogrod’s tribe had been suspiciously silent. Hannibal was keen to know if another attack was coming soon, and had sent Guts to scout out their rivals. Now there was nothing left for Hannibal to do than build, and wait. Wait for Guts’ return, and wait for the coming storm of Skull Eater’s revenge.

Hannibal took a deep breath. He would wait. Impatience leads to disaster, and he would let Skull Eater make that mistake. The Iron Horde would be fully prepared when the time of Skull Eater’s revenge was at hand.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Oi! How long to we’z gotta go ‘till we’z get ‘dere?” Norrik bellyached as he and his spider rider boys crawled at what felt to be a painfully slow pace as they followed behind Guts da Vagabond. None of the spiders were too keen on letting an unknown ork ride them, and Guts was not too keen on riding a mount that was known for devouring greenskins. As a result, the group passed through the jungle at what was, for the riders, a maddeningly slow pace.

“Don’ worry, Norrik. We’z almost ‘dere.” Came a tired reply. The same one he used the last four times he was asked. With a roll of his good eye, Guts hoped that Norrik’s skill in battle would make up for the miserable journey.

“Why we’z got’s ta’ go so slow anyways? Can’t we’z jus’ get to da fort ourselves?”

Guts chucked. “Yer’ askin’ me why havin’ tha’ wall guard see a bunch’a spida’ rida’s chargin’ at ‘em would be a bad fing? You wouldn’ make it halfway.”

“Yeah, well if you’z so smart, ‘den tell me why’z we gots’ ta’ all be in a line? We’d be a lot fasta’ if we din’ have ta’ single file.”

“Traps, ya git. I told ya. Traps.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Ya told me. ‘da traps’ll get ya. ‘Dere’s traps all ova. We don’ wan’ all yer’ boyz ta’ get caught up by all tha’ traps!’ Well we’z been crawlin’ like a snail in ‘dis jungle fer hours now, an’ I don’ see no zoggin traps! Not a single zoggin one!”

Guts sighed as he stopped in his tracks. Scooping up a sizable stick, he took a moment to find his target before giving it a good throw. The stick flew though the air, striking a few leaves as it soared towards its mark. With a small snapping sound, the stick struck a leafy patch in the ground before skidding to a halt.

And then, nothing happened.

“Well, ‘dat sure was some trap…” Norrik snorted though chuckles. But Guts stood still, looking at the leafy patch with expectation, and a worrying smile.

A soft hiss.

A canister sprung from the ground.

A quiet puff as the canister exploded, sending shards into surrounding foliage.

The trees awoke.

As the trees thrashed about, Norrik’s haughty grin faded, and Guts threw him a smug smile of satisfaction.

“Alright, alright. Guess you waz right about tha’ traps, ya zoggin tree whisperer.” Norrik admitted as he slouched down in his saddle, resigning himself to the slow march to the fortress.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Hannibal sat still, staring into the dust as his mind chipped away at the knowledge before him. Norrik had told him everything. The invasion of the blue-skins, the death of Nogrod, and the fall of the whole tribe. Where there was once a mighty ork presence, now there were only scattered bands of riders. This changed things for Hannibal, and he sat still, motionless, save for the rising and falling of his chest with steady breaths. He had already dismissed Norrik, welcoming him and his riders into the horde, now he was only accompanied by Guts in his silence.

Hannibal sat this way for a long time, the question of what to do with these blue-skins and their technology turned in his mind as he examined it from all angles, weighing risk with reward.

His eyes focused again. He had his plan. “Guts, I need one of your Javelins.”

Guts responded without hesitation, taking a javelin from his quiver and presenting it to Hannibal. “What’s ‘da plan, boss?”

“We’z gunna send a message.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The tau convoy readied for their trip though the jungle, their maintenance of the drone network complete. The maintenance crew gave a final nod to their retinue of warriors, and loaded up in their orcas. The warriors were quick to follow, keeping a wary eye on the jungle as they came aboard.

The door hissed closed, the engines hummed to life, and the orca began its ascent.

The passengers braced themselves for the orca to pick up speed, but instead, a crackle came over their comms as the pilot addressed the rest.

“There seems to be something wrong with the starboard-aft thruster. I need to put her down again.”

The fire warriors exchanged worried glances at the thought of landing again, instructed the pilot to keep the engines running, and rechecked their pulse rifles. As the door opened, they re-secured the surroundings as the others rushed to check the thruster.

“Shas-ui, I think I have found the problem. There is a Javelin stuck in the gyro-stabilizer.”

At those words, the fire warriors tensed, checking and rechecking the jungle for any sign of an enemy. But not a single greenskin could be found.

“Make the repairs quickly…”

“It is done. But you need to hear this.”

“I will hear it once we are in the skies. Everyone, in quickly.”

The team made their way into the orca. And an audible sigh of relief sounded over the hum of the engines powering to full speed.

“Now what was it that I needed to hear?” The shas-ui asked, taking off his helmet and wiping the sweat from his brow. He was presented with the javelin. Its blade was made of iron, and at the base of the blade was a small speaker with a few buttons. Over the engines, an ork voice could be heard from the speaker.

Innocence Proves Nothing

Justicar Freeman had healed from his wounds that he sustained at the Governor’s banquet. He had a gruesome scar on his torso where the rocket stick had struck him but was otherwise no worse for wear. The Grey knight was given command of a hundred of Inquisitor Randall’s storm troopers and given a task. Ensure that the refugee camps that surrounded Drake’s Point were free of heresy.

Lieutenant Jackson strolled along the fairway of refugees. They were a miserable lot, motely, weary, and starving. They huddled in masses around humble campfires under canopies to keep the cold off that came with the night’s rain. Jackson did not dawn his inquisitorial armor rather a long black trench coat to remain inconspicuous. Jackson eyed a beggar with a bowl, the man moaned “Please my good sir, spare a throne.” Jackson reached into his pocket and pulled a odd silver coin, marked with the all seeing eye of the inquisition. The beggar bowed humbly hearing the coin enter his metal dish “Thank you kind sir.” Jackson bowed slightly and continued on his path. Lieutenant Jackson raised his wrist mounted com bead and spoke “All Tracers set, begin specimen extraction.”

Men and women went missing that night carried away by shadows and specters. Each that went missing awoke in a similar place an empty white room bound to a chair.

Lieutenant Jackson entered the interrogation room with a clip board in his hands. The inquisitorial henchmen spoke “Tell me your name.” The man tied to the chair groaned “Where am I?” “That is Irrelevant, your name please.” The man recognized Jackson as the man who put a throne in his cup, the man snarled “Let me go this instance, you have no right to…” It was at this moment Justicar Freeman entered the cell, “The inquisition would appreciate your compliance.” The restrained refugee froze for a moment before speaking “My name is Jon Took.” Lieutenant Jackson continued “Can you name the Emperor’s nine loyal children Mr. Took.” Took easily replied “Leman Russ, Roboute Guilliman, Sanguinius, Rogal Dorn, Ferrus Manus, Lion El'johnson, Corvus Corax, and Vulkan.” Jackson continued “Can you recite for me the Litany of the Emperor’s Fire.” Took bowed his heads and spoke “For those who walk in the light of the Emperor; fire is their water, fire is their blood, and fire is their spirit. Embow me Emperor with your righteous flame so that I may do you will now and forever.” Jackson nodded over to Freeman and began to head for the door “Thank you mister Took, we will be back shortly.”

Freeman and Jackson walked side by side to the next cell, through the one way mirror they spotted a man restrained to the chair. Jackson raised an eyebrow “I never gave this man a token.” Freeman folded his arms as he replied “He had one none the less.” Jackson interest was piqued and he entered the interrogation room.

The man growled as Jackson approached “Let me go I didn’t do nothing wrong.” Jackson removed the silver coin from his pocket “How did you come by this coin.” The man spat “Old lady gave it to me traded it for a scrap of bread.” Jackson paced around the room “I do not appreciate lies mister…” The man replied “Mister none of your damn business. And that’s the truth old lady gave it to me.” Justicar Freeman entered the room speaking “Yes she did but not willingly I imagine.” The man gulped as the grey knight entered “Space Marine, who the feth are you people?” Jackson continued “Are you familiar with the Inquisition?” The man’s face grew pale as he replied in a near whisper “Only rumors.” Freeman spoke “Than tell us how you came by the coin I will know if you lie.” The man hung his head “I killed the old lady, slit her throat and took the coin, it was shiny and I wanted it.” Jackson was still unmoved the man was clearly evil, but not necessarily an agent of chaos. Justicar Freeman spoke on “Can you name the Emperor’s loyal sons.” The man replied slowly needing to think about his answer “Guilliman, Russ, Ferrus, Rogal Dorn, Sanguinius, Lion El'johnson, Vulkan, and Corax.” Jackson ordered “Recite the Litany of the Emperor’s Fire.” The murderer began “For those who walk in the light of the Emperor; fire is their water, fire is their bloo-….” The man attempted to finish the word but couldn’t. He soon began screaming as he felt his own blood burn as it coursed through his veins. His volume increased and then his voice turned to gurgling as blood began to pour from his mouth. After about three minutes the man’s eyes rolled back into his head and his corpse went limp in the chair. Justicar Freeman regretted the discovery but his duty was clear “There is no doubt, heresy has been detected Lieutenant Jackson inform the men.” The storm trooper knew what this meant.

2:48 AM Refugee Camp Outskirts of Drake’s Point

The Inquisitorial storm troopers broke into five-man kill teams each squad armed with flamer. They silently descended to the camps everyone was asleep, the occasional roaming insomniac and late night latrine goers were dispatched with knives. Every exit from the camp was sealed off and at at 3:07 AM the tents that held the refugees were set ablaze by geysers of flame. There was panic men women and children rushing from burning tents some of whom had caught fire, heretic and refugee alike were indiscriminately gun down by cracks of las fire. None were spared they could not risk a single heretic escaping their wrath so all were judged guilty. After twenty minutes of screams and cries all went silent under the crackle of the purging flame.

Justicar Freeman looked at the charred corpses of those around him, children. He knew that they had done the right thing they were to purge the heretics at any cost. Still he knew he would never grow numb to the horror of their deeds. Lieutenant Jackson came rushing toward Freeman “My Lord, we have reports of a possible group of heretics fleeing to the south in a vehicle.” Freeman hoisted his halberd “Gather the Valkyries.”

Ta'lok sat cross legged, quietly humming to himself, watching the sunrise. "Few things in life are so beautiful, wouldn't you agree, Meenos?" He asked, sensing Meenos' presence behind him. The Master Shaper smiled at Meenos' surprise, and was glad to see it quickly suppressed.

"Ta'lok, Godwill is dead. His body has been made into a message, and even now Edgar fears for when we come for him." Meenos replied.

"While I am glad to hear of this, I asked you a question." Ta'lok said sagely, still admiring the view.

Meenos sighed, "Yes, Shaper. It is an enjoyable view, but surely there are more important things than Crion's sun rising?"

Ta'lok slowly shook his head, and stood up, facing Meenos. "Meenos, how I wish you saw the bigger picture. Unfortunately, we do not have the free time to continue a lecture. More specifically, I do not. Either through anger, grief, or hysteria, your message has made Edgar poke his head out of its hole. He plans his speech, but no words shall come. I will make sure of that."

Meenos was silent for a moment, "You will join the hunt, Shaper?"

Ta'lok nodded, a glint of humor in his eyes, "I can hardly let the krootlings be the only ones to hunt, and I will not find myself babysitting the governor throughout this entire campaign. I expect to be gone for a few days, but no more than a week." Meenos nodded, and realized that this meant that he would not be coming. The pair clasped arms before Ta'lok turned towards their encampment to gather his gear.

Edgar grinned and waved at the assembled crowd in front of him, expertly hiding the growing sense of paranoia that was on the verge of consuming him. His past speech had nearly cost him his life, and now his associate, his own friend, had been found hanging from a streetlight, torn apart and left to rot. Edgar forced the thoughts out of his mind, he couldn't let any idle fear get in his way. The Tillers needed him, and worrying about some boogeyman wouldn't do. Edgar reached for a cup of water, and quickly drained it's contents. The rebel set the empty cup next to several others.

From a window, several robed figures watched the proceedings. "He's worried, he knows we come for him." Ta'lok whispered, slightly moving his head to look at Grulkin from the corners of his eyes. Grulkin cocked his head, expecting Ta'lok to continue. "He keeps drinking those cups of water, and he hasn't even said a word yet. And his hands, they're clenched whenever he isn't using them. He grins, but it's all a ruse. There is an entire art of reading people, Grulkin. I've learned quite a lot in my time."

Grulkin shrugged, and looked back towards Edgar, who had finally started his speech. "Brothers. Sisters. Visionaries and revolutionaries all of you. I greet you all with a warm smile and an open heart." Edgar began, and Seri scoffed from Ta'lok's left. "To this day, the Tillers, Horatio, and all of us have proven our justness, and our righteousness. We have shown to the world that the governor is nothing but all tyrant, a thief, and a traitor to the common man! This coward has done everything in his power to throw us down, and to spite us for seeking equality, liberty, and a life worth living! But we will not be dissuaded, we cannot be stopped!" Edgar's voice rose higher in volume, and became a rumble that caused the crowd to cheer and applaud his words.

Ta'lok saw a malicious smile creep over Edgar. "The governor fears us, brothers and sisters! He has sent the alien filth to do his own dirty work!" The man gestured behind him, and a humanoid body was raised by a rope around its neck for the crowd to see.

Ta'lok felt his stomach tighten as he recognized the body. "Torken!" One voice shrieked, and was followed shortly after by an inhuman figure sprinting across the fields, directly towards Edgar, already throwing down its hood to reveal the Kroot beneath it. Several other figures took up her cry, and bounded after her, drawing their own weapons and casting down their hoods.

Ta'lok sighed in disappointment, and signalled for the rest of his kin to follow. As one, a dozen more of the avian mercenaries bursted from their hiding spots, some rushing for Edgar, and others to the guards, and engaging in a merciless melee as they cut down any human that stood against them. Ta'lok lead the charge and passed Voshia, who had caused the assault to start early.

Voshia was viciously engaged with three arbites, narrowly dodging their mauls and sending knives in return. Ta'lok returned his focus to Edgar, who was arguing with one arbites member, one with the markings of a captain, and quickly turned to flee as he saw that Ta'lok was getting closer. The Shaper fired a single round into the captain's unarmored head, all the while still loping forwards, determined to catch Edgar once and for all.

By now the entire rally had fallen to chaos. Citizens fled in every direction like rats, clogging roads and trampling one another in their flight, and those that stayed hurtled items end over end at the aliens, screaming incoherently at their appearance. The guards stood against the Kroot, but none were used to seeing such creatures, let alone fighting them. The fury of seeing their fallen kin only furthered the Kroot's battle prowess, and bodies were steadily falling to their guns and blades. Yet, Ta'lok's mind remained sharp despite the anarchy surrounding him. He was slowly gaining on Edgar, only momentarily pausing to shoot at a guard that got too close, or to dodge away from the remaining mob and their constant volleys of rocks, bottles, and whatever else they could scrounge.

The Shaper heard the heavy footsteps of Grulkin behind him, followed by the snap of a man's throat as the mercenary crushed his windpipe. "I'm with you, Shaper!" Grulkin bellowed, and threw an axe into another guard's skull.

Edgar ran faster than he thought was imaginable, pushing passed anyone he came across, sometimes deliberately shoving them into his assassin's way. He never looked back as he fled, but was unable to get rid of the image of a knife in his back from his mind. The rebel doubled his pace when he reached the pavement of the road, and his shoes pounded against it as he ran. Soon all he saw before him was towering buildings, and he lost himself in their maze.

Ta'lok slowed as he saw Edgar's path, and knew he would corner himself eventually. The Shaper gave a gesture to Grulkin, who grinned ferociously before splitting off on his own path. Behind them, the ringing of blades meeting and the crack of gunfire was waning, and eventually turned into a pressing silence. Ta'lok knew that his kindred were already rendezvousing, knowing that the petty guards would not be able to kill off all of his kindred, and trusted his kin to not get forced into a battle of attrition. Their job was to distract the guards like fire to the bush a hog dens in, and force Edgar to flee. "The pig will only fight while cornered, and then it is brought low," Ta'lok growled as he ran.

Edgar kept running, painfully aware of how much noise he made, but not daring to slow himself to make less of it. Occasionally, he could hear the cawing of some creature, and saw a silhouette of a beast on the rooftops. Distracted and utterly terrified by this shadow beast, he never realized it was slowly forcing him into a dead end. Once the rebel found that he had been trapped it was far too late. "No," he whimpered, "Damn the alien who did this." Edgar heard footsteps behind him, and his head whipped backwards. What he saw made him stumble back.

Ta'lok slowly approached Edgar, who just glared at him in return. Behind him stood Seri and Meenos, who were among the first to find Ta'lok's whereabouts. Edgar spat at Ta'lok, but the Shaper kept to his slow advance. "Edgar-" Ta'lok began.

"No! Shut the feth up, alien! I will not listen to your lies. Not only do you belittle our galaxy with your existence, you make allies with our tyrant governor. The Tiller Rebellion may not have me after tonight, but after this, after what you plan on doing, they will hunt you. Your nest will be burned, you and all of your kind will not stand before Horatio." Edgar roared, and in his anger he took a step towards Ta'lok. "So take me, alien! Take my life, and become prey, you savage beast!"

Ta'lok stood still and silent, looking down into Edgar's eyes. "Say something! Taint the Gothic language and speak your mind, if you have one!"

"I thought you wanted for me to be silent." To Edgar's surprise, the avian creature gave a guttural noise, and it's shoulders shook. It was laughing. This only enraged Edgar even more, and he shouted, "Do not mock me!" He raised a fist, but before he could deliver it he heard a heavy thump of something hitting the pavement behind him. Slowly, he lowered the fist, and looked backwards. He nearly collided with a towering brutish creature, and only saw blackness and stars accompanied by a blinding pain as he collapsed onto his side.

Grulkin looked down at the coughing form below him, and lowered his own fist. "The Shaper does not like threats, human." He rumbled, and grabbed the collar of Edgar's shirt, lifting him back onto his feet. Grulkin let go of Edgar, and the rebel swayed slightly, but remained in his place. Grulkin hit Edgar between his shoulder blades, dropping him to his knees.

"Grulkin. Enough." Ta'lok said, showing no traces of emotion in his words. Grulkin took several steps backwards, and shrugged unapologetically. The Shaper turned his attention to Edgar, who had lost all the color in his face, and stared at the ground in front of him, refusing to look at his tormentors. The speech maker flinched as he heard the scrape of a knife leaving its scabbard, and expected his life to end at any moment. Instead, he saw a blade skitter into his view, and its hilt bumped against his knee.

"You will not be murdered, Edgar. I will not kill you in cold blood. No. Face me in a challenge of blades." Ta'lok said, his voice brooking no argument.

Edgar wrapped one hand around the blade's hilt, and looked up at Ta'lok. "And if I refuse?"

Ta'lok sighed, "How about we make a deal. If you can defeat me, you can walk free. We will give you twenty four hours, and then the hunt will start anew. Or, I can slit your throat now, and you can die a coward." The alien's words filled Edgar with a new burst of energy, and he ignored the dull throb in his head and back as he gave a shout and lunged forwards at Ta'lok, furious that something so foul would insult him. Instead of meeting Ta'lok's chest, Edgar's blade cut harmlessly through thin air. Before he could recover, he was sent stumbling forwards, and he covered his head to avoid it from colliding with the pavement.

Except that Edgar never reached the ground. In a single blur of movement, Ta'lok had dragged him backwards with one hand on Edgar's shoulder, and used his other hand to cut open Edgar's throat. "The hunt is over, my prey." Ta'lok whispered, and let the man fall backwards. As he hit the ground, the knife fell from his fingertips, and both of his hands flew to his throat, vainly trying to stop the waves of blood from spurting out of his jugular. Without hesitation, Ta'lok was upon him, cutting out Edgar's heart before the man realized what was happening. The Shaper lifted the bloody organ into the air, ignoring the thick red liquid that slithered down his arm.

"Kindred. This hunt has finished." He proclaimed, and lifted his head into the air before dropping the heart into his awaiting beak.

Garvel awoke his vision blurry. He didn’t remember being knocked out, but he must have been. He felt his arms and legs restrained to the chair with thick heavy ropes. From the darkness came a spot light blinding. The Scion’s vision began to refocus and he could see a group of individuals standing before him. It was at this same time it became clear he was no longer in the slaughter house but in what appeared to be a warehouse. A familiar voice spoke to him as he approached from behind the light “It would seem your luck has come to an end boy.”

O'Connell’s voice had no cruelty which struck Garvel as odd. Garvel remained silent he knew what was about to come and he knew what to expect, they had trained him for just this. O'Connell sighed “I’m going to assume that Merrick Vendez was just an alias you gave me at the pub, so I’m going to ask kindly to surrender your real name to me.” Garvel remained silent. O'Connell’s shook his head.

O'Connell leaned back in his chair “You’re not from Crion, that much is clear. Never seen any of the governor’s goons with that much training or gear.” Garvel remained silent still. O’Connell sighed “Tell me off worlder what does Crion mean to you.” Garvel made no reply he had neither desire and nor answer. “Nothing, it means nothing to you just some gak hole with a lot of bread. For us its everything.” O'Connell repositioned himself to sit straight up “We are both soldiers, but you are missing something.” Garvel raised his head to listen. “Purpose.” The notion angered Garvel but he would not reward the traitor with a response. O'Connell continued “You think your comrades will rescue you. I have no doubt they will.” Garvel was confused what kind of interrogator reassures his captive he will be rescued? O'Connell continued “You aren’t a person to them, to them you are just an asset, a weapon to be replaced when broken. They aren’t coming for you they are coming for their weapon.” Garvel pushed these words these lies from his mind but still they oozed through his ears. O'Connell knelt down to face the scion eye to eye “You are more than that, you are a man one of the Emperor’s faithful. You need not live for those who do not have your own interest at hearts, you need not follow men who would see you die for stupidity. You are my brother.” The bearded man drew near to the restrained Scion and spoke “So tell me brother what is your name.” The scion remained silent and after a moment O'Connell turned to leave. Before O'Connell could take four steps the scion spoke in almost a whisper “My name is Garvel of the 85th Tempestus Scions.” O'Connell turned and spoke “Think on my words Garvel, you are your own man.” And with that O'Connell and his men left the warehouse leaving Garvel alone in the darkness.

The prison, for lack of a better term, looked like all Ork buildings did – decrepit and on the brink of falling apart. However, it was clearly sturdy enough to hold off most of the things that would be likely to try and attack it.

This state of affairs suited Gitgrabba just fine. Gitgrabba was, at his core, a rather cowardly Ork – generally not willing to get into a fight with anything that had a weapon in its' hand and wasn't chained to a wall.

One would think that, given Ork culture, he would quickly end up dead. However, he was very good at keeping things locked up – and the Boss both noticed and appreciated these qualities, and so Gitgrabba had protection from his fellows, at least, as much as it was possible for an Ork to have.

The first indication he had that something his favour with the Boss offered no protection against had come for him was when the door to the prison literally disappeared in a burst of flame and force.

Scrambling, he grabbed his choppa and began to back away as a tall, thin figure walked through the passageway where the door used to be, holding a pair of red pistols, with another pair of crystal-esque pistols attached at his chest. He recognised the figure to be one of the knife-ears, like the ones they had been storing there not long ago.

“Well, well,” the knife-ear said in disappointment, “It appears our friends are not here. It's fortunate I kept you alive – you seem like the type of fellow who knows things.”

“You stay back, knife-ear!” Gitgrabba snarled nervously, holding his choppa, “Or me boyz outside will gut ya!”

“Outside?” his enemy tilted their head, “Oh, you mean those greenskins I slaughtered on the way in. Yes, I'm afraid they won't be 'gutting' anyone. And neither will you. Cuddio,” he clicked his fingers.

Suddenly, Gitgrabba felt something constrict around his limbs, snapping his arms out wide and rendering him unable to move. He tried to glance at whatever was the cause out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn't make out anything.

“Monofilament wire, a creature like you could not see it without assistance,” the knife-ear said simply, “The mimes are all very good with it, but my colleague Cuddio is a true artist. Now, then. My name is Feubryn Valorbane, and you, my friend, are going to answer some questions for me.”

“Why would I -” Gitgrabba's bit of defiance was cut off by his howl of agony as monofilament wire sliced off two of his fingers.

“Now, now,” Feubryn wagged his finger chidingly, “That wasn't a question. This, on the other hand, is; were there others like me held here?”

“Yeah!” Gitgrabba tried to struggle, but this only made the pain worse as the wires dug into his skin, “So wot?”

“I can't help but notice that they aren't here any more,” Feubryn noted, “Cuddio, two more fingers.”

The wires snapped shut, no sound but the Ork's roar of desperate agony.

“Now then,” Feubryn leaned in, “Where might my friends have gone, hmm?”

_____________

“Skulleater,” Feubryn tested the name on his tongue, “Skulleater. Descriptive name, don't you think? Skulleater.”

“…?”

“Why, yes, there is a reason I'm repeating it over and over. I'm making sure I've got the pronunciation right! After all, we are meeting this fellow soon and I'd like to make an… impression,” Feubryn replied cheerfully.

“...” Cuddio shrugged.

“Indeed,” Feubryn nodded as they approached the Starweaver waiting to pick them up, “We know where they are and that they're still alive, at least. I'd call this a successful excursion. Now, let us embark on another one.”

________________________________________

The Colosseum was a few miles into Avarqwell, and what was generally regarded by the locak Orks as Boss Skulleater's territory. A huge, wooden contraption filled with stands and surrounding a blood-soaked field, this bloody gladiatorial arena drew Orks from all around the continent, from other continents, and even some from off-world, all to participate in the only form of entertainment most Orks could get that wasn't involving themselves in a fight – watching one.

Orks against Orks was, of course, a common fixture, but if that was the only fight they had on the roster each week, it quickly would have gotten stale. Hence, they would often grab vicious wild beasts, humans, and anything else that they might want to see bleed and die for their amusement and was unfortunate enough to fall into their grasp.

Boss Skulleater had been on the receiving end of some significant and humiliating defeats, recently, and he needed to compensate – so compensate he did.

“All right, you bunch o' gits!” he roared into his voicegubbinz, an off-world Ork device that amplified his voice that he had traded for a couple of years back, “Everyone knows Skulleater knows where da best scrap is, and right now, the best scrap is about ta happen right here!”

A roar of Orkish approval from the crowd was his response.

“Now then, I gots somefin' REAL special for ya!” He grinned, “Gerra look at this!”

From out of a large door, cage was trundled onto the field by a group of Orks. Inside, were a group of slender humanoids the likes of which most of the Orks there had never seen before – but they recognised them, almost instinctively.

“That's right, boyz! Right 'ere, right now, you'z about to see some honest an' true knife ears in da ring!”

The crowd cheered rauciously back at him, bringing a grin to his face.

“Now, when we got them,” he lied blatantly about the circumstances in which he obtained these captives, “They had all kinds of flippygubbinz and spanglygubbinz that they used instead of fightin' like proppa boyz,” boos rang out, “But Boss Skulleater'll have none of that in his fightin' pit! So we took all their gubbinz and gave them choppaz. They'll be fightin' like Orkz!”

The crowd's mood improved even further.

“But, Boss Skulleater, you ask, wot are these knife-ears going to be fightin'?” He continued, “Well, bring it in, ladz!”

The opposite door opened, and another cage was trundled out, this time holding only one creature – a rather large and irate creature. Like a cross between reptile and insect, the most notable features being the two huge, scythe-esque talons it held over it's head.

A Tyranid. Specifically, a Lictor. The crowd went wild.

“Dat's right, boyz,” Skulleater called over the cheers, “It's a Leapabug! Dis critter killed a ton of boyz when we brought it in, and now it's time to see what else it can kill!”

“Now den,” he said, “We've got da fighta's ready to go… boyz! Let 'em loose!”

“I've got a better idea, Skulleater,” a new voice interjected, “And I'd like to share it with all of you.”

Every Ork in the stadium looked up at the Starweaver that was currently hovering above them. It floated slowly down into the middle of the ring.

A lone figure stepped off.

“Hello, Gentleorks!” He called, “My name is Feubryn Valorbane, and I'm here because you lot have been very, very naughty, and taken something that didn't belong to you!”

He waved over at the cage containing the trapped Harlequins. “I am, of course, referring to my colleagues, there. So, if you don't mind, or actually regardless of whether you mind or not, I'll be taking them and heading home.”

Skulleater managed to shake himself out of his fury. “YOU-”

“Now, now,” Feubryn cut him off, “No interrupting. Father is talking!”

“You – you knife eared-” Skulleater snarled.

“Don't make me come up there with the belt, young man,” Feubryn scolded.

“Come up here? What you gonna do, knife-ear? There'z only one of you, even wif your fancy flyin' machine,” Skulleater stood up, “And there'z a lot more of us! Tell him, boyz!”

In response, every Ork in the stadium began to roar angrily. The WAAGH! seemed to shake the very ground Feubryn stood on.

“Ah, but that's where you're wrong,” he said, smiling behind his mask, “There isn't only one of me.”

That's when all hell broke loose.

Mimes appeared from their hiding places, popping up in the middle of the crowded stands. Wraithbone Garrottes slashing left and right, lashed out before slipping away, leaving the watching Orks in pain and utter confusion – which quickly turned to violence, as the Orks turned on each other, believing their fellows to have attacked them.

Feubryn, on the other hand, stalked toward the cage holding the Twilight Troupe members.

The Ork handlers snarled and began charging forward to meet him, choppas raised – they fell before they even made two steps. The Great Harlequin holstered his Neuro Disruptors as he walked past the convulsing, dying forms of what would have been his enemies.

Many Harlequins favoured the Sword, or the iconic Harlequin's Kiss. Fewer still preferred to wield the Harlequin's Embrace, or even the deadly Harlequin's Caress. Feubryn, however, was different – he focused his time and effort into becoming a pistolier of the highest calibre. With a brace of pistols, including two Neuro Disruptors and two Fusion Pistols, he had the firepower to take out any threat, and both the skill and speed to use it to maximum effect – if he was being modest, he would still struggle to name any Harlequin as quick and accurate on the draw as he was.

He drew a Fusion Pistol. “Stand back,” he told his fellows, who promptly did as they were told.

With one blast, the door of the cage was no more.

“We are glad for your rescue, High Avatar-” The Dusk Knight began.

“Save it, and get your foolish hide into the Starweaver,” Feubryn said evenly, “When we get back to base, we will discuss the idiocy that forced this rescue in the first place.”

The other Harlequin winced, then nodded and ran toward the Starweaver, which was now hovering just above the ground.

Feubryn began to follow them, noting that the confusion in the stands had begun to die down, and the Orks were starting to focus on them again – some climbing over the walls to get into the stadium field itself.

On the other side of the field, the Orks holding the other cage hacked open the doors – only to immediately die as the Lictor inside leapt out and began tearing them apart.

Feubryn tapped a crystal in his pocket.

And at this psychic signal, the Masque of the Blameless Culprit's vehicle-borne contingent descended from the sky.

Skyweavers and Starweavers dived down, strafing the stands with deadly shuriken cannon fire that shredded Orks in their hundreds. Some of the more daring Skyweaver riders rode in low so that they could slash at the now rioting Orks with their Zephyrblades.

The Voidweavers joined the fray next – the blasts from their prismatic cannons lighting up the stands in spectacular laser blasts, sending Orks near the blast radius flying and obliterating those unfortunate enough to be directly in the line of fire.

However, many still made it onto the field. Feubryns' arms were a blur as he shot down foe after foe with his Neuro Disruptors, all while backpedaling toward the Starweaver, which had lifted off slightly and was heading toward him.

He heard the swing of an axe from behind him. The swing was promptly interrupted.

He turned, to see an Ork looking confused as his arm refused to budge. That confusion turned to pain and horror as his arm was then sliced apart, before his neck followed suit, ending his misery.

Fingers twitching to command the monofilament wires used to perform this kill, Cuddio nodded at Feubryn, who nodded back.

“A timely assist, my friend,” he said cheerfully, right pistol blasting another Ork while his left holstered the Neuro Disruptor to draw a Fusion Pistol, “Your sense of timing has always been impeccable.”

In response, Cuddio raised his arms. Feubryn could make out the tiny wires as they wrapped around the handles of various fallen Ork weapons.

Then, with a twitch of Cuddio's fingers, the weapons rose into the air. The Orks charging in from that direction paused at this wall of steel and sharpness.

Then, with another twitch, the weapons smashed into the Ork formation.

Choppas hacked apart hapless Orks as the Greenskins tried, vainly, to defend themselves from the weapons that moved almost as though the spirits of their deceased owners had possessed them.

This was Cuddio's skill – while most of the masque's Mimes used their Wraithbone Garottes as slashing weapons or silent killers, Cuddio had mastered monofilament wire to the point where he could made the world dance with his strings like a master of puppetry. He put this skill to use both in the Masque's performances, and on the battlefield, as seen today.

The confusion wrought by Cuddio's attack gave Feubryn a vital moment – which he used to leap up onto the waiting Starweaver. Cuddio, seeing that his work was done, swiftly followed suit, and the skimmer began rising, even as the rest of the skimmers continued to lay waste to the Ork crowd.

Few of the attending Orks had projectile weapons of any quality. The occasional bullet whizzed by, and throw spears fell well short of the vehicle as their throwers roared their frustration. Out of curiosity, Feubryn glanced down toward the other cage – the Lictor was gone, only bodies showing as evidence of it's existence.

Feubryn tapped his crystal again. “Well, this went as smoothly as we might have hoped,” he sighed, “Time to leave. We've given these fellows enough real entertainment for one day.”

Reacting to his signal, the Skyweavers, Starweavers and Voidweavers pulled away from their positions, rising up into the sky again.

Feubryn heard the Ork Warboss' scream of rage get fainter and fainter as they began their journey back to base.

“…” Cuddio looked at him.

“I know,” he replied grimly, “I saw it too.”

“The Lictor,” one of the rescued Harlequins said quietly.

“How did a group of primitives get hold of one? The most reasonable assumption, and one that we're going to have to work with, is that the Devourer has a presence on this planet,” Feubryn frowned behind his mask, “And it needs to be put down quickly, before this world becomes another Valedor.”

–

When they made it back into camp, they found Fallacy waiting for them.

“I see your quest was successful,” she noted at the appearance of the former captives.

“As successful as it could have been,” Feubryn agreed, “With some grim tidings to share. What about you? Where are Dranc and Imryll?”

“Dranc was injured by one of the site's defences, but he will live,” Fallacy said simply, “Imryll is tending to his wounds as we speak. As for our quest, we found two tomes, one of which I am certain will be of great importance once translated.”

“Good,” Feubryn nodded, “I will see to Dranc, have you already begun translating-”

That was when they felt it. Every Harlequin in the Masque, as one, looked up to the sky.

The sudden influx of malicious power seemed to shake the very fabric of the warp around it. It was as though the waves of the Immaterium's metaphorical sea had been crashed over by a massive tsunami of hate and malice.

As sensitive to the warp as their race was, the appearance of an extraordinarily powerful Daemon in the materium could incapacitate any who were near enough when it occurred. The Harlequins, however, were protected by their faith and their god – which meant they were instantly able to digest what had happened and what it meant.

“How?” Feubryn was the first to speak, and he was extraordinarily angry, “There should be seers watching, plans in place, safeguards!”

“I don't know,” Fallacy said grimly, staring at the spot where the planet's moon would become visible in the night sky.

“Is that it? Is that the catastrophe? Have we already failed?”

“I do not think so,” Fallacy shook her head, “Normally, the appearance of a Daemon like that is the end-game for any aspiring Chaos cult. This,” she frowned, “This feels like only part of a larger plan.”

Feubryn grimaced. “You have a better feel for these things than any of us. How powerful is it?”

“More powerful than me,” Fallacy said with certainty, “I doubt I could face it alone for long. We need more, more to throw at it, a means to beat it. A Daemon of that power can not materialise without either a powerful artefact or dozens of temples to tether it to the material world. One thing is for certain,” she turned to the Great Harlequin, “We need to be on that moon.”

With that, they both turned to find the other leadership figures in the Masque, the possible threat of the Great Devourer long forgotten.

Honours earned (wolf base, hive grimjoy then ruined estate, last site henery)

The Medicare teams where busy with the wounded from the recent raid on the ork camp and several where having new augmentic limbs fitted along with treating the orks vichous melee and gunshot wounds. Even with the elite staff time would be the only healer for some as humans could only take so much trauma.

Meanwhile at the chomand centre at the control tower dozens of scout reports where being collated into a detailed local map and intelligence data base including several overgrown and deralict ork camps, and more interesting to the lords a stone ruin massively overgrown of a hard stone only found hundreds of miles away and not native to the islands. Too well built to be local tribes in the jungles, orks who built rough but solid structures of the local iron hard jungle wood and definitely formed by men. Looking over the holo scans of the ruins and it's sourounding terrain features. “Costal, look to grid D7, stone pier supports and buckled metal beams. Evidence of small shelteted harbour and it's foundation, too straight to be a natural formation of stone. Grids G7 to G12 in particular then curves off East to link to the cliff face” Wolf Guard Conan saw that and more from the holo projection, buildings, ruins and a round base higher on a promitory of a ruined light house. “Aye I see it, looks like a costal estate and guarded by a large gate house with two flanking towers positioned on the natural raised area of rock. Some one important or something “ Lord storm claw saw the map unfold, a ruined access road this place was getting rather more interesting than before and the layout was making best use of a cliffside area raised higher than the jungles below. “Then we go Conan, ready a team, fuel the blood eagle. Sitting about behind our high walls was not our life, let's find some trouble and poke it” Lord Storm claw smiled it was always good to face dangers, the wilderness and more sagas to his extensive personal saga that lay on the desk bound in thick leather with strong metal binding.

The ruined complex had been long reclaimed by the jungles slow but unstoppable progress, stone forced and cracked as nature applied its unbreaking pressure. Upper levels russled as leaves moved in the wind and birds and smaller animals nested above the hunters that stalked the Forrest floor hiding the basements and sub levels of the ruins like caves and dens of nature.

The gunship was idling on the pad as Lord Storm claw approached his wolf guard stood alongside their massive mounts known as Thunder wolves panting and growling lone hunters not ment to be together or confined in small spaces they snarled and restlessly stalked each other. “Easy, open space soon” Lord Storm claw controlling the beast and easing it, mighty wolves, deadly and clad in fur like armour that was proof vs all but the sharpest blades and bullets. Gathered alongside a unit of the legendary thunder wolf cavalry equally mounted on their lethal and willful Stead's only a space wolf could ever command and never fully tame.

“This is Blood Eagle ready to depart to war” “ confirmed, good hunting Lord Storm claw”

Landing near the ruins in a jungle clearing far enough not to startle anything dwelling there but not too far to reduce the speed of response if help was needed. Secondary gunships cleared an area to land heavier support if needed and deploy the reserve forces.

Loud howls of man and beast as they charged into the jungle and spirits rose following the ruined road as riders flew over the gaps, jumped mighty trees thick as a battle tank and whose riders raced and joked as they sought to be the first to the gates drinking, feasting and laughing as they rode. Changing the instant they reached the gates they slowed and began to enter a open and overgrown plaza, terraced and tactically bad place to linger. “Spread out, weapons tight unless needed” the Lords orders confirmed with curt nods as they began to spread and explore the ruined buildings.

Meanwhile….
“This is Ivar, fire on my mark” the long fang pack let loose a blinding flash of incandescent energy at the door ernough to melt a land raider to molten slag. “Fire again, burst fire” slowly the door sagged and bucked before the last volley it gave way and a blast of stale air rewarded the Kraken slayers breach.

Two packs of grey hunters fanned out and spread out scanning the space, a garage of relics and items lost to time. Rhino tanks and predator battle tanks dating back to the great crusade of demios patterns, mklb land raider towering in the back and a large shadow deeper into the room. “This is team two, we need a iron priest and a thunderhawk transporter. Good find command “ “copy team two, support on route soon as able to take off asap. “ came commands reply. 12 rhino of the demios type, two mk1b land raiders and 3 intact preadetor tanks. Far in the back a great marstadin stood towering over all and hull marked with a great sigil of a dragon.

Further deep in the garage past the relics they found a buckled and bent door forced open yet no one had entered this room in centuries at the least. “ Sgt, only a power fist could do this damage, a dreadnought most likely “ placing a gauntlet on the frame and looking into the dark. “ aye, dreadnought. Keep a eye on that area beyond but keep a low profile, quiet and discreet but be on your guard.

The Thunderhawk roared once more into Hive Grimjoy. Ceasar and his five scouts sat in the crew compartment.
“Pilot! Tell Lord Stormclaw that Captain Xenthes is coming back for round two.” Ceasar called out to the pilot, who did as he was asked. After a few minutes, the pilot called back.
“Sir, he says you still owe him tales of our chapter to add to the Saga’s of Fenris.”
“Blimey I thought he would’ve forgotten that after the 8th drink…Fine, tell him that after I come back, I will tell him over a mug of cold mead.”
“Yessir.” Again a wait for the response. “He says he looks forward to it. Debarkation in 5 minutes.”
Once again, Ceasar and his retinue were met once more by Lord Stormclaw. Ceasar heard him and smelt him long before he saw him, the booming laughter and prominent smell of booze on him easily identified him.
“CAPTAIN XENTHES! AHA! IT’S BEEN A WHILE FRIEND!” Lord Stormclaw greeted Ceasar with a massive bear hug, which derived said captain of air for the duration of the hug.
“G-great to see y-you too…Lord S-Stormclaw…” Ceasar took in a massive breath as soon as he was released. “It’s good to have access to my lungs once more…But I’m afraid my eardrums will never recover…”
“So, what brings you here Captain?” He asked in his booming voice.
“I come here to thank the Valornarmsmen for killing the Warboss who plagued the Namrex Dunes. Any idea where they might be?”
“Aye, I have an idea. But you must tell me more about your Chapter first, your Chaplain promised last time but he left before I woke up from my hangover.” Lord Stormclaw crossed his arms.
“I will tell you a fraction of it before I attend to the matter of thanking House Valorn whilst there is still sunlight out. Have you ever heard of The Tragedy of Darth Plaigeis The Wise? Of the recent demise of my Chapter, where a full 4 fifths of us turned to Chaos. All because of one man. He sowed corruption through the ranks, many of my fellow captains fell to his meddling. I am just happy he is dead now. I will go into more detail once I get back. On my honour.”
“Pah that is good enough. House Valorn, their staff and whatnot are stationed over there.” He pointed towards a part of the camp. “Good luck navigating through the camp.”
“Thank you, I’ll see you again in a few hours.”
“I look forward to it, Brother-Captain.” After another breath taking embrace, the pair parted and went their separate ways.

Ceasar was met by two armed guards bearing the colours of House Valorn.
“Stop there Lord. May we inquire as to why you come to this part of the Hive? You are obviously not Space Wolves.” One of the guards called out. Ceasar and the three scouts behind him stopped he held out his arms in a form of surrender.
“We mean no harm, I just wanted to congratulate the warriors who killed a pest over in the Namrex Dunes. Armsmen I believe.” Ceasar kept his tone as friendly as possible, and the two guards seemed to notice it.
“If you’re talking about the warboss, then yes, that was the armsmen. Tell us your names and we’ll talk to some higher ups and see if we can’t get you inside.”
“I am Captain Xenthes,” He pointed to the three scouts behind him in sequence. “Jakiel, Matieil and Ganus.” He then pointed off to the distance. “Vanus and Sergeant Daniel and also back there ready to fire at both of you.” The two guards seemed particularly distraught at the last comment, ducking down behind sandbags. “Pah, don’t worry, I just wanted to test out your defence. And, if I’m to be honest, I’m not overly impressed.” Ceasar stopped and put his hand up to his ear. “What is the problem Daniel? Oh, well then, come on down and introduce me to your new friends.” The two guards warily poked their heads out from the cover. “Sorry about that gents, but it appears you have one upped us.” Ceasar said as the other two scouts appeared each clad in jungle patterned camo-cloaks, followed by four armoured men. Ceasar looked them over. He was impressed. It was almost as if he was looking at the men of the Solar Auxillia. The one at the front held a higher composure, and flexed a massive powerfist.
“I commend you for spotting my scouts. Not a lot of people have the hindsight to do just that.” Ceasar said as he offered his hand to the man. “Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”
“They were well hidden yes, but we have the entire area monitored. Captain Falkon, and you are?” The Captain reached out with his powerfist and shook Ceasars hand.
“Captain Xenthes of the Chapter Dorn’s Wish. You caught out my two best scouts, and that is very commendable. I also assume you are the one who killed Kernal Bloodkill?”
“Yes, but I had help. Armsmen and Volkite weapons tend to break a few skulls, if you get my jist.”
“More like char them. Did you see what you sent us? If it wasn’t for the note, I was going to assume the Wolves had played another one of their famous pranks again.”
“Indeed Captain. So, what brings you here, and why is it you didn’t send any notice?”
“Well, Captain Who’s Name Sounds Vaguely Familiar, I wanted to come and congratulate the people who managed what even I could not. And I’m one for ‘unexpected arrivals’.” Falkon nodded his head a few times.
“Thank you, now, was there anything else?” He raised his eyebrow expectantly.
“Oh, yes, that’s right, I wanted to secure a ‘proper’ alliance between House Valorn and my Chapter. You wouldn’t know who I could talk to about that now would you?” It was Ceasar’s turn to raise his eyebrow expectantly this time.
“That’d be High Queen Moira. I can take you to her if you want?”
“Oh yes, that would be great. Oh, and say sorry to those two lads by the front, I may have gone overboard with the ‘testing the defences’ thing.”
“I’ll tell them that Sir, now, if you could follow me.” Falkon gestured towards the two guards who opened the doors to the compound.

“High Queen Moira is getting prepared. In the meantime, I thought it would be fun to explore the compound.” Falkon said as he led Ceasar and Sergeant Daniel through the depths of the area the armsmen had deployed in.
“You know the word fun does not resonate within the majority of Space Marines.” Daniel responded coldly.
“We, are not part of the majority. Continue please Falkon.” Ceasar said as he nudged Daniel into silence.
“Thank you Captain. Now, to our left, we have the garage of the Knight Acheron. It’s Pilot is Baron Cassius Valorn.”
“Acheron? I do not believe I have heard of that type of Knight before. Could I have some more details on it? For purely informational purposes, I assure you.” Ceasar smiled warmly.
“Of course Captain.” Falkon nodded as he made his way into the garage. “As you can possibly tell, it has a very large Chainfist. Also a Archeron pattern Flamer, which as you can also tell, is just a very large flamer. Everything else is common on other Knights.”
“Feth those bunkers…” Ceasar said in a hushed tone as he looked over the massive suit, which was met by a sharp elbow to the gut by Daniel.
“Language Captain.” Daniel said as straight faced as he could.
“Did you just? Emperor, I won’t even ask…” Ceasar stared blankly at Daniel. After taking several more steps, Falkon stopped and put his unarmoured hand up to his ear.
“Yes M’lady, we’ll be up shortly.” He turned to face the pair once more. “I’m afraid I’ll have to cut the tour short, High Queen Moira is ready to see you now. If you’ll follow me…” Falkon moved past the pair.
“More bloody stairs…” Ceasar was met by another elbow to the gut. “Can you stop that?”
“I’m sorry, it’s just too fun.” Daniel smiled under his cowl.

Moira offered her hand to Ceasar, who bowed respectively and kissed it.
“High Queen Moira, it appears that you are no less beautiful than the day I saw you at the Governor’s mansion.” Ceasar smiled, first, well, second impressions were important.
“And I see you are no less charming. Strange, I thought that was one of many emotions drilled out of you Space Marines at a young age.” Moira mused as she retracted her hand.
“Just stereotypes M’Lady, our Ultramarine Brothers would say the exact same thing to us.” Ceasar looked beside him, then back at Moira. “Oh, where are my manners, this is Sergeant Daniel. Daniel, say hi.” Daniel growled at Ceasar before also kissing Moira’s hand.
“Excuse the Captain please, High Queen, we all believe he was dropped as a toddler, and the apothecary’s took him in because they felt sorry for his family.” Daniel once again retreated into the confines of his cowl to smile to himself. Ceasar pulled Daniel away from the High Queen and once again addressed her.
“So, shall we get down to business?” Ceasar smiled as she gestured to the table.

“So it’s settled? We finish the alliance with something special…But what could possibly be special enough to cement a brand new alliance…Oh, a hunt! We go on a hunt?” Seeing the confused expressions from around the table Ceasar continued. “We” He gestured at Daniel. “Go on a hunt, with you” He gestured at Moira and Falkon. “Easy enough, we go out, kill a few animals, come back and it’s settled.” Ceasar sat back down, looking quite proud of himself.
“Ok, so your saying, we go out and kill innocent animals to eat, just so we can finish this alliance? I don’t know about the rest of you, but that seems a little harsh…” Daniel once again crossed his arms. There were so many better ways to go about this, but his Captain always had the most outrageous ideas…
“Who knows, the little furries might’ve pissed on a shrine of the Emperor for all we know.” Falkon joked. The rest of the group, barring Daniel, shared a laugh.
“So it’s settled? High Queen, will you be joining us?” Ceasar asked as the entire group rose.
“No, I do not believe I will be able to. My brother Cassius might want to join you instead.” She shook her head sadly.
“Who?” Ceasar questioned. Daniel thought it to be wise to jog his Captains memory.
“You know, Baron Cassius Valorn? We saw his Knight?” Seeing the blank expression on Ceasars face he continued. “Ugh…Feth those bunkers…” Daniel rubbed his temples.
“Ohhhhh! I remember now, brilliant, we will prepare. Be ready within in the hour, we will.” With that, both Ceasar and Daniel bowed to Moira and left the room.
“…”
“…”
“I haven’t seen Space Marines quite like those before, that’s for sure.” Moira spoke to her advisor.
“Do you really think you want to speak to them again?” Falkon asked, all the while staring at the doorway.
“Probably. That was fun.” Moira smiled. Falkon noticed that, and took pleasure that she did.
“As do I.” Falkon kissed Moira’s hand and left to gather the hunting party, including Cassius.

The access lift was disabled forcing the inquisitorial forces to rely on humbler means of transit. The great freeway of stairs that allowed for the humble denizens of Cogger Hive to traverse from level to level as the great lifts were reserved exclusively for business and the noble. The men encountered some resistance as they traversed up the great stairwell but nothing they couldn’t handle. Eventually after near six hours of walking and occasional fighting the entirety of the inquisition war band made it up to the upper hive. The upper Hive was once a realm of elegant gleaming spires and the posh of noble fancy. One would hardly think they were even in a hive thanks to the artificial sky that hung overhead. However, this dreamland was now perverted by the claws that wrench the psyche of man. Men hanged from lamp poles, horrific runes were carved into every wall, and the once always false blue sky bled a horrific crimson.

As the soldiers emerged from the stairwells they were met by a wall of auto fire. The legionaries and storm troopers rushed for the nearest cover and began clearing the cultist that fortified the building that stood against the Inquisition’s access points. After five hours of fighting the inquisition had secured only a few feet of the hive level. They had but stalemated with the cultists securing only nothing but their own entrance.

Inquisitor Garrett Randall convened his war council in a blown out shop only a block away from the line of cultist exchanging potshots with the inquisitor’s own forces. The sound of gun fire cracked in the not distance and from the broken window panes one could see squads of Penal guardsmen and Randall’s Elite rush to reinforce their embattled comrades, while men on stretchers were being hauled back to the medical tents. Randall saw all his advisors were present and began to speak “The cultists have consolidated all their forces here; we have thus far barely managed to gain any ground at all. If we are to make it to the citadel than we need to regain the advantage.” Randall leaned over the table and pointed to a point on the map of the upper hive and began speaking again. “As you know these Cultists have shut off the lifts forbidding us from bringing in our tanks. Naturally having these would prove invaluable to our efforts here, so we must capture the lift controls here.” Randall looked over to Captain Kid “Captain Kid, I’m assigning you and your men to handle this.” Kid pounded her fist to her chest plate and spoke “I won’t fail you my lord.” Randall Looked over to Commissar Alenko and spoke “Jethro I’m placing you in command here while I’m away.” Alenko asked “Where do you think your going.” Randall spoke “These cultist fight with uncanny determination, they may have something planned I wish to scout ahead with the Jackals to ensure that all is well.” Kid spoke with some concern as the Jackals was the informal nickname of a squad of penal guardsmen reputed for being an unruly lot of vagabonds “My lord wouldn’t you prefer a squad of my troopers to accompany you.” Randall spoke “The Jackal have proven themselves masters of stealth and reconnaissance. I will take them.” Athenar spoke “You take great risk in doing this Inquisitor, I insist you take me or Utilitarius for your protection.” Randall shook his head “Brother Captain You are needed here as is Paladin Utilitarius.” Athenar added “At the very least take Brother Chiron a single battle brother won’t make a difference here.” Randall conceded “Very well then, his psychic aptitude might come in handy.” Randall looked over his men and spoke “We all have tasks see to them.” And with that everyone in the room pounded their fists to their chests and left to make ready for what lay ahead.

The sewage pipes that ran under the upper hive led to the lower sections of the hive where it dumped freely upon the less fortunate denizens. Captain Kid was glad her helmet filtered out the smell of this place which she could only imagine to be horrid. As if the sewer hadn’t been repulsive enough the cultists had been dumping corpses here and the rats were drawn to them in hordes. Kid signaled her squad to hold as they came to their destination. She looked up above at the grate overhead. She could see two cultists standing overhead smoking. Kid signeld for one of her men to hand her the explosive charge and the trooper removed the explosive from a leather satchel. Kid climbed the later and placed the charge.

The ground exploded and from it poured over a dozen soldiers in silver and black carapace armor. The cultist began to take aim at the sudden invaders but the commandos were already upon them. Hot shot las fire turned the crude defenders to ash in less than two minutes the cultist that occupied the lift control center were dead. Kid spoke over her communicator “We have the lift bringing it back on line.” It was Alenko’s voice that replied over the vox “Excellent work, we’ll have our armored support within three hours. I’m sending you reinforcements to help you hold the junction.” Kid spoke “Copy that.” One of Kids men asked with a grin as she killed the link “We’re getting back up from the cons?” Kid spoke “Probably why.” The trooper laughed “I don’t think they have proper hazmat gear for that sewer.” Kid chuckled “I suppose they’ll just have to hold their breath.”

Garrett Randall’s expedition into enemy territory was already at a poor start. They had nearly been spotted by three massive cultists patrols. Prisoner 3434 was worried Brother Chiron would betray their position due to his massive stature but he knew when to lay low. The citadel was the hive’s capital and had become the fortress headquarters of the cult. The squad was heading up a boulevard when they heard the beat of a drum in the distance. Randall pointed towards an abandoned building and Arbitrator Halouck motioned for his men to clear the building. The building was confirmed secure and the party waited hunkering low as the parade of cultist passed the house, marching and singing. Above the chant came the booming hiss of a demented preacher “Forward you dogs, we are awaited at the side of the dark gods! Ave Lazarus Ave the Flayed Legion.” The marching cultists returned the shout and continued their dark war hymn. For near fifteen minutes the inquisitor’s retinue laid low in the house. When the coast seemed clear Randal arose and spoke with regret “Their forces are to thick this way, if we continue we’ll only get ourselves killed.” Chiron spoke “Are we heading back Inquisitor.” Randall nodded “We’ll rejoin the rest of the men and try to push ahead with them.” And without another word the inquisitor and his men made their way back.

When Randall arrived the last of the Malcador Tanks had exited the lift and Captain Kid had radioed that she and her men were on their way back. Randall looked to the distant citadel spire and knew that things were reaching a turning point.

Vandred stood before the Tiller's commander.
The man, known as Captain David Nassau, had been more than willing to open up his gates to accept Vandred and his honour guard, especially when he spied the sack of loot he was hauling. Vandred had explained his situation bluntly - omitting how he had would have sold guns to the loyalists. As far as Nassau knew, he had been ambushed on his way back to his outpost by loyalists, who robbed him of his weaponry, and left him for dead. The captain accepted his story, and offered retribution. Just as expected.
Now would be the hard part. Vandred had ordered his honour guard to remove their tattered robes and hoods. The rags came off, and their Tau combat armour stood out, alien and angular to the human rebels. Vandred explained himself.

"Hold your fire! We mean you no harm - we are emissaries of Sunstrike Cadre. We used to be part of the Tau Empire, before we left their tyranny behind. You fight the same battle as us, for equality and freedom from injustice. The loyalist dogs are corrupt and writhing in the filth of their opulent overlords. But you - you embody what Sunstrike was. We would be honoured to aid you and support the cause of justice, no matter your race. And when we triumph, we may be able to prosper together. What say you, Captain?"

Nassau reached for his sword. Vandred resisted the urge to draw his pistol and blast the human away, showing no fear in front of the man. He tensed, waiting for the sword to slice at him. The blade slid out of the scabbard, and Nassau held it up to Vandred. He spoke, both to the Fireblade and his men.
"On my honour, and the honour of the Tillers' cause, I accept your aid. Sunstrike Cadre and the Tillers will fight together."
Vandred realised that Nassau's gesture was a salute - a sign of peace. Peace through superior strength. Vandred drew his own sword, and crossed blades with the rebel leader. The pact was sealed. Nassau's men cheered, and the captain sheathed his saber.
"Now Vandred, come here: we have battle plans to draw."

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


Vandred checked his pulse rifle for the umpteenth time. He wasn't sure if being in a bathyscaph, literally grinding against the sea bed, would be any good for the weapon's calibration. He hoped he wouldn't need to find out. The rest of the bathyscaph was filled by a combination of troops. Some were Vandred's own honour guard and some Pathfinders: they remained aloof from the other passengers.

Nassau's men were clad in their makeshift flak armour - some left over from their PDF training, others still sporting punctured from lasrifle rounds. Vandred wasn't sure if the previous occupant had been a Tiller or a loyalist. Some of the Tillers were wrapping their grubby hands around the pulse carbines and various other weapons Vandred had gifted them. It was somewhat amusing to see them handling the alien rifles, constantly stripping the gun and running oil over it. He heard a word muttered repeatedly under their breath - "Omnissiah". Vandred made a mental note to research the matter.

Vandred peered out of the window. Dirty plumes of debris blossomed up from the sea floor of the Abyssal Plain, trailing behind the bathyscaph. In the inky water, Vandred could glimpse the spotlights of the other bathyscaphes - at least another dozen of the craft. The Tillers were going to war.

"Stop!" The pilot called from the cockpit. Alarm laced his voice.

"What is it?" Nassau waded through the sea of humans and Tau, making his way to the cockpit. Vandred followed him, ducking below the low hanging lights. The pilot merely pointed up through the pexi-glass.
The meagre sun's light surrounded the vast creature. Bio-luminescent parasites crawled on it's underbelly, marking it's scarred and craggy hide. Long, tentacle-like fronds drooped from it's jaws, and Vandred gazed in wonder. A big, black eye regarded the convoy of bathyscaphes, and the whale moved on. Vandred could feel the thrashing of it's monstrous tail, the beating of it's massive heart. He let out an involuntary breath as the beast swam off.

"We got very lucky - Bottom Whales have accounted for far too many deaths down on the Abyssal Plain," Nassau sighed. "Must've feed recently."

The convoy continued with speed, skirting around the edge of AHC-02 until they reached their entry point, with each craft touching up against the plasteel wall. Nassau called the halt. Two fusion cutters extended from the front of each bathyscaph, sending up silvered plumes of bubbles from the depths. Vandred asked what they were for.

"These used to operate in the caves a few clicks away from here. These were built to clear through any rockfalls that might trap a ship down there. Now we'll repurpose them."

The fusion cutters touched up against the wall of AHC-02, and began breaching. Airtight seals linked the breach sites to the hulls, and the men inside each bathyscaph prepared their weapons one last time. Nassau gave his last orders.

"Today, the loyalists fall! Tillers we are, and the Tillers are given divine aid. The Sun strikes with us, and will drive out the shadow of tyranny and incompetence - for Crion!"

The breaches opened up, and the hatches opened up to the slaughter.

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

Vandred wiped his blade on the corpse of the dead Imperial at his feet. The assault had gone well, with his own men remaining unscathed as the Tillers pushed up, desperate for blood. Vandred, thirsty for revenge, had led a side charge against a battery of autocannons. The gunners' weak armour was nothing to the pulse rounds of Vandred's team, and their commander had roared in fury, throwing aside his lasgun and drawing a shock maul out. Vandred met their commander head on, his power sword alight with unbridled energy. It hadn't ended well for the commander.
Now the guns were silent, the slowed Tiller front could advance, and soon, their breaching charges began tearing holes in the loyalist barricade. The loyalists fought like cornered dogs, firing well-aimed volleys from the breach points. For a moment, it looked as if the tide of battle would turn.

Vandred slipped into a side building, and began scaling the stairwell up. Some of his fireteam followed, the rest holding suppressive fire at the back of the street the Tillers had piled up in. Vandred smashed out a half-ruined window, and oversaw the interior of the loyalist compound.

The soldiers were forming makeshift barricades within their cordon, preparing for the Tillers to breach through. Marshalling their defence, some commander in a black coat and peaked cap brandished an oversized pistol and yelled litanies from the top of her voice. From the scope of his pulse rifle, Vandred could see the wide berth the men were giving her, and the handful of blown-out corpses at the woman's feet. 'A Commissar,' Vandred thought.
"Light her up." he beckoned to the Pathfinders beside him. They obliged, lining up their markerlights and illuminating the Commissar on the Tau combat system. The rest of Vandred's men raised their pulse rifles expectantly. They hung on the Gue'vesa's word.

"Fire."

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

It had been a success. With the death of the loyalist's commissar, the defenders lost all heart - as the front ranks found themselves unsupported by their fleeing comrades, they were cut down by Captain Nassau and his men, leaving the remnants of AHC-02's PDF fleeing for the only available transport out to the Governor's Palace. Those that never made it were cornered and captured. Vandred found Nassau after the battle, carousing and singing in joy as the Imperial banners burned.

"Ah! My friend!" Nassau beckoned Vandred over. "You are the architect of this!" He gestured to the joyful chaos around them. The men raised their weapons in salute to Vandred. "The Tillers are in your debt, friend. I'll send a full report to our leader, telling them that Sunstrike Cadre is supportive of our cause. Emperor be with you."

Nassau grabbed Vandred's hand, shaking the Fireblade's dark hand. Vandred returned the motion, grinning to the captain.

"And you too."

Forget all you remembered
Forget the sins you have committed
Forget the sins of your Brothers
Forget the betrayal

From today on,
You are renewed

From today on,
You are redeemed

From today on,
You are retribution

Purge the Sin
Purge the Mutant
Purge the Witch
Purge the Heretic

From today on,
You are an Arbiter

-The Rite of the Arbiter

Judge Hetarr made a wide, sweeping gesture with his arm and his Astartes fanned out through the jungle, leaving ten meters between each of them. Such was written down in the Codex Astartes. This was the first active combat the Arbiters had seen since the fall of the New Order, an event which left a bad taste in the Veterans of the chapter. Though notoriously radical before, the Arbiters of Truth were strictly adherent to the Codex Astartes. They did not wish to suffer the repercussions from the Imperium that their fall had given them in consequence. They could not requisition materials such as bionics, new Power Armour or vehicles that were so vital to their crusade of penance. They had to settle with their battle-scarred relics and their salvage from the fateful Charadon Crusade. Fortunately enough, Mars was gracious enough to allow them to replenish their Gene-seed stocks at the cost of sending some Aspirants to Mars to become Techmarines, a practice not practiced since the formation of the New Order. Along with the new Brothers of the Omnissiah, the Arbiters allowed a new Librarius to be established, though the Chapter leaders knew they would be despised by most of the chapter. An Apothecarium replaced the Sister Hospitallers whom fled the Kattifrakk system in the wake of the fall, fearing the spread of Chaos followed the Loyal New Order Astartes to their reclusive home system. From then on, the Arbiters became more self-sustaining than their predecessors. They could harvest their own gene-seed and repair their own equipment.

The Judges, in the face of all this new frontier, refused to change. Their position, which encompassed the tradition roles of Captain and Chaplain, was deemed to important to divide into separate parts. They did, however, reform the Hassassins, the New Order's headhunters. They reintigrated the anonymous killers into the ranks of the up and coming Second and Third Companies. Their purpose was to root out all signs of doubt or behaviour deemed "dangerous to the survival of the Chapter." All deaths were made to look like accidents. A friendly fire casualty here, a death to a hidden enemy there. None could point back at the Arbiters for the blame of these deaths and none wanted to. No one wished to be the next target in the sights of the Hassassins.

Judge Hetarr stopped his men at a line of trees that broke into a steep overhang. At the bottom of the overhang was a massive gulch. A large waft of black smoke billowed past Hetarr and his men. It heralded the beginning of what they discovered. Ork factories spanned the entire length of the gulch and belched thick black clouds that painted the sky with smog. One of Hetarr's marines stepped forward and mag locked his bolter to his leg.

"Brother-Judge... Are those-"

The Judge held up a hand for him to stop. Something monumental was moving. The earth was moving. The Marines behind Hetarr ducked behind trees and aimed their bolters high as a monstrous abomination rose from the gulch. It was a colossal figure like an Ork, but manufactured in a crude resemblance of one of their gods. Hetarr knew what it was. A Gargant. More of its kind rose from the ground and clamored for a chance to get out of the gulch. These creations were smaller, though still larger than anything the Imperium had brought to the table.

"Send a message back to Crusade Command on Crion. Tell Annala we have another Gallor Prime incident on our hands," Hetarr said, turning back and heading towards the trees, keen on not being obliterated by one of the orkoid titans. The ork tide would most definitely take a long time to reach the orbital elevator to reach Crion, but that would hardly be enough time. The Marine in charge of the long range comms began send packets of information to Crion via a large, hardly man-portable vox caster. A servo skull over his shoulder whirred to the edge of the overhang and recorded what it could of the Ork manufactorum.

Farseer Lilliana sat quietly in mediation, both her mind and body at ease. As she sat she quetly went through the breathing exercises that she had been taught when she had first set foot on the Path of the Seer. The exercises were designed to help open the participant’s mind, to make it easier for them to divorce themselves from their thoughts, and to see the skein of fate with an impartial lens. As she drifted slowly through her own consciousness she finally felt at ease, and for the first time in several days she finally felt a sense of peace and contentment wash over her. Her base of operations was secure, and events at Hive Cogger were going according to fate’s skein according to Warlock Raela, and she felt something that she hadn’t felt for many weeks now. Hope. Hope that all the sacrifices she had made, all the grief and pain that she had experienced would all turn out to be worth it, that fate was truly fair in the end. It was a pleasant feeling, and she reveled in it for a few more moments before she turned her attention back to the skein of fate. As always she was taken aback by the sheer scale of what she could see. Unfolded before her were chains of events that guided the lives and futures of nearly every being in this system, both of what had already happened, and what was to come in the future. As she watched some threads snapped and disappeared, and others wove themselves into being to take their place. It never ceased to amaze her just how much of a benefit being able to access this was to the Eldar race, without it they most likely would have died out as a species long ago. “Stop it!” she chastised herself mentally, she didn’t have the luxury of spending time lost in her own thoughts, she needed to see what impact Raela’s actions, and the actions of the other races, had had on the skein. She focused her mind on one small section of the skein, and she began to observe the impacts that the decisions of the other races had made on the skein, and mentally she began to adjust her plans to keep fortune firmly on the side of the Eldar. If she played her cards correctly then events would continue to unfold in her favor in the coming future, and she grinned slightly, secure in the knowledge of what she needed to do next. The smile quickly fell away; however, as she noticed the skein begin to change.

Where once there was a vast network of possibilities, that slowly grew and shrank as new factors came into play, one by one the strands that represented the future of her camp began to disappear, to be replaced by one dark, single thread. As she examined the thread closer, she began to see flashes of an attack on an Eldar camp, of a patrol being cut down by Orks who displayed a quite unusual proclivity for stealth, and her blood ran cold. She intuitively knew that part of this vision had already come true, the patrol that she had sent out had undoubtedly fallen to the brutish Orks, but based on the quiet calm she could hear outside the Orks had yet to launch their raid on her camp. Lilliana bolted to her feet and darted for the exit, she had a small window of time to prepare her kin for the oncoming attack, and she intended to make full use of every second of time that fate would give her.

The squads that Cearul had chosen to ambush and kill Gorehound Da Cook had assembled in the courtyard of Canis Caelum where over two thirds of the pack were assembled, ready to get vengeance for the mockery that was made of the chapter in the jungle. Faolan peered through the window overlooking the courtyard from his office, eager to see just how much of his teachings had rubbed off on his subordinate. Upon first glance Cearul did not seem to be taking any chances and had assembled the majority of the pack with Devastator squads Neart and Bua, Tactical squads Fraoch and Mara, Assault squads Onòir and Trodaithe along with two packs of hounds which Faolan recognised as the Fianna breed from which his own hound was from and which were the toughest breed that the chapter possessed in the kennels, although that may change soon mused Faolan as his eyes drifted to the two predator destructors which were making their way to the landing pads to be prepared for transportation. Faolan grinned, if Gorehound is baited into this ambush, he won't stand a chance.

Cearul surveyed the force he had mustered, every marine eager to spill ork blood, taking a deep breath Cearul approached the platform overlooking the crowded courtyard. His brothers hushed and silence reigned supreme in the courtyard as Cearul stood above his brethren. “Brothers, this is not the first time we have gone to put this foul xenos down but it will be the last. We didn't know where he made his camp, where he was hiding from our justice but this beast has not a single thought in his head and we will take full advantage. We will lure the creature out from his precious jungle into a killzone, with the packs of Fianna and the assault squads closing off their rear trapping them, as an old Terran saying goes it will be like shooting fish in a barrel. Now brothers man your transports, the hunt begins !” Cearul threw a mailed fist into the air where sixty or so fists mirrored his followed by roars,cheers and even howls from the dogs themselves, a mighty host indeed reflected Cearul as he made his way to a thunderhawk while being flanked by Ardan and Cabhan who would be accompanying him on this mission. “Well young pup” smirked Cabhan, talking as they walked “About time you were let off your leash” Cearul returned the smile “Indeed brother, hopefully this will go well and I will be let off more often” “You are not taking any chances” chipped in Ardan, “There isn’t much that could have twart the type of force that is gathered here”. Cearul turned his head to the right, not breaking pace “What about a few squiggoths ? That fat ork had a few” quizzed Cearul as he and his companions boarded an awaiting thunderhawk. “A few for dinner !” Joked Cabhan in an attempt to calm Cearul's nerves. Any other time Cearul would have burst out in laughter but all he managed to muster was a chuckle. The door to the Cuir Airde closed and Cearul's master plan was set in motion.

Cearul was deep in thought thinking about alternatives in case anything went awry when his comlink buzzed in his ear, it was Scout Sergeant Turlach “Commander Adair, me and the hounds have found a nice place where we can funnel the greenskins through, sending you the coordinates now.” Cearul gave a sigh of relief “Good job Turlach, rendezvous with Squad Rothar and reel the greenskins into our trap”. The pieces were falling into place, everything was running like clockwork yet Cearul still felt nervous, if I put my trust in my brothers and my sword arm I will be fine thought Cearul reassuring himself as the thunderhawks began to land at the ambush point.

Disembarking from the Cuir Airde Cearul immediately began to survey the surrounding area that Turlach has praised so highly. It was a beach mainly which led into a heavily forested treeline to the north, a large bank of sand which formed some kind of hill to the west, to the south was the raging sea and to the east was a canyon , That is where the greenskins will come from figured Cearul as he began to position his forces. “ I want Squads Neart and Bua on that hill to the west, let their firepower flood the beach with greenskin blood. Squads Fraoch and Mara will be holding the base of the hill, let the orks charge into your lines of bolter fire. Squads Onòir, Trodaithe along with the hounds shall hide in the treeline, beware the trees brothers do not disturb them lest you suffer their wrath, let the orks funnel in and close off their escape. Station the predators between the treeline and the hill, let their autocannons rip the greenskins a new one.” With his orders being issued Cearul and his honour guard took his place in the front line with the two squads of tactical marines. The waiting had begun, there was nought but the sound of the sea crashing upon the shoreline and the howl of the wind for what seemed like an eternity. Suddenly Four purple figures emerged from the canyon on assault bikes, Squad Rothar thought Cearul as he readied himself “Remember brothers let the filth in before we crush them !” Bolter, Heavy Bolter and Auto cannons we all aimed at the maw of the canyon all awaiting the greentide. The orks could be heard before they could be seen, their war cries may have startled some imperial guardsmen but the Emperor's Hounds stood strong, their faith unwavering.

The first of the ork boyz emerged on foot and charged straight at Cearul and the tactical marines. Cearul waited for the orks to stop spilling in so that his forces hidden in the treeline could cut off their escape, but the greenskins just kept on coming and the first few boyz were now getting closer and closer …. “All squads open fire” ordered Cearul as he raised his sword. The orks were lit up into a chorus of dying screams “Squads Onòir and Trodaithe launch your attack now !” Commanded Cearul as 20 astartes soared through the air along with two packs of hounds emerging from the treeline tearing into the greentide’s flank, destroying them. A second wave emerged charging into the assault marines who were now at the opening of the canyon. A massive fat ork was at the center of the mob chuckling, Gorehound realised Cearul. The orks surrounding Gorehound did not began to chant and bang their choppas off the ground, Cearul could make out the name they were chanting, Daisy . The ground itself started to shake as the trees were crushed aside by a massive Squiggoth into the marine’s flank. Before Cearul could issue any orders Scout Sergeant Turlach raced toward the beast on his assault bike. “Turlach what the feth are you doing ?” Demanded Cearul “My duty, order the predators to bring the canyon down on my head when the squiggoth is in position” Cearul instantly knew what Turlach was about to do, make the ultimate sacrifice. Turlach raced towards the massive beast firing the bolters into its thick hide getting its attention. Once it began lumbering towards Turlach he spun towards the canyon with the Squiggoth in tow. Cearul sighed “Order the predators the aim their auto cannons for the top of the canyon and hold your fire”. Turlach made his way into the canyon firing at Gorehound and his boyz who ducked for cover. Gorehound began to run back into the depths of the canyon as the Squiggoth entered the canyon, Cearul turned his head to the predators “Open fire” with a clear reluctance in his tone. The auto cannons boomed and the canyon was blown to pieces with the two walls collapsing in on each other crushing the Squiggoth and the heroic Scout Sergeant Turlach. Cearul looked down at the floor, today he had hoped for a victory, this was not what he imagined it would feel like. Bruised and battered the astartes boarded their transports back to Canis Caelum.

The two hunting groups arrived at the hunting site at nightfall. Each scout carried a sniper rifle, Ceasar held his Stalker-pattern bolter to his chest and once again examined it. A pristine weapon, two thousand years old. This relic of the Chapter had been in his possession since he gained captain-hood, and had never missed its mark. His thoughts were interrupted by a large crash, the ground around him seemed to shake. He looked up and saw several trees part way.
“Cassius, do you really think it necessary to bring a Knight on a hunting trip?” Ceasar asked as the Acheron trampled trees and bushes alike.
“Of course it is, and that’s Baron to you.” A voice responded over Ceasars vox.
“A title demands respect. You have to earn that respect from me, for I do not hand it out on a whim.” Ceasars response was cold. He heard no other response from the pilot, and continued on his way down to meet the rest of the group.

Falkon and his armsmen were set up a few hundred metres downhill, so Ceasar and the scouts voxed for the two to meet and brag about their kills later on in the night, which Falkon agreed to.
“How long will you give us Captain?” Ceasar asked through the vox.
“How about three hours? Should be enough time to get a few kills.”
“The one with the least kills buys the other group drinks?”
“Deal. Get ready to pay out Captain.”
“You bloody beat me to it…”
“I aim to please.”
“Aye you do…Good hunting Falkon.”
“And to you Ceasar.” With that, communications were cut, and the hunt began.

About an hour and a half later, which was eight animal kills later, Ceasar heard a booming voice in the distance.
“Did I get it?” Ceasar sighed and rubbed his temples with his hand. He kept moving, and eventually he heard nothing but the noises of the wild. He stopped and brought up his bolter. A bipedal beast crouched down and began knawing on grass and berries. He sighted it at sixty metres, and was about to go in for the kill when the creature looked away from Ceasar and ran. Odd. The creature hadn’t seen him, nor could it have smelt him, the wind was going in the opposite direction. Ceasar checked the positioning of his scouts on his visor, but all he saw was static and the occasional blimp. Again, very odd. Ceasar checked his sights once more and found nothing. His prey had escaped. He made his way to where the creature had looked before it had ran off. Nothing, just a few rustled bushes. Somebody had been laying here. Ceasar proceeded more cautiously, and scanned the area with his scope. Ceasar eventually made his way to a clearing, and turned on his vox.
“All scouts, report position.” A minute passed. Two. Then ten. No answer.
“All scouts, report position.” Another minute. Then he heard it. The slightest sound of static. It wasn’t coming from his vox either. Ceasar ran until the sound became clearer. Then he saw Brother Vanus. Dried blood stained his throat and chest. Ceasar examined him for any signs of life. Nothing. He was dead for at least half an hour. Stab wounds to the throat and chest. The blade had pierced his heart, then followed up with a quick cut to the throat. He closed Vanus’s eyes and once again attempted at making contacting his squad.
“All scouts! This is a priority one transmission, reply as soon as you get this!” Ceasar didn’t have time to wait, and so he scrambled around the area for the scouts sniper rifle, which he did not find. He picked up another sound, and he sprinted towards it, purposely making as much noise as he could. The noise continued to move away from Ceasar. Not many things can match the speed of an Astartes, but those that could were dangerous. He followed the noise for several minutes, before he finally lost it in a clearing. He scanned the area. To his left were another swathe of trees, his right, a cliff drop. He made his way to the drop, and gazed over the edge. A several hundred metre drop. Fatal.
He heard the sound again and spun on his heels to face the direction it came from. He brought up his bolter in one fluid moment and finally spotted what had been leading him on the chase. His heart dropped as he recognised the distinct ‘twack’ of a sniper being fired and felt a sharp pain in his chest. He felt himself being flung off the edge of the cliff and closed his eyes.
“My honour is my life.” He began as the distance between him and the ground closed.
“My duty is my fate.” Four hundred and fifty metres.
“My fear is to fail.” Three hundred and fifty.
“My salvation is my reward. “ Two hundred and fifty.
“My craft is death.” One hundred and fifty.
“My pledge is eternal service.” Fifty metres.
“My life, for the Emperor.” Captain Ceasar Xenthes hit the ground.

Hannibal leaned up against the truck as the listened to the sounds of the jungle around him. The wind blew through the leaves and Hannibal cocked his head to the side, feeling the breeze. He looked to the position of the sun.

It was time.

“Oi! Tha’ wind kicked up a notch. Raise tha’ barrel two more degrees. That ought’a do it.”

Ace grunted and turned a knob on the artillery piece bolted to the truck bed. Taking aim down the sight, he nodded in approval.

Hannibal’s face twisted in a cruel grin.

“Fire.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Shas'vre Ria'rak felt the wind buffet against his cloak. Below him, in a natural clearing in the forest below, was the meeting point. Save for the rotting leaves and small mammals, the clearing was empty. This was meant to be where he would be meeting the ork, Hannibal. The Tau was unsure of his motivations, but trusted the judgement of Shas'El Mirrorstone. She had communed with Skyhunter, and ordered the Shas'vre to meet the ork - with as much caution as possible.

Two score Breachers stood behind him, their pulse blasters at the ready. Two other teams of Stealth Suits, led by Shas'vre Cer'hai also waited behind their commander, ready to provide protection if need be. In the other two Orcas of the contingent, Pathfinders had their markerlights trained on the target zone. Nothing would escape their soaring hunter's eye.
If there was anything to be seen.

Ria'rak turned away from the hatch and looked back to the pilot.

"Comrade, can you take us down? Orcas 2 and 3, stay hovering and provide overwatch."

His dropship spun down, falling like a petal into the glade. Alien creatures scampered away, and their tracks were flattened by the boots of the Tau delegation. Cer'hai's Stealth suits swiftly melded into the edges of the glade, becoming nigh invisible to the naked eye and unprepared scanners. Ria'rak stood behind his circle of Breachers, and examined the area. Even on the ground, the only thing that stood out from the ground was a chewed and bleached pile of Ork skulls. His suspicions were confirmed.

“There is nothing here." Cer'hai said. "What do the orks want to send us to a pile of skulls?”

“Perhaps that is what they wanted to say. A message.”

Cer'hai scoffed “A message? That they can kill their fellow orks too? More likely they told us the wrong coordinates. They are orks after al-”

“Wait." Ria'rak silenced his companion. "Do you hear that?”

The Tau tensed as a shrill whistle sounded through the air.

“Incoming!”

The whistle grew louder as a streak of iron flew down from the sky, plunging into the pile of skulls and sending bone soaring into the air. Ria'rak recovered from the shock quickly, confused by the lack of an explosion. The dust cleared, revealing an iron harpoon halfway buried in the pile of bones.
Ria'rak carefully approached it, his eyes narrowing as he inspected the surface. His eyes fell upon a speaker, and almost as if on cue, it crackled to life.

“ ‘Dis iz Hannibal. Hope you don’t mind me droppin’ in like ‘dis, but I wanted a chance ta’ talk to ya before ya’ decided ta’ light me up wit’ yer’ pretty blue-shootin’ gunz. Now ‘den, who are ya’?”

“I am Shas'vre Ria'rak, speaking on behalf of Sunstrike Cadre. I am here to speak with you about your message. You wanted to make some sort of co-operation agreement.” The last sentence was not as much of a question as it was a statement of fact.

“Yeah. You could put it that’a way.” Hannibal’s voice said over the speakers with a chuckle. “Well ‘den, let’s get started.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Hannibal smiled as he felt the air rush past him as he rode in the truck. Ace zig-zagged though the maze of traps as the two made their way to Iron Skull fortress. The main gate opened up, and an excited call from the boys rose as their boss returned. Dropping down from the truck, Hannibal went straight to his workshop where Guts, Gort, IronGore, and Norrik were already gathered.

“What’s da word boss?” Asked Guts, absent mindedly sharpening a javelin.

“Good. It’s real good, boyz.”

“Dey’ took tha’ deal?”

Hannibal grinned. “Dat. An’ even betta. We’z getting weapons too. Slug throwerz, and ‘deyre givin’ some’a tha real good otha’ ones.”

Norrik’s head rose and a grin grew across his face. He had seen the destructive potential of the Tau weaponry first hand, the idea of using those same weapons was exciting to say the least.

“So what’s tha’ plan boss?” Norrik said, tapping his spear expectantly.

“Gather some’a tha’ boyz, an’ get tha’ shields an’ spears. We’z gunna get tha’ rest’a yer kin.”