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Made in ie
Nurgle Veteran Marine with the Flu

Cork, Ireland

The Chimera rumbled onwards as it had been for hours with nothing but the engine filling the silent void inside apart from the odd chesty cough from a particular tiller who was fond of a Lho stick or three spreading his coughing fits to everyone else in the poorly ventilated tin can. Mason sat directly opposite a stern looking Lynn, who had for the most part ignored him. Awkward as it was Mason didn’t mind the silence, it gave him time to think which he badly needed and it kept him from making dreaded eye contact with Lynn. How would he break the news of him being a chaos infiltrator ? Or should he even do it at all ? That was only one of his problems, He missed a scheduled check in with his master well he didn’t, Garathal did and with rumours amidst the tiller rank and file about some force heading into the swamp he feared the worst. Readjusting his seating position in the vague hopes of returning feeling to his right arse cheek Mason returned to his present surroundings. To Mason’s relief the grumbling APC came to a gradual stop just before Jackson could light up another Lho stick. The ragtag occupants of the Chimera lazily disembarked to stretch their legs and to survey their surroundings. The driver had driven down a muddy path that represented some sort of a road to some sort of encampment, long abandoned by the looks of things. The benches and tables showed signs of rot along with most of the timber shacks, birds made their homes at the crown of these decrepit structures with many cold campfires dotted around the premises. Thick trees formed a natural perimeter around the camp with the road being the only viable way in, and out. The trees thinned out to the north east where the sun’s rays pierced the wooden bulwark to reveal the port city of Nortannis in all her glory. The driver turned the Chimera around and took off back the way he came, leaving his tattered brothers in the dust.

“Home Sweet Home” said Mason sarcastically, “Got any idea what to do now ?”

Lynn threw down her gear “We wait for a contact from inside the city” she proceeded to rest against one of the many trees and close her eyes, the other Tillers quickly did the same.

Mason grabbed his rifle “Guess i’ll keep watch then”, Mason choose a nearby tree as his post and began to climb, though he swore he saw a smirk on Lynn’s face as he was passing by.

From atop his wooden spire Mason could see Nortannis in all its splendour, her vast port, once the lifeblood of one of the most diverse markets on Crion is now filled with her ships, tied up and left to wither much like the populace left outside her formidable gates. The restless crowd had grown smaller since Mason’s last visit, he quickly devised that either starvation or the Tillers were to blame and judging by the lack of bodies Mason knew he found his answer. Blood tarnished the captivating walls of Nortannis as stern looking guardsmen atop the gates were fixated on the turbulent crisis at their gates. The once cautious troopers were now firing at anyone who drifted to close to their refuge with their lasguns lighting up the night's sky periodically as one refugee or another thought he could take Nortannis down by himself. The city was tired not quite to a hive cities standard but still formidable with Lawson Barlow’s Residence resting at the central spire casting it’s shadow over the city like a silent observer. The lower tiers were for the middle class with the harbour being at the bottom, just off the harbour was the marketplace, once the pride and source of Nortannis’ wealth and glory. Now cut off from the outside world the place was a shadow of it’s former self the bustling stalls were replaced with a rationing site and the cheers and laughter was replacing with grumbling and moans. A noise from below caught Mason’s attention, not moving a muscle he tracked the noise to the road where a shrouded figure approached nonchalantly . Mason wasn’t the only one to hear the strangers approach and soon the entire camp was up grabbing weapons and pieces of cover, ready to defend their rotten camp. The man, raised his hands

“Crion’s people shall be free…..” the man began

“With the blood of the arrogant fool” finished Lynn “What word from Nortannis brother ? You have been quiet these last few weeks, trouble ?”

The veiled figure revealed his scarred face to his gathered brothers, the man was clearly experienced or lucky or rather unlucky depending on one's own personal views . He bore a vicious scar from the right corner of his forehead back down diagonally across his freshly shaven head. His face was covered with dirt and grime, bags lay under his eyes and fresh little cuts suggesting recent skirmishes or fist fights. Overall the man seemed utterly ungroomed bar the walrus moustache that resided just below his misshapen nose and above his crooked smile.

“You mean beside the usual ?” the man cracked a grin revealing the yellow teeth behind his majestic moustache “Yeah, things have been tight in Nortannis between the cultists in the swamp and Barlow’s paranoia the old brown noser has called in some crazy bitches who call themselves The Order of the Silver Night or some gak to lock down the city, hence the poor feths outside starving to death and wasting away. They patrol many of our old neighbourhoods and raid us every once in awhile but we survive, always have,always will and that stunt outside the gates has given us a few sympathisers even a few recruits”.

Lynn nodded listening intently trying to grasp the situation “What's your name brother ?”

“Lieutenant Spencer Mills Sir”

“Well Lieutenant I just got one question for you, how did you get out and more importantly how are we gonna get in ?”

The yellow teeth flashed again as the creepy soldier revealed their route into the city that was besieged by fear ….

This message was edited 2 times. Last update was at 2017/03/11 22:25:21

Sgt. Vanden I bet Irish can do that by flashing his bear chest.
Sgt. Vanden Irish is the definition of a Dutch oven
Made in ca
Stabbin' Skarboy

Ulfric Stormclaw watched the as yet another dozen Leman Russ battle tanks descended the thousand-mile shaft of Luna Maximus’s elevator. It was the fifth shipment of tanks they had received of tanks in the last fortnight and they were welcome sight to the battle weary imperials but Ulfric knew that they alone would not be enough to halt the Dread Mob. Ulfric looked to the south and watched the sun set an hour early behind a tar black ocean of promethium exhaust. For seven weeks Ulfric and his comrades had been battling the unstoppable ork horde doing everything in their power to halt them. The Imperials had won several key skirmishes against the orks and had killed several of their commanders but these victories were all pyrrhic and only delayed their inevitable onslaught. Now the dread mob was but a day’s march from the elevator and the defenders of the Imperium were seemingly out of time and options. Ulfric turned away from the approaching horde and headed for the great war tent at the base of the Elevator.

Ulfric entered the tent to find the other commanders had already gathered and started speaking without him. A PDF Lieutenant who Ulfric knew as Sherman spoke hastily before the gathered officers.

“We still have time to evacuate most of our personnel if we leave right now and abandon some of our vehicles.”

Captain Taranis held his terminator helmet in the crook of his arm and spoke down to the Lieutenant.

“We have orders to hold this elevator Lieutenant, to abandon it would not only be an insult to the imperium but a disgrace to the Emperor.”

“What difference would dying here make? If blood is the emperor’s currency let us not spill ours wastefully.” Replied Sherman

Chaplain Odius responded to the man.
“Your speech is bordering on the line of cowardice Lieutenant Sherman, you may either contribute in finding a solution to stopping the dread mob or flee and be die a traitor’s death.”

Sherman shut his mouth as the crusaders continued on.

Tempestor Prime Riley spoke
“Our first priority is to deny the orks passage off this moon even if that means destroying the elevator.”

Captain Dallaire of the PDF spoke out in concern.
“My lord please forgive me, but that would be unthinkable, the elevator is ancient we could never hope to construct another, if we lose that we might lose the entire moon forever.”

Riley raised his voice at the Captain.
“In case you didn’t notice were at risk of losing this entire damn system if that mob gets control of that elevator, and I don’t see any other option at the moment.”

Queen Moira Valorn spoke “Riley is right we can blow the elevator now and prevent this cancer from spreading any further, it is by no means ideal but it is likely our safest course of action.”

“No” came a low growl.

Acting Commander Ardan of the Emperor’s Hounds spoke his once regal purple carapace was now chipped and torn, freshly scarred by the fearsome dread mob.

“Brothers I have lost many of my own to this bastard dread mob and I will not let their deaths be in vain, my chapter will hold here we will let no xeno pass. I ask who among you is with me.”

Ulfric was the first to step forward.

“You will have my axe brother.”

Captain Taranis pounded his helmet against his breast plate in approval. “Not another step brother, the Carcharodons will stand with you.”

Queen Moira bowed “House Valorn will stand with you and your Hounds Commander.”

Captain Xenthes nodded “We will show them our fury.”

Tempestor Riley sighed and spoke “Wouldn’t be our first suicide mission, alright me and my men are in.”

Captain Dallaire laughed “Its not like we have anywhere to run to, isn’t that right Sherman.”

The PDF lieutenant shook his head “I have no idea why you off worlders are so eager to die, but so be it we will hold.”

Ulfric smiled “So it is agreed. This ends tomorrow.”

Riley spoke “If we intend to do this we need to do it right, we have to take out that Gargant.”

Ardan nodded “Indeed, and I already have a plan for that.”

The Hound commander leaned over the map and began placing tokens on it.

“The PDF has dug into these trenches they are just under twenty thousand strong. They make up the bulk of our forces and as such they will act as a spike strip against the Dread mob, I ask that you all leave the majority of your men in the trenches with the defense force as they will need all the fire power they can get.”

Ardan placed a token that represented the dread mob.

“The Gargant itself is at the center of the horde, we estimate it is surrounded by anywhere from five hundred thousand to a million orks, and several hundred other lesser ork vehicles, trucks, bikes, battle wagons, you name it. They are the gargant’s vanguard. All of this is meaningless once we destroy the gargant.”

Ardan took several more tokens and placed them in front the trench.

“We will take our most elite and veteran forces here, through the combined fire of the Crionian leman Russes, House Valorn’s knights, and whatever other heavy support we may have we will punch a hole in the center of the mob and with our elite strike force we will plunge into the Gargant’s heart like a spear.”

Moira raised an eyebrow of concern, “And just what is it you will once you reached the Gargant, we’ve fired nearly everything we have at it and every time we blow a hole in its armor the orks repair it in a matter of seconds.”

Ardan spoke “Once we are close we will use melta weapons to tear holes in its armor and then we will conduct a boarding action.”

Riley laughed. “You want to just run up to a twenty ton killing machine and try to board that thing? Fething space marines.”

Ulfric smiled “I like this plan let the green skins see the faces of their destroyers.”

Riley rolled his eyes “I had a feeling you wouldn’t want to wear your damn helmet.”

Captain Xenthes spoke “It seems to be our best option for taking out the gargant.”

Ardan nodded “It is, once we bring that thing down the horde will collapse.”

Riley sighed again “Like I said not my first suicide mission.”

Ulfric smiled “So its settled, rest now friends tomorrow will be hard won.”

With that the gathered officers adjourned, they would need to brief their men on the plan and make preparations for what was to come.

The sun arose behind the crusaders and the long shadow of the elevator cast itself over the long trenches. The PDF trenches went on for miles they, thousands of PDF troopers laid in wait their las rifles trained on the approaching horde. Among these flaks armored regulars were the heavily armored crusaders, hundreds of the 85th scions accompanied by dozens of marines from the Space Wolves, Carcharodons, and Emperor’s Hound’s Chapter, with them were also the Neophytes of the Stone Wardens sniper scopes searching for green skins. Towering over the entrenched defenders were the knights of house Valorn, their shadows blanketed the guardsmen they stood behind. Though still miles away the horrible horde could be heard like distant thunder, it was a horrible mixture of cracking and crunching of rusted machines, thundering war drums, and the tremendous thud that accompanied each step of the massive ork Gargant. As they drew near words began to take shape and distinguish themselves from the general orksish ambiance.

Today we kill and chew deyz bones
Today we burn and smash der thrones
Today we stomp make dem wrecks
Today we rise and break deyz necks.
Because dats what orks do.

A single guardsmen began taking a step backward but a Carcharodon marine placed a hand on his shoulder. The PDF soldier returned to his spot along the trench and leveled his las rifle at the oncoming black cloud.

Three stone warden scouts atop their bikes rode furiously toward the trenches. The squad sergeant began shouting at the defenders.

“Twenty minutes!”

The scouts dismounted their bikes and joined the rest of the defenders along the trenches trading bolt pistols for sniper rifles.

Time beat on and the ork horde seemed to grow both louder and lager.

The spear head strike force was gathered just behind the trench waiting for the signal to charge. The spear consisted of three land raiders from the Carcharodons, Space Wolves, and Emperor’s Hounds, three Taurox armored personnel carries from the 85th, and three escort chimeras from the PDF Captain Dallaire took command of one of these tanks.

Riley sat in the taurox with nine of his best men, they carried with them a mixture of plasma, melta, and hell guns and a large number of Melta bombs. Riley looked at his wrist mounted computer and saw that the elevator charges were primed and ready. Should the battle would become unwinnable he would not allow the orks to take the elevator, should he fall the detonation codes would be transmitted to Riley’s second in command. Riley didn’t bother to mention these bombs to any of the other commanders, as he simply didn’t want to have the argument over who would control the detonator. Its not like them knowing particularly mattered if he blew the elevator they were likely all dead or about to be overrun by orks. Still the bombs gave Riley some comfort knowing he did his part to prevent this small corner of the Imperium from being overrun by orks.

Riley looked at the the roof hatch on the top of the Taurox and rose so that he might poke his head out. The muffled thunder of the ork horde became clear as the hatch opened and Riley looked to the horizon and saw only a tide of steel and green charging beneath a black sky.

The Gargant Interior of was massive it hosted well over a hundred mek boyz and all of their Gretchen assistants. The ork meks were constantly making repairs to the Gargant, always welding slabs of steel to holes in the armor, replacing blown fuses, and putting out the occasional fire. Big Mek MegaFang the Gargants architect made his residence in the walker’s head, from there he not only controlled the behemoth but also held his WAAAGH council.

Big Mek MegaFang set the Gargant to auto pilot which literally meant he propped the controls into the forward position with a stick. MegaFang approached his surviving ork entourage which at its peek numbered over a hundred but was whittled down to only two. The first was Leftenut Ratskull “Da Lucky” he had the face of a weasel and the teeth of a piranha, his flesh was a particularly pale shade of green. Thee second was Weirdboy ZogDog who was now more metal than green. After his last encounter with the Emperor’s hounds Zogdog was left without his favorite arm and covered head to toe in third degree burns, but MegaFang was able to salvage much of his favorite weirdboy and even gave him a few improvements. Their chief was the supreme Big Mek MegaFang. MegaFang did not trust any of the meks or pain boyz in his waaagh enough to let them operate on him and as such the ork preformed all of his bionic implantations on himself without the use of any anesthetic or good judgment. Regardless the amateurish surgeries were all successful and as such MegaFang grew to prominence through an ability to tolerate absurd amounts of pain and a collection of impressive bionic modifications.

ZogDog delivered news to his boss “Boss, we just got a message from dat off worlder git Nox Warprida, he’z offering to help uz take da skyvator but we’d have to postpone the assault by a couple of hourz.”

MegaFang snarled. “Dat git finks himself so high and mighty runnin around tellin everybody he’s da big boss, I tell you wot I’z da biggest boss dere iz, look at my Gargant, wots he got some snazzy bike dat goes kinda fast, big Gorkin deal, I bet I could build a bike twice as fast in af da time.”

RatSkull sniveled “He just wants in on our victory boss, da git knows e aint ard enough to win any fer himsef.”

MegaFang growled “You tell Nox Gitrida dat he can Zog off I don’t need him or his zoggin ladz of anorky no more.”

ZogDog laughed as he exited the room “Wif pleasure boss.”

RatSkull spoke as ZogDog exited. “We should be reaching stomping distance of da humiez in just a bit boss.”

MegaFang returned to the Gargant’s controls and smiled “Good.” RatSkull paused and scratched himself. MegaFang turned and sae his Leftenut still standing there, the Mek shouthed “Da Zog are you waitin fer get out dere wif da Vanguard!”

RatSkull snapped to attention and hurried off to his battlewagon. When the nob left Ratskull went over to the armored hatch door that was the face plate of the Gargant, he looked down to his two newly captured prisoners.

Cearul Adair had spent the last three days slipping in and out of consciousness, he would awake for minutes at a time to see he was perhaps six hundred feet above the ground, bellow him all he saw was a horde of orks and machine clamoring and shouting, in front of him he could see the sky piercing needle that was the Space Elevator, below that he could see distant banners Aquila flying defiantly over trenches. Cearul was striped of his armor and left only wearing his body glove, he felt his arms now crucified to the steel plates of the steel hull of the Gargant, is legs hung freely putting tremendous strain on his arms. To Cearul’s left he saw Alpha Faolan in a similar predicament only he was hung upside-down by shackled ankles. Cearul called to him “Faolan” But he got no reply.

Cearul was unsure weather or not he was already conscious when he the ork began shouting down at him.

“Oi, Beakie, you awake yet.”

Cearul having neither the energy or interest in speaking to the ork remained silent.

“I knowz ya can hears me Space Marine.”

Again Cearul made no response so MeganFang spat a grotesque ball of mucus at Cearul causing the Hound to flinch as the repulsive glob ran along his head and down his face.

The Mek laughed “Ha I zoggin knew ye wuz fakin it, Space Marine, I want you to do me a favor.”

Cearul looked up again and saw that he was even closer to the entrenched imperials.

MegaFang continued “I want you to watch as I stomp all deez pathetic humiez and all yer mate beakies into da durt, I want you to be witness to da dey dat Big Mek MegaFang began hiz eternal WAAAGH! And stomped out da sun itself, you watch now Space Marine, you watch good.”

Captain Xerthes looked down the scope of his astartes sniper rifle steadied it waiting for the first of the Greenskins to enter his cross hairs. For a moment all went silent around the warden of stone save for the slow beats of his twin hearts,

Two beats.

Four beats.

Six beats.

Eight Beats.

The first of the orks came into Xerthes line of sight, a green skin mounted atop a red war bike. The Captain adjusted his aim ever so slightly and breathlessly pulled the trigger. The ork fell and with that the first shots of the battle had been fired. They were soon followed by more sniper fire and as the enemy closed the distance more weapons added to the thunderous choir of led and death.

The orks were no strangers to the art of rapid fire warfare and began pelting the imperials with their own armaments. Guardsmen died in swaths as the Gargant would unload its kustom Supa-Gatler onto the entrenched guardsmen and then unloading its Rokkit pay load. Beneath the metal monument to Mork, ork boys unleashed their full auto rampage from their small arm shootas to the kannons mounted on Trucks and Battle-Wagons.

Captain Dallaire gave the order to the PDF Leman Russes to begin their firing mission into the center of the ork horde, once the battle tanks began to fire the Knights of House Valorn joined in with Avenging roar of their Gatling canons and the molten rage of their thermal canons.

The green tide began to part at its center as orks fled the center of the horde and consolidated in its corners leaving a clear path to the Gargant.

Queen Moira spoke into her vox “Spearhead you are clear to begin your assault.”

Riley sealed the roof hatch of his Taurox and shouted at his driver. “You heard the lady its now or never.”

Tank treads of the spear head began advancing. At full speed they cleared the trench leaping over the heads of ducking guardsmen. The three land raiders were met metal storm of bullets, thousands of bullets beat against the face of Land Raiders like winter’s harshest rain. But the spear pressed on plowing through wrecked vehicle and ork alike to reach their target. When the Imperial barrage stopped orks began returning to the center of the mob each wanting a piece of the boldest of Imperials.

The Imperials had made good progress until they came across every imperial tank crew’s worst nightmare the dreaded ork Tank Bustas.

Several Ork vehicles rode out to meet the imperials and orks armed with missile tipped hammers leapt from their trucks and buggies onto the roof of one of the PDF Chimeras. With two hammer swings the Chimera was busted open and the orks attacking the guardsmen occupants. Another of the PDF’s tanks fell victim to the same tactic though. The Scions were however more prepared for the orks attack as Tempestors emerged from the roof hatches to defend against the orks.

Just as Riley killed one of the ork tank hunters threatening Captain Dallaire’s chimera a single squig came charging for Riley Taurox. Riley had seen these before and immediately began firing at the charging creature. But the beast was a wily creature and evaded Riley’s shot. Before Riley could squeeze his trigger a second time the red creature was already upon Riley’s Chimera. Riley heard three quick tics and swore “Oh Feth.” As the bomb squig detonated sending Riley’s Taurox spiraling out of control before ultimately rolling over ejecting the scion from his transport.

Leftenut RatSkull’s Battle Wagon pulled up alongside the Space Wolves land raider, RatSkull leapt from onto the land raider’s roof. The ork hoisted his Rokkit Stick over his head but before he could bring his hammer down Wolf Lord Ulfric Stormclaw emerged from the roof hatch shouting a challenge at the ork.

“Get off of my tank you filthy xeno scum.”

RatSkull growled as he shifted his stance “Come and get some Beakie!”

The two charged for each other as the tank sped on toward the Gargant. The beast swung its explosive hammer at Ulfric’s head but the wolf ducked the swipe grabbed the hammer by the back of its neck. RatSkull kicked Ulfric in his chest forcing the Wolf Lord to release the hammer as he stumbled to his back. Ulfric rolled off of the side of the tank as RatSkull brought his hammer down with an explosive thud. Ulfric gripped the side of the Land Raider with his life as RatSkull discarded his used Rokkit Stick, the ork began stomping on Ulfric’s hands in an effort to make him let go of the tank. Suddenly the Land Raide made a hard left stumbling RatSkull back allowing Ulfric the opportunity to get back on his feet. Ulfric recovered his axe as Rat skull unsheathed a crude pair of ork choppas. Rat skull growled and charged at Ulfric but the wolf lord parried the wild attack and then struck RatSkull in one clean motion separating his head from his shoulders.

Riley slowly arose to his feet, he was surrounded by flame and metal. Riley winced in pain nothing broken but he was definitely going to be sore for the next few mornings. The Scion checked his heads up display but found it had been damaged in the crash. Out of the corner of Riley’s eye an ork began charging for him, riley quickly drew his hot shot las pistol and put three cracks of red energy into the orks torso toppling it over. An error message flashed infront of Riley’s field of view advising him his rebreather was compromised. Another axe wielding ork came charging for the Scion and that ork to was met with a laser death. Riley began removing his carapace helmet as a massive armored nob began began a mad sprint for the tempestor Riley squeezed the trigger of his pistol, but no fire spat forth its energy cell had been damaged in the crash. Riley cursed and threw his helmet at the oncoming green skin, the nob was stunned by the hit allowing Riley time to reach for his knife. Riley roared and began charging at the ork knife in hand when suddenly a blast of blue plasma disintegrated the oncoming ork.

Riley turned to see the entirty of his squad emerging from the burning Taurox. Riley smiled and looked over to the Garagant they were now but a few feet away. Riley shouted at his men, “Mission isn’t done yet, move, move.”

The ten scions sprinted at near super human speed towards the oncoming Gargant, orks would try to stand in their paths but they were dispatched by the molten rage of plasma, melta, and hell gun.

The surviving vehicles of the spear reached their destination, in ten gargantuan steps from the hulking behemoth that was the gargant. Space marines, scions, and the few surviving PDF exited their transports. From one of the Tautox’s came the Scion’s heavy melta bomb, three scions were required to lift massive payload out of their Taurox, they set it down and Jamison’s the 85th’s explosive expert began priming the massive charge.

Riley and his squad arrived just as Jamison finished priming the device. The scion sapper began speaking beneath his helmet. “Now we just need to deploy the charge so that the Gargant steps on it.”

Captain Taranis stepped forward “There is no time for that.”

The Carachadon grabbed the massive explosive and hoisted above his head. Taranis cursed under its weight has he took a step toward the gargant. The marine growled as he began sprinting.

“I am the the emperor’s breacher, his holy ram of vengeance, I am Taranis the Destroyer!”

With a hearty throw Taranis launched the melta charge at the Gargant’s rusted chassis and the bomb collided with the steel plate sending staggering the Gargants next step. When the debris dust cleared a smoldering hole was left in the Gargant, rings of still meting metal framed the gaping steel wound in glowing red.

Ulfric Stormclaw laughed “A fine throw brother, now advance for the All Father!”

Riley shouted to all of his gathered men “Scions lead the way.”

The imperials fired all they had into the breach and the orks. Soon enough the imperials reached the gaping hole in the Gargant.

As the imperials began boarding the lumbering giant something caught Ardan’s eye. Upon further inspection Ardan realized that something was actually a someone. Ardan’s eyes widend in shock as he recognized the badly beaten face of Commander Cearul and swinging next to him Alpha Faolan.

Ardan looked to his left and saw Brother Rhodri had also noticed Faolan and Cearul.

Ardan shouted to Rhodri over the battle cries of Space Wolves and Scions.

“We have to get them down from there.”

Rhordi shook his head “I’m with you brother.”

Ardan quickly leapt onto the steel plates of the gargant and began climbing up the exterior of the titan gripping onto peeling metal plates, exposed wiring, and whatever other jagged piece of metal he could find Rhordi followed his lead.

The Gargant interior was some of the most ferocious close quarters fighting Ulfric Storm Claw had ever been part of. Ork meks hastly grabbed whatever weapons they could get their hands, slugas, choppas, shootas, some orks were forced to improvise and pulled random pieces of still active pipe from the wall. Ulfric found himself lost in a Blood haze he watched as several PDF and several of his fellow wolves were brought down by the ferocity of the ork tinkerers. The sight of seeing his brothers fall unlocked something feral inside of Ulfric, there were rumors among some of his that he suffered from the curse of the wulfen and the way he fought the orks would lend credibility to such claims.

Cearul watched as Ardan and Rhordi climbed up to him. Cearul had just assumbed that he was losing his mind and that they were but mirages, reminders of his failures but soon enough Ardan began cutting away at his restraints with a plasma cutter. Cearul croaked weakly.


Ardan spoke “Easy brother, we are going to get you out of here.”

A single ork rose above the others the cyber-organic weird boy Zog Dog laughed as he he landed a deadly blow against one of the Emperor’s Hounds who demanded revenge for his Alpha. Taranis had sensed his heretical presence before he saw the vile creature. Taranis would no longer tolerate such a creature to continue to draw breath.

Zog Dog grinned as he looked over to Taranis with his cybernetic eyes.

“You want some to den space marine.”

The weirdboy launched a bolt of green WAAAGH energy at the captain but Taranis weathered the blow against his force sword. Taranis in turned unleashed a flah of lightening agains the ork but Zog Dog erected a psychic shield. Taranis charged the ork and swung with his force sword, Zog Dog caught the blade with his staff and with the butt of his pole jabbed Tarans’s face cracking one of the lenses in his helmet. Taranis snarled as the ork took a second swing at him. Taranis caught the orks staff in his hand broke it with his sword. Zog Dog now enraged by the lost of his staff swung wildly at Taranis. The destroyer head-butted the ork sending several of his mangled fangs flying. With a downward swing Taranis split the orks skull down the center.

In the midst of all this chaos Riley kept his mind focus on the mission bring the Gargant down as soon as possible several of Riley’s men slipped passed the bloody melee in search of the Gargants critical systems. A group of Scions found what they guessed to be the main engine room and began setting melta bombs. Riley climbed the Gargant’s stairwell killing every ork and Gretchen that crossed his path until finally he reached the control room at the top.

Riley reached the door at the top of the Gargant’s head. Riley kicked the door in and was imidatly greeted by a barrage of bullets from MegaFang’s Kustom Snazz Gun. Riley rolled in to cover as the the big mek sprayed a hose of lead at him.

MegaFang roared ‘You fink dat you diry zoggin humie scum slurps can stop da might Big Mek MegaFang.” The ork laughed as he unloaded more rounds at Riley forcing him to find new cover.

The ork roared as he loaded another belt of bullets into his weapon. “I am da one who stomps da sun, I am dat great green destroyer, I am da one dat….”

Riley shouted “The only thing you are is an ork that talks to much”

Riley emerged from cover and fired rapid blast from his hell gun. MegaFang roared and dropped his massive firearm. The enraged warboss charged at the scion, riley landed several more shots with his hell gun but the mek’s rage ensured he felt no pain and his bionic limbs ensured he kept on fighting. Riley found himself now cornered in the tiny control room anything that might have been used as cover was now destroyed. MegaFang seized Riley by his throat and pinned him against the wall.

“Look at me humie, I am all dat iz ork, I am da killer of worlds stompa of Stars. I will sweep all across yer pathetic humie empire like a great green wind.”

Riley laughed and MegaFang snarled. “What is so zoggin funny.”

Riley spoke “You really need to learn how to stop talking.”

MegaFang growled as he wound up his punch but was stung in his back the crack las gun. As MegaFang turned his head at the new threat Riley seized the opportunity to draw his combat knife and plunge it into MegaFang’s face. MegaFang roared in painand stumbled backwards, Riley reclaimed his Hell Gun and kept firing at the ork until he was absolutely sure it was dead.. Riley looked up from his fresh kill to see Captain Dallaire and Specialist Jamison standing in the doorway.

Riley laughed “Thank the Emperor you guys showed up, that ork was trying to talk me to death.”

Dallaire spoke seriously “Our job is not yet done; we still need to bring this thing down.”

Riley nodded “Right, Jamison set the charges for three minutes.”

The crusaders quickly ran out of the gargant leaping out of its gaping belly wound. Cearul, Ardan, Rhordi, and the unconscious Faolan were the last to clear the blast zone. They each made a mad dash to their transports as the melta charges began detonating inside the Gargant. The great metal beast took its final step as its face blew off of its torso and it stumbled forward into the dirt and onto a massive mob of ork boyz.

The green skins watched in utter horror as their god of war crumbled before their vary eyes. Whatever order the orks had was long gone. There was an immediate power struggle among the nobz who was the new warboss. Without any proper leadership most of the orks began to flee back into the desert, while some of the stubborn orks wanted to press on with the assault. Those that stayed were gunned down by the Imperials virtually none of the greenskins made it to the trench and the few that did arrived full of bullets and las wounds.

Riley watched as the last orks fled out of sight. He looked at the mess around him what was once a barren desert was now a junkyard. Riley took a seat on top a large pile of scrap as Captain Dallaire approached him. The PDF commander took a seat beside him and spoke.

“We did the impossible here today.”

Riley shrugged and rubbed his bruised shoulder.

“Its not my first suicide mission.”
Made in ca
Stabbin' Skarboy

40 years ago

In one of the long corridors of the great Payne manor sat a small child. The boy no older than six sat with his legs crossed and gripped two plastic figures in his hand. The boy emulated the battle between the Astarte and beast alone in this long corridor accompanied only by his nanny servitor standing in the corner barely aware of the child. In the left hand he gripped a brutish ork its horrid features made to look even more detestable and pathetic than the green skinned beasts that prowled the far eastern jungles of Cambria. In the boy’s right hand was a red armored warrior of the legendary blood angels, this particular toy was molded in the likeness of Captain Castagon of the fourth company.

At the door way at the opposite end of the hall behind the boy’s back entered a man, though he was in his forties he was indistinguishable from a twenty-year-old in all manners. The man was dressed in fine cloths and had an undeniable roguish look about him. His right arm was bound to a sling and covered in a hard cast. In the man’s still working hand was a colorful box. The man laughed.

“Smiting some foul xenos are we.”

The child was now aware of the man in the room and jumped up running towards him.

“Uncle Tobias!”

The boy ran towards Tobias an wraped his arms around the now crouching man’s neck. The boy soon noticed the sling and with a mixture of genuine concern and curiosity asked

“What happened to your arm uncle.”

Tobias laughed.

“Oh nothing your uncle was being dumb and got himself hurt.”

The boy giggled

“Did you fall in the tub uncle.”

Tobias grinned

“Something like that. But enough about me I got you something while I was in the capital.”

The boy’s eyes lit up as Tobias presented him the bright box.

“For me?”

Tobias laughed

“Unless you know of another Rodrick Payne.”

The boy gleefully took the gift and began tearing at the paper. Payne spoke as the the boy began to unveil his gift.

“I had the finest toy maker in the capital build this one special for you.”

The boy gasped in amazement as he unveiled, the new space marine action figure. The Astarte was clad in deep grey power armor, its right shoulder pad red and the bleeding dragon insignia clawing its way to the chest of the marine. Rodrick could not contain his excitement as he spoke.

“This is Captain Ortan of the third company Blood Dragon’s company. The slayer the Eldar witch king Valundar. “

Tobias had planned to explain all that to his nephew, he was astounded he could recognize the marine by his iconography alone. Tobias looked over to the servitor in the corner in the room.

“It seems Nan has been doing a good job at teaching you all about the fabled blood dragons.”

The boy studied the figure and his face contorted into a frown.

“Uncle, whatever happened to the Blood Dragons? I keep asking Nan and I never get a response out of her.”

Tobias shrugged

“Nobody knows exactly what happened. They were just gone one day, they only left the ruins. But even from those we can tell they were truly great.”

Tobias’s nephew looked up at him and spoke with youthful curiosity
“Do you think they’ll ever be back?”

Tobias smiled “Perhaps one day, they’ll return and recount to us all the adventures they’ve had over the last seven thousand years.”

Rodrick smiled “If they did come back do you think they’d let me become a space marine?”

Tobias tussled the child’s hair “Of course they would.”

It was at this time another man entered the room, older than Payne by almost three decades though his hair had only silvered in the slightest. The man was large, his size made even more dramatic by a crimson cloak. He was Tobias’s brother Fredrick Payne. Fredrick was the first born son of the Lord Governor Anton Payne. The second born was Theodore Payne, and Rodrick was the third born. Fredrick being the primogeniture was the heir to the governorship of Crion.


Tobias looked up from Rodrick and Rodrick turned to face the new man. Rodrick spoke with the same enthusiasm.

“Father! Look at what uncle Tobias brought me.”

The boy rushed to show his father his new toy. The man smiled.

“Did you thank your uncle for such a nice gift.”

Rodrick immediately turned back to Tobias and embraced him in a hug

“Thank you uncle.”

“Your most welcome.”

Fredrick spoke

“Good boy, now run along your uncle and I need to speak.”

The boy quickly collected the two space marines and began running out of the hall. The servitor care taker grabbed the discarded ork with its servo claw and began after Rodrick with a mechanical hobble.

As the servitor exited the room Fredrick began speaking.

“What would father say if he heard you telling his grandson fairy tales.”

Tobias laughed

“He’d smack me upside my head and remind me the Dragons are dead.”

Fredrick was unamused as he looked at his brother’s broken arm and began.

“Keep up with your antics and you’ll be joining them. I mean really Tobias getting in a brawl inside of a brothel.”

Tobias raised his hands defensively.

“The Gilded Lion is not a brothel, it’s a gentleman’s club and I was forced to remind those ruffians what it means to be a gentleman.”

Fredrick was again not amused.

“You are of house Payne, that may not mean anything to you but it means everything to the rest of us. What you do reflects on us all.”

Tobias remained silent.

Fredrick sighed

“We can not change what’s in the past, come see Theodore, Father and I off.”

Tobias frowned

“Picked a bad time to break my arm haven’t missed an ork hunt since I was sixteen.”

Fredrick laughed and began heading for the landing pad

“Brother are you suggesting you’d rather spend the next week sleeping in the dirt covered in the stink of green skins than lounging about the palace.”

Tobias smiled

“I’d hardly call father’s tent sleeping in the dirt.”

Three royal blue Valkyries each marked with the golden sigil of House Payne and their words high gothic “Nemo me Impune lacessit.” Dozens of servitors mechanically scurried about loading baggage into the Valkyries, while nearly two dozen palace guards began boarding the vessels, their carapace armor matching the blue hull of their transports. It was not long before Tobias spotted his father and brother Theodore. Tobias’s father was already well in to his second century the obvious signs of age unmistakable even the best rejuvenate treatments could not mask that. Theodore however looked nothing like his father, his hair was still blonde and eyes still emerald green. Tobias had a great respect for his brother Theodore, he had been taken captaincy of the Palace Guard an honor Theodore did great justice.

Tobias’s father sneered as Tobias and Fredrick approached, he spoke making little effort to disguise the anger in his voice.


Tobias spoke

“Father… it is good to see you.”

The old man nearly growled.

“I suspect any face that isn’t of an Arbities is good for you to see.”

Theodore spoke hoping to alleviate the tension.

“It is a shame you will not be joining us this year brother, I hear there are green skins as tall as iron oaks.”

Tobias smiled.

“I figured I’d let you have some glory this year.”

One of the palace guards approached.

“My lords, we are ready to depart at your leisure.”

The old man hoisted his laslock and spat.

“We are not done speaking of this Tobias.”

Tobias shook his head.

“I doubt we ever will be.”

The old man huffed and turned his back on his son and began heading for the Valkyrie. Theodore gave a final smile to his brother before hoisting his rifle over his shoulder and turning away. Fredrick frowned and spoke.

“Just promise me you’ll behave while we’re gone.”

Tobias smiled.

“You have my word brother.”

Fredrick seemed relieved by his brother’s words, and he placed his hand on Tobias’s shoulder, before turning to catch up with his father. A minute later the engines of the Valkyries roared to life and began to take off.

That was the last time Tobias Payne saw his father and brothers.


The chapel was a dreary sight, the ork raid that ravaged the palace leaving the old stone church scarred. The sky was stone grey and the sea fog rolled all about Payne island. Those sitting in the chapel pews could hear the unrelenting patter of rain atop the chapel’s roof punctuated by the occasional crack of thunder. At the head of the chapel beneath the stained glass rested a sealed black casket. The only sight more wretched than that of the chapel was the visage of Governor Payne his face deathly pale and his sleepless eyes darkened. There were fifty people seated in the chapel pews the majority of which were Crionian nobles who have come to pay their final respects to the governor’s nephew. Among the nobles several outsiders had gathered,

In the front aisle sat a trio of scions Tempestor Castilla, Tempestor Riley, and Tempestor Prime Gallus. They wore their standard combat plate and openly carried their weapons, clearly their last visit to Payne island had destroyed what faith they had in the governor’s personal security. Tobias could hardly blame them, after the last parlay trust was not an affordable luxury. The armor they wore was battered and revealed fresh scars souvenirs from the City of New Pavus.

In one of the aisles to the right sat Lord Commissar Hattori for the Calian Dragoons. The Commissar sat in an attentive matter but there was a look on his face as though his focus was elsewhere, occasionally he looked into the palm of his hand which concealed a small communicator, he frowned when it revealed no news.

Lord General McFallus sat in the far right corner. Judging by the look on the man’s face he seemed not to be in the mood for talking.

Sharing a pew in the center aisle was Inquisitor Randall and Colonel Raven. The two men had only recently arrived on the main world, now fully recovered from the horrors of Cogger Hive. The Colonel had left his signature hat at the door as a token of respect. Randall wore a traditional black suit, as was Terran funeral custom. Accompanying the Inquisitor, the Colonel was the Commissar Alenko and the Colonel’s Sargent Holiday.

Behind the Inquisitor and the Colonel were the four knights of house Valorn. Amanda, Sera, Cassius, and Moira. They wore their house colors of crimson and each dawned a black velvet band around their arms to show mourning.

On the extreme left sat the Chem Dogs Colonel Vannon and Sargent Kyla. Like the scions they were still reeling from the loss of New Pavus. They were their standard flack armor and rebreatheres though they pulled them to the side so they might speak more easily.

Since the pews were not able to support the weight of the massive astartes they were forced to stand in the rear of the church.

Ardan of the Emperor’s hounds had clearly seen better days. The marine’s face was bruised and freshly stitched, he wore a bandage around his left eye, the apothecaries were still unsure if it would heal or need replaced with bionincs. The marine’s purple armor was coated in the char of promethium ork burnas.

To Ardan’s right was the Wolf Lord Ulfric Stormclaw. While Ulfric and Ardan had fought in the same battle against the same Gartgant they had near polar opposite experiences. Ulfric’s Great Company had found a great degree of glory in the war against the dread mob, they had emerged near unscathed and with fresh chapters for their sagas. Ardan was a fair representation of how his chapter faired, bruised and tired. It had been three weeks since the Gargant and Alpha Faolan had still yet to awaken leaving Ardan to govern over his brothers.

Chaplain Exitar of the Carcharodons space marines chapter wore a suit of behemoth terminator plate and the accompanying skeletal helm, his Crozius Arcanum resting in his palm. The marine had conducted well over a hundred funerals, but all of those were for his fellow battle brothers. The Carcharodons being a void bound would jettison their dead into the void, burying the dead in the ground seemed almost vulgar to the chaplain. He would hope that should he fall and none of his brothers be there to reclaim him they would at least have the curtsy of to return him to the void.

Standing apart from the rest of the Astartes was Brother Captain Athenar of the Emperor’s Grey Knights. Athenar disliked speaking with the other Astartes, in his mind he had almost nothing in common with any of them, especially that Ulfric Stormclaw.

Lurking in the flickering shadows of the far left corner was a single space marine clad in a green scout’s carapace The armor marked him as being of the Stone Wardens chapter and judging by the age of the scout it would be safe to assume that he was sergeant. The marine had not bothered to introduce himself and simply yet his chapter’s insignia do the talking for him.

Seeing that everyone was gathered Tobias Payne took the podium.

“Friends, family, we are gathered here today to mourn the loss of the of my nephew Rodrick Cornell Payne.”

“I remember the day Rodrick was born, my brother Fredrick said he has the aura of a true man of house Payne. At the time I thought my brother was speaking lunacy but he was right. Rodrick did the name Payne proud. He was both scholar and soldier, statesmen and devout servant of the emperor.”

It took the governor a moment to resume speaking.

“He died fighting those who would see us fall to disorder, those who would turn their backs on the rest of the Imperium. He died in service to our blessed imperium, may he find his place at the Emperor’s side”

Those gathered made the sign of the Aquilla at the words.

The governor’s face seemed embittered by the very thought of the Tillers. The governor shortly regained his composure and continued speaking.

“I loved Rodrick, he was to me the son I never had. All of Crion is lesser for his loss”

The governor seemed at a loss for words. He turned to the coffin and placed his hand on the smooth black oak. He lingered there for nearly a minute and turned back to the gathering. The governor cleared his throat and spoke.

“I believe Rodrick’s brother Percival had some words.”

Without another word Tobias headed for seat in the front pew as a man clad in the ornate blue armor of the palatial guard swaggered to the podium.

Percival seemed in fine health were it not for the black band around the man’s arm it would be impossible to tell he was in mourning. With a hand resting on the pommel of a hip sheathed sword Percival began to speak.

“What is there to say about my brother Rodrick. He held the prestigious command of Kamrian Keep and it is unlikely they will find another commander as qualified.”

And with that Percival returned to his seat, feeling he had sufficiently paid his respects to his late brother.

Nearly a dozen more speakers approached the podium for the span of nearly an hour and a half. Among the more notable were Rodrick’s two twin cousins Tybalt and Grace, they both recalled fondly the childhood they shared with Rodrick. Lieutenant Antonious Cal had also spoke. Cal was once Rodrick’s second in command, he had since Rodrick’s passing become Kamrian’s new Lord Commander.

As the last speaker finished Tobias retook the podium and began.

“I thank you all for coming, if you would all please make your way back to the ball room of the manor, refreshments will be served.”

Quietly the chapel emptied leaving only the governor and the casket enclosed Rodrick. As the chapel door shut Tobias lifted the coffin door. The morticians had done a fairly good job, still it pained tobias to think he died so violently. From his coat Tobias produced small grey armored space marine and placed it in the crook of the corpse Rodrick’s arm. Tobias heard a noise from behind him he did not need to turn his head to know that it was Tal’ok. Tobias began speaking.

“Tell me Tal’ok do the Kroot have families.”

Tal’ok crossed his arms and spoke.

“Not like you humans do, we have our packs. Those fellow hunters who we live and die for.”

The governor sealed the coffin and spoke

“What do you do when someone hurts one of your pack.”

“We find the person that hurt us and we make them hurt greater.”

Tobias spoke satisfied with the response.

“I have a job for you.”

Tobias turned to face the mercenary. From his coat he removed a folded piece of paper and handed it to Tal’ok. The kroot unfolded the paper and observed the human.

Payne spoke

“This image was taken from the vid recorder inside one of the scion’s helmet. This man was the one who killed my nephew.”

Tal’ok looked closely at the picture of the man spoke.

“Finding a single man on a planet with only a picture to go on is not an easy feat.”

The governor spoke

“I don’t care what it takes, you do this for me I will make you and your kin rich beyond your wildest dreams.”

Tal’ok smiled finding a single assassin somewhere on this big planet was sure to be a challenge, a challenge that enticed Tal’ok to no end. The kroot spoke with a roguishness.

“Consider him dead.”

The governor spoke.

“I don’t want this man dead I want his to suffer. I want you to find those who he would call his family or his comrades and I want him to watch as they die. I want everything he loves to crumble. I want him to lose whatever faith he may have. Then once he has nothing left to live for bring him to me, alive.”

Tal’ok stored picture in wedge in his armor. The Kroot smiled.

“Your will be done Governor.”

Payne spoke as he turned back towards the coffin

“Should you need anything to aid you on your hunt do not hesitate to ask.”

The Kroot turned with a grin and began making his way out.

The black precession began towards the Payne family graveyard began. Here there were hundreds of tombstones each belonging to a dead Payne including the house founder Sebastian Payne. The pall bearers which consisted of the governor and his surviving nephews approached the hole and began the process of lowering the casket with a silver chain in to the awaiting earth. Rain pelted off the lid of the earth sunk casket before servitor attendants with steam shovel arms began raining dirt over the coffin.

Meanwhile in the Ballroom the atmosphere was by far less grim than the bleak mood that had dominated that dreary chapel. The majority of the regular palace guest had already departed leaving only the crusaders. They were waiting on Governor Payne to return from the private burial of his nephew so that they could hold the war council.

Chaplain Exitar had found himself speaking with Ardan of the Emperor’s Hounds. The Chaplain spoke.

“I know you are grieving brother, the loss of so many of your brothers must be strenuous, and the loss of your Captain Faolan must hurt you.”

Ardan seemed angered by the Chaplain’s remarks.

“The Hounds will recover, as will Alpha Faolan”

Exitar spoke through his skeletal helmet.

“You must be practical; it is unlikely that he will ever awaken. You must act in the best interest of your chapter now, guide your brothers in these dark times. If you require a chaplain’s counsel, I am here.”

Ardan realized the chaplain meant well but he did not like to consider the possibility of Faolan not waking up.

“Thank you for your concern chaplain, but I will manage.”

Across the ball room Inquisitor Garrett Randall approached Commissar Hattori who had staked his claim upon a corner some ways away from the rest of the guests. Randall spoke lowly looking for any prying eyes or ears. Randall spoke.

“Any word yet.”

The commissar shook his head

“Still none, I was hoping my man Goya would have reported in by now.”

“Keep me updated.”

Said Randall.

Tempestor Castilla eaves dropped on the inquisitor and the Commissar, while they were carful not to reveal anything it was clear to Castilla that they were hiding something. Castilla then looked at the grand windowpane as the rain bombarded the glass with tiny droplets, it was at this time Queen Moira Valorn approached her.

Moira bowed and spoke.

“Tempestor Castilla, it is good to see you again, though I wish we could meet on a more joyous occasion.”

Castilla grinned and returned Moira’s bow.

“It is good to see you as well my lady. Tell me is it true what they say about you slaying a squigoth.”

Moira swelled with pride at the mention of the gargantuan orkoid but remained modest.

“It is true, you must come to visit us at Grimjoy Hive, so that I might show you the beast’s skull.”

Castilla thought to herself that she would in fact like to see the remains of such a large creature though unfortunately her duties left her with no time for such recreation. Before Castilla could politely decline one of the Governor’s stuffy stewards made an announcement.

“My lords and Ladies Governor Payne is ready to see you. If those of you attending would kindly follow me.”

The crusaders had gathered in the same room they had gathered for the governor’s last war council and they had seated themselves much in the same way. They had repaired what damage the ork commandos had done, new windows, tapestry and furniture. Though Ulfric noticed a scuff on the floor where he had brought down an ork, he chuckled at the memory. Payne began speaking.

“I thank you all for paying your respects to my nephew, I am truly humbled. However, we have some important business to discuss.”

Tempestor Prime Gallus spoke

“Indeed we do governor, if the rest of you have no objections I will speak first.”

Payne bowed his head and spoke.

“The floor is yours Tempestor.”
Gallus spoke his face betraying some irritation though he gave no names.

“Until recently my scions had the City of New Pavus on lock down, that all changed two weeks ago. When we first arrived in New Pavus the Tillers were only a minor nuisance unequipped ruffians drunk on cheap booze. After delivering the Tillers some rough beatings something changed. I wasn’t sure what caused that change was until now.”

Gallus nodded at Tempestor Riley and the scion produced a piece of metal wrapped in a blue cloth. The scion unveiled it to reveal the remains of a heavily modified las gun.

Colonel raven whistled and spoke.

“That ain’t standard issue.”

Gallus spoke.

“I had a suspicion where this modified technology had originated but I could not prove it until now.”

Gallus tapped some buttons on his wrist mounted computer and on the far wall a white screen lowered into place and a vid projector whined to life.

The video that was captured from the cockpit of the Valkyrie. The dark night was illuminated by the fires that were consuming the city of New Pavus. Rising above the tall buildings of the city was the xeno craft a Tau manta. The sleek armor of the hull vessel ruptured as Valkyrie fired a rocket at the Tau craft and the vid feet cut.

Chaplain Exitar spoke.

“Tau? What are they doing so far from the rest of their pathetic empire.”

Riley interjected.

“We didn’t bother to ask we were too busy shooting them.”

Gallus spoke once more.

“It matters little, the point is they are here and they have aligned themselves with the Tillers.”

Ulfric Stormclaw spoke in a near snarl.

“We must find where these creatures make their lair and flush them out.”

Gallus spoke nodding his head at the wolf lord.

“Agreed but the Tau are not the only allies the Tillers have, Colonel Vannon if you will.”
The leader of the chem dogs arose. He looked about the room and spoke slowly at first.

“Approximately three hours and thirty minutes after the assault on New Pavus began my men came into contact with something… grotesque. The video you are about to see is disturbing.”

Another cockpit of another Valkyrie flew above the firry night of New Pavus. The Valkyrie unleashed its incendiary payload on a group of advancing Tiller soldiers, when suddenly the flyer shook viciously and veered downward, the pilot struggled to minimize the damage of the crash landing. The Valkyrie made its forced landing the pilot and co pilot died on impact. Then the six surviving chem dogs exited the Valkyrie and entered the frame of the front facing camera, one of them went to check on the dead pilots’ status. As the soldier found the pilots dead another of the surviving crew pointed somewhere off screen and then the chem dogs began firing. Their las guns did little good to halt the swarm of flesh eating flies that fell upon them. As the flies bit and pestered the squirming troopers a squad of humanoid creatures stampeded across their ranks, beating the guardsmen with horn, hoof and rifle butt. The video ended.

Brother Captain Athenar spoke his voice riddled with rage.

“There is no question that is the filth of chaos.”

Commissar Hattori spoke.

“So the Tillers have allied themselves with these heretics.”

Colonel Vannon spoke.

“I’m not sure about that. You see we engaged the heretics on the the northern side of the wall they were totally isolated from the Tillers and Tau forces. They would have been more effective if they had coordinated their assault together. Their strategy seemed to rely heavily on them not being near the Tillers. Perhaps the Tillers were completely unaware of their involvement.”

Gallus spoke sounding displeased with the colonel’s analysis.

“Regardless if the Tillers are chaos worshipers, they are still traitors and need to be eliminated.”

Randall added.

“Gallus is right; we do not have reason to give these men the benefit of the doubt.”

Commissar Hattori cleared his throat.

“Regarding these chaos worshipers I have some news.”

The Commissar looked around the table seeing that all eyes were upon him.

“Approximately four hours prior to my arrival on Payne island, my scouts located an abandoned fortress deep in the swamplands of Spiri. As we speak a task force made up of my Dragoons and a squad of Inquisitor Randall’s and Captain Athenar’s Grey Knights are launching their assault on the fortress. “

Murmurs went about the table, Ulfric voiced his opinion.

“I praise your initiative Commissar. While we were here discussing how to best uproot these traitors you had taken action.”

Gallus was not as amused.

“Why would you wait till now to inform us of this?”

Randall answered on the Commissars behalf

“It was on my order, the Dragoons had an opportunity to strike at the heretics and I didn’t want to risk allowing them the chance to flee.”

Extar spoke. “You act boldly inquisitor; I pray that you are not acting rashly.”

Governor Payne soon changed the topic.

“Baring all this talk of heretical uprising there is some good news. The horrid Dread mob has finally been destroyed.”

Ulfric laughed hardily as he slapped his adamantium plated knee and gestured over to Riley.

“Thanks in large part to this man right here. Tempestor Riley slew the bastard ork in single combat.”

Riley was not used to being praised by a Space Marine he scanned the Wolf Lord’s voice for sarcasm but found none. Riley’s plan of not speaking quickly crumbled.

“Ugh, thanks… Captain Dallaire helped.”

Ardan spoke.

“Regarding the dread mob, my men are still reeling from the casualties we took, and Alpha Faolan has fallen into a deep coma. Any assistance any of you might offer would be much obliged.”

Ulfric spoke

“I have a wolf priest in my company, perhaps his knowledge of Fenrisian medicine might come in aid.”

Ardan bowed his head, he was not sure what good a superstitious Space Wolf would do but he was willing to try anything.

“You honor us lord Stormclaw.”

Governor Payne spoke.

“I think we all have a clearer understanding of what must be done. I thank you my lords and call this meeting to a close.”

Hands were shaken and bows were bowed and all exited the governor’s meeting hall except for one Tobias Payne. The governor produced a watch on a chain from his coat pocket. The governor opened the watch and stared deeply into a picture of a women for a few seconds before returning the relic to his coat. The governor stood and headed for the door so that he might wish the departing crusaders safe travels back to their camps.

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2017/03/20 05:10:03

Made in be
Thunderhawk Pilot Dropping From Orbit

In the Warp, getting trolled by Tactical_Spam, AKA TZEENTCH INCARNATE

--Payne Manor--

Chef glanced carefully around the corner, making sure that no-one had followed him down this corridor. His current position left him with little freedom; the servants at Payne Manor led busy, if somewhat comfortable, lives, making it difficult to find time and opportunity to report to his… employers. He’d managed to slip away from his duties for a moment, but he knew that it wouldn’t be long before someone came looking for him.

He produced a small metallic box from one of his pouches, and pressed its two buttons in a sequence only his Operator and he himself knew. A single red light at the top of the device blinked softly in confirmation, before turning off again. Now he just had to wait. The signal would be virtually untraceable, but it took longer to establish the connection; a safety measure he’d not been entirely comfortable with from the start.

Chef peeked around the corner again. The past few weeks had been rather uneventful, and had seen him gain little new information. The death of Rodrick Cornell Payne had been a godsend, in that respect; the Imperial commanders had had little choice but to show up to the man’s funeral, lest they risk the ire of the Planetary Governor and their peers. And with them all being in the same place anyway, they’d seen fit to hold another war council, in the same place they’d held their last one, no less…

The light on his device turned green, and its vox unit crackled to life.


The voice speaking was distorted and mechanical; he couldn’t tell whether the one on the other side of the line was male or female, or even human.

“Sigma. Four. Kilo. Twenty-Seven.”

Chef spoke the words hastily, trying to keep his voice down as much as he could. There was still no-one in the corridor, but he knew that could change soon.

“Confirmed. Report.”

He sighed in relief, and began his report.

“Anticitizens receiving help from Pulsar units, reason unknown; the source of the Plague has been found and is being contained; Clanker has been taken to the scrapyard; Hounds and Wolves are bleeding. No sign of hunters on the prowl.”

There was only static for a moment, before the voice spoke again.

“Confirmed. Return to your duties.”

The green light turned off, and the line went dead. Chef hastily put the device back in his pouch, before walking back down the corridor…

Tactical_Spam: Ezra is fighting reality right now.

War Kitten: Vanden, you just taunted the Dank Lord Ezra. Prepare for seven years of fighting reality...

War Kitten: Ezra can steal reality

Kharne the Befriender:Took him seven years but he got it wrangled down

Made in ca
Heroic Senior Officer

Krieg! What a hole...

---- Crion, Battalion HQ of the 85th ----

'' To say things went poorly is an understatement, and I take full blame for what happened '' opened up Gallus '' I misused our men and in the end, we've lost almost half the unit, I know commanders that were executed for less... Its a good thing there are no commissar around ''

Gallus took a small breath and continued on
'' As such, we will rethink our plans, using our men as line infantry was a clear mistake, one I should not have done, from now on, we're sticking strickly to recce and intelligence gathering ''

'' What about my unit, sir? '' interrupted Riley

'' You'll be kept in reserve and used to support friendlies, but not in a static role, I will decide who you'll help and where you will drop, you handle the business on the ground. Now, we have to take measures regarding the possible security leak that the slate monitrons represent, most of the enlisted slates don't have anything the enemy can use, but those from Tempestors are a risk, the rebels might be able to track the men who were under the command of the fallen Tempestors ''

'' I though our slates were protected agaisnt enemy tempering? '' asked a Tempestor

'' As we saw, the Tau are more than able to temper with our technology, bypassing whatever security the cogboys installed on the slates might be bypassed by the Tau, given enough time, of that I have no doubt ''

'' What measures are we taking then, sir? ''

'' We will reform the squads, platoons and companies, such that the intel in the slates is outdated, if we have to engage the Heretics, we will not use men from that were at New Pavus if possible, anyone caught wearing our gear is to be killed and the gear either destroyed or recovered. Make sure our security at the gates take their sweet time making sure the people entering the camp are actual Scions, they might try to use our uniform for infltration purposes. Make sure we use the Martyr's Kit grenades, I am sure there's a way so that they get triggered when the Slate detects no life functions ''

'' That'll take some tempering, but our adepts should be able to come up with something ''

'' Good, we'll spread our forces again, I want four teams keeping tabs on New Pavus, one for the Tau, one for the Nurglites, one for the Tillers and the last one reporting on general movement ''

'' Is the Payne traitor still somewhat a priority, sir? ''

'' We wont track him, but have a sniper handy in every team, might as well put a round though him if we can. We'll also send a team to keep tab on the Ork mob we recently dealt with, while Tempestor Secundus Enoch managed to kill the Warboss and what we assume are most of their commandoes, we can't dismiss the possibility that they'll reform a new mob. As for the rest of our forces, I am waiting for fellow Imperial factions to make a move, we'll provide accurate intelligence, I've already offered our support during the previous briefing ''

Member of 40k Montreal There is only war in Montreal
Primarchs are a mistake
DKoK Blog:http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/list/419263.page Have a look, I guarantee you will not see greyer armies, EVER! Now with at least 4 shades of grey

Savageconvoy wrote:
Snookie gives birth to Heavy Gun drone squad. Someone says they are overpowered. World ends.

Made in us
Rotting Sorcerer of Nurgle

The Dog-house

There were a few suppressed snickers from the back of his party as Zehk pulled himself out of another pool of muddy, algae-laden water. Why the Dark Lord sent him to this damned swamp escaped him. No directive, no insight, just a finger in the direction of a portal and the assurance that all was just as planned. Zehk hated that.

Zehk wiped the clinging algae from his helmet lenses. The dark form of Commissar Schäfer appeared beside him in the time it took to clean his lenses. She put a hand on his chest and pressed a finger against her mouth then point towards a clearing off in the distance. Dim flashes of light could be seen in the low lying fog.

"I saw it five minutes ago. We shouldn't come close to it on our current course," Zehk said irritably. He could already hear the pitiful complaints of the cultist rabble behind him. Schäfer pulled off the gas mask she had been wearing since they entered the swamp.

"But do you smell it, Twiceborn? The Rot Father's blessing is... abundant over there."

"The last thing I was to deal with is maggot-eating, corpse-walkers." Zehk pushed her aside and trudged forwards. He stopped after fifty paces when he didn't hear anyone following him, "Come on!"

"You've said it yourself," Schäfer said, heading in the direction of the shooting, "We don't have any mission so we might as well head for anything that looks interesting." Zehk grumbled to himself and followed behind the Commissar. Whatever Warp-tainted charisma Schäfer possessed was apparently stronger than the desire of not being riddled with bolter shells.

The cultists, now being lead by their fearless shepard, seemed eager to find whatever awaited them in the clearing beyond. Though as they came closer to their destination, the fanaticism began to fade. More than one cultist had keeled over and vomited into the grimy water, which now was infested with biting insects and swarms of bloated leeches. Greasy crows cawed and judged the cultists through their three eyes. Trees twisted and rotted where they stood. Frogs croaked phlegmily and laughed at the cultists. Yellow, seven-petal flowers smelling of corpses and bile grew from every available piece of ground. Everything was a testament to the Plague god's touch.

The clearing was just as hellish as the surrounding area. A wide arc of Scions, faithful lapdogs of the Corpse-Emperor, fired white hot lances through the broken form of a cathedral. Cultists devoted to Nurgle, Father of Decay, returned fire though most who did ended on the floor, cauterized holes the only true indication of death. There were few brave enough or simply too unintelligent to care that ran forward to meet the Scions in hand to hand. Nurgle's favor was great in these ones. A plague-ridden Spawn smashed aside half a dozen cultists before it was reduced to slag by several meltaguns. A fat cultist charged a Scion, rusty bayonet finding its mark under the Scion's armpit. The cultist drove it deep before his head was caved in by a lasrifle butt.

"Stoic as ever are the faithful to Nurgle," Zehk chuckled, slamming a fresh drum into his storm bolter. His cultists and beastmen took up positions behind rotting trees or in the high weeds. Zehk was the only one left in the open, not that he needed the cover. Cover was for the weak. "Cut them down"

Zehk waded towards the lines of Scions, storm bolter rattling off death to the first few unlucky Scions. Realizing they had been flanked, the rest of the Scions immediately took up defensive positions and fired back. The Nurgle cultists seized the opportunity and began their counteroffensive. A wave of them burst from their citadel and charged the Scions. The next wave that followed behind them was upon the Scions before the first cultist fell. It had worked except for one missed crucial detail.

"Traitor!" a silver Astartes called out to Zehk, sword leveled at his throat, "Face me!" Zehk laughed at him and drew his chainsword, revving it.

Release me, the snake beckoned, its presence forcing itself onto Zehk's conscience, You fight no mere Brother, but a Grey Knight! He will end us swiftly if I do not fight him.

"Us? There is no us. I will fight him!" Zehk roared and charged the Grey Knight, chainsword held high. He brought it down for a killing blow to the neck, but the Grey Knight deflected the blow with his pauldron, stepped to Zehk's left side and riposted, driving his force sword swiftly through Zehk's abdomen and removing it. There was a faint cough as Zehk fell to his knees.

"I am the bane of his foes and the woes of the treacherous..." the Grey Knight uttered, almost silently as he brought his sword high for like an executioner.

RELEASE ME, the snake rang in his ears till they bled. The Grey Knight would have seen Zehk's exertion had he not been wearing his helmet. I WILL KILL HIM!

I am not your slave, daemon, Zehk thought while grinding his teeth together. There was a battle being fought over his own mind and he was not going to surrender a second time. He forgot about the Grey Knight and focused on the snake.

His mind was his second home and subsequently resembled the deserts of Kattifrakk. Sand drifted around Zehk's bronze legs. He looked up and saw the snake, Suolyn'ne, sitting atop her throne and looking intently back at him. She slithered down and coiled herself around Zehk's unarmored body. He could not move to stop her. It was as if he was paralyzed. Paralyzed by the one thing he was indoctrinated to forget: fear.

"Let me fight him," Suolyn'ne cooed in his ear, "Let me add another skull to your rack." Her grip grew tighter. Zehk strained to breathe. His twin hearts drummed in his chest. "You have nothing to lose. Ryus listened to me and look where he is now. He wages wars on the dogs of the Corpse-Emperor with powers you could only dream of. He has a legion of men and daemons bending their knee to him and you could too... if you just let me take over."

"You get ahead of yourself," Zehk choked out, "You think I am Ryus." Suolyn'ne's grip did not feel so tight anymore. Zehk tore himself from the snake. Offended, she slithered back to her throne and hissed at him. Zehk laughed. He reached into the sand and retrieved a flail. Zehk was unsure as to why this was the weapon that he thought of first, but he figured it was some sort of analogy of his character. "I am not Ryus. I am Zehk the Twiceborn, the Kinslayer, the Crazed and the Champion of the New Order and I will not be made a slave to a false god again." Zehk swung his flail up around his head and brought it down on the snake's throne. Obsidian splinters flew into the air like ash. The snake leapt forward from her shattered resting place, chitinous claws extended. A bronze hand meet her perfectly androgynous face and rendered it imperfect. The snake fell to the sand and held one of her hands to her face. Black ichor dripped from her shattered nose and cheekbone. The head of the flail connected with the other side of her face as she looked up. The snake hit the sand at a remarkable speed.

"You son of a whore," the snake gasped, "I could have made you into a god."

"I am Astartes. I kill gods," Zehk said and brought the flail down on the snake's head.

* * *

"Last words, heretic?" the Grey Knight asked. Zehk snapped back to reality and sank his head down. He reached up and unfastened his helmet clamps for the first time in five years. His helmet was casually tossed into the swamp. The Grey Knight looked down on an unremarkable face.

"Where is your god now?"

A bolt shell slammed into the Grey Knight's shoulder and threw him off balance. Seeing that fate smiled upon Zehk for the first time in a long time, Zehk rose up and grabbed the Grey Knight's sword. He could feel the Grey Knight muster his psychic strength to aid him. A forceful headbutt reassured the Grey Knight to the fact that he wasn't getting his sword back. The Grey Knight stumbled back, Zehk now holding his sword. The Grey Knight raised his storm bolter.

"Justicar! Our position is lost!" a Scion yelled to the Grey Knight. He looked around and saw the Scions slowing being cut down, one by one. Las fire and stubber rounds were making their way towards the Grey Knight as there were no Scions left to fight. The Justicar cursed Zehk and retreated with the Scions, leaving his sword in the possession of Zehk. A guttural roar of victory came from the cathedral as the plagued cultists and Astartes made their way out. Zehk could feel Schäfer's gaze burn into the back of his head.

"Three men have died and two are wounded. Half our ammo is depleted," the Commissar informed her superior. Zehk could hear her carve 3 notched into her bolt pistol.

"Put the other two out of their misery. They won't last around this sort of company," Zehk said heading in the direction of the cathedral. He heard her notch her gun twice more before it barked twice and two final bodies fell into the swamp.

H.B.M.C.- The end hath come! From now on armies will only consist of Astorath, Land Speeder Storms and Soul Grinders!
War Kitten- Vanden, you just taunted the Dank Lord Ezra. Prepare for seven years of fighting reality...
koooaei- Emperor: I envy your nipplehorns. <Magnus goes red. Permanently>
Neronoxx- If our Dreadnought doesn't have sick scuplted abs, we riot.
Frazzled- I don't generally call anyone by a term other than "sir" "maam" "youn g lady" "young man" or " HEY bag!"
Ruin- It's official, we've ran out of things to talk about on Dakka. Close the site. We're done.
mrhappyface- "They're more what you'd call guidlines than actual rules" - Captain Roboute Barbosa
Steve steveson- To be clear, I'd sell you all out for a bottle of scotch and a mid priced hooker.
Made in ca
Stabbin' Skarboy

Inquisition Camp sixty miles outside Cogger Hive.

Randall and his inner retinue gathered around his war table. The table was a rich six century old mahogany, made using only the finest Cadian wood. While the table was an intricate piece of art lace work weaving its way across its sides and legs it was far more than ornate. A hologram projector rested in the center of the table. Now this projector emitted the form of Justicar Freeman, his silver armor rendered now in blue light.

The Grey Knight reported to the inquisitor, he spoke with bitterness in his voice.

“My Lord our attack failed. The Dragoons were forced to retreat; it seems a second heretical faction has come to aid this filth.”

Randall spoke to the Grey Knight, while his tone was resolute it betrayed the smallest hint of concern.

“Justicar, pull your men and the Dragoons back to safety but keep your eyes on these heretics, I do not want them escaping. We will be en route to reinforce you and take that damn fortress.”

The Grey Knight pounded his fist to his breast plate and spoke

“Your will be done.”

The Justicar then terminated the connection.

Randall looked over to his advisors and spoke.

“How long before we can move on Spiri.”

Commissar Alenko reported.

“I can have the men planet side in forty-eight hours.”

Randall shook his head.

“Not fast enough make it thirty.”

Alenko nodded.

“It will be difficult but it can be done.”

Captain Amanda Kid spoke.

“We won’t be able to field our Malcadors in that swamp, I suggest we send them to Drake’s Point for safe storage.”

Randall spoke.
“A good point, Warden Hoffman leave a small cohort of your Arbites and convicts to guard the Malcadors as they are transported.”

Hoffman replied
“Can do sir.”

Brother Athenar spoke
“Myself, Paladin Utilitarius and the rest my men will leave ahead of the main force.”

Randall nodded differing to the Astartes judgment.

Randall looked to his advisors and spoke

“We can not let this heretical weed to take root, we must purge it now while we still can, for the emperor. Inquisition dismissed”

Those gathered repeated “For the Emperor” and began their preparations for the war to come.
Made in ie
Nurgle Veteran Marine with the Flu

Cork, Ireland

Unrelenting rain battered the robust hull of the thunderhawk as the hounds returned to their den with their tails in between their legs, shattered from their experience with the Gargant. Ardan watched on as Rhodri desperately tried to keep a crippled Cearul and an unresponsive Faolan alive.

“My Narthecium cannot do much more” disappointedly expressed Rhodri

“Except harvest their geneseed, … We need to get them to Brother Siron immediately”

Ardan’s own ribs were broken and fractured yet he knew his Siron and Rhodri would have their hands full, The chapter will recover in time but they cannot faulter in their service, not to this crusade and not to the Emperor.Gritting his teeth Ardan straightened his posture, they were about to return home.

The thunderhawk landed gracefully and opened immediately to Brother Siron who quickly scooped up Faolan and led him out of the aircraft. Rhodri assisted a dazed Cearul, walking him quickly behind Siron. Ardan was the last to disembark and was greeted by dozens of his brothers who now looked to the old dog for leadership, what Ardan experienced next was not stage fright but a haze of uncertainty, unsure of what to say, how to inspire he simply spat out whatever would relieve him of such a dire situation

“The Imperium has not survived this long by gawking, back to your duties”

The gathered crowd dispersed allowing Ardan to skulk to the makeshift chapel that allowed one some quiet. Ardan knelt before his Emperor no matter how much his ribs protested, he prayed for guidance in the coming days, he prayed that his sword arm strikes true when the chapter needs him most, he prayed that in his final days that he does his chapter proud. A noise from behind the marine forced the marine from his solitude, Brother Carwyn approached Ardan slowly.

“I knew i’d find you here” uttered the chaplain “Seeking guidance for your new …. Position ?”

Ardan began to rise before Carwyn outstretched his crozius

“Sit and let me assist you in your duties Brother Rymus, now what is it you seek ?”

“Guidance as you said, strength in battle and a good death” admitted Ardan

“I see” stated Carwyn “All things that are in your power to achieve”

Ardan eyed the bone white helm with shrewd eyes “Speak plainly brother, I am not in the mood for vagueness”

“Guidance, the chapter needs your experience and mind not your body we have plenty whom would sacrifice theirs as you have done. Secondly , Strength, you posses a strong sword arm brother and it will always strike true provided you purge whatever self doubt clouds your judgement. Finally a good death, provided you fight like a cornered animal every time brother you will have a good death, that I guarantee”.

With that Carwyn departed as quickly as he came, not one for small talk he knew his purpose, said what needed to be said and left, leaving Ardan to ponder his actions.

The marine lifted himself up gripping the hilt of his chainsword tightly and walked back out of the muted chapel and made his way to the command center of Canis Caelum. Ardan took a deep breath and entered the room with a hiss of the door. The room looked desolate, with one flickering light beamed above the central circular table with a holographic map of Luna Maximus which was scattered with various Imperial aquilas. Scattered papers and files were spread all over the room with seats not tucked back in under their desks. The air was stale and dusty and sunlight was creeping in from the closed windows. It just dawned on Ardan that he must have been the first one to step foot in the command center since they all marched off to face the Dread Mobb, turning on the main lights and opening the windows, Ardan began freshening up the command center again. He called in servitors to organise the files and papers and had serfs monitor the derelict radio channels and security systems that connect all across Imperial systems on Crion and her moons. With the Command Centre back in shape Ardan began to read the reports on his allies and their progress in this crusade, the Chaos insurrection at Hive Crogger seems to have been stamped out under Inquisitor Randall and his allies while the Tillers have been gaining momentum on Crion herself with a decisive blow in the form of New Pavus. Rumors of a Nurglite Cult in Arcannus has forced the neighbouring city of Nortannis to enable Quarantine. Rumors of a Tau presence have been rumored but nothing concrete on that front as of yet and Payne’s have been dying left and right. A red blinking light on the Holographic map sent the Command Centre in disarray, The signal was a distress beacon from the city of Canhock, a mere stone's throw away from Canis Caelum. Ardan sprang into action

“Get me a feed from the city’s security cameras immediately, prepare a squad to depart in 5 minutes and get me contact with the mayoral office”

Serfs were sent scattering from the command center to relay their Alpha’s orders

Who would be so bold to attack a city right from under our noses ? thought Ardan

A nearby monitor buzzed to life showing a market square in Canhock, Blood was seeping into the ground as mutilated corpses littered the marketplace. The market stalls were on fire and there was screams in the background. A second monitor beamed on revealing a saggy old man wielding a shaky glass of wine, men all around him were checking windows and barricading doors. He featured a pathetic comb over and a feeble pencil moustache, he was overweight and patches of sweat had developed under his laboring armpits.

“Mayor , this is Ardan Rymus of the Emperor’s Hounds reporting in, give me your name and situation at once”

The old man sipped his cup of wine again and spilt droplets over his numerous chins, he did not bother to wipe them off before responding

“My name is Kurt Baasch Space Marine and the truth is we don’t bloody know what is happening, they struck fast and have sent the city in disarray. I have since fled to my safe room with whatever guardsmen I could gather and await my fate”

“Stand firm Bassch we are on our way”

Baasch nodded and opened another bottle of wine before the transmission was cut.

What remained of Honor Guard Madra was gathered at the launch pad along with Tactical Squad Mara. Emyr Glaw, Pryce Nye and Cabhan Cadarn stood expectantly as Ardan greeted the battered band of warriors. Their deep purple armor was scratched and dented from the gargant, their weapons were bloodied and dirty and their expressions were grim

“Something dares to strike under our noses, perhaps they think they can get away with it in our weakened state”

Ardan chuckled

“The fools, let’s go show these xenos the extent of their sins”

A few marines cracked a smile before donning their helms, the best Ardan could hope for given the present situation.

The flight was short and his aircraft was requesting landing permission for the Mayor’s palace before he knew it

“Sergeant Donnus land your squad near the city’s gates and organise whatever guardsmen remain, form a perimeter and keep in contact at all times”

“Roger that landing now”

Honor Guard Madra stepped out onto the deserted platform with suspicion, rain swept the city with looting and rioting occurring below if the screams are to be any indication.

“Sergeant Donnus keep an eye out for looters and rioters, suppressed them if they persist in their activities”

“Will do”

A thunder from a bolter brought one desperate criminal to a foul end over the comlink

“The palace is deserted” spotted Pryce “Are we too late ?”

“No signs of blood or combat” surveyed Cabhan “Where was this safe room ?”

“Around this corner” answered Ardan as he navigated the luxurious halls of marble and silk.

Flanked on both sides by ceremonial pieces of armor lead the marines to a thick steel door that one could have mistaken for a bank

“Guess this is where the mayor is hiding” stated Emyr

“No signs of entry, lets go”

Ardan approached the steel door

“Mayor Baasch, the palace is secure come on out”

Seconds went by with silence, Ardan was worried that there was nought but rotting bodies behind the wall of steel but the creaking of a wheel turning reassured him

Two bulky men armed with Accatran Model 34s were the first to emerge behind them stubbled the small man who appeared on the monitor earlier, his balance was off his breath stank of wine and he had bloodshot eyes

Ardan turned to a nearby guardsmen

“How much did he have to drink ?”

The guardsmen scratched his head

“Three or four bottles ? He doesn’t take stress well milord”

Ardan growled

“Take your men and secure the palace, then work your way down to the rest of the city”

The guardsmen was about to object but the stabbing eyes from Ardan proved to be persuasive.

“Sergeant Donnus report, what is your status ?”

“The lower city is in disarray but no xenos presence detected, a lot of blood and gore but no xenos corpses, some bodies have been poisoned indicating eldar involvement”

Ardan clenched his jaw

“I am on my way”

Kurt Baasch reached out to the departing marines

“W-W-Where are you g-g-going ?”

Ardan stopped and turned around

“Mayor Baasch, you ever had any trouble with the tillers ?”

The man stared into Ardan’s eyes for what seemed like an eternity before lazily shaking his head

“I see, well your city is succumbing to rioting and looting and if enough damage is done starvation is likely to follow, on top of that seeing their mayor hide in his home while the city is ravaged will only give the tillers support here in Canhock and if that happens then the Emperor’s Hounds might just see it necessary to declare martial law. If things come to that, there will only be one to blame”.

With the warning served Ardan left the palace to survey the scene at the main gate. It was a scene of carnage, Blood and guts decorated the streets like cobblestones, mutilated corpses were commonplace. Vomit was sprayed all over the nearby alleyways due to either the smell or the sheer sight of the scene. Poison shards were embedded in some of the structures and many people have been reported missing. There was no doubt in Ardan’s mind that this was the eldar’s handiwork, he had witnessed it on Aspen many times.

“Sergeant Donnus remain here and keep order, and keep that mayor in line”

Ardan embarked back on his thunderhawk and headed back to Canis Caelum

“You requested my presence sir ?”

It was Idris, one of the more prominent serfs that served the chapter

“Get Taranis of the Carcharodons on standby, I have some news he might be interested in “

This message was edited 2 times. Last update was at 2017/04/01 13:35:46

Sgt. Vanden I bet Irish can do that by flashing his bear chest.
Sgt. Vanden Irish is the definition of a Dutch oven
Made in ie
Nurgle Veteran Marine with the Flu

Cork, Ireland

The refugee camp that sat just outside of Nortannis’s walls was everything the Tillers hated about Crion. The motley excuse for shelter was little more than some wind scarred tents and swamp wood fires. Disease had swept the camp killing some of the refugees and weakening many others, mothers held their dying young ones in their arms waiting for the inevitable, sons buried their fathers and husbands watched as their wives withered away. Here the Tillers made temporary lodging, seven of the freedom fighters gathered around a weak fire while the remaining Tillers stood guard. Mason looked up at Spencer as he poked at the fire with a wet reed.

Mason spoke.
“You never answered my question lieutenant, how did you get out of the city”

Lieutenant Mills did not look up from the fire as he spoke.
“Bad luck, we got word of a loyalist weapons shipment that was en route to Nortannis. Intel suggested that it was guarded by only a single squad of guards from Dorn’s Shield, easy pickings. So I took twenty of my best men and set an ambush. We pull the usual shenanigan put one of our men in a pdf rags and crash a bike in the middle of the road, the plan was fine. Only thing that went wrong was instead of some jack ass PDFers ten of the damn sisters leaped out of those trucks. The boys thought they could take them and began opening fire. Last thing I remember before everything goes dark was the screams of my men as the sisters burned them alive with their flamers.”

Lynn looked over.
“How did you survive?”

The fire reflected in Mills’s eyes
“After the battle was over some old man found me, took me back to his rice patty and nursed me back to health. Funny part is he saw my PDF uniform and told me it was an honor to help one of Crion’s finest. By the time I was able to get out of bed the city was already in lockdown. “

Mason rubbed his chin.
“So you haven’t been inside the city in months, how do you intend to get us in there.”

Mills sighed.
“I know of a way but it won’t be easy. There are some ancient ruins not far to the south, from what I understand they should lead into the city.”

Mason raised an eyebrow.


Mills elaborated.

“People have tried to explore these ruins but all sorts of horrible things live down there, no one has ever returned from that place.”

Mason chuckled
“Sounds lovely.”

The lieutenant made no comment and watched in silence as the last of the fire's embers become ash.

The swamp water was chest deep and the Tillers now hoisted their crude collection of auto and las guns over their head. Mason swiped away with his sword at mangled swamp bushes and long reeds. The tillers were constantly swatting at the mosquitos and other biting insects but Mason paid them no mind.

Despite these miserable conditions the Tillers made the best of their trek, singing as they marched. Kyle “Lucky” Buchanan led his comrades in the song.
“The wind may blow, the cock may crow
The rain may rain, and the snow may snow
But you will not frighten Jack Nassau
The boldest pirate you ever saw.”
Mason smiled as Lynn joined her fellow Tillers in song
“At long last from across the sea, when Horatio he sends after me
When we get there with our big guns, of course the battle it was won.
For the enemy did a' run away' when they caught sight of Big Nassau.
A man like him so big and mean, could never be killed by a laslock’s beam.”

A part of Mason wished he knew the words to the ballad of this captain Nassau.
“The wind may blow, the cock may crow
The rain may rain, and the snow may snow
But you will not frighten Jack Nassau
The boldest pirate you ever saw.”
Lieutenant Mills saw the half sunken statue of one of the fabled Blood Dragons and spoke. The black stone guardian gazed a thousand miles north deep into the jaws of a sunken cave.

“We are near.”

Just as the Lieutenant spoke a pair of coal black eyes rose above the green murk. Poor Kyle “Lucky” Buchanan never stood a chance as the massive gator clamped down on his torso. The Tiller screamed in agony as the gator began gnawing on his lower abdomen. The Tillers rose their weapons and aimed for the beast but could not get a shot without hitting their comrade. Kyle gave one final bloodcurdling screech before the fifteen-foot monster dragged the Tiller under the black and bloody swamp water. Three bubbles arose and then the swamp fell silent again.

Lyn screamed as she fired blindly into the swamp.

Mason spoke

“There’s nothing we can do now.”

Lyn cursed as the Lieutenant spoke more to himself than anyone else.

“There is a reason these ruins are unexplored.”

Slowly the Tillers trudged forward into an ancient cavern, they deployed glow orbs and activated what ever lights they had. The dim neon lights illuminated the murky bog water in a moot green glow. The ancient walls of the cave now mostly weathered and taken hold by the swamp fauna. Occasionally ancient stone faces of men and dragons jetted from the walls, whatever emotion they conveyed at their construction was lost replaced now by misery and dread.

Mason looked at the carving and he felt as if these stone guardians still watched him.

“What was this place for?” asked Mason.

Lieutenant Mills spoke in whispers.

“Isn’t it obvious, this is a tomb.”

The Tillers and Mason entered the next room, the water level dropped from their waists to their knees and the tomb began to seem in better condition here than at the cave’s entry. Along either side of the wall was a great stone mural depicting two dragons eating each others tails. At the center of the circle of dragons was some words written in the Blood Dragons forgotten tongue. Above the carvings were two stone dragon gargoyles forever roaring at the floor bellow them.

Mason looked around him this place didn’t feel right. Mason looked over to Lyn and spoke.

“Do you have any idea what that symbol means?”

Lyn spoke remembering the history she learned back in school.

“Scholars call it the ouroboros, nobody knows what it means. Some say that the dragons represented the Blood Dragons and Crion and how they were one, others say that it is a prophecy that one day the Blood Dragons will return and swallow all evil and chaos. I like to think it a metaphor for the struggle of Crion’s people forever at odds with the world itself.”

Mason was about to comment on the subject when the two tillers at point blundered. The stone gargoyles eyes ignited in flame as fountains of blazing promethium erupted from their mouths and engulfed the two unlucky Tillers in flame. The flames roared for five seconds before they quit leaving only the flaming corpses of two Tillers.

Lieutenant Mills cursed

“Emperor damn it this place is booby-trapped, watch where you step.”
“How do you expect us to do that with all this damn water.” Growled one of the surviving Tillers.

Mills spoke as he cautiously stepped forward. “Just be careful damn it.”

Eventually the Tillers were completely out of the water Mason found that a large leech had clung itself to his leg Mason removed the parasite and quickly placed this gift from Nurgle into his pouch for later.

The floor was covered in moss and the bones of rats and other large vermin. Mason heard one of the Tillers still humming the ballad of Captain Nassau to himself, barely audible over the crunching of bones and squishing of moss. Soon Mason that the bones grew larger as they progressed deeper and deeper into the ruins, there was no mistake these were human remains. The part came to a massive room. Several generations of human skulls littered the floor accompanied by the scattered remains of the rest of their corpses. Mason kneeled down and looked at the bones, some of them still had bits of flesh clung to them and the rabid bite marks of rats.

Mason drew his pistol as he spoke.

“This one is only a few days old. Whatever did this might still be lurking around.”

Lyn looked raised her rifle and spoke

“What could possibly have done all this.”

Lyn’s answer came in the form of a synthetic bellow.

“Who dares trespass upon my brothers’ graves.”

Mechanical red eyes came to life in the darkness as the massive dreadnaught lumbered into the Tillers light.

“By the Emperor.” Said Lyn.

One of the Tillers began firing his auto gun at the mechanical giant. The Dreadnaught spoke.

“Heresy detected, purging with extreme prejudice.”

The dreadnaught seized the offending Tiller and crushed his torso in the palm of his massive power fist.

Mills shouted as he pointlessly shot at the armored behemoth.

“Run, run, run.”

The Tillers scattered and began heading down any path they could find. However two more of the rebels were not quick enough as the dreadnaught seized one by its legs and slammed him against the floor. The second Tiller was engulfed by the fire of the power fist’s built in flamer.

“Fleeing is futile your destruction in arraigned.”

Mills, Mason, Lyn and three of the surviving Tillers ran down a long corridor. They heard a life ending scream from their missing comrade and did not slow down for a fear of joining him.

Eventually Lieutenant Mills came to a stop attempting to catch his breath.

“I think we lost it.”

One of the surviving Tillers began hyperventilating.

“We’re so feth, emperor damn it why’d we come here.”

Lyn smacked the back of the Tillers head

“Get a hold of yourself, panicking won’t do anybody any good.”

As the Tillers began a frightened argument over how they should proceed Mason noticed something that looked brass beneath the moss covered walls, something unlike the rest of the ruins. Mason approached the metal on the wall and began clearing away the decades of mold and began seeing letters. Mason clawed more at the green gunk and found a sign.

“137886-2B Sewer Access.”

Lyn laughed a mixture of relief and disbelief.

“This is it we made it.”

Mason saw a wheel overgrown in moss and mold, he seized it and began turning it with all his strength. Lyn and several of the Tillers began to aid Mason and soon enough the wheel cracked loose and a door that had likely not been open in two centuries creaked open and greeted thee party the putrid stink of a sewer.

Mason took a deep breath and smiled.

“Smells like freedom.”

Lyn gagged.

“Is it to late to go back and let the dreadnaught kill me.”

Mills removed a bandana from his coat and wrapped it around his face.
“Come on just try not to think about what your swimming in.”

One by one the Tillers entered the sewer and shut the entrance behind them.

While the foray into the sewers was virtually a walk in the park for Mason it was near unbearable for his Tiller allies. Mills found some writing on the wall that indicated that they were just beneath the city slums. The Tiller Lieutenant pointed to a manhole as their way out and the party eager to get out of the sewers quickly climbed the up later.

Mill’s eyes peeked out from the bottom of the manhole and found the coast was clear. Mason was momentarily blinded by the sun when Mill’s completely removed the massive metal cap. It took Mason a moment to get acclimated but eventually his eyes settled.

Mason looked at the city laid out before him a completely empty street surrounded by massive tenement blocks.

Mills laughed as he basked in the midday sun.

“Welcome to Nortannis, the city that sees all.”

Chazz wrote the vast majority of this piece, I added one line.

Sgt. Vanden I bet Irish can do that by flashing his bear chest.
Sgt. Vanden Irish is the definition of a Dutch oven
Made in us
Loyal Necron Lychguard

Working on it

=====The Megalith, Yankor, Luna Epsilon=====
Inside the conference room of the Necron base Kageros swiveled in his seat and he waited for his commanders to enter. Slowly one-by-one they eventually made their way in, first Grulahk and Numek, then Tach’var, Xarak, then finally Tach’var. Kageros looked at the bleak amber lights that kept the room from plunging into darkness, then to his command, “Alright, as I’m sure most of you are aware the Megalith is fully functional and our numbers have grown, if only by a little. The Imperium has taken down a Gargant and kept the local Ork population in check, no small feat.”

He let his words settle in before he spoke again, “The Imperium has more enemies than allies here, this we can use to our advantage, they have just spent much time and resources in battle. We shall strike now before they can fully recover or acquire more reinforcements. Hopefully our Chaos allegiances will see our banner and attack as well. This planet, this system, will be ours. I’ve already sent our battle plans to your respective terminals, we launch tomorrow.”

Everyone nodded and left, except Grulahk, he had further business with his Phaeron, “My lord, I have received word from the sentinels, one has made contact with Dahk’ash dynasty, the-”.
Kageros cut him off, “The Frozen Court, and what of our sentinel, when was he recieved?”
Grulahk turned his head, “A week ago...We’ve lost contact. The Dahk’ash are not far from here, in stellar terms, perhaps we can call on them?”
“No, the Butcher is not to be called or contacted, he would add our heads to his cloak. Enough of this though, we have much work to do.” He rose and left, a gleeful smile on his face.

They had spent the last weeks finishing the megalith, bolstering the gun emplacements, loading the hanger bays with the multitude of Necron and Tau vehicles. The Tarellians had organized into their tribes, including the newly formed necro-tarellian tribe led by Demerdul himself. The Tau under their Shas’El’s marched in their Cadres and took their seats. The metallic ivory legions of the Kageros were the last to take their place, the multitude of phalanxes stood motionlessly in the deployment bay, waiting for the time the ramp would drop and their fury be unleashed.

Kageros took his seat on the bridge, the engineering and control staff running back and forth managing the systems and trying to keep everything under control, it was a few minutes before everyone settled down. Kageros stood and looked out the front display, over the obscenely large crescent shape and large prow running straight ahead, he smirked as he thought of how many villages were smaller than it, it could crush a city with its size. His mind returned to the bridge as the staff looked to him, a great vessel demanded a great speech.
“It has been an amazing feat, what we have accomplished here. All of you on this great Megalith of ours have contributed everything you have to make this possible, people of many worlds and with many reasons find yourself here and it is with our shared hatred that we lead this newest assault. The Imperium calls these crusades, so we launch a crusade of our own and with our combined arms this crusade of fury will be christened with the blood of empires. Today we rise.”

No sooner were the words uttered that craft shook and surged with energy, the anti-gravitational and propulsion systems kicked to life with a deafening roar and a blast the felled trees. The stark white hull shimmered in the sun as the gold plating glimmered. Kageros howled with laughter as he held onto his seat, “Bridge, set course to Hive Cogger. Actually, belay that order, set course for Arcannus."

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2017/04/28 22:33:10

<Dynasty> ~10500pts
War Coven of the Coruscating Gaze ~3000pts
Thrice-Damned Plague Corps ~3250pts
Admech (TBN) ~3500pts +30k Bots and Ulator

Made in us
Stabbin' Skarboy

The Space Wolves had settled themselves in the Blood Dragons ruins. Ulfric disliked this place its taboo nature contaminated the Wolf Lord’s senses. The zone which had been dubbed Site Charlie was some sort of laboratory and the Blood Dragons went through great pains to ensure that it would never be tampered with. The ruins nearly killed several of Ulfric’s best scouts and wounded several more. The Wolf Lord wanted nothing to do with this place and were it not for the pleading and coaxing of his Iron Priest he would have abandoned this site long ago. But Brother Davard insisted that these ruins were of technological importance and that they could hold secrets that could help the entire chapter. Eventually Ulfric buckled to the priest’s request and ordered his men to site Charlie, he figured they earned a rest after having triumphed over the Gargant. Still Ulfric would have rather made camp with the Wotan in the Avar mountains or with House Valorn at Grimjoy Hive, but Ulfric will manage two weeks was little to pay for “Perhaps the greatest rediscovery in the last century “. Still the faces of stone dragons made the wolf lord uneasy, Davard better be right.


The wolf lord turned to see the commander of his wolf guard Conan. The Wolf Lord smiled at his old friend and spoke.

“Have we run out of ale again?”

Conan spoke ignoring the Wolf Lord’s joke.

“Brother Davard has sent for you he says the Blood Dragon dreadnaught has awakened.”

Ulfric was not expecting this news, the Dreadnaught had not come online since it was discovered in the behemoth in site Hennery on the moon. Ulfric had not known that Davard was still working on the Dreadnaught.

“Where are they.”

Conan pointed to some ruins and spoke

“They are in the lab.”

Ulfric nodded and headed for the ruins Conan trailing behind him bolt gun in hand.

Davard did his best to restore the ancient Blood Dragon lab, teams of Servitors worked round the clock to clear the debris out of the lab while teams of Karels did what ever they could to salvage ancient pieces of tech from the ruins. The Dreadnaught stood on the far side of the room standing opposite of Iron Priest Davard. The Dreadnaught spoke static corrupting its speech on occasion.

“Brother Worjech, did I ever tell you about the battle of Blood Cliffs, how Brother Ortan slew that foul Eldar witch. What did that despicable xeno call itself again I forget.”

Davard spoke with a mixture of reverence and sympathy.

“Brother Ronin, do you not remember that battle is nearly nine millennia past, Forge Master Worjech Ivo is no longer with us and neither is Captain Ortan.”

The Dreadnaught was silent for a moment perhaps attempting to understand the Iron Priest’s words. In a moment the Dreadnaught bellowed with remembrance.

“Valundar that was its name, His head still decorates the great hall at Drake’s Point.”

Wolf Lord Ulfric approached the Iron Priest the Dreadnaught turned its face plate at the Wolf Lord and spoke again through ancient crackling speakers.

“Brother Captain Shang, I am glad to see you I was just recounting to are Master of the Forge the battle of Blood Cliffs. You were always a better story teller than I perhaps you should tell him.”

Ulfric looked over to Davard and spoke.

“How is he awake?”

Davard spoke still not sure how the Dreadnaught activated itself.

“I don’t know I was running some tests over there when suddenly he’s walking around the lab, talking about his brothers.”

Ulfric glanced at the dreadnaught and then spoke again to Davard.

“He seems very talkative.”

Davard nodded “Yes much more so then we initially found him, however he thinks we are his fellow dragons.”

Ulfric nodded and approached the Dreadnaught and spoke.

“Tell me brother what is your name.”

The dreadnaught spoke with a mechanical chuckle.

“You forget the name of your oldest battle brother and companion? The rank of Captain has gone to your head if you forget the name of Ronin. A good jest Shang.”
Ulfric spoke delicately remembering his conversation with Bjorn Fell-Handed back on Fenris.

“Brother Ronin please listen to my words carefully you have slumbered for a very long time. I am Wolf Lord Ulfric Stormclaw of the Emperor’s Vlka Fenryka. Your Chapter has gone missing we are not sure what has happened to them, it is our hope that you can perhaps illuminate what is it that happened to them.”

Ronin fell silent were it not for the subtle glow of his still functioning left eye Ulfric would have thought it returned to hibernation. After nearly a minute of silence there came a mechanical croak.

“The times of fire are upon us.”

Ulfric and Davard quickly glanced at one and other to confirm what they heard and the single red eye of the dreadnaught went dark and the room was taken by silence. Another minute passed and the Eye returned to life as Ronin spoke again.

“Brother Shang it is good to see you, I was just about to tell Brother Ivo about the battle of the Blood Cliffs.”
Made in us
Rotting Sorcerer of Nurgle

The Dog-house

"Boy! Get oht here!" the old farmer called into his house. The ceiling creaked as a boy not more than five or six ran down the stairs. The rags he wore for clothing were drenched in sweat from the oppressive summer heat. The farmer grabbed the boy by the ear and pulled him back into the fields. He threw the boy down in a patch of land where the plant stalks were withered and dead, their insides destroyed by small rodents. The boy stood up and wiped his nose. One of the dead stalks was shoved in his face, "Didn I tell you ta poison the varmints?"

"I-I did papa! Th-they musta come back in the night... I swear I did it!" the boy said, stifling a cry. The farmer slapped his across the face.

"Like hell you did! Nah go an poison'm agein an don't come back ein until it's done."

The boy wiped the tears from his eyes and ran to get the poison and the farmer went into the house and out of the baking sun. The boy ran back to the fields and quickly starting filling the many small holes in the field. While the heat didn't bother him so much, the prospect of getting sun burnt did so the boy did most of his work in the denser parts of the field where the tall plant stalks would hide him from the sun. In the darkest part of the field, the boy found a small berry bush growing. Practically a delicacy to the poor farmer boy, he gobbled the berries down selfishly. Feeling full, the boy laid down in the cool shade and fell sleep.

The boy was forced awake by the forceful hand of the farmer. He pulled the boy out of the plants and dragged him hurriedly towards the house. The boy tried to free himself, breaking into tears. The farmer threw the door open and tossed the boy inside, bolting the door shut and drawing the curtains of the house closed. He came back and a firm hand covered the boy's mouth.

"Hush now!.." the farmer whispered, looking back out the windows nervously. The boy had never seen the farmer so scared before. "We are gonna play a game. I need you ta hide in the basement and count to... count to 100... and dont come out until you have. Do not come out for anythin', not even if I call you agein, ya hear?"

The boy nodded and ran down the stairs. With the faint light of the rising moon through the curtains and floor boards, the boy found a hiding spot in a barrel. Nestling up to a lion's share of dried plant stalks, the boy fell silent and waited.

"1...2...3... ," there was a loud banging on the front door of the house. The boy thought it sounded like one of the night time beasts he always heard howling at the moon.

"9...10...11... ," it broke the door off its hinges and came into the house. The slow shuffle of a weary man wandered the house. A rasping breath followed it when the shuffle stopped.

"33...34...35... ," the boy could hear it overturning furniture and rummaging through cabinets. The man-thing seemed more frantic now. It's paced quickened and it's heavy hands beat on the walls.

"56...57...58... ," the thing stopped at the top of the steps. The first stair creaked loudly. Then the second. The boy held his mouth shut as the thing came into the basement. It tore the lid off a barrel on the opposite side of the room.

The sound of thunder broke the agonizing silence and left the boy's ears ringing. The thing howled in pain and said something in a different language. It threw the barrel and another thunder crash filled the room. The boy heard someone fall and lay still. A pair of feet raced out of the basement and up the stairs. More thunder sounded then the house fell silent.

"98...99...100..." the boy whispered and pushed the top off his hiding place. He climbed out and looked at the thing that had fallen. It was pale as the moon and had a hunched back. A silver mask concealed its face. Dark liquid oozed from its body. The boy gagged turned away. He held his breath till he made it to the top of the steps.

His house had been tore to pieces. Everything was broken or misplaced. Claw marks and sharp spines covered the walls. Two more of the man-things were face down, neither made it very far past the door frame. The wind whipped through the house through tattered curtains and a broken window. The boy looked outside. A hulking, dark figure stood in a ring of dead man things. A curved sword glistened in the warrior's hand. He looked up at the boy and baded him to come closer and the boy did. He jumped through the broken window and walked across the sand towards the warrior.

"Where's papa?" the boy asked. The warrior shook his head and turned towards a light in the distance. The boy could see a crescent moon and three stars on the warrior's shoulder. He took the warrior by the hand and they walked towards the light.

* * *

"My lord," a quiet voice said. A soft hand touched his face and for a second he thought he was home on Kattifrakk, but he knew better. That life didn't belong to him. Zehk opened his eyes.

"I have a name. Do not call me 'lord' like you are a chapter serf skulking in the shadows, Helga," Zehk said while pulling a hood over his head. The swamp did not favor the Possessed much and cursed him with a steady rainfall.

"Y-yes, Zehk," the Commissar stammered out. Seldom used was her first name, especially among the Astartes. Zehk waved her away as a ponderous Terminator pushed its way through the Nurgle Cultists. The grotesque Astartes stood above Zehk and maggots wiggled their way out of two holes in his helmet and fell upon Zehk's greaves. A long, rune-carved scythe removed the hood from Zehk's head, exposing him again to the rain.

"Who are you?" the Terminator asked, his gaze never leaving Zehk.

"Zehk Twiceborn, Champion of the New Order and host of the daemon, Suolyn'ne. My lord-"

"I only need a name, not a biography. Why are you here, Possessed-One?"

Zehk laughed to himself and looked up at the Terminator. A green, filthy visor looked back. The Terminator resembled the Death Guard on all levels except the coloration of the armor underneath the pus and rust. "You are awfully bitter for a Nurgle worshipper. Did the Grandfather decide to keep your entrails inside your body today?"

"I have no qualm in killing you. I hope you know that," the Terminator said, his scowl increasing behind his helmet, "and at the same time you are almost a miracle sent from Father Nurgle himself..."

Zehk rose to his feet and planted his newly claimed force sword between the loose tiles of the Cathedral floor. "Are you asking for my help?"

"Reluctantly I am..."

There was a long pause between the two for what seemed like hours. Zehk was the first to break the silence, "I will follow you into battle, Garathal, as long as you keep your distance. I have my own mission to fulfill."

The Terminator put a hand on Zehk's shoulder and laughed, almost mocking Zehk's laugh, "Good. You are easier to shoot at a distance." Garathal turned and saw Schäfer barking orders to her subordinates. A Nurgle cultist accidentally strayed too close and bumped Schäfer's shoulder, smearing all manners of filth across her jacket. Schäfer returned the favor by smearing his grey matter all over the adjacent wall with her bolt pistol. Garathal spoke again in a hushed tone, "Watch that one more closely, Possessed-One. I can't help but feel that she is very close to showing her true colors."

H.B.M.C.- The end hath come! From now on armies will only consist of Astorath, Land Speeder Storms and Soul Grinders!
War Kitten- Vanden, you just taunted the Dank Lord Ezra. Prepare for seven years of fighting reality...
koooaei- Emperor: I envy your nipplehorns. <Magnus goes red. Permanently>
Neronoxx- If our Dreadnought doesn't have sick scuplted abs, we riot.
Frazzled- I don't generally call anyone by a term other than "sir" "maam" "youn g lady" "young man" or " HEY bag!"
Ruin- It's official, we've ran out of things to talk about on Dakka. Close the site. We're done.
mrhappyface- "They're more what you'd call guidlines than actual rules" - Captain Roboute Barbosa
Steve steveson- To be clear, I'd sell you all out for a bottle of scotch and a mid priced hooker.
Made in au
Adopted Son of the Emperor

Flailing on the beach like a beached whale. While also wearing fashionable panties.

Iodius thundered down the narrow hallway of the Battle Barge Purgatus Califrax, the massive weight of his ornate power armour sending his steps reverberating through the entire section of this ship. As he walked, he thought. The new matters worried him, although he would never show any sign of emotion regarding them. The rumours were true. He knew it. He ran his hand through his now purely grey hair, and felt a long scar that stretched from the top of his head all the way to his neck. A new wound, only reminding him that despite all of the stories, Astartes were only mortal.
And then he saw it again. In his peripheral, the shadow-armoured figure of his silent companion appeared. He knew that if he tried focusing on it, there would be nothing there. But he was not insane. There was something there, just as real as the sun in the viewport, or as blood in a man’s veins. Odd. That was a weird metaphor for his languished mind to come up with. Lack of sleep, he told himself. It was true, he had only slept for four hours over the past month. He had been awake, staring into the abyss, hoping something would not stare back as he looked for what he hoped was not there.
But it had stared back. And now he had to respond.
Iodius stalked into the main bridge, his stride long, arduous, but with all the meaning in the universe.
“Get me line to our ground forces. We are pulling out.” He spoke with as much authority as the weary chaplain could muster. The deck crew fell silent.
“S-sire?” One of the braver men spoke, while the rest sat there, stunned.
“Get me a line. To our ground forces. We are pulling them out. Understand, Felix?” Iodius responded, with a hint of venom to his words. This was very much unlike Iodius, but the crew responded in accordance with the venerable Astartes’ order. A few minutes passed, and Iodius finally got the call in. “This is Chaplain Iodius Benturas, to all Stone Warden forces on Crion and its moons. We are leaving this foul world. Our place is with our brothers. Contingents of our former brothers, the same renegades that left us to die when the foul lackeys of chaos came to our system have been spotted in a nearby sector. It has been written in blood that they will not escape our wrath, and it will be so. Mount up. We go to battle with the foul denizens of chaos. Speak not to anyone. This is our battle, we do not need explain ourselves anyone.” He closed the line, then turned to the nearest deck officer, a dark shadow cast over his old face. “Leave the encryption off. I want everyone to hear it.” The deck officer stood in a stunned silence as Iodius walked back out of the bridge.

Iodius let a snake of a smile grace his lips, as he thought of the other Imperial’s reactions to his message. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Iodius would get his vengeance for all the lives the renegades cost him, even if it meant squandering his word. His smile faded just as quick as he heard the first noise come out of his ghostly companion.
…Death…” It croaked, its voice sent shivers down Iodius’ spine, as though it was never meant to talk in its miserable life, as though it broke a law of the universe by speaking with Iodius. It’s voice was that of a dead mans. Nothing he could think of could get it out of his head, until he stopped thinking.
“It comes for us all, spectre. You of all things should know that. I embrace it.” He spoke with as much holiness as he could, and recited litanies of purity in his mind. He knew the apparition could understand his thoughts, and was glad to not hear it again.

The ground forces of the Stone Wardens’ did just as Iodius said. They up and left, without so much as a word, as the chaplain ordered. Thunderhawks took to the skies, carrying whatever supplies they could fit. Astartes bustled on the ground, piling up whatever they could take with them, and scuttling the rest. Progress was moving fast, and within the next two days, no trace of the former encampment could be found.

Iodius watched from space. He watched the stars, taking in their vastness. It was too long since he last looked into the stars. Too much work to do left him unable to appreciate the Emperor’s wish. To see all the stars as united with each other as they are united with the blackness of space. That was the Emperor’s wish. And the heretics took that away from the immortal god-Emperor. They would all pay dearly for their transgressions. He would make sure of that.

This is marking the end of the Stone Warden's. :/ I just feel as though there isn't anything else to do with them, and this honestly took me far too long to write. I guess if I get back in the mood, I'll keep the Guard as they are, but that's just so I have something to fall back on should I choose to return sooner than I expect. Live long and prosper!
-Vanden, Whale-lord of Panties.

This message was edited 2 times. Last update was at 2017/04/07 10:24:11

TheEyeOfNight I swear, this thread is 70% smack talk, 20% RP organization, and 10% butt jokes.
Tactical_Spam Vanden clearly loves making sweet sweet love to his school. He is the most passionate, learning oriented individual you will ever meet.
War Kitten You should ask nicely before hitting people with your stick Vanden. We're a polite society after all.
2BlackJack1 Snow is great though. Snowmen, snowball fights, frostbite, snow forts, what's not to love?
Kharne the Befriender It's just the smug look of eternal irony while you wait for Creed to pull out his Baneblade so you can steal it.
War Kitten I love how this has gone from a deathly serious war to a discussion about how Vanden is secretly a whale wearing panties. Welcome to the Crusade of Fury.
Irishpeacockz Well this crusade will be endless then as I imagine Vandan has a large collection of inflatables lying around
Made in gb
Ancient Ultramarine Venerable Dreadnought


"Are we nearly there y-"
"For Throne's sake, not yet!" Wires shouted back from the driver's seat. Hustle opened his mouth to complain again, but fell short. The Hound's gaze silenced the grumpy Ratling, and he uncomfortably shifted on the bare metal bench of the half-track's passenger compartment.

The mercenary squad had been on the road for most of the day now. The roads on their journey had been dull at the best of time, paddy fields and crops as far as the eye could see. Naught but hillside and farmland greeted the sore eyes of the merc crew, with the occasional lake or craggy hill to break the winding roads of the main continent. This was firmly Imperial land, the Hound noted. Naraya was the seat of Imperial power, the most farmland, the most citizens - the home of the capital at Drake's Point and the famed Orbital Elevator installation. As reports went, the other continents were far removed: Cambria was an ork-infested jungle for the most part, and Krius was similarly arable like it's larger cousin, but split by the Tiller war efforts on it. Not like here. Aside from the minor Tiller rebel spheres in the cities like Kampf's Anchorage and the recent liberation of the Black Water Bastion, Naraya remained inviolate. That was why the Hound's presence here was so important.

"Our situation is improving drastically," Vandred had told the mercenary leader. "New Pavus is in Tiller hands, with thanks to you, and that fits my liking well enough. Other battles are occurring over Krius properly now, with Tiller forces supplemented by Garathal's contingent and other allies besieging Nortannis. The continent is losing it's grip. We even have a hold on the mainland now. We need to cement that properly. Push the advantage, as it were."
As usual, the Hound had gone along with his employer. He had no special connection to the Tillers, or Sunstrike Cadre, but a contract was a contact. Kassani remained in support in orbit, his gnarled hands counting out the coin they acquired on Crion below. Of course, even the Hound had cause for concern when Vandred named the next city to infiltrate.

"San Christina?" he shook his head in disapproval. "The whole place is crawling in priests and Sororitas."
"Sororitas?" The Tau native queried the mercenary.
"Sisters of Battle. The elite of the Imperial Church, very well equipped, very well trained. Aside from the Scions we faced at New Pavus, these are about the toughest bitches short of Astartes themselves."
"I don't understand," said Vandred. "You've fought Astartes before, why will these be any different?"
"We... we didn't exactly fight fair with the Space Marines. Your kind would call it pragmatic, what we did, but for humans, it was underhanded. I don't regret it, but it is what it is." The Hound shrugged. "This is completely different. You're asking my mercs to take a city guarded by the elite of the fething Imperial Church?"
Vandred sighed. "Not to take. To gain intelligence. Attacking blindly is not the Sunstrike way. The sun always glows on the horizon before it rises up."

They had hijacked a truck of hired farm hands a few miles from Black Water Bastion. The workers from Milton and Small's Logistics Co. Ltd were not best pleased when Wires disabled their engine with a jury-rigged EMP charge, but they seemed to lighten up when the Hound tossed them a small fortune of Thrones and a vox beacon for pickup - it wasn't like their work as a farm hand would pay much. Once on the road, the drive along the southern coast was uneventful. More passenger trucks passed by, but they were few and far between. The road to San Christina was straight and solid.
Now the road had slowed to a halt.

"What's the hold up?" The Hound clambered to the front of the vehicle. Wires pointed ahead. The Hound couldn't see much. A freight lorry obscured most of the dusty windshield, blocking him seeing much more. But there was no missing the built-up curtain wall and towering spires and steeples behind it. The church city of San Christina was just ahead.
"Inspection patrol." Wires cursed. "Knew this would happen."
"We've got nothing to worry about." The Hound sat back down, and checked nonchalantly under the stripped back seating. The team's more incriminating weaponry, like Hustle's needle rifle, Wires' plasma pistol, and his own broadsword, were stashed alongside the fourth member of the team.
"A patrol? And we're not even in the city yet?" Vulture scoffed. "I ache to be upright again, Hound. I was not built for this confined space." Her olive coloured limbs, whipcords with hands, were wrapped around the Kroot's frame, squeezing her into the seating stash. "Don't talk too much, bastard."

He grinned, and lowered the seating lid on the Kroot. "Hustle, get over here and hand me the welding torch." A groan of indignation came from the metal cavity. "We just need to seal this off whilst the patrols come looking. Just so they don't find you and our weapons." A less annoyed groan came through. The Hound took that as a sign of consent, and began to weld the joint shut.


The queue into San Christina had only grown, but the convoy had moved. Now night was approaching. The actual patrol team were in sight now, inspecting the truck in front of the mercenaries. Hound surveyed them with caution. Four Sisters, one toting a flamer, and the rest with bolters. Their power armour, smaller than an Astartes', but no less intimidating, glinted a silver hue in the dying light. Red commlink lights flashed as they relayed the inventory of the vehicle and passed it on into the city. As they waved it in, the Hound caught a glimpse of the badge of their order, a silver crescent moon, on a black field. The Order of the Silver Night. A woman in robes accompanied the four Sororitas, dataslate in hand, and she moved with the patrol as they approached the merc's vehicle. Wires yanked down the window of the vehicle, and flashed a grin at the squad.
"What can I do for you, miss?"
The voice of the leader, a hard, forceful voice, echoed through the window into the rearward passenger bay. "That's Sister Superior, citizen. Now, give us the inventory of your vehicle, identification, and any passengers aboard and their identification."
"Not even a please? A pretty please? Oh, okay, fine - three sacks of grain, weighing four gult each, a map, portable vox caster, parchment and ink, roughly two hundred Thrones, and two passengers. Oh, and our employment papers." He handed over the sheaf of papers in his pocket.

Hound caught his breath. They were fake passes, of course. His own name was too easy to find, and using aliases worked just as well. Kassani had arranged them, as he did. His connections to higher Imperial commanders and officials had made these ID passes essentially child's play. 'Harn Gerrkson', 'Bolli Sillers' and 'Kane Weitz', the three occupants of the vehicle were just hired hands come to drop off grain at some made up pub in the city. As Kassani said, child's p-
"Where?" The Sister's voice brought the Hound from his reverie. "There's no drinking house in San Christina called the Bull's Head."
He felt his insides vice up, and resisted the urge to curse profusely. Bastard Kassani, making his damned assumptions. The Hound sighed and stuck his head into the driver's cockpit, as Wires ummed and ahhed in panicked confusion.

"What 'ppears t'be t'problem?" He did what he could to mask his accent. "What're they sayin'?"
"And you are?" The Sister Superior was unfazed by the new occupant in the vehicle.
"Harn Gerrkson, at'chure service," he blathered. "Now, what's this'bout no Bull's Head?"
"It doesn't exist. There's no Bull's Head in San Christina. Perhaps you should turn this vehicle around."
"Nay, lemme see t'papers!" The mercenary grabbed them from Wires, and pretended to study them as he racked his brain for an idea. "Ah, yeah, I see what'chu mean. We're after the one on t'forty-second street, if that rings any bell for'yeh?"
There was a slight pause. "Forty second street?" He nodded. The Sororitas glanced at the scribe in robes, padding at her dataslate. A mutter of jargon later, the Sister Superior returned to face Wires and Hound.
"There is a drinking house on Ophelie Boulevard, the forty second street in the civilian quarter, called 'The Sacred Arms of the Ox'. Is that your destination?" Before Wires could say yes, Hound interrupted.
"We don't know what't's called, but't's appreciated your help, cheers." Satisfied, the patrol leader began to move off.
Wires opened his mouth again. "If you're free, how about you join me there late-". The sound of the Sororitas' palm slapping Wires' face silenced the driver. He rubbed his bruised face, dazed and irritated. "I'll wear that as a mark of honour from you, Sis-" A second slap, as she battered his face again. Stunned, he slumped over in his seat, cradling his spinning head. The Sororitas snorted in contempt.
"In that case, take two. Search the vehicle."
As the Sisters pulled open the back of the vehicle, Hound pulled Wires from the driver's seat, gave the mercenary a rap round the ear, and clambered into the seat himself. He sat back, and yawned. The worst was behind them.


His prediction was absolutely right. The Sisters didn't question the vehicle, and they were admitted just fine inside. After dumping their cargo near the 'Sacred Arms', they cracked Vulture from her container. Of course, Hustle seemed more happy to see his needle rifle than his teammate.
"So, what's the verdict?" Vulture asked Hound. He relayed what he'd gathered from his study of the city's layout.

"The place is a police state, as I suspected. Regular patrols of Sisters, sweep the areas closest to the central Cathedral Primus, and the dock entrances. No Arbites presence is needed when you have your own forces. There's no Administratum building or Sector Imperialis, so I'd guess that the power and communications are all in that main cathedral complex in the centre of the city, which is exclusive for the Order of the Silver Night and the local Priesthood. Of course, our permits of entry are as civilians. There's no way we can enter the cathedral legally, and short of starting a firefight with the Sisterhood."
"So, we try illegally and covertly?"
"Perhaps. Patience, friend. I need to relay this back to Sunstrike. If either method of communication outside is monitored, we shall see soon enough."

Emerging from the back of the truck, the Hound made his way down the street, towards the curtain wall by the sea. The fishermen were retiring, the last of them scattered on the piers recovering their tackle and nets. They wouldn't pay attention to him. As he sauntered up the steps to the gate outside, a hand on his shoulder caught him. He spun round, ready for a fight, and quickly backed down. Four helmed Sisters of Battle, toting bolters and flamers, stared him down.
"The docks are closing. The curfew is soon to come. Explain yourself or return to the civilian district."
His accent forgotten, he thumbed his pockets and tried to think of an excuse.
"Ah, apologies, Sister, but I left my fishing satchel on the-"
"Recite the third verse of the Parable of the Fisherman."
"I'm sorry?"
"Parable of the Fisherman, third verse, from the Lectitio Divinitatus. It is known amongst the fishers of the city. Recite it, or come with us."
The Hound shut his eyes. It had been too long since he last read the Lectitio, let alone the Parable of the Fisherman. Desperately, he tried to remember back when he was a lad, back on-
"'And so the in the glory of the Emperor, as His hands emerged from that water, there was but one fish in his palm. But as they began to protest, He silenced the masses, and began to break the fish with His divine power. The people flocked to Him, and as the last one reached up to Him, there was still fish, for He will always provide for His people, if they accept what is given to them by His Will.'" He opened his eyes. His heart beat hard under his overalls. The Sisters resumed their cold stare.
"Satisfactory. You have six minutes to recover your possessions."

The Hound thanked them, and ran out onto the pier. From his pocket, he drew a small clear orb, containing a Tiller-encoded tracking beacon, and a sheaf of micro-thin parchment. Inscribed on it, in Tiller cipher, was his report. After the report, an instruction lay for the recipient.
'If you receive this, fire a flare east of the city any night at 00:13, and we will come for you.'
Satisfied with his report, he hurled the orb out into the black seawater, letting it wash out with the inky black waves. In his other hand, he pulled out a dataslate. It contained the same report, encoded in Tiller cipher, and concluded with a similar message - 'If you receive this, fire a flare west of the city any night at 00:13, and we will come for you.'

Hound checked all the data over again, and pressed the send button. His job done, he ran back into San Christina, and joined the rest of his men.

Rippy wrote:Never forgetti, template spaghetti.
Made in us
Rotting Sorcerer of Nurgle

The Dog-house

A bare hand grabbed Sylus' gorget and forced him into a ferrocrete wall inside the Warpath Furnace. His attacker was Judge Hetarr. He pointed a finger at Sylus.

"What do you have against me old man?" Hetarr said, his voice a low growl. Any guards patrolling the halls would surely subdue him and force him back into his solitary meditation. He bared his teeth as Sylus removed Hetarr's hand from his gorget.

"Your temper hasn't improved I see," Sylus replied stroking his beard and continuing his journey down the hallway. Hetarr followed at his heels so closely that Sylus could hear his breathing. Sylus looked down at a dataslate as they walked. Hetarr hurried his pace so he could talk to Sylus in the face.

"Your eyes haven't improved either, High Judge. We are sitting on our hands," Hetarr pointed out the bulkhead at Crion and its massive moons. The destruction caused by the Gargant was visible from space. Sylus glanced up for a moment to acknowledge the hot-headed Judge before looking back down, "While our brother spill their own blood for that planet, we sit in our flotilla meditating."

Sylus stopped reading and turned to face the Judge. They exchanged looks before Sylus started, "Everything is going according to plan-"

"Who are you? That is exactly what Ryus would say and look at where that got us! Maybe I should report your behavior to Greijer," Hetarr said, hoping there was a patrol nearby now. Sylus put an armored finger on Hetarr's chest.

"I will kill you if you do, Hetarr. I am nothing like Ryus."

"Yes, you are..."

Both Astartes turned to face the eavesdropper. At the end of the hallway stood the humble form of Annala. Hetarr broke into a earnest laugh. Furiously, Sylus dashed the dataslate across the floor. He grabbed Hetarr by the throat. The Judge couldn't keep his face straight as his Chapter Master reprimanded him, "You find that funny, Hetarr? Does a one-way ticket back to Kattifrakk sound funny to you?". Sylus looked over to the Angel, the bright light of Crion's star reflecting off her tattoos, "As for you, I should blow you out an airlock for your insubordination. I will bring this matter to the Council so they can decide your fate."

Sylus dropped Hetarr and stormed down the hallway. When he rounded the corner, Annala ran to Hetarr, who was still laughing at the whole ordeal. She reached for him as a mother would for a child.

"Easy girl. I am Astartes, not a boy with a skinned knee," Hetarr said, rising to his feet.

"I've never seen him act so... harshly..."

"He's hiding something. All the other Judge's know it."

"Ryus is somewhere on Crion..."

Hetarr faced the Angel to look for deceit, but found none. He started for the armory with the Angel. He spoke as he walked, "How did you learn of this?"

"The High Judge got defensive when I questioned him about it upon our arrival in the system... An encrypted message from one Inquisitor Randall confirmed my suspicion... One of the Grey Knights with him encountered an Astartes bearing the old New Order insignia... His intel states that he is called the 'Twiceborn'..."

"Then I know where to start. Get me two squads from the Second Company and tell them to meet me in Hangar Two in 30 minutes exactly. If they question you, give them the phrase 'Kingslayer'."

Annala nodded and hurried towards the barracks as if her life depended on it. Hetarr reckoned that it did. He sighed in front of the armory door, "Vengeance comes to the Traitor at last."

H.B.M.C.- The end hath come! From now on armies will only consist of Astorath, Land Speeder Storms and Soul Grinders!
War Kitten- Vanden, you just taunted the Dank Lord Ezra. Prepare for seven years of fighting reality...
koooaei- Emperor: I envy your nipplehorns. <Magnus goes red. Permanently>
Neronoxx- If our Dreadnought doesn't have sick scuplted abs, we riot.
Frazzled- I don't generally call anyone by a term other than "sir" "maam" "youn g lady" "young man" or " HEY bag!"
Ruin- It's official, we've ran out of things to talk about on Dakka. Close the site. We're done.
mrhappyface- "They're more what you'd call guidlines than actual rules" - Captain Roboute Barbosa
Steve steveson- To be clear, I'd sell you all out for a bottle of scotch and a mid priced hooker.
Made in gb
Ancient Ultramarine Venerable Dreadnought


"Sub-Commander Vandred. It's good to see you."

Shas'O Skyhunter greeted the human auxiliary, open armed. Vandred smiled, weary, and bowed his head in deference to the commander of the cadre. Even bound in his Crisis Suit, Skyhunter seemed youthful as ever, tempered by age like a tree trunk, yet still hale and hearty.
The Tau had seemed immortal to the young Vandred. Since he was picked from the creche of human children on Tach'var and conscripted into Sunstrike Cadre as a lowly Gue'vesa'la, Skyhunter was always there by Vandred's side. When Vandred grew his first facial hairs, Skyhunter was there to touch the alien bristle and laugh as it spread across the dark-skinned face of his mentee. When Skyhunter was promoted up to the rank of Shas'El, his first request for a bodyguard was Vandred. Despite the best efforts of the engineers, or as Skyhunter suspected, the deliberate meddlings of the Ethereal caste, there was no Crisis Suits for humans like Vandred. Instead, Vandred was promoted to Skyhunter's de-facto right hand man, and was elevated to the same status when Skyhunter ascended to the head of Sunstrike Cadre, a rarity amongst human auxiliaries. A fact Skyhunter didn't remind Vandred of, but the human knew too well.

"The feeling is mutual, commander."
Skyhunter returned to surveying the holographic map of Crion. Vandred joined him, and proceeded to muse aloud on the developing situation. He knew his commander has already scanned the map repeatedly, but a new insight, from Vandred's Gue'vesa head, was always welcomed.

"Krius is aflame." stated Vandred. "New Pavus is held by the Tillers, with most Imperial forces weakened and overstretched from the fighting. Torcan is faltering. Nortannis is under surveillance by allied forc-"
"Are they?" Skyhunter interrupted.
"Are they what? Allies?" The commander nodded. "Not allies quite, but allied in goal. I doubt they wish to see Horatio Payne on the throne, but they do despise the Imperium. Any advantage we get, they get, and vice versa."
"Allies of convenience, wouldn't you say, Vandred?"
The sub-commander agreed, and continued the analysis.

"Nortannis under surveillance, which leaves here vulnerable." He pointed at a fortress along Krius' east coast. "I think we require more naval power if we wish to take this."
"You think?"
"What would you suggest, commander?"
"I would strike fast, take it soon and use it as a buffer of our own. Of course, your approach is safer, which I recognise and applaud."
"My thanks, commander. We are a limited cadre, and we must ensure our own safety in war."
Skyhunter laughed. "True. Yet we play a dangerous game, Sub-Commander. Our shadow war against the Imperium is akin to the Sleeping Krootox and the Hunter. 'The Hunter may be able to evade the misguided swings of the enraged Krootox, but one wrong foot will make the Hunter the Hunted.' We must be daring, and cripple the Krootox, lest they cripple us first."

The map swung back to Naraya. Completely Imperial dominated, save for the few Tiller icons on the southern coast. "Black Water Bastion is inviolate. Close enough that we may make a rapid response from our gunships, and rigged to detonate should we lose it. Of course, we can still claim it as rightful conquest: we make out that the Tiller took it, and we drove the Tillers out. Therefore, ours by occupation, and diplomatically immune."
"Smart plan."
"Quite. Our mercenaries have reported back from San Christina. It will be harder to take, but it was away from our main priorities anyway."

Cambria came into view now. Vandred began as he had before. "This is practically all ours. We control the southern province, and our Be'gel allies have all but conquered the rest of the continent. Waaagh! Hannibal now holds dominion over the other defeated warbands, and with this we-"
"Correction - held."
"I'm sorry?"
"We lost contact with Hannibal. Scouting reports show no sign of him and his men. They're just not there."
Confused, Vandred stuttered, not quite sure how to respond. He broke his control of the briefing and turned to Skyhunter for guidance, suddenly a Gue'vesa'la all over again.
"What do we do?"

Skyhunter laughed, giving his protege a warm look. "I have already given the order for drone units to seed their lost regions, and for us to build listening posts throughout their territory. As their allies, we hold rightful claim to it, and I'll be damned if we let it all go. If the Imperials enter the land, we have pict-sensors and auto-transmissions on the drones to warn them of their transgression. We still have our diplomatic immunity. The Imperium cannot move into our land without our permission, and if they do so, violate their own treaty which we have evidence of them making."

"Of course, Shas'O." Vandred bowed his head to his superior. Skyhunter didn't react, but pointed to the city on the west coast. Ros Hannoi lit up, with the sigil of Sunstrike placed next to it. The infiltrators within the city were still active.

"Our infiltrators? What would you have them do?"
"You said yourself - we don't want to cause more damage than we have to. We may be living on this world, Vandred. I, for one, don't want to spend the rest of my life rebuilding one from the ashes. Do you?"
"Of course not." Vandred considered his approach to taking Ros Hannoi, casting his gaze over the wilderness around the city. "The Mayor of Ros Hannoi, Maldonado, has kept the two sides of the city in relative peace from the Ork threat without," the Sub-Commander began. "but what if that threat were removed? Would that sway his allegiance?"
"Is that a risk, Sub-Commander?" Skyhunter smirked. Without looking, Vandred could tell. It always went to the right side of the old Tau's face.

"Maybe just, Commander. Maybe."

This message was edited 2 times. Last update was at 2017/04/09 21:03:39

Rippy wrote:Never forgetti, template spaghetti.
Made in ie
Nurgle Veteran Marine with the Flu

Cork, Ireland

As the last of the surviving Tillers emerged from the man hole into scooching sun light they found that the surrounding city block was totally silent, the street was only occupied by a sniffing dog who made little note of the emerging sewer men. Lieutenant Mills seem disturbed.

“This is odd, its not normally this quiet.” Spoke the lieutenant.

“Perhaps it is the Soroitas doing.” Answered Mason.

Mills had a face of introspection.
“Perhaps, come on we should get out of the streets and stash these weapons. Don’t want PDF, Arbites, or Sisters chasing after us. There’s a Tiller Safe House near by, there should be someone there who can give us the low down of what’s been happening since I’ve been away.”

The Party hustled over to Tiller safe house, the population of Nortannis began to reveal its self the deeper the ventured into the city. These slum dwellers were not alarmed in the slightest by the sight of armed men as many gangers, rebels and outlaws had raged turf war in this part of the city. For the most part they were to drunk or hungry to care what they did. Finally, they reached the Tiller store house in a massive apartment complex.

Mills knocked at the door and waited for the door man to ask for the password. But after several knocks no door man would come. Mills produced a key from his pocket and unlocked the large reinforced door.

The Tillers raised their rifles as the door opened. Mills was the first one in. The Lieutenant called out.

“Ferguson, Lyle, Hendricks, any of you in here.”

Lyn called out.

“Don’t shoot we’re friendly.”

A full sweep of the safe house was conducted and not a human was found. Mills went to the armory and found it barren, all the auto guns and las weapons they had been stockpiling here gone. Mason checked the pantry and found it stocked with a generous provisions of beans and ramen. Mason licked his cracked lips and took a knife to a can of beans. Lyn scoured the ops center, by the date of the last entries she suspected that this place had not seen use in months. Lyn searched for some lead as toward what might have happened here.

The party reconvened in the safe house’s living room. Lyn slung her rifle over her shoulder and spoke.

“Where the hell are your men it looks like they haven’t been here in ages.”

Mills looked around the room hoping one of his comrades would magically appear.

“I don’t know.”

One of the Tillers spoke turning the safety back on his rifle.

“You think this is the PDF or Sisters doing?”

Mills shook his head.

“I don’t think so; no signs of battle and my men wouldn’t have gone down without a fight.”

Mason spoke as he set aside a half eaten can of beans.

“Could be deserters, makes sense they could have cleared the armory hoping to sell it.”

Mills shook his head.

“No I knew the men posted here, they would have given their life for the cause they wouldn’t cut and run no matter how bad it got.”

Lyn looked around the silent apartment and a moment passed without words.

“So know what.”

Mills removed his cap and ran his finger through his short hair.

“We have a few more safe houses through out the city, we will find somebody in one of those houses that knows what the hell is going on.”

One of the tillers brought voice to the rooms concern.

“What if we don’t find anybody there either.”

Mills pretended not to hear the comment.

“Everybody get some rest, help yourself to whatever food we have in the kitchen and the shower. We move out come morning.”

Day break came too soon in Mason’s mind, he awoke to find Lyn already dressed in a missing Tiller’s fatigues, she wasted no time accepting Mill’s offer of a shower eager to get rid of the sewer’s stink. The Tillers deposited their rifles in to the armory so that they might not draw any unwanted attention on themselves as they move through the city. Mills locked the armory being sure to change the password paranoid of them going missing.
The party visited six safe houses before noon, and their poor luck remained true as each safe house seemed more unoccupied than the last. The scenes were all virtually identical abandoned by its care takers, armory cleared, but all other valuable left in tact. When noon finally came, the Tillers approached the seventh safe house they expecting nothing new.

Yet another abandon apartment complex was host to the next Tiller safe house. Lieutenant Mills opened the apartment door and was greeted by the crack of an auto gun. The semi automatic burst narrowly missed the Tiller Lieutenant and sent him and the party scrambling for cover. Three more bursts of fire came at the hunkered down Tillers and a voice shouted from atop the complex’s stairs.

“You won’t take me alive you hear me you fething bastards I won’t let you.”

Mason fired at the top of the stairs with his pistol but was forced back down when another burst of bullets made contact with his improvised cover.

Mills eyes widened as he recognized the voice shouted.

“Mac, is that you, its Spencer.”

This Mac fired several more bursts at the lieutenant as he roared over the cracks of his rifle.

“I won’t fall for your tricks.”

Mac fired several more bursts before his rifle clicked dry, the man proclaimed feth.

Mason raised his pistol to shoot again but Mills caught it.

“We need him alive.”

The Tillers began charging into the apartment complex running up the stairs mac cursed and threw his depleted rifle at the Tillers hitting one of them and causing him to stumble down the steps. They ran after Mac as he rushed up the stairwell, eventually Mac reached a corridor and took cover behind a wall. He picked up a double barrel shotgun he had stashed and fired two shots at the approaching Tillers causing them to duck back into cover. Mac used this opprtuinty to flee down the hall.

Mills shouted “Emperor damn it Mac we’re trying to help you!”

Mac ran down the hall and produced yet another Auto gun and began spraying wildly down the hallway in the general direction of the Tillers. Again Mac ran out of ammo and began fleeing but now the Tillers closing the gap. Mac charged through the doors that led to the apartment’s roof with such force that he almost stumbled off the ledge. Mac looked to the ground below and then back to the door as the Tillers caught up with him.

Mac produced a revolver from his belt and pointed it at the gathered Tillers. Mac switched targets as more of the party arrived at the roof. Mac shook his head and murmured.

“I won’t let you, I can’t.”

Mills spoke

“Put the gun down Mac we’re not going to hurt you.”

Mac took a step back and again nearly fell off the edge. Mac quickly glanced down and then back at the Tillers.

“I won’t let you take me.”

Mac placed the revolver against his temple and pulled back on the hammer. The sharp crack of a pistol echoed through out the abandoned complex.

Mac recoiled in pain as Lyn’s bullet made contact with the revolver. Mason tackled Mac as soon as he saw the gun go flying. Mac growled and demanded that he be let go. Eventually the deranged man bit Mason’s finger.

“Little bastard bit me!”

Lieutenant Mills whipped Mac with the handle of his pistol and the Tiller was knocked unconscious.

Mils shook his head at the mess.

“Come on, we got to take him to the safe house, this amount of fire is sure to draw out the Arbites.”

Mac awoke with a throbbing head ache and found his hands and legs bound to a chair. Panic overtook the Tiller and he fought against the restraints. The ruckus Mac made drew Mason’s attention. The cultist announced to the room.

“He’s awake.”

Lieutenant Mills hurried in from the neighboring room Lyn following soon after.

Mac looked up at the lieutenant and quit fighting his restraints. Mac snarled.

“You wear the faces of dead men now; I will not fall for your tricks.”

Mills spoke patiently.

“Mac, you need to tell me what the hell is going on here, where is everybody.”

Mac shook his head.

“You took all the others, I won’t serve, you can’t make me.”

Lyn stepped forward.

“Mac, my name is Lyn Adaso, my father is the general Tyler Adaso, we have been sent here to see why your cell has gone dark. We need you to tell us what happened here.”

Mac took a moment to process what he was being told and looked back at Mills.

“How did you survive, the sisters butchered your entire squad.”

Tyler spoke.

“I almost didn’t, just got lucky I guess.”

Mac laughed appearing to ease somewhat.

“You always were lucky.”

Lyn spoke refocusing Mac.

“Please Mac can you tell us what’s been happening in the city.”

Mac looked down at his boots and spoke looking back up at Lyn.

“It it easier to just show you.”

Mac looked at his bindings hinting at Mason. Mason sighed as he unsheathed his knife.

“I swear if you bite me again I’ll feed you your own teeth.”

The party followed Mac in silence as he led them to yet another safe house. They followed Mac as he descended down an unlit stairwell into the black heart of the complex’s boiler room. This abyss was lit only by the wicked red glow of the complex’s furnace, sitting in the corner like a a grim god. The stench of corpses overpowered some of the Tillers as Mac began lighting lanterns illuminating several blanket covered corpses. Mac began speaking as he lit the final lantern.

“Its hard to say when exactly this all began, but we started noticing maybe seven months ago right before the city went into quarantine. Some of our men just went missing, we just assumed that either the PDF caught them or they went AWOL, but then more of us started to disappear in greater numbers and with higher frequency. It got so bad that even Captain Anderson went missing. We were panicking with both you and the Captain gone we were leaderless and we didn’t know who would disappear next, not to mention those damn sisters cutting us off from Drake’s Liberty.”

Mason spoke eyes still locked on the unexplained corpses.

“What happened next.”

“They returned. Captain Anderson along with a bunch of the other men who went missing just showed back up at headquarters. The Captain said he had received orders from Horatio himself and that he truly could not speak of it but assured us that everything was well. He then ordered us back to our normal duties of guarding our safe houses and smuggling operations. But something didn’t add up Anderson was behaving weird, not acting himself. Me and some of the others didn’t buy it we knew something was up, those who came back were different, I could see it in their eyes. Soon enough men went missing again and the Captain was nowhere to be found. That was when they started hunting us and that’s when I realized just how deep this goes.”

Mac began removing the covers from the corpses

“This man was part of our cause, this woman was PDF, this man was an Arbite, this man was a baker.”

Mason spoke not understanding the significance.

“I don’t understand how this is related, the PDF and Arbites are always trying to kill us, how does this relate to the disappearances.”

Mac began rolling up the right sleeves on the corpses revealing the black ink dragons of the ouroboros. Mason looked at the tattoos with shock as Mac spoke.

“I don’t know who these people are but they’ve captured or killed every other Tiller in the city, as far as I know we are all that are left.”

Lyn shook her head with a mixture of horror and utter confusion.

“What in the Emperor’s name is going on here.”

Piece written by Chazz in Nortannis

Sgt. Vanden I bet Irish can do that by flashing his bear chest.
Sgt. Vanden Irish is the definition of a Dutch oven
Made in gb
Ancient Ultramarine Venerable Dreadnought


Amongst all the war over Crion's surface, Gue'vesa'ui Harland was fighting a personal one of his own.
He'd sent a message to the Lord Mayor of Ros Hannoi, Xavier Maldonado, proposing a meeting. Purely innocent, and with no malice intended. Diplomatic. It was what Skyhunter had ordered: a peaceful alliance of Ros Hannoi into the Tiller Coalition. Of course, Harland knew what the Tau meant by peaceful alliance. Usually, integration, subversion, and finally occupation. Skyhunter might not be an ally of the Tau Empire, but their methods of success were still similar.
At least he wasn't getting shot at right away.

The Pathfinder was loathe to discover Maldonado's reply. A refusal to meet in person, and to instead meet at a designated spot in the jungle outside of Ros Hannoi. That meant leaving the Tau hideaway in the middle of the city, and out into the open. Nevertheless, the Pathfinder did his duty. He was a Pathfinder leader, and he'd be an example to the Gue'vesa he had left behind in Ros Hannoi, as a precaution. He was about to send another 'all clear' datapacket to his comrades, but something caught his attention in the brush. Machete blades, hacking through the foliage. Three of them.
'Of course,' Harland though. 'Three on one. Just to make it fair, eh?' There was no Mayor amongst them. Briefly, Harland was afraid, until he noticed the holographic projector and massive powerpack for it dragged alongside on a cart. He grinned. For all their strength, the Imperials certainly were cumbersome. He considered leaving them waiting for him, just to slight the Imperials who were too afraid to come and do their own bidding. With a resigned sigh, he shook off the thought, and emerged into the glade.

"Took your time."
"Not easy lugging this great gakking thing out," one of the men wheezed, machete stained with brown sap and green fluid. "not that you offered any help."
Harland shrugged. "Not my fault your Lord Mayor decided to have this meeting out here."
"Not even sure why he's entertaining your offer anyways."
"You can let him know I'm grateful he deigned to hear us."
"You can tell him yourself."
The holographic projector flickered to light, and Lord Mayor Maldonado was standing in front of Harland. The Gue'vesa removed his hood out of deference. The mayor nodded his own greeting. The three men stood back and let the two talk.

"My thanks for accepting this offer of an arrangement, Lord Mayor," Harland began. "I must admit, I didn't think you humble enough to accept it."
A lie. Harland knew the situation in Ros Hannoi was dire. Fear of the orks of Cambria and the folk curse that Lord Governor Anton Payne's death had brought was enough to force the city into reclusion. Even the Tillers in the city and the Imperials on the walls were united in the face of the Ork raids that periodically battered the last city on Cambria.
Of course, that was where the genius of the whole plan lay.

Since Sunstrike Cadre's solid alliance with Waaagh! Hannibal, and the resounding military success of the two armies working in tandem, the Big Mek's warband had swept almost completely through all of Cambria; subjugating, welcoming or exterminating all of the established warbands plaguing the jungles. Warbosses Nogrod, Nerozz, Boss SkullEater, even KoreGog, beyond even the reach of Hannibal, had all fallen, leaving only Waaagh! Hannibal in their place. With Hannibal's absence from the jungles, Sunstrike had moved in to claim the empty jungles themselves, unbeknownst to the Imperials. Still hiding behind their walls, they believed an attack was imminent. Harland could give them an offer they simply couldn't refuse.

Maldonado returned the greeting. "I received your message, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't interested by what you might be able to offer me. I know the Tillers in my city. They have nothing to offer. You are different."

"Yes," Harland said. "but is this line monitored?"
Maldonado shook his head. "No. If the Lord Governor was aware I was meeting with the Tillers in peace talks, my head would be on a pike. These men are loyal to me. This conversation is between us."
"Good," the Gue'vesa spoke. "in which case, I can tell you that I am an officer of Sunstrike Cadre, allied to the Tiller cause and rebels of the Tau Empire."
Maldonado flinched as he realised the depth of this knowledge, but quickly suppressed it. "Tau? Here on Crion? I heard the reports, but I didn't suspect it was..."
"So close? Don't worry, Lord Mayor. We offer you no harm."
The Mayor nodded. "I trust that you'll understand why I wanted this meeting away from my personage? I heard what happened to a good friend of mine. Rodrick Payne. Killed in his own building by a kill squad of Tillers. You'll understand why security is tight."
"Yes, sir. I do. If it is any consolation to you though, we do come in peace. In fact, my offer is of mutual benefit."

Harland recited the terms of the offer he had memorized.
"To our understanding, your city is under threat of Orks in the surrounding forest regions. Your forces are stretched thin, your watches long and tiring. You fear an attack, yes?" Maldonado nodded. "My commanders, both Tiller and Tau, have their eyes on your city, for it's location. We do not wish to sack your city, for your sake and for it's people. For Crion to rebuild, we must not burn and raze it to the ground. We must work together to build a better Crion."
"And what about New Pavus? What happened to not sacking that?"
Harland sighed from the interruption. "New Pavus was given the offer. They refused. You, on the other hand, have shown remarkable tolerance of the Tillers within your city. You have shown hope that an agreement can be made."
"What kind of agreement?"
"Simple," Harland held out his arms. "You allow the Tillers access and refuge in Ros Hannoi, and we can ensure that your will not need to worry about Ork attacks."

There was the dealbreaker. Maldonado was stunned, his eyes opened wide. Even the men around the projector were shocked.
"Impossible!" said Maldonado. "There's no possible way you can-"
"Have you been attacked lately?" Harland smirked. "My cadre has been repelling the Orks from your city to demonstrate this point." A lie, but Maldonado bought it.
"In exchange for what?"
"Just alliance or support of the Tiller cause. Our freedom to move men and munitions into your city. We will not impede on your rule. You will remain Lord Mayor of Ros Hannoi, even after Crion is ruled by Horatio, stars be willing."
Maldonado rubbed a hand over his sweaty forehead. "And if I don't accept your offer?"
Harland shrugged. "Nothing. You lose nothing. My cadre pulls out from defensive actions, and the Orks go back to what they were doing."

The biggest gamble, Skyhunter had said, would be making Maldonado believe that the Tau were fending off the imaginary hordes in the jungles. If he didn't believe that he was at threat, they wouldn't take the bait, and the agreement would be for nothing. And much as Harland said there would be no intervention from Sunstrike, that would also be a lie. Ros Hannoi needed to be taken. If not in one piece, then several smouldering ones.
There wasn't a need for it. Maldonado's expression showed all.

"Your offer is... unprecedented," Maldonado spoke. "Not even the late Lord Governor was able to hold the Orks off: Anton Payne was killed trying to. The current Governor, Tobias, doesn't have his father's or brothers' urgency, and Roderick, the most capable heir and a good friend, is no longer here to inherit his uncle's place. I have not doubted Tobias' bastard's skills in warfare or determination, but I was not convinced of his ability to actually defend the people he cares so deeply about. You give me hope for his cause."
"What say you, Lord Mayor?" Harland gently pushed the man for an answer.
With a sigh, Maldonado smiled.

"I have made my decision. In exchange for your protection of my city, my gates are open to the Tillers. However, I must make some conditions, to ensure the smoothness of this alliance. Firstly, I cannot pledge any of my own troops or aid into the war effort of the Tillers. I wish no part of the warfare. I have lost enough men over the years to the greenskins at my gates, and I cannot risk losing more."
Harland nodded, and agreed. Maldonado continued with his requests.
"Next, I request that, whilst I support the movement of men and materials into my city, I cannot allow Ros Hannoi to be used as a base of attack on another Crionian city or force. Should the Imperials attack the city on their own accord, so be it, but I will not invite more wanton destruction to my city. This is a city, not a fortress."
Harland gritted his teeth, but agreed. Ros Hannoi needed to be taken, and without blood was better than stained in it. Maldonado offered his third request.
"Seeing as the defence of my city is so largely aided by your army, my offer extends to the human warriors of your Cadre. Unfortunately, I cannot offer the same safe harbour to the xenos in Sunstrike Cadre. My citizens are not as accommodating as I am, and at the current stage, will not be welcome in the city limits. Your and your fellow men are permitted, but your Tau brethren will not. Is this acceptable?"
With resentment, Harland replied.
"I accept the terms of this agreement."

Maldonado laughed briefly, and sank into a chair. "Very good! On behalf of Ros Hannoi and all the people within it, I offer you thanks for offering protection, and we shall do our part in aiding the Tiller cause. When will I be expecting a visit?"
"WIthin the week, I expect. Troops under command of Captain Nassau will be delivering aid to your city, as part of the integration effort. I thank you for accepting this offer, on behalf of the Tillers and Sunstrike Cadre."
Before the hologram could flicker out, Maldonado stopped the men turning off the relay, and spoke to Harland.

"I have a personal matter I might ask you to answer for me?"
Harland, confused, answered. "Yes? What is it?"
"Rodrick Payne was my friend. He died in New Pavus, where I hear there were reports of some Tau involvement. Did your Cadre have any involvement in his death?"

Harland paused, deciding what to say. Whilst the Gue'vesa wasn't present at the battle of New Pavus, or the assassination mission that had been undertook, he did know that Sunstrike Cadre had a direct involvement. A Gue'vesa kill team, led by Sub-Commander Vandred, the highest ranking human in the cadre, had been part of that mission. The specifics, Harland didn't know, but he had a suspicion that Vandred may have made the killing blow. He knew better than to share the full details with Maldonado, regardless of their alliance. He could chalk it up to simple ignorance if that was the case.
"I know that some members of my Cadre were deployed in New Pavus, yes," explained Harland. "But I don't know what happened in the city. I wasn't deployed there myself. There's a chance we may have been in that kill squad, but I don't know for certain. I apologise for your loss, Lord Mayor."

Maldonado sighed. "We are at war. Death comes quicker, and death comes to all eventually. It matters not who killed him."
Harland offered a few words of his own. They felt true to him. "I'm sure Rodrick was a good man and promising leader. It was a shame he wasn't with us. He would have been a good commander. It is unfortunate that he passed."
"C'est la guerre." Maldonado uttered a foreign phrase. Harland looked back, confused. The mayor explained, before the hologram flickered to nothingness.
"That's war."

As the three soldiers hacked their way back to Ros Hannoi, Gue'vesa'ui Harland was left standing in the jungle clearing. Before setting off back to the rendezvous point for his cadre, he nudged at a small anthill by his feet. The ants swarmed around, and Harland stood back as they rooted around for attackers, then slowly trickled back into their nest their efforts in vain.
"C'est la guerre."

This message was edited 2 times. Last update was at 2017/04/14 18:50:42

Rippy wrote:Never forgetti, template spaghetti.
Made in ie
Nurgle Veteran Marine with the Flu

Cork, Ireland

All the action takes place in Arcannus on Crion.

Got a job unexpectedly and I have exams coming up so I might not get much writing done and while I have one more piece I was gonna stick on the end of this I said I might aswell post this while I have the chance.

Enjoy !

The Swamp had endured.

Garathal embraced the carnage as his sat atop one of the largest towers, his battered fortress, his smoking ruin. Blood mixed in with the murky puddles and lakes that littered the landscape. Corpses decorated the bogs, food for the stalking crocodiles thought Garathal, or an army. Smoke and fire was in the air but as the wind changed the unmistakable scent of rot and decay reigned triumph and true, Garathal cracked a smile, home. The Cathedral of Blight had withstood the Imperial assault, the walls were battered but they held, the doors were splintered but whole, his bastion of death and decay still stood in defiance crested atop the corpse ridden hill. An unmistakable clanking sound forced Garathal around, Baezael hobbled out with a mob of cultists, now upgraded with Imperial arms and armor.

“A glorious victory for you my lord !” bowed the shaman

“Impressive, I expected you to be nought but ashes” admitted Garathal with a sudden upturn in his tone, the prophet was pleased with what he found.

“We didn’t do it alone lord, a marine and his followers flanked our foe and turned the tide of battle, even going as far as to go toe to toe with a grey knight no less”

“Our meeting we brief, I shall seek him out” Garathal took one last look at the battlefield

“Gathered these corpses, before the predators begin nimble on them and meet me in the cathedral afterwards”

Bazael began to bow again but Garathal was already gone, quickly followed by his seven hulking Apostles.

The keep was filled was cheers and roars as Nurgle’s finest cracked open a barrel of rotgut booze, the Imperial Aquila printed on the barrel betrayed it’s source.

Garathal entered to a myriad of noise as the disciples raised a toast to the Plaguefather and his servants. Normally he would insist they they immediately begin working on the walls and doors in preparation for the inevitable counter attack, but he was in one of his better moods and let them celebrate. He climbed the steps to the Cathedral to find Zehk admiring the scripture on the walls

“Looking to convert?” teased Garathal as he entered his sanctum

Zekh did not face the maggot ridden sorcerer immediately.

“I'll pass. I like my armour in good condition and my guts where they belong”, Zehk said, turning around.

“Shame, I could make you into such a beautiful host of diseases you could not even fathom, oh well you are the one missing out,” Garathal smirked and approached the unremarkable marine, “So it turns out that I need your help again, Twiceborn, something that I would like to inquire about later but business first, time is a luxury ectera ectera."

“And?” said Zehk bluntly.

“I want you to tell me how you fit in my grand scheme of things, you being here is quite surprising and I don't appreciate surprises”

“I am caught in another spiders web Nurglite” spat Zehk “But if you lead me to bloodshed than I shall follow, for a time”

“Then i’m your huckleberry” nodded Garathal who turned to leave “We leave at dawn”

Bazael shuffled up the grueling steps to the defiant Cathedral to find his master leering at him

“Ah master I was just on m-”

“Listen carefully you matted goat, this cathedral shall not withstand a second assault”

“I assume you have a plan then ?” inquired the sorcerer to be “You do seem awfully jolly this day”

“First things first” continued Garathal “Is to raise our new guests to enlightenment, one can never have too many bodies. Next is to hastily repair the outer defenses as best we can, dig a moat around the Cathedral and gather some reeds from nearby and make sure those fools do not drink all that rotgut, it will be needed later.”

Baezael bowed “I love it when you have a plan sire”

“Always” grinned Garathal “Retreat to my study as soon as possible,I have something I want to crop up for the lovely Inquisition”


The sun had yet to revisit Crion, leaving in basked in the Moon's domain. The moon’s light reflect off the calm waters of the sea that flowed into the crowded harbour of Nortannis where numerous ships bobbed in the water, restless. Mason checked his watch again, 03:20. The Tiller’s rose at 06:00 and he had to be back by then which gave him a two hour window to grace Nortannis with Nurgle’s treats.

The drinking water from Nortannis was delivered to the city via a purification plant nested in the harbour, filtering out the toxins and making the water consumable. Mason eyed the structure from one of the many abandoned stores that once put Nortannis on the map as one of the busiest trading centers on the continent. Two sisters from the Order of the Silver Night lawfully patrolled the perimeter,their menacing flamers by their side. Mason could spot no structural weakness in the building, bar the door that was under the watchful eye of the Sisters, a distraction was needed. A curfew had been placed on the city, although who ordered it was unclear as the rumors of Lawson Barlow losing grip of his city to the Sisters ran rampant, many fingered the Order of the Silver Night for the harsh measures placed against their now crippled city. Homeless was a common issue on Crion but more so in Nortannis since many fisherman in the city couldn’t practice their trade forcing them onto the streets. Mason eyed a handful of slumped bodies in a nearby alleyway now huddled behind a few dumpsters, seeking warmth. Mason slipped out of the store and darted across the deserted street and approached the eerie corridor of despair. Nudging the hunched up figure the man uncurled like a flower in spring

“What the feth are you doing ?” grumbled the groggy man

“Shut up and listen” snapped Mason “Tomorrow’s supply of food rations have been left unguarded in warehouse fourteen”

The man sat up, with others beginning to surround him, eagerly.

“Even if that were true, did you forget about the curfew ? feth off you stupid bastard”

“There is trouble by the gates again, the refugees being rowdy again, the two sisters nearby have been called away, this is a unique opportunity here brother from one patriot to another, take the chance and feed our people”

A man behind him spoke up “If he doesn’t i’ll do it !” cheers of agreement echoed throughout the crowd, the groans from their stomachs urging them onwards.

Mason quickly scooted to some nearby shrubbery and sat in wait, foreseeing his time to strike.

As soon as the stragglers entered the street they realised their folly, the two Sisters raised their flamers and approached the lawbreakers

“Halt citizens, disperse and go back indoors immediately the curfew is still in progress”

Mason flew from his hiding place and luckily the door to the purifier was open. Inside the purifier a cranking of a wrench alerted Mason to someone's immediate presence. Grabbing a shard of glass and a piece of cloth, Mason held his custom shiv close and crept through the plant towards the almost rhythmic sound. The man was stout and sturdy, his hair was balding and he wore greasy blue overalls with a grey t-shirt with sweat patches oozing out from underneath his arms and his back. Mason was behind him and his work masked Mason’s approach, child’s play thought Mason as he swiftly placed his hand over his chubby mouth and simultaneously jammed the piece of glass through his throat while he kneed him in the back, textbook takedown. Letting the man bleed out all over the dusty floor Mason quickly found the reservoir of water and open a leather pouch where he kept his little garden.
Having time to think and plan the order of the plants from New Pavus to Nortannis, Mason quickly ground up some herbs with a mortar and pedestal and deposited his vile substance into the water, his deed done Mason checked his watch again, 03:45. With plenty of time to spare Mason found an emergency hatch and slipped out, with the drinking water poisoned the already isolated populace of Nortannis will wither and fade away into nothingness.


Dawn creeped upon the yellow landscape as Garathal summoned his host. The larvae ridden trees, the murky puddles, the pungent fumes Garathal would miss this bastion he had created for the Lord of Pestilence. Cultists freshly armed with Imperial Weaponry, Ravenous Beastmen,Bloated Plague Marines and two minotaurs was arrayed before him the the silhouetted courtyard that basked in the shadow of the Cathedral. With the reinforcements from New Pavus his numbers had swooned to acceptable numbers, The prophet stepped forwards and the muttering crowds hushed themselves until all they were heard was the buzzing of the eternal host of insects that accompanied the Disciples Of Decay.

“Joyous Children, say goodbye to this awe inspiring monument to our Grandfather for he has instructed me directly to lead this flock elsewhere so that we can serven him dutifully as is both our purpose and honour”

Cheers and cries of worship sprouted from the crowd before Garathal’s raised hand shushed them

“Gather only your essentials, we march in ten minutes, May the Plaguefather Gift you”

“May he gift us all” came the response as the crowd dispersed.

Kremus and a handful of cultist approached the Prophet after the speech

“We will hold the Cathedral my lord if Nurgle demands it”

“He does Kremus, I have no doubt that you will throw these heathens back from whence they came, remember to use all at your disposal Kremus I have put great effort into preparing the defenses”

“Absolutely Grand Prophet, fear not the Cathedral shall hold”

Garathal waved away Kremus who had overstayed his welcome and marched towards the gate to lead his flock east, back towards the lake, back towards the Black Loch, he would not be denied a second time.

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2017/04/23 16:15:54

Sgt. Vanden I bet Irish can do that by flashing his bear chest.
Sgt. Vanden Irish is the definition of a Dutch oven
Made in us
Stabbin' Skarboy

All was quite in the fishing village of Rowmar save the constant squawking of red gulls. The birds flexed their crimson plumage and rested atop eastern winds occasionally lading so that they might search the village bellow for scraps of unprotected fish. The birds found unchaperoned fish carts in the market square and made free with their sea scaled treasures. The market had only the night before played host to Rowmar’s annual festival, fire works were fired and dances were danced. Lucky gulls found bites of forgotten popcorn and candies. The birds had claimed every part of this place. They rested atop childless merry polls ribbons dancing in the wind occasionally startling a bird with its sudden movement. They strutted atop the center stage each walked along the abandoned platform like they themselves were competing for the title of Rowmar’s Fairest Maiden. Birds gathered at the table base of a gramophone its invisible pianist still serenading the long gone crowds. One of the birds resting at the edged of the village watched with curious or perhaps mindless eyes as two dozen green skinned thundered towards him mounted atop roaring iron steeds.

Nox sat in DoomBlitza’s saddle engine murmuring over the calls of red sea birds. Nox dismounted his beloved contraption and the motor began grew silent as the rest of Nox’s Ladz of Anorky did the same. Nox knelt down and inspected the sand, he found a large indentation, the unmistakable mechanical foot print of a dreadnaught.

Since the death of Nox’s ally MegaFang and the destruction of his quote unquote indestructible dread mob Nox has been scouring the Zike region in search of the fabled Mad Kan. It was the theory of one of Nox’s most trusted advisor that since that slippery remnant sorcerer had such a fascination with the ancient Blood Dragon ruins that the ork entombed in the remains of an ancient Blood Dragon Dreadnaught was their best lead in finding him. Gadnuk dismounted from his truck that carried him and his Gut Rippas.

“That one’z fresh, can’t be too far now.”

Nox looked around and spoke.

“Where da zog are all da humiez. You fink da Mad Kan got em?”

Gadnuk shrugged

“Maybe, but I don’t see no signs of a scrap, you fink da Mad Kan would ave made a bigger mess.”

The Doof spoke out.

“Who cares what happened to some stupid pink skins, we got work to do.”

Nox nodded and shouted at his nobs.

“Keep yer eyes up and yer shootas ready, I got a feeling da Mad Kan I’z gonna put up a nasty fight.”

Gadnuk added to his Boss’s warning.

“Remember we want da Mad Kan alive, but itz gotz a mob of boyz that follow him around kill those gitz all you want.”

The Ladz of Anorky and Gadnuk’s own Gutrippas grinned at the prospect of killing some orks, they had gone nearly an entire day without killing something and cultists of the church of Mad Kan sound like fine sport. After the Mad Kan was exiled to the remote beaches of Zike it soon gained a bloody reputation as a brutal killing machine, many of the local clanless orks began to follow Mad Kan viewing it as the Gork’s Fury made steel.

Gadnuk began shouting orders to his Kommandos.

“Gutrippas on me.”

Nox nodded and began walking into the town the demonic DoomBlitza creeping silently behind on rubber wheels.

The town’s silence made Nox anxious. The peacefulness of this place was much to the disgust of Nox’s Ladz of Anorky. To exercise their frustration, they began knocking over street carts and stomping on gulls dumb enough to cross their path, one of the bikers was so bored that he even began unloading his Big Shoota into the window of a nearby shop for no apparent reason other than to kill some mannequins. This ruckus was in sharp contrast to the lethal silence that Gadnuk and his Kommandos operated with as they slunk quietly through the market square. After ten grueling minutes of quite the orks reached the Imperial church at the edge of town.

In front of the church steps stood two orks and a gretchen all clad in black robes, each had a cord tied around their waist and daggers clung loosely to them. One of the Orks carried a crude WAAAGH banner decorated with human skulls and scraps of ancient dreadnaught plate. It was obvious to Nox that these were the disciples of the cult of the Mad Kan. Nox gave a quick look to the Doof who shrugged unsure of these ork cultists. Nox began approaching the black clad orks and the Gretchen held out his hand and spoke.

“Dats close enough, state yer name and purpose for trespassing on da sacred stompin grounds of Da Mighty Mad Kan.”

Nox was initially surprised by the grot’s boldness, few Nobz were stupid enough to address him like that. That surprise quickly turned to anger as Nox replied.

“I am Nox Zoggin WarpRida, da big bad beast of Charadon. I’ve come ere cuz yer Mad Kan I’z gonna help me find someone.”

The Grot growled.

“And why would he help you?”

Nox grabbed the control rod from DoomBlitza’s saddle bag with the intent of using it to beat the insubordinate Gretchen into a bloody green mash but as soon as the rod was revealed the Gretchen paused and removed his hood. The Grot spoke wide eyed as the two larger orks removed their hoods in disbelief.

One of the ork boyz began speaking.

“Da Stikk of Ending, dats it, just like da prophecy.”

Gadnuk rolled his eyes.

“Great another zogging prophecy. Too many Gork damn prophecies between da Doof and now deez Gitz.”

The Gretchen spoke visibly regretting his insolence.

“You must be da one dat stomps da sun, da bringa of dragons.”

Nox spoke

“I don’t know what a dragon iz, but I sure a zog ain’t got none on me, urry up and take me to yer mad kan.”

The cultist gave a final look at each other and began guiding Nox and his ladz up the steps of the imperial church.

The church was opulent compared to the rest of the humble village. Stained glass windows ran along the walls depicting the emperor’s nine loyal sons, and jam statutes of imperial saints filled the buttresses that supported these massive windows. At the far side of the church above where the preacher’s pulpits stood the stained glass emperor, his flaming sword set aglow by the setting sun. In this church were hundreds of clamoring orks and Gretchen shouting nut each grew silent as they saw Nox’s staff. Beneath the great glass emperor was the hulking form of the Mad Kan. The looted dreadnaught was perhaps half original and half ork scrap. Its left pauldron was decorated with the massive skull of a giant squig, ork icons hung from his chest like medals as hooks and chains dragged near his feet. The Mad Kan stared deeply at the stain glass emperor and spoke to it, its voice was constantly switching between feral orkish growls and the synthetic weeping of man. Its mechanical eyes flickered steel blue.

“Where were you in our time of need. Were we not worthy of your protection.”
Nox continued to walk forward control rod resting on his shoulder. The Mad Kan’s voice became more feral and his eyes glowed green.

“You can’t tell me wut to do, I’m da boss of my brain now get out of ere.”

The Mad Kan hoisted the kustom Gatling gun he had mounted to his arm and began firing at the stain glass window shattering the image of the Emperor.

The Mad Kan’s voice shifted to mechanical precision, the green abandoned his vision and replaced itself with red.

“Intruder detected, xenos confirmed.”

It returned to its ork voice as it pivoted to face Nox yet again his eyes becoming green.

“You dere flesh bag, you’z got my control rod. Did Kavorkoz send ya, you can tell him to shove dat rod up his…”

Before the ork could finish his comment another voice overpowered his, this one sounded far more human and eyes blue.

“Brother Wwworjech, you have returned the rrrrod, I am ready for di-di-diagnostic interface.”
An access point opened on the dreadnaught. Nox approached the Mad Kan but the access panel shut violently and the mechanical voice spoke again.

“Ork presence confirmed, combat mode initiated, melee functions online.”

The Mad Kan began charging at Nox as the Big Mek swore

“Oh Zog.”

Nox rolled out of the charging machine’s path as Nox’s honor guard ran in to help der beloved boss. One of the nobz was caught in the Mad Kanz grip and thrown out one of the stain glass windows, another was slammed into a group of the cheering Mad Kan cultists.

The Mad Kan’s ork voice returned as it laughed.

“You ladz fink yer ard enough to fight da fist of Gork HA pathetic.”

The Doof struck the Mad Kan with a bolt of sonic green energy and stumbled the dreadnaught back a step.

Nox shouted over the confusion.

“I need dat zoggin panel open again to get control.”
Gadnuk shouted

“On it boss.”

Gadnuk slunk around the back of the Mad kan dodging its unwieldy blows. Gadnuk worked his way to the behemoths back and leapt on to it. Gadnuk reached the access panel and drew his knife as he attempted to pry it open. The Mad Kan shook violently and caused Gadnuk to drop his knife. The Kommando nob shouted to his second in command.


The Goff Sargegit did not hesitate to toss Gadnuk his knife. Using one hand to grip the back of the Mad Kan and another to catch the knife gadnuk plunged the blade into the seems of the access panel and pried it open. The commando shouted as he dismounted the beast.

“Its all you boss.”

Nox smield and whirled the staff as he charged for the Mad Kan. The dreadnaught swung at Nox, but the ork slid beneath his attacker’s blow and forced the rod into the access panel. The Rod stuck and at that moment the Mad Kan went still, its mechanical eyes shifted between red, blue, and green before going black. A moment passed and its eyes glowed red.

“System reboot complete.”

Blue eyes

“How may I serve.”

Nox smiled and spoke.

“Yer gona help me find someone.”

Green eyes

“Dat it, why didn’t you just say so.”

Nox smiled and soon every cultist in the room began to kneel in reverence of the Nox. The rebellious grot from the church steps shouted.

“All hail Supreme War Boss Nox Da Dragon Bringa.”

Slowly the kneeled orks began to chant

Drag-on Bring-ga

Drag-on Bring-ga

Drag-on Bring-ga

Gadnuk put his hands on his belt.

“WarpRida, Big Boss, Dragon Bringa, you have too many names now.”

The Doof added with a laugh

“Soon we’ze just gonna call ya Nox da ork wif too many names.”

Nox tossed the control rod to one of his honork guard and spoke.

“Come on den, we'z got a sorcerer ta find.”

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2017/04/26 16:16:38

Made in us
Loyal Necron Lychguard

Working on it

=====Carcharodon Camp, Clerth, Crion=====
It is not unusual for Chapters to keep secrets, in fact, it is almost expected. It was for this reason that Ogun surveyed every crack and crevice of the few bunkers that formed the center of the Carcharodon camp. He found nothing, that was until he looked to the material itself and he scolded himself for not realizing earlier. The bunkers were in near perfect condition, no mars across the service, no cracks in the wall, only areas where a small amount had chipped off the edges and collected on the ground. He collected as much of the material as he could and began his studies.

Artemis tended to the marines that came back injured from the assault on the Gargant, they had lost only a few men compared to the other parties, but it was still a blow to the Carcharodons force having lost several geneseeds. They would need recruits to replenish the ranks and train for future wars. He decided he would take this matter up with Exitar, who oversaw the recruiting process, judging who was and wasn’t worthy to serve the Emperor. Artemis walked into Exitar’s room but only found his ancient Tartaros plate slotted neatly into niches made in the wall.

“What is your purpose hear Apothecary?”

The inquiry surprised Artemis, but Exitar did always have a kind of preternatural sense.

“I seek permission and assistance in obtaining recruits for our fleet.”

“I agree, we must fill our losses and prepare for more. In the meantime I could use some help or more precisely a remedy. My Lyman’s Ear seems to be performing below optimal levels.”

“I have a concoction with me that should help until we can take a closer look at it.”

He walked into the other room which was down a small foyer. Exitar sat at a station working on repairing the crack in his helmet, making sure to still leave a ‘scar’ on the helmet. When not wearing armor Exitar had little use for robes, this was because most rumors were true, everything from the waist down was mechanical, the left half of his torso was a patchwork of pale flesh and metal that led to a mechanical arm, his mouth having been replaced by a vox emitter and his left eye being bionic. What flesh that remained of him was scarred and covered in tattoos, the only visible part of his head was matted with long service studs. If not for the void-like black eyes that was a mark of the Carcharodons, he could be mistaken for an Iron Hand.

Ogun walked into the room shortly after Artemis finished administering his services, unfazed by the Apothecaries workings.

“Exitar I think we should go to Darby. I’ve been examining the bunker materials and it doesn’t match any commonly used forms, but I need to know how and where such materials were made.”

“Perfect, we were just about to go talk to Sigmun about recruiting villagers.”

The small band got ready and set out for the village of Darby, walking by the training grounds, the landing pad, and the strategium where Taranis was talking to several Sergeants and the Guard Captains. Taranis and Exitar exchanged a brief look and psychic information. After a few more minutes of walking they made it to the outer perimeter which was garrisoned by the Imperial Guard now attached to the marines, many of which stopped what they were doing to gaze upon the trio of super human warriors making their way through. After about 15 minutes of travel they reached the village and by the time they arrived at the chapel service had been ministered and Sigmun sat inside praying to the statue of the Emperor and the imperial Aquilla behind it. The heavy thudding footsteps told the priest that his Shark acquaintances had returned. He stood and turned to greet them.

“Greetings my lords, to what do I owe the pleasure of being your audience once again?” He face beaming at them.

Exitar spoke first, “We have questions to ask priest. First, we have deemed it necessary to begin recruiting again, we want your blessing for this. Secondly,” He removed a small pouch from his belt and handed it to the man, “We wish to know where and how this material was made.”

Sigmun paused for a second, digesting the information given to him, he poured a minute amount of the pouch into his hand. He slowly shook his head and bearing an almost concerned look he stared at the chaplain with confidence.

“You have my blessing to take recruits, but please, take no one who doesn’t want to go. As far as this,” He tilted his hand, letting the powder fall to the floor, “This material was made from Drake’s Ore, there is a mine not too far to the west that is filled with it, we shut it down due to lack of export and need.”

“Thank you, we will need to call the village together to speed up the process.”

“Well I’m sure that some of the men around here will help you work the mine, but that’s for them to decide. Ring the bell towards the middle of the town, that should get everyone gathered. Thank you for seeking my blessing.”

Exitar nodded and the trio again set out, but before Exitar left the priest called out to him once more.

“My lord! I have something you may to see, if you’ll entertain it.” Exitar took a second to reply, “Very well.”

Sigmun gestured for the marine to follow and he did so, slowing down as to not trample or pass the old man. He led him through a back and down stone stairs into the basement of the chapel, Exitar’s bulky frame hardly fitting through the passageways. A single hole in the ceiling shown light onto a lone chest bound by chain to a stone pillar, Sigmun walked up to the object and uttered a few prayers before removing a key from some unseen pocket. One by one the heavy chains thudded to the ground and the sound of metal chipping rock resonated for a few seconds, he opened the box and removed a fairly large object. He kneeled and presented it to the chaplain.

“This is our village’s most sacred relic, it is rumored to date back to the time when your kind ruled over this planet, I believe it would serve you better.”

Exitar took the object in his hands and was surprised at what he was seeing, it was a Crux Terminatus in the shape of a dragon.

Taranis finished giving orders to the garrisoned guard captains and his select marine sergeants who each left to go fulfill their assigned task. Now with the Ork distraction out of the way and the petty politics behind them it was time to get back to the task at hand. The one and only reason his fleet had been here so long, the Eldar and their damned farseer.

He walked out of the tent and to the edge of the dirt pasture the sat to one side of their camp. He held out his hand and let his rage flow, channeling it in such ways only he could, only a Carcharodon could. He felt the power surge and his soul shine as great stone fins jutted from the ground and moved through the field, almost as if ancient predators prowled beneath the surface.

This piece should be much longer and lined up better but it's the best I could do for a well over do piece. Hope y'all enjoy."

<Dynasty> ~10500pts
War Coven of the Coruscating Gaze ~3000pts
Thrice-Damned Plague Corps ~3250pts
Admech (TBN) ~3500pts +30k Bots and Ulator

Made in gb
Ancient Ultramarine Venerable Dreadnought


Hive Torcan rose up from the ground, far taller than the smaller city on the horizon. New Pavus was nothing impressive, Shas'El Ghostwalk thought, even by Gue standards. Hive Torcan, on the other hand, was an entirely different beast. New Pavus had a pastoral charm, sprawling over the ground like a grassfield. The Hive City that stood before him was more like a tree trunk - vast, tall, and dead on the outside. It was for that reason that Ghostwalk and five of his best Stealth Suit pilots were deployed to the massive superstructure.

He had scoffed at the initial reports, until Vandred, and then Skyhunter himself, requested his attention. Tiller reports indicated a depleted and weakened defense force in Hive Torcan. The nearby conflict in New Pavus had drained Imperial forces from all around the continent, and even from across the sea. This would leave Torcan weakened, and ripe for attack, but this was not yet the time. Skyhunter had always ensured he followed a strict mantra, and Ghostwalk had done his best to adhere to it.
"Knowledge is equivalent to power. Conduct your wars as you would fire a bow: the more you draw the bowstring back, the more powerful your shot will be. If you accumulate as much knowledge as possible before you strike, your final strike will be more than the sum of multiple, punitive strikes. Crush your opponents in one single blow, wielding the bow of knowledge."

The Tiller reports needed evidence. The city being silent and shut off was not proof. Skyhunter would need visual confirmation. Stealth would be needed.
With a silent command, Ghostwalk activated his stealth field, and bounded over the outer wall. His jet pack carried him over, and softly onto the ground. His team followed suit, all but invisible to the outside world. The guardsmen on the wall didn't pause for a moment in their patrol. They were in the walls.

Just beyond the gate, large troop movements caught Ghostwalk off guard, and he paused, not trying to overtax his stealth field. A PDF gathering, a muster of troops, he thought. He checked his pict-recorder was still active, and observed. The insignia on many of the PDF was already familiar, found on the corpses of some of the warriors in New Pavus. The sigil of the Blood Fort was prominent on their shoulder pad. They were reinforcements, additional garrison forces. Ghostwalk cursed. Although Torcan's own garrison seemed depleted, troops from the Blood Fort, destined for New Pavus, had supported the neighbouring city instead. Still, just PDF, he said to himself. He shuffled on the rim of the searchlights that lit up the muster, and focused on the man facing all the troops. A big man, and judging from the crude rank pins, a Colonel of some description. His uniform was identical to the Blood Fort men around him. A dedicated leader, and, from the general gazes of pitiful awe the PDF were giving him, some sort of hero. Ghostwalk boosted the audio capture on his suit, diverting some power away. The PDF were just that - PDF, and PDF in his experience meant weakness. They wouldn't detect him.
His suit caught snippets as it boosted power further. Things like "-to New Pavus, our operations are crippled, yet-" and "-prepared for Tiller assault on this very-" filtered into the recording. Suddenly, the voice stopped. Ghostwalk checked his recording feeds. All active, and yet-

"Shas'El!" A sharp whisper in his earpiece snapped Ghostwalk to focus. "He's looking at us!" The Tau was right. The colonel has stopped, and not only were his eyes aimed right at the Stealth Suits, but all of the Blood Fort troopers. Ghostwalk felt a cold chill run through him, and froze. Had they seen him? Impossible, they were just-
"Enemies! To arms, under attack!"

The colonel's bellowed command broke Ghostwalk's stillness, and he cycled up his burst cannon to meet the PDF. Before they could bring their lasgun to their shoulder, the first ranks were cut down by fusillades of burst cannon fire. His stealth teams, still cloaked, broke into an overlapping formation, pinning the PDF in and away from the ever-moving Stealth Suits. They fell back into firing lines, firing at whatever they could lay eyes on. Ghostwalk got as close as he dared, trying to draw a bead on the colonel. Before he could depress the trigger of his burst cannon, the human glimpsed the shimmer of Ghostwalk's suit, and pointed sharply and calmly at the Tau. Seconds later, a blast smashed Ghostwalk off his feet. An autocannon turret, overlooking the assembly ground, chewed up the ground around the Stealth Suit, some slugs driving into the Tau's invisible armour. Another autocannon barked into life, and the entire area was filled with lead, autocannons firing indiscriminately at wherever the colonel pointed out.

One stealth suit yelled in pain, an autocannon round breaking his arm and his stealth field. Ghostwalk barely had time to respond when another Tau was downed again, this time her chestplate chewed up by lasbolts and auto-rounds. Their armour was ruined, all systems failing. They wouldn't be able to even jump-jet over the walls, let alone use their ruined stealth fields to hide. They were sitting ducks, and they all knew it. Ghostwalk knew this was not worth fighting for. He jumped back, his burst cannon still mowing down PDF that stumbled too near him. He spat the retreat order to the other stealth suits, and backed off to the gate. A few guards tried firing down and pinning their invisible assailants, but they were useless. As his suit shot him back over the walls of Torcan, his burst cannon riddled them with pulse bolts, and returning them back to the cold, hard ground of their hive city.

The recon was cut short, and several men lost, but Ghostwalk knew one thing. Hive Torcan was stronger than he anticipated. So much for just PDF, he thought, gnashing his teeth at the unknown fates of the two stealth suits he left behind.

Rippy wrote:Never forgetti, template spaghetti.
Made in ie
Nurgle Veteran Marine with the Flu

Cork, Ireland

The fetid, buzzing warband advanced into the vibrant, green mass of trees that sat between Garathal and his prize. The beastmen shaman and Garathal’s aid, Bazael trudged through the soft sludge of mud and animal feces that made up the forest floor. He could feel the creatures of the forest all around him, the birds roaming from branch in the towering trees above, the insects burrowing in the ground below, a group of bears were roaming somewhere to the far east and deer were drinking from a shallow stream to the south west. Even now he could turn all these creatures into a ravenous horde and direct towards his enemies, ripping them to shreds. His crass staff sunk deep in the mud forcing the shaman to rip the staff up with excessive force before continuing through the chirping woods. The Disciples of Decay were exhausted but Prophet Garathal demanded they not stop until they reach the banks of Arcannus lake. In days past Baezael was privy to the Grand Prophet’s inner circle, advising him in terms of strategy and sorceries, on alliances and betrayals. Now however Baezael has been ousted from such a privileged position, being left to do trivial tasks such as holding the Cathedral, the very one that is now being abandoned. Recalling the good ole days Baezael reminded himself of the moment Baezael had began to fall from his master’s favour, his decision to attempt to take Crion for his own. The Bray Shaman argued that the Imperial presence was too strong and too many factors were at play and that they would be better suited to raze other worlds, The terminator bound Prophet strongly disagreed with such an action and Baezael had been slipping from his graces ever since. A shout from ahead of the column snapped Baezael’s attention, the dying sun’s light was spread across the still lake waters as the birds of the forest fled from the myriad of disease that approached, trees were chopped and fires burned, the Disciples of Decay made camp as their Master eagerly anticipated his prize.

After an endless night of taxing meditation the sun rose over the horrid encampment that had sprang up around the mouth of the lake, the desecrated forest had been beaten back with rows of defiled tree stumps scattered around the outskirts,creating a line of vision for the Nurglites in case of an approaching force decided to creep out of the dense forest. The camp was grotesque and unorganised. Ragged tents were pitched in groups with the only deliberate placement being to avoid placing them in front of the makeshift gate to allow access. Trenches were dug for the human waste and fires burned with the carcasses of the local wildlife, the troops were tired and morale was low, they were exposed and downtrodden, Garathal needed to hurry. Garathal emerge from his tent with a spring in his step, his seven apostles arrayed on each side quickly fell in behind him and followed him down the hill from where his tent overlooked the shoddy excuse of an encampment. The Psychic shield previously impenetrable not felt weaker, distant almost like it was shimmering, Garathal estimated that whoever was casting such a shield wasn’t focusing on the shield as they once were and as such left their guard down, at least for a moment. Armed with this knowledge and confidence that he could break through this barrier and bypass the Black Loch Garathal wasted no time in diving back into the Arcannus Lake.

Zehk the Twiceborn and Commissar Schafer sat with their followers near the mouth of the camp where the stench was not as thick and the air was at least a little bit clearer. A trio of characters stood around a dying fire, Zehk’s physique was unmistakable, Schäfer's Commissar coat was a stable and a third figure with a wide brimmed hat and scout armor stood between them, almost as equals.
The Scout handed Zehk a single bolt casing

“You owe me”

Zehk looked at the bolt casing with displeasure before eyeing Garathal leaving the camp.
Garathal made for the gate but Zehk and Commissar Schafer stood in the way of the Rushing Prophet

“Good Morning, rotten one” greeted Zehk

“Twiceborn” nodded Garathal “What do you want ?” his tone less than welcoming

“Where are you going ? This sorry excuse for a camp is a disgrace, any attack here would turn into a slaughter” Zehk’s anger rising at the Prophet’s dismissive tone

“My business is my own but alas I am going to the lake now get out of the way” demanded Garathal, in no mood for this cumbersome delay

“For what purpose ? Your men need you here, they are on the brink of collapse” snapped Zehk gesturing to the slumped bodies and hanging heads of the nearby cultists now watching the confrontation

“Do not presume to tell me what to do with my followers runt !” exploded Garathal “It is by my good graces that you still draw breath, or do you want to be known as the thriceborn ? I would be happy to oblige”

“Do not bite off more than your rotten jaw can chew” snarled Zehk with a gleam in his eye

Both warriors took a step forward, with Zehk’s followers drawing their weapons, Garathal’s apostles did the same

Commissar Schäfer placed a hand on Zehk’s armored gauntlet “We share the same enemy, no need to add more to that bloody list” with a soothing voice that had a hint of anger

Zehk exhaled and stood to one side glaring at Garathal’s party as they made their way to the awaiting boat on Lake Arcannus.

Reg’s boat bobbed in the serene waters, almost beckoning Garathal to approach, yearning for a purpose. Garathal climb in and so did his apostles, the eight terminator clad marines pushed the boat to it’s limits but it stayed afloat and brought Garathal closer and closer to the fading pyschic shield.The slow ride over was excruciating for Garathal, he knew this window of opportunity was short and this already slow boat was working overtime to carry such momentous cargo, slowing it to a crawl. The rumbling motor came to a halt and the boat soon followed. Garathal Stood up and his brothers readied themselves, without uttering a word they all jumped from the boat, into the deep dark waters below.

The dense nature of their Tactical Dreadnought armor dragged the the eight figures helplessly to the bottom of the dark, black lake. Their descent was clouded by the pitch black waters and it wasn’t until the apostles hit the lakebed floor did they illuminate their menacing surroundings. Garathal would have been happy to walk through the darkness, the twin holes that once acted as his eyes did not benefit from the beaming lights, all the same he gave his staff a little shake and green warp fire flared to life around his blade. Retracing his steps back through the shipwrecks and the bones of past meals, Garathal found the timeless ruins again. He decided to skirt around the mound of sand and try to get into the ruins from a different angle, being careful not to rouse the Black Loch, again. A path was cut into the mound around the back which seemed to lead into a cave underneath the ruins, keeping close to the wall of sand and keep a wary eye above for the Black Loch’s swift fury, The psychic ward was flaring in his mind's eye now, he was close. Just inside the cloaked cave stood a shimmering barrier, to an untrained eye it was just an empty cave waiting to be ravaged and explored. Garathal was no fool and motioned for his apostles to hang back as he outstretched his palm, a pale blue barrier faded in and out of existence as Garathal leaned forward as if to exert more pressure, the shimmerings became more frequent and the barrier appeared to form cracks before finally disappearing, Garathal fell forward into the cave, into the looming darkness.

Before him stood more time weathered statues of armored figures flanking a sealed door. The water level had dropped significantly, swaying near their ankles and droplets of water could be heard dropping from the nearby stalactites. With a flick of the recovering Sorcerors wrist two apostles, Brother Steele and Brother Farthac strode forward and proceeded to kick the door in. A few thunderous thumps later and the door collapsed in on itself into the musty, derelict hallway that lied beyond. Garathal shuffled forward, leaning heavily on his staff

“Take the lead, if me breaking through the barrier didn’t alert them, that definitely did”

Swinging their fearsome Manreapers back around the two Apostles led the way through the rusted, leaking corroded hallways. Following the flickering lights Nurgle’s chosen ancient murals scrawled upon the walls, done with a shaky hand the murals showed armored warriors taming dragons and taking oaths of fealty from humans, the murals ended suddenly with two dragons coiling around each other with a planet that must have been Crion resting in it’s center, as if it was being squeezed. A distinct humming sound rattled to life somewhere further on down the hallway, Brother Rhaegos spun on his heels

“What was that ?”

Garathal, feeling stronger preceded down the hallway

“A generator or a power source” answered the Prophet gesturing to the now beaming lights

They passed sealed rooms labelled as “Armory” and “Medical Center”, Garathal made a note to loot them later, rounding a corner he froze. A door stood open at the end of the passage with light beaming out of it and mutterings could be faintly heard. Pressing on, Garathal ordered a tight formation and moved into the light, the room was unlike anything in the facility that they have seen so far. The facility as a whole was old and neglected,dust and rust was common and seawater was leaking in, threatening a full blown cave in, the room they now found themselves in was white and clean, almost clinical. Bright lights shined against the white flooring ands which was sure to blind any who had just come from the darkened, decrepit hallways. A grey robed figure hunched over a console frantically pressing buttons and checking something that resembled a heart rate sensor, he turned suddenly eyes widening and fists shaking vigorously

“You Fool, do you have any idea what you are meddling in ?”

Garathal spun his staff into a two handed stance ready to slice such an insolent whelp in two

A dozen or so shots from a crude auto pistol spread widely between Garathal and his chosen, pinging off their armor or flat out missing them entirely, the shaky human had wasted his ammunition. Garathal left out a bellow of laughter but was cut short by red sirens and a flashing, busted console behind them. Pods that they had not noticed upon entry rose vertically, humanoid shapes clawed to escape their tubular prisons, they were soon granted their wish. Hissing open simultaneously armored warriors fumbled out, their grey armor was of an older mark, mark II or III, a crimson splatter was spread from their left pauldron, it wasn’t until one turned towards Garathal did he realised that the splatter resembled a dragon. The nearest one lashed out at Garathal who got a swift diagonal strike through his ancient helm for his trouble spilling crimson all over the pristine floor, the horde of warriors descended upon them, the apostles sent up a defensive line around their leader who was enjoying to finally get a chance to spill some blood. A door on the far side of the room opened, more warriors, a warrior rushed Garathal who sidestepped his attack and clipped the back of his right leg toppling him before bringing his full might on the downward swing on his back. Humans flooded in from behind them, flanking them with autoguns. The Apostles were struggling, Brother Lynx had two warriors on his back while Brother Rhaegos managed to slice one off while contending to two warriors of his own, the runes on his staff glowing Garathal released a wave of green ward fire towards the door, sending the reinforcing humans in disarray

“Apostles fall on me, a fighting retreat !”

The eight Nurglites backed into the narrow hallways, slicing and sweeping through the armored warriors and robed humans that charged at them, as Garathal reached the cave the pursuers relented in their assault. Realising that the site was deadly, Garathal decided to gather reinforcements and to digest these recent events. Back on the surface, as the last of the Apostles clambered back on board, a deafening roar erupted throughout the air as a crescent shaped starship zoomed over the lake and hovered, the waters heaved at such a development and wary of the looming Black Loch Garathal quickly ordered the boat to shore. The starship’s hull was ivory with golden accents, Garathal recognised the vessel as Necron design but it beared resemblance of Tau design aswell, something began to build up with the aircraft, looming closer and closer Garathal wondered if this was how it would end for him he readied himself, the build up was reaching it’s apex and then …… a horn sounded, Friends from an old alliance had returned …….
The dragons arise .....

Actions take place on Arcannus Lake

Sgt. Vanden I bet Irish can do that by flashing his bear chest.
Sgt. Vanden Irish is the definition of a Dutch oven
Made in us
Rotting Sorcerer of Nurgle

The Dog-house

The shoreline of Lake Arcannus was less polluted than Nurgle-populated swamp, making it more an ideal camp for Zehk's men. A small cluster of tents sat just inside the cover of the tree line two-hundred feet from the water. Two men sat out on the lake trolling for fish to feed the hunger bellies gathered around campfires. Their humanity had not left them. Zehk, on the other hand, sat alone on the stump of a tree he felled earlier for firewood. A gruff voice kept him company.

"We should have left in the night. I don't trust these Nurglites."

"Is there a person you do trust, Par?" Zehk asked the voice, half expecting a protracted silence for an answer.

"I trust you. You'd at least have the decency of stabbing me in the chest."

"I wouldn't get close enough to do that: you'd shoot me in a heartbeat... now holster the gun that your pointing at me."

The slow sound of something metal sliding into leather confirmed Zehk's suspicion. The Marine Malevolent he trusted as a vanguard and scout was probably the last soul he should trust, but Par had saved Zehk's life more times than he could count. There was a mutual benefit for both of them to work with each other; it was an almost natural case of a symbiotic relationship. Zehk protected Par from the frontline and his vengeful Chapter and Par evened the odds in Zehk's duels and provided him with much needed information on his targets.

"Zehk, I have received word that there is a floating city somewhere to our Northeast," Par said, handing s crudely drawn map of Crion to Zehk. Several red markings indicated weak points in Imperial patrol routes, one placed conveniently near the where the suspected city was located. Zehk raised his brow.

"Where did you get this?"

"I liberated it from a dead bluey," Par said, taking a step back and drawing his pistol. Zehk pressed his armored chest into Par, apparently unconcerned about being shot.

"I'm not about to fight these Nurglites sooner than we have to. We both know they and the Tau are working together."

"Easy, big guy. I didn't kill this one. Some Ork did first, but I will give it to you that I probably would've shot him had he been alive."

"Then don't let them know you have it... keep me posted as usual"

Zehk stepped back and turned to the beach. The men were hauling in some huge catch out of the boat and bringing more firewood to start a bonfire. A few men were huddled around something out of sight near one of the campfires and laughing. Zehk knew that couldn't be a good sign. He walked over slowly, his men turning away if they met his gaze. Schäfer was the first face he recognized in the group. To Zehk's surprise, she was only dressed in her white undershirt and a blanket wrapped around her legs. Her Commissar coat and dress pants hung damp from a clothes line behind her. She blew a puff of smoke up to Zehk.

"The men made a hookah. You really found the crafty bunch didn't you, Z?" Scäfer asked, giggling like a schoolgirl.

"The lax composure doesn't fit you, Commissar," Zehk said unamused.

"Can't have a stick up my ass all the time. If I did, I'd turn into you," Schäfer retorted, winking at Zehk. The men roared and clapped for the Commissar. Zehk smirked and took a place in the ring. "Can you Astartes even get high?"

Zehk laughed, "No, but let me tell you about Fenresian Ale..."

H.B.M.C.- The end hath come! From now on armies will only consist of Astorath, Land Speeder Storms and Soul Grinders!
War Kitten- Vanden, you just taunted the Dank Lord Ezra. Prepare for seven years of fighting reality...
koooaei- Emperor: I envy your nipplehorns. <Magnus goes red. Permanently>
Neronoxx- If our Dreadnought doesn't have sick scuplted abs, we riot.
Frazzled- I don't generally call anyone by a term other than "sir" "maam" "youn g lady" "young man" or " HEY bag!"
Ruin- It's official, we've ran out of things to talk about on Dakka. Close the site. We're done.
mrhappyface- "They're more what you'd call guidlines than actual rules" - Captain Roboute Barbosa
Steve steveson- To be clear, I'd sell you all out for a bottle of scotch and a mid priced hooker.
Made in us
Ultramarine Master with Gauntlets of Macragge

What's left of Cadia

As the last Deff Dread ground to a halt belching smoke Amanda Valorn took a deep breath and looked around. Surrounding her Knight in all directions were the shattered wrecks of Ork vehicles. She and her siblings had been run ragged for the last few weeks just holding back the Ork tide on this moon. Countless splinter groups had diverged from the Gargant and it had been the duty of House Valorn to show the Greenskin filth the error of their ways. It had been something that the Scions had taken to with gusto, for the hatred they held for Orks was second only to that of the deep seated hatred the Scions held for the forces of Chaos. The last few weeks had been a blur of nonstop fighting as the Valorn Knights had fought a constant war to push the Orks back into the deserts of the moon.

But all of this was about to come to an end. New Pavus had been captured by the Tillers, an insult to the Imperium that House Valorn could not permit. Vid captures from the city had indicated the presence of heretics among the force that took the city, further damning the Tillers in Amanda's eyes. It would be her pleasure to cleanse the world of their filth...

At that last thought she felt the machine spirit of her Knight growl in approval. The old spirit was always eager for a scrap, which was part of the reason why Amanda had been chosen to bond with this particular suit. Their personalities meshed well, and Amanda liked to think it made them an even more lethal force on the battlefield.

Amanda turned as her vox beeped once. Her brother Cassius was indicating that it was time to move on. If they intended to visit the Emperor's fury on the Tillers they needed to get moving. Amanda smiled grimly and followed after her brother, the Tillers would learn to fear the name of Valorn.

TheEyeOfNight- I swear, this thread is 70% smack talk, 20% RP organization, and 10% butt jokes
TheEyeOfNight- "Ordo Xenos reports that the Necrons have attained democracy, kamikaze tendencies, and nuclear fission. It's all tits up, sir."
Space Marine flyers are shaped for the greatest possible air resistance so that the air may never defeat the SPACE MARINES!
Sternguard though, those guys are all about kicking ass. They'd chew bubble gum as well, but bubble gum is heretical. Only tau chew gum
Made in ca
Heroic Senior Officer

Krieg! What a hole...

---- Crion, In the Wilds around New Pavus ----

'' Beholder, Echo Echo, Medusa, this is Trident, message, over ''

Three voices '' Send it ''

'' Have you boys found a hole yet ''

Beholder answered first, as always, being the first in the alphabetical order '' Negative, terrain the city is terrible, that mountain has little to no cover, especially on the side where our targets parked their asses, over ''

Echo Echo followed up '' We've found a decent hideout, we can track movement easily enough, over ''

'' Medusa here, we'll need more time to find a good area, especially since our role might end up overlapping with Echo Echo, over ''

'' We'll manage, Echo Echo, send us your coordinates, same for the rest of the teams, once you're all set, we'll get in touch soon, out ''

Novus turned towards his team commander, Tempestor Kaarl

'' Why did HQ bother sending so many team anyway? There aren't that many roads that leads to the city ''

'' Its all guess work from every above us, as far as I am aware. After analyzing battle reports, recordings from our m-scopes and images of recon Valks, the brass assumed our enemies aren't a big happy family, its assumed all three faction will do their own thing, and two of them have pretty large aerial capacities, so keeping tabs on air traffic is a must, and we need more than a team for that, as for us... well trouble's always around the corner, might as well keep an extra team to help the others, or keep track of the latest trouble makers ''

The sniper, Haxta shrugged '' Make sense, so where do we go? ''

'' There's a village we saw on the pics, I am thinking about investigating, its all the way down the peak, right before a fork in the road, it would the ideal area to watch, and pretty much everyone who comes to New Pavus on foot will come through ''

---- 9 hours later, Team Trident OP ----

Haxta and Silon had been watching the village for thirty minutes now, and what seemed to be a long night of observation was about to become a fair bit more interesting.

'' Hey Hax, y'see the promethium station, western edge of the town ''

'' Mhmm, oh... I see... ''

A half track, its back filled with crates of autoguns as well as a smaller civilian Tauros parked up by the pump, four men got out of the smaller vehicle while a man walked up to them, a scowl on his face. The two Scions were too far ot hear much, but it was clear the men driving had no intention to pay for the fuel they were taking. The argument was cut short by two swift blows of an autogun buttstock.

'' Uh, you'd think they'd actually treat the population decently, I guess not, you got that on the scope? ''

'' At this range? Picture's gonna be too unclear for us to use it, could be Guardsmen, and you can bet our enemies are going to twist it that way. Still we know this village is a good hiding spot, we know they use it for something, and that the locals don't like it, we can use this, I'll send a message to the Tempestor ''

---- Crion, Cache of Echo Echo team ----

'' Heads up boys and girls, we have a target, small convoy of arms is coming this way, we're going to stop it ''

'' What are we dealing with, Tempestor? ''

'' Two vehicles, a half track with two crew and a heavy stubber, and a civie Tauros, four men in, bring up the HEIAP rounds, that Tauros doesn't need to bother us for long ''

Fifteen minutes later, the 5 men team was in position.

'' The sniper team will disable the Tauros, this should give time for Octus to kill the driver of the half track while Xanthia takes care of the gunner, after that, we dispose of everything, make it seem like this dangerous road collapsed and the vehicles plummeted down ''

'' Well assuming they send more convoys, we're gonna run out of road pretty quick ''

'' We're not taking out every convoy, we'll strike at random, except if Trident reports that the convoy is carrying something worth denying from the enemy ''

A few minutes later, the team could barely hear the distant rumbling of approaching vehicles. From there on it took another minute for the targets to come within range of the all of the team weapons.

'' Now ''

A thunderclap rolled through the mountain as the hellshot fired, it was soon followed by an explosion, as the HEIAP round detonated inside the fuel compartement of the Tauros, killing everyone on board. The half track stopped to avoid ramming the wreck, and two bright green beams cut through the air, as well as their targets, and the mountains fell silent again.

'' Huh, are they training their men or something? I could swear that gunner had his gun on me ''

'' Must be luck ''

'' A lucky man wouldn't catch a lasbolt to through the eye ''

The team regrouped at the vehicles and the Tempestor quickly gave his orders

'' Someone get in that half track, ram the wreck of the road, then just roll it down the gorge, we'll damage the road and make it seem natural. Make sure you keep two autoguns and ten mags, having some Tiller weapons might be useful for deception ''

The Scions quickly set up to their tasks, and disapeared back in the forest, leaving no trace of the ambush.

---- Two days prior, near the remnants of the Dred Mob ----

'' That's... that's a rather large camp for a mob we supposedly defeated '' said Jastilus, looking through his hellshot scope.

'' Mhmm, there were close to a million of e'm, apprently, that's enough to house what... seven hundred? '' answered Andrea

'' Give or take a few hundred, I would guess you're right. Hey Silon, you noticed anything funny about those shacks? ''

The spotter didn't even bother looking away from either his spotter scope or the sketch of the camp he was drawing '' I sure do, shacks spread in roughly two groups, two distinct and recurring glyphs, I'd say the mob split in two, and roughly the same numbers, too ''

Andrea looked at her Tempestor '' Sir seven hundred feels an awful kind of low, in my humble professionnal opinion, the mob broke pretty quick when Secundus Enoch offed their commander ''

The Tempestor looked up to her '' About half our men and other friendlies stayed behind to hunt as many survivors as we could. High altitude observation tells us this is the last large major camp in the area. We're here to observe, but all those things the sniper team saw... well that gives me an idea. Send a message to HQ, we need a drop of explosives and silenced autopistols ''

---- The next day, at Team Guardian Drop Point ----

'' Sir all I gotta say is, that's an awful lot of explosive for a observation mission '' the Scion who talked was casually laying on the Valkyrie wall

The Tempestor nodded '' We talked to Tempestor Secundus Lor about it last night, she gave us the go to finish the rest of the Orks, considering she's the least likely to sanction uneeded agressive actions, I think this plan is sound, and so do the bosses ''

The other stormtrooper nodded off and boarded his vehicle, leaving the Tempestor with a crate full of mines and melta charges, alongside six silenced autopistols. The Tempestor waved his troops and ordered them to carry the extra equipement back to their hideout.

'' The plan is simple, we'll split in three phases, first the sniper team identify the two Nob leading the warbands, see where they sleep, look for ways to sneak in the camp, meanwhile the rest of us will set a proper minefield. Next phase is we kill the leaders, fire a couple of their autoguns to make noise and retreat, let them greenskins murder eachother. When this is done, snipers take a few shots, the survivors will rush, right in the minefield, we make sure everyone is dead, make the coordinates, and the bosses above will send PDF to char the area ''

'' What if the Orks quickly decide on a new boss, with little casualties inflicted? ''

'' We'll have a Valkyrie on standby, it'll be roughly a five minutes run, we'll be about two hundred meters being the mines, we pull back when the Orks reach a hundred meters in front of our position and we either strike them from the air or simply bug out ''

All in all, it took two days for the members of team Guardian to obtain all the information they needed to stage their plan, and on the third night, the Tempestor went in, alongside three of his men, while the snipers remained behind to watch the camp.

The small group arrived at the camp wall, emcumbered by grav chute. The Tempestor gave the order and the stormtrooper reversed the setting on the chutes, allowing them to bound over the wall in silence. Once in the camp, the Scion split in two, with each team planning on killing the leading Nob, as well as many as many other Nobs as they could. The Orks were themselves split in two groups, simply deemed the blue one and the purple one, after the more proeminent colors of the shacks. The Tempestor had picked the blue ones for himself and his man, and the pair stealthy made their way to the biggest blue shack, identified by the snipers to be the leader's barracks. The two already knew that the main door would be the wrong way in, instead, they would use their gravchutes to reach the roof and use the shoddy constructied hut to sneak in and kill the leader. Luck was on their side, as the roof had plenty of holes the Scions could exploit.

A few pulled planks later, and the men entered the building with no other obstacle. The building was suprisingly empty, and the reason why would soon be shown to the operators. The Orks were all in the same room, a whole lot of tightly pack Nobs and a few servant grots.

'' That's going to be a problem '' said the Tempestor

The other stormtrooper simply took out a melta bomb from its pouch.

'' You got two frags, I got two and a krak, we tape the whole thing, set the melta to what... fifteen minutes? Improvised demo charge, should vaporize most of the targets in here, should also anger the survivors in other shacks a lot more than silenced gunfire ''

'' Uh, good plan, I'll inform the others, get to it, but tape the thing in another room, can't have that wake anything up ''

Before the explosives were set, the Tempestor heard four clicks in quick suggestion, twice with a fifteen seconds interval, a code that meant the other team had successfully killed the leader, alongside three other Nobs and were now pulling back.

TO BE FINISHED (There will be something about the Tau failed attack, too)

Member of 40k Montreal There is only war in Montreal
Primarchs are a mistake
DKoK Blog:http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/list/419263.page Have a look, I guarantee you will not see greyer armies, EVER! Now with at least 4 shades of grey

Savageconvoy wrote:
Snookie gives birth to Heavy Gun drone squad. Someone says they are overpowered. World ends.

Made in gb
Ancient Ultramarine Venerable Dreadnought


Above the jungles of Cambria, wildlife below scattered under the brief shadow that played over the tips of the leaves. Silent, swooping, symmetrical - Sub-Commander Mirrorstone's expeditionary force passed over the sea of green and forest canopy. One of the Cadre's few Mantas, flanked by Orcas and Razorshark escorts, skimmed just below the cloud line, as a marine mammal swims just below the surface with such ease and grace. This was a migration for the shoal. The first large-scale mobilisation Sunstrike Cadre had performed since it landed on Crion. To spread the Cadre's power outward, Skyhunter had authorised his trusted defensive tactician to establish a listening post at the Jorgan River. By doing this, he would have control over all of Cambria south of that river. Almost a quarter of the Cadre's strength, as well as a large portion of Crisis and Broadside Suits and one of the Cadre's Riptides was mobilised, alongside shoals of Orcas carrying construction materials for the new base. Mirrorstone was pleased.

The Earth Caste leader sauntered between the control banks of the cockpit, and called one of her subalterns to her. A Tau slipped out of his harness, and saluted the Sub-Commander. She continued walking, down to the vehicle bay. The officer followed suite.
"Shas'vre Ria'rak?"
"Yes, Sub-Commander?" Ria'rak was one of the four junior officers in the expeditionary team. His own experience in the Cambria jungles and negotiations with the greenskins had made him ideal for the mission, as well as the one Mirrorstone had in store.
She didn't shy away from the point. "I want you to deploy you and your men alongside our compliment of recon drones, and perform a cursory scan of the land south of the Jorgan River. You will monitor the drone's progress over the night as we set up the main listening post, then join us in the morning."

Ria'rak nodded. "Will you set us down, or-"
"Devilfish insertion. We'll scatter the recon drones as we fly over. Set down your Devilfish, and the drones will come back to you."
"Understood, Fio'El."
"We'll scatter the first drones in a few minutes. Prepare your men for controlled descent."


The recon drones detached from the Manta like flies, and quickly vanished into the forest. The four Devilfish of Ria'rak's team were likewise ejected, falling out of the back of the Manta's cargo hold. Their grav-systems caught them just above the treeline, and they settled down slowly in between the dark boughs of the trees. Below the sun, the jungle came alive, and the Devilfish began to find a temporary camp for the night.
Through the journey, Ria'rak kept a good watch over the drone feeds from his own Devilfish. So far, there was little of much note - most of the danger he found he had anticipated already. Feral Orks, ones that hadn't strayed into the drone patrols that roamed Grim and Avarqwell. Living, violent trees, which the drones nimbly evaded. Other, unknown wildlife species indigenous to Crion. Nothing of massive note, until Ria'rak was brought snapping to the immediate location. His Devilfish had stopped. He was being hailed on the intercom. He snatched at the device.
"Yes? Who is this?"
"++ Gue'vesa'ui Harland, from the Pathfinder team attached to your force.++"
"Yes, Harland. What's the situation? Why have we stopped?"
"++We've reached a clearing dead ahead. I don't know what, but it feels unnatural. The Gue'vesa in my unit feel something too. It almost feels like the trees are afraid of this place.++"
Ria'rak thought for a moment, then spoke back to Harland.
"A clearing, you say? We'll camp here. I'm sorry, but I can't let some feeling prevent us from completing the mission. If you can find another location for us to settle down, I'd be welcome, but this must make do. For the Cadre."
"++ Understood, Shas'vre. For the Cadre.++"

The four Devilfish set down their engines, and formed a square formation. The Fire Warriors and Pathfinders disembarked inside of the defensive circle, and began to drink up, chat and play games. Ria'rak couldn't help but notice the Gue'vesa in both Harland's Pathfinders and his own Fire Warriors being on edge. He hoped it wouldn't last through the night.


He was wrong. As the men and women slept inside their vehicles, every few hours, a vehicle would be woken up by the frenzied waking shouts of a human soldier. They were getting dreams now. Ria'rak heard them out - some dreamt of fire, others of great winged beasts, like on the murals in Site Foxtrot, and others hearing laughter and screams of horror. Enough was enough. Sleep was inefficient. Ria'rak strapped on his combat armour, and relieved the night watchman. He would stand guard tonight, and catch up on sleep back at the base. The shuffling of feet through leaves beside him didn't worry him. He knew that it was too loud to be a threat. A human face met him, practically invisible in the darkness. The rank badges marked the man out - Gue'vesa'ui Harland.

"You been having those dreams too?" Ria'rak muttered, not wishing to disturb the relative peace of the night.
Harland nodded. "Yeah. Nothing like anything I've experienced before."
"It's only seemed to affect you humans. None of my Tau are affected at all."
"Same here. It might be one of those things that the Ethereals told us, when they did the whole 'Allied Races of the Empire' spiel."
"When the Tau Empire came into contact with human forces for the first time, and they met on the battlefield, the forces of the human Imperium were augmented by humans with paracausal abilities. Not only did the humans exhibit these abilities, but so do Eldar, and many other races. However, no Tau has ever experienced our manifested such paracausal abilities. The Earth Caste biologicians has hypothesised that the Tau species might not be able to exhibit these abilities, and yet other races have such potential latently."
"So you're saying that there's something about humans and a connection to this paracausal force that the Tau might not have, and that's present here?"
"Possibly. This could be a- a focal point, a site of connection to that power?"
"You're veering towards tribal beliefs there, Harland. Rituals, mystic power, something not physical - I thought we liberated you humans from that kind of irrational thinking?"

Harland laughed nervously, not sure how to interpret Ria'rak's statement. "I hope so too. There could be a rational explanation for this, but you know that paracausal power exists, why not here? Who says that there isn't something we can't comprehend, something that you simply can't-"
"Are you suggesting that the humans are superior?" Ria'rak raised his voice. Harland stammered.
"N-not at all? I'm not saying anyone's superior, I'm just saying that biologically-"
"Biologically what? Tau just can't think as good as you humans? How come we're more technologically advanced than these Gue excuses for warriors? Without us, you'd be hurling your pathetic excuses for guns at eachother, and writhing in the mud as we come in and-"

Harland reached for his gun,and drew it. Ria'rak, his blood boiling from the human's insubordination, prepared to draw his own. Harland's pistol pointed into the forest, and Ria'rak traced it;s barrel out into the darkness.
"There!" Harland exclaimed. "Out there!"
Ria'rak looked. He told Harland what he saw - "Nothing?"
Harland pointed out. "No, look, look there! Eyes. They're around us, eyes! Something's out here."
The Tau grabbed him by the shoulders. "You idiot, there's nothing. Nothing, you understand? Get some rest, human. Leave this to the Tau." Harland blinked stupidly, and looked again outwards. His breath sighed out, and he holstered his pistol. He hung his head, dejected.
"Nothing. There's nothing. I must have been seeing something."
"Yes. That's right." Ria'rak's haze of anger was subsiding. His outburst against the human was misplaced. He would apologise later. After sleep. "Go and sleep, Harland. I'll take the watch." He patted Harland's shoulder as he left.
As he resumed the watch, he swore for a moment he did see a pair of red eyes, but they vanished in a flash. Probably just a psychological trick, from his outburst at Harland. Psychology, biology, synapses firing.
Nothing more.

As Harland walked back to the hatch door of his Devilfish, he paused. The eyes were there. He shut his. Just a hallucination. He opened them. More eyes, blood red, lurking in the darkness. Harland shut his eyes again. He reached for his pistol. He opened his eyes, and-
Gue'vesa'ui Harland woke up in his bed, drenched in a cold sweat.

Rippy wrote:Never forgetti, template spaghetti.
Made in ie
Nurgle Veteran Marine with the Flu

Cork, Ireland

Double Post.

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2017/05/17 19:30:51

Sgt. Vanden I bet Irish can do that by flashing his bear chest.
Sgt. Vanden Irish is the definition of a Dutch oven
Made in ie
Nurgle Veteran Marine with the Flu

Cork, Ireland

The hastily boarded windows blocked out most of the morning sun, but a few weak rays managed to penetrate the secluded safehouse of the Tiller’s. Dust lingered in the air, on the cheap tables, the creaking chairs, the messy, crowded kitchen counters, this place hadn’t seen a living person in quite time, until last night. Mason closed the bathroom carefully behind him as he flushed the toilet and undid the lock on the bathroom door, strolling into the living room they had slept in the night before all Mason found was some crumpled up discarded sleeping bags and a weary eyed tiller slumped on the tattered, patched up couch who Mason recognized was on night watch the night before, muffled voices from inside the kitchen caught Mason’s attention and upon locking eyes with the drained tiller Mason exchanged a nod before investigating the ruckus.

“....and return to Tyler empty handed ?” challenged Spencer “Are you daft or just plain stupid ?”

“He isn’t our commanding officer and we don’t owe him gak” retorted Mac

“With that kind of attitude Crion will never be unshackled from the aristocracy, we are in this together Mac” sighed Spencer who eyed Mason strutting in

“What's the problem now ?” asked Mason “Deciding whose turn it is to clean this dump ?” running a finger along the kitchen counter accumulating dust along the way

“Our next move” scowled Lynn “Which shouldn’t even be in question, we find out who is eroding our presence here and put a stop to it if possible”

“Course daddy's little girl would follow him to the bloody lett-”

Lynn slammed Mac’s head down on the old feeble table, straight into the greasy meal he was eagerly devouring

Mason chuckled “Might want to watch your tongue, if you haven’t already bitten it clean off”

Spencer placed a hand on Lyn’s shoulder who released a snarling Mac

“Perhaps you should wait here a spell while we take a look around, if we find nothing then we can try to leave together”

Mac looked at Mason with distrustful eyes before spitting blood into a nearby jar

“Fine, there have been ….. Gatherings in the slums, near the docks crazy cult stuff.”

Lyn raised an eyebrow “And ? what of it “

Mac didn’t meet her piercing gaze “They started to appear around the same time we started losing men, I didn’t think the two were connected but when I saw the tattoos …”

“You’ve been to one of these meetings ?” inquired Spencer

“Nah, not worth the risk as I said it was just rumors nothing concrete”

“Worth a shot” declared Mason, going to gather his gear in the adjacent room

Lyn quickly followed behind, eager to get away from a deflated Mac

Mason fumbled with the loops on his trouser and his belt, Lyn’s silk smooth, pale hands slid in from behind and groped Mason’s groin before finally finding the belt buckle, Lynn began to kiss his neck before whispering into Mason’s ear


Spinning around their lips met for a few moments until Spencer’s voice loomed closer

“What's the plan then Lynn, we gonna scout out this meet and greet or what ?”

“I think you should keep an eye on Mac, make sure he doesn’t bolt. Mason and I got this”

Spencer eyed the couple for a few, skeptical moments before shrugging “Ok, just be careful alright ?”

“Will do Mr. Mills, although judging by the way Commander Adaso handled Mac I think we should be fine” grinned Mason, jolting Lynn with his arm

Spencer chuckled “Yeah, sometimes Mac just needs a clip round the ear, a good kid though”

Mason’s face grimaced “You sure his heart is in the right place ?”

Spencer thought about it for a moment “Sure, yeah course, it is just nerves is all he won’t let us down”

Mason’s mood lightened and he smiled “Good, see you soon Spence”


Having some time to kill before the meeting would commence, Mason and Lynn decided to go to a bar for some private time. The Crab’s Eye was one of the last remaining bars open in Nortannis, by watering down his drinks and charging exuberant prices the business savvy barman had profited from the chaos but even his stock was running low. Mason pushed the door open holding it for Lynn behind him, the place was empty and filthy. Blood, vomit and other bodily fluids stained the floors, the few remaining patrons eyed the newcomers suspiciously as they drank from their watered down, overpriced beverages. The barman was cleaning a glass with a dirty rag when Mason approached the bar

“Don’t bother asking for something in particular mate as I only got the one brew left, you having a glass or what ?”

Mason, surprised by the bluntness of the barman stood there a moment, realised he must of had a monopoly on the drinks in Noretannis

“Sure, two glasses”

After paying the ridiculous price Mason brought the liquid gold over to the table Lynn decided to sit in, which seemed to be as far away from everyone else as physically possible.

“Interesting choice of seats” smiled Mason as he handed Lynn her brew

“Seemed apt considering the topic of our conversation” countered Lynn

“Indeed, so anything in particular you want to talk about ?” asked Mason as he took a sip from the water based ale

“Yes, I want you to cut the bs, you are shifty Mason, those skills you showed with a sword ? The ruthlessness you showed when you ripped out that guy's throat ? What was his name …” Lynn began to trance off in a meaningless effort to remember the dead cultists name

“Varius, his name was Varius” answered Mason, remembering the raw look of fear in Varius’ eyes before he was left to bleed out

“Yeah well you get the point, you ain’t no farmer’s boy Mason that's for damn sure” Lynn took a triumphal swig from her drink, waiting for Mason to answer

Mason blushed and his eyes dropped to the gritty table “I ah, I don’t remember”

Lynn furrowed her maintained brows “Come on, spit it out Mason where you from ?”

Mason looked up now but not at Lynn but over her shoulder and sighed

Lynn pushed Mason farther “You are joking me right ? You hardly expect me to belie-”

“It’s true” snapped Mason “I cannot remember where I was born or who my family is or whether they are even alive”

The other patrons in the bar turned their heads at the outburst and Lynn sat back in shock

Mason did not apologise but continued on “I could have a child Lynn, a wife and I wouldn’t even know”

Lynn’s usual rough tone softened “I’m … sorry Mason I had no idea”
“It’s fine, you couldn’t have known, forget about it”

“You sure you don’t want to talk about it ?” asked Lynn

“Not much to talk about, just a few nightmares” said Mason as he downed his diluted beer

“If it will help I think we shou-”

“No” ended Mason as he slammed his glass down on the table and checked his watch

“C’mon let's check out this warehouse while we still have daylight”


A group of warehouse’s sat in the slums just past the disregarded port. Like the port ever since the the flow of goods stopped flowing into Nortannis the warehouses throughout the city were locked up and left to rot until the ports reopened. Warehouse 13 seemed to be no exception, dust coated the windows and the corrugated iron roof was rusted, the twin doors were sealed shut with a heavy chain and an unremarkable padlock sat at the end of it. The area around the warehouses was derelict with no signs of activity of any kind. Spying a secluded office that seemed to be abandoned, Mason slipped over and snuck inside, closing the door behind him before realising that the lock was broken and dragged a chair behind it instead.

“Now we sit and watch” declared Mason as he pulled out a Lho-Stick and sparked up

Their conversation from the Crab’s Eye was still raw in both of their minds and the tension in the room was insufferable. They sat in a silence for awhile and watched as warehouse 13 was engulfed in the light of Crion’s moons, the enduring silence was broken by an apologetic Mason

“Listen about earlier I -”

“Forget it, it’s fine” cut off Lynn, Mason knew it wasn’t fine

“It’s a touchy subject, after this, after Nortannis, we can talk about it if you’d like”

Their eyes locked and two smiles crept across their faces

“Sure, i’d like that” smiled Lynn, a sudden flash of lights garnered their attention

The twin doors were swung open with lights on inside, music and cheering could be heard and people were funneling in from the slums

“What the feth ?” puzzled Mason

“Looks like a party” noted Lynn, with a playful tone in her voice

“No” protested Mason

“Come on !” pleaded Lynn “This is what we were waiting for !”

Mason rubbed his temples and sighed “Fine, but be on your guard”

The duo left their little cabin and walked across the port to Warehouse 13, the smell of alcohol hit them like a truck as Crion folk music played in the background. The whole thing seemed to be innocent enough, people were drinking, dancing and laughing, which was what made things worse for Mason who leaned into Lynn’s ear

“What made these people risk the wrath of the Adepta Sororitas for a simple party ?”

Lynn shrugged and grabbed a drink off a nearby table “I dunno but this seems better than that overpriced swill we had earlier”

Mason grabbed the drink and put it back on the table “Need you to be sharp and who knows what is in that”

Lynn was about to before pointing out a grey robed man out approached the stage, the crowd of curfew breakers parting before him, the band died down before dying completely

“Brothers and Sisters ! Welcome to my humble abode, how are the drinks ?” a clammer of raised glasses and jeers rang out throughout the warehouse

“Better than the piss you will find here” snorted the man “But The Family offers much more than mere booze and party favours, we offer a meaningful purpose to anyone from anywhere, tell your friends, tell your families we are open to anyone!

The crowd began to cheer again before the man raised his hand for silence

“Now, now enjoy the rest of the night and I hope to see you at the next meeting, Rejoice my Children the Time of Fire is upon us.”

The crowd began to get rowdy again, spurned on by the robed figure’s words, Mason grabbed Lynn by the wrist

“Let’s go, now”

Shuffling through the crowd Mason got to the doors just in time to see the man standing in front of them both, flanked by men in grey carapace armor

“My friends, is something wrong ? The drinks not to your taste perhaps ?”

“My head hurts a little, need a breath of fresh air” bluffed Mason who moved his hand to the hilt of his sword that was concealed under his trench coat

“Well I wish you the best of health and to see you next time, it will be a meeting not to be missed”

“Of course” bowed Mason quickly blitzing past the robed man and away from the docklands.

Mason didn’t look back until he was well into the swerving, narrow paths that cut through the slums, Lynn running after him

“What was that ?” panted Lynn as the duo slowed to a stroll

“Must have been the cult, The Family or some gak, you see the guards ?”

“Yeah, why ?” quizzed Lynn

“Swore I saw th-” Mason spun on his heels and rammed his power sword into the gut of a man in grey carapace armor with a raised knife in hand and a face stricken with shock and pain. A pair of hands grabbed Lynn from behind, dragging her backwards. Lynn rocked her head backwards and it found the man’s chin, his grip loosened, Lynn drove her heel backwards into the man’s groin before delivering a brutal assault on the assailant’s exposed head with her ravenous boot until a satisfying crunch reached her ears. A gentle hand touched her shoulder, Lynn frightened and determined not to be caught off guard again spun to strike before locking eyes with an alarmed Mason, power sword still drawn and it’s energy field still pulsating

“You alright ?” inquired Mason

“I’m fine” snapped Lynn, annoyed she had been caught off guard

“In anycase, they share the same tattoo’s that Spencer had found, this cult is hunting you and your buddies” spotted Mason, sidestepping the temperamental state Lynn was it.

“Don’t you mean us ? They are hunting us”

“Right they are hunting us” corrected Mason as he reached down and produced a scrap of paper which merely read “Loose lips sink ships, silence the twin rogues”

“Well, it seems we have made an impression” joked Mason but Lynn wasn’t in the mood and just grunted

“What do we do about the bodies ? The sisters are gonna go crazy at the sight of a fight, after curfew no less”

Mason shrugged and began removing on the assailants armor, trying it on over his own.
A puzzled Lynn looked on “What are you doing ?”

“Grab that one’s armor, something tells me it will come in handy”

“Why ? Ugh looks like this one pissed himself” complained Lynn

“Well you did put your boot through his skull, and besides I feel like this ain’t over, no this is just the beginning”

Sgt. Vanden I bet Irish can do that by flashing his bear chest.
Sgt. Vanden Irish is the definition of a Dutch oven
Made in gb
Ancient Ultramarine Venerable Dreadnought


Harland was not happy about returning to the grove. A slug pistol hung heavy on his lap, and the dull whirring of the Devilfish he sat on attempted to lull him into a sense of serenity. It wasn't working. He was tense, paranoid, alert - like every other Gue'vesa in the contingent.
From his position aboard the exterior hull of the Devilfish, he kept an eye on the other troopers on the hulls of the convoy. Without exception, they were all Gue'vesa and Kroot, all wielding slug weaponry - most of it borrowed from Tiller allies. Most of the troopers had no idea why their standard weaponry had been confiscated: Harland knew the real reason. He understood it, and even sanctioned it himself. It was an imperative.

Following their return to the outpost at the Jorgan River, Shas'Vre Ria'rak had given a full report to Mirrorstone: nothing of note within the jungles, except the clearing. The commander had seemed curious from the Tau's report, and she wasted no time in sating that curiosity. Scant two days after their return from the grove, Mirrorstone herself was leading an investigation into the location, accompanied by most of the taskforce's military might, and several tonnes of explosives. She had made a point of taking most of the human and Kroot auxiliaries with her: they were known to be receptive to "psychic" suggestion, unlike her kind. However, this came at a restriction. Given Ria'rak's report, and even Harland's own opinion, Mirrorstone decided to demilitarise the auxiliary troops, in case of a manic episode. As sceptical as she was, Mirrorstone was not an idiot. Harland didn't like the decision, but it had to be done. It was the safest option. An imperative for Sunstrike.

The convoy of Devilfish formed up around the clearing, and Mirrorstone began to deploy the excavation drones. Equipped with sonic destabilisers, they weakened the earth, allowing for faster excavation. The rest of the force kept watch around the edge, guns trained; the Crisis Suits stood sentinel over their brethren, flamers and airburst launchers ready to shred the entire forest away if needed; recon drones led regular sorties out into the edges of the forest. Nothing came back. For the entire day, the only sound was the muttering of soldiers, the moving of earth, and the hum of Devilfish engines. Once the drones were ten metres deep, Mirrorstone ordered a halt. There was nothing at all below the grove, and no kind of spectral scanning brought up results either. Grumbling, the Tau began to clamber back into their transports. The Kroot and Gue'vesa were chattier than they had been before - finding nothing had eased their spirits somewhat. Satisfied with her work, Mirrorstone called for them to return back, and a squadron of Sun Shark Bombers to destroy the clearing completely. As they headed back, Mirrorstone halted the convoy. They slowed to a stop. The Gue'vesa and Kroot, exposed on the hulls, readied their weaponry.

"Troops, the bombers have sighted a pillar of smoke two kilometres from our location. We're investigating."
Her command bolted the cadre to life, and the hunt was on. The thick trees suddenly gave way to rough-cut huts and streets. A Ork shanty-town, judging from the crude markings on the buildings. That, and the streets littered with corpses. Blackened by fire, both the greenskins and their homes lay wasted and ruined, without a sign of life.
"Fan out. Find what did this." Mirrorstone was curt, wasting no time to batter into a burnt out shopfront. She kicked aside half-melted tools and scrap, heedless of the ash that fell on her shoulders. The other troopers moved through the ruins, careful to keep an eye on the bodies, in case one stirred to life.

Half an hour into the searches, a Kroot sauntered up to Mirrorstone. His hands and knees were covered in the ash from rooting around in the decrepit buildings, and he gave a slight nod of recognition before he spoke.
"Me and my pack found nothing, Fio'El," he declared. "Nothing alive, at least. These were feral, not one of the tribes we assimilated. No traces of what attacked them either. No blast wounds or bullet holes, no shells, no shrapnel, not even oil or promethium."
"Nothing at all? They just all combusted?"
"I doubt that's the case, Sub-Commander. There's just no leads to anything. Not even the psychic disturbance we felt at the grove. Whatever it was that did happen here, the Be'gel didn't stand a chance."

Mirrorstone was about to dismiss the Kroot when Harland rounded a corner, and shouted her over. She shot the Kroot a disapproving look, and walked over to Harland. In the Pathfinder's arms, there was a Gretchin, small and green and clawing at his armour. Harland grabbed the creature by the arms, and held it up by the scruff of its sackcloth rags.
"Found this one hiding in a latrine. It'd rather not say how I found it." Mirrorstone did her best not to notice Harland's untucked shirt and rolled up sleeves, and addressed the orkoid in Low Gothic.

"Can you understand-"
"Zog off, ya f-" Harland yanked the gretchin's collar, and it bit its lip, snarling.
"Good." Mirrorstone smiled briefly. "What happened here?"
"I don't zoggin' know!" He squealed and thrashed in Harland's grip. "I was clearin' da latrines, I was, den they was all burnin' up and I just hid, like my gran'granpappy said!"
Mirrorstone sighed. "You didn't see anything?"
"Well, I saw sum'fink red in the woods over there- red eyes. Eyes they were!"

The Sub-Commander reviewed her options. The sun was going down, and they had nothing to gain from staying. The outpost wasn't far away - if they were being hunted, defending the outpost would be safer than this village.
"Mirrorstone to Cadre - mount up. We have what we need. We're going straight back to the outpost at Jorgan River. Devilfish form up on me. We leave in two."
She took the Gretchin off of Harland, and raised it to her face.
"What's your name, Gretchin?"
"I'm-I'm Tekkit, Tekkit da-"
"Welcome to Sunstrike Cadre, Tekkit." She cut the Gretchin off, and dropped it into the storage compartment in her Crisis Suit. Harland looked at her questioningly. "He's a witness. We'll stick him on lookout or something. He might earn his keep. And besides, we took you in the Cadre too, human."

Harland took a moment to realise she was joking.

Rippy wrote:Never forgetti, template spaghetti.
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