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Cato sat idly above the rest of the leaders in the room. He was present to hear their words, not recieve their orders. He might even give a few orders of his own, as far as he could tell, he was the only one of them that was even slightly sane. His bolter hung by his side, the bayonet he'd used to carve his way through countless loyalists and chaos servants alike gleaming evilly. He had a bandolier of magazines for the mighty weapon strung over his front, and severl on his belt. Though he often took the role of scout or sniper, he used many bullets.

Leaning down to better observe the conversation, he removed his helm to reveal a bald, scarred head and face. The faceplate of his helmet usually didn't give anything away, other than his allegiance, the face was much the same. His eyes, ice blue and narrow scanned the room, looking for things lurking in the shadows. A cultist, scampering here or there, roses stuck into every orofice and brutally driven into flesh. Sometimes, he dispaired for the normal humans. They were foolish enough to venerate the chaos gods without realising some of the consuqences. It was why he and his brothers avoided all chaos taint, and all taint of the imperium too.

He didn't know if the others had noticed him yet, he didn't really care either. His pff-white ceramite plate was hard enough to see in bright daylight in this city. In darkness, he doubted that even astartes warriors could without some effort.

"The imperials are attacking" He said, his voice quiet "I think this'll be fun"

Kain sat quietly with his Auto-Cannon across his lap, cleaning and repairing the great gun, which bore a pair of scowling faces for its twin barrels. He listened to the words of the decadent leaders, but such was the folly of fleshy beings. They squabbled and bickered, unable to see that if they stood united the Imperials would crumble in the ultimate conflict, but he knew only of one form of ally that would stand beside him with loyalty. He smiled down on his Auto-Cannon, felling the power of its ‘spirit’, blood stained and well fed with the souls of its dead. He looked forward to claiming more weaponry for his arsenal, to build an army of weaponry that would allow him to counter any foe he engaged, no matter how long it took. His bionic arms hefted up the Auto-Cannon with ease, loading it's ammo into the feed as he strode across the chamber, seeking someone to converse with.

I don't think you'd be allowed an Autocannon in the room...

Just saying...

I'm not going to shoot anyone.

Yet.

Lurtzion had never before been so pround. Amongst meticulously clean and gleaming icons of his beloved imperium he sat, golden walls bedecked with ornate tapestries of great battles and long-lost heroes. Around the spacious chamber scurried the occasional serf or service-servitor, each covered in various purity seals and censers. Thin wisps of smoke followed behind them, he could smell the scented incense even though his armour's filters. This was truly a place fit for the most devout of Ministorum priests.

The expression of cheer and awe upon his face masked by his light blue helm, he glanced briefly upwards to the high celing, where there lay a colossal painting of considerable quality, detailing the immaculate armour of the Emperor, who stood victorious upon a mound of mangled and charred Daemonic corpses.

The corroded throne of ceramite let out a worrying groan as the bone-white and bladed form of a chaos astartes shifted upon it, each gauntletted hand crimson with long dried blood. He took in a great breath as a hunched and mutilated slave passed, the scent of a charnel house filling his nostrils. About the filthy walls were scrawled countless symbols of chaos and depravity, each seemed to shift about a little when not observed, taking a subtly different form when next seen. The marine's gaze fell upon them momentarily, a look of admiration hidden by scarred helm.

Chaos was coming to this place, the heretics would soon be scratching at the door. But he was confident he and his brothers would meet them with clensing fire and holy fervour.

"For the Emperor."
He muttered, a grin spread across his face.

Deliphas stud looking over the table at each warrior around all different, all deadly, all violent, each warrior armed ready for any wrong move and it would turn this meeting into a blood bath.

"Those Lapdogs are attacking this fortress..." Deliphas muttered pausing as he looked each Marine.
"I suggest small assault against their weak points. Whittle them down force them to try and reinforce those points forcing other areas to become weak. This will turn the tides!" Deliphas growled as he slammed his Claw down against the table cracking it. When nobody responded to his answer he turned his back and walked to the window looking out watching the darkness choke the light from the land.

Gray surveyed the men that were the majority of the cult. Well, not his cult. He was only second in command, and even then it was the cult of the chaos gods really. But it felt as though they were his. The chaos marines certainly wouldn't care whose they were.
Many of the weapons they were carrying had been carefully modified by him in one way or another. While most were based on either an autogun or lasgun, here or there you would see a one-use flamer or with some kind of focusser on the end of a lasgun. They wouldn't stand a chance against anything like a space marine, but he had the special weaponry for that...
So now all that remained was to wait for orders and create new weapons.

"Strike at their weak points? All we'll be fighting are guard, I heard no mention of Astartes" Cato dropped from the rafters above, landing in a crouch behind the raptor. He made almost no sound, only the scraping of his ceramite boots as he straightened up. "We should crush them, they fear us, they see only the glorious warrior astartes of their emperor." He had his helmet on again, the red topknot he'd cut from the head of an eldar farseer and fashioned into the decoration swishing left and right as he spoke, the blood red hair remindning him of the cries of the witch. His Librarian had ordered him to kill her, and kill her he did. That was back when he still had his squad around him. They'd all died a few months before, at the hands of Grey Knights, no less. A fitting foe.

"I say we find where they plan to land, then we set up ambushes. As soon as they take a step from their landers, we fill them with holes." His voie rasped through the vox speakers that allowed him to speak, the iron studs on his pauldrons and greaves shining gently in the weak light. "Are you not a raptor? A master of striking from the skies, ambush that will cripple the foe, then you are gone in a flash?"

Deliphas turned to look at this warrior he could see he was much older and much more experienced in combat but a head on assault even against Guardsmen would result in high casualties.
"I know the humans are only weak but their weapons are strong enough to punch a hole in our lines! Each position will have autocannons and Heavy bolters on their lines this will result in death. If we assault weak positions with lightning strikes and long range weapons resulting in terror in their ranks, this will result in disorder causing them to flee, leaving positions undefended." Deliphas said looking at the Ancient warrior the paint chipped away from places mostly chesplate and shoulders. Deliphas grabbed his Plasma Pistol from his hip and began to lift it to the other warrior but before he lifted it half way the Ancient Warrior's bolter was point blank in Deliphas's face.
"Hm...... I am Deliphas of the Nightlords. I believe you may be right in a way." The Raptor chuckled extending his arm to the other warrior.

"You are a pup. Learn to use those claws, your draw was obvious" Cato said nochalatantly. He'd dealt with Raptors before. Killed most of them. He held his bolter one handed, his other hand on his knife hilt. Slinging his weapon once more, he glanced out of the window. "I find that landers don't really have time to disgorge their cargo when we're busy ramming rockets into them" He grinned behind his helm, vicious and angry. "I have been fighting these fools for ten thousand years. An ambush will work, especially against guardsmen. The fools flee before us, they cannot hope to have enoug bolters to stop us" He grabbed the other warriors wrist, his ceramite encased hand clanking dully.

"Cato, Sargeant of the Fractured sons Under Lord Morranon. A fragment of a long lost legion" Releasing the night lords hand, he drew his blade and walked to the table. Placing it on the surface, he looked up at each of the warriors sitting around it in turn.

"We will face the imperial scum on this world, that is true. But if we can stop them from landing as many warriors as we can, then the battle is half fought. What have we in the way of air defenses? Hydra batteries? Lascannons? Is there anything left from the imperial defenses that were undoubtably here?"

Bronsk stood unmoving, his eyes fixed on the astratus in front of him.The brotherhood had grown fat off the misery inflicted on the planets of the Algira system, almost complacent. They hadn't fought for months, and Bronsks hands twitched in anticipation of the inevitable conflict promised to them.

Where others in his company bore a grim smile or proudly wore their battle helms, Bronsks face was a mess of scar tissue and jagged bone. He wiped the beginnings of a nose bleed with the back of his hand before he spoke. When he spoke, his voice was alow and dangerous growl.

"I shall engage them in orbit, of the defenses on this rock, I have no idea. But we have been betrayed, brothers. The imperial forces have been warned of us by some loyalist dog cowering in the shadows of this fortress, surely you have not forgotten."

"Once out-gunned and out-manned the Imperial Guard will collapse. They have no means of victory other than their tanks and weaponry, and once both are in too little supply, the Guard will loose their resolve." His voice was almost robotic, lacking emotion and feeling. "But I feel we must target the weaknesses of the mind first. Without the gun of a Commissar at the backs of their heads, they shall break and flee. Kill the head and the body falters."

Achiaros stood outside, continuing his lone watch. Inside the room, even through the massive metal doors, he could hear the voices. He could not make out their words, but the intensity was heightening.

"Finally." he muttered to himself. "It is about time some progress was made rather than sitting on this damned rock."

A serf with a nose pierced with a spike, and Tzeentchian tattoos passed him, walking toward the doors.

"To close..." Archiaros muttered.

The serf stopped and began to speak "My Lord, I am just passing to recie-"

His voice was cut short by the scythe piercing his chest. The tray the man was carrying clattered to the ground, staining his robes even more crimson than his own blood.

"Tzeentchian pig" the plague marine spat.

Did this man deserve to die? Archiaros did not much care. He was a simple human, a worthless cultist, fodder, and Tzeentchian at that. The soft buzz that constantly hovered in the air around the chaos marine grew louder as the tainted insects in the hive flew out to consume the body. Another day on this rock.

The Imperials would come soon, and by the end of this war, they would know the name of the Plague Herald.


OOC: Are we going to make an OOC and/or discussion thread? Also, I love your character RobotLol, he is fantastic.

Gray was now tinkering with his forcefield generator. While mostly he had no idea how it worked, he knew roughly how to up the power, although if he didn't do it just right, there was a good chance of an explosion.
A shame, he pondered, because normally he'd rely on his forcefield to protect him from an explosion. Not that it would, probably. It was more of a last-resort defence, though it was rather heavy. He stood behind a thick plasteel wall with just his arm showing, and slowly tweaked one screw as far as he dared. He had a feeling it would be worthwhile in the coming battle.

"Give me a tower and a line of sight on their lines and its done." Cato patted his bolter lightly. "I've been doing long range sniping with this toy of mine for many a year. If we cut of the head, then the rest of the bovine dies." He chuckled at his own joke. It was one told to him by a brother centuries ago, comparing the imperium to a cowherder and all of its armies and people as cattle. He'd watched the very same brother torn in half by a Blood Angel dreadnought a few hours later. That had been quite the loss.

"We also need to assess how many soldiers we have, what our armoured support is, our munitions"

"Naivety will be the death of us, no commander worth his salt would land on the front lines" growled Bronsk, smashing his fist on the table "We must bleed them before any commander will risk revealing themselves."

"Commisars charge into battle. I've had to gut one or two" Cato grinned, picking up his knife and spinning it gently in his ceramite gauntleted hand "They'll be foolish enough."

"It's in the nature and job description of the Enforcer to charge into battle, for the purpose of inspiring the troops. It does however, make then highly visible and easy to pick off."

For the first time in the discussion, Lurtzion leaned forward, his helmet's inscrutable gaze looked blankly at each of his brothers in turn.

"Make sure to kill them all quickly though, chop one head off and another might just take its place."

"A point, brother. However, the mewling warriors they send agianst us, the guard, once they see their enforcer dead on the ground, his head a puddle of gore, then they will know fear. And that is when we strike"

Just a small request in the spoiler.

 Alfndrate wrote:
Just a small request in the spoiler.

Spoiler:

Is it too late to join in on this? It seems like an interesting idea

OOC: BBB isn't online right now, but if you write up a character sheet and simply post it, I am sure he would accept you.

Yeah, I'm sure 10 players wouldn't make any difference to 9 players.

Jump on in, Alfndrate. I'm gonna say you're the last one in though.

OOC: Yay, more people to annoy with my Antics XD

IC:
Sandman looked at the two Marines across from him, arguing as to how best kill off a pesky Commissar. The telekine was making an unused Bolt round slowly spin in the air above an upturned hand.
"A point, brother. However, the mewling warriors they send agianst us, the guard, once they see their enforcer dead on the ground, his head a puddle of gore, then they will know fear. And that is when we strike" one of them said, patting his Bolter. The other Marine opened his mouth to respond. Before he could say anything, Sandman flicked his wrist slightly, sending the Bolt speeding across the room, before he brought it to a quivering stop between the two Marine's heads by closing his hand into a loose fist. The two Marines looked across at the Night Lord Sorceror. Sandman got to his feet.
"I believe the best course of action is a counter drop." He began walking around towards the other two marines, the Bolt floating back towards him.
"We can pre-target No-Mans-Land with whatever Artillery is left in this place, which will cripple their forces as they come to us. Meanwhile, I will lead those who I have left, and any of you who want to join me, and we will Drop in on their backfield units, such as that Pesky Commissar. Take out whatever Coordination they have"
Sandman came to a stop next to the other two marines, the Bolt above his hand again.
"Then we recreate Isstvan V, and crush them", clenching his fist and turning the Bolt to a crumpled lump of Metal to emphasise his point.

"I was at Istivann, Sorceror. We can never recreate that" A note of anger had come into Cato's voice. The slaughter of astartes and the turning of the legions at that battle...it had disgusted him that his warmaster could think of such a deceitful plot. He had killed warrior after warrior by himself. "Watch what you do with bolt rounds, my friend. They explode" He moved, smoothe as liquid, slapping the crumpled bolt from the sorcerors palm. It skidded across the room and bumped up against the wall, where it promplty detonated. A few chips of old stone flew across the room and pattered against Power armour.

"You would have recreated the crippling of an imperial munitions dog there, if you hadn't have been careful" Cato turned back to the table. "I personally doubt you can do much against the enemy, even with your warp powers. Enough lasguns will take you down. I say that we seed the city with snipers, minefields, roadblocks. Many different fortifications. Then we wait till they appear. They'll try scouting us out, when they do, we'll simply kill them as they land." He turned his head to the sorceror. "Nothing like Istivann"

Sandman looked at Cato coldly.
"Explain then, how you intend to remove the possibility of escape? You should know only to well that if any survive and get out to tell the tail, Imperial Astartes will be on our Doorstep in a matter of weeks, if not days." The Sorceror began walking toward the window, to look out and survey the city.
"As for seeding the city, I think the best approach to that would be to rig the sewers. Set up choke points with your 'roadblocks and minefields', then blow out the sewers, collapse the roads beneath them."

"Sorcerer, such magnificent tactical planning could never be replicated, nor could the slaughter, the din of guns and the clash of swords. You delude yourself. Diluting your mind with magic, but I see potential with the other Night Lords plan, effective."

Kain moved forward, his Auto-cannon at the ready as he moved close to the Sandman;

"I doubt that magic is good for your mind, I hear it dulls the senses and reduces the reality around the user to nothingness."

"If you were a wise one Librarian, you would not perform such pathetic shows of power amongst us, do you take yourself for a mighty psyker or some conjurer of cheap tricks? You would not to spout such blasphemy of Istvann. It was a slaughter, not a victory by any means, or has your mind grown dull?"

Lurtzion spat, a look of distain upon his hidden face.

"Leave tactics to the tacticians, and they will leave the magic to you."

"What's this?"

Kain turned to the newcomer, looking over his armoured form, but confused by his words. He spoke as if a zealous Space marine, distasteful of the Sorcerers words. He lowered his Auto-cannon and extended a hand to Lurtzion;

"Kain, of the Iron Warriors."

Sandman turned back from the window, and clasped his hands behind his back.
"Do not take me for a conjourer of cheap tricks. I am not trying to get you all killed, I am meerly pointing out that the tactics employed by the Warmaster were effective at the time. I think that similar tactics will work well here, considering Guardsmen will run back from whence they came as soon as the Commissar has fallen, however that may happen.
And if I may, what is wrong with Isstvan? It may not have been anything to be proud of, but it worked. That is all that mattered"