Forum adverts like this one are shown to any user who is not logged in. Join us by filling out a tiny 3 field form and you will get your own, free, dakka user account which gives a good range of benefits to you: No adverts like this in the forums anymore. Times and dates in your local timezone. Full tracking of what you have read so you can skip to your first unread post, easily see what has changed since you last logged in, and easily see what is new at a glance. Email notifications for threads you want to watch closely. Being a part of the oldest wargaming community on the net. If you are already a member then feel free to login now.

Faolan studied Crion and its moons through the bay window of the Claw of Aspen. He summoned his honour guard, it was time to decide their plan going forward.The five members of Honour Guard Madra entered with Sergeant Cearul Adair in front followed by Cabhan Cadarn, Ardan Rymus, Emyr Glaw and Pryce Nye. All had their helmets maglocked to their hips. Cearul, Faolan's second in command and his protégé sported a freshly shaven head, must have done it this morning remarked Faolan and a trimmed beard. Cearul armed himself with a stormshield and a power axe, his armour took the form of MK VIII which was highly ornate with many runes etched onto its surface. A nice piece of armor thought Faolan, you do not see much of its kind in the chapter. His eyes drifted to Cearul's right to Ardan Rymus, a veteran of my Campaigns and one of Faolan's most trusted squadmates. When the leader of the 4th pack was still being decided after the death of the previous Alpha marine Talfryn Siors due to a deadly Dark Eldar poison, Rymus was considered by many to be the next in line gut he refused stating that he was a warrior not a leader and that he was happy with his position in the honour guard. The grizzled marine had a decorated chainsword hung from his belt along with a plasma pistol, his armor of choice was MK V plate. To Cearul's right stood Emyr Glaw, a friend of Cearul's since they were scouts and like Cearul is a defensive fighter equipping himself with a stromshield and a power sword, his gleaming armor was a variant of MKV plate. His short jet black hair and smooth face set him apart from his usual bearded brothers.In the back behind the three mentioned marines stood Cabhan Cadarn and Pryce Nye. Cadarn was a seasoned marine but one with bloodlust and often looked upon with suspicion from his own brothers, his combat effectiveness however is undisputable. His face was disfigured due to a Ork Nob, he is bald with no facial hair and a deep scar running diagonally down from his left eyebrow to the right hand side of his jaw. He bears his favourite Lightening Claws and MK IV plate. lastly the newest member of Honour Guard Madra stood Pryce Nye who disguised himself battling the traitorous leigons and slaying a vile sorceror. His face had a weathered look with dark brown hair shaved at the sides and braided from the top and progressed down his back, his beard was also braided. He also sported a stormshield and power sword. All of these observations happend within a few seconds as Faolan's brothers entered.

Faolan motioned to the three globes in the center of the room. "Brothers, it is time, this is Crion, it is an agricultural world that feeds this entire subsector. We have received this transmission from the planetary govenor, (static) This is Lord Governor (static) Payne of Crion. We are under attack, (static) orks unifying. (static) separatist scum. (static) Heretics. We are desperate our PDF is incapable of defending against all these threats. Any Imperial forces in the area we beg of you to come to our aid. Coordinates follow. These other two globes are the adjacent moons, Luna Maximus and Luna Epsilon.Our scanners indicate that several other imperial leaders have already landed here on Luna Maximus, as such I believe we should land here on the southern Isle in the Isles of pratt, it is isolated and we can fortify the island, if anyone attacks they will be seen from miles away. It appears two rival knight houses are having a duel in the Kikkari desert, many Imperial leaders are attending I among them in order to see who we are working with. I want Cabhan, Cearul and Pryce with me. Ardan you will clear and fortify the isles of Pratt along with Emyr. After the duel I will regroup with you and decide our plan of action. Any questions ? " Ardan stepped forward, " Just one, why aren't we deploying at kikkari desert with the rest of our brothers in arms ?". A question Faolan hoped they would not ask, "Good question, to put it simply I can not tolerate the heat." Honour Guard Madra erupted in laughter at their commander who even managed to crack a smile at his own expense, "There is also the fact that we want to avoid all being deployed at the same spot. With us here the Imperium has more control and reach over Luna Maximus".Pryce emerged from behind Cearul, "yes but it is mainly the heat isn't it ?" The Honour Guard broke down laughing again. "Enough " grumbled Faolan, his patience wearing thin, "You have your orders" said Faolan waving them away dismissively.Ardan and Emyr nodded in approval and went to ready the squads, Cearul, Cabhan and Pryce fell in behind Faolan as they made their to the hanger bay.
.........................
Faolan was disappointed, he expected a epic battle,a show of great skill and courage. What he witnessed today wasn't a duel, that was a one sided beat down. House Cyrene will be humiliated by such a loss thought Faolan. Faolan saw it in High Queen Moira's eyes, that fight was pesonal and that lad was shaken like he had just seen a ghost. If the Honour Guard didn't enough of a kick during the debriefing that necron getting hoofed certainly had them in stitches. Faolan left the arena having met Moira and Ulric he departed for the landing pad.He was eager to get back to Ardan and see what the old marine had conjured up.Just then a PDF trooper ran up to Faolan and his retinue red faced and coughing up half a lung. " My lord, my lord a message from Lord Governor Payne, he invites all Imperial Leaders to a banquet to discuss strategy and the issues plaguing Crion." " Holy Terra lad catch your breath,It seems Ardan will have to wait, very well, send a message to Ardan telling him I will return after said banquet" the trooper banged his fist against his chest and ran off again. " Brother Dai bring in the thunderhawk, these political games are not yet at an end". The fact that Faolan had seemed to miss most of the leaders at the duel it would be worthwhile to properly meet the leaders of the Imperium fighting to liberate Crion from the enemies of man.
...........................
Ardan Rymus surveyed the southern isle of the isles of Pratt from aboard his thunderhawk. From above it was clear to see that one half of the isle was that the Northeastern side was elevated and and sloped to the south west. Ardan turned to the pilot, "Set us down on that elevated plain" pointing to a wide open area. The thunderhawk laid down Ardan and Assault Squad Onòir. Before he disembarked he turned once more to the pilot, " Get some servitors and Cadfael down here immediately" Ardan and his marines panned out from the thunderhawk to secure the area. The flat plain itselt was secure. However on the western edge of the plain it led off to a steep drop with a forest below. From this forest Ardan spotted smoke rising, fires. Ardan gestured toward the smoke and Assault squad Onòir moved in formation. Ardan ordered his marines to hold a few steps from the edge and peered over. Four fires burned in close proximity with primitive, feral orks huddling around them for warmth. The filthy xenos wore nothing but animal skins and war paint and wielded crude clubs. Ardan counted no more than two dozen of the greenskins although with the foliage and the greenskin tents he could not be sure. Ardan motioned for four marines to approach the edge. Simultaneously the four marines and Ardan dropped five frak grenades over the edge and waited for the satisfactorily sound of cracking timber and agonising screams. At once Assault Squad Onòir descended on the confused greenskin menace. The marines crashed through the trees and cut a swath through the xenos. Eight more orks emerged from the huts shouting and grunting to each other. Ardan laughed as three orks approached him swinging their clubs over the heads. Ardan drew his plamsa pistol and fire three shots in quick succession, decimating the xenos. A purple armored astartes flew past Ardan crashing into a nearby tree.Ardan turned to see a weirdboy throwing crackling green energy at his marines, initiating his jump pack, Ardan brought the might of the Emperor down on the greensick separating his head from his shoulders. Thirty two greenskins had been purged, while the weird boy managed to kill Brin outright, while Alwyn lost his leg below the knee. The ork camp that was once littered with fires and tents were now replaced with splinters, blood and gore, and not all of it orks'. Ardan brought his wounded and deceased back to the plain where Tactical squads Mara and Uirlis had arived along with Techmarine Cadfael and his servitor assistants. "Cadfael, set up,a perimeter of tarantula turrets and begin construction of a command center, work with the terrain. I have one wounded and one deceased, see to it that we recover brother Brin's geneseed and that Alwyn gets looked at." Cadfael nodded in confirmation. "I will continue to rout out the greenskins that infest this place, I should not be long. Tactical squads patrol the perimeter so the servitors are not disturbed when constructing the walls and turrets". Prehaps being the Alpha Marine wouldn't have been so bad . Ardan's vox cackled to life, it was Emyr. "Rymus, I believe I found the warboss to these green bastards (static, followed by the sound of an explosion ) shame if you missed out, relying coordinates now " Ardan gathered Assault Squad Onòir and rushed to assist his battle brothers.

Prepare an ambush
The hormagaunts slid into the overgrown bushes as if they were not even there. The raveners with their deathspitters hid in the treetops. The hulking form of the surviving lictor blended into the shadows using its camouflage. The sole warrior bio-form dug a small ditch next to a heavy jungle log. Nothing could see the brood's forces. Nothing did. They waited.
Patience
The swarm complied. They sat upon the places in the jungle where the traps had been. The hive wanted to consume this foul biomass. The brood wanted
Revenge
The hormagaunts leapt out of their cover, taking swipes at any biomass in the vicinity. A few raveners fell out of the trees. The lictor was visible for a moment before blending into the shadows once more. The warrior dug a deeper hole.
Be still
The raveners climbed back up the long, tall trees. The lictor remained motionless. The warrior stood in its hole. The hormagaunts returned to the bushes. Except one. A single hormagaunt had gotten far enough away as to be out of the synapse of the warrior form. It had gone feral.
Return
It did not comply.
Return
It had detected one of the many weak, tiny rodents that the swarm had saw since landing. It produced little biomass and could easily be captured later. The hormagaunt did not see it this way. It was once again primal. The hormagaunt leapt out at the startled creature. It however, missed. The sole gaunt continued to pursue its prey. The biomass was very swift and agile. So was the gaunt. Neither truly had the upper hand. The chase proceeded for a long time, all with the hive mind screaming at the gaunt to return. It refused. The rodent shall be consumed. They dodged around trees, over logs, under branches, neither ever accomplishing their goals. Until the rodent reached a dead end. It had entered a very thick part of the jungle. It could not escape. The gaunt stood triumphantly over its caught prey, and jumped, ready to rend and tear with its scything talons. Then, the rodent was gone. Apparently, the rodents were very skilled climbers. The gaunt attempted to scramble up the tree after it. However, by the time the gaunt scrambled up it, the rodent had disappeared. At that moment as well, the warrior form along with the rest of the ambush force caught up with it. The gaunt immediately felt the will of the hive mind, and joined up with the forces.
Retreat
The ambush had been a failure. The gaunt had taken the entire force off track, and no orks had been found. The gaunt must be remade into something better for its stupidity.

[After a few hours]

Patrol
The small squads of the swarm's forces continued their relentless patrolling around the norn-queen. One particular termagaunt walked around admiring its shiny new deathspitter. It had been made today.

These setbacks will not stop the relentless advance of the hive. The will become strong the moment the orks are crushed. The hive will be prosperous.
Long live the hive

=====Excavation Site, Crion III=====

The finally reached the site, it was a series of jagged hills with few entrances in. The entire area was shrouded with large trees and thick underbrush. A perfect area, for what Grulahk had planned. Within 6 hours of arriving, a drop site was established for the rest of the forces and a tunnel network was under way. Grulahk strolled over to Ultarn who was watching some Scarabs chew at an area,
“What’s going on here?”
“I’ve decided this will be the Combat Information Center. We already have reanimation chamber and-.”
“Oh, ok. I need you to watch the base for a while.”
Ultarn turned and slightly jumped in surprise at what he was seeing.
“Grulahk, what is that? What are those? Why do you have these things?”
“This is a shirt with assorted flowers and trees. This is a chair, this is an umbrella, this is a drink. You don’t need to know.”
Grulahk walked away and disappeared in an amber flash. Ultarn walked through the tunnel network and surveyed the work that was going on. He did this for awhile before running into Numek.
“Ah, Cryptek! How goes the- what is wrong with your face…”
The Cryptek squinted at Ultarn and gave him a confused look before realising what he was talking about. He opened his mouth to speak.
“Oh, I made a face.”
“What do you mean ‘made’ a face?”
“Well, I decided that I wanted to look more like a Necrontyr than a soulless robot. This is only the beginning.”
“Can you feel?” Ultarn looked at the synthetic skin still trying to understand its existence. He slowly raised his finger and moved it closer to Numek’s face and poked him.
“Yes, I felt that.” He swatted his finger away. “It’s definitely not Apotheosis but it is a small shuffle in the right direction." Numek walked away attempting to whistle which confused Ultarn even more. He started on his way back to his quarters when Grulahk walked out of the reanimation chamber and slowly walked up to Ultarn, he looked quite groggy.
“You okay?”
“I need to have a chat with that Knight…”
“An Imperial Knight? What are you going on about?” Grulahk only looked up and behind Ultarn.
“Establish a transportation center back to the Lance, and while you’re at it, I want a communications interceptor and these,”He handed a data glyph to Ultarn, “to be built.”
“It will be done.”
“Good to hear, where are our quarters?”
“Down the hall, make one left and it’ll be on your right.”
“Thank you Ultarn, have you seen Numek?”
“Unfortunately.”
“What’s that mean?” Grulahk adopted a skeptical look.
“Don’t worry about it. Also, Shas’O Tach’Var is on the Lance, he wants to speak with you.”
“Ok, I’ll be there as soon as a Scythe can get here.”
Grulahk walked off, probably to get to the surface. Ultarn cared not what the rest of the day entailed, he was confused with happenings as is, and he knew they would only get worse. He went to his chambers to get away from it all.

=====Conference Room, Eradicator’s Lance=====

They were in quite the exquisite room, it was adorned with many plaques and trophies along the walls. In the center stood a monolithic ivory colored table, at its head sat Grulahk who was holding some form of cigar. To his left sat Shas’O Tach’Var in the ceremonial robes he wore outside of his suit, he was holding some form of liquid, he swirled and stared at it oddly, wondering if he should indulge himself. Across from Tach’Var was Kageros, who was reading reports on his data glyph, his staff sat next to him leaning against the wall. Grulahk glanced around the room, it was silent with the exclusion of the vent towards the ceiling pumping ai into the room so Tach’Var didn’t suffocate. His gaze fell on Kageros,
“Who are we waiting for?”
“Hmm?” Kageros looked up not immediately understanding what he said, “Oh, no one, I was waiting for you to start us off.”
“Oh, in that case let’s begin.”
Tach’Var chimed in, “Let's.”
“So, Tach’Var, what brings you here?”
“Him.” He pointed at Kageros.“He said he had an idea and that it was imperative that I come here.”
“I do, and it was,” He set down the glyph and waved his hand over the table. A hologram appeared on the table.”This, is my plan. It’s quite the undertaking and you, “ He pointed at Grulahk, “are going to need his help.” He pointed at Tach’Var. He looked at the hologram, then at the Necrons.
“And how am I supposed to help with this?”
“We need your Earth Caste engineers and probably a lot of workers.”
“Well, I suppose Prin’shek can do without them for awhile. How long will this take?”
“I’d say maybe a year.”
“Right, I’m also going to call a few old friends.”
Grulahk looked confused and turned to Kageros, “Who? Oh... OH... them.”
“You’ll know when they appear. His Legion is already on Crion. We’re also bringing in a specialist.”
“Who? Kag’, I don’t like where this is going.”
“I do!” Tach’Var was laughing. “All the talk they tell us of ancient unyielding machines of unstoppable death. HA, and here we are talking about construction… in a conference room…”
“You know, I see the irony of what your saying. We’re Kageros, you’re thinking of the Maynarkh or the Sautekh, maybe the Mephrit.”
“No, I’m Kageros”
There was an odd silence before the room erupted with laughter before it died down.
“Well, you both have work to do, I’ll contact our flayed friend and send Chagh to go find that specialist.”

=====Command Room, Voor’Han=====

Kageros walked into the door and gazed around the room and at all the terminals. He looked over to the terminal where Grulahk once sat, another warrior sat at this space and mindlessly droned away analyzing information. He would have to resist creating another Nemesor and chuckled. Heavy steps moved toward him as Chagh and Zyfek entered the room,
“Ah, Kageros, how is Grulahk?”
“He’s well, and your experiment is under way.”
Zyfek and Chagh looked at each other and bellowed, “Good one, it’s not an experiment, it’s fool proof.”
“Especially now that you have Necrons, Tau, and those spikey humans working together.”
“Speaking of which, Chagh, I need you to go speak to our Specialist, I’ll go speak with the Flayed Lord.”
“You know where he’s at?”
“No, that’s why I’m here.” Kageros spun on his heels and walked to the command console in the middle of the room and started flying through files. “Found it.”

=====Kasthanas=====

Kageros parked the Arbalest in orbit around Kasthanas. He got up from his throne and went to the Combat Information Center, he strolled through the door and pointed at a random Praetorian. “Ok, give me the word, where is he?”
“We’ve not located him but we have found one of his Captains on the ground.”
“Who?”
“Tyre, the Bloodborn, he’ll be-” The Praetorian was interrupted as a Lychguard ran into the room.
“My Lord! They’re training weapons on us. What are your commands?”
“Throw the ship in reverse, fly us over Tyre’s location.” He turned around to the Praetorians in the room. “You’re all coming with me.”
Kageros and his retinue swiftly walked into the hangar and readied for deployment as a Night Scythe was dispatched into the void. It took 5 minutes for it to finish screaming into the atmosphere. It’s cacaphonic wail could be heard overhead as it flew through the burnt corpse of what was once a hive. It disgorged its royal payload on a street corner close to a small convoy. Kageros and his Praetorians made their way to the convoy and walked into the open. Dozens of weapons trained on them before a voice bellowed at the Cultists, “Hold fire!” Tyre walked out from behind a predator in his Terminator armor, "The Iron King." It was a statement, not a question, and the ivory helmet nodded once in respect. "What brings you to this fresh corpse of a world?" Kageros smiled, he enjoyed such respect when it was given, “I hear the seeds of the Flayed Legion have been sowed on the planet Crion?” Kageros walked up to Captain and clasped his arm, “My legion has also made fall on Crion.” Tyre's helmet tilted in contemplation, pausing in silence, or perhaps listening. "The Flayed Lord will hear your proposal. We do not take worlds, Iron King, we bleed them and depart. But for Crion...for Crion there might be an agreement." Kageros and his retinue walked with Tyre and his convoy while they discussed what Kageros had in store for Crion.

=====The Void by the Spear of Olympia=====

Vorhees stared at the pict display in mild confusion, which soon turned to annoyance. They were preparing to leave the neighboring world behind, their latest victim of their raids. The display showed a Harvester class necron ship just hovering next to his own fleet. The part that annoyed Vorhees was not any action it did, but its lack of one. The coin then dropped, and the raptor realized it must be one of the Kageros Dynasty, the necrontyr who had assisted the old Warsmith five years ago. "Send a vox to them. See what they want." Vorhees growled, and gave a grim smile underneath his helmet as he watched the ship's captain's scramble to obey him.

Chagh sat on the Harvesters throne as a Praetorian walked behind him, “Lord Cryptek, they are sending us communication.” “Patch it through.” A metallic voice began to boom over head,
”This is the Captain of the Spear of Olympia, identify your-”
“I am Chagh, Lord Cryptek of the Kageros. I come to speak with the one you call, Vorhees.”

“What is it you want Lord Cryptek? My time has value.”
“I come bringing an offer from Kageros. He requests your...expertise.”
“And what expertise is that? I know longer fight under others.”
“No, no, you misunderstand Vorhees, you are an Iron Warrior, we request help in the building of something.”
Chagh hit a few glyphs on the right arm of his chair sending the schematics to Vorhees’ console. Vorhees looked over the design, it truly was grand, far grander than what he was used to. He thought of the benefits that would come of this. As he was thinking Chagh began to speak again, “You will be working with Nemesor Grulahk, and Shas’O Tach’Var and will have the labor and materials you’ll need. All we require is your expertice.” That really got Vorhees thinking, he would be able to call upon the Kageros in the future, and if this plan goes through, they would be a very powerful allie. The prospect of working with Tau as well really peaked his interest, perhaps their influence was larger than he anticipated.
“Ok Cryptek, I’ll do it. When I call on you in the future, and I will, I’ll be expecting you to answer my call.”
“We’ll send a Scythe to pick you up and transport you to Crion. Welcome to the next Crusade.”

"We cannot simply do this! This shall only bring war to us!" Iodius was outraged at the prospect that these warriors in this crusade were being accused of heresy. Captain Ceasar just stood there, shaking his head.
"If your accusations are correct Inquisitor, then we shall require more evidence before we can commence their executions. I for one, shall vouch for them, as I have seen them, and the way they act holds no account for what you accuse them of doing. They at least should look like they are hiding secrets, and I am good at spotting it." Ceasar was always the more level-headed one out of the bunch, and Iodius saw him as a god-send.
The Inquisitor mearly stood there. His presence was chilling, even for Iodius, who usually had the same effect on other people.
"I shall look into this matter more. When I find evidence, you and your fellow Space Marines will kill them." With this the Inquisitor turned and promtly walked out of the room.

Admiral Lukas Klambert was the first to speak.
"If what he says is true, and I'm not saying that I want it to be, how could we ever justify this with Terra? We're on shaky ground as it is, and the slaughter of one of the Imperium's finest soldiers will push us over the line. I for one, ask if we can talk to our other Astartes brethren over this." A stickler for procedure, the admiral was a strict addherant to the Index Astartes, and this matter had pushed him almost over boiling point, the notion of heretics in the Imperiums forces around Crion...Perposterous...
"No, the Astartes accompanying us are bloodthirsy zealots. I could not see them being of any use for advice. Oh Emperor damn his soul...If only Aladar was here, he would know what to do..."
"But he isn't Ceasar, and we cannot change that in this point of time. We shall look at whatever evidence the Inquisitor comes up with, then we shall weigh up our options." Iodius spoke in his commanding voice. He had been put in command of this crusade, and he would need to make decision himself. "Leave me, I have much to think about." The occupants of the room bowed and he returned them. All had left the room, all except one. The black figure sat silently in the corner of the command room, its left portion of its visor was broken, and a bright red glow was being emminated from it.
"I take it your staying?" He spoke to it, but once again, it remained there, silent, unmoving, unfeeling. "Silence is consent, I believe the old saying goes..." It had followed Iodius where ever he went, ever since that encounter with the Blood Axe storm boys, he had cleansed himself dozens of time, and yet, it persisted. It had become a common reoccurance, and yet Iodius had gotten used to it, but something still knawed at the back of his mind, something that did not sit well with him. Something was wrong with this campaign, but he couldn't put his finger on it...

Sssooon, Oh so ssssooooonn...

Iodius sprung backwards and held out his crozius, the voice seemed to come from everywhere, and no where at the same time. He turned to face the apparation, who, to his surprise, had cocked its head slightly to the right, as if in...Confusion...

Iodius sat back down and held his head in his hands. Something was very wrong indeed...

A Yarl prepares for war

Sat back in the large wooden chair, throne to a smaller human made of dark Ferasian iron wood, thick rough and hewn by axes from its primal form burnt black in a raid on his tribe the Yarl had recovered it years later claiming it as heir to the chief of the Night Bears. Still visible the carved forms of the snarling bear carved into the iron hard wood by his grandfather, the dent in the arm where his father’s ring had knocked against it and repairs and studs Agmar himself had worked into its form to restore it partly yet still left its blackened wood to respect its own saga and past. Such would disrespect its spirit.

Laying on the dark wooden desk topped by roughly carved black granite lay a bolter cleaned and immaculately maintained, hand made for the Yarls size and grip not quite the power of the marines legendary weapons but still of a fierce recoil and hardly lacked for the power to stop anything short of a space marine. Leaning back after fitting the last pin and racking the smooth action to test its function, perfect as every time it was used, never failing to serve the Yarl in war. It was perfect, he was not. Once a candidate for the chapter he lacked none of the skills or drive to perfect his martial abilities of destruction yet it had been his body that rejected the implant, part marine, part human driven to a perfection he could never attain.

It was a old gripe many times he had debated it with himself deep into the night, his soul torn by the conflict, yet now he had no time to indulge that though.

The tools of destruction

Donning the heavy carpace armour plates, such weight would slow down a lesser man of smaller size yet to him each heavy slab was but a mere inconvenience to movement, every single part custom made for his size and strength and could stop a bolt shell. Over the thick armour he wore thick and rough native leather and furs, despite all the advanced equipment he still respected the old ways. Heavy adamntium shod boots all designed to wistand damage and last for years despite the harshest conditions came next and finally to his helmet.

Once he wore a simple helmet, now it was not. Hand made into the form of a snarling bear in black metal work, teeth illuminated in gleaming gold and eyes glowing faintly green from the built in night vision lenses. Concealed in the muzzle a full rebreather mask for hazardous environments. Locking it into the slots and flipping it back so it was open faced. He suffered the same as any Space Wolf, despite advanced senses the enclosed helm interfered with his instincts they so relied upon.

Striding out of his quarters bolter strapped on to his chestplate and mighty war axe strapped across his back stopping to make one last check. Pistol, knives, grenades and a large calibre snub revolver concealed in his bot. It was to be a duel of honour but they would be ready come anything hoping to never need to fight this day.

Wotan Diplomacy

“Lord Stomclaw, all plans ready to move, Volund is ready to the run that operation, Vioarr is preparing to contact the Wotan as requested. The Blood Eagle is ready on your mark” Conan was leader of the Wolf Guard and second in command of the strike force, armed with a sword and heavy shield among other weapons he would be in charge of security for the meeting. “Permission to rally the guard my lord” “Granted Conan, tell Floki to get Mangi, Midgard and Ivars Kraken Slayers too, we take no chances”

Knights tread upon the mountains

Meanwhile in Amanda Valorns quarters aboard ship she was startled by a knock at the door, dressed in full plate and armed for war Yarl Agmar waited for her. “Amanda Valorn, Lord Stormclaw requests your help on a mission, ready your Knight suit but keep triggers tight, its a diplomatic one. “ Surprised but glad to be doing something real at last. “Il be ready Yarl Agmar” again noting his size, a bolter, few non power armoured humans could even fire one. “i see your planning for the worst, not getting negative on me are you “ she joked, he always seemed to plan for the worst.

With a booming laugh in reply “Planning not hoping. Wolf Priest Vioarr is one of the few on this entire planet who can speak Wotan. Cannot be losing him can we. Come with me, grab a Caffine and il get you fully briefed on the mission and your role. Also show you where we officers get decent food” He added with a smile, despite shear size and clad in full armour he still could express some charm.

Into the Wotan mountains

The Wotan mountains where rugged, rough and thickly forested despite there white peaks towering above and bare rock faces giving no cover from the harsh weather. It was much like home as the Blood Eagle flew past alongside the bulky knight transport escorted by wings of gunships and transports that carried the Wolf lord’s escort. “Lord Stormclaw. LZ, 2 minutes off. Everything is ready to roll on your mark. Clearing scouted. All teams ready to make combat drops. Nodding his approval a pre planned serris of complex landings began with a speed and level of control only space marines where capable of.

The clearing was wide, no trees here. All open ground surrounded by a ring of old stones carved into the forms of dragons, drakes and other beasts. The “Dragon riders” had returned from the times of legend to the ancient place of meeting. Lord Stormclaw and Vioarr agreed. This place was once a meeting point for recruitment of the old chapter. Clad in thick native skins and roughly tanned leathers covered in rough forged metal plating and chainmail the tribes king bore a mighty power fist carved into the form of a Dragons skull and long braided hair. The longer the braid, the longer undefeated, his showed he was of formidable prowess in battle. Raising his power fist in salute he walked up to slowly and stopped at a worn and cracked stone area in the centre of the clearing.

Raising weapons in matching Salutes Lord Stormclaw strode forward bearing his relic wolf claw and Vioarr followed a step behind as both sides forces watched with great tension and kept weapons tight but everyone was primed to fight at a seconds warning.

“Greeting King of Wotan. The Wolves bear no hostile aims. “ “Lord of Wolf, we concur. Let us talk” Both sides began to relax slightly but still kept weapons tight, there leaders seemed to be able to communicate with Vioarr’s help. The wolf priests studies had paid off. “Easy Amanda, back your suit off like we said, slow and careful” Agmar instructed as he began to move his auxiliary force slightly behind the tree line. “aye, slow n steady. Left side. Wotan patrol moving your way. 10-20, 2 minutes” From the height of the Knight suits control pod she had the best view of the events watching both lines of forces carefully react and begin to try to lower the risk of conflicts. “Easy on them triggers, Wotan stopping”

It was not easy but Vioarr gained a good raport, and soon first contact began to work our for the better. It seemed like a eternity to those who watched and waited. The Two Lords shook hands and saluted like before as the assembled warriors of both sides began to breath easy, no one hand fired a single shot, no one had caused a firefight. “Stormclaw. Begin to move to Grimjoy. All forces move to Grimjoy.

Wotan legends

Deep in his camp, the Wotan King sat in silence debating the days events. The Dragon Riders had changed from the legends but they matched in size and form of meeting. Though the legend remained. They would return and that ment two things, the rebirth and golden age or the death of the entire planet.

Wolf Base is established

The flight back was boring, the best kind to the agreement of most. Wolf and Wotan had met in peace and now they headed back to the space port just outside Grimjoy Hive, pitch black as they landed bar a few powered lights they had brought. It was old, disused and dirty. Hangers roofs glass had long broken and drips and puddles filled there cold metal shells. The runway it self was cracked by plant growth.

“Some home Volund, what works” The Iron priest replied in a mechanical tone. “Aye, much to do. Power within in the hour, walls ok, sentries dispatched and the squatters dealt without any fuss. All in all, one week” “a week, it must be a ruin, go, i not use your time, the other issues can be discussed when we have light and heat. “ Lord Stormclaw knew when to let people work, such things could wait. Light alone would raise morale no end here.

Lights flickered to life in the control tower of the old space port, solid and still working it was being cleaned and stocked to operate as a barracks and HQ by Serfs and iron priests bringing its systems online. “Amanda, this way, your knights are safely set up in the hangers, we shall have them repaired in a few days. She was last on his list to show to her quavers. The new base would be Spartan for a few days. “id offer you a drink to a victory, but the bars dry and our supplies are yet to land in a few days in that regard. Things will take time to get set up” Pulling a bottle of Ferasian whiskey from a case. “kinda acquired it from your mess before we departed, wanna join me for a glass or two?” Laughing at the foresight, “who prepares for the worst eh, sure, we can remove this evidence with some glasses aye.

Taking a seat on some travel crates and a upturned case as a table. “Cold, no worries, i have furs and insulated equipment coming down in a day or two but enough of logistics, pour us some of that drink you stole! “

Grimjoy Hive

in the distance the hive loomed over the space port, tall and mighty in its past it was a shoadow of that now. Much of the hives lower levels where disused or sparsely populated and only the middle and upper levels where fully occupied. The Noble houses had not argued to hard against the new owners of space port, it was rarely used and the spires had their own pads and ships stored for their needs, Knights and Wolves would prove a useful detertent to trouble as the hives militias where badly undermanned vs the past, too few workers to serve to fill its regiments. Times were tough in Grim Joy.

Ferasian Whiskey

Yarl Agmar staggered out into the corridor, one glass had turned into rather a few more and the intended formal goodbye a rather long hug, the stress of the mission long gone but the hangover would be rather likely after the evenings overindulgence.

The Knights march to war:

Moira Valorn stood at the edge of the tree line and scanned the ork encampment using her suit’s enhanced optics, noting the sentry towers and the crude alarm system that had been set up. Just a day ago a report had come in from the Space Wolf Strike Cruiser in orbit that a feral ork encampment had been discovered not far from their landing zone in the Kikkari Desert, and Moira had decided that it would be a suitable way to get her and her siblings accustomed to fighting in their suits. According to the data that she had pulled from the local archives this encampment was led by an Ork Mek named Slabkill. Moira just hoped that she didn’t mess this up. Sure, they had all been training in these suits since they were able to bond with them at a young age, but none of them had ever used these suits in anger, and Moira was determined to rectify that error today. As she watched several new runes appeared on her view screen, points of interest that the Space Wolf Scouts who had accompanied them marked. When battle was joined the Scouts would dig in on the nearby hill and provide support to the Knights, but for now they were merely marking targets. They would strike at the next change of the watch, and use the ensuing chaos to shatter the Orks and send them running. Her timing would have to be impeccable because, despite their crude appearance, these feral orks did still have some weapons that could potentially damage her suit. The Wolves had already marked the locations of several crude catapults and ballistae. Those would be her first targets, and she passed this information onto Sera and Cassius. They would not have to wait long.

The feral Orks at the front of the encampment never knew what hit them. One minute they were taking over the watch from the tired sentries, the next they were torn to gory ribbons as they were engulfed by mega-bolter fire from the cannon attached to the right arm of Moira’s Knight Castigator. The Orks beyond the front gate had scarcely a second to comprehend the fact that they were under attack before the trio of Knights smashed through the gate, and then battle was well and truly joined.

For the first time in her life Moira felt alive, and now she knew why her family had such a long and proud tradition of crusading. Simulations could never capture the thrill that she was feeling now as she and her siblings slaughtered the Orks, the righteous fury that coursed through her veins as she noted the positions of more Orks who had yet to feel her blade. To her left she noted her sister Sera as her Knight Atrapos’ lascutter flared, and cut a Giant Squiggoth in half that had been about to crash into Moira’s unguarded flank, and Moira raised her power sword in an informal salute to her younger sister. And to her right she noted her brother Cassius, as his Knight Acheron spat fire from its’ flame cannon into a massive group of feral Orks who had managed to organize themselves, and she felt grim satisfaction as she watched them burn to a crisp. Now all she had to do was locate and destroy the Catapults, and Slabkill.

She was jolted out of her reverie when she felt something slam into the side of her suit, and several warning runes appeared on her view screen as she turned to face this new threat. Another Giant Squiggoth had appeared, and had rushed past her sister Sera as she furiously fought against a third Squiggoth. The beast had slammed into her suit’s side and was currently chewing away at the knee joint of her suit, and while he hadn’t inflicted much damage so far, if she didn’t stop it, he would soon chew through the joint and send her crashing to the ground. The beast was too close to shoot so Moira simply raised her mega bolter and brought it crashing down upon the beast’s head, stunning it. Then before it could recover and charge her again, she swung her power sword in a brutal arc, and decapitated the Squiggoth, and that proved to be the final straw for the Orks. Shortly after Moira decapitated the great beast, her sister Amanda had sliced her own Squiggoth in half, and after seeing all three of their biggest beasts chopped down like wheat before the scythe, the Orks’ morale had broken, and they ran away from the metal giants that had brought death to their encampment. She had been unable to locate Mek Slabkill, but she and her siblings had dealt a ferocious blow to the strength of the Orks on this moon, and that would have to do for now. As she and her siblings began to make the long walk back to base she noted that she had received a communication while she was engaged. She noted with interest that she and Amanda had been invited to a banquet at the Governor’s mansion in a few days’ time. She put her thoughts about the banquet to the side for now, she and her siblings needed to drop their suits off at their base for some repairs. They hadn’t taken much damage, the worst of it being a slightly chewed knee joint for Moira, but Moira wanted all of their suits to be at prime fighting condition at all times, you never knew when the enemy might strike.

The flesh-bound tome skittered across the floor loudly, sending dust and debris up into the air. It stopped at the foot of a throne that belonged to the daemon prince known as Ewrhyt'eikl. Ewrhyt'eikl was an ashen grey creature with broad shoulders and a pair of heads that never ceased to grin. Across his chest was a gaping mouth, full of wickedly jagged teeth, that housed a deep violet-coloured eye. Ewrhyt'eikl stooped down and scooped the tome, his Grimoire of True Names, off the floor and placed it in his lap. As he opened the tome and skimmed the sacred pages, the deliverers of the Grimoire grew impatient. The daemonette, Raak'tiil, once-Bloodthirster of Khorne, now Hunter of Ewrhyt'eikl, was the first to speak her mind.

"I grow tired of your silence, Ewrhyt'eikl. Why did you need this book? You already know the names of many daemons. What is in this here book that is so important?" Raak'tiil snorted, drawing a dagger to clean the blood and grit from under her fingernails. Ewrhyt'eikl noticed how meticulous Raak'tiil had become since she was bound to his will. He made a mental note to watch Raak'tiil more closely to assess what his will is asserting on her. He raised a hand.

"I will tell you all in good time, but for now, my plans must remain in the woodwork," Ewryht'eikl spoke from his second head. Both daemons before him, Raak'tiil and Pneuma Plagueborn, Interrogator of Ewryht'eikl, knew that this head could speak nothing but lies. Raak'tiil stepped forward in anger, her eyes burning with a bronze fire and her nose streaming smoke and cinders. It was Pneuma who spoke up this time, outstretching his seemingly frail arm to hold Raak'tiil back. His voice rasped coarsely as he bowed before his patron.

"I agree with my enraged friend, my lord. You have been withholding your motivation behind having us track down... four... five mortals and daemon who may have been in possession of the Grimoire. What is there to hide?"

"Everything," the mouth in his chest murmured, "My plans will not be undone if I am the only one to know what they entail... Now I must advance. My opening of time is short and I will not be delayed by the collective works of my servants." Ewryht'eikl raised his hand over the pages of the Grimoire of True names and sickly white bolts of energy shot from his hand and engulfed the book. Each of Ewryht'eikl's mouths silently uttered the words that were inked onto the pages. The air within Ewryht'eikl's domain grew dark and the whispers of daemons laced the shadows. Their voices taunted the greater daemons in the room. Raak'tiil drew her great axe and challenged the voices in the dark. Pneuma lowered her axe in a foolish attempt to calm her. Before Raak'tiil could assault the darkness, Ewryht'eikl finished and the darkness swept into the bodies at his feet, the bodies of the humans and Astartes he slayed to take his throne. One by one, with their rigor mortis laden, skeletal bodies straining to move, they rose and faced Ewryht'eikl. Each one was cloaked in the shadows of a daemon, whom possessed the body of the deceased.

"You have summoned the dead..." Raak'tiil said defiantly, axe still drawn, eyes scanning the room in disgust, "This is most dishon-"

"DO NOT QUESTION ME!" Ewryht'eikl's mouths boomed in unison. He almost stood up out of anger, but his temper was restrained apart from the momentary outburst. Raak'tiil bowed in submission and apologized for her insolence. Ewryht'eikl sighed, "Take these, the Absents of Ewryht'eikl, and find me the Razor of Esekuur, the Tranquil Rose of the Heshlik Gardens and 6 human virgins who possess some degree of psychic aptitude."

"It shall be done, Ewryht'eikl," his servants declared, their voices resounding throughout the room. Ewryht'eikl chanced a smile.

"I will have the Watcher at last..."

Ta'lok ghosted through the grasslands surrounding the mansion, mirroring the way it bent and swayed with the wind. He had already slipped past the first set of guards, letting Mal'caor's barking draw them towards the forests while Ta'lok breached their lines. It didn't give much of a window, but it was enough for the Kroot to get past them.

Having reached the wall of the mansion, the Kroot tentatively tugged on the mass of vines growing off of the walls. No doubt it was meant as a decoration, but the Shaper was going to put it to a different use. It was child's play to scale the wall, and creak open the window, entering the Governor's vacant personal quarters. Closing the window, the Kroot proceeded to hide himself behind a large wooden desk, and wait for the governor to appear.

It was only a few minutes until the large doors swung open, and the governor's voice was heard, ending some conversation with another noble. Ta'lok waited patiently, and heard the doors moan shut, followed by the exhausted sigh of the governor. "More rebels. Of course. Of fething course." He groaned, no longer having to worry about others hearing his words. The Shaper waited until the governor was about to reach the seat for the desk right next to Ta'lok's hiding spot when the Kroot leaped forwards, clamping one hand on Paynne's mouth and putting a sole finger against Ta'lok's mouth with the other.

"Shh. I mean you no harm. No, I'll let go, but you have to promise to not shout. Understand?" Ta'lok asked, keeping his voice calm. The governor nodded once, his eyes a mixture of fear and anger. Ta'lok waited for the emotions to subside, and for the man to realize he'd only be released once he calmed down. Ta'lok carefully removed his hand from Paynne's mouth, and the general cursed. Ta'lok let the man continue his vulgar language for a few moments before lightly coughing to get his attention.

"I am Ta'lok, a Kroot Shaper. I have come to your planet, Crion, to offer my services to the Imperialists who need them or deem them useful. I hope to count you among that number." Ta'lok said.

"By the Emperor. A Kroot. And you're not here to kill me?" The governor gasped, still trying to catch his breath from the latest turn of events. "Alright Ta'lok, seeing as how you haven't killed me just now I have no other option but to trust you. I do have something for you, actually."

Ta'lok nodded, and gave the man a smile. "I have one request before we get any further, I am afraid. My kin have need of housing, but will not settle among any human settlements, for reasons I do not need to explain. Would you happen to know of a location? Part of your island does seem to be uninhabited, Governor."

Paynne nodded again, "Have at it. I'm sure your, erm, kin won't be terribly hard to accommodate. Now, on to business, shall we?"



Ta'lok looked at the two Kroot in front of him. Both had been hand picked to carry out the task of Governor Tobias Paynne. "No civilian casualties. I want this done quickly, and as cleanly as possible. Most following this man know what he is doing, and follow blindly. It is up to us to change that."

Both Kroot nodded. "Voshia, you will be the shooter. Torken, you are the scout. Make sure Voshia can get her shot off, and that no one notices your approach."

"The Tiller Rebellion will not live a day longer. We will strike the mont'ka." Voshia said, holding her head high with pride. Ta'lok smiled at the pair and sent them off.



Voshia looked through her scope, watching the sermon go on. From her vantage point on the building, she could not only see her target, but the crowds of people as well, all of them flocking to hear his word. The target, Edgar, was the leader and cause of the Tiller Rebellion of Kampf Anchorage, and it was up to Voshia to put him down. Edgar was illuminated by several floodlights, drawing every pair of eyes' attention to him.

"Where was the governor when we starved? Where was he when we were beaten? Where was he when the orks took our lands? Nowhere! He has forsaken us, and it's time to fight back!" Part of his speech had reached Voshia, and the kroot shook her head; it was all useless propoganda and downright heresy in the humans' ideals.

"That's enough of this," she whispered, "Torken, I'm taking the shot now." The second part was addressed to the Kroot crouched behind her, watching the hatch that led to their rooftop, the only way up or down the building.

Voshia steadied her aim, and exhaled as she fired. Her aim was true, but at the last moment Edgar had stoop down towards his crowd. For what reason Voshia did not know, but that was not what mattered. The bullet had flown past its target, and pinged against the wall behind him. The entire crowd was in a panic now, and Edgar had slipped into it, making a straight path towards his waiting guards and vehicle to get him to safety.

"Torken we need to go. The shot has missed, I have failed. The crowd will turn into a mob, and hunt down the assailants of their leader. There are too many for us to fight alone," Voshia said, slinging the rifle across her back. Torken nodded, and pulled the hatch open. Voshia looked at the mob below, and saw that they were closing the distance fast, and there was no doubt that they had found where the shooter had been perched. The pair then fled down the winding staircases, but the mob had reached their building by the time they reached the ground floor.

The pair ducked behind a bar counter, "What do we do now? We can't fight through them, and we cannot go back up. We are trapped." Voshia whispered, and unslung her rifle.

"Voshia, these are civilians. Poor fighters and driven by emotion. If we give them a stronger sense, they will fall back. We will give them fear." Once Torken finished speaking he leapt over the counter, giving an ear splitting shriek as he charged. Voshia followed suit, and the foremost of the civilians stumbled back, not expecting a sudden assault, or the appearance of an alien.

Torken kick the first human in the gut, sending him staggering back into the crowd before narrowly avoiding a knife that sailed towards his throat. "Humans! Fall back immediately'" he shouted, not because he expected it to work, but because it'd catch them off guard if they were being commanded. And every advantage one could get over the enemy was worth the effort, so far as Torken was concerned.

The advantage had allowed both to fight free of the crowd, but their escape took them deeper into the city rather than out of it. The mob was able to keep up with them despite their rapid movements, and various items were constantly clattering against the ground behind them as the mob threw them in vain.

"Keep running!" Torken shouted, close behind Voshia as they fled deeper into the city. From behind her, Voshia heard the crack of a bolt gun, and a squawk of pain. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Torken lying on the ground, a crater where his back was. His eyes stared blankly outwards

It went against every fiber of her being, but she kept running. Torken was dead, and the pack had to know what happened. She couldn't save him from death, and to stay and fight would only mean her death as well, and the pack would not know any better about what happened. No, she could not stay and fight, though it took every ounce of willpower she had to leave. Voshia fled into the streets, and eventually lost the crowd by breaking into an abandoned building, using their lack of cohesion against them. The mob would lose interest without any sightings of their target, and lacked the organization and unity to maintain search parties. It took her a total of eight hours to finally escape the city, and rendezvous with the awaiting pickup team.

Edgar may have lived this time, but now he had gained the full attention of Ta'lok, and he had sworn that Torken would be avenged.

Iodius walked out of Encampment Belial. Behind him, 29 Space Marines, and another 15 scouts. Iodius needed to clear his head, the past few days being, Less than comfortable...What better way to do that than to explore more of the Moon? Iodius also wished for revenge against the ork nob who had disembowled him, so if they happened to stumble across any orks, Iodius could only hope...
"Milord, we have sightings of greenskins to the north, shall we make our way there?" A scout approached Iodius, obviously awed by the chaplains presence.
"Hmm, yes, we shall. Tell your sergeant to assemble your squads and set off before us. You shall be our vaguard."
"Yes Milord." The scout bowed and turned back the way he came.
They set off within the hour.

Two hours later...
"Any word from the scouts Manus?" Iodius was almost worried, their last transmission with the scouts was over 2 hours ago.
"No Brother-Chaplain, nothing, all we get is static."
"And I believe I know why..." Iodius lifted his arm and pointed towards a cloud of brown quickly moving towards the convoy
"Should we go back Chaplain?" Manus wasn't worried about their safety, they had rebreathers and could easily manage.
"No, we find the Scouts, then we go." The scouts were particularly vunerable to the storm, lacking both armour, and any way of breathing properly.
"Yes sir."

Several hours later...
"Can you see the end of this sandstorm?" Iodius spoke into his vox, his voice sounded loud in the helmets of every Marine in its proximity, even over the loud roar of the storm.
"No, sir, to be honest, I don't even know where we are! Our maps scrambled in this..." Manus replied, they had been travelling for a couple hours through this storm, and still had yet to find any trace of the scouts...
"Keep going, we have to get out of this soon, it can't span for more than a couple more kilometres!"

Several hours later...
"Sir?"
"What is it?"
"We're not (In Kansas)on the same island anymore."
"We're what?!"
"We are now on the island Kelper."
"But thats...a few hundred kilometres away...How..."
"No idea sir, but, I do in fact have some good news."
"What?"
"We found the scouts, they're battered, but alive. Oh, and your invited to a banquet at the Govenors mansion." Manus could barely contain his smile, Iodius reaction was glorious...
"Ugh...Send word to Strike base Belial...Tell them to pick us up..."
"Yessir, want to ask for some ice-cold refreshments from base too?" Manus snickered, he and Iodius went way back, and a friendly joke or two could be excused, but what came after that made Iodius angry. "You might need them for your old bones..."
*Whack*
Manus fell backwards, his nose bloody.
"Nice try Manus, but I'm not in the mood." Iodius stalked off, leaving the stunned battle-brother to pick himself up. Iodius allowed himself a smile, that would show him, at least for another day or two...

Pick up was an hour away. So Iodius sat in prayer. The apparation sat opposite him, staring into Iodius's soul once more. Iodius had gotten used to it. But he still, couldn't see into its left eye. The glow too bright to directly stare into.

Come Iodius, come to meeee...

The same voice he had heard in his chamber, the same taint. It was that of a Daemon. Iodius made the sign of the aquilla on his chest and once again bowed his head in prayer. He had to do something about this. The solution sprang into his mind, He would have to see his fellow astartes. A wolf-priest or chaplain of the Carcharadons would do. As he was the only chaplain alive in his chapter, he could not correctly administer the rights to himself...

You can't get rid of me so easily...Brotherrrr...

Iodius bowed his head to a small shrine to the Emperor he kept with him. He had to do something about this quickly...He couldn't handle it for much longer...

Shas'la Tsa'lan scanned the area with her markerlight. Her Shas'ui, Vio'fas, was sat in their Piranha, regulating the data feed incoming from the Piranha shoal. Six Piranha had set out from Sunstrike's forward base, alongside a wing of three Sun Shark bombers. The aircraft were circling over the Pathfinder's location, silently swimming above their teammates.

Tsa'lan switched her visual feed to infrared, tracking signs of abnormal heat. Aside from the colder trunks of ironwood trees, nothing flashed up. So much for finding a power source. Commander Skyhunter had tasked Vio'fas with locating a power source to support the base: the Earth Caste plasma-regolith batteries were lasting, for now, but a more stable source would be needed. They'd gotten several miles into the forest around the base, and nothing had been found, save for the extinct tracks of some large arachnid creatures. Vio'fas had called the shoal to a halt, and the Pathfinders began to scan for any signs of power or prey.

A Pathfinder spoke over the group channel.
"++Shas'ui, we have a sign of local activity.++"
The comms were shared over the squad channel: there was no need to individual channels. Tsa'lan watched as Vio'fas jerked upright in his seat and asked for more data.
"++Charred logs and earth contained in a stone circle. Someone set camp here.++"
Finally, something had been found! Tsa'lan's heart began to beat with trepidation, with the promise of success.

"Get a physical sample of it, Shas'la, and store it for recovery." Vio'fas ordered.

"Shas'ui, are you sure a physical analysis is necessary?" Tsa'lan muttered to him. "One of our drones can analyse the site themselves."

"Shas'la Tsa'lan - you've been a faithful second-in-command. Why do you now doubt my action?"

"Is it truly necessary? We know what it is. It would appear that the predominant energy source of the area is wood and charcoal. And we know that there are possible hostiles in the area. We don't even need the drone. We should pull out."

"Where's your sense of adventure, Tsa'lan? We're exploring new territory here, scouting the unknown. You should be honoured to have been in the vanguard."

Tsa'lan sighed. "I know, Shas'ui. But we've completed our mission, haven't we? There's no clean energy sources unless we scout further out."

"Then that's what we'll do."

"Vio'fas, we can't get reinforcements now. We can't afford to take losses."

"Shas'la, who's in command here?" Vio'fas spoke. An edge of anger flared into his voice.

"You are, Shas'ui. But should we not let the squad make the call?"

Vio'fas was about to make an angry retort when a large explosion ripped through the trees. Tau screams of pain echoed through the forest.
"Squad, report!"

"++Feral Be'gel, Shas'ui! Opening fire!++"

"No!" shouted Tsa'lan. "Get into your Piranha and get out of there!"

"This is your Shas'ui - maintain fire!" Vio'fas barked, asserting his command. Tsa'lan gave him a harsh glare from under her helmet, and began to run to support her comrades. A spear soared through the air towards her, embedding into the light armour of the Piranha. Vio'fas laughed and unslung his pulse carbine. Too late, both him and Tsa'lan noticed the thermal detonator strapped to it.

Their Piranha exploded, igniting the fusion coil battery. Vio'fas was thrown from the skimmer, charred and wounded. Tsa'lan was bowled over by the explosion, slamming against a tree.

Dazed, she tried to process the carnage around her. The Sun Shark teams were calling for target marks unable to pierce the leafy canopy. Another Piranha had been wrecked by the explosive spears, killing the pilots instantly as they fled. The remaining three teams were pulling back, unable to track where they were being attacked from. Shas'ui Vio'fas was screaming in vain for them to stay and fight, but it was no use. Tsa'lan felt nothing for him. A set of arachnid legs crept past the pathfinder, followed by yet more. A mob of brown-skinned orks, toting more of the spears and clad in chitin, ironwood bark and leather hide, rode past Tsa'lan. Their giant spider mounts offered no resistance to their Be'gel masters.

"Told ya dat the Boom Spears was a good idea!" laughed one of them.

The ork at the head of the mob turned to face him, with a snarl on his face. His spider was even larger than all the others and seemed to bristle in anger.
"MY idea, wasn't it?"

"No boss, it was-"
A hefty punch to the jaw sent the ork sprawling off his mount, flat in the rotting leaves. The boss greenskin dismounted and yanked a set of bloody teeth from out of the downed ork's mouth. Tsa'lan thought the ork was dead, but watched as it sprang to it's feet, wiped it's brutish face, and laughed.
"Of course boss. Your idea."

The largest ork spotted Vio'fas on the floor. With childish glee, he stomped towards Vio'fas.
"And wot might you be doing in 'ere? Wot kinda zog is you?"

The Tau tried to speak through bloodied lips. "I... I am Shas'ui Vio'fas. And you'll never take me alive, Be'gel."

"Dis iz Nogrod of Da Spida's territory, and he don't like whatever da zog you is tresspassin'. Now, how do you taste, pansie?"
The ork turned away from the downed Pathfinder, and his massive mount scuttled forwards. Before Vio'fas could react, the spider was ripping off his armour, and devouring his blue flesh, cloth and all. Tsa'lan tried to ignore his screams of pain, and slipped away into the trees. She watched as the feral orks remounted, and began to hack away at the smouldering Piranha. Shas'la Tsa'lan turned her head back and ran.

It would be a long way to the cadre base.

Crion - Jorgon Sector

The world certainly did not look or feel unusual.

Granted, it was fairly full of lush greenery with plenty of land ideal for agriculture, so Feubryn could understand the strategic importance of it to the Humans, but he didn't feel anything. Not like the wild feeling of stepping upon an Exodite world and feeling the primal power of the World Spirit all around you, tingling across your skin - or the foreboding feeling of stepping into Comorragh and the malevolent, dark paranoia that seemed to hide in every corner and every shadow, or even the comparatively peaceful tranquillity of a Craftworld.

Yet, seemingly, somewhere on this plain, dull world, or perhaps one of the two equally plain and dull orbiting moons, was an unknown and catastrophic threat, just waiting to be unleashed by the first witless fool or monstrous malevolent to find it.

Operating on such frustratingly vague directions was always difficult at best – but, in his own humble opinion, Feubryn Valorbane, High Avatar of the Masque of the Blameless Culprit was rather good at improvising a performance.

He observed alongside Cuddio, his ever-talkative friend and advisor, as the Mimes serving under the latter busied themselves with creating a temporary abode for the rest of the Masque, who would soon arrive from the Webway. Cuddio wore a coat and outfit of black and white chequers – different from the brown, white and pink colours the Masque normally adorned and another indication of the Mimes' position in the Masque. Cuddio also wore the traditional mask of the Mimes – the face adorning the mask constantly changing appearance to represent different emotions.

“What do you think, my friend?” He asked out loud, “Can you feel any great, malignant evil? An ancient horror, sealed away, perhaps, or even a portal to unspeakable terrors beyond the scope of our frail reality? A tome of jests transcribed by a Farseer?”

The Master Mime stared at him, face-mask showing a questioning look. Then, slowly, he shook his head.

“No,” Feubryn sighed, “Neither can I. Were that it so easy! How go our preparations?”

“...”

“Indeed! I am glad to hear it, as the rest of the Masque shall arrive very soon.”

“...”

“Your harsh words wound me, my friend,” Feubryn reared back as though struck, “But nonetheless, I shall heed your request and leave your Mimes to their no doubt spectacular work!”

Cuddio shot him one last look as he turned to find the other member of the Masque to follow the advance party through the Webway portal to this world. It didn't take him long to find Dranc, the Death Jester of the Masque, clad in his traditional skull mask, bones and long coat as he stood atop a cliff face overlooking the jungle, one finger running across the blunt edge of the blade on his scythe-like Shrieker cannon.

“Dranc,” Feubryn remarked admiringly, “That is a masterfully malevolent pose and motion you have achieved! Have you been practising?”

“Indeed,” Dranc confirmed, “Waiting for the time when it would be dramatically appropriate.”

“And this is clearly it,” Feubryn agreed, “What are your first impressions of this place, my morbid companion?”

“I believe it will look significantly better painted in red,” the Death Jester replied, chuckling darkly, “We should get to work on that immediately.”

“Patience,” counselled Feubryn, “The rest of the Masque will arrive soon with Imryll. We will soon be ready to begin taking action.”

“And what action will that be?” the skull-masked harlequin grunted.

“What indeed?”

Both of them whirled around. Standing a few feet away, the female Harlequin in front of them wore a long, hooded coat, with a mask covering the top half of her face. She wore no obvious weapons to those not versed in Harlequin equipment, but to those who were, and the Great Harlequin and Death Jester certainly qualified, the Harlequin's Caress was clearly present on each ankle. The caress was a deadly weapon that sheathed the edge of your limb in a phase field that allowed it to pass through even the thickest of armour unscathed – it was normally a weapon worn on the hand, and to use even one on your feet would be extraordinarily difficult to master even for most Harlequins.

However, this mattered not to the being in front of them. A Solitaire was deadly beyond almost all other Harlequins – only a Harlequin King could hope to match one in single combat amongst their kind.

“Here we have the hero at the very beginning of his story,” came the sing-song voice of the Solitaire, “Ready to head out and take on the world with his trusty murderer at his side... but they know not where to go?”

“We only just arrived,” Feubryn pointed out, all traces of good humour gone at the sight of the new arrival.

She gasped.

“Setback! Disaster! The first obstacle arises, and it is one that is immune to both the slash of the blade and the sting of the shuriken! Who shall help our hapless hero in his pursuit of much-needed knowledge?”

She paused, grinning.

“Why, none other than our humble narrator, of course!”

“Why are you here, Fallacy?” asked Dranc, “I do not remember you being present when Imryll told us of her vision.”

“Why does any teller of stories come and go? To ensure the plot keeps moving, of course,” Fallacy replied brightly, “As for how I knew about your little venture here… well, consider it a storyteller's secret,” she tapped her nose conspiratorially.

“We do not need your help,” Feubryn frowned, “Leave this place.”

“Alas!” Fallacy cried dramatically, “The greatest of enemies has reared it's ugly head! The foe that has struck down Eldar uncountable has taken hold of our dear hero – hubris! The hero, unaware of the myriad of forces infesting this world, unaware of the allies that can assist him in his quest, unaware of the machinations of the servants of the Great Enemy, has turned down the generous and selfless offer of our notoriously noble narrator! Is our story doomed to end before it begins?”

Involuntarily, Feubryn felt his eyes narrow. “What do you know?”

“It is better to ask what I do not know, oh gloriously great Avatar,” Fallacy responded, now sitting in the branches of one of the nearby trees, several metres away from her former position. Neither of the Harlequins present bothered to put any thought into how she got there. “As the answer will be far shorter and I am afraid we do not have all day!”

“I meant,” Feubryn said through gritted teeth, “What do you know about the threat the vision revealed?”

“Ah ah ah,” Fallacy wagged her finger condescendingly, “That would be spoiling things! Instead, I will give you a hint – you have friends on this planet. Search for something a little familiar, and you will find them. Once you have found them, the pieces will begin to slot into place.”

“Friends? What do you mean by-” Feubryn cut himself off as he realised the Solitaire had vanished. He looked around for a moment to ensure she had truly gone and was not simply waiting for the dramatically appropriate moment to re-appear, before sighing. “No matter how often we speak, that cursed fool always manages to get under my skin.”

“She was correct about one thing, though,” Dranc pointed out, uncaring. “If she knows what we need, having her help would speed things up considerably.”

“I'm not sure it would,” Feubryn shook his head, “You know Fallacy's habits by now – everything is part of the story she is spinning, and she will inevitably extend the duration of events to make for a more powerful re-telling.”

“So until we know enough that we no longer need her,” Dranc replied, masked face staring at the Great Harlequin, “We play our parts. That, at least, we are somewhat good at.”

“Ever so humble,” Feubryn chuckled. That chuckle exploded into a joyous laugh as new sounds emerged from the trees – the sound of singing, cheering and laughter, as well as engines, “And behold! It appears the rest of our players have arrived! Come, my friend,” he gestured to the Death Jester, “Let us go and greet our brothers and sisters. Tonight, we celebrate the arrival of some much-needed colour to this dull, green world! Tomorrow...” he grinned widely, casting a look out at the jungle.

“Tomorrow, a performance like nothing this world has ever seen begins.”

“Tell me one thing, Zhoran…”, Gorgyron spoke softly, gazing into the distance.

“Why always the snow bases?”

The pair stood in the middle of a vast white plain stretching off into the horizon, minor snowstorms sweeping over the landscape. Behind them, a crew of Astartes was drilling through the thick layers of ice under Lord Breacher’s supervision.

Gorgyron shivered. He was used to cold environments -the interior Wandering Wraith had never provided much warmth, seeing as comfort wasn’t exactly a priority on an Astartes warship-, but the freezing temperatures of this side of Crion were making him wonder if some sadistic god had chosen to torment him through the weather. He knew his own patron god, beloved Father Nurgle, had no love for places like this as well, the cold being antithetical to the life -and death- the Lord of Plagues wished to bring to the galaxy.

Zhoran laughed, a thin cloud of vapour escaping his helmet grille.

“If I had the answer for questions like that, I probably wouldn’t be standing out here in the cold with you”, he replied, casually resting his lascannon on the snowy underground.

The sound of heavy metallic steps clanking towards them caused both Marines to turn their heads.

Approaching them was the massive form of Ancient Kordas of the Black Legion, one of the few Dreadnoughts the Remnants possessed. Unlike his Hellbrute brethren, Kordas never suffered the horrific flesh-change that usually followed internment in the daemon-possessed machine, although whether or not his sanity had been affected by the ordeal was yet a point of contention.

“BRETHREN.”

Kordas addressed them formally in his habitual loud manner. He kept walking until he stood only several paces away from the pair, only to stop and stare into the horizon as they had. His twin-linked Heavy Bolters sat inactive in his right arm, whilst the blades of the Power Scourge that formed his left clicked and creaked as they contracted and extended as they rustled softly in the wind.

“QUITE THE VIEW, IS IT NOT?” Kordas continued, as his torso slowly turned around while he took in the landscape.

“Aye”, Gorgyron groaned. “Wish it was less cold, though. But I suppose you aren’t bothered by that, are you?”, he spoke, his crooked smile hidden behind his helmet.

A soft rumbling rose from the Dreadnought's shell. “FEW THINGS CAN BOTHER ME SINCE I WAS INTERRED, DEATH GUARD. THOSE THAT TRY TEND TO NOT LIVE TO TELL THE TALE”, the Dreadnought replied, his laughter mechanical and worn.

“How goes the excavation?”, asked Zhoran, who trailed a couple of the Astartes working on the site as they hauled some more explosives to the excavation team.

Kordas grumbled. “SLOW. AS WAS TO BE EXPECTED. THE ICE IS THICK AND UNYIELDING. BUT LORD BREACHER APPEARS CERTAIN THAT WHAT WE MUST FIND LIES HERE.”

A shiver suddenly seemed to go through the ancient machine’s body. Without a word, its torso turned and shifted, directing Kordas’ gaze towards the sky. He stood there, at first silently, but then Zhoran realized he was muttering something.

Zhoran stepped closer to the Dreadnought, perturbed by Kordas’ sudden change in behaviour, and caught the tail end of one of Kordas’ sentences.

“…is it you, Brother? Has the Legion returned for us?”

Before he could ask what Kordas was talking about, a shout was heard, coming from the excavation site. The trio saw a group of Marines hastily climb out of the pit they had been drilling, followed by a thunderous voice yelling: “FIRE IN THE HOLE!”

A plume of snow, ice and rock flew upwards as an explosion ripped the ground asunder, raining fragments over the Marines. From the hole emerged a cloud of greyish smoke, which slowly dissipated as the wind carried it away.

Gorgyron, Kordas and Zhoran cautiously moved to the edge of the dig site, each instinctively priming their weapons in anticipation. The other Marines did the same, slowly plodding through the snow until they all stood on the ridge and anxiously looked down.

From beneath the layers of snow, ice and rock had emerged a rockcrete surface, which now sported a mighty big hole. To everyone’s surprise, a room appeared to lay under it, which was now dimly lit by the meagre sunlight.

Zhoran’s boots clunked hard as he dropped unto the floor of the room. He activated the flashlight on his helmet, illuminating his surroundings. It looked like he was in the middle of a large hallway, the light from his flashlight not reaching either end of it. As the other Marines followed his example, he walked up towards one of the walls, which curiously seemed to be intricately decorated.

His eyes were drawn to a great fresco etched into the wall. It depicted a great dragon, whose eyes seemed to bore into his very soul.

“Lord Breacher, this is Zhoran. Tell the Commander… we found it.”

Lilliana paced around her quarters at her base camp as she contemplated the report she had received from Thirianna. Matters had become much more complicated with the realization that the mon’keigh that called themselves the “Charcharodons” had indeed followed her to this system. No longer was she just fighting one foe, now she had to contend not only with the Necrons, but with the Space Marines as well. With the other Imperials on the planet Lilliana knew that the Eldar could most likely just safely avoid conflict with them, but she knew deep in her bones that the Carcharodons would not relent in their pursuit of her. She had stung them badly all those years ago, and it was clear that they had held a grudge for all these years. They would never accept the fact that they had been in the wrong all those years ago. They would only see the fact that they had been hurt by the Eldar, and they would continue to pursue her in their misguided attempt to receive justice for their perceived slights. She sighed and rubbed her forehead tiredly. As much as she hated to admit it, she needed allies. The Warhost could not do this alone, they needed help. But from where? The Imperials wouldn’t trust her, and would just as likely shoot her if she showed up asking for an alliance. The Orks were too stupid to realize the true benefits of a mutual alliance, and asking the foul forces of Chaos for help would be equivalent to throwing herself into a pit full of hungry lions. As she contemplated this she realized that she felt the signs of an oncoming vision, and she opened her mind to whatever knowledge that fate had seen fit to grant her. The images came at her in a rush, as they always did, and it would be up to her to make sense of the torrent, to sort the false portents from the true ones. As she concentrated on her task the flood of images began to slow, and the true portents began to appear in her mind. The first one that she was a theatrical mask, similar to one an actor would wear. The second one was a symbol that Lilliana knew quite well. It was the symbol of Cegorach, the Laughing God. She had first seen it years ago, when one of the Harlequin groups had made its’ way to Iybraesil, and as the vision faded Lilliana grinned. The Harlequins of the Laughing God were near, and they would do nicely as allies. Now she just had to get their attention…

As she stood up from her meditative pose Lilliana contemplated the best way to get a hold of the elusive ones. They played by their own rules, and had their own objectives that were tpically separate from the goals of the Commorite or Craftworld forces that they fought alongside. But Lilliana knew that deep down they cared about their race as a whole, and so they would be the best choice for allies on this forsaken world. Then it came to her how she could get ahold of them, and she readied herself for what she had to do. She closed her eyes and began to marshall her power, she had to wait for just the right moment. There! With a grunt of effort, and a burst of power that lit up the room, Lilliana placed a psychic beacon that would appear in the Webway. Hopefully the beacon would be noticed, and then the Harelquins would come to parley. She leaned against the wall for a few minutes as she recovered her energy. All she could do now was wait. And pray.

"Start from the beginning, Shas'la."

Tsa'lan was sat in a chair facing Skyhunter. He dominated the room, not entirely from his deactivated Crisis Suit, but his sheer sense of personality. The Pathfinder kept her eyes evaded from his, bowing her head in deference. She had been granted a personal audience with the Shas'O! Granted, this wasn't a thing that should have meant much, considering how open the commander was, but she still felt trepidation. This was Skyhunter, the one who broke Sunstrike's chains to the Empire! She had much to be thankful for. The whole cadre did.

Tsa'lan exhaled deeply, and recounted her report to her commander. It had been two days since the ill-fated recon expedition that had claimed Shas'ui Vio'fas' life, and four others. The rest of the team made it back before Tsa'lan, who was forced to endure the forest over the night. Her pulse carbine hadn't left her side since. She had reported about the orks' boom spears, and their arachnid mounts. Even better, whilst she couldn't find a better power source beyond combustion fuels, the cadre had a target. Nogrod of Da Spidas.

"This... Nogrod. Did you see him?"

"I don't think so, Shas'O. What we encountered was a patrolling party, I'm sure." Tsa'lan spoke. "He must be nearby, but our ground scan was inconclusive."

"So be it. Send a message to Air Caste command. I want three wings of Sun Sharks escorted by Razorsharks to do a wide range sweep of the area. We will find this Nogrod."

Tsa'lan nodded and began to scurry out of the door.
"Tsa'lan?" Skyhunter's voice stopped her.

"Yes, Shas'O?"

"Your squad is bereft of a Shas'ui, is it not?"
Tsa'lan nodded.
"Not any more. You are dismissed, Shas'ui Tsa'lan."

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

Nine aircraft glided over the forest canopy, their engines screaming silently. Recon drones, controlled by Pathfinders from back at Cadre Command, were dispersed over the forest, being guided to new locations by the Sun Sharks' markerlights. Thus far, old camp sites and feeding grounds had been marked, but no lasting bases. Skyhunter was about to call off the search for another day when one of the drones detected a group of the spider riders. Before the bombers could scramble to deal with the threat, Skyhunter barked over the comms.
"Let them pass. All wings, pull back to Cadre Command. They will lead us to their leader."

The Shas'O's word was obeyed instantly. All nine aircraft, and the other drones, pulled back, leaving the single recon drone to tail the orks. It hung behind them, darting from tree to tree and snaking across the leafy floor. The feral greenskins didn't see a thing.

Gradually, the forest began to thin out, and the thick boughs of ironwood were becoming replaced by ruined pillars of ferrocrete and plasteel. Cobwebs hung from the blasted ruins, littered with leaves and small insects and birds.

"Shas'O, architectural scans of these ruins are similar to Gue construction. These are Adeptus Astartes ruins."

"You are correct," Gue'Vesa'El Vandred growled. "These belong to the Emperor's Space Marines. Long gone and dilapidated, but there were once Astartes in these ruins. If memory serves me well, the Blood Dragons Chapter was stationed here. I don't think I ever knew what happened to them."

"Hope that it doesn't happen to us." Skyhunter remarked. His eyes watched the holoscreen intently, watching the mounted orks descend into a cavernous entrance in the centre of the ruins. It seemed to lead into the very bowels of the earth. "Follow them in. I want to know what we're dealing with."

The drone descended into the shadows, silent as the grave. It switched to infrared, watching the chitinous creatures scuttle into the depths of the ruins. It stopped, hung in mid-air, and refused to move any further.

"It...appears to have caught on something. Something sticky."

"A web. It's got caught it a web." Skyhunter sighed.

Over the lens of the recon drone, a thick, spindly limb swam into vision. They managed to see the hairs bristling off of it, before the drone visual feed went blank. Static washed over the assembled Tau.
Skyhunter kept his eyes locked on the holoscreen. The rest of the command cadre looked to their commander for orders.

"Mobilise the cadre. Prepare an Optimised Stealth Cadre and two Infiltration Cadres to stakeout the location. Only engage unless absolutely necessary. The rest of the cadre will strike from the sun."

++BATTLESHIP NARAKA//KASTHANAS SYSTEM++

“Did you hear? The Necrons spoke to Tyre!”

Bukhis, champion of the Flayed Legion, slowly raised his head from the table at which he worked. His shield, an iron slab bearing the eight-pointed star in dense brass, lay on the table before him. A long series of runes and sigils were daubed on in a slow spiral emanating from the star, and his fellow champion's entrance had just interrupted his ritual. The duelist charged into the room, kicking the door aside and proclaiming the news as if it was the fall of Terra itself.

“The Necrons, Bukhis!” The duelist's sneering face was distorted in delight, and the slender horn which erupted from one side of his skull cast a shadow over the runes on Bukhis' shield. “The rumors say it was one of their weapons which wounded Him.”

“One of many rumors on the matter.” Bukhis lowered the fragment of bone he had been using to inscribe the runes, deliberately not looking at his fellow Legionnaire. “I know your mind, Medraut. And you know I've not the patience for this.”

Medraut was in front of him in an instant, hissing through teeth bared in ambition. His voice was lower, as if that would somehow safeguard whatever words issued from his tongue.

“Think of it, Bukhis! If they hurt him once-”

“Enough.” He rounded on Medraut, silencing any further elaboration. “If they did, and if they could again, it would end no differently. The Flayed Lord commands a legion, and a thousand worlds lie dead in our wake.” His head tilted in amused consideration. “What tales have you heard of the one who wounded Him?”

Medraut spat a glistening glob of bile which ate into the rusted metal of the deck. “Gods take you and your mewling fear! He is not so immortal as you think!”

“You want to prove yourself of tougher mettle than He, then?” Bukhis chuckled, lifting his shield from the table and turning towards the door. He gestured with his arm, and a small object clattered to the floor at Medraut's feet. “Take the Mark.”

Medraut glanced down, to where the Bull had dropped a slender flensing knife onto the deck: the ritual flaying tool carried by each of the Legion. His eyes lingered on it, longer then they should have, before he violently kicked it away.

++HIVE COGGER//GOVERNORS SPIRE++

A piercing scream shook the walls of the Hive Cogger palatial spire, a mixture of pain and despair that would have chilled the city's defenders if any had still lived. It was answered by the frantic pounding of feet, and the chaotic shouts of too many people trying to stifle an emergency.

From the window of the governor's throne room, Lazarus waited until he heard the gathering of rebels moving back down the hallway before calling out. The chaos was less, and the screaming was now muffled, but it was decidedly still present. “What is it?”

One of his cultists shouted back as they dragged a panicking body past, struggling to restrain him and keep a mass of cloth pressed to his neck. "It's Jerimoth, Father! He tried to take the Mark!"

"Damned fool." Lazarus shook his head slowly, not bothering to turn around. In the aftermath of every major victory, there were those in the Brotherhood who attempted the ultimate display of loyalty to the Flayed Lord: taking the Mark by ritually skinning their own faces in deference. It was enough of a challenge for one of the Astartes to complete the ritual, and every human who had attempted had perished of shock or bled out before they could finish.

Another set of footsteps approached, more hesitant, and Mordecai's muffled voice called out from near the throne. "Father, I've news from the comm channels."

"The Amaranth?" Lazarus asked immediately, though whether it was hope or fear in his voice was difficult to determine. Regardless, Mordecai shook his head, stepping forward with a list of hastily scribbled notes and diagrams.

"No, Father. But many forces have assembled themselves around this world, and they have yet to suspect that their communications are-"

"So I have heard." Lazarus stared out away from the throne room, as if he had only barely heard the man's report "A great corpse gathers many scavengers." He spat the proverb as if it burned his tongue to say it. Mordecai waited another moment before continuing, offering the paper out like a peace offering as he approached.

"I've been breaking out the codes and callsigns, Father. This corpse brought some familiar feeders."

Lazarus took the sheet, his left eye flaring brightly as it recorded the information. His natural eye narrowed as he read the list and the full scope of this war began to form in his mind. he stopped suddenly halfway through the list, and flexed his hand slowly, feeling the solid bronze ring set around one of his fingers.

"Trouble?" Jael called out as she entered the throne room, carrying her own report in one hand. She had traded her flowing noble gown for the same beaten leather and improvised armor as the rest of the Brotherhood.

"No." Lazarus spoke thoughtfully, without the usual brace of confidence in his voice. "Just an old ghost."

She stopped, raising an eyebrow at the list as she sensed his uncertainty. She exchanged a glance with Mordecai, but the man's expression, as always, was hidden behind his white mask. "Is this a ghost He should know about?"

There was another long, agonizing pause before Lazarus answered. "Not urgently. But put it into the next comm burst:” He raised his head to the distance. “House Valorn knights are on Crion."

++DUNBAR MOUNTAINS, OUTSKIRTS OF DRAKES POINT++

The refugee camp was a sea of beleaguered humanity, stretching in every direction and piled atop itself in front of the massive walls of Drake's Point. Most of them were survivors of the uprising in Hive Cogger, though a few had been picked up from fleeing the other conflicts along the way. They were not allowed into the city, but the local government had allowed them to set up temporary shelters in a vast camp. And, thought Isaac, a decent moat of bodies to bog down any attackers.

Freshly disguised as a PDF Captain, Isaac adjusted his flak vest for the fourth time since they'd stopped. It didn't fit right, and he couldn't understand the Gordian knot of straps and buckles that were supposed to adjust it. It certainly passed a visual inspection, but every time the Chimera hit a bump on the road to Drake's Point, the stiff chest protection caught him in the chin and clacked his teeth together. On top of all that, the PDF Captain's hat he wore was just slightly too small, and it was beginning to give him a headache from pressing in on his temples. It had been a very long road from Hive Cogger, herding the thousands of refugees towards the planetside transport, then pushing them the last dozen kilometers to Drake's Point. All of it was a giant feat of misdirection, a Trojan horse to sneak Isaac and his fellow rebels into the capitol city.

The cheerful Drake's Point Lieutenant directing the vehicles was more than happy to handle the logistics of offloading the stolen PDF vehicles. The man's demeanor was insufferable, but the guardsmen of Drake's Point had been ecstatic once their city was reinforced with off-world Tempestus Scions, of the legendary 85th, no less. He had no inkling that the "Captain" he spoke to was actually one of the cultists who had brought down Hive Cogger, and at the rate he was speaking, he'd never notice.

"...would have liked to have cracked some rebel skulls myself, sir. Not literally, of course, I mean lasguns don't crack much. More of a melting-type thing, you know, sir?"

"Yeah, melted skulls, right." Isaac was growing anxious as, ahead of them, the last of the flatbed trucks disgorged its load of refugees, joining its partners in a grand, if sloppy, formation in front of the capitol gates. "Are we done?"

"Yes, sir, that's the last of them." The lieutenant surveyed his clipboard once more, gave it an affirming nod, and produced a thick, sealed envelope from a pouch at his side. "Command wants you down at Blackwater Bastion, sir, to reinforce the sentries. Boys haven't had a break since the greenies went crazy-face."

Isaac froze, blinking twice before responding. He had rather assumed they'd be allowed entry into the city immediately once the refugees were taken care of. That was his mission, and his soul clenched at the idea of failure. "Blackwa... where?"

"Blackwater Bastion, sir." The Lieutenant turned, pointing to the coastline back beyond the elevator. "Straight south to the Jagnar Coast. If you hit the giant sprawling ocean, sir, you've gone too far."

The momentary humor was rather lost on Isaac, as he struggled to maintain his composure. The walls of Drake's Point were in front of him, barely a rifle shot away, and now he had to turn back. "Right. Well...we'll reinforce, then. Ah, carry on."

"Yes, sir!" The man snapped a sharp salute and turned back towards the refugee camp. Isaac knocked on top of the Chimera with his fist, and called down through the cupola. "Turn it around, bearing south!" He scowled at the profanity-laced reply, and lowered his voice. "I know. But we can't serve Him by dying in front of the capitol for no reason. Take us to the Bastion." The vehicle chugged into motion, spinning in the mud as it repositioned its bulk to point away from the capitol city. All around, the carriers and wheeled trucks of the mock PDF force made a slow, barely-organized about-face and began to trudge south. Isaac glared venom back at the towering walls, and shook his head as it began to recede.

"We'll have to let the others do their part."

Fuebryn watched cheerfully as the Skyweavers of the Light troupe put on a rather exciting show - leaping from one bike to the other in mid air at high speed, each time the daredevils looking as though they would fall to their doom and each time just barely making it.

The Masque was in high spirits - well, higher spirits than usual, after arriving on-world for a new tour. Confidence was at a high, with even Dranc involving himself in the festivities without terrifying any of the other Harlequins. So far, they had not met any intelligent natives - just local fauna and Orks. The latter were seemingly present in force around the area they were located, so he intended to test their strength. Dranc had been eager for action since arriving, and would presumably throw himself at the chance - sending the vindictive and vengeful Dark troupe with him would hopefully persuade the Orks that the strange newcomers in their midst were not to be troubled.

His musings were interrupted by the appearance at his side of Imryll, the Shadowseer of the masque. With her holo-suit covered in robes and her mask covering her entire head (he was privately sure that she still hadn't forgiven him for calling it a helmet), she looked as mysterious and enigmatic as ever... "Imryll, my dear! I see you dressed for the occasion!"

"I have tidings," she said bluntly, "We are not the only Eldar on this planet."

...Until she opened her mouth, and the mystique disappeared. As one with significantly more talent at dealing with the here and now compared to weaving through the future, Imryll had developed a personality rather at odds with many of the other Shadowseers he had encountered. She was blunt and to the point, the substance to their style. It was one of the reasons he valued her advice so much.

This latest news she had brought, meanwhile, was extremely interesting to him. "Oh?" he asked, "Have you had another vision? Perhaps you saw mighty Asuryan, casting his watchful gaze over this world, or the planet's core roaring with the molten flames of Khaella Mensha Khaine? Or perhaps even -"

"-A psychic beacon in the webway," she finished for him.

He paused. "An oddly specific vision."

"It would have been, had it been a vision," she agreed, "However, it is simply what they did in an attempt to make contact."

Feubryn sagged in disappointment. "Once again, we can always rely on our Craftworld kin to make things as boring as possible."

"They all but addressed it to us," Imryll informed him, "They clearly know we're here. What do you wish to do?"

He stroked his chin. "The Fool already advised me that we had friends on this world, but somehow, the way she worded it I thought they would be more difficult to find than this."

--

Meanwhile:

"They just - they can't - they can't just call them!" Fallacy sputtered, "It was supposed to take time to find them! An amazing adventure! A mystifying mission! A quintessential quest! A japing jaunt into the jaws of jeopardy!"

She stamped her feet up and down in childish anger, protesting loudly to nobody. "And those boring Craftworlders just called them? How am I supposed to make this sound exciting when I re-tell it? 'Bravely, the hero answered his webway correspondence.' 'They heroically arranged a meeting place, fighting against great perils, such as the dreaded faulty connection.' Gah!"

She turned to the general direction she knew the craftworld contingent to be, and shook her fist. "Stop ruining my story!"

--

"Anyway," Feubryn found himself smiling for some inexplicable reason - a rather common occurrence for a Harlequin, "I believe it certainly could not hurt to see what our dreary cousins wish of us, and also to see what we can needle from them. Though, I must ask," he raised an eyebrow behind his mask, "How do you know it was the Craftworlders, and not the Commorites?"

Imryll looked at him flatly. "It wasn't screaming."

He shrugged. "A fair appraisal, then! I want you to contact them in reply. Make our message somewhat more... colourful, however, if you'd please," Feubryn smiled, "We have a reputation to keep, after all!"

She nodded. "What will you do?"

"I am off to find Dranc and the Dark troupe," he replied, "It seems we are merely the guests in this region, as it is home to a significant number of primitive Orks! Well," he corrected himself, "Even more primitive than they normally are. I want to send Dranc, the Shadow Duke and his players out for some, shall we say," he pondered over the wording, "Meeting and greeting. Yes, that's the phrase I'm looking for."

Imryll turned as he left, focusing her power to create their response - perhaps a request for a meeting in the Webway, combined with a hearty congratulations for finding them so quickly, while sprinkling in a few entirely invented, vaguely-worded hints about what was to come? She knew Craftworlders could not get enough of that sort of thing...

Ardan could hear the sounds of battle coming from a cave nearby. Assault squad Onòir approached carefully trying to make sense of the darkness in the cave. The sound of bolter fire echoed out from the cave, prompting Ardan and his squad to move in. The opening of the cave was narrow for space marine standards and Assault squad Onòir had to be funneled in one by one. This passage continued for another 100 meters or so where it opened out into a huge cavern that was light up by bolter fire. Tactical squad Fraoch were pinned down by primitive orks similar to what Faolan had encountered, most likely from the same tribe. These orks however, were armed with bow and arrows tipped with explosives. Emyr Glaw and his squadmates were crouched behind various stalagmites and pillars in an attempt to avoid the orks assault. With each volley from the orks grains dust and rock fell from the ceiling of the cavern. Ardan and his marines ducked in beside their brothers. "Ah Ardan nice of you to join us" the orks volley had stopped and Emyr released a volley of his own and ducked back behind cover, "so what is the plan ? " Ardan assessed the situation. "This cavern ain't gonna last long with this kind of barrage being thrown at us. That warboss couldn't fit through that passage either meaning an alternate entrance. We kill the warboss and collapse the cavern" another volley shook the cavern, "Although the orks might do that for us". Ardan peaked out from behind cover looking for a way to displace the orks that had him pinned, the orks were above them, Arsan spotted a path leading to the xenos. He turned to his marines, " Stun grenades and charge up the path, no jetpacks the ceiling is too low" he turned back to Emyr who just gave another volley. "Cover me once the stun grenades go out" Emyr nodded. Just like the xenos near the drop site Ardan and his marines simultaneously threw the stun grenades in the vague direction of the greenskins and charged. A chorus of bolter fire erupted to cover their brothers as Ardan charged the archers. Most of the xenos were still rubbing their eyes while one of them dropped his bow and was fumbling for his club, easy pickings thought Ardan as his chainsword roared to life. Ardan lunged at the semi aware ork and dispatched him quickly with a horizontal slash to the stomach and went to work on the other orks. A massive figure emerged from the deeper in the crumbling cavern which Ardan presumed to be the warboss, who was carrying such a big club it must have been a tree. Before Ardan could react Emyr and his squad were firing upon the massive beast. " Emyr plant explosives at key parts of the cavern" barked Ardan as he squared up to the warboss. " Eh, Space Marine get off my Island 'fore I crump ya real good" " Your island ? Then consider me your eviction notice ork flith" retorted Ardan as he dashed and striked at the greenskin's exposed knee. The ork howled in oain and started swinging his massive club wildly, Ardan's lighter armor allowed him to dodge the ork's swings with ease hacking and slashing every opportunity he got soon enough the warboss was bleeding from all over. Staggering the warboss charged one final time at Ardan who side stepped it and sliced at the orks other knee bringing the ork to the ground. Just as Ardan was gonna claim his kill a bolter round exploded in the orks skull, a disappointed Ardan turned to face a grinning Emyr. "Let's go Rymus charges are set". Assualt squad Onòir and Tactical squad Fraoch made their way back to HQ to announce their success. When Ardan arrived back he was suprised at the speed of Cadfael and his servitors. A defensive wall was almost complete along with a central command and a barracks. Ardan entered the office that would be Faolan'sand found a letter addressed to him, upon opening it he discovered that Faolan would be attending a banquet with Planetary Governor Payne and he would be delayed in returning back to base. Ardan slumped into Faolan's soon to be chair, time to secure the rest of these isles.
-----------------------------------
Scout Sergeant Turlach checked his gear again, then he checked his squads gear and then he check his hound Gair. He had been repeating this since they took flight. "Alright initiates listen up, our mission is to scout out the isle and mark out any significant threats we encouter, this is reconnaissance, we stay low and out of sight". Gair hated flying, Turlach could feel it. He scratched his beast behind the ear to comfort him, only a while longer now thought Turlach. The pilots voice came in through Turlach's vox " Northern isle in sight E.T.A two minutes" soon after a green light signaled the squad to get ready. The thunderhawk swooped in under the cover of darkness, offloaded it's cargo and left before anyone was none the wiser. Turlach and his squad embraced the darkness and began skulking across the north eastern isle. Turlach noted that this particular isle was more forested than the other two isles. Turlach found nothing of note here, it was empty bar the forest almost eerily so. He was about to call for evacuation when Gair picked up a scent. The hound ran off further into the woods with Turlach and the scouts trailing behind him. As Turlach was in pursuit he noticed paw marks in the mud, a trail. The prints were deep in the mud which indicated a heavy creature made them,Turlach followed them not wanting to return empty handed. The sound of running water and birds croaking alarmed Turlach after the isle being quiet for so long, a flock of birds flew off a half eaten/half rotten corpse of some creature that resembled a deer as they approached the source of the noise.Not the creature that made the paw prints, the beast that did that had this one for dinner thought Turlach and he bent down to examine the beast or what was left of it. Four deep claw marks were cut deep into it's rear leg cleaving through meat and bone almost ripping the thing clear off. Bite marks at the throat were also deep, must have been the killing blow thought Turlach. The beast's mid section was hacked and clawed so badly that little of it remained, Turlach could just about see a rib cage but all of it's vital organs were gone. Whatever this beast was it was big and powerful, gathering his squad Turlach called in for evacuation and made for the nearest clearing.

=====The Catacombs, Yankor, Luna Epsilon=====

Grulahk sat in a chair in the Combat Information Center and stared at the megalithic design before him. He looked over its form in reverence, truly it was humbling. The Tau were currently working on the beginning of the framework while the Canoptek Troops assisted with labor. Vorhees proved his worth by pointing out several weak points and providing instruction on how to fortify them. His mind wandered to the construction of the base they had began to call ‘The Catacomb’. Truly it was the beginning of a Tomb World, but that was not its purpose, it was merely housing and storage until a later stage in the construction of the Megalith. It would take much longer than a year at this rate, even the combined might of the forces at his command were struggling to meet their dues. He had read the reports of what the Imperium had brought to bear, Knights, Wolves, Scions, Arbiters, and Sharks. Much, much more than his forces could handle at the moment, he would need help, he would have to reach out further. Perhaps he would contact the Ta-
“What a design…”
Grulahk turned with frightening speed bearing his twin Void Blades. He gazed around the empty room.
“Reveal yourself! Who dare prowls my domain?”
He was blinded by an immense fire that had manifested itself in the room. It’s ethereal light failed to illuminate the room but instead shrouded it in darkness. He looked around at the surrounding darkness, then at the raging inferno of blue flame in front of him. He looked at it closer and swore he saw a flicker of a shadow at its center.
“Reveal yourself mortal, so I may adjudicate your existence.”
“I am a dead thing. As are you.”
“Yet we both live. What is your purpose here?”
“I seek that which benefits us both. We shall be in contact Nemesor.”
“Who are you?”
“A Prophet…”
At the last words the flame vanished, and the dark began to recede. When he opened his eyes Ultarn and Numek were standing over him. They helped him up and he looked to where the thing had manifested itself. There was no evidence it was ever there, was he going mad? Was he slowly losing his mind? Or was this truly an incorporeal meeting?
“Are you alright Grulahk? You were out for a while.”
“Yes, I am fine. We have work to do?”
He shook his head a bit before looking up and then at Numek… who now had what appeared to be a throat.
“By the C’tan Numek what have you done to yourself?”
“My words exactly.”
“I’m attempting to achieve a higher level of Apotheosis.”
“You look scarier than I would have though. Do update me as it goes, I'm interested to see how it turns out."
“Enough, I have need of information. I want you to scan all communications and traffic. Find out exactly who is on these moons and on that planet. We will have need of many.”
“But what for Nemesor? We have the Tau, we have our legions, if Kageros does his part well enough, the help of Chaos as well. We can defeat these pitiful creatures now if we wanted to."
"You underestimate our enemy Ultarn, if we march now we risk more than you think."
"We only risk our honor. Which we are losing every moment we cower in these tunnels."
"We are not here on combat operations, we are here firstly for the Megalith, then to reclaim the planet."
"You are weaker than I expected Grulahk, you and Kageros both. I refuse to idly sit here and let the enemy desecrate this planet with their existence." He paused a second before speaking again. "Your creation is obviously a failed attempt at-”

By the time Numek realized what had happened Ultarn lay in several pieces and in several places.
"Cryptek, I want null field matrices through out this compound, shore up the defenses and make this compound impregnable. Have Vorhees help you if you need."
"Yes, Nemesor."
"And Cryptek..."
"Yes, Grulahk?"
"Search for someone known as the Prophet. I feel we may need his help."
"Will do." Numek walked out of the room hastily. Grulahk stooped over and picked up Ultarn's skull, he looked into it's eyes, it's cold dead eyes and chuckled.

"Perhaps we truly are all dead things."

Trial by Fire

"You would have us make contact with these zealots?! Do you not remember the last time we tried allying with them? They used our forces as bait! We lost over one hundred men, and all for what? The head of a farseer? No! We cannot expose ourselves to the risk ever again!" Manus was not pleased. A couple hundred years ago, a company of Marines from 'Dorn's Wish' had met with a battle group of Carcharadons. They had both been pursuing a Eldar Farseer and his warhost for a couple months, and they met in the same system. A alliance was forged, and they went to battle as one. They had fought the Eldar on several fields of battle, and yet the final fate was at the basecamp of the 'Dorn's Wish'. Unknownst to the Marines was that the coordinates of their base camp were being transmitted on a frequency almost all could find. And find it, the Eldar did.

The Eldar attacked at first light, and a battle quickly ensued. The Marines were heavily beset, and all calls for aid had been ignored by their so-called 'allies'. A manifestation of the Avatar of Khaine plowed through Marine ranks, and quickly killed their captain, Nero Sendominus. As the last battle-brother fell, a bombardment of magma bombs and drop pods slammed into the basecamp. The Carcharadons had broadcast the signal of the 'Dorn's Dying Wish's' coordinates, waited for the Eldar to wipe them out, and then attacked with extreme ferocity. The captain himself had walked away from the carrying the head of the Eldar Farseer they had been pursuing.

The now empty Strike Cruiser of the 'Dorn's Wish' left the sector, and with it, a grudge that would last millenia. The crew of the strike cruiser had seen everything, and were shocked to see the Carcharadon Strike Cruiser sit in orbit waiting to strike the Eldar. The once thought 'Allies' had abandonned them in their time of greatest need. And they would not soon forget it.

"I know Manus, but we have no other choice. They are servants of the Emperor, as are we. The will help us, we need only to ask." Iodius was surprisingly calm, and yet, his suggestion of comradeship with the 'Carcharadons' had surprised everybody in his War council.
"You can't be serious old friend, they cannot be trusted...Need I remind you what happened all those years ago?" Ceasar had tried arguing with Iodius, but was begining to see logic in his words. The multiple sighting across the world and it's moons were concerning, Chaos, Eldar, even Necrons had been seen on both Crion, and it's moons.
"No, you need not remind me...I was there...I would not bring this up if we had any other choice. I have made my decision, and as leader of this crusade, my word, is final." Iodius finished with a tone that made it clear he did not want to argue any longer.
"You are not fit for command Chaplain. You are old, and your mind is clouded." Manus's voice was filled with spite, he was a descendant of the Great Nero, and he would not stain his legacy by siding with those who had seen him die all those years ago. "I challenge you to a trial by combat. If you decline, then you automatically hand control of the company to me."
"Manus?! You cannot be serious! The Chaplain speaks the truth, we have no other choice!" Ceasar was astounded at his friends statement, but even more astounded at the response it received. He started moving towards the Marine, itching to make him pay for this blatent insult.
Iodius put his hand out to stop Ceasar from moving any closer to Manus.
"I accept your challenge Manus. If I win however, you are to be stripped of your rank, annd go back to being a Battle-brother. Also, you shall NEVER step foot in my War council again. You have shamed me so much..." Iodius spoke with deep regret, for he had not seen this coming, and was sorry to have made this decision. But nevertheless, he would fight.
"But...Iodius..." Ceasar was taken aback, the pain of watching a trial by combat apparent. "At least let me fight him...You needn't bother yourse-"
"No. I will fight him now." Iodius's tone was once again a final one. "We fight outside, infront of all the men. They shall know who to trust from then on."

They were all dressed in their ceremonial garbs, a symbol of respect to one another, that they would all fight on equal ground.
"The winner of the Trial by Combat shall be the one who draws wounds the other to the point of near death. Each wound will be inspected by me. If I find either of you unfit to fight any longer, then the other shall be the victor. Emperor watch over yee." Captain Ceasar spoke the words sadly, for by the end of this day, at least one man will be shamed for eternity. "Let the combatants pick their weapons now."
A collection of weapons were aranged on either side of the battleground, a hastily made circle surrounded by tents and other builings. Each one coated in a layer of paralitic poison, just like in the tournament of the 'Iron Cage'.
Manus strode up to the left side and hefted a large broadsword. Iodius however, stood where he had been. He mearly dipped his hands into a cask of the poison. It stuck to his skin, but that would ensure it would not wipe off.
"I have no need for weapons to beat you. You are untrained, and do not know when to shut your mouth." He taunted Manus, and it worked.
"Say that again after you lay in a pool of your own blood, old man!"
"SILENCE!" Ceasar roared, the threat was unlooked for, especially from one of status such as a Space Marine, who should know when to hold his tongue.
"Combatants, assemble at the opposite sides of the arena." They did as they were told. "May the trial, Begin!"

Manus started the trial just as Iodius predicted, but the speed he peformed it at nearly lost Iodius the Trial. Manus brought his sword in a wide arc, trying to secure the win fast. Iodius foresaw it and backstepped the blow. Manus continued prodding at Iodius, trying to use the superior range of the sword to keep the Chaplain away. Iodius was growing tired of dodgeing his attacks, so during the next giant swing, he mearly palmed the flat face of the blade down to the ground. He stepped into Manus's guard, hammering his fists into Manus's unguarded chest. Manus returned the attacks by throwing a haymaker at Iodius, who had to back away to dodge it. Blood trickled from a cut in Manus's breast, and instantly, the poison took hold. He seized up and fell to a knee, the poison flooding into his system faster than the 'Larraman cells' could clog it.
"Is this what the new leader of this company will be? Bowing to his opponent before the battle has even begun?" Iodius taunted, and the crowd cheered.
Manus felt his rage building, and lunged at Iodius with one arm hanging useless by his side, the poison taking its toll. He brought the broadsword in a huge arc once more, this time more sporadically, as his energy was being rapidly drained by the virulent poison. Iodius didn't move fast enough, and the blade bit deep into his side, embedding itself at least three inches into his torso. Iodius gasped for air as his left lung was pierced and subsequently poisoned by the blow. Iodius did not give in, instead, pulling Manus closer, so that he could pummel him even more. Iodius's hands fumbeled around Manus's neck for a while, but eventually he got a grip and squeezed. Manus's one remaining hand reached for Iodius's hands, but with his power failing, he was all but helpless in the frenzied Chaplains hold. Iodius dug his nails into Manus's throat, and the moment he saw blood, he let go. It was finished. The poison seeped into the wound and stopped his aesophagus. Manus fell backwards, struggling for breath, whilst Iodius mearly stood over him, the broadsword still deep inside him. It's poiosn had stopped his left lung, heart, and other important organs. Iodius stood until a pair of Battle-Brothers came to Manus's side and dragged him off the arena. It was only then, that Iodius collapsed. He had won, and all knew it.

The apparation stood in the crowd, watching the fight reach its last breath, and then, it was over. Iodius had won. The apparation was pleased, it had made a fine choice indeed. It watched as Iodius and his opponent were dragged off into their respective crew quarters. It watched it all unfold, forever silent, forever unfeeling. The Daemon would have to wait, Iodius had to rest before he could slay it. The apparation faded out of reality once more, only to appear in the dark corners of a room, its occupant unknownst of its presence. It sat in a nearby chair, and waited for the Chaplain to wake. In its hand, it carried a black purity seal, the word inscribed on it unreadable, but they would protect one from anything, even if just once. It would have smiled if it was capable of doing so, and placed it on Iodius's unmoving chest. It had waited several millenia to kill this Daemon, it could wait a little longer.


Iodius awoke 2 days later, his side bandaged. Captain Ceasar sat next to him, with a cheeky grin on his face.
“Took your time to wake my friend, had to convince the company that you were still alive several times.” They shared a bond more than comradeship, they had become brothers in the 400 years serving together, each one had saved the others life countless times.
“You did? Well, it seems I have to drill them in having faith in their commander more…They shouldn’t question if I’m alive or not…” Iodius was back to his old self, gruff, grim and with a very stale sense of humour. He made to get up, but Ceasar held him down.
“Uh uh uh friend, you stay down until you get cleared.” His tone was that of when someone is trying to teach a toddler what to do and what not to do.
“I don’t think so Captain, I and I alone dictate when I am cleared, you of all people should know that.” Iodius swatted away his hands and arose nevertheless.
“Worth a try…Oh, and about the Carcharadons, they made landfall on the surface of Crion not too long ago. Too far away to travel to by thunderhawk, and too time consuming to travel to and from several times just to parlay with them. Any other bright ideas that may lead to another duel?”
“Aye, several in fact, but if what you say is true, and I’d hope it is…Then the next best thing would be to seek out the Space Wolves.” Iodius’s voice rang with uncertainty, neither chapter had ever come into contact with one another, so this would be a first.
“Shall I send word to ‘Vex Calisum’ of your departure?”
“Yes, I shall be out once I get my armour on.”
“I’ll tell him to take his time then” Ceasar snickered, Iodius would have a hard time with his arm in a sling, but he would just call a few serfs to aid him.
“Very funny…” Iodius rolled his eyes, always with the snide comment…
As Ceasar left the room, Iodius found his eyes upon the apparition.
“Loyal as ever…You never even left my side did you?” Once again, no response, no acknowledgement. Nothing. “Talkative as usual…”


Aboard the ‘Vex Calisum’
Iodius and Ceasar sat in the pilots quarters, the back of the thunderhawk was empty, they had not brought any other Marines. They would be safe here, it was under Imperial control, and no xenos had been sighted here since the Wolves had made landfall.
A voice sounded over the intercom, his voice raspy, and had an accent that Iodius could not identify.
“Unidentified aircraft bearing position Delta-Gamma-Foxtrot, state your business or feel the wrath of the Space Wolves.” His voice had a tone of finality, and almost as if wanting them to be hostile.
Iodius pressed a button on the thunderhawks display, broadcasting his voice through.
“This is Chaplain Iodius Benturas, of the chapter ‘Dorn’s Wish’ (Feth me that’s a horrid name…). I seek an audience with your leader, I wish to broker an alliance.” No response. Both he and Ceasar exchanged a look of both confusion and worry.
“Lord Stormclaw shall see you. Welcome to Hive Grim Joy.” With that, the transmission was ended.

Their arrival was met by a less then welcoming group. The majority of their hosts were standing there with their arms crossed, obvious disapproval was lined on their faces. One in particular stepped forward, a giant of a man, with shoulders almost twice as broad as Iodius, bearing a power sword and a large shield, that roughly resembled a storm shield.
“And who may you two be?” He grumbled.
“We are seeking audience with Lord Stormclaw, would that be you?” Iodius mustered as much of a calm voice as he could.
“No, he is awaiting your arrival further in the Hive. I am here to inspect you, and if you would pose any threat to the Lord. My first impressions don’t look good.”
“Nor do I care. I am here to speak with Stormclaw, and Stormclaw alone.”
Iodius made to step past him, but was stopped by the giants arm.
“Only after I approve. I have seen your records, I know the majority of your forces turned to Chaos not too long ago. T’would be a shame if some people saw you as heretics…”
“T’would be a shame if you were one of those people, you might find something sharp shoved up y-“
He was silenced by Ceasar, who pushed himself in front of Iodius.
“What my friend means to say, is that he does not appreciate the words. We all have our Daemons, some turn to chaos, some mutate into hideous wolf men. Your not one to judge, Wolf.” Ceasar kept a straight face as the Space Wolf bristled at the insult.
“You do well to hold your tongue, welp.” He growled, literally.
“Or what? You’ll bite me?” Ceasar rose to the same height as the Wolf, taunting him to start something.
“Conan? Where are our guests? I’d hope you’re not giving them one of your lectures… “ A voice boomed out from behind the line of Space Wolves, he made his way through the onlookers and looked upon his second in command standing toe-to-toe with two strangers. “Are these the one’s I was expecting?” He had asked, Conan went to answer, but it was Iodius’s voice that rang out.
“Aye we are, and if you could be so kind as to restrain your guard dog so we can have a proper talk, that would be much appreciated.” Iodius was impatient, the confrontation with the old wolf had made him annoyed, and an annoyed Iodius was an impractical Iodius.
“Some envoy, you look for an alliance, and yet you bring conflict with you. Do you really think I would speak to one such as yourself?” His voice was harsh, and yet, Iodius’s was harsher.
“You would do well to do so, before I show this Puppy the treatment time wasters receive.” Captain Ceasar glared at Iodius, this was not going as planned, Iodius’s anger was getting in the way of that.
“You dare issue threats in my presence? Who do you think you are?” He snarled, his face a mask of anger and frustration.
“I…I am sorry, Lord Stormclaw, I lost my temper. Things have not been going to plan and I have not been tempering my anger with xenos blood…” Iodius had calmed, ashamed to have lost his temper and insult his possible allies. He turned to face Conan, who had also appeared to have calmed down. He moved his hand out in the form of a handshake (What the feth am I saying…), which was enveloped by Conan’s own hand. Iodius pulled himself closer to the giant and whispered in his ear.
“You speak of my brothers and I as heretics again, and we shall have a reckoning.” With that, he pulled away and moved towards Lord Stormclaw, who was half a head taller than Iodius.
“If you could excuse my outburst, I believe we have some talking to do.” Iodius’s voice was softer, and it seemed to work on the Great Wolf.
“Aye, it shall be excused this one time. Come, we have much to discuss.” He turned and led Iodius and Ceasar through the camp, drawing stares from the other assembled wolves. This is going to be a long day…


Several hours later
“So, it’s sorted? We forge the first allegiance our two chapters have ever had?” Iodius was hopeful, they had spent the past 4 hours discussing the threat to Crion, and they had reached a decision, they would fight alongside each other in exchange for stories to be told in the Mead hall of the Space Wolves. A good agreement for Iodius, who had plenty of stories to tell.
“No, we are not.” He stood up and made to walk out of the room.
“But how? Did we not finish the terms?”
“Aye we did, but there is one more thing I forgot to mention…” He walked out and motioned for Iodius and Ceasar to follow him. He led them over to a large building with carvings of wolves fashioned onto the mantle. “You must drink with me first.” He smiled, his pointed teeth grinding together.
“Sorry to be a bad sport, Lord Stormclaw, but I believe I must refuse, I haven’t drunk in the company of others in a very long time…” It was true, Iodius drank a bit with only the company of the apparition.
“Well that’s too bad, no drink, no allegiance.” His smiled faded.
“I guess I don’t have much of a choice do I…” Iodius sighed, there was no backing out now.
“No, you don’t.” Lord Stormclaws smiled pasted itself back onto his face.
“I’m in, I haven’t drunk in a very long time, mostly because I didn’t have reason to” Ceasar chimed in, he was giddy, sealing an allegiance that would last millennia with a nice cold flagon of Fenrisian Ale.
“Good, you two shall find a hangover unlike anything you’ve ever experienced in the morning!” With that, he barged into the hall and shouted “Alright lads, we got visitors, let’s make em welcome!” A group of Space Marines came out of a room with several flagons the size of a small dog. Iodius looked at Ceasar.
“Only one, then we leave.”
“Sure sure Brother, only one…”
Lord Stormclaw smiled to himself, that’s what they always say…

As he predicted, one drink turned into two, which turned into four, which turned into twenty. Soon both Iodius and Ceasar were singing along with the Wolves. One more drink and Ceasar found himself unconscious on the ground of the hall, with a horde of Wolves and even the Chaplain laughing at him. Several more, and somebody thought it would be wise if Iodius challenged Lord Stormclaw in a drinking competition, who had never been beaten.
“I chawwenge you, Worrrrd Stowmcwaw, to a twial…by dwinking!!!”
“I accept yuurrr challenge Brother…May the best wolf…Win!”
And with that, the two began. Soon, another 10 drinks were downed, and it would have kept going, if somebody didn’t accuse Iodius of cheating. He sprang into action and brought his mug down on the accusers head. A brawl quickly ensued, and soon the majority of the occupants lay unconscious on the floor, all except Lord Stormclaw and Iodius, who were leaning on each other and singing ‘Row row row your boat’. Where they merely hummed whatever words came to their mind at the pace of the song, which roughly sounded like:
“Shoot shoot shoot you titan, something down the something, merrily merrrr…”
They passed out soon after, but not before Stormclaw declared himself winner of the competition. Iodius said nothing as he lay on the ground, resting off a nights hard drinking. He would feel it in the morning. That was certain.

Quick and silently
The lictor ran. It was perfectly enveloped in the jungle. The well adapted camouflage worked as efficiently as it always did. The hive was always perfectly adapted. The carapaces of the brood were all different shades of green to match the foliage of the jungle. Even without the camouflage, it would be very hard to see the lictor. However, the hive took precautions. A small squad of gaunts and a warrior with a venom cannon were prepared to move out at a moments notice if the lictor was under assault. The lictor continued on. It effortlessly dodged past trees and skirted around the overgrown bushes without so much as the sound of a twig cracking. After a long period of time had elapsed, the lictor gazed upon its goal. The camp of the greenskins under KoreGog da Bloody.
Find the leader
The lictor climbed up one of the trees for a better view. It began to scan its surroundings for the largest among them, for the brood knew from experience that the biggest was the strongest. With that thought, the hive mind remembered Gorgrim BadToof.
Kill
The lictor fell out of the tree. With surprising agility, it caught itself, and climbed back up.
Continue looking
The lictor peered into the camp once again. Near the right side, KoreGog was found. He was a massive ork, He had green tattoos spanning his body. These marked him as one of the "snake bite" clan. A rusted helm of some primitive material was upon his head. He had massive streaks of gore and blood smeared across his face. A 'uge choppa was wielded in his hands and a massive boss pole was upon its back. With a quick glance, the surviving lictor spotted one of the swarm's dead lictors upon the pole.
Revenge
The lictor grew unsteady on its feet again. It once more fell out of the tree. The orks did not notice. The lictor had detected all it needed to know. KoreGog and his group of nobz were the primary threat. The entire group only carried 'uge choppas. The brood will attack from afar. The orks will regret resisting the hive. The hive will consume the nearby terrain to grow strong. The hive will prosper once the orks join the foliage.
Long live the hive

Raak'tiil strolled down one of the destroyed wings of the palace dominated by Ewryht'eikl's daemonic hordes. In truth, the entire world was possessed by his conscious and he bathed it in constant darkness and shadow. Seldom had Raak'tiil seen the world's sun or any light source off the planet. Being on the planet for a few minutes would bring dread to any mortal foolish enough to set foot upon it. Raak'tiil could only guess at what would fill their head before they fled the planet or succumbed to the darkness. She flicked her head to the side abruptly and stopped in her tracks.

Ewryht'eikl's Absents were crafty buggers that always seemed to be at the corner of your view, like a grim thought at the back of your mind, but never had she seen one directly unless Ewryht'eikl was present. She heard them chuckle and sneer at her. It seemed like their nature to provoke her to anger, and they performed that skill marvelously. She scooped up a stone from the broken floor and flung it into the shadows behind a column. She heard bones crack and pop at the joints, indicating there were Absents, though she saw none flee. She advanced swiftly and followed the sound of the Absents.

Raak'tiil followed their sound down a narrow side hallway and into a dining hall. Mounds of bones were piled against the walls, tables were over turned and the ceiling had almost caved in. She turned around to face a near-unscathed portrait of the old resident of the palace. She began to admire the fact it was untouched by Chaos. She snapped out of her revelries when she heard a quartet of snaps that presumably came from string that was holding something far too heavy. She turned to face the noise and was greeted with a pair of blood red eyes and a leery grin.

"Are you Raak'tiil?" the face asked before it was bisected by an axe, fading into darkness. The face appeared again in an upper corner of the room, clearly disappointed by Raak'tiil's choice of action. "Tsk Tsk Tsk. Is that how you treat all your guests or just me?"

"Who are you?" the Hunter growled, prying her axe from its position in the wall where she had struck the face earlier. She pointed the axe at the smiling face, "I will not miss again."

"No, but I do not expect you to try again," the face chuckled, impossibly pulling the rest of its body from a shadow much to small to conceal it, but this was Chaos and was to be expected. The creature looked much like an ape, but of the blackest black. It behaved like the casted shadow of a stringed puppet and never directly faced Raak'tiil. It only faced her shadow. "I am the Marionette of Ewryht'eikl... the first Herald of Ewryht'eikl to be exact."

"So this is what he's done in his free time. He's created a monkey," Raak'tiil snorted, dismissing the creature now that she knew what it was. She turned and made for the door.

"Stop stop stop. I know what you need, Bloodthirster," the Marionette said, enticing Raak'tiil's curiosity to know what the monkey thought she needed, so she stayed.

"I am not a Bloodthirster, monkey."

"Really? You look like one, get angry like one and smell like one. I think its safe to say you are a Bloodthirster," the monkey replied, following his comment up with a hearty laugh. Raak'tiil turned to face the Marionette.

"I am the Hunter, daemon of Ewryht'eikl."

"You aren't. I would know. You get angry because you cannot see the Absents. I can see them just fine, but you... You cannot. Only daemons of Ewryht'eikl can see the Absents."

"Then how do I become a daemon of Ewryht'eikl?" Raak'tiil asked, now genuinely curious about what the monkey was saying. The Marionette pointed at her cloak, which she wore as a waist cape.

"Become the darkness. Don the cloak," the Marionette chuckled before vanishing into the shadows. Raak'tiil looked down at her waist cape. Thoughts raced through her daemonic mind. To don or not to don, that was the question. If she put it on, she'd swear full allegiance to Ewryht'eikl, something she was not ready for. If she did not wear the cloak, the monkey would tell Ewryht'eikl that Raak'tiil resisted him and she would surely be destroyed. She weighed her options between destruction and perceived damnation. Choosing to be ruled by Ewryht'eikl would see her to more conflicts and blood shed, something Raak'tiil would miss dearly if she were destroyed.She made her choice and pulled the shadows of her waist cape up and over her head like a hood. She watched in slight dismay as her skin changed from a blood red to a dark grey and felt her skin grow cold, as though her furnace-like interior was no longer. She heard voices, voices of mortals and not of the Absents. She could feel inside their head and read their thoughts like an open book. She knew their emotion and their motivations. It gave her power. If she willed it, she could control a mortal with a single word. The realization hit her like a Land Raider soon after.

I am using warp-magicks... Raak'tiil thought, not certain if she was repulsed or amazed at the revelation. There was so much power, so much potential as a psyker that Raak'tiil never witnessed until now. If this is what Ewryht'eikl granted his followers, she wanted to be a part of it. A small grin grew on the daemonette's face and she gave her will in to Ewryht'eikl.

----- Scion Base in Drake's Point -----

Riley flicked the remains of a lho-stick, put on his helmet and exited the command bunker. Gallus had left early on to request even more defensive equipement and left the Temepestor Secundus in charge of reinforcing the already impressive defenses of the base. The walls were thick and provided good cover and line of sight for the men posted on them. The heavier weapons usually mounted on the Taurox Primes were set on tripods and used as point defences. The reconnaissance had gone extremely well and all access points had been found.

Whatever access that couldn't properly be watched by Tarantula turrets were carefully collapsed to maintain the integrety of the base. Every underground access point had many traps and booby-traps, as well as automated defenses. Noone could get in without being spotted and then swiftly gunned down.

Riley turned towards his vox-op

'' Send a message to the Prime, defences are set up ''

The man nodded and transmitted the information. Now that the Scion base of operation was secured properly, they could begin the next phase of preparation.

'' He wants to see you, sir ''

Riley nodded and made his way to his commander.

'' Ah, Riley, good, I've already arranged for the first of PDF's to be train, you'll oversee the entire thing I'll stick with commanding the 85th with Castella once she's back. You will take out the three Tauroxes with the missile racks and fill them up with some of our vets. Make sure they understand to stay in group, I don't want you guys to get cornered in the city street and your gear to get stolen by some demented chaos worshipper out there. Give the name and planet of origin of all the guys at the gate when you leave, I want total control on the movement of our troops ''

'' Do you want to restrain our main to the base for now? ''

'' Yes, they won't like it, but its gotta be done, and make its actually enforced this time, the last thing we need is chaos freaks in our lines, dismissed ''

Riley exited the building and looked for some of his veterans. Once the Taurox Primes were loaded, they exited the base and moved to a local PDF base.

'' Lets make the life of these poor suckers hell for a few week, aye? '' said one Scion.

"Before we start the unfortunate necessity of business, may I ask who your companion is?" Edward eyed the hovering servo skull over his mug of tea.
Liza raised a mechadendrite and the small metallic skull hovered neatly over the desk.
Selka barely contained his disdain toward it as his upper lip curled, and he learned back slightly from the desk.
"This is a creation of mine. Entirely inorganic. No human remains," Liza smiled toward the commissar with an understanding expression, "I find the use of those distasteful, personally."
Garth sat a little easier and looked upon the creation with curiosity.
"His name is 41FI3." she extended a slim hand and the skull hovered sideways, coming to rest on her palm.
"...Alfie?" Garth laughed softly.
The skull turned it's small camera lenses toward the commissar and beeped in reaction.
"Yes, he's my sixth and seventh senses. He also allows me to feed data back to the rest of my team while they work."
Edward smiled in turn, "Then we should likely get down to business."

"You know that we are an exploration team. We wish to gain safe transport and some guarantee of survival on an expedition." Liza released Alfie, and he buzzed back into the air.
"We are no glorified taxi service, Liza," Selka shook his head, "why come to us over the Imperial Guard?"
Liza nodded, her braided metal hair shifting in waves as she did so, "Because Seneschal, I believe this trip could benefit both parties. And we wish for a certain element of discretion in our work."
"Discretion." Edward repeated and raised his eyes to the gilded ceiling of his office. His ship was hardly a small scouting vessel.
"Have you seen what a platoon of guardsmen can do to a landscape, Lord Captain? We wish to study and investigate a planet, not trample it to bare earth." the Techpriest had a twinkle to her eyes behind the lenses.
Garth nodded, "Lass knows her guard. We aren't even very good at leaving nothing but footprints, when there's a thousand boots."

"Where, then?" Edward inclined his head.
"A planet named Crion. In the past there was a chapter of Astartes based there, now long since departed, Liza raised her hand, and Alfie projected a small flickering star chart, "we are to seek out their footprints, for lack of a better term. Reclamation, understanding and we hope, restoring some history to the archives."
The Lord captain nodded and listened attentively.
"It is also a planet with few current trade links or information on record. A worthy investigation for a trader of goods and information." the smile returned to Liza's face as she noticed the small signs of her flattery taking effect.

*
Liza departed, the deal secured and a promise that the Sovereign would find a suitable force to protect the Explorator team on Crion.

"She smiles like a cat." Garth shivered.
"I like cats." Edward shrugged.
"Thought you were more of a dog person." the commissar nudged him.
"Always room for both."

**

"Kroot?" Edward hissed to Garth, "We are going to an Imperial world! You couldn't have found a force less conspicuous if you tried. You did this on purpose!"
Ta'lok didn't react as he approached the pair of humans, pretending not to have heard the exasperated rogue trader. He watched, curious how Selka would react.
"Of course I did it on purpose. They are renowned trackers, hunters and guerrilla fighters. They also don't go about stealing valuable artefacts if we keep up our side of the deal." Garth replied tiredly.
"I trust your experience, I just wish that you'd made life simpler." Edward conceded.

He bowed as the Kroot approached, and saluted him, "Welcome to our home; and yours for the duration of our adventure. Don't think me disrespectful for not offering my hand, I understand it means something very different for your people."
The shaper laughed, "You have done your research, Lord Captain."
"It would be discourteous and irresponsible not to. We have also had our suppliers bring aboard less processed items for your warriors, as I doubt they would appreciate some of our long life foods. They hydroponics section is also at your disposal." Edward nodded.
"And we put fresh hay bales in the cargo bay for your sleeping quarters." Selka added, straight faced.
Edward turned his head to stare in astonishment at the commissar.
Garth caught Ta'lok's eye, and they both burst into laughter at Edward's discomfort.
"You worry too much, Ed." Garth patted his shoulder gently.
The rogue trader laughed himself, relieved, "I think I do. I should know better." He turned his head back to their guest, "You will be staying in the old barracks. We have had them serviced for you. I ask that if you find anything to your dissatisfaction, let Garth know. Some of the rooms are not to be disturbed, you will see which."
Ta'lok nodded, "Understood, and we thank you."

Consume
The seething mass of the tyranid force sprang out of the hulk wreckage. All manner of bio-forms approached the tree lines surrounding the crash. They were unprepared for what would happen next. A hormagaunt approached the massive form of one of the great jungle trees. It would benefit the hive greatly in the reclamation pools. The gaunt reached out and sunk its teeth straight into the tough bark. This was the swarm's first true mistake on the planet of Crion. A major mistake. The jungle was not an ordinary jungle. It was as alive as the brood's forces were. And it was angry. The trees began to shift in their positions. Leaves swirled everywhere, obscuring all vision. The sounds of wood creaking were everywhere. That one hormagaunt that had willingly sunk its teeth into the tree was swept up in a massive tangle of branches and devoured inside the tree. The link with the hive mind to it was quickly extinguished. All around the hulk, gaunts of all kinds were swept into the invisible jaws of the very angry jungle. Raveners fired into the mass of leaves and bark, but they could not see where to truly shoot.
Form groups. Repel the threat. Defend the Queen
The bio-forms tried. Many were taken as they tried to retreat. Bio-acid flung everywhere as the ranged units tried to defend themselves from everywhere. It was utter chaos. Some groups of lesser forms even lost their synapse link and went feral, wandering into the forest to their doom. The surviving lictor attempted to escape the wrath of the enraged trees. Its camouflage was useless. The trees shared a group connection. Anywhere it tried to tread, there was an overgrown root or branch to sense the lictor's movement. The lictor used its great agility to evade swinging branches and flying leaves. The lictor had almost made it back. As it got close, it was grabbed by a nearby branch. The lictor tried ineffectually to escape the wrath of the forest.
Reinforce with the Great One
The lictor was close to the maw of the tree. To any other form of life, they would have thought the lictor gone, but the lictor was part of the hive mind. It knew help was coming. The lictor could see nothing. The lictor could hear nothing but roars of pain and suffering of the lesser bio-forms. Then the lictor could tell help had arrived. A massive gout of blazing bio-acid struck the branch holding the lictor. It burned through in seconds. The lictor struck the ground and began to run under the supressive fire of the hulking form of the Great Hive Tyrant of Hive Fleet Cerberus. Any branch trying to get close to the lictor was burned clean through. Any attempt to attack the hive tyrant was met with talons that had rended through armor so much stronger. The hive tyrant roared a massive, rallying cry. All the bio-forms retreated to the hive tyrant. They all became very accurate, and deadly. Hormagaunts clawed through branches. Termagaunts shot bio-acid directly at the bigger clumps of snaring leaves. The trees could not best the new swarm. It was much more coordinated. It was very intelligent. It would return. The tyranids all retreated to the safety of the hulk. The trees surrounding the wreckage had long since burned away, leaving a safe zone for the hive to wait for the jungle to settle.
Adapt
The hive now knew this forest was not going to simply be eaten. It had devoured a large portion of the brood. Their biomass had to be reclaimed. The hive knew what had to be done. The hive would go to "war" as the walking biomass called humans say. The swarm had just declared war with the trees.
Patience
The swarm waited. The massive amount of leaves in the air returned to the ground. The branches returned to their positions. It appeared as if nothing had ever happened to them. The hive would grow much stronger from this. It would adapt new carapaces from the hardened wood of the trees. The hive will reap the rewards.
Long live the hive

As Garth headed toward his shared room, he still on occasion felt as though he'd jumped several undeserved rungs on the social ladder, seeing the decking beneath his feet change to rich carpeting. The visit from the cogboys had been the best thing to happen to them in a long while, he concluded, raising Edward out of the safe groove he had created for himself over the past few years.
"Commissar?" a young voice caused him to turn.
"It's Seneschal!" he snapped tiredly, "It's only been five fething year-" he stopped in his snarl upon seeing the group assembled there, and furrowed his brow in worried uncertainty, "-If this is a lynching, I have some things to do first."

A sight he had not witnessed for some years stood before him, two squads of the Histan regiment who now called the Sovereign their home, had somehow materialised in the corridor, and stood solemn-faced in the low light. Their uniforms in some cases as torn and damaged as the last day they had worn them, fighting for their lives and honor in the Charadon system.

"No sir, we heard that the Reforged Sovereign was going to assist the Adeptus Mechanicus explore a planet, that the Lord Captain has found himself again." the trooper who had first spoken, Garth recognised him as Kessan, started.
Beside Kessan, a sergeant with a large chunk missing from the bridge of his broad nose, continued, "We want to help. It's the least we could do for the years of hospitality you've given us."
Sergeant Cassdro, Garth called to mind, before replying to him, "But you have worked hard. Your time here was invaluable to us. We do not expect reparations." he shook his head.
"We know," Kessan nodded, "we are requesting permission to assist."

Garth cocked his head, "This is a matter of proving yourselves? Pride? Penitence?" he scratched his chin, "Very well. I allow it. But, you must follow the instruction of the cogboys at all times. If they want you to leave, you leave. If they want to travel somewhere, you do not question it. You do not disobey or belittle them or the Kroot. Yes?"
There was a murmur of consent, and Cassdro stepped forward, extending his hand, "We thank you, Commissar." a smile broke into his tired face.
Garth took his hand and shook it, "Get some rest. And report early tomorrow to our tailors. You're not going out looking like this." he returned the smile, and then stepped away, not waiting for a farewell.
Strange folk, but honourable, he thought as he finally reached the bedroom.

"What kept you?" a sleepy voice queried as he slumped into a chair and kicked his boots off.
"You know, Seneschal stuff." Selka replied airily.
"Did you get confused and go to your old room again?"
Garth blinked, "I only ever did that once! You know for a Lord Captain, you spend more time sleeping than you ever did as a Seneschal. How did you even beat me back here?"
"'M a wizzerd." the muffled reply came from the bed.
"Yeah, yeah, alright." finally done with his boots and dayclothes, the commissar climbed into bed and winced as the aches of the day caught up with him.

"Any news?" Edward rolled over, curious and alert now.
"Just that our resident guardsmen wish to assist the Kroot and Liza."
"I hope you told them no!" Edward looked alarmed, "Garth, we went through this, we are not equipped for war."
"It was important to them, Ed. we needn't get further involved." the commissar smiled and pulled the covers up to his chin, sleep calling loudly to the pair of them.

"Just don't want things to end up like-"
"I know. They won't," Garth closed his eyes, "we won't get involved. It'll be fine."
Resting his head on Garth's shoulder, Edward murmured, "I hope so. I really do." his own eyes closed, and the room fell silent.

In the barracks, Kroot were settling in similarly. The Explorators and Histans rested their own eyes and bionics.
In her room on the upper deck of the Sovereign, a lone Astropath sat on the edge of her bunk, unable to sleep. Something was bothering her, and she could not pin down quite what it was.

Darkness descended over the Blood Dragon ruins. The cold broken structure of the once-towering Chapter fortress stood stark in the pale moonlight, it's silvery-blue light dappled by the forest canopy. Even the orks patrolling the maze-like ruins looked peaceful and serene in the night. Their spiders glided across the leaves, and the dumb brutes astride them were creatures of exquisite fairytale and dreamlike myth. Yet their beady eyes and hairy ears never noticed or heard the other people in the ruins with them.

"Shas'vre Ghostwalk, formation sound off. Optimised Stealth Cadre, ready for duty."

"Gue'vesa'ui Harland, Infiltration Cadre Alpha, ready for duty."

"Shas'ui Tsa'lan, Infiltration Cadre Omega, ready for duty."

The three prongs of the recon group were set up around the various locations in the ruins, all overlooking the gargantuan maw into the blackness. Now that the cadre had a proper look at the fortification, they saw the sword-like fangs of a massive dragon's head. The black steel edifice shimmered, it's scales iridescent in the night. It's sharp jaw descended into the ground, as if it's throat were built into the earth itself. It's massive eye sockets were filled with bloody offerings. Blood dripped from the sockets, and if one focused on looking into the cavernous recesses, you could pick out limbs, heads, ribcages and various hands and feet. More offerings to the orks' bestial gods.

"Cadre, move and secure the entry point. Harland, prepare your cadre for insertion. I will have this Nogrod's head taken back to the Shas'O tonight."

Tsa'lan and Harland were both taken aback by Ghostwalk's order.
"Shas'vre, are you sure this is... wise?" Tsa'lan said.

"Agreed," muttered Harland. "This feels like a deathtrap. Can we not send in some drones first?"

"And give away our position? You would let the Be'gel take advantage of us? Do you trust your skill, Gue, or not?"

Harland retorted. "Of course I trust my skills, Shas'vre. But is there any point in jeopardising the-"

"It won't be jeopardised if you do your job right." Ghostwalk snarled. "Now, prove it to me: are you going to do your job, or are you not fit for it?"

"For the Cadre, sir." Harland muttered.

"Sir?" Ghostwalk's voice was leering, menacing and triumphant.

"Sorry Shas'vre. For the Cadre, Shas'vre." Harland had, in a moment of weakness, betrayed his human roots. Most of Sunstrike Cadre were accepting of this, and individuals such as Gue'vesa'El Vandred proved that Tau and humans could work in harmony. However, individuals like Shas'vre Ghostwalk still held onto their initial prejudice of the human auxiliaries.

Tsa'lan gave a sympathetic nod to Harland. Even though neither could see eachother's faces, she felt sure he knew what she was expressing. Not all Tau are like this. Just do it for the cadre. Let Skyhunter deal with him.

The human Gue'vesa'ui signalled for his troops to move out of their concealed positions. Small fireteams of Pathfinders and Stealth Battlesuits crept through the leaves. Harland readied his pulse carbine and led the advance into the ruins.

The incursion lasted just under two hours, according to Tsa'lan's internal clock. Harland had kept in contact with Ghostwalk and Tsa'lan, recording his progress as his units crept through the filthy corridors and antechambers. Harland's earth caste mapping drones had worked wonders in the close confines, detaching from his backpack and dashing into the ruins like excited children. Their red lights swept across the flat, corroded panels of the Blood Dragon ruins, mapping the underground for the cadre.

Harland's cadre had managed to scan around an estimated fourth of the ruins below, evading capture from prowling spiders in the darkened rooms, before disaster struck.
One of the Pathfinder teams had been advancing up the corridor when a mob of orks had ambled up. The surprise on their slab-like faces told the Pathfinders all they needed. The sounds of ork roars and pulse fire echoed through the chambers. Harland immediately called a full retreat, pulling back as fast as he could with his own unit. Orks and spiders began pouring through the halls, and battle was joined.

Tsa'lan's and Ghostwalk's forces pulled into the opening hall, setting up a beachhead for their comrades to retreat to. Inside the halls, the sounds of battle were amplified. The screams of Tau and the whine of pulse rounds were ever-present. A depleted Stealth suit team were the first to make it back. They hadn't ran into any ork forces on their way out, and were unscathed. Only a handful of Pathfinders from second squad made it back, wounded and running low on ammo. A tide of spiders had followed them, seething and scuttling towards them. Ghostwalk's barked orders from his Ghostkeel directed the relief force into a wall of controlled fury. The fleeing Pathfinders ducked and fell to the ground, and a ripple of pulse carbine fire reaped the pursing spiders. Their corpses blocked the passageway, and the Pathfinders rejoined into the defensive structure.

Harland's unit was the last to make it back. The Pathfinders were making a fighting retreat, scything down greenskins as Harland cut down any of them which got too close. His pulse pistol and enhanced bonding knife combination, whilst not supported by typical Tau doctrine, was remarkably effective when wielded by the Gue'vesa. Already, it's blade was slick with orkish blood, and his armour was rent and battered by countless strikes. By the time Harland's forces had pulled back, they were at half their original strength. Orkish bodies lay strewn behind them.

"We're getting out of here. Now." Harland spat at Shas'vre Ghostwalk.

"Gue'vesa'ui, I command the-"

"Now. I've lost contact with the rest of my cadre when the orks brought the bloody roof down on them. I've lost enough men getting them out to here. Tsa'lan, what say you?"

She was aware of both commanders fixing their attention on her. The Shas'ui chose her words carefully.
"The Shas'O would not support any more loss of life. We can come back in force and take out Nogrod another time, Shas'vre."

Ghostwalk grunted in anger, and began to walk out of the dragon's mouth. The rest of the cadre followed him, backing out with their pulse carbines raised.

Harland rapped his bloody hand to his chest, a human salute to the Tau. Tsa'lan nodded her thanks to him, and directed her own formation out. As she emerged into the light, stepping out of the dragon's mouth, she cast a final glare into the shadowy abyss.

"Another time."

Again
The swarm advanced for the fourth time. The first time they had been taken by surprise and the hive's forces had been halved. Little was able to be reclaimed before the trees fought the bio-forms off. The second time the brood attacked, they were sent back by the swirling mass of leaves and branches. The third had been worse. The trees were adapting to their tactics. It was no longer easy to even kill the trees let alone get out with most of the force. And now the brood marched back to war.
Charge
The gaunts sprinted ahead of the rest of the swarm. The raveners were close behind. The warriors were slow and as such, were equipped with ranged weaponry. The termagaunts were with the warriors. The Great One strode behind them, constantly checking for movement, venom cannon prepared to fire, and talons ready to rend and tear. All was quiet.
Suspicious. Trap detected. Fall back to investigate.
The hive mind's response was too late. The bulk of the invading force had already entered the ambush. It was no ordinary ambush. It was no ordinary enemy. A pack of hormagaunts had almost made it to the tree line. They then disappeared from sight. A massive hole had appeared in the ground, sucking them all into the dark recesses of the pit. Their life signs were quickly gone. All across the swarm, massive holes appeared. They separated the brood, and made them easy prey. The small bio-forms were immediately sucked down. The warrior forms however, refused to put it simply. As the warriors began to fall, the clawed the walls with the scything talons always equipped on every one. They began to climb their way out, as all the lesser forms tumbled into the dark depths. The warriors would not have it so easy, though. Massive vines began to creep out of the black void and ensnare all the massive bio-forms, one by one. These vines could not stop them from getting out, but it would take time.
Full Retreat
The Great One attempted to retreat. As it strode away, a hole appeared underneath it. The Great One was too fast to fall for this. It used its claws and talons to grab all the sides of the hole and push itself out. The hive had been routed. Massive casualties were calculated instantly by the hive mind. The warriors were alive, the Great One could never truly die, and the raveners seemed to have gotten out without many deaths. The swarm was in shambles. By simple, primitive, biomass. This loss however, created a new feeling in the hive mind.
Fear
The hive is losing. There is barely a force left. The brood is at 1/4 the strength it was at at the beginning. The swarm is dying.
No
The hive always lives on. Time is what the hive always had, and always will have. The brood does not simply fall on a planet. The swarm goes to ground. Digs in. There is always more biomass that can be collected. The trees have won this battle. The hive will figure out a way to beat the trees. The hive can do this. None can truly best the hive.
Long live the hive

Payne Manor Part 1 of 2

Payne Manor. Though it is far more akin to a palace then the stately manor of your common noblemen. When Sebastian Payne first laid down roots on Crion he demanded that his home be a slice of Terra’s splendor. From the toil of generations of wealth building and the sweat of the backs of countless laborers Sebastian Payne forged his vision a testament to imperial splendor. Pearl white marble was imported from Terra itself, ornamented with gold leaf trim imported from the mines of Mars. The arcades, private plazas, gardens, and verandas were adorned with the finest furnishings. Blue silk tapestry hung from every grandiose window. Chandlers of gold and crystal lit with blue fires. Silver statues of Imperial saints, and loyal primarchs. This palace nestled on the bay of Payne Island enjoys a full view of the Crionian sea. There are few Lord Governors who can boast the same amount of splendor that Payne Manor enjoys. Lord Governor Hannibal Pavus is quoted with having said “When I die and go to the Emperor’s side I hope it looks something like Payne Manor.”

Lord Governor Tobias Payne watched himself in the mirror of his personal quarters as his two servants did their best to fit the the overweight man into his formal attire. Payne looked at the right most corner of the mirror and saw a familiar avian figure. The governor spoke out to his attendants “Leave me I wish to be alone. You will be summoned when you are needed.” The two servants rose and gave the Lord Governor a deep bow, a gesture Payne had long since grown numb to. As the Iron oak door shut behind the pair of servants Payne spoke out “Is Edgar Beaconn dead.” Ta’lok replied “Not just yet, rodents like he are adept hiders.” Payne growled “You promised me results, I have been a more than generous benefactor for you and your xeno retinue. I take great risk contracting you I expect greater rewards.” Ta’lok spoke calmly “I am aware of that, fear not governor these Tillers will not last long against Pech’s finest hunters.” The governor took a deep breath to cool his anger “Why are you here then.” Ta’lok gave an avian grin, “You are my patron, I am here to see you survive this ordeal.” Payne laughed “It’s a party in my own estate what danger.” Ta’lok smiled at the poor human’s arrogance, “Look at me I have for the second time entered your personal quarters without so much as having to deal with a single guard. Do you really have faith in these men to protect you from Tiller infiltrators?” What humor Payne had in his face was gone. Payne pondered his options for a moment. “You will not be seen by anyone, ANYONE, and you will where a disguise.” Ta’lok grinned “Your will be done governor; your will be done.”

The party had begun and the rank and file of nobility had begun to arrive. Your typical mix of hive barons, lord commanders, and farmer dukes, each dawned in their finest garments. As each attendant entered the great ball room of Payne manor they were announced by Payne’s master of ceremonies, a humble servant with a vox implant lending his voice extra power, still the servant knew not to offend and made sure his volume was appropriate for the lord’s party. The first of the Lord’s special guest had arrived.

The announcer spoke his regal voice politely informing the party attendants of the guest’s arrival. “Announcing Tempestor Castella of the 85th Tempestus Scions and retinue.” Castella emerged into the ball room wearing a suit of ceremonial Carapace, a saber and hot shot las pistol clung slung at her hip. She stepped forward two equally clad scions flanking her, though they were wearing helmets. As Castilla entered she saw Governor Payne watching her and her men. Castilla gave bow making sure to arch her back the way all lesser nobles did. Payne smiled he was glad off worlders understood respect. Castilla entered the floor and began taking mental notes. She was familiar with the games of the nobility games she was almost fond of. Castella began listening in on the noble chatter.
“Have you heard any news from Cogger Hive.”
“Last I heard they were evacuating the small folk. They’ve set up camps outside Drake’s point.”
“They don’t plan to let all those rift raft into the capital do they.”
“Of course not.”

Castilla turned her attention to a count and baron
“Those damn Tiller’s have damn near half of my workers on strike.”
“Half! Emperor damn that swine Horatio, how do you plan to get them back to work.”
“I’m dispatching regulators to remind those field hands who is lord.”
“I wish you the best of luck.”

Castilla watched as a PDF lieutenant approached a PDF Commander
“Lord Kaiba how fares Blackwater Bastion.”
“Well for a change; we have some new blood, some luna boys fleeing the fallen Cogger hive.”
“It seems cowards have wormed their way into your bastion.”
“Cowards or no they can hold las-rifles I need nothing else from them.”

A few minutes later after the arrival of some countess the speaker bellowed again. “Announcing Captain Faolan Gall of the fourth company of the Emperor’s Hounds chapter of the Adeptus Astartes. and Commander Cearul Adair of the fourth company of the Emperor’s Hounds chapter of the Adeptus Astartes.” Every head in the room turned to the Astartes for those to young to remember the feast held by Tobias Payne’s father where he hosted members of the Blood Angels chapter this was their first time seeing Astartes and for those old enough to remember that near ancient feast, the Emperor’s hounds were a fresh reminder of the intimidation they felt that day over fifty years ago. Faolan wore his artificer armor its deep purple having been freshly repainted. The bearded man looked over to where Payne watched him, he bowed his head in curtesy, a casual gesture instead of the grandiose display his subordinates usually paid him. After that the two astartes descended the staircase. The bald Cearul carried his storm shield on his back he spoke silently and in the Hound’s native tongue “I hope the snacks are good.” Faolan paid his second an angry glare reminding him to focus.

Immediately after the hounds another of the new crusaders made their entrance. The speaker was caught off guard by the size of the Carcharodons massive terminator plate. After a moment of gawking the announcer regained his composure and spoke “Announcing Captain Tarani of the Carcharodons chapter of the Adeptus Astartes.” Tarani made no response and walked pass the assembly speaker and descended the regal staircase. He surveyed the room and noticed the two Emperor’s hounds and decided they would make for the best company.

Commander Cearul laughed as the veteran of Badab approached “Do you expect warp spawn to spew forth from the punch bowl brother, if so a warning would be appreciated.” Faolan growled “You will show respect Cearul. My apologies Brother Captain.” Tarani spoke “A Shark is a Shark on land and in the void, I take no offense.”

As the conversation between the marines began to settle into comradery yet another of the honored guest made their appearance. “Announcing Queen Moira Valorn of knight house Valorn and Queensward Amanda Valorn and retinue.” Queen Moira armor was far more ornate than practical though its elegance was beyond compare, a sleeveless dress in the colors of her house with a bronze chest plate with the icon of the Aquilla, and several bronze bands of jewelry ran up and down her arms. Her sister’s attire was far more practical a suit of bronze armor adorned with her house’s iconography wrapped in a cape of the house’s color. Both of the sisters carried power swords at their hips, though moira’s was more akin to a saber while her sister’s was a full broad sword. Accompanying the two was five of the houses men at arms dawned in simple flak armor colored to match the knights they serve the men were equipped with swords and las pistols. Both Moira and Amanda bowed when it came time. As the two descended Amanda whispered “I fething hate parties.” Moira quickly struck her insubordinate sister and whispered “Language. You represent the entire house carry yourself as a proper Queensward would.” Amanda rubbed the spot where she was struck and spoke “Yes my queen.”

Moira and Amanda found their way to Tempestor Castilla who was standing out on one of the many balconies that looked upon the sea. Castilla bowed her head as the knights approached “Lady Valorn, it is good to see you again.” Moira smiled “Tempestor Castilla I don’t believe you have met my sister.” The scion replied “I’ve not had the pleasure.” Moira replied “Than allow me to introduce my sister Queensward Amanda Valorn.” Amanda shook the scion’s hand and spoke “Tis an honor to meet one of the legendary Tempestus Scions, tell me do any of the men here strike your fancy.” Moira recoiled “Amanda!” “What?” Castilla laughed “No, I’m afraid this carapace makes me ineligible for the dance floor.” “A shame” Amanda sighed. Castilla looked to Moira and spoke with a smile “Your attire looks more suitable; did you plan to dance tonight my lady.” Moira shook her head and grunted “Emperor be kind.”

Moira was spared from her embarrassment when the speaker sounded again. “Announcing Captain Ceasar of the Dorn’s Wish chapter of the Adeptus Astartes, Chaplain Iodius, and retinue.” The and retinue was in reference to the eighteen veteran astartes who followed in formation behind their Captain and Chaplain each battle brother gripping his bolter with a dead grip. Ceasar held his helmet in the crook of his arm while chaplain Iodius kept his skeletal helmet on. The Captain stepped forward and made eye contact with the Lord Governor and pounded his fist to his chest, a sign of respect. As the small army of astartes decended the steps Iodius spoke into the squad’s vox link “Disperse were making the humans nervous.” Without a word the eighteen veterans slowly dispersed throughout the ballroom, some were mingling amongst the crowd others were looking for a secluded area to be away from the filth of Crionian nobles.

Ceasar saw Captain Tarani speaking to the two purple clad marines, if the bad blood between their chapters were to be mended it would begin here. Ceasar approached the group of marines and made the sign of the Aquilla a gesture they all returned. Ceasar had little love for the sharks but they were both servants of the god emperor and perhaps in their shared faith they could find the capacity to cooperate with one and other. Faolan spoke “Hail brother, I must say that was quite an entrance.” Tarani spoke “I must say brother the amount of Astartes you field to a mission of peace is disconcerting.” The irony of the statement did not escape Cearul. Ceasar replied “The codex teaches us to always be prepared, though we are not sons of Guilliman we obey its holy word.”

Not long after the arrival of the Champions of Rogal Dorn the loud speaker announced the arrival of another trio of honored guests. “Announcing Rogue Trader Edward Fairfax of House Fairfax and Tech Priest Liza of the Adeptus Mechanicus, and retinue.” Edward Fairfax wore his Captain’s coat, a crimson velvet with gold trimmings and epaulets. His ensemble was similar to the uniform worn by captains in the Imperial navy. Liza wore her ceremonial robes the of her native forge world, though what everyone saw about her was how elegantly her bionics were affixed to her. Many tech priest and Magos had a tendency to look grotesque in their modifications, but Liza’s all seemed natural, and were elegantly crafted with a harmonious blend of practicality and ornateness. Garth wore his commissar’s uniform. Though time was taking its toll on his regimentals, Garth saw to it that it remained presentable. Garth had so many holes mended he thought that he believed it had almost no original parts. Garth pondered if it was still technically a commissar’s uniform or if was a completely new suit that was but a mockery of a commissar’s vestments. It ultimately didn’t matter as garth knew that what the coat held inside was a commissar and whether his uniform was authentic or not was irrelevant. Accompanying them was a trio of Histians in ceremonial uniform and two additional tech priests. As they descended the stairs garth spoke in a whisper “Why am I just and retinue?” Edward replied even quieter “It is likely for the best you lay low, wouldn’t want anyone asking too many questions about your past.” Garth nodded “A fair point.” The humans reached where they might address the Lord Governor and each of them bowed humbly and gracefully.

The rogue trader’s retinue and the Mechanicus explorers entered the floor and parted ways for the time being. Liza got the attention of dozens of nobles. Young courtiers offered asked her dance it was with some reluctance that she turned them all down as she had rather important business to attend to. Edward and Garth found their way to where Tempestor Castilla and Queen Moira were stationed, while a band of hungry Histians made their way to a buffet. Edward spoke first “Ah Queen Moira Its lovely to see you again.” “The pleasure is mine Captain Fairfax.” Amanda spoke from behind Moira “You going to introduce me or…” Moira reluctantly spoke “Lord Captain Fairfax may I introduce my sister Amanda Valorn my Queensward.” Fairfax smiled “Well met.” As he shook the knight’s mailed hand. Before Amanda could say anything more guests arrived.

Wolf Lord Ulfric Stormclaw entered the ball room flanked by his Wolf Guard Leader Conan on his left and Bodyguard Floki on the right. The announcer was about to speak but Ulfric caught spoke before he could “Don’t bother friend, I prefer to announce my own arrival. Conan if you’d kindly.” The marine nodded “Aye Lord.” Conan drew a war horn crafted from the tusk of a ice Nokken. With a might breath Conan blew into the horn and the mighty war call was impossible to miss. With his thunderous voice the mighty son of Russ spoke “Announcing Wolf Lord Ulfric Stormclaw of the 7th great company of the Vlka Fenryka. Slayer of the great Nokken and Savior of Odseian IV” with a bow of the head to the announcer but not to the Lord Governor the three space wolves entered the party. Ignoring the coward whispers branding them savages.

Ulfric approached group of gathered Astartes commanders and spoke with a hardy laugh “Ha it is well to see so many of my noble cousins gathered for battle, I’ve not seen such diversity since my days in the watch.” Captain Faolan spoke with a grin as he pounded his fist to his chest “Well met wolf Lord it is an honor to be in the presence of a famed sky warrior.” Tarani spoke “Those are some impressive titles Brother Stormclaw.” The Wolf grinned and said “Thanks that is some impressive plate you dawn brother.” Knocking his hand against the adamentium chassis. Captain Ceasar spoke “Tell me what is a Nokken?” Ulfric grinned as he spoke “Nokkens are sea creatures native to Fenris, they are said to emerge from their slumber once every thousand years.” Faolan smiled “I sense a story; I’ve heard you Fenrisians are quite adept in the art of yarn weaving.” Ulfric smiled “It began when I was a Blood Claw drunk on youth, rage, and ale.”

“With all my strength I grasped the beast great horn and pried it from skull. With the creature’s own horn, I impaled it through its eye and I was rewarded with a shower of the beast’s black onyx blood.” “And then what?” asked Faolan. Ulfric replied “Well three things I cleaned the blood off from me, I brought back the remains to the fang, and I added the slaying of the Nokken to my personal saga. However, I did not do those things in that order, first I worked on my saga, then brought the beast back, and then cleaned the blood off.” The astartes laughed. Their laughter heralded the arrival of yet another guest.

“Announcing the Angel representative of the Arbiters of Truth.” In golden armor and on mechanical legs the Angel stepped forward. Every eye in the room was captivated by the angel’s grace and its bizarre beauty. The Angel paid the Governor the sign of the Aquilla a salute the house’s liege returned put of obligation. Without a word the angel strode down the steps into the ball room preferring not to talk but rather to listen, though few would speak in her presence.

The angel was the last guest to arrive and the party had truly begun.

Chef held at a platter from which the various nobles feasted from as he walked about the room. None paid any mind to the servant’s bionic eye as many servants and nobles had such common enhancements. But the purpose of this all seeing eye was devious. The seemingly benign servant watched and took mental notes of every crusader that entered the governor’s palace and none of them were any the wiser, few can match the subterfuge of the Alpha legion.

Commander Shadowbrand watched through the enhanced optics of her helmet as the humans arrived for the governor’s feast. She spat “Foolish Gue'la they celebrate before the war truly starts.” The commander looked over to one of the marker drones accompanying her. Shadow brand ordered the unit forward and it moved gracefully towards the mansion. With lightning speed, the the drone placed a miniscule listening bug and sped back to its master. With that the link to Skyhunter was established and all the Imperials discussed would be known by the Cadre.

Garrett Randall walked with a purpose as he entered the Payne Manor, trailing him was Captain Kid and Commissar Alenko. Behind them were three of Kid’s Inquisitorial Storm Troopers. Randall spoke to the announcer “Names Randall.” the speaker looked confused as he checked his long list of names. “Uhm I am sorry my lord but all the guests have already arrived, do you have your invitation by chance.” Randall lightly hit himself on the head “I forgot to RSVP, but I have my invitation right here.” Randall revealed a necklace that he had tucked into his shirt the medallion bearing the heraldry of the inquisition. The Speaker’s eyes widened and he was at a loss for words It was at this time Brother Captian Athenar and Justicar Freeman entered the room. Randall smiled “Now if you’d be a dear and announce me.”

“Announcing Inquisitor Garrett Randall of the Ordo Malleus branch of the Inquisition.” Everything stopped, the bands halted their playing, diners halted their chewing, and all laughter died as Garett Randall stepped forward with his retinue. The Inquisitor slowly walked forward towards the staircase feeling every eye in the room upon him. Randall spoke “I must say Lord Payne you do know how to throw a party.” Payne stepped forward and spoke “Inquisitor we were not expecting your presence.” Randall replied with the faintest trace of a grin, “No? Well that’s not much of a surprise. Nobody expects the Inquisition.”

He had to admit, their first impressions of this place had been quite incorrect.

When Dranc first stepped foot on this world with Feubryn and the Mimes, he shared the belief of the High Avatar that there was nothing particularly special about it. Just another green planet, like the hundreds of others dispersed throughout the galaxy.

Now that they had gotten a closer look at some of the foliage, however, and tried to traverse it, it had become quite obvious that 'just another green planet' was an underestimation of the kind they should have dearly tried to avoid. The trees were hard, strong, and mobile - tense and ready to strike at the slightest offense. The Death Jester had no doubt that if one of them as much as waved their sword toward a branch, the reprisal would be swift and bloody.

However, the Masque of the Blameless Culprit were not unused to this kind of foliage. They had, after all, spent much time on Exodite worlds, where the flora was equally dangerous, if not more so, due to the instincts and primal whims of the mighty World Spirits that held dominion over those planets.

With that previous experience in mind, the Dark Troupe stepped lightly through the jungle, following the tracks of a relatively small group of Orks. Feubryn had requested that he head out and put the fear of the Laughing God into the local population.

"I fail to see," his musings were interrupted by the quietly voiced complaint of the Shade Weaver, one of the newer recruits of the Dark Troupe, "Why we are bothering ourselves with Feral Orks. Should we not simply ignore them and focus on the servants of the Great Enemy?"

"While the Great Enemy are our main foe," the Shadow Duke, Troupe Master of the Dark Troupe responded, "That does not mean we can afford to ignore the Orks. Long years of conflict have taught us that Orks can always find a way to become a threat, even to us."

"Then why not simply retreat and let them fight it out with the other lesser races on this world?" The Shade Weaver asked, "We do not have to stay and fight if they assault us. The Orks are not our responsibility, the Great Enemy is."

"Not our responsibility?"

They all eyed Dranc.

"Tell me," he began, his low baritone giving off a hint of amusement, "Are we not the Eldar? Do we not proclaim ourselves to be the inheritors of the Old Ones' legacy?"

The Shade Weaver looked confused. "Of course we are. I fail to see the relevance."

"It's interesting," Dranc continued, "How so many of our kind feel that we have inherited the legacy of the Old Ones, but not their responsibility. We will use their technology, their gifts, their knowledge, and in return, we shall ignore the duties that come with it? We wish for all of the benefits while we give nothing back. It's almost enough to make one laugh," he chuckled darkly.

The younger Harlequin's masked face stayed on him as they moved through the undergrowth. "So you're saying we must fight the Orks whenever we find them out of duty? That we have a responsibility to right the Old Ones' mistakes?"

At this, the Death Jester's shoulders began to shake with laughter. "Mistakes! You call the Orks mistakes? Which part of their existence seems like a mistake to you? The Old Ones wanted a perfect war machine - and lo and behold, over sixty million years later, the Orks are still waging war throughout the entire galaxy! If you are looking for the Old Ones' mistakes, should you not look somewhat closer to home? Even at their worst, the Orks have never achieved anything like the level of ruin we unleashed on this galaxy at our fall."

"We paid for the Fall, though," the Shadow Duke cut in quietly, "We still pay for it every day. What is your point, Dranc?"

"Hmm?" Dranc tilted his head, "Who is to say I have a point, and I am not merely being contrary to make you think? Thinking is a skill that we, as a race, are still yet to perfect. As is correctly estimating the threat level of our foes," he paused, tense. The rest of the troupe, all twenty players, paused with him, "My friends!"

He grinned savagely behind his mask. "It appears we have been led into an ambush."

And then all hell broke loose.

From the trees, a wave of green and red emerged - a horde of large, powerful-looking Orks charged out of the undergrowth with surprising speed and the surety of foot that could only come with long practice and familiarity with the terrain. The Dark Troupe immediately spread out to give battle.

The first part of their trap immediately became clear - they roared and shouted, some beginning to attack the trees around them, provoking their fury. In response, the branches began to lash out at anything and everything around them, Ork and Harlequin alike. Several Orks were killed by the flora's vicious reprisal, but given their numbers, they could afford to lose Orks far more than the Masque could afford to lose Harlequins, and three members of the troupe found themselves entangled in the branches, their screams quickly ending as the wooden cages tangled around them, crushing them instantly. The others battled in a furious melee against both the Orks and the world around them - holo-fields flickering left and right as the Eldar fought for their lives, flipping, stabbing, slashing and leaping, back and forth, left and right.

Dranc wasted no time. His shrieker cannon let loose with a series of regular projectiles, slicing through three Orks in front of him. Another approached from his right, swinging it's large axe with a guttural shout. In a feat of athleticism unmatchable by the warriors of most races, Dranc made a spinning, sidewards jump over the blade of the weapon, allowing it to sail harmlessly beneath him - while his momentum carried the scythe from his own Shrieker cannon straight through the arm of the Ork, severing it at the elbow, and sending the weapon in it's hand flying - toward another Ork, who barely had time to flinch before it collided with his face, ending his life.

"I'm afraid you've been disarmed, my friend," he quipped.

The Death Jester spun around on the spot, the scythe on his weapon now resting behind the waist of the Ork, which was staring in shock at the stump that used to be an arm. His Shrieker cannon fired off a single shot, colliding with another Ork running in the midst of a group of it's fellows. The Ork flinched as the monomolecular blade sliced into its torso, then paused, making panicked sounds as its skin began to bubble like boiling water - before, a moment later, it exploded violently, spraying acidic poison across its nearby fellows, who promptly fell to the ground, roaring in pain and anger. He pulled then pulled his cannon back, the scythe blade slicing the Ork in two at the waist.

Dranc turned as he heard an Eldar scream. The Fading Star, one of the troupe's players, now lay limp as a particularly large Ork Nob, practically painted head-to-toe in blood, roared in success. It turned as the Shade Weaver dropped down in front of it, eager to avenge his comrade. Shouting a challenge, the Harlequin leaped toward the leader of the Ork warband with dazzling speed that no regular Ork could hope to follow.

Not this Ork.

With speed and agility significantly beyond what he expected to see from its kind, the Ork brought it's weapon to bear, in a wide arc, connecting with the Player's Harlequin's Kiss and parrying it to the side before it connected and unleashed it's lethal payload. The startled Eldar's image flickered through his holo-field as he tried to bring his pistol to bear, but the Ork wasted no time, letting loose with a savage punch with its free hand. The enormous fist collided with the Harlequin, who flew several meters, before colliding with a tree and falling, unmoving, to the ground. If the first impact had not killed him, the second one surely had.

"You flowery boyz think you'z fast?" The blood-covered Nob let loose with a guttural laugh, "I'm Bloodface Gitkrumpa! Red wunz go faster, and I'm the reddest wun 'ere, so that makes ME the fastest!"

Dranc shook his head in disbelief. If there was ever an example of how absurdly effective a war machine the Old Ones had created, this was it - a feral ork in the back-end of nowhere, posing a significant threat to the followers of the Laughing God with naught but barbaric ritual and absurd belief. But the time for such musings was later. They had already lost five players - a full quarter of the troupe, and the Orks did not seem to have been inconvenienced by their losses at all thus far. They had to find an opening to retreat, but they were hard-pressed as it was...

"Interruption!"

Dranc hosed down another Ork with shuriken fire, while turning his head toward the familiar voice. His prayer to the Laughing God may have been answered.

Fallacy, the Solitaire, stood with arms held wide as she introduced herself to the skirmish. Her voice was so loud, so clear, and carried so far that the entire battle seemed to pause, even the trees stopping for a moment.

"Inexplicably impressive, impalpably impeccable... an intriguing individual intervenes!”

She twirled around, observing the bodies strewn around with a calm smile. "But who could this helpful heroine be, you ask? Why, it is none other than our humble narrator!" she turned to Dranc, "Please, hold your applause," she turned back to the enormous Ork Nob, which was now growling and edging toward her - more cautiously than before, as though it could sense that the being in front of it was different to the ones it had killed before, "Now then, I'm afraid you can not kill the important side-characters just yet. That would put quite a wrench in my narrative, you see," she sighed dramatically, "So, I shall bravely occupy your attention as they make good their escape!"

"You've got somefin' funny in those pointy earz," Gitkrumpa growled, "Because none of you lot is gettin' away!"

With a roar, he charged at the Solitaire, with the same deceptive speed as when he killed two of Dranc's fellows. His large axe crashed into the space she occupied - but she was no longer there. Instead, she was sitting on his shoulder.

"Now, I know what you're thinking..." she said in her same sing-song tone, disappearing again as the furious Ork tried to grab her from his shoulder. "It's that fancy gadget, right? That's how she's doing it." Gitkrumpa span around, axe held low in an attempt to cut her in two - only to hit thin air again. "However, you'd be wrong!" she wagged her finger chidingly, vanishing again as the Nob lashed out with a vicious back-hand. "You see, uh, Gitkrumpa," she tested the pronunciation, once again avoiding a blow that should have taken off her head, "I'm afraid this universe has been deviously deceptive! A severe secret has been kept from you!"

"WOT ARE YOU ON ABOUT!" Gitkrumpa roared in frustration as his axe smashed into the ground, shaking it slightly. His elusive enemy was unharmed - and stood, balanced perfectly, on the haft of his weapon.

In response, the Solitaire's entire demeanour seemed to change. Carefree smile became menacing grin, casual stance became terrifying readiness. Dranc felt it, as something in the very air they were breathing seemed to change, perceptibly, irrevocably.

"RED ONES", her voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, "AREN'T FAST ENOUGH."

Then, she blurred out of sight.

"WOT ARE YOU LOT DOIN?" the Nob finally shouted at his fellows, "DON'T JUST STAND THERE LIKE YOU'VE GOT SQUIGS FOR EYES, KRUMP THIS GIT!"

With that, the Orks, ignoring the other Harlequins, roared, charging toward their leader - flailing around in an attempt to fight the blur that seemed to vanish and re-appear in their midst. The trees had calmed, as well - Dranc was willing to attribute that to something Fallacy had done as well, but he did not understand the powers of a Solitaire any better than anyone else in the troupe. She was not killing them, or even fighting back - only dodging and laughing as they failed to hit her.

Dranc took the opportunity as intended, and ordered the rest of the Harlequins who were currently watching the scene, not knowing what to do. "Dark Troupe! We retreat, now! Back to the encampment!"

"What about the fallen?" The Shadow Duke cut in angrily, "Are we to leave them here, Dranc?"

"There is no time!" Dranc roared, "We will avenge them later but we need to live now! Death does not come for us yet!"

The Shadow Duke looked furious, but assented, and as one, the survivors of the troupe fell back as fast as possible, moving further and further away from the echoing sound of roaring, crashing, and loud, mocking laughter. This excursion could not be called anything but a failure. Foolishly, they had tried the brute force approach, leading to their being outwitted and ambushed by Orks. Of the twenty players of the Dark Troupe, only fifteen now returned. Had it not been for Fallacy's unexpected intervention, it would have been much more. Five deaths was a significant blow, one that they would be keen not to repeat.

It was a harsh lesson, but now they knew. They had to use their greatest weapon to succeed on this planet - not their swords, or pistols, or holo-fields.

No, they needed a different approach. They were going to do what they should have done from the start - and use their wits.

++HIVE COGGER//GOVERNORS SPIRE++

"They're becoming restless." Jael's half-whispered voice was right behind Lazarus as he pored over the communications reports one page at a time. "They've tasted blood and taken up arms, we cannot keep them here forever." She had an unnerving habit of appearing close at hand, and Lazarus was beginning to wonder what the late Lord Eisell had found attractive about her.

His mechanical eye took a flash-pict of one page before he moved on. "We were not ordained to march against the world, Jael." He discarded the page and selected another, skimming over the enclosed information. "We were sent to find the Amaranth, and nothing else."

"When we find it, we will no longer have an army." Lazarus took careful note of her use of the word 'we', but remained silent on the matter. Instead, he simply shook his head.

"You underestimate their faith."

"You overestimate their patience." She turned away indignantly, slipping unconsciously back into the haughty step of a noblewoman as she strode towards the yawning window of the governor's spire. "You promised them glory in the fall of their leaders. Give them something to whet their blades on. There is a greenskin horde, ferals, to the south. Use them. Season your army with their blood, and they will sit quiet long enough for you to find your prize."

She turned, silhouetted in the moon's sunrise, and Lazarus's eyes were fixed firmly on her. He debated, for more than a second, pitching her from the balcony and ending her ambition then and there. But perhaps, in his zeal to fulfill his mission, he was neglecting his followers. After a long moment, Lazarus returned his eyes to the papers in front of him, but his words spoke a single command.

"Open the Maw."

* * * *

The Maw.

A titanic portion of Hive Cogger's south wall, which in ages past, had collapsed after disrepair and a wicked storm tore it down. It had been rebuilt, albeit shoddily, and the seams where the old construction met the new were still visible to the trained eye. It had existed in Lazarus' plans as an alternate entry site: a means of getting into the city should the original infiltration fail. Had the worst occurred, his rebels would have blown the seams of the wall, brought the section crashing down, and stormed the city on foot. But the infiltration had succeeded, and spared them all the bloody stalemate of pouring an army through a funnel.

Now they had use of that very feature.

The explosives, mostly artillery shells stolen from the Cogger armories, were rammed into the wall in a giant 'V', outlining the seams where the old wall ended and the new began. Tons of explosives, enough to make a Titan give pause, were threaded one by one into a master firing sequence, and passed to Lazarus with enough ceremony to make the Ecclesiarchy envious.All the bloodshed and fire that had engulfed Hive Cogger, and all the dust and death which had been cast into the air during their coup, paled in a flash of light as the Maw was opened.

The shells detonated, shearing the massive wall free of its mortar and steel in a half-heartbeat of searing heat and power. The blast lit up the plains of Dierdra like the rising of a second sun, and there was no possibility that their prey missed seeing it. The ensuing concussive blast sent a cloud of debris rocketing outwards, accompanied by an apocalyptic groan as the wall began to fall away. Thousands of tons of ceramite and reinforcement crumbled to the ground, leaving a thick cloud of dust and ash hanging over the southern wall. It cleared slowly, with the coming wind, and revealed a gaping wound where Cogger was now open to the world.

The SkullSnake orks had to have taken note of the chaos engulfing the hive, and there was no feasible way they would miss the wall coming down. It was a trap, it was blatantly a trap, but the prize was too tantalizing for any proud ork to refuse.

By nightfall, the greenskin horde had arrived.

* * * *

They were arrayed in typical ork fashion: an unsubtle tide of green bodies, smoking machinery, and wildly waving banners flooding across the plain towards Hive Cogger. The ground had begun to tremble half an hour before, the first sign of the encroaching masses. As the orks had come into view of the gaping hole in the wall, the crude cavalry had been cut loose to travel, mounted on enormous wolf-like pigs.

All around the Maw, the rebels lay in wait. The lower levels, where the 'V' came to a point, where flooded with pyros: hand-built flamethrowers, sometimes consisting of little more than a can of Chimera fuel paired with a hand pump. Farther up the wall, a host of autoguns peeked around rubble and debris like spike traps, most with crude bayonets taped or tied to their barrels. Still higher, those who could manage to move the functioning artillery from the PDF stores were struggling to mount and sight the guns on top of any flat surface. They all fell silent as from the distance, almost mistakable for rolling thunder, came a guttural cry that shook new dust from the fallen wall.

WAAAAAAAGH!!!!

Lazarus stood atop a crumpled gargoyle, which had once adorned the crest of Hive Cogger's wall. It lay in ruin, with the rest of the Maw, and had fallen at an angle where it appeared to be screaming to the heavens rather than scowling down at those below. Lazarus planted his boot on top of its head, and despite not being one for symbolism, decided he liked the spot. Mordecai stood beside him, his shield-bearer, armed with little more than a pistol and a slab of tank armor, which was already pitted with gunshots from the riots. The man's faith was unshakable, even as his breathing grew faster beneath his mask. Jael stood to Lazarus's other side, wearing a dead PDF trooper's chestplate, and idly tapping the side of her autogun as she stared out at the horde.

Lazarus allowed himself a small smile, and lowered his voice so she could hear. "Your faith wavers."

"No." She lied, cradling the autogun into her shoulder and sighting down the barrel towards the surging ork horde. "My patience does."

"Temper your patience. This fight will tax it."

He drew his sword, a battered and worn relic of years of service. He had claimed it the same day that he claimed his coat: as a young man, in a vicious charge into an Imperial command unit, wrapping his hands around the colonel's throat and bearing him down. The man had taken a very long time to die, struggling and thrashing with every breath, punching and gouging until his last moment. Lazarus had respected him for that, drawn strength from his enemy's strength, and that day he earned the notice of the Flayed Lord and dark gods He served.

It seemed so very long ago. Perhaps it was.

The first of the ork riders were nearly to the wall, screaming and waving their weapons in all directions. Their blood was up, their vision was narrow, and their creatures were frothing at the mouth as as they swept down towards the Hive. Lazarus raised his sword, hearing the chattering echo of a thousand guns chambering, as a thousand fingers poised to fire, awaiting his command. He had always considered himself a humble man, but the sense of authority was occasionally intoxicating.

"For the Flayed Lord!"

The shout echoed around him, screamed in defiance and prayed in hope. A field of lights illuminated the base of the Maw as the flamers flickered to life. The ork riders began to close ranks, sweeping into the narrow crevice at the base of the Maw. Lazarus leveled his sword at the lead rider: a slavering feral dripping with fresh blood and warpaint. He imagined the fury of the Flayed Legion, channeled through his blade, piercing through the rider and into the horde beyond. Again, he gave the cry, a tremendous cheer, command, and prayer all in one.

"FOR THE FLAYED LORD!"

The first of the orks collided with their lines like a rogue meteor, and the Maw was bathed in fire and blood.