Presented for your entertainment is a short piece of work which I have written to introduce a
40k Narrative Campaign Weekend.
The short passages are the beginning of the story which will determine the fate of the Discordia system.
If you live in the
UK and can get to Mansfield for the weekend of the 15th and 16th of December this year, please follow the link to the Campaign Dakka page and you can see how the story unfolds. If not, I hope the limited information presented within keeps you entertained for the next three minutes.
Thanks.
http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/list/440020.page
The Discordia System
The Emperor Dias shook violently. The Inquisition ship had dropped from the warp and into the waiting sights of enemy guns. There was no doubt this was a trap, the waypoint had been specifically selected because Discordia was a dead system, decimated over ten thousand years before Dondian’s vessel broke from the treacherous warp seas.
Dondian was thrown from his feet, the deck ringing as his knees smacked the metal floor. “Secure the artefact on the lander.” He ordered via his personal comm. “We’ll have to evacuate on-board the Aquila and trust in the Emperor we can avoid the heretic guns.” Dondian clambered to his feet and continued to the hangar. His Aquila was not warp capable; it would only see them to safety within the system. They would have to flee the renegade ambush and hope the astropathic choir had managed to send their message to the Lord Inquisitor.
The Aquila bucked as it broke into the atmosphere of Discordia III. Dondian could not keep his eyes from the cockpit door. Through the door, secured as safely as time would allow when the renegade guns began to systematically reduce the Emperor Dias to space scrap, was the Lord Inquisitors prized artefact.
The Aquila barrelled violently. “What the frak?” The pilot wrestled with the controls as the Aquila spun through the atmosphere of Discordia III. “We’ve been hit by something, debris?” Dondian checked the on-board auspex. Emperor Dias was gone. They had been hit by fragments of the shattered ship. “What’s happening up there Interrogator?” The pilot yelled as he fought the spiralling lander.
Interrogator Dondian did not answer. He took one last glance at the sealed door and hoped the Inquisitor had received the distress call. He knew the gravitational forces acting upon the lander would spare him from the horror of impact. He would pass out before they hit the ground. The landscape below was white, bright and spinning.
Discordia III
The creature stirred. The earth trembled, and trembled again. There was warmth to the atmosphere. The long hibernation was over. With a wrench the creature broke free of the constricting ice. The creature could feel the brood mind around him waking. There was a scent on the air, bio-mass. As the creature tore its hulking form free of the tight ice and stretched its long limbs the sky above it was torn. Flaming metal super structure rained upon the planetoids surface. Impact after impact superheated the polar regions of Dicordia III and the Hive Tyrant felt the frozen consciousness of his swarm stir. The creature took a tentative step upon the ice. It moved forward tasting the air. The Tyrant reached out, not with his frost covered arms but his cold penetrating mind. He could sense the familiar warmth of the hive mind. It was distant but he could reach it. He began to silently call out to the spawn ships…
The Sublime child
The Emperors Children delighted in the clinical strike. The Inquisition cruiser had been reduced to nothing more than twisted wreckage. Flares of superheated gases erupted from the cracked spine of the ship and the last of the oxygen burnt in its cataclysmic death throes. The boarding assault would be unnecessary. The artefact had been evacuated by shuttle before the Sublime Child’s torpedoes had detonated deep within the bowls of the Emperor Dias. Landing craft had been prepared; the legion would find the Aquila and the artefact before Abaddon’s black clad traitors and renegades were in system.
Claxons screamed, the Sublime Child was under attack. The ship wide comm system croaked. “This is Commander Narcissus. Prepare to repel boarders.” Power armoured trans-humans in gaudy pinks and blacks stomped through the twisted corridors of the Sublime Child. Bolter mechanisms were raked and released, weapons readied. Red lenses flared in anticipation as the traitor marines prepared to take the lives of the foolish invaders.
Blue corposant scattered across the corridors. Web-way portals twisted into existence across the chaos craft. Lithe, nimble bodied aliens stepped through from an unknown source. The Eldar had breached the Sublime Child.
Task Force Pengadilan
Inquisitor Jasks Pengadilan wrapped his fingers against his ancient desk. The dark tidings from the Discordia system had left him pensive. He had been assembling his task force since Dondian had set out to retrieve the artefact. Maybe if he had gone… …but no, Dondian did not have the experience or the authority to assemble the fleet in his stead. The fleet was due to translate into the warp in moments. The message from Discordia was disturbing but Pengadilan prayed to the Emperor that he would receive another prior to warp transit. Pengadilan stared intently at the power armour arrayed upon the wall. Conflict was necessary to preserve the Imperium, Jasks had no illusions to the contrary, but the fleet alone would not be enough to protect the Imperium should the artefact fall into the hands of aliens or renegades. “Warp translation in t-minus 15.” Pengadilan shook his head in reflection of the doom that awaited the fleet in Discordia. “Inquisitor Pengadilan.” The comm called out. “We have received acknowledgement my Lord Inquisitor, translation delayed, awaiting your orders.”
Pengadilan broke into a run as he made for the bridge. He burst through the door, Captain Hornchurch turned, a grin as bright as the astronomican beaming across his face. “The message my Lord, they’re en-route, the Legions Astartes.”
“Which chapter has answered our call Hornchurch?” The Inquisitor asked
Hornchurch flustered as he retrieved the message transcript from a servitor. “I’d say my Lord, all of them.”
2nd Moon of Discordia III
Spinebusta pulled his finger from his nose with a wet pop! He was by no means the brightest of Orks, nor the strongest, but Spinebusta new when it was time to stop picking his nose. The black skies above were different. The planet of Discordia III around which Spinebusta’s home orbited, flickered with light. The Orks thought Discordia III was the eye of Gork. The glaring red eye of Mork sat beside it. Spinebusta had never taken much interested in the eyes of the gods. They watched him, he knew that as all Orks knew, but mainly they watched him picking his nose, as it was Spinebusta's favourite pass time. Now Spinebusta stared back. The eyes of the gods had drawn nearer, as if scrutinising their Ork sons sat idly. It was the flashing lights that had drawn Spinebusta’s notice. Flares of fire and huge rending explosions silently surrounded the eyes of the twin Ork gods. Spinebusta wiped the snot from his nose across his jacket sleeve and with his relatively clean fingers he grasped his shoota. Spinebusta may not have been the brightest of Orks, nor the strongest, but he was clever enough to realise when his angry gods were sending the Orks a message. Too long they had sat idle, only fighting each other, which was fun admittedly, but not as good a fighting everybody else. Spinebusta stood up and raised his shoota in the air. A few lazy boyz looked up from their scratching. A few clever grots ran for cover. A few hundred Orks heard the roar. Soon it would be heard by lots more. Spinebusta, staring into the eyes of the Ork gods as he did so, let out a guttural bellow. “WAAAAAAGH!”
Forest Moon of Rendor
Trazyn the Infinite gazed into the swirling green orb. The frail humanoids had already caught his baleful eyes, the arrival of the trans-humans had peaked that interest. His living metal fingers tapped out a rhythm long forgotten by the ancient Necron’s Praetorians, who stood in silent observance of Trazyn’s scheming. Trazyn saw the converging lines of fate coming together as inevitably as the artefacts he hoped to add to his burgeoning collection. If his cold metal shell had the ability to narrow its gaze in contemplation it would have done so, instead the laser green glow of his dead eyes narrowed in sharp focus. Trazyn turned his attention to the Praetorians. Without needing to vocalise any instructions, the Praetorian turned and made their way out of his private chambers and left for the Forest Moon. They would arrive within moments, Trazyn knew, and they would begin to wake the soulless minions he would command to further his own ends in the Discordia system. Trazyn would reap the bloody harvest, keeping the most succulent morsels for his own delectation. He almost laughed at how easily he would manipulate the trans-humans, they would walk willingly into his collection. The Great Bear of the Vulka-Fenrika would be the first of many.
