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wrong one, these will be red, with black helmets, thats my sons of luther chapter which is kinda getting put on hold!

Nice intro Sage, and for the record... any Blade Runner reference is tops with me (my favorite movie of all time... gotta be the director's cut though). When I read the dreads name that's what I thought of right away.

The generation gap is an interesting idea. Looks like my chapter is heading that way as well so I'll be very interested in seeing how you handle it.

director's cut for the win, but the final cut is bliss! if you get the chance you should really read the book: "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep" by Philip K. Dick, amazing book!


I would love to see how we both deal with it, I want to have a focus on pride and tech, with the higher levels being more noble and having very different focus points in their leadership and direction they want the chapter to go. I want to also try to have a strong theme of the past throughout the stories, and how each generation links to the past!

Sounds like a good take Sage. Of course I'm not really writing fiction like you are, just little blurbs when the muse strikes or I need to explain the figure. For me really it's that crisis point of the Badab war and crusade that is defining the generational gap... the older "generation" all from one planet, now associated with rebellion against the Imperium, and the new generation from some other planet entirely (if Goto's story is adopted) who were not responsible for the crimes of the past but are treated by the rest of the universe as if they were.

Interesting stuff... as is yours.

Muse? Wait what? The Goddess? Or the Rock Band?

Thanks Git! I like the way your generational gap is going, i think it can lead to some very interesting and fun cultural differences between the two groups. im going with mine just since i was thinking what if... you know? And I feel like every chapter must go thru some sort of generational change as the scouts the get have different mindset, different backgrounds etc.

I guess it would depend on how drastic the change-over was. If scouts were just trickling in like normal, you probably wouldn't see a big shift in the chapter sociologically. In my case, you have a 100 year gap with massive casualties in-between recruitments. Big difference when the "new class", which would be fairly large and from a new planet... comes in.

huh I didn't think of it that way. I was thinking more-of how generations change within a country, such as any country today; can be seen in the educational system in America which is now attempting to have computers and other forms of technology within and affecting the classwork and way of teaching at all levels. Some schools are starting to make it so that there will be cameras in schools and that parents can, at any time, log into the school website and watch their child in class through the camera. Things like that start to breed new beliefs among the children. To keep with the education camera example, some teachers, parents, and psychologists believe that this new way of having the parents be able to watch their kids may make children start to believe it is okay to "spy" or watch others at any time. The idea being that lets say your 8 and you come home one day and at dinner your mom or dad is like "we saw you not eat your veggies during lunch! you now have to eat two servings at dinner!" this doesnt seem very bad but it does latch into the child's life and takes away a lot of his privacy. idk im against this concept as you may be able to tell, taking a class on it.

what i was trying to get out is thatthese little changes in things such as school, or pop music, or the focus within in the culture or government shifts, it starts to breed new beliefs and places a new importance in things. Therefore the scouts may start to bring new things into the chapter. In your example it would be a much more widespread thing, since yes there is a long peroid of time between the last time scouts were taken up! But if there isnt that gap i feel like this "new" generation would start to filter in, and as they become full-fledge marines they would start teaching their new beliefs upon the newer scouts (who may or maynot bring their own generational beliefs) and could bring a slight generational gap which wouldnt really change the entire socialogical concept of the chapter but may bring little quirks which could be seen among special groups of the chapter: such as the higher ranking members being more silent due to that being a virtue during their younger years, and the newer marines and scouts having more pride due to how in the last 50-100 years the aspect of silence has been replaced with pride. This is just an example, does this little rant make sense?

Yep, perfect sense. We're just operating on two different engines for change. Mine is based on a crisis point, yours is based on natural progression.

Hey Sage, I looked at the fluff as requested, its a good framework though I think overly complex. I must say that the character of the army couldn't be further from a BA mentality though. I'm pretty heavy into coursework right now but as soon as I get that cleared I give you a proper run down of where I think you might consider changes. Hope all is well.

That would be great thanks!

do you think so? I don't mind if it deviates far from BA, I just wanted to have some of the BA aspects, such as the black rage. But it is def a WIP, so would love to hear what you have to say!

here's what I have gotten so far, will get more soon!

Ajak let loose a roar as he slammed into the factory wall. The traitor was strong, his fighting style was clean, each strike well-planned. This was an enemy Ajak was not used to. Fighting orks had made Ajak expect powerful but un-thought-out swings. This warrior on the other hand fought by the book: testing Ajak’s weak-points before landing blows which sent him sprawling. Ajak let out a grimace as he started to feel pain along his spine.

The traitor mace swung for Ajak’s face, he evaded quickly. Bits of soot and metal flew across his helmet as the mace smashed a hole into the factory wall. Ajak tumbled to the side; with his chainsword arm he snapped his jump pack on throwing himself into the sky. The traitor followed, howling.

Ajak landed upon the crumpled roof of the factory. He knelt down, ready to spring. He finger slowly moved from the trigger of his plasma pistol to the small switch alongside the container of plasma. He switched it to the highest level before moving his finger back to the trigger. He waited; a few seconds passed yet no one rushed from below.

His eyes slowly scanned the area around him. The roof was barren. He was about start a system check of the surrounding when a gust of wind blew over him. It came from above. He swung his sword up, just barely warding up the downward swipe of the traitor. He had flown over the roof and attacked from the sky. Ajak cursed himself for his stupidity.

They danced around the roof, each attack met by a well-placed parry. If anyone had witness this furry of blows it would have seemed as if they were seeing two god’s fight. Each attack was planned, each parry perfect. Their footwork was exact, each step made with a purpose in mind. Each was waiting for the next to make a mistake. Ajak kept trying to get his pistol to bear, but each time Ajak had to focus on the next parry.

Ajak let out a deep breath as he was forced back towards the edge of the roof. Behind the traitor he could see his sergeant fighting another one of the traitors: the only one without a helmet on. Ajak had to bring his attention back to the fight at hand, his sword diverting another blow. His feet were about to be pushed off the side.

Without warning the roof shook. The two powered armored figures swirled around, backing away from each other.

Selve skittered across the roof, blood vomiting from the wounds across his face. His chainsword bounced away, leaving a trail of teeth marks. His jet-pack steamed with dark black smoke: they trickled from the many cut marks that graced his pack. Selve let out a choking cough, blood dangling from his mouth. The chaos marine he was fighting hit the ground with a thud that echoed with a ring which Ajak could hear vividly even with his helmet on.

Selve tried to raise his bolt pistol, but it was kicked out of his hand. The traitor then placed his foot along Selve’s neck. His wolfish face grinned.

“How does it feel imperial scum? How does it feel to feel your own mortality?” The traitor howled, his voice piercing in ways Ajak didn’t expect possible by a human.

Selve was too weak to do anything. He tried to raise the foot, but he could barely lift his hands. Ajak tried to run forward, but was met with the mace of the marine he had been fighting. He lifted his sword, shielding himself from the enemy’s steel. The force of the traitor’s attack forced him back.

Selve spat, blood more than spit flying into the traitor’s face. Ajak raised his plasma pistol aiming for the bare head of the traitor towering over Selve’s broken body. Ajak let loose a shot. The blue plasma threw in the air, heating up the air around it. Before it hit the traitor he brought his axe down. Selve’s head split in two in one cracking noise. The plasma shot blasted across the shoulder of the marine. It boiled on his armor, cracking through looking for flesh to bite into. The traitor screamed in anger, pain starting to flow through him.

The helmeted marine started up his attack against Ajak again, their weapons letting loose a salvo of music as each attempted to bring the other one down. The traitor drew his bolt pistol, trying to aim a good shot. Ajak took this too his advantage. He pushed the bolt pistol away with his chainsword, before firing a plasma shot into the traitor’s face.

The blue plasma splattered across the horned helmet of the chaos marine. The marine fell to his knees, clutching his helmet as the plasma smoked thought his armor and reached his bare face. Blood and steam gushed out from every airhole of his helmet. Ajak drop-kicked the marine, throwing him to the ground: following it with a swift swipe of his sword which gutted the man.

Ajak turned to face the wolf-headed marine that had just killed his sergeant. A tempest of anger tore up Ajak, he could feel the hate pouring from his eyes.

“Death from the sky!” Ajak screamed.

He charged through the air, bringing his chainsword down. The wolf-headed marine sided-stepped Ajak’s attack. Ajak jumped up, getting his footing set and getting ready for the next attack.

Ajak’s teeth clenched. The traitor just smirked.

“The sky dances!” the traitor laughed.

Ajak tried to hiding his shock.

“You don’t understand how similar we are, do you?” The marine asked, his eyes attempting to pierce the loyalist’s thoughts.

Ajak couldn’t respond fast enough; the traitor let out a few shots with his bolt pistol. Ajak deflected them with his chainsword. Rage filled him with each clang of metal.
The traitor let out a bellowing screech. Ajak slashed with his chainsword, but it was smashed out of his hand. With a speed Ajak didn’t even know he had, Ajak drew his combat knife and plunged it into the traitor’s neck. The traitor stood there, awestruck, blood darkening his armor. With a thud he fell to the ground, his head knocking against Ajak’s feet.

Not bad Sage... not bad at all.

still trying to learn to better write combat, it is very hard. I think i am getting better but it takes me a lot longer to get through a scene.

I think the combat derailed the story a bit. I have a little bit written up now, as well as some other stuff in the WIP stages.

First Story:

Deckard made his way down the barren street. With each loud thud dust and rubble jumped up like scared animals before hiding back in the shadows and cracks of the street. Deckard had no real destination in mind; he had gotten used to taking strolls like this since his days among the deathwatch marines. He had found it was a good way to clear his mind, to remove the demons that were starting to dig into his mind, into his memories. Memories needed to be kept, but there was always a point where they became thorns. Deckard had always been stuck in an unusual balance between insanity and normality, he liked it that way, it forced him to keep his self-control. And that was something he almost lost with the deathwatch.

He stopped as he hit the end of the road. The road faded into charred dirt. Before him lay a wasteland, almost like a little pond in the midst of an urban jungle. An explosion must have taken out the next few city blocks leaving only a flat land of dirt and soot. It almost seemed peaceful to Deckard, a hidden calm among the dangerous ruined city.

“There was once a church here; that’s what the datasheets say about the area.” The voice was calm, reminded Deckard of a breeze tickling through his once long hair.

“Does HostLord Freneau know you are here, SkyLord?” Deckard rumbled, turning to glance over at their chapter’s commander.

The SkyLord was perched on a ruined chimera that was starting to rust. His red armor glowed slightly, making him stand out from the depressing shadows which blanketed everything. His foil was slung by his side, its bright green cord running along his arm to attach to his ornate jump-pack. He looked at Deckard, his scarred face trying to crack a smile, but the wounds he had gathered from the many years of war made any emotion hard to show. He ended up giving a half-hearted smirk.

“No. I just landed. The Flame of Mil'dar is overhead. I decided to have some reinforcements brought for the HostLord.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Have you seen them?”

Deckard didn’t answer; he looked over across the empty artificial plain. He could see a small wild sheep, almost dead from radiation, trying to make its way to the edge of the plain. The SkyLord didn’t divert his eyes from the marine that once could have became the SkyLord, but the emperor had his ways, and things didn’t always go the way it seemed.

“What happened to you, friend?” The SkyLord asked softly, as if not wanting to break the silence.

“What do you mean?”

“What happened to you during the deathwatch? You changed. What did you see brother?”

Deckard was silent, his blood fist fidgeted, as his hand once had fidgeted upon his old power sword before a battle. The SkyLord wondered what internal battle Deckard was currently fighting.

“What happened to you, SkyLord? What did you see on the bloody banks of Utter?” Deckard responded.

The SkyLord traced the scar that went over his eye stopped only by the edge of his upper lip. He hung his head slightly.

“I must go. I must keep hunting, Brother Deckard.”

“How long will you hunt for him milord? How long will you let your chapter remain without its leader?”

The Skylord stood up, he looked up at the cloudless sky. His jump-pack started to rumble as he powered it on.

“He must be stopped or he will continue to taint this chapter." He made a quick sign of the imperial eagle, His voiced sounded as if he had preached this countless times to himself, "He is here, I know it. How else would an entire strike-force of Sky-Wardens turn so quickly? He must be here.” The SkyLord paused, and then nodded with new resolve, “I will find him and bring him down, it is for the best of this chapter.”

Before Deckard could respond the SkyLord was in the air, and soon was out of sight. Within his dreadnought armor, Deckard let out a sigh. His chapter needed a leader to direct its path, not a solitary hunter to fight for it.

Deckard turned away and started to make his way back to the rest of the marines.



and something a little new: will make sense later!


Lieutenant Arron watched the shards of Kronina floating from the bridge window of The Avenger . Seconds ago his eyes had traced the cyclonic torpedo flinging itself at his planet. His eyes stared, body unmoving, fists clenched. The torpedo had smashed into the planet’s surface, letting out rings of blinding light, before the planet cracked like a smashed egg. For a moment, he wondered what the last thing was that his parents would see before the torpedo hit. He told them he would handle the problem, finish the war. Failure engulfed him, stuck harder than that torpedo.

What bothered him most, though, was that he knew that if his parents had seen that missile with its eagle-pointed head they would be thanking it for giving the emperor's eternal mercy. That was mercy, which left a planet in shatters, a civilization nonexistent.

"A beautiful sight, isn't it Lieutenant?" The voice was in awe, more directed at the sight than anyone else.

Lieutenant Arron turned to the man. The man had changed out of his battle armor, but one could still see the wear and tear of war upon him. His face was scarred, eyes dark and over shadowed by his large brushy eyebrows. His whole vestige showed that he was a true warrior, the way he held his head up high, his back stiff, his hand resting lightly upon his custom las-pistol.

"The emperor's judgment at its finest." He sighed, “A beautiful sight to see. It makes me feel hope every time I see it; that at some point the taint of chaos can be removed in all its entirely. Don't you think so," He paused slightly, giving a faint smile, "Lieutenant"

His Inquisitor’s I medallion hung loosely around his neck, the gold clashing strongly with the deep blue robes he now wore. The man flourished such a deep look of faith in his eyes that it was hard for Arron to look at him for too long without feeling unclean. This was the man Arron had put his trust in: the trust that this man would bring this planet out of its mess, and, well, Arron couldn't say that he didn't. There wasn't a planet left to have a mess on.

Arron looked back at the floating remains of the planet. He couldn't get the thought out that this was his home; what stood before him was the destruction of everything his memories held, every person and place he knew.

"Yes," He paused, almost choking on his words, "Yes, Inquisitor Gallegos. It is a beautiful sight." His last words were meek, He tried to keep himself reserved and at attention, but he was sure his sadness could be seen.

Inquisitor Gallegos just smiled.



Other eyes watched the exploding planet as well. Gaxark stood on the bridge of his shadowed ship. He was deathly still; almost looked like a statue of some power armored imperial hero, except his armor was covered in grisly trophies and spikes rather than the imperial eagle. Each one of his many trophies seemed to strike terror onto his victims, but to him they were just ways of remembering his conquests: who he was.

He was Gaxark The Bloodthirsty, the great ruler of chaos, the corrupter of Kronina. He was a great lord to his men, but he saw himself as only a small being in a universe of war. He cared little of corrupting, or ruling, or even in chaos itself. He just wished to find another warrior to test his skills upon. That was his never-ending lust: the honorable battle between two great leaders, something legends were written about. Kronina was said to have such men, but Gaxark only found cowards. The world deserved to be broken. Such a world was a waste of his time, and nothing angered him more than wasteful actions. He would have to find a new place to find the noble and the heroic.

He ordered the ship to move out, and he vowed he would find a new battle for his scribes to write about.


Hope you like!!
did some minor edits just now if more are there let me know, class time got to run!

Great work Sage! This is really shaping up into a good story!

There are a few typos... you might want to read through it carefully to pick them out.


Q: Do dreadnoughts have to worry about the black rage? A violently insane dreadnought would be a real piece of work to deal with.

"Here scouts... strip down to your skivvies, take your combat knives and go prove your worth to the chapter!"
(stomp, squish, rip, pulp)
"Ummmm.... someone call an apothecary team, and have them bring lots of baggies.... and a sponge."

I am inbetween classes now so should go through the typos soon. Got some more stuff i wrote just now. I have some other stuff written at home but im not home now should try to get that up tonight or morrow.

HAHA like your Q&A there. Yes Dreds do! those are DC dreds, but I'm not sure how I place them in my fluff yet, I have few dreds in my army to begin with so I don't think it would be as much of an issue. I will have to see how they would work out. Maybe later have the first Black rage dred and see what i come up with!!

any plot ideas coming up, or issues? i know my plot isnt too big yet, i promise it'll start to clean up

here is my little story!

Sergeant Korn sat against the wall of his chamber. His armor and weapons hung across from him, along with his few belongings: some smoke grenades, combat knife, a tome of prayers, and a few small trinkets he had found among his travels. A few empty wrappers of condensed meat lay in the corner, barely a few days worth. Besides these things, the room was bare. Before Korn had resided here the room had been full of life, but Korn had cleared out the room, leaving its its interior out in the hallway for the servitors to fetch. No one questioned this: he was a sleepless blade, whatever he did was not up for questioning or understanding.

Korn needed the open space; it helped his mind stay calm. He spent most of his days in silent meditation; most would see it in that way, but in reality he was fighting the largest battle he ever had faced. This was the metal battle against the rage. The rage was an unusual thing among the Sky-Wardens. They were a chapter who felt the black rage take over them in stages. There was the red thirst which affected every marine, was a test of willpower common to all. It seemed almost a small fight compared to the larger mental wars which came later.

The Images, the cursed images. That was the first stage of the Black Rage, it was the moment where the marine knew the black rage was about to come in full force, and they would have to use all their power to hold it back, or accept it and fall. The images were the first sign; it was like seeing the orkish hoard running towards you: the battle hadn’t started, but you knew the first gunshots would soon be fired.

Korn twitched slightly; he could feel the images coming back. His mind pushed them to the side, staring at his armor and attempting to find safety within it. He mumbled a quick prayer.

This was his test, his way of showing his faith. A lesser man would falter, but Korn would not! His jaw clenched. He would hold back, find that battle, find that war which would glorify and redeem himself to his god-emperor. It was the only way to live with the curse that was in the blood of every Blood Angel marine.

His door chimed open. He didn’t look, but could feel Brother-Champion Ondatje judging aura. It crushed down upon the room. Korn could feel his calm choking, as if it had lost its breath and no oxygen was left.

“We will be landing shortly.” Ondatje muttered, his voice soaked with disgust.

Ondatje hated the black rage more than anyone else, he was said to have witnessed many brothers fall, that those memories bred his hatred of the chapter's curse. Korn never took that view: Ondatje was prideful. Pride made him feel immortal, and what immortal had a curse. The black rage wasn’t a test to Ondatje, it was a sickening reminder that he couldn’t be perfect in the eyes of the emperor. Korn had always seen this clawing Ondatje’s mind, angering him as he tried to come to terms with this lack of perfection. He had never been able to, and so his anger and disgust came out around Sleepless Blades like Korn. If it wasn’t for Ondatje’s religious fervor, and battle prowess, Korn was sure he would never have gotten above the rank of brother.

Korn nodded, his eyes still refusing to gaze in his champion’s direction.

“I brought you some food.” Ondatje gasped, the words being hard for him to swallow.

“That is a servitor job.” Korn said blandly, keeping his emotions hidden. Anger tried to build up and overwhelm him, but he directed his mind towards the Sanguinary Prayers instead.

“Don’t you think I know that!” Ondatje took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself through his exhale, “You won’t eat the food, if a person didn’t bring it to you.”

Korn smiled slightly, “And why do you think you could make me eat it?” He smirked, turning to look at the champion. The Champion was suited up in full battle gear. Korn could barely remember his younger years, when seeing such a man would fill him with honor and loyalty. Now this armored warrior filled him with a mixture of arrogance, and anger. What angered Korn most was how easily Ondatje let pride take over him: there were worse battles one needed to fight, Korn would be the one to know. If Ondatje fell so quickly to pride, how could he ever hope to fight off the black rage once the images started to hit him? Maybe Ondatje had the imaginary dream of being immune to such things.

“How do you expect to fight if you can’t even eat? The emperor has no use for a starving body.”

“Food is a pleasure, I don’t need such things. Pleasure leads to pride and self-centered thought. In order to best serve, I must become greater than myself, become an embodiment of the emperor’s judgment and wraith.” Korn turned his head back to his armor, trying to find reassurance in the words he uttered.

“Do you honestly believe that? Food is a need, we are human, we must eat sometimes.”

“We are human? Huh, I thought we were space marines, Brother-Champion.” Korn coyly said, knowing he was pushing buttons.

The smash echoed in the room, quickly followed by a deathly silence. Ondatje slowly removed his fist from the hole in the door he had just made. He pushed back his sleek blonde hair, his face filled with hate.

“Humble yourself sergeant.” Ondatje gasped, trying to wrap his head around their recent conversation.

Korn didn’t say a word; he kept his eyes staring at the armor before him. The white armor reflected his muscular body, covered in the old marks of war. He wondered what his primarch’s body looked like as it bled on the dirty floor of the chaos warship. His teeth clenched, his hands slowly turned into fists. He pushed the thought out of his mind with one large gasp which made him shiver inside.

“When do we land?” Korn grunted, he barely had the willpower to speak.

“In two hours we go to meet the Great HostLord Freneau and prepare for the hunt.”

Korn nodded. Ondatje stood there for a few seconds, gazing at the tense marine. He could see the fury erupting throughout the Sleepless Blade. It was a beautiful sight of raw energy. Ondatje was almost capativated by it, but then he was shook his head and grimaced. The more he looked at the marine the more he only saw another way for him to visualize the chapter's decaying nature. He smoothed back his hair and tried to stand tall again, but the quivering form of Korn weighted heavily upon his chest. He would never fall apart like that, never become such a flawed speciman of failure. He marched away, getting ready to prepare the rest of the strike-force.

i just need to note how much i love that the 2nd to last line reads "raw enegry" or "Rules As Written Energy" hahahah

I like it Sage, but it's a little confusing. Not the black rage thing... you've covered that quite nicely. It does not seem to me, that the emotions of the two men are consistent with regard to each other, or with regard to their action. For example; Ondatje clearly hates Korn and what he stands for... yet he "gazing questioningly" at him and "sadly nodded" when their conversation ended. I understand the why of it within the greater context, but in the immediate context of this conversation, I don't find either action believable.

huh interesting, I didn't think of that. I just reread that part and agree with you. I will think of something new to add there. Are there other places where this comes up? I'll look for myself but a second pair of eyes is always helpful

i was thinking he was sad about the decaying nature of the chapter, buti reread it and your def correct about that part, rest seems fine to me, but i wrote it recently so may check it up tomorrow. Fixed up some parts just now and rewrote the end, whatcha think!

It's always good to let some time pass between when you write something and when you edit it (for content as well as other things). Just after you've written it your too involved in it to see the issues clearly. Set it down for a day, then come back to it and give it a good read over.

I understood what you were trying to say, but I'd think considering this chaplain's barely controlled rage, those feelings of sadness would manifest at some other time, not when he was confronting his hated adversary.

that is true, I will be looking it over morrow! Ihave a whole day of doing whatever till my bus home!

got to do homework now but will prob try to write some stuff tonight and then put it up!

The trick to remember with editing your own writing... is to make sure you read what you actually wrote... not what you were trying to write. You'd be amazed how often your mind will subconsciously change grammar or spelling or tense in order to make the words on the page match the narrative in your head... so you can read right over things that are pretty glaring and never notice it.

Like... tomb, rather than tome (1st sentence).

Yeah I have a lot of issue with editing sometimes. It is something I am still learning to do. Your advice makes sense, it is important to note that, I find its really easy to get sucked into the story and into what sounds good/doesnt, or what I want to change that I miss the little things which are just as important.

HAHA I never noticed that Tomb, haha That proved your point right there!

I have some stuff written out, and some more written in some notebooks, I'll get them up in the next few days. Finals have stopped my creative drive haaha. my gaming group havent seen me in weeks haha, let alone my gf

Got a game in today, It went pretty well. I lost by two kill points (6 to 8) but I had the upperhand for a few turn, and it was just some bad rolls on my meltas for my last turn. It was a great game though, def since I had played him before with a sang guard list and he had killed everything with me barely getting rid of a few units of his... so it was nice to have a very close game. He played IG with vets in chimeras, and some nasty tanks and outflanking vendettas.

My list was: Dante, libbie, 3 sang priests, 3 full assault squads with melta, pf, plasma pistol, a 5 man assault squad with flamer and PF, a vanguard vet squad, 7 vets with PF, 2 meltabombs, and Thunder Hammer, then a honor guard with stormshield, 2 PW (which ended up being useless this game), and a melta. It was a 1850 point list. eveyrthing has JP of course

I was wondering what people thought i should add in to make it 2000? I was thinking a libbie dred since that sounds nasty witha drop pod to really support my units. I was also thinking of outflanking scouts or landspeeders. what you guys think?

Sageheart wrote:Got a game in today, It went pretty well. I lost by two kill points (6 to 8) but I had the upperhand for a few turn, and it was just some bad rolls on my meltas for my last turn. It was a great game though, def since I had played him before with a sang guard list and he had killed everything with me barely getting rid of a few units of his... so it was nice to have a very close game. He played IG with vets in chimeras, and some nasty tanks and outflanking vendettas.

My list was: Dante, libbie, 3 full assault squads with melta, pf, plasma pistol, a 5 man assault squad with flamer and PF, a vanguard vet squad, 7 vets with PF, 2 meltabombs, and Thunder Hammer, then a honor guard with stormshield, 2 PW (which ended up being useless this game), and a melta. It was a 1850 point list.

I was wondering what people thought i should add in to make it 2000? I was thinking a libbie dred since that sounds nasty witha drop pod to really support my units. I was also thinking of outflanking scouts or landspeeders. what you guys think?

Personally, I always field two melta guns in my assault squads. Plasma pistols seem to blow up a bit to often for me, lol. Also, in my past experience if I have a infantry heavy army, if I included one vehicle it usually takes a lot of fire right off the bat and dies. If you have all of these jump troops adding a dread or land speeder may not be as good as just getting more jump pack marines. In your particular case you are missing one of the best things any Blood Angel player can get. SANGUINARY PRIESTS! They worth their weight in gold. Furious charge and feel no pain is amazing! Trust me. Any game over 1250 I always field three with jump packs and power weapons. Try it and tell me I'm right! lol

i want to field two meltaguns, but i just don't physical have that many meltaguns haha. i have been using count as for this army as i slowly build it up since schoolwork and bills have stopped me from getting many sets. As I build the army I plan on having more melta instead of plasma pistols.

i like the idea of a dred only because i can get that bloodlance off and they really have to use their firepower on it to get rid of it and my libbie usually gets targetted and killed pretty fast. Maybe a dred wouldnt be good, czuse of what you said, i never like having only one or two vehicles, you really have to go all out or not have really any, but i thought landspeeders could be good.

do you think outflanking scouts would help out?

oh wow i do have sang priests, iforgot to mention i had three of them, i never leave without them! hahahha!
I never give them PW thou, just JP, mostly because tehy are IC with one wound so they can get picked out in combat and i find that makes their PW almost useless. Sometimes I give them combi-meltas.

updates!

The golden =I= of the inquisition plastered the front hull of each black Rhino. It stung HostLord Freneau, making him slowly turn his power sword off and return it to his side. He could feel annoyance rising within him, but he crushed it quickly; when an Inquisitor is around you must remain emotionless, anything can be heresy to them. Freneau had seen pious warriors torn apart by the fist of the Inquisition for saying the wrong word at the wrong time. They had done nothing wrong, but they were crushed. Freneau almost wished that could be the case this time, this time though the Sky-Wardens had done something wrong; A whole strike-force turned to chaos. That was something which needed to be kept hidden.

Freneau could hear Ajak, Sergeant Stone, and the remains of Selve’s squad returning from the ruins behind them.

“It is done.” Sergeant Stone coldly murmured, standing beside his commander, his Powerfist clenching and unclenching as if it was tapping to a beat.

“Good.”

The Rhino’s doors hissed open, letting loose lines of black armored Stormtroopers: each of their helmets were branded with the fearsome =I= . Within seconds they had made a protective circle around the rhinos. Freneau almost chuckled as he watched the stormtrooper’s red-dot lasers dance upon the aquila on his armor. ‘What nerve, how dare they,’ Freneau cut himself off: pride led to things worse than death.

“Who is the CO here?” A voice barked, one of the stormtroopers tearing off his helmet to reveal a grizzled face. It was almost a beautiful face, but something had gotten to it, large burn marks had scorched much of his skin away.

“I am HostLord Freneau of the Sky-Warden chapter. May the emperor’s blessing be upon you.” Freneau chanted, ignoring the complete disregard of respect.

Sergeant Stone snarled, his powerfist crackling slightly. The stormtrooper seemed unfazed. He blasted some things into his vox, before turning his back to the marines.

“How dare you turn your back upon a Space Marine commander!” Sergeant Stone roared; a mass of red-dot lasers started to flash upon his forehead, “We are loyal servants of the one and only emperor of mankind, and you greet us with guns and disrespect! I could crush your head little man…”

The stormtrooper turned, his face in shock at the outburst.

“Enough sergeant.” Freneau whispered.

Sergeant stone backed down, his brow clenched.

“I am sorry Hostlord Freneau, one can never be too careful these days. At ease soldiers.” The stormtrooper carefully said, his eyes nervously watching the marines, “I am Captain Benzi, under command from Inquisitor Gallegos. I am sure he would like a few words with you if you would be so kind.”

“Do we look like orks to you?” Sergeant Stone spat, his fury still boiling within him despite the now relaxing stance of the stormtroopers.

“No, but recently chaos activity has been noted upon the planet. I am sure my lord will fill you in on whatever details he feels you should know of.”

Before anyone could say anything the three figures walked out of the farthest rhino. All heads turned towards them. As they marched by, the stormtroopers saluted before quickly turning back to there positions, still scanning the darkness for enemies. Freneau smiled; they hadn’t seemed to notice the Sky-Wardens watching them from their perches.

Freneau gives the figures a glance, taking in every detail. Two of the figures were just guardsmen, lingering just steps behind the quick strides of the Inquisator. They stood out among the dark landscape; one with his long purple overcoat bearing the signs of the Kronina Honor Legion. Freneau knew little of the planet. He made a mental note to look into it later. The other guardsmen wore the ornate gear of a Vostroyan officer. This was a rarity, Freneau had seen only a few such men in his time. This sector was known for avoiding help from outside regiments. Only the occasional Catachin or Cadia regiment was treated with respect. This had never been a problem due to massive military output from planets such as Turok, Mordichi, Kronina , and, before the orks invaded, Hork. The Vostroyan walked tall, his eyes staring at the grounds around him in disgust. He did not seem like he was enjoying his work with the Inquisitor. Each moment he attempted to make sure he stood taller than his leader in front of him.

The Kronina honor guard seemed almost dead: his eyes devoid of feeling as he followed along. His hands were crossed behind his back, and his mind seemed elsewhere. Freneau tried to get a better understanding of the man. He liked knowing what he was facing, but the man was almost like stone, impossible to see through.

“My the emperor be with you, HostLord.” The cold voice seeped from under the hood of the Inquisitor, “You may leave us Captain.” The stormtrooper nodded, and moved back to his men barking orders.

The Inquisitor tossed back his hood, letting his cloak fall to the ground. His golden armor gleamed as his black cloak revealed his battledress. A large red =I= covered the front plate of his armor. The image of it almost gave Freneau the shivers. There were very few things which made Freneau nervous. He had seen massive alien creatures tear apart Imperial tanks, robotic legions marching in perfect lines, traitor marines torturing capture citizens, but seeing the terror which was an Imperial Inquisitor was one of the most chilling experiences for Freneau. Each time he met one he was given more reasons to despise them. This was no different. He could already see the judgment within the shadowed eyes of the Inquisitor. The Inquisitor smiled, showing sparkling teeth.

“Nice day for some Imperial justice, wouldn’t you say marine?” The Inquisitor grinned, resting his hand upon the book of prayers hooked upon his belt.

The guardsmen behind him looked around at the carnage around them. The Vostroyan officer grimaced.
“Praise be to the God-Emperor. I am HostLord Freneau of the Sky-Wardens chapter.” Freneau blared, “I believe the circumstances here call for justice, but I don’t believe we can call it…nice” The last word sounded sick in Freneau’s mouth.

The Inquisitor paused, his eyes looking over the marine before him. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, gave a little smile. “You mean you find Imperial justice to not be a wonderful experience.”

“We will not play word-games with you!” Sergeant Stone roared, “I am just as much a servant of the emperor as you. I have slain traitors and xenos on a dozen planets, and you dare to question my loyalty.”

“Heresy comes in all forms” The Inquisitor smiled, “Anyway, I am being so rude: I am Inquisitor Gallegos. I have a signed order from the Inquisition and the Imperial command of Hork which gives me command of all situations where traitorous activity is suspected.” Gallegos pulled out a paper.

“I don’t need to see it.” Freneau muttered, “It doesn’t concern us.”

“Traitorous activity has happened here so I am the highest ranking…”

“Are you attempting to say you can command me?” Freneau cut in with a smile.

“No..”

“Then do not come here questioning my loyalty and try to tell me about your valued position. We are fighting orks here Inquisitor. If we see traitors we will fight traitors. But last time I checked Inquisitor, this was a planet invaded by orks not traitors, and we take orders from our SkyLord.”

“I understand.” Gallegos paused, thinking of his words before he spoke, “I was just hoping we could work together. I would like to ask you some questions?”

“If I was on a pleasure planet eating exotic fruits as I causal read over the works of Saint Mathew I would gladly answer questions.” Freneau chuckled. His voice suddenly turned cold, “but we aren’t. We are on a battleground, the only questions I am willing to answer with you is where the enemies of the emperor are.”

“I see.” Gallegos tried to find other words but he seemed to be speechless.

Freneau turned to his marines, “Move out to base.” He turned to Gallegos, whose face had transformed into a cruel smirk, “I will send you a few of my most trusted marines. They will help you as much as possible. If there are traitors here, we will make sure they do not walk long on this planet.”

Freneau turned away.

“We fly brothers.” He yelled, before zipping into the air in a red fury. His call was followed by a wind of war cries as the Sky-Wardens took to the air.

As Sergeant Stone took the air he looked down to see the Deckard moving towards the pick up site. A stormraven would be coming by to pick him up. Stone could not help but notice the particular glint in the Dreadnought’s eye. It seemed almost as if the Dreadnought was full of anger. The being’s movements seemed harsh, each step louder than usual. Stone could swear he saw the blood fist clenched so hard it was chipping its own paint.

It seemed that Inquisitor got on everyone’s nerves.




more!



Sergeant Marisol sat at the edge of the bar, his hand playing with the empty shot-glass before him. The bartender had left the bottle by Marisol, something which is not usually done: off-duty guardsmen like the drink a bit too much sometimes, and no one wanted a fight to break out, not after the commissariat busted three illegal bars this week. Marisol was a soldier of the 3rd Mordichi infantry regiment, and after last night everyone knew anyone from the Mordichi 3rd would need more than a few drinks to get over the events of the night.

Marisol shivered at the thought, his hand shaking as he poured himself another shot of the barely distilled liquor. Most men would grimace at the raw taste of the drink, but Marisol was half a bottle done, and anyway he liked to say he had tasted worse things in his life than just cheap liquor. He should have died last night, along with most of the regiment, but somehow each shot missed him. He made a quick sign of the aquila before drowning the shot, slamming the glass down. A few of the soldiers around the bar gave him some looks, but soon they all went back to their drinks, or games. Marisol was happy tonight was a quiet night in the bars; most regiments were on active duty since the last chaos wave. If it had been a little more crowded Marisol was sure he would have gotten himself in trouble by now.

“May I have a drink?”

Marisol jumped in his chair, almost drawing the blade hidden in his shoe: The voice startled him. He looked over at the shadowy figure who had just sat down next to him. He drunkenly smirked at the man, slowly pushing the bottle towards him. The shadowy man leaned over the bar and grabbed a shot-glass. Marisol’s eyes gapped for a second as he saw the golden =I= of the Inquisition dangle from the man’s neck for a second before fading back into his clock. Marisol shivered; Marisol never had many experiences he had wanted to avoid in his life, but meeting an Inquisitor had been one of them.

“What can I do for you milord” Marisol said, attempting to make his voice as formal as possible.

“I just wanted to talk, Sergeant Aaron Marisol of the Mordichi 3rd. Am I correct? The one whose squad died last night?” the Inquisitor’s voice was heartless, each word sharp.

Marisol was silent, poured himself another shot before nodding. He sped the shot down: he knew he was going to need it.

“Yes. I do happen…Yes, Yes I am Sergeant Aaron Marisol sir.” Marisol stumbled, The cheap liquor was getting to his tongue, “normally sir, I swear I am not drinking so...uh…heavily sir.”

“That doesn’t bother me Sergeant. A man is weak, he can afford to have some liquid courage sometimes.”
“thank you for having lenience sir.”

“Do you really think a man of my rank would be out bar-hopping to put some soldier in prison for a few weeks for drinking off duty?” The Inquisitor smirked, pouring himself another drink. Marisol’s hand trembled as the bottle was drawn away from him.

“I never meant to… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I know of your importance, and I respect the way you…”

“Cut it.”

Marisol fell dead silent, his eyes gazing at the bottle. The Inquisitor pushed it towards him. Marisol swiped away his shot glass and took a large swig of the bottle.

“Sergeant Marisol, I believe you have escaped death before.”

Marisol gulped, he could feel his body slouch; he knew where this was going.

“Yes sir, I have always thought the emperor protected me, maybe had a goal for me.”

“Why would you think that, you’re a guardsmen.”

“Guardsmen are not meat-shields!” Marisol burst, turning towards the Inquisitor.

The man had a gruff face, scars etched his face. His brushy eyebrows overshadowed his eyes, which made Marisol shutter, he didn’t like the idea of not being able to see into the man’s soul.

“Watch your tongue.” The response was harsh, but it quickly smoothed, “You seem to be lucky.” Marisol was about to butt in, “No. You are not so lucky! You are a psyker.”

“Proof. There is no Proof. I am no such thing!” Marisol flew off his seat. Before he could even look for the nearest exit his face smashed into the counter.

“Nothing to see here.” Marisol could hear the voice yelling out to the murmuring bar. Marisol tried to get up, but his arms were shoved behind his back. He could feel the cold touch of the handcuffs as they snapped onto his wrists.

“It is time to take a little walk Sergeant.” Marisol tried to comprehend these words but the hilt of Inquisitor Gallegos’ power sword knocked him unconscious.