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Made in us
Master Shaper

Gargant Hunting

Gorgrim looked around at the compound. Already walls and massive amounts of dakka had been set in place. Orks, grots, and squigs were hustling with activity, and several trukks were being loaded up with supplies for Gorgrim's voyage. The warboss had to fight Gorehound da Cook, the most prominent ork in the region. Once he fell, the rest of the orks would flock to his boss pole, and then the WAAAAGH could claim the entire region for the BadToof.

Seeing that his own trukk was ready, he climbed into the driver's seat and gunned the engine, knowing the rest of his boys would follow suit. The convoy rumbled forward, leaving a trail of trodden grass and black smoke behind them. From beneath Gorgrim's seat, there was the sound of tools clanking against one another and the mutter of a creature just waking up. "Grizby," Gorgrim laughed, and reached down, pulling out a grot and setting it on the dashboard. "Dats where ya went."

The grot shook his head, trying to get used to the sudden brightness. "Where we goin', boss?" The grot asked, and leaned out of the trukk, looking at the convoy close behind them.

"Weze gonna pay da local boss a visit. Den were gonna pay him a boot into his big green arse for trying ta be bigga and stronga den me." Grizby nodded and slinked down underneath the seat again, trying to get as much sleep as he could. Gorgrim ignored the grot and carried on driving, and pulled out a fat cigar while he lead the caravan.

It didn't take long for the small tide of engines and orks to reach an ork gathering, and even less time for Gorgrim to find Gorehound. A mob of feral orks and greenskins of WAAAAGH BadToof gathered around the two, and a mix of chants and boos came from the crowd when Gorgrim punched the other boss in the mouth. When the feral boss wiped his mouth, a tusk came off, and the ork glared at Gorgrim. "You'ze gonna pay for dat," as he said it the feral boss wrapped his meaty hands around Gorgrim, and dragged him to the ground. As the two warbosses dueled, the entire mob broke out in fighting, yoof against boy, nob against nob. The two warbosses dealt colossal blows to one another, but neither could gain the upper hand.

Ever so slowly, Gorehound's orks began to win the battle, pushing Gorgrim's orks further and further away from their settlement. Seeing that it was a losing battle, Gorgrim pushed Gorehound away from him, and took one last look at the battered warboss before giving the order to fall back. Gorehound was missing one tusk, and had blood dripping down from his head, but Gorgrim knew he didn't look any better. WAAAAGH BadToof left Gorehound's camp in shame, and only had threats and promises of revenge to heal the damage done to them.

Irishpeacockz-Blackjack needs a pay raise for being the welcomer to the crusade
Palleus-Write a school essay about Kroot! Pride. Prejudice. And Cannibalsim. 
Made in us
Ultramarine Master with Gauntlets of Macragge

What's left of Cadia

Thirianna stood amidst the tree line and stared hatefully at the mon’keigh fort. After delivering her report to Lilliana, Thirianna had been ordered to guide a small raiding force back to the fort. Autarch Karek had wished to test their defenses, and so a small force of 6 Jetbikes and a Vyper had been dispatched with Thirianna back to the fort. Their job had been simple, see what defenses the humans had been able to set up, and then report back. It sounded simple, the kind of plan that Thirianna liked, but it had all somehow gone wrong. She had first suspected that something was wrong when no cries of alarm had gone up from the humans when the Jetbikes had shot out of the treeline and darted towards the fort, and they didn’t realize that there was a problem until far too late. Just as the lead biker crossed the halfway mark between the fort and the treeline, he jerked violently from his saddle in a welter of gore, almost as if an invisible fist had punched him in the chest. He was swiftly followed by 3 more of his kin, each one of them being jerked violently from their saddles. The 3 remaining bikes and the Vyper, including their leader Mikael, had opted to carry on, and they continued on to the mon’keigh fort, perhaps believing that their speed would protect them from whatever had claimed their fellows. They were wrong. First the Vyper was obliterated by a beam of light that had stabbed out from the battlements, and then two heartbeats later 2 of the three bikers were shot out of their saddles, killed instantly just as their compatriots had been, and Mikael…..
By some cruel twist of fate Mikael was not killed when he was smashed from his saddle, the blessing laid upon the squad by Lilliana had spared him from dying like his comrades had. But when he landed he was pinned by the wreckage of his bike, and Thirianna could do nothing but scream in rage as she saw the mon’keigh leave their fort and drag Mikael inside, and his screams of pain had gone on for hours. Thirianna could only pray that they had killed him after getting whatever information they were after, but by that same token she was afraid that he had given up their location, and so after his screams trailed off she found herself sprinting back to the jetbike that she had stashed further back amongst the trees. She had to warn her kin of the oncoming storm. If the gods were merciful then they would have time to evacuate and move to safer territory. As she was running Thirianna thought of the Harlequins that Lilliana had been able to get in contact with, and she sighed as she ran. It would be awkward for them to ask for help from the sons and daughters of Cegorach, but Thirianna knew that their pride could survive a blow or two, it wasn’t as if they had much choice in the matter anyway….

Lilliana stood silently with her Seer Council as the last of the Wave Serpents glided into the forest. After receving the frantic report from Thirianna the camp had become a madhouse of activity, as the Eldar raced to pack up and move before the humans found them. It was entirely possible that the humans hadn’t found out their location, but the Eldar hadn’t survived this long by being incautious, and so the decision was made to displace and move. She had seen in a vision where their cousins were encamped and so she had ordered her Warhost to move into Indo-Cambria to link with them. She just hoped that the Harlequins would allow them to set up their own camp near theirs. She sighed again and rubbed her temples, and with a weary sigh she ordered her Warhost to make haste towards their destination.

Moving into Indo-Cambria

TheEyeOfNight- I swear, this thread is 70% smack talk, 20% RP organization, and 10% butt jokes
TheEyeOfNight- "Ordo Xenos reports that the Necrons have attained democracy, kamikaze tendencies, and nuclear fission. It's all tits up, sir."
Space Marine flyers are shaped for the greatest possible air resistance so that the air may never defeat the SPACE MARINES!
Sternguard though, those guys are all about kicking ass. They'd chew bubble gum as well, but bubble gum is heretical. Only tau chew gum
Made in us
Loyal Necron Lychguard

Working on it

=====Strikebase Armageddon, Clerth, Naraya, Crion=====

Exitar walked around the edge of the base and looked into the forest, peering into the sea of green flora before him. The trees were close, quite close, they would have to be felled, he would not risk an ambush. He walked over to the Hangar where Ogun was currently working on the Nasus, one of the doors wasn’t running optimally and he wasn’t having it.
“Ogun, how goes the door.” Ogun was slightly surprised, enthralled in his work he did not hear the Chaplain approach.
“It is working better, but I will keep an eye on it.” He retracted the arms of his servo-harness from the door and stood from his kneeling position. He closed and opened the door until he felt satisfied with his work.
“So what brings you here Exitar? How may I be of service?”
“These trees are rather close to the base, they must be felled back. I’d rather not risk an ambush.”
“Sounds reasonable, I will get to it.”

-----Several Hours Later-----

Ogun was overseeing the last of the trees fall when several men approached from his left. They carried a variety of equipment that denoted their occupations as lumberjacks. Perhaps they came from the local village to assist the Astartes?
“What the feth is going on here? Your killing our trees!”
He guessed not, but was less pleased with their tone. He strolled over and met the men half way. Oguns home planet had a similar society to Crion, he figured he would show them respect and perhaps they would return it.
“What seems to be the problem citizens?”
“Your cutting down our trees, at least a couple thousand thrones worth if I’m to be accurate.” This man appeared to be the leader of the trio.
“My apologies, perhaps we can work something out with the local leader of… where do you come from?”
“We’re from Darby, you’ll have to tal-” The man stopped and watched as Exitar approached.
“What brings you here citizens?”
“Your friend here cut down our trees.” Exitar looked at Ogun, then back at the lumberjacks.
“Watch your tongue, you speak to the God-Emperor’s angels of death. Know your place citizen.”
“R-right, s-sorry sir. I was just about tell your friend that the Priest Sigmun is the town leader.”
“I shall speak with him, show me the way citizen.”
“Ye-yes sir.”

=====Darby, Clerth, Naraya, Crion=====

Exitar followed the lumberjacks into the town of Darby, a small town based on agricultural trade, he could see why they were angry about the trees. The group walked into a building which was much larger and much nicer than the other ones. The outside of the building was impressive but the inside was more so, it was adorned with paintings and statues of the Emperor. There were about 15 citizens sitting in the pews listening to the Priest Sigmun preach about the Emperor. He was in the middle of a psalm when his eyes fell upon the hulking form that had just entered the building. Sigmun kept his eyes on Exitar but spoke to the lead lumberjack.
“Welcome back Nathaniel, I see you have brought us a guest.” He seemed absolutely delighted to be in the presence of an Astartes.
“We found him cutting our trees an-”
“OUR trees? Nathaniel, these are the Emperor's angels and we should show them the utmost respect.” By this time he was addressing the congregation.
“As Imperial citizens and servants of the God-Emperor we should do all we can to accommodate them. They are the ones who face the Evils we only dream of, it is them who uphold the Imperium.” He took a pause. “We will meet here again tomorrow at noon.”
Everyone began to leave the building, Nathaniel walked by the Chaplain and stopped, “Forgive me for my earlier trespasses, but stay away from my Trees.”
“Go citizen, go and serve the Emperor.” Nathaniel walked off, still somewhat angry about the trees. Exitar stared at him until he was out of sight, when he had turned around Sigmun was approaching.
“My apologies for the boy, he’s been a lumberjack his whole life, he gets defensive about the trees. So how may I serve you Astartes?” Sigmun gave a deep bow. Exitar returned the gesture with a nod.
“With information. I seek an enemy we believe to be lurking nearby, perhaps even in these woods.”
“That explains the trees then.”
“I deemed it necessary to reduce the risk of ambush.”
“A very wise choice. There is a man here, he lives on the outskirts of the village, but he has been speaking of monsters in the woods, but many wave it off as superstition.”
“Which way priest?”
“Over that way, it’s about a 5 minute walk, his name is Trotter.”
“Thank you citizen, We will call upon you if we have any need of aid.”
“We would be delighted to help Astartes.” Exitar turned and left without another word, adamant on gleaning what information he could. The walk for an average man would have been five minutes but Exitar had it down to two. As he walked down the dirt road he spotted a shack by the edge of the woods, it was poorly constructed but it served its purpose none the less. He approached the front door and knocked. A door slowly opened as a frightened man slowly looked out from behind it. Upon realizing it was an Astartes he opened the door, looking around as if he was expecting an assassin.
“Are you the one called Trotter?”
“I am, Lord Astartes, come in quickly, before they find us.” Surely Sigmun had left out the part about the paranoia.
He walked into the humble housing and glanced around the room, and found it fared no better than the outside.
“What brings you here Lord Astartes?” The man often moved from window to window as if looking for an advancing enemy.
“I hear you have seen monsters, describe to me what you have seen.” With these words the man froze with what was fear of either Exitar, or the mention of monsters, perhaps both.
“I only spotted one, it was a couple days ago by the forests edge, it was fast, swift and agile. It ran on two legs and was much taller than a man. I didn’t see much but I ran, I have never seen anything so… so… inhuman.”
“Thank you citizen, that’s all I needed to hear.” He began to walk towards the door when the man spoke again.
“The monsters, are they why you’re here? Have you come to save us?” Exitar only turned his head, he wasn’t quite sur of his answer, but spoke regardless.
“If these ‘Monsters’ are the ones i think they are, there will be none left breathing, you have nothing to worry about citizen.” The man seemed extremely relieved with the Chaplains words, but Exitar did not. He traveled back to base, this newest revelation was good, but maybe it wasn’t.

=====Strike Base Armaggedon, Clerth, Naraya, Crion=====

Exitar was immediately welcomed back to base, he spoke to the nearest marine and inquired Ogun’s position. After locating the Terminator plate clad Marine he walked up to him while looking at the small walls that had been erected.
“New line of defense I see?”
“Thought it would be good to help fortify the area. Plus, you can never have enough defense.”
“I was able to speak with one of the villagers, he described monsters he saw in the forest.”
“I’m not surprised, the reports said there’s some pretty grizzly wildlife here, and many feral orks.”
“What he described sounded almost unmistakably like Eldar.” Ogun’s demeanor took a 180 degree turn. He turned and stared at the forest line just barely visible over the walls. He stared for a while. He walked towards the wall and spoke on his way out.
“I feel we’re going to need better walls.” Ogun spent the last few hours of the day erecting more defences, a scanner, and a lascannon, he worked partially through the night until he felt confident with his work.

-----The Following Day-----

Exitar awoke to much activity amongst the base, something was awry… odd, the alarms had not been sounded. Ogun ran over to the Chaplain. He seemed both angry and delighted. His helmet was off and he bore a grin that displayed his serrated teeth.
“Exitar, your villager friend is not as crazy as you described, we have picked up energy signatures coming from the forest line.”
“Is it Eldar?”
“We believe so.” The thought that Eldar were close by stoked Exitar’s anger, it was times like this his skill shined. He stood behind the wall that had a panorama of the forest. Oguns word proved true, as six Jetbikes and an Vyper emerged from the forest line.
“Brothers! Look upon these muling savages as they are lead to slaughter!” He stayed looking at the Eldar approach, but spoke to the Tactical Squad, Besnardi, that manned the defensive line.
“They wish to test their mettle against ours! They shall have no such satisfaction. Reduce them to a feast brothers.” By the time that the Heavy Bolters began firing the Eldar were half way through the open. The Explosive rounds impacted reducing the occupants of the Jetbikes to a duo of gore and legs. One took a shot to the leg and fell off, he screamed as he tried to place his insides back in his body, his head met with a Bolter round soon after. The Vyper made headway towards the fort until a Lascannon shot struck the vehicle causing it to explode, of the occupants that survived, all but one screamed as fire slowly turned their bodies into a charred carcass. Exitar bathed himself in their screams and relished every second of it. When the firing stopped and the smoked cleared, it was evident that a single Eldar had survived, Battle Brother Venarus roared to those present.
“One lives! Allow me the honors!” He began to raise his bolter when Exitar stopped him.
“Wait Brother, perhaps this one may show us where the rest of these animals are. Go Brothers, reap what you have sown and feast on their corpses.” Venarus was displeased with the lack of killing, but was delighted for the following feast. The men took off their helmets revealing their pale skin, black eyes, and serrated teeth. The men began to gorge themselves on the piles of gore on the field, drenching themselves in blood. Exitar strolled over to the living Eldar, still stunned from the explosion and in no shape to fight. He grabbed him by the hair and began to drag him back to base, he savored his screams of pain as he dragged him through the field. Before they entered the base he held the Eldar up and made him watch as the Marines feasted upon his kin. He took him to one of the storage rooms where Ogun was. Upon entering Ogun turned and started to roar as he saw the Eldar captive.
“Why does it live?”
“We will try to extract information from it, we will find the rest of it’s heard and kill them. Besides, I believe Taranis would like the honors when he returns.” Ogun pondered this for awhile, his anger simmering down to a cold hate for Eldar.
“You are right Exitar, I shall bind him to a chair.” Ogun threw the half-conscious Eldar into a metal chair and proceeded to tie him down at the wrists, ankles, legs, torso, arms, and neck. He was completely trapped and couldn’t fight back. Ogun used the pilot light on his flamer to brand the Eldars arm. It screamed and writhed in pain, but was fully awake, it stared venomous daggers into Exitar.
“Who are you?” He was met with silence.
“What Craftworld are you from?” Exitar knew, but tried to see if he could get any information. He did not, he looked at the amulet that hung from the Eldar’s neck. He reached out and plucked it from it’s place, the Eldar’s change of expression was all Exitar needed.
“Ah, this must be your soul stone.” He tossed it onto a table in front of the chair and stood to the side. The Eldar never took his eyes off of it. Exitar brought his Crozius Arcanum down on the stone with the swift might of the Emperor’s justice. The stone shattered in a small explosion, but was no more. Exitar shouted at the Eldar who was struggling against his binds.
“Tell me what I want to know or I will feed you to Slaanesh!” The Eldar was obviously worried, but held his resolve. Exitar knelt in front of the creature.
“I will ask you one more time, who leads your Warhost?” He was met yet again with silence.
“I see.” The Eldar screamed and wailed in pain as Exitar began ripping fingers off of its hand.
“Lillianna, It is Farseer Lillianna!” Exitar stopped with three fingers remaining. The Eldar quickly passed out from the sheer amount of pain it was experiencing. He stood and looked to Ogun, who looked quite hungry from the process.
“Stop its bleeding, get Artemis here and make sure it lives. We may have our information yet.”
“Farseer Lillianna… these are the Eldar we’ve been hunting, truly the Emperor smiles upon us.”
“The Emperor protects brother.” Exitar left the building and looked as the men from Squad Mokkaran brought back much Eldar remains for their brothers to feast on. He was proud to see such camaraderie amongst the men.

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2016/04/07 02:26:25

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

Made in gb
Ancient Ultramarine Venerable Dreadnought

"Strike from the skies!"

Blood, earth and light. Pulse bombs ravaged the surface of Crion. Actinic blue light flashed through the broken buildings.
The ruins of the Blood Dragon stronghold were shaken by the colossal impact of pulse bombs. Sun Shark bombing wings, like avenging angels, streaked over the black steel skeleton of the fortress. Their path was marked by fountains of dirt and debris, tearing through the meagre ground resistance.
Since Shas'vre Ghostwalk's failed reconnaissance attempt, the ork patrols had increased. Spiders scuttled across the ground incessantly. Typical insertion would be impossible for a second recon team.
Shas'O Skyhunter was anything but typical.

The silent Tau aircraft caught the greenskins completely unawares, slaughtering them as they turned their thick faces to the sky. They attempted to hurl their boom spears at the aircraft, but it was useless. With every second, their numbers were being whittled down by relentless bombing runs. Their mounts turned and sped into the safety of the dragon's mouth, scuttling into the earth. The pilots of the Sun Sharks continued their onslaught, using the mapped co-ordinates of the underground ruins to target the weak points in the infrastructure and bring it down on the orks heads.
One bomb managed to impact against the feral orks' armoury. The ground was thrust upwards by the explosion of fuels and boom spears from inside it, like a desperate beast trying to burst from the land. Masonry, debris and burning earth all fell from the sky, as if in slow motion. From far back at Cadre Command, Skyhunter watched from his Crisis suit. A vengeful smile was plastered on his strong face.
"Phase Two, begin."

A lone Orca dropship, boxy against the sleek Sun Sharks circling above the target site, dropped into the fray. Automated drone intelligence systems on both the Orca and the Sun Sharks above regulated the rate of dropped pulse munitions from the bombers, and made subtle adjustments to the Orca's flight path. Pulse bombs fell like falling stars around the Orca, but none harmed it's flat flanks. Inside the landing craft, Shas'ui Tsa'lan readied her pulse carbine.

She had taken a smaller contingent of her own squad this time, with only four companions alongside her own drone support. Gue'vesa'ui Harland had taken a similar squad of his own Pathfinders. His bonding knife was strapped to his pulse carbine, a 'bayonet', as he called it. Shas'vre Ghostwalk and his men had not been selected for the operation. Not only was his Ghostkeel suit unoptimised for the tunnels, but Skyhunter had insisted on a smaller battlefield presence and value. He would give commands to the recon team directly from Cadre Command, and monitor their progress. Instead, Ghostwalk's unit was replaced by Shas'ui Tash'var Shovah Fio'tak. He was tinkering endlessly with his markerlight calibrator, a sniper drone sat in his lap. The rest of his flock of drones sat dormant above him, strapped into the drone compartments. He didn't look up to face Tsa'lan, but she could tell that he knew she was looking at him. The Orca pilot's voice spilled out of the speakers.

"++Drop in a few moments. Prepare for green light and disembarkation. You'll only have a few moments before the bombers hit again. Good luck.++"

The Pathfinders rose from their seats, and prepared to disembark. Fio'tak's drones wakened to readiness, hovering silently in the troop compartment. The light flickered to red, signalling their imminent landing. Typical protocol would mean the troops had twenty seconds until disembarkation.
Their landing would not be typical.

Surrounded by falling bombs and volatile debris and chain explosions from inside the ruined armoury, Skyhunter had countermanded the conventional drop, and would forgo the landing stage altogether. The Orca would sweep over the ground at low speed and the recon team would throw themselves out. They would then have to make a sprint from their landing zone to the relative safety of the underground tunnels. The plan relied on rapid insertion, speed, and pinpoint timing. And the drop was coming in seconds.
Green light swept the compartment.

"Out! Now!" Tsa'lan shouted as she flung herself out of the barely opened hatch.
The rest of the team followed. Their legs bent as they met the scorched earth, and broke into a run. The sniper drones soared past the Pathfinders, their anti-grav engines making them faster than the infantry. Even Tsa'lan found herself outpaced by the Gue'vesa in the fireteam, the humans' longer legs covering ground faster than the other Tau. They descended into darkness first, swallowed up by the dragon's leering maw. Tsa'lan felt the sun blocked out behind her, and chanced a look back. Her men were inside, safe. The Orca rose back into the sky, it's hull black against the bright sky. Then the bombs fell again, and the ground was wiped clean.
Tsa'lan rejoined her comrades in the tunnels.


The orks and their mounts had been driven further down than anyone had expected.
The Pathfinders had made rapid progress through the debris-littered halls. Murals and frescoes on the walls, long since faded and obscured by dust, had been cracked and broken by the barrage. The bombing had now ceased, half a dec after the initial insertion, yet their sound still carried through the passageways. As they crept through, the Pathfinders passed by the bloodied bodies of orks and spiders alike whose brains had been crushed by falling chunks of stone. With each one they passed, the team grew more jubilant. Every so often, a Pathfinder in the team would set down a marker beacon at structure points or large chambers and hallways. Skyhunter watched the team's progress through Fio'tak's eyes, and his command staff would plan out the rest of the cadre's assault on Nogrod's throne of power. With each new turn, a new staging post was set up, and more strategies and contingency plans set up.
The cadre would be ready.

Tsa'lan and Harland had made it to the inner core of the ruins when Fio'tak called for them to halt.
"What is it, Shas'ui?" Harland spoke through his helmet comms. "Trouble ahead?"

"Not quite." The Tau seemed confused. "My markerlights are seeming to have some... refraction effect up ahead. I've tested my calibration, but it's not my systems that are faulty. Just giving you a heads-up."

"++Your observation is correct and astute, Fio'tak.++" Skyhunter's voice seemed distorted as it played through the team comm-network. "++Our signal to you seems weaker. Most of my Shas'El think there is some kind of electronic interference, but Gue'vesa'El Vandred thinks there may be some kind of psychic influence. Seeing as you Gue are far more attuned to these magiks than any of my kin, I want Shas'ui Harland to scout up ahead and identify any kind of local magiks. Can you do that for me, Harland?++"

"Right away, si- Commander." The human crept up around the corner, his body hung low to the dirty wall. The rest of the recon team hung back, their weapons ready to support Harland if he was under threat. The Gue'vesa disappeared for a few seconds, before he popped back around the corner.
"Vandred's right, Commander. The bastards have set up a psychic shield just down the corridor. I think it seals off the inner chambers from any kind of damage or electronic signal."

"++Are you sure about this? Have you tested passing through the shield?++"

"One step ahead of you, Commander. I can pass through it, but my markerlight can't register through it, and my pulse pistol only seems to impact against the shield. It works both ways, naturally."

"++Good work, Gue'vesa'ui. Set beacons around it's perimeter as far as you can, give us an idea about it's size. Fio'tak, try and analyse it's arc and chord size to give us an idea of what's in there. I'll stay in contact, but for now, find somewhere to lay low and avoid detection.++"


The Pathfinders pulled back, taking refuge in a small chamber off of a side corridor. Judging from the lack of glyphs and cobwebs from inside it, it had likely been missed by even the feral orks that prowled the tunnels. They set up camp here, leaving the drones on sentry duty as the Pathfinders set about mapping the inner ruins and calculating the size of the psychic shield. Harland approached Tsa'lan, who was munching on a nutrient bar. She looked to face him.

"What is it, comrade?" she began.

Harland sat down beside her. Like many of the other humans in the cadre, his face sported hair around his cheeks, mouth and chin. For a Tau, this was utterly alien, but Tsa'lan had found it rather normal after a while. "Shas'ui-"

"Please, call me Tsa'lan. The name's not quite settled in yet."

"Tell me about it - half of the time I don't even remember what rank I am any more." They both laughed for a second before Harland became serious again. "Tsa'lan, I wanted to ask your opinion on this assignment."

"What of it?"

"Well, we're at a lot of risk here. I've done the maths - there is no way we can extract out of these ruins safely and have a dropship ready to escort us out. There simply isn't time to scramble one for us. And if we're caught, I'm not sure if we can hold off from them all down here."

Tsa'lan couldn't help but allow herself to be intrigued by the human's thoughts. "We're in deep recon, Harland. This is what we do."

"What we used to do, you mean? Under the command of that Ethereal, Warp take his remains." Tsa'lan looked at him funnily. "Sorry, it's a human phrase. Still, Skyhunter could have sent in drones before us. There's no need for us to be here."

"Well, the drones still need a controller, one who has a close control link to them. If we sent a drone in alone, what if they got stuck in these webs?" She wanted to sound convincing, but she knew she didn't. Harland knew it too.

"Tsa'lan, listen to me. We shouldn't be down here. And look - the highest ranker we have here is us and that drone controller. That's it. There are plenty of Shas'ui and other Pathfinders that can take our place. There's not even that many of us down here. All our orders are coming from Cadre Command, but we have no command representative here with us."

"What are you suggesting?"

Harland rose to his feet, looking down on the Tau. She could sense waves of worry emanating off of him.
"This isn't just a recon mission. This is a suicide mission."

This message was edited 3 times. Last update was at 2016/03/27 15:06:45

Made in au
Adopted Son of the Emperor

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

Before The Banquet…
The scouts had returned, and with them, they brought news. Good news. They had found what appeared to be an ork settlement. They identified key targets within the camp, and even spotted someone who looked as if they commanded the rabble. Good, Iodius thought. To kill him would be to sever the head of the green menace in the Namrex dunes. As such, Iodius mustered the majority of his force. A sandstorm not too different than the one they had gotten lost in was also headed the orks way. They would use that as a way of getting to their objective unseen, and then they would jump out and cleanse the area of any greekskins. A direct plan, Iodius thought, one that can go wrong many ways, but they could not spare any time. The sandstorm prevented air support, and the sandstorm was also interfering with the transmitters, making an area bombardment inaccurate. No. They had to do it this way. Iodius prayed that the sandstorm would not lead them away once more, for an opportunity like this does not often pop up. Four drop pods were ready for drop, and once the signal and coordinates were transmitted, they would land upon the enemy like meteors of fury. Thirty Space Marines were waiting in the drop pods, the last one occupied by Ancient Keldas, the chapter’s last dreadnought. Former captain of the 3rd company, he was entombed in the sarcophagus over a hundred years ago, the majority of his body melted away after a direct hit from a Tau broadside. He survived by sheer willpower and stubbornness. The internment did nothing to that same stubbornness, bar increase his hatred of the xenos. He had yet to see any action during the campaign, which Iodius thought he would change that.

They packed four rhinos to capacity, and another two razorbacks. They were accompanied by ‘Danc Maimes’ and ‘Light of Edun’, both Destructor pattern. Iodius sat inside the crew compartment of his razorback, with him, the five members of his command squad. Merik, veteran, and bearer of a rare plasma-gun. Alianor, another veteran, he had lost his arm in the Oxion crusade, but his replacement was ever more powerful than the previous. He held his power sword, and brandished his bolt pistol. He was ready for the coming fight. Apothecary Apolonus tinkered with his narcethium, always trying to improve it. Honoured Brother Carak held the banner sidewards, though the actual fabric never touched the ground. He had held the banner for over two hundred years, and he had never let it go. The last member of the command squad was Cedric. New Company champion, an adept with the sword, but had yet to properly prove himself to Iodius. This coming battle would be a good start, thought Iodius. They were nearing the target, and so far, they were undetected.
The drivers voice sounded in Iodius’ ear.
“Two minutes until we arrive at the greenskins doorstep”
“Thank you, we shall be ready.”
“Aye we shall, I’ve been waiting to bloody my blade for ages…” Alianor chimed in, always eager for the fight Iodius thought.
“There will always be time for that. You of all people should know that.” This was the first time Iodius had a command squad, and he didn’t know what to think of it yet. He did not like the idea of being babysitted around the battlefield, yet even he could not argue the efficiency of it.
“Come Chaplain, stop with your sentimentality. You can’t say you’re not eager for this?” Iodius smiled
“Aye I am eager, I’m just being subtle about it.”
“I never took you as a subtle one Chaplain…” Apolonus looked up from his toy. He was aged, and looked twice his actual age. His once black hair was now purely silver, looking as if his head was bionic. Far from the truth, he didn’t have a single bit of bionic on him.
“Since when do you speak Apolonus? I thought you the more silent one…” Merik included himself the convesation.
“I speak when I have something to say. Usually the majority of your conversations are pure stupidity, so I don’t bother myself with it.”
“Pah, that’s just being rude! You don’t say anything because you can’t think of anything witty to say!” Alianor exclaimed.
“Anything I say in your presence is witty…” Apolonus sighed and went back to tinkering
“Thirty seconds ‘till drop-off” The pilot’s voice was heard again.
“You heard him! Everybody ready!” Iodius was on his feet, Litany of Fury on his lips, and hand on his Crozius. “We surround as many greenskins as we can, kill any you see, but leave the leader to me. I
Have a score to settle.”
Apolonus holstered his bolter and finished working on his narcethium, Alianor held his Power Sword in an iron grip, Merik had unslung his plasma-gun, Carak unfurled the banner, keeping it tilted to avoid contact with the ground, and at last, Cedric brandished his sword and shield like a babe clung to his bottle, wherever he went, they were with him.
“Where’s the subtlety now Chaplain?” Merik mused
“Shut up Merik.”

The battle was one-sided from the start. The assault began with the withering salvoes from the two predators, followed by the razorback’s heavy bolter fire. The orks stationed at the crude walls were cut down in moments, their bodies torn to ribbons as high calibre shells ripped through them. The rhinos and razorbacks moved through the walls, which seemed to open up as the tanks collided with them. Such was the power and nature of the attack. Orks caught in the way of the oncoming vehicles were either shot or taken by the tracks of the several hundred kilogram tank. Twenty secons after the assault began the drop pods landed, each disgorging a hail of fire and zealous warriors. Keldas laughed as he poured plasma over the orks, always happy to help in purging. Surprisingly, the orks managed to muster a counter attack, though it was like a wave breaking upon rocks. Then Iodius saw him. A massive ork, saddled onto an even larger boar. It wore a standard issue commissariat cap, and held a massive gun. Even as he rode into battle, he was shooting it at the mass of bodies around him, mostly orks. Iodius made good time getting to him, only having to kill seven orks before finally the leader looked at him.
“Wot are you doin in me camp Space Marine? You lot betta get out ‘efore I have you all BLAMMED! I’z da Kernal ere, and I says PISS OFF!” With that, the ork ushered his mount to charge at Iodius. Easy enough to predict, thought Iodius. He sidestepped the rampaging boar and brought his Crozius to bear, bringing down both rider and mount. He put a bolt through the eye of the boar before turning and charging the recovering ork, only to be blasted aside by its giant weapon.
“YOU KILLED (Name of Boar)! DIDN’T I TELL YA TA ZOG OFF ALREADY?!” His voice was edged with anger, and even traces of fear. “ZOG OFF YA WEEDY GIT! DAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKA!” A hail of bullets that would shame an assault cannon stitched their way towards Iodius, who had barely enough time to bring up his arm to block the majority of the bullets. He felt at least six tear through his armour and rent his skin, nevertheless, he arose once more and charged the downed ork, who had probably broken a few ribs from firing the weapon. He swatted aside the gun with his Crozius and brought it down hard on the orks head. The ork lay sprawled on the ground, stunned, and ready for death.
“Youz…Youz can’t kill me…I’ze your soupeerior…”
“There’s been a change in command.” Iodius was about to bring down his Crozius to finish off the marchief, but was interrupted by a loud squeal.
“Eeeeekk!” The chief’s boar sidetacked Iodius, sending him flying off to the side.
“(Name of Boar), YOU CAME BACK FOR ME!” The Kernal climbed back onto the beasts saddle and made his way from the battlefield, “DIS AIN’T OVER SPACE MARINE! I KNOW WHERE YA LIVE NOW!”

With the departure of their Warboss, the remaining orks made a swift retreat. Many orks had been killed, but their leader made his escape. Iodius was still happy, he had shown the orks they had plenty of teeth, and ready to bite whenever the need arose. Iodius had already administered the rites for the dead, and was making his way back to his razorback.
“Didn’t think that boar had a thick of a skull as you did ya?” Once again Merik teased Iodius.
“Shut up Merik”

Iodius and Ceasar were talking in one of the tents.
“So this banquet, who are we going with?” Ceasar asked
“We? Since when were you coming along?”
“Since you couldn’t be a diplomat even if the Emperor himself asked you.”
“True, but do we really need an entourage to accompany us there?”
“Of course we do, it’ll get the other attendees talking. Plus if something goes on down there, then we’ll show that they’re not just for good looks and style.”
“Ugh fine…But I swear to the Emperor if you bring too many…”
“Don’t worry old friend, I’ll keep it subtle.”

“Making a point. We’re not here to fool around, this merely proves that.”
“If you were trying to make a point, then you could have gone about it in a better way than this…”
“I know, but it’s always fun annoying you.”
“One of these days Ceasar…”

Somewhere on Crion
His screams could be heard throughout the cave. Loud, tortured, and filled with hate.
“Once again, I will ask you Chapter Master, where is your previous Lord’s sword?”
“I do not know! I have told you this…” The figure was bound in chains, and his ribcage had been torn open. “Why do you do this to me…I am no servant of the Ruinous Powers…”
“Oh but my clueless Chapter Master…You will be…” He chuckled, the ‘I’ on his forehead barely noticeable in the dark. “All shall feel Pne--The great lords embrace eventually…”
The screams resounded as Aladar’s ribs were once again broken and moved.
“Tell my lord that the location of the sword will be found eventually. He shall have it very soon.”

Rolled victory, cleansed area of many orks, but the leader got away

This message was edited 2 times. Last update was at 2016/03/31 08:29:38

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

The City of Ros Hannoi, Tonken, Indo-Cambria

Ros Hannoi was the largest Human settlement on the continent of Indo-Cambria - and in fact, the only major settlement that had managed to stand tall against both the local wildlife and the feral Orks that infested the region. As such, it was usually well-patrolled and defended -however, despite their defences, the city slept, not knowing that they were currently playing host to two shadows from another species that night.

The two Mimes had been watching the city through the day, identifying priority targets. Once the sun had set, they got to work - one heading to the barracks of the local guard force to plant a series of devices there, the other heading to the district that housed the economic upper class and nobility to plant a series of devices in the communal eating and drinking areas there, before moving onto what they had identified as the office of the city's leader to do the same. The devices were extremely small, gave off no emissions of any kind, had small, built-in holo-fields to even fool the natural eye, and were even resistant to psychic detection due to their wraithbone construction - not that the humans were likely to have a psyker precise enough capable of matching subtlety with the Eldar. The purpose of these devices was simple and twofold - to record conversations, and to subtly read the minds of those around them, transmitting the information back to the Harlequins' main encampment in real-time, where Imryll, Cuddio and a team of Mimes would decipher what was useful and what was not.

It didn't matter what nation, what species and what level of technological development the city you were infiltrating happened to have, the best areas to find out really useful information all tended to be the same: communal areas for the upper class, communal areas for the military, and the office of the leader. Knowledge like that had been built up by the Masque of the Blameless Culprit over a long period: for some reason, they often found themselves recruiting Shadowseers who were excellent at illusions and mind manipulation, but with significantly less ability to read the Skein of fate and see the future. In an attempt to stay current, the Masque had taken notes from the Commorites - and put listeners in several Craftworlds, where they would report any major visions they became aware of back to the Masque where they could decide to act upon them.

The Masque soon discovered that visions were not the only information that an informant could provide for them - and, extending their fledgling network further, quickly found that while prophecy could tell you an end result, real-time information could give you the tools you needed to craft the end result you desired. They expanded the network even further - across several Craftworlds both minor and major, corsair strongholds, they even had eyes and ears in Commoragh - though they were fairly certain this was only because Asdrubael Vect allowed them to. Harlequins received allowances in the Dark City that few others did, but it was best not to push the Supreme Overlord. They learned more about their craft - how to create listening devices and the best places to put them, who were easy and useful targets for subversion and the tactics required to do so, how to tell if an asset has been compromised, how to utilise information without drawing suspicion to your asset.

This infiltration, while small in scope, was merely the first step in the Masque's attempt to ultimately create a planet-wide information network that supplied them with information from all the major settlements. It was also a success - both Mimes planted their respective packages and left the city unnoticed, heading toward their extraction point, where two skyweaver jetbikes were awaiting them.

Minor victory - we infiltrated Ros Hannoi and bugged the place, the mayor's office in particular, while getting away cleanly.


Jorgon, Indo-Cambria

"High Avatar," Imryll approached the Great Harlequin, "We have an issue."

Feubryn had been awaiting word from either of the missions they currently had operating - Dranc and the Dark Troupe to trim the local Feral Ork population, and Cuddio's Mimes and their all-important infiltration. He turned to face the Shadowseer. "What is it, my dear?"

"The Craftworlders are coming. Here. Now," Imryill responded bluntly.

He stared at her for a moment. "Are you certain?"

"No, High Avatar," she deadpanned, "It is something I simply made up to mock you."

"Sarcasm is unbecoming of you," he replied, giving her a gimlet eye, not that she would notice behind his mask, "This is unfortunate! I hoped to meet them on our terms and dazzle them with our mystique!"

"We still have a few minutes," Imryll pointed out.

"Then there is no time to lose!" Feubryn sprang into action, calling out to both of the troupes present, "Everyone! Quickly, amass by the Webway gate, and put on your best 'We have been expecting you' poses! Yes, Sun Prince, that is perfect," he nodded appreciatively at the leader of the Light Troupe, "Follow the Sun Prince's example, Light Troupe! He clearly knows what he is doing! Imryll, I will need your help speaking to them."

"How so?"

"Maintain telepathic contact with me, as subtly as you can," Feubryn advised her, "And come up with appropriately vague, doom-like, prophetic-sounding phrases for me to say to them. You have a real knack for it, and Craftworlders love that sort of thing."

"You're learning," Imryll said in approval, "We'll make a diplomat out of you yet, High Avatar."

"Please, do not make me blush so close to the main event! I have to look my best, you know!" Feubryn said grandly.

It took about a minute or so for the Harlequins to get into the best, and most dramatic positions they could find. As the last Player found her place, the Webway Gate distorted, and figures began marching through. Aspect Warriors were at the head and on guard, an unusually large proportion of Howling Banshees among them.

'Odd of them to expect a trap from us, but I suppose one can never be too paranoid,' Feubryn thought to himself.

Once they were satisfied the coast was clear, the main warhost began to come through. Aspect Warriors, Guardians, Vehicles, Bonesingers, Equipment - this was a full warhost, bearing the colours of -

'Craftworld Iybraesil,' Imryll supplied helpfully via telepathy.

'The matriarchal Craftworld, correct?' Feubryn mused idly, 'Followers of Morai-Heg. What brings them here? I thought they primarily concerned themselves with the Crone Worlds.'

'Perhaps there is a connection to whatever strangeness resides here,' Imryll responded, 'We should do our best to find out.'

He sensed the Farseer before he spotted her. Walking in the midst of a heavy guard, the robed seer approached with the sort of regal grace other species simply could not mimic. Feubryn strode forward, arms spread aloft.

"Welcome, my cousins, to our humble abode!"

'Say something about fate bringing us together to face danger,' urged Imryll.

"It would appear that the fickle mistress of Fate has brought us together to face the threat lurking on this world," Feubryn dutifully continued, "My name is Feubryn Valorbane, and I am the High Avatar of the Masque of the Blameless Culprit. My lovely companion is Imryll Fatewalker," he took a moment to once again appreciate how ironic that name was, given her general inability to see the -

'I will make you dream of entire worlds coloured in nothing but grey.'

He promptly cut off that line of thought at the threat. "There are, of course, many more of us, but other introductions can wait. And whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to, Farseer of Craftworld Iybraesil?"

"The pleasure is all mine," the Farseer replied with a warm smile, "I am Farseer Lilliana, of Craftworld Iybraesil, as you correctly deduced. You and your Masque have my thanks for allowing us to seek shelter with you, Feubryn Valorbane."

"Think nothing of it, milady! What is a little room-sharing between friends?" Feubryn responded grandly. Internally, however, he was panicking.

'Imryll!' he thought frantically.

'I know, High Avatar, I see it too,' the normally stoic Shadowseer sounded concerned, 'The Farseer is... smiling?'

'I didn't know they could do that!' the Great Harlequin all but shouted in his mind, 'What should I do!?'

'I do not know! Perhaps... smile back?' Came the hesitant reply.


'When dealing with powerful telepaths, it is literally the thought that counts, High Avatar.'

"We gave already identified a large clearing where you may move your equipment and set up your encampment," Feubryn continued, keeping a straight (or rather, a smiling) face and showing nothing of his internal turmoil as he indicated the location in question, "I will allow you to get settled in before we discuss more serious matters! And of course, this meeting of kindred requires a celebration! Light troupe! Twilight troupe! Let us make the preparations! We shall put on a fine show for our friends!"

"That sounds wonderful, High Avatar Feubryn," Lilliana responded, still smiling, "I shall see to it that our own preparations are done post-haste. We would not want to deprive you of the chance to perform!"

'I believe that was an attempt at humour, High Avatar,' Imryll informed him seriously, 'This is even graver than we thought.'

'We must have a strategy meeting on this, as soon as possible,' Feubryn agreed.

'Remember to warn them about our follower, High Avatar.'

"Then I shall leave you to it," Feubryn advised, "I will have the troupes stay out of your way as you set up. I will give you one initial word of warning, though," his demeanour changed. Grand, humorous geniality gave way to grave seriousness. "There is a Solitaire on-world. She is not technically a part of our Masque, but tends to follow us around. I warn you in advance for two reasons. One, because I am quite aware of the... effect," he chose the word delicately, "that they can have on Eldar who are not used to their presence when they do not hide it," 'effect' in this context meaning 'absolutely terrifying them'.

"I see," Lilliana nodded seriously, "Thank you for the warning. I will make my forces aware not to approach her. What was the second reason?"

"Because she is extraordinarily annoying," Feubryn admitted.

"Oh," the Farseer didn't really seem to know how to respond to that, "I will see to our preparations now. Again, my thanks. I look forward to discussing more important matters with you."

The Farseer left to join her troops, who had already started making their way over to the clearing that would soon form their base. Feubryn breathed a sigh of relief.

'Thank you for reminding me to warn them about Fallacy,' he thought gratefully, 'I had almost forgotten to do so.'

'I believed it could have been somewhat awkward if some of their troops approached her without forewarning, High Avatar,' Imryll admitted, 'I still recall the Ulthwé incident. I will never be able to remove from my head the image of an entire council of warlocks running down a hill, waving their arms around and screaming in terror.'

'Indeed,' Feubryn reminisced, 'It was the one who tripped and started rolling down that stuck with me. Now then, let us go prepare a dance. We will have to select one that we can perform without Dranc for now...'

Feubryn and Imryll are forced out of their comfort zone when they meet a Farseer who doesn't quite follow the usual Farseer Personality Regulations™...

This message was edited 3 times. Last update was at 2016/03/28 23:51:49

Made in us
Regular Dakkanaut

Grim, Cambria.

Green skin glistened with sweat as long ships were lashed together with braided vine ropes, each one a ramshackle masterpiece: A sharp prow for ramming the enemy. A front ramp for fast unloading once they had run aground. Thick boards of black ore oak were placed, spaced, and positioned for maximum protection with minimum weight. To an outside observer, it looked to be nothing more than a pile of sticks, roughly held together with nothing more than rope and hope. But as the greenskin stepped back to admire his work, he knew their true mettle. Each design was a gift from Mork, flashes of inspiration came and he created. Each creation worked just as intended. It was in his blood. He and his creations were one.

It was a pity these creations would be wasted.

The greenskin sighed as he moved onto creating the next long ship, knowing that the fate of this one would be the same as all the others. Rowing towards the main lands and being blasted to bits before reaching land. The only thing ever to return from their voyages were splinters and blood. Still, warboss Neroz Da Ugly was adamant. They would take the land, no matter the cost. So the greenskin worked again and again, perfecting his long ship design, and watching them row to certain doom. To him, today was just another day of constant toil, and eventual disappointment.

But this day changed everything.

He heard it as he was gathering more rope, an almost quiet wail that whispered though the leaves of the jungle. The whisper became a shout, and the shout became a deafening roar as the sky itself seemed to catch aflame. Grots scurried under any available cover, from rocks to discarded tools, and peeked at a massive burning hulk that tore across the sky. The greenskin stood in awe as he watched it slowly rip the sky apart with its trail of billowing smoke.

Sparks broke across the burning hulk, and a huge shard fell from it, twirling in the air as it fell towards the shipyard. Gretchen squeaked in fear and fled as they realized their doom, and the greenskin shook himself out of his awe-filled stupor and ran as fast as possible as the sky fell around him. Tree trunk sized bits fell from the shard and embedded themselves in the ground, leaving scorched craters and shattered trees in their wake. A burst of splinters rained on the greenskin as a nearby shed was shattered by the death rain, but on he ran until the whole earth shook and threw him down, as the shard finally collided with the shipyard. Longboats shattered in an instant, their thick black ore oak boards burst, and their shattered remains scattered through the air.

The deafening roar became a shout, and the shout became a whisper as the burning hulk flew further and further north, and the greenskin picked himself up from the ground. Where there was once a shipyard, now there were shambles. The splintered remains of the last batch of long ships littered around the massive shard. The greenskin could not help but return to his state of awe as he gazed on the shard. It was larger than anything he had created, or seen for that matter, save for the hulk it sheared from, and taller than any of the trees of the forest. Captivated by the shard, the greenskin studied it by cooling sections with water and prying bits apart to look at what was inside. Most of it was solid metal, melted and reformed by the reentry in strange and flowing patterns, but it was in the second hour of inspection that the greenskin found the true prize. A metal hatch groaned and grated as the greenskin pried at it with an oak pole until it finally broke open, revealing a tangled mass of sparking wires.


In that instant, the greenskin knew. He knew what they were. He knew what they could do. He knew what they needed, and how they would work. With the new materials at his hands, his inborn instincts kicked in, and visions of future inventions flooded his mind. Waves of ork troops clad in iron plates, charging through spears and bullets alike as if it were nothing. Smoke belching machines rattling forward faster than any ork or beast could run. Massive metal claws that could crush any foe. Loud, metal spewing weapons that spat a rain of death.

“Good Mork…” He said quietly to himself, stumbling back as he recovered from his influx of vision. This was a great opportunity that had been given to him, and he needed to act quickly to take full advantage of it.

“You!” he said, pointing his finger at a curious grot “Get tha’ workers! We’z got work ta’ do! And tell da’ boss dat mek Hannibal iz workin’ on somethin’ real good…”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It had only been a few days after the sky had rained its fiery blessing on Hannibal, and already the shipyard had taken on an entirely different form. Scaffolding has been hastily built all around the shard. Grots scurried to and fro, hauling tiny bits of scrap they managed to peel off, and tossing them into sorting bins. The dozen orks that Neroz had assigned to help were busy carting off piles of scrap metal and dumping them into large furnaces that had been dug into the ground, logs being constantly fed in to keep the metal hot and molten, where it was then poured out into clay ingot molds. Hannibal watched over it all as he tinkered with a large metal claw he wore over his own hand. It could cut through an entire tree with ease. The power in his hands was incredible.

Power that Neroz would surely take for himself.

And why should he have all the power? Hannibal pondered to himself as he checked his reflection in his claw. Neroz rose to power as any ork ever did: brute force. That was exactly his problem. He was all Gork and no Mork. When an attack failed, he simply threw more boys at it, even if craftier council could be found. Hannibal, once a proud nob in the battle host, was now regaled to endless ship building. Only to see his creations return as shrapnel; punishment for voicing his opinion when Neroz was angry.

No longer.

Hannibal closed his claw with a crunch. Soon, the tribe would be free of Neroz’s foolish ways. Hannibal would lead the green host to victory. It would become an iron horde, crushing all who opposed them with might and guile. But for now, Hannibal would bide his time.

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2016/03/31 17:10:15

The Eye of Night- Psst! Oi, git! Wanna buy sum waagh?
Sgt. Vanden- Oh sweet lord I just googled it...
Bobthehero-*laughs in hotshot volley rifle*  
Made in gb
Bread for Battle!


[Day before the knight duel]

Liza's team, the Kroot and the Histans landed on Crion in a remote southern area of the planet's ice caps. They aimed to remain neutral from the scrapping and power struggles flowing across the surface, but as the shuttles deployed, Edward watched them leave with a sense of great trepidation.
"This isn't Trisburg," Garth reached across the railing where Edward leaned, watching the sensor monitors, and gripped his partner's hand, "and everyone involved is capable of looking after themselves."
The Lord captain tore his eyes from the screens, "Am I that transparent in my self torment?"
"Near always," the commissar kept his hand in place, "it's one of your endearing qualities. Now, either you trust those Kroot to keep the cogboys safe, or you wasted nearly twenty thousand credits on a pointless misadventure. Which is it?" he smiled, a welcome sight after the stress of deployment.

"You are right. I shouldn't underestimate our experienced recruits." Edward shook his head.
"Plus, the Histan lads will be reporting back to us regularly, even if the others forget to." a silver tooth glinted in the commissar's smile.
The rogue trader laughed, "You sly dog."
"More about your peace of mind than anything else," Garth tapped his temple with a finger, "now, I believe you have an excursion of you own to get ready for. Or are you not planning on sleeping?"
"The duel!" Edward slapped his forehead, "Is that tomorrow?"
"It's in eight hours." taking Edward's elbow, Selka gently steered him away from the screens.
"Going to be an interesting mix of people." the Lord captain paused in the doorway.
"Bed!" Garth pulled off his hat and swatted the lingering Edward.
Edward drew himself up to his full height, "Bed, Lord Captain." he grinned and swept his arm up as he left.
Garth smiled and rolled his eyes before manning the display screens himself.


The shuttle crafts skimmed at breakneck speeds through the night sky, before landing smoothly amongst the thick snowbanks.
"You will stay inside the crafts until we have built the shelters." Liza's voice cut through the various rumblings of the engines.
"Already being babysat by the people we're here to protect?" a Kroot grumbled from one of the benches.
The Techpriest with them turned and inclined his head gently, before pulling down his own rebreather, "Night is at least twice as cold here as daylight, and these shuttles are climate controlled," he then lifted his robe slightly, displaying what at first appeared to be a metal boot, until those watching realised it was a bionic limb, "plus, our extremities are unable to feel the cold. We mean no disrespect, but by building at night when people can not traverse the area, we are reducing the risk of being caught unprepared."
"And no disrespect back to you," a Kroot shaper named Reg'ol nodded, "your logic is solid, if a little opaque to the rest of us."
The priest smiled, a wide thin line in a deathly pale face, "Ah! Then I will endeavour to be far more opaque, and encourage my colleagues similarly. For now, rest and stay warm. We will build."

All forces in the Southern half of Crion may roll to spot my crafts coming in, and from that attempt to work out where the Admech base is.
Remember we are more of a auto mechanic / garage than an invading force, but if you come armed for a fight, fething Skitari, man.

[ Mordian 183rd ] - an ongoing Imperial Guard story with crayon drawings!
[ "I can't believe it's not Dakka!" ] - a buttery painting and crafting blog
Made in us
Stabbin' Skarboy

Lord Governor Tobias Payne sat at the head of the long table in his diplomatic suite. The walls of this hall of statesmanship were cream, they held grandiose windows which framed the rocky shore that was Payne island and one could watch as the sea crashed gently upon these boulders. The low hanging Luna Epsilon hung in the night sky revealing only a sliver of its full self. Across from the row of five windows was the hearth, the fire illuminated the room casting shadows and twisting them. The suiete was on the second level of governor’s estate far from the commotion of the ballroom and its occupants and had only three doors, one that led to one of the governor’s private kitchens where servants prepared a special dinner for the crusading delegates, the hallway access point, and the door that rested behind Payne that led to his private quarters, each door was guarded by two palace guards, adorned in a deep blue carapace that matched the tapestry. The table they sat at was massive built to accommodate both humans and Astartes with comfort, Payne’s father had it commissioned when the Blood Angels visited Crion all those years ago, the table had not seen action since.

Payne looked to all those gathered before his long table. To the governor’s right sat Captain Fairfax, Magos Liza, Captain Taranis, Alpha Faolan, and The Angel. In the left column sat Captain Ceasar, Wolf lord Stormclaw, Queen Moira, and Tempestor Castilla. At the tables opposite head was Inquisitor Randall. The rest of the crusader guests were forced to wait in the ballroom.

Governor Payne cleared his throat with a grotesque noise, “My Lords I am so very much honored that so many noble champions of the Emperor have come to thee defense of Crion. I would like to on behalf of myself and every loyal Crionian like to thank you for your swift intervention.” Payne’s words were prewritten by some dreg with an auto quill, it was quite apparent. The portly governor continued speaking, “My lords I have gathered you here to discuss exactly what it will take to return Crion to normalcy.” Taranis interjected “You will forgive my interjection governor but me and my men are not here to deal with whatever plagues your harvest.” Payne was obviously furious at the shark’s sudden transgression but the governor checked his emotions and replied once again clearing his throat “Then what pray tell has brought you to my world Captain.”

Taranis rose to his feet much to the relief of the large chair in which he sat “Me and my brothers hunt xenos by far more despicable then the filth of green skins, we hunt Eldar and we have great reason to believe that they have arrived here on Crion.” Murmers broke out amongst the crusaders, Captain Edward Fairfax jotted something down on simple pocket journal. Payne spoke “My lord what proof have you of an Eldar incursion?” Taranis spoke “We have tracked their movements here.” Payne snorted “But have you encountered any Eldar on Crion or its moons.” Taranis spoke “Not yet but I know that…” Payne cut the astarte off “So you would derail my delegations for speculation of Eldar. I am Lord Governor of Crion and I would know if Eldar had stepped foot on my world.” Taranis had no reply to the governor as he was technically right, still he would not take the governor’s doubt lightly. Ceasar shook his head, a gut reaction as he knew that the Shark’s lust for Eldar blood could be another’s doom.

Payne returned to his planned speech, “Crion has three cancers that must be removed. The first and most concerning is this heretical incursion that has swept over the moon of Luna Epsilon. We have already lost a hive to the traitors and I fear their heresy will spread. We are still unsure who we are dealing with or what they are capable of.” Ulfric growled “It matters not who they are only where, all heretics bleed the same.” Randall spoke “We must make eradicating these traitors a priority.” The Angel spoke from behind her mask “Agreed the Arbiters of truth will lead the vanguard against the traitors.” Tempestor Castilla spoke “My lords if I may. The Arbiters of Truth are unworthy of such an honor, some of us veterans of the Chardon crusade remember the sins of the fallen order.” Captain Fairfax spoke “Agreed.” The Angel kept her composure “We will not hide, we are guilty, we can never fully atone for the fallen. We do not seek redemption rather we seek a to pay in part an unrepayable penance and if our debt means our death, then so be it.” Castilla spat “Tell that to those who fell to Arachus.” Randall spoke out “We are not here to discuss the innocence or guilt of the Arbiters of Truth nor are we here to speak of battles past.” Castilla spoke “You are correct Lord Inquisitor.”

Governor Payne refocused the conversation “Thank you Inquisitor. The second nuisance is a separatist organization calling themselves The Tillers. They have caused a great deal of damage to our industry. Normally I would not ask off worlders to assist in such an affair but our PDF can not handle so many fronts. If Crion is to be restored, we must eliminate these apostates.” Alpha Faolan spoke “Tell me governor what do you know of these separatist, they seem to be a thorn in your side for some time.” Governor Payne seemed annoyed at the thought of Tillers, “They are led by a man calling himself Horatio Payne. He is claiming to be my bastard and as such the true heir to Crion. He is a liar and heretic, he rallies hordes of field hands to take up arms with fancy speeches of equality and the tyranny of the bourgeois.” Yet another note for Edward’s pocket book. The governor spoke “The majority of these terrorists are isolated to the continent of Krius, but cells are beginning to appear in cities throughout Crion.” Queen Moira interjected “Could a diplomatic solution be reached?” Payne spoke “They will not speak; they are no better than feral anarchist. Which brings me to the final threat.”

It was at this time a servitor brought out a large silver covered tray and laid it before the Governor. Three other servitors brought three similar trays. Liza watched the half organic automatons with curiosity, they were ornate butshe was still not fond of the use of humans. “The orks have been fighting with unusual amount of organization as of late. I fear their unification may herald the beginning of a Wagh. I do not know what’s caused this sudden change but it must be stopped.” Payne looked out to those gathered before him and clapped his hands together “Well then I suppose all that remains is deciding who will handle which threat, but that can wait till after dinner.” Payne arose to his feet and put his left hand atop the silver tray cover and his right hand with his glass in the air, “A toast is in order.” Everyone who sat at the table rose and held up their drinks “Here’s to us defenders of Crion and Servants of the God Emperor.” As the kitchen door swung open with the servitors departure something caught Faolan’s eye, something that shocked him to his core, the Hound shouted “Governor wait.” But it was too late Payne uncovered the tray of food and found not his expected pile of Crionian clams, but a single green skinned Gretchen aiming a crude pistol at him.

Meanwhile in the Ballroom

Commissar Jethro Alenko leaned on the railing that overlooked the ballroom, he gazed at those gathered about the Governor’s manor he could tell that an agent of the Inquisition made many of the attendants uncomfortable. He watched with hatful eyes as the three scion bodyguards of the 85th made idle chatter by a silver statue of the Primarch Roboute Guilliman. Captain Kid approached the Commissar with two glasses of punch, the Mordian nudged the Commissar and handed him a glass. She spoke “Enjoying the party commissar?” Jethro laughed “More than you I wager. Is that for me you shouldn’t have.” Kid looked annoyed she shook her head “I was trying to eavesdrop on some of the more loosed tongued guests.” Jethro took a sip of the sweet red liquid and spoke “And?” Kid replied “At this rate it seems I’m more likely to get chatter out of a servitor.” “A shame, it seems our entrance left some unnerved.” Kid replied “Randall is to fond of theatrics, you think being part of a cloak and dagger outfit like the Inquisition he’d be a bit more subtle.” Alenko shrugged “I was never fond of the shadows nor the beasts that lurk within them.”

Commissar Garth Selka watched the two Inquisitorial henchmen from the punch bowl. He knew that Commissar, but from where. He saw him at the duel that was not so surprising as the Inquisition has spies everywhere. But, Garth felt he knew him before that. He racked his mind but no name came to him. Who was he? Corporal Tekkar one of the Histians that accompanied him and Ed approached him and spoke “I don’t like the Captain being alone.” Selka broke his gaze away from the mysterious Commissar and spoke “Ed’s a big boy he can handle himself.” The Histian laughed “You don’t believe that do ya.” Selka growled “You will show respect to your Lord Captain.” “Sorry sir.” Selka sighed “And no I actually don’t believe that, but he’ll be safe he’s with Astartes after all and Liza.” The Corporal shrugged “Your right, still wish we could be there for… whatever it is their talking about.” “As do I.”

Commander Cearul Adair, Chaplain Iodius, and Battle Leader Conan watched the two Grey Knights from across the ballroom. Conan spat at the marble floor and servitor modified with cleaning implements came hobbling over. The wolf spoke “I hate the entire bloody Inquisition, but the sons of Titan are by far the most detestable.” Commander Cearul spoke “I’ve not heard of these Grey Knights, but if they serve the Inquisition they could be trouble.” Conan growled “The wolves remember the Months of Shame and can assert they are indeed trouble.” Chaplain Iodius spoke “Come now we are all brothers. I am sure the reputation of these Grey Knights are exaggerated. Let us speak to them.” Floki approached the Chaplain and spoke “Oh the Grey Knights have earned the mysterious reputation they leave no witnesses, ever. If you approach them, you may never return.” The veteran Iodius scoffed “I will not be swayed by Fenrisian superstition.” Floki sighed “It’s your funeral brother just don’t haunt us who warned you.”

Justicar Freeman and Brother Captain Athenar watched as the Chaplain approached. Iodius made the sign of the Aquilla and bowed before the Grey Knights, the sons of Titan returned the gesture. Iodius spoke “Hail brothers, it is well to see you. I am Chaplain Iodius of the Dorn’s Wish Chapter.” Captain Athenar spoke plainly “Chaplain.” Justicar Freeman was more inviting “Well met brother I am Justicar Freeman and this is Brother Captain Athenar.” Iodius felt uncomfortable but attempted to continue the dialogue “Tell me I know nothing of your chapter, are you sons of Corax?” Athenar relayed a message psychically to the Justicar and Freeman spoke “I am sorry Chaplain we do not openly discuss our chapter.” Iodius smiled “Oh come now I realize you are part of the Inquisition but surly can share some of your chapter’s history.” Justicar Freeman didn’t need Athenar’s psychic instruction to do his will, “Chaplain we have only been speaking to you out of respect for your rank and dedication to the Emperor. Were you a normal battle brother this conversation would not even be happening. So I ask for your own welfare you walk away now.” Chaplain Iodius was insulted that a marine who was likely not even half his age would speak so lowly to him “Listen, I’ve smitten more enemies of the emperor than you have days existed I would appreciate some….” A sudden nose bleed caught the chaplain off guard coupled with a crippling headache. Justicar Freeman spoke his voice made him nauseous “Please brother go enjoy the party.” Iodius began to back away and felt better with each step he took.

Chaplain Iodius quickly stopped his bleeding and walked towards the group of Marines that awaited him. Commander Cearul spoke “How did it go did you learn anything?” Chaplain Iodius wishing to not look foolish spoke with a smile “Aye I did I got their names.” “What are they.” Asked on of the veterans that had accompanied him and Ceasar. “The one on the right is…” Iodius mind went to a blank, he remembered being told their names but he couldn’t remember what they were. In fact, the more he thought back on the encounter the less he remembered. An Astartes has a photogenic memory this was odd. The veteran spoke “You all right brother?” The Chaplain spoke “On second thought we would be wise to avoid these lot.”

Commissar Jethro Alenko watched from the balcony as the lines of nobles swayed and shuffled from one end of the dance floor to the other. The song ended and the band quickly turned the pages of their sheet music and began again, it was The Rains of Faust. Jethro smiled as he looked over to Captain Kid “This takes me back.” Kid spoke almost sounding curious “Does it? Any memory in particular.” Jethro smiled at his treasured memory and spoke “A wedding about eight years back. That was the last time I danced come to think of it.” The Mordian laughed “I didn’t realize that dancing was in a Commissar’s skill set.” Jethro grinned “But of course the Schola Progenium trains the finest dancers. On Mondus we’d disassemble las guns and study the Lectitio Divinitatus but on Tuetus we’d put on our leotards and pour our soles out on the stage. Had I not been selected for the Oficio Prefectus I’d be Lord master of the Dance.” Kid laughed “I think it for the best.” Alenko let the laughter settle and he left his gaze upon Captain Kid for too long. The Commissar cleared his throat and spoke “So tell me Captain when was the last time you danced.” “Mordians don’t dance.” Jethro laughed but the Captain was clearly serious. “Never?” Jethro asked and “Never” was the captain’s reply. Wit escaped the commissar and an uncomfortable silence fell upon him. Kid looked at Jethro with a raised eye brow “Are you alright Commissar.” “Captain would you care to…” a blood curdling screech cut the commissar short.

A baroness spotted the first of the Green skins as the orkish grot sprung forth from the punchbowl, chucking forward a crude ork grenade known to them as a stikk bomb. As the fragmentation device exploded killing three unlucky nobles and an innocent drink servitor, ork Kommandos repelling from ropes bursted through the massive windows, their heavy boots crunching the broken glass as they charged into the party goers. A nob with a power klaw shouted “No survivors Big Boss’s orders!” The orks did not need such a reminder as they unleashed their choppas indiscriminately upon armed palce guard, crusade, and unarmed noble alike. A Kommando plunged his choppa into the chest of one of the Valorn men at arms his carapace doing nothing to stop the barbed blade, the man at arms was quickly avenged a bolt shot from the Wolf Guard battle leader Conan. Veteran Brother Danner of the Dorn’s wish chapter had locked his combat blade with the sword of a snarling kommando. Brother Danner would have won the duel had it not been for the intervention of another kommando who placed an axe in the unarmored rear of the back of his knee. The ork seeing his opportunity struck at the stunned Danner and removed the space marine’s helmeted head from his power armored shoulders. In a rage Iodius rushed forward at the two green skins, his mighty Crozius Arcanum crushing the orks thick bones as their bodies were tossed to the opposite end of the room. Commissr Garth Selka watched as one of the Histians that had accompanied him and Ed fell after a shot from an ork Slugga put a fist size hole in his chest. Garth raised his pistol to avenge the fallen bodyguard but another ork charged him from his left, the ork tackled him to the floor and raised a twisted dagger to finish him with. Had it not been for the swift blade of Queensward Valorn the commissar would have died. Thankfully Amanda’s blade was true and struck the ork cleaving it in two allowing Garth to roll to his feet. Captain Athenar and Justicarl Freeman unleashed a bolts of chain lightning on the rampaging orks, however the orks wooden armor made his spell not very effective. The Orks charged against the grey knights with brutal fury. An ork equipped with a device known as a rokkit stikk swung at Justicar Freeman hitting him with explosive force. Fragments of the marine’s armor were cast asunder as the son of titan fell to the ground. He was alive but barely. In the eye of the storm of war was the nob commander.

The Nob Kommando was a behemoth among orks. In its right hand was its mighty power klaw, in its left a crude jagged morning star. Three Scions of the 85th and three of Randal’s Storm Troopers surrounded the beast. They aimed their menagerie of weaponry at the ork but the nob bellowed a mighty WAAAGH! and charged the carapace clad troopers. With a swing of the klaw two scions were hit with crushing weight of the power klaw while one of the Inquisitorial storm troopers was lifted into the air. With the nobs morning star, the remaining two storm trooper and scion was struck with lethal force. The Inquisitorial trooper locked in the nob’s clutches was severed in two his torso and legs falling to the floor. Floki looked at the nob holding his lightning claws at his side and growled “Prepare to die ork.” The Nob clanked his two weapons together and unleashed a war cry and charged the space wolf. Floki had expected such a primitive move, but hadn’t expected the speed and strength the ork would strike with. The ork and wolf exchanged both each growing in rage and strength as their blows were dodged, blocked, and deflected. The tide changed when Floki struck at the green skin, the ork dodged the blow and quickly grabbed the wolf by the shoulder and fist. The nob brought the trickster down to the ground and placed his boot to the marine’s power pack. The ork proceeded to push the marine’s elbow inward with great force. The power armored joints resisted as did the son of Russ but the brutish strength of the nob could not be resisted. The marine’s elbow shattered, Floki gritted his teeth as his bone fractured and tore at his black carapace. The ork released his grasp and laughed as he raised his massive morning star to end the marine and brought it down with primal aggression.

Alpha Faolan watched the servitors exit the governor’s diplomatic suite into the kitchen, but as the door swung open a trio of brutish figures caught the hound’s eye orks no way of mistaking them. Faolan shouted “Governor wait.” But no waiting was done as Payne unveiled the grot assassin waiting to blast the portly lord governor into oblivion. The grot needed only move its finger in the slightest and the governor would die. However, the governor was blessed when Ta’lok’s knife came zooming from the rafters impaling the grot. Angel looked to where the knife came from and saw only a fleeing cloaked figure.

Though the grot assassin was dead the danger was far from passed as three ork kommandos came rushing from governor’s kitchen, another group of five stormed through the windows, while another squad of five came from the door that led to the governor’s quarters. Thirteen orks in total. The kommandos eliminated the palace guards with uncanny efficiency leaving only the governor and guest crusaders. Each crusader drew what weapons they had and made ready for battle.

Castilla did not have time to draw her pistol before the first ork was upon her. The ork raised its hand axe over its head and brought it down upon scion. The Tempestor thought on her feet and grabbed a large silver platter and used it as an improvised shield. Though the silverware likely saved her life the vibration of the ork’s blow hard enough strength to cause a minor fracture in her wrist. The Angel leapt from her position and descended upon the ork that threatened Castilla her mechanical legs piercing the beast’s hide as she landed upon it. With her hand flamer she incinerated another of the elite komando that charged for her. Edward fired his las pistol at the approaching greenskin. The red energy bolts charred the orks skin and clearly angered the beast but had no other effect upon it. Eventually the ork was upon Fairfax and swung for him with a might blow. Ed had dodged the blade but not completely as the crude choppa had caused him a flesh wound. Ed was not so fortunate when the ork delivered him a forward kick which stumbled the rogue trade to his back. The commando was about to finish the job when he was struck by a pair of power daggers, striking like the fangs of a demon. Magos Liza plunged her twin blades deep into the kommando’s leathery hide. The knives eviscerated the ork likely saving the rogue traders life. Randal drew his plasma pistol and power sword as three orks descended upon him. The first ork was turned to blue goo when the super heated plasma made contact with it. The inquisitor’s second start was not so lucky as the pistol’s overheat indicator began to beep. Knowing he had not a second to spare Randall threw the pistol out the broken window and watched the pistol explode on itself. “Damn plasma” thought the inquisitor. Randal would rely on his blade to handle the remaining two orks. Wolf Lord Stormclaw intercepted an ork that was clearly headed for the Payne, the champion of Fenris had only had combat knife to fight the beast with. The astartes blade proved sufficient as the Wolf Lord rapidly dodged a swing from the ork’s choppa and plunged his blade into the throat of the invading xeno. Captain Caesar placed a bolt round in the skull of marauding commando. The captain felt a harsh sting in his wrist as a sluga round hit his mailed fist. Though the primitive ork projectile could not penetrate his power armor it did force him to drop his bolt gun, without a blade to fight the xenos the captain was forced to rely on his fist. Queen Moira’s power saber gleamed in blue and red as it sliced through the leather jerkin that the commandos wore, the primitive armor not standing to the energy of the power sword. Taranis smashed an ork’s skull in the palm of his power fist. Captain Faolan had been the most prepared for the ork intruders, he drew his bolt pistol and placed a round in each of the three orks who stormed in from the kitchen. Faolan droped his pistol and drew his massive blade Fang Bearer quickly turned around to face the xenos who entered from the window. The two handed relic blade cleaved through an ork with the slightest of effort. Soon enough the Kommandos lay dead.

A deep purple shield caught the nob’s titanic blow. Commander Cearul grunted as he forced the ork back. The nob snarled “SPACE MARINE! YOU FINK YOUR ARD ENOUGH TO STOP DA MIGHTY KORPORAL BROGG!” Cearul brandished his blade and laughed “I’ve slain orks twice your size.” The Brogg beast snarled “ZOG YOU ONLY DA BIG BOSS IZ BIGGA DEN ME EVERYONE ELSE IS JUST A PRETENDA.” Cearul laughed “Come throw yourself upon my blade beast.” Brogg charged at the marine leading with his morning star. Brogg’s blows were mighty but Cearul’s defense was unyielding, his storm shield absorbing the ork’s blows. Brogg grew furious and Cearul saw his chance. The ork rushed the Hound commander Cearul swung with his power sword and severed the ork’s left arm. Brogg ranted in pain “ME ARM YOU CUT OFF ME ZOGGIN ARM!” Cearul did not let up on the wounded ork as he unleashed a mighty shield bash upon Brogg and the ork stumbled backward and fell out the window from which he entered. The ork fell near forty feet to the rocky shore below.

Inquisitor Garett Randall removed his sword from the corpse of the last Kommando that ambushed the crusaders. Tempestor Castilla spoke her voice betrayed her anger “I thought the orks were contained to Cambria!” Payne looked sincerely shocked “They are!” Captain Taranis spoke as he clamped his helmet to his head hiss voice transforming from organic to filtered, “Clearly they are not.” Magos Liza spoke “How did these beasts get here?” her answer came in the form of an artillery.

Queensward Valorn beheaded the last Kommando and the party went to calm and silence. That calm was broken when a 500 millimeter shell bursted throught the window and killed a dozen palace guards and guests. What calmed had been achieved was broken by the screams and fleeing of nobles.

Alpha Faolan looked out the window and saw the ork flag ship upon the water. The ork carrier unleashed several flying contraptions called Dakka Jets and War Koptas. Faolan heard the answered the com bead he had in his ear it was his second Cearul. The marine spoke “Brother we are under attack.” The Alpha replied as he watched the ship fire another shell “I know brother ready Canagan, we have a ship to sink.”

Inquisitor Randall looked over to Faolan and spoke with haste “Is Canagan a land speeder?” Faolan nodded “Aye she’s the fastest the Hounds have.” “It is equipped with a teleport homer yes.” “It is.” The Inquisitor spoke “When you get to the ship activate it My captain will open a portal and you will have reinforcements. The rest of us will stay here and defend the manor.” The Hound nodded, he did not trust the inquisitor but reinforcements could not be refused.

The ork invasion was in full effect when Faolan reached his land speeder. Beach assault crafts unloaded hordes of ork boys upon the shore of Payne manor, the skies flooded with storm boyz, and groups of elite kommandos off loaded from War koptas. The palace guards mounted their defense but the orks were many and they few. Faolan mounted the gunner seat in Canagan and readied the multi melta. Cearul activated the machine and the hovering vessel sped forward.

As the scout craft entered open water two ork dakka jets lowered their altitude to less than a foot above the raging night sea. They trailed the skimmer and opened fire at it twin linked dakka guns splashing the water below them. Cearul pulled up and then back and soon enough the two hounds were above the speeding jets. Faolan did not wasted the opportunity and fired the melta at the plane directly below him. Whatever the molten round hit triggered an explosion and the jet fragmented as it hit the water. Now the pair of Emperor’s Hounds were behind the remaining Jet and Faolan fired again. The entire right wing came apart and the plane was plunged into the sea. The marines went uncontested the rest of their voyage to battle ship.

They reached the ship’s deck and Faolan switched the teleport homer on as mobs of orks that made the runway crew charged at the two. Cearul drew his shield and defended his commander as Faolan gave a mighty cleave with his claymore sending ork chunks all about the deck. A few more moments and dead orks later the portal appeared and a group of loyal Imperials were present. Taranis and Athenar were the largest presence as both wore terminator armor. Taranis threw orks over board with his power fist and peppered orks with bolts from his stormbolter. Athenar opened a swerling vortex of doom that swallowed dozens of green skins and forced a grot to cling to a railing, the grey knight plunged his nemesis halbrid into the maw of a rampaging squig. Captain Caesar and three of his men opened with bolter fire slaying orks in handfuls. The party began to disperse throughout the ships as not to give the orks an easy target. Then a feral war call rang above the crusaders.

A massive ork clearly the leader of these sailors leapt from position to be among the crusaders. The ork was bionically modified what the orks would label a Cybork. The ork had the trappings of a big mek adorned with various tools and bits. The mek shouted “Who dares come aboard Da big Mek StoneGob’s kruza.” One of the marines from Dorn’s wishe charged the mek but the ork tossed a device at him. The device stuck to the veteran marine and began drilling into his armor and then into the marine’s flesh. The Astarte clawed at the contraption to no avail, the drill seemed to grow larger and larger as it buzzed through the marine’s chest cavity. Caesar felt his blood boil and the marine reved his chain sword and rushed for the ork. The mek deliever a boot kick at the enraged captain and saw he was out numbered and likely out matched. The ork spat “Ah Zog you, take da ship da big boss will kill you lot later.” The mek ran off and grabbed a rokkit pack of the corpse of a dead Nob Stormboy. The mek took off into the night sky. The survivor that weren’t occupied fighting orks began firing at the fleeing big mek to no avail.

Soon enough the ork invaders were dead or fleeing off the island. The night had been one, though it should not have been a night that needed winning.

Commander Shadowbrand watched from afar as a human put the down the last ork. The Tau smiled, the humans had more immediate concerns then their Cadre, this was an advantage Skyhunter would not waste. The Tau were still undetected by the Imperials and they preferred to keep it that way Shadowbrand ordered the men back to their stealth transport. They had seen all there was to be seen here.

Inquisitor Garrett Randall watched as a blood red sun rose above the ocean. He took in the salt air; it would have been nice had it not been for sea of blood that flowed upon the island. Captain Kid approached Randall and spoke with grim fortitude “We lost three troopers, Juticar Freeman is wounded but he should survive.” The sea was calm again and it crashed upon the beach Garett made no comment. Kid spoke again “Its going to get worse isn’t it.”
“Much worse.” Was Randall’s only reply.

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2016/03/31 21:51:25

Made in us
Ultramarine Master with Gauntlets of Macragge

What's left of Cadia

Lilliana glowed with pride as she watched the new base camp for Iybraesil’s Warriors come together. It had been a few days since the Eldar had rapidly retreated from their initial starting point in response to the oncoming mon’keigh attack force, and she was very pleased with the progress that had been made on their new camp thus far. Already the camp was surrounded by layer upon layer of wards that would confound the minds of the hated enemy, making them think that there was nothing there. Thus was the Eldar way of war, as much misdirection and trickery as direct violence. Lilliana was determined that this new camp would not be found, and so she and Warlock Raela had personally seen to some of the most powerful of the wards that now surrounded their camp. In addition to the wards, a network of eyes had been set up throughout the surrounding forest. Several small Webway gates had been scattered throughout the forest surrounding the Eldar base camp. Any foe seeking to engage the Eldar would be forced to suffer constant harassment by Rangers and other Eldar forces, who would be able to strike at them before fading back into the Webway, to strike again from another, unexpected, angle. Such tactics had worked many times for Iybraesil in the past, and she knew that this time would be no different, if the foe were brave enough to seek out the Eldar.

She turned her gaze from the wards that surrounded the camp to the camp proper. She could see already see the quarters for the Aspect Warriors and Guardians taking shape in the camp as she Bone Singers drew them from the warp using their instruments. As they played the Wraithbone seemed to shift and move as it’s form was altered into the one that the Bone Singers’ instruments demanded. The site of it had always disturbed Lilliana on some level. She had great respect for the Bone Singers themselves, but something about them disturbed her on a primal level. She was jolted out of her thoughts when she heard some quiet footsteps behind her. It was Warlock Raela. Lilliana knew that if Raela had wanted she could have made it so that even Lilliana’s keen hearing would have been unable to detect them, and for that she was thankful. She was amazed every day at how Raela had transitioned seamlessly from the life of an Imperial Inquisitor, to that of the Eldar, and it had been little surprise to Lilliana when Raela had nearly instantly set out on the Path of the Seer. Her psychic powers were impressive, not nearly as strong as Lilliana’s but impressive nevertheless. She was skilled with the Runes of Battle, and she had rapidly reached the rank of Warlock, where she seemed to be content to stay for now. As Raela stopped a few feet away from Lilliana, Lilliana quietly turned to face her and asked “How go the preparations Raela? How soon will we be ready for war once more? My blood sings for vengeance against the slayers of our warriors, and I long to make them pay for their deeds.” Raela cocked her head to the side, a human gesture that never failed to confuse any Eldar who saw it, and replied “The Bone Singers estimate that they will be finished in two days time, so I would give it three days before we are war-ready once more. Never fear Farseer, the Carchoradons will pay for their temerity, it is only a matter of time.” Lilliana nodded and then turned back to watch the camp come together, and she clasped the small charm that hung from her neck. It was a gift from her daughter, something that she had shaped from wraithbone and given to Lilliana before she had left for war. It was more than that to Lilliana though, it was a reminder of what she was fighting for. She quietly uttered a prayer to Isha before slowly beginning the long walk to her quarters. There was still much to be done.


Still in Indo-Cambria, setting up my base. Also remembered to bring Raela back, so TS can get off my back about her

TheEyeOfNight- I swear, this thread is 70% smack talk, 20% RP organization, and 10% butt jokes
TheEyeOfNight- "Ordo Xenos reports that the Necrons have attained democracy, kamikaze tendencies, and nuclear fission. It's all tits up, sir."
Space Marine flyers are shaped for the greatest possible air resistance so that the air may never defeat the SPACE MARINES!
Sternguard though, those guys are all about kicking ass. They'd chew bubble gum as well, but bubble gum is heretical. Only tau chew gum
Made in de
Shrieking Traitor Sentinel Pilot

The battle had raged for an hour before the first of the rebel lines broke, and the orks spilled like a horde of insects into the streets of Hive Cogger. From there, it descended from a stopgap battle into the absolute crushing madness of urban combat. Orks and rebels alike were leaping from rooftops onto each other, wrestling through tunnels and alleyways. This wasn't war, it was a brawl, and it was drenching them all in blood.

Mordecai stood in the street, snapping off shots with his meager autopistol at the dense shapes clashing within the smoke and flames around him. The battle was chaos, nothing but sheer madness incarnate, and no amount of prayer or rallying cries could have prepared him for it. One of the wolf-pigs, absent of its rider, came bearing down on him through the dust. Mordecai threw the shield before him, and the beast slammed into it, driving him hard into the broken road. The rebel could feel ribs break under the impact, and he braced himself for the end.

The blast of a nearby shotgun pierced the air, and the weight on the shield was gone. Lazarus stepped over him, unloading the second barrel into the wolf-pig creature as it struggled to stand. Tossing the smoking shotgun aside, he extended a hand towards Mordecai as the rebel struggled to catch his breath.


“Father!” Mordecai protested, spitting red saliva through his white mask. “...I'm...I bleed....”

Lazarus wrenched him around, and Mordecai beheld the demagogue's true and terrifying silhouette against the cloudy sky. The His grip was firm, unyielding, but supported Mordecai and helped him to stand. It was the grip of a parent, raising a child from an unfortunate fall. Lazarus's eye gleamed, a bright contrast to the smoke and dust which choked the air, and he spoke commands meant not just for Mordecai, but for everyone in the city.

“You don't have time to bleed. You have time to stand!”

His sword flashed, cutting down a squealing greenskin as it leaped, and he shoved Mordecai into a standing position. The beaten, war-weary coat he wore was torn with fresh blood and fresh rips as he strode towards the nearest struggle, shouting as he did.

“Isolate the big ones! Keep them separated before we drown!”

* * * *

Jerimoth sat at the back of a drainage tunnel, his fingers clutching the battered stock of an ancient autogun. His left arm still shook, and his face was still covered in a dirty bandage from where he had tried to peel away its skin. He was not fit to fight, but all were fit to serve somehow under the Legion's banner.

A lumbering nob cast its shadow over the mouth of the tunnel, and Jerimoth knew he had his chance. His finger convulsed on the trigger, firing a spray of nonsensical bullets to draw the ork's attention. With a blood-hungry grunt, its bulk filled the entrance to the tunnel, charging down towards the helpless human, waving its axe and shouting unintelligibly. A red light appeared in Jerimoth's hand, and he laid back into his throne of piled shrapnel. Had the ork understood explosives better, it might have realized that the drainage tunnel was now an enormous shotgun barrel, leveled at both it and the mob on the streets coming to investigate.

Beneath his bandages, Jerimoth forced a painful smile, and hoped that someone would tell his name to the Flayed Lord when the battle was done. The ork reached out for him, and he pressed the detonator.

* * * *

Jael sprinted past the burning wreck of an artillery cannon, struggling to reload her autogun on the move. The towering ork chasing her roared again, lobbing an axe at her head and missing by inches. She closed her eyes, struggling to remember the prayers and chants that Lazarus had taught her. They fled her now, with her courage, and left a vacant hole of terror in their wake. If she was truly a servant of the dark gods, her life was in their hands.

Behind them, the cannon's ammo cache cooked off, and the artillery was thrown into the air on a hideous fireball. Shrapnel exploded out, punching clean through the ork's back and out its chest in a grisly display. Flesh and blood showered the air as the greenskin stumbled, still roaring bloody spittle as it faltered in its charge.

Jael's hands found a broken piece of stonework, easily the size of a Basilisk shell, and she shouted as she swung it around, knocking the ork to the ground. With strength she didn't know she had, Jael raised the block nearly to eye-level, and slammed it down on the beast's head.

She kept slamming the stone down until there was nothing but pulp under it, and then she slammed it down once more for good measure.

* * * *

Lazarus spun away from one ork, disarming it with a flick of his sword and leaving it for the rebels to finish off. He was bleeding, but he didn't dare look down to see how badly. The gods had not yet permitted him to die, that was all he was certain of. But the tide of greenskins was unending, even as he heard the shouts and cheers at each nob's death. They weren't who he was after.


The shout shook the pavement under his feet, and Lazarus spun around, bringing the sword up to a guard stance. An immense juggernaut of an ork stormed through the wreckage, tossing aside ork and rebel alike as it moved. Behind it was a meter-long log, which may have once been a tree trunk, studded with spiked metal and bits of bone along its entire length. Blood and pulped flesh decorated it in gory testament to the strength of its bearer.

“DIS ORK CITY!” The ork swung the club overhead, smashing aside one of the flamethrowers with ease. “DIS ALWAYS ORK CITY!” Its face, if it could be called such, twisted in rage, and Lazarus wagered that this was SkullSnake, the warboss itself.

Lazarus tasted blood, and wondered vaguely how long he had been bleeding from his mouth. There was little time to consider as the ork bore down on him, screaming and swinging its club in every direction. Lazarus spun away from the charge, a blur of motion as the club shattered the stonework he had stood upon. The ork may have been a force of nature, but Lazarus was a messenger of Chaos, and he had little use for whatever direct challenge the ork had in mind.

Hanging from his belt was a single anti-tank shaped charge, a prize originally intended for aid in opening the Maw. Lazarus had taken it for himself, hunting through the packs of orks in search of the warboss, and now the possibility of victory lay open before him. The strange cone-shaped charge lofted lazily through the air, as if contemplating its final moment of existence.

It detonated with a crack that shook the dust from the air, and a piercing lance of molten metal struck out like lightning, and blew a cannonball-sized hole through SkullSnake's midsection. The club, suddenly absent of much of the muscle which supported it, clattered to the ground, and the abrupt loss of blood and mass would have killed a lesser being outright. SkullSnake staggered, falling to one knee as it struggled to keep itself upright. The shock was still worming through its body, and a hushed quiet fell around them as a hundred eyes turned to see the warboss's charge cut short.

Lazarus limped forward, his jaw set in a firm grimace, his ears ringing loud from the explosive shot. His sword, beaten and bloody, swung up to rest against SkullSnake's throat.

“In the name of the Flayed-”

The ork twisted around and bit the blade, locking the edge between its grimy teeth. Lazarus snapped his arm around, twisting the tip of the blade to point back down into the ork's throat, and viciously kicked the hilt as hard as he could manage.

SkullSnake glared at him, gurgling noise as blood and frothy saliva pooled around around the beaten sword. It seemed like an eternity before the greenskin's eyes finally clouded, and the massive beast fell over in an unceremonious heap. Lazarus stumbled back, exhaustion finally permitted to take over, and put his hand against a nearby heap of rubble. A terrifying wail rose up through the Maw, and the remaining orks scrambled towards the gap in the wall, trampling each other in their haste to regroup somewhere away from their dead boss's body.

Mordecai was there, helping him up, and Lazarus once again became aware that he was bleeding from a great many wounds he should not have ignored. The blue light within his artificial eye flickered as a frustrated sneer twisted his lip.

“Now, Mordecai....now we can bleed.”

He slumped down, and the sword slipped from his fingers.

Part 2, finally up

War Kitten- Nothing evens the odds like a reaper chainsword to the naughty bits
Sgt. Vanden- And now I'm a whale with panties. Can't see how this day can get any better.

Fiction: God-Fang (Beastmen) / The Flayed Legion (CSM)

Made in gb
Stubborn Eternal Guard

Nysshea laughed. Others of her kind would be stealthy, would creep along without a sound. Not her. Or the rest of the Harlequins with her. No, they wanted the humans to know that they were going to die, wanted them to run towards them, defient to the last. And then they wanted to tear them apart in a bloody masterpiece.

The Death jester and the other dozen Harlequins crept through the underbelly of the city, water dripping through the unused tunnel. Pipes ran the length of the walls, more rust than metal now. The tunnel, behind the pipes, was rough stone, carved from the local rock and was seldom used for anything but gang fights. It was one of number that ran from the farms outside the city, to its inside, now forgotten and a perfect entrance for anyone who knew where
to look. This particular one lead to the main gate within Torcan, where the majority of guards were posted. The main gate was at the end of a long entrance passage way, and was the first and final defense before you arrived in Hive Torcan, which was in no better state than the tunnel the Harlequins crept down now. The hive itself was warren of chambers and buildings, all decaying and thrown together in the most haphazard way possible. Ancient and beautiful architecture resided beside crude slums, plamsa being vented through. It was simply a place where humans could rot together, dressed as a place to keep them safe. And it would not keep them safe toady.

The plan was surprisingly simple. Nysshea and twelve other members of the Reaper's Mirth would enter the tunnel after infiltrating a crumbling farm house. From there they would follow it all the way to the Hive, through its many branches and turns, looking out for the two local gangs, the Kretchmas and the Bleeders. They were the only thing that could go wrong with the plan, as there was enough of them that they would have a chance of halting them, if either
gang were to come across the clowns. However, the two gangs had been at war for so long that they would be too busy killing each other than to pay any heed to the Harlequins. Eventually Nysshea and the Players would reach the end, and come out right behind the guards. They had also timed it so that the guard would be at its largest, with only a few more in the actual city. From here, the Harlequins would use the element of surprise and the fact that they weren't in the mens' firing lanes to kill them all ruthlessly. They would then proceed to slaughter the entire hive.

Suddenly, as Nysshea rounded a corner, the air filled with shots. Las gun fire and crude metal bullets tore through the air, and three Harlequins died before they had a chance to return fire. Gripping her Shrieker cannon, Nysshea looked at her foe. It was impossible. The Bleeders and the Kretchmas were attacking them, fighting side by side as they rushed the clowns, knives out and guns firing. Nysshea hefted her weapon and fired into the gang members. The unlucky victim's blood vessels rapidly expanded as the toxin spread through their body, and they exploded in beautiful shower of gore, bone fragments embedding themselves into the humans around him. She used the blade on the end of her cannon to rip open several enemies in front of her, while the rest of the troupe whirled around, blades flashing and shuriken pistols firing. Humans died in troves, flesh torn open as screams filled the tunnel.

But there were too many.

Nysshea slashed again at a leader that rushed her, cutting him from hip to shoulder and revelling at the blood that gushed out and the organs spilling to the ground. Four more took his place, and she was forced to take six steps back, firing again into them and watching the organic explosion. The rest of the Harlequins faired no better, swamped by shear numbers. They leapt around, parrying and cutting, and being dragged to the ground by bloody hands, to be
hacked apart by blunt blades. She screamed in rage as another Player fell, and rammed her blade through the chest of the human in front of her, tearing apart the one behind with her bare hands. A boot came out of no where and slammed into her stomach, and a bullet seared through her shoulder. Scrambling back and grabbing her Shrieker cannon, she and the remaining seven Harlequins retreated back the way they had come, hundreds of the allied gang members pursuing them, blades out. Suddenly, from behind the clowns, rushed out yet more foes, surrounding them. Fighting with pure rage, the Harlequins tore into the new fighters, trambling their lacertated bodies into the floor, laughing as the bones cracked under foot. Nysshea cut open her foolish opponent, who had rushed at her, enjoying the way he screamed and squirmed at the end of her blade. His screams just seemed to enrage his friends, who heeded not how the foolish human had just died, and rushed at her. She fired at the first, and the explosion killed the other three. She ran forward, impaling another, and continued to cut down any that got in her way. In a whirlwind of blood and gore, the harlequins pushed on, sustaining more and more injuries.

Eventually, Nysshea and six of the twelve Harlequins reached the other side, and howling in anger, sprinted away from the mob. After a bit, they came across a lone gang member, holding his knife. He was there to try and cut them off. Stupid human. Remembering how much gangs loved their weapons, Nysshea grabbed his blade with unnatural speed and, pinning him to the wall with her good arm, slit open his stomach with his own knife. Then, stabbbing the knife into his arm, she shoved her hand into his stomach, and pulled out his organs. He screamed, and shaked with pain, howling for mercy, but Nysshea kept going. First his intestines fell to the floor, and then she ripped out his still warm liver. Finally, cracking his ribs, she pulled out his heart loving the way the blood ran between her fingers, before ramming the knife through his throat, pinning his corpse to the wall. Let it serve as a message. She would return and paint the city red with blood. She would fill the hallways with screams, and paint pictures with their carrion. She would kill a hundred for every Harlequin that had died today, and then more for her own enjoyment. It would not be quick, no, she would kill in the most painful ways she knew, and being part of the Masque of the Reaper's Mirth and being a Death Jester she knew very painful ways to kill. But she would not stop there. This world would be painted red, would forever echo screams of the genocide she would commit. Every human, astartes, ork and, hell, even eldar would die, spectacularly and horrifically. All for the sake of Cegorach.

And so, once again, Nysshea laughed.

This message was edited 5 times. Last update was at 2016/04/18 20:10:03

Made in gb
Swift Swooping Hawk

Crion - Jorgon

Blameless Culprit & Ibraesil Encampment

Feubryn could immediately tell that something had gone wrong.

For one, the mood of the returning Dark Troupe was a horrible mixture of sombre rage and frustration – not the vicious satisfaction he would have expected from a victory.

Probably a bigger indicator, however, was that five of the players who had accompanied Dranc on this errand were missing from the return group. He could not see the Fading Star, the Shade Weaver, Elria the Sorceress of Strings, Galead of the Clear Night or the Marquis of Mystery.

He approached Dranc and the Shadow Duke immediately. “Tell me everything,” he said simply.

The tale Dranc told was as sobering as it was surprising. Led neatly into an ambush, by Feral Orks nontheless – he admonished himself for having that thought. His underestimating Orks of any description was what caused this disaster in the first place.

Fallacy's intervention was both surprising and not so – the Solitaire was usually so unpredictable that trying to expect anything from her was an exercise in futility.

Finally, he advised the Shadow Duke to recuperate with the survivors of his troupe, before advising Dranc there would be a War Council with their new Craftworld friends later that night.

It was a rather despondent Feubryn who walked into his pavilion, only to find it occupied.

“Fallacy,” he blinked, taking in the Solitaire, who was sitting, casually on a seat with her feet up on his table.

“Feubryn,” she greeted him lazily, “Hi there! I was just thinking about you, and what a surprise, here you are! We really need to have a bit of a chat, you and I.”

“You saved the Dark Troupe from the Ork ambush,” Feubryn stated.

“No,” Fallacy corrected him, “I saved them from your foolishness. Apparently sixty million years of cumulative knowledge borne from constant warfare between our race and the Orks had taught you nothing, but perhaps now you have learned not to underestimate them so badly.”

Feubryn grimaced. “Listen… what I mean to say is-”

“No,” she said flatly, “You listen.”

He shut his mouth, the thank you left unsaid.

“You believe I followed you here,” she began, “I didn't. I came here independently. I was here significantly before your advance party even stepped foot on this planet. You followed me. I'm assuming you'd like to know why I am here?”

“You had the same vision as Imryll,” Feubryn guessed quietly.

“Not quite, but close enough,” Fallacy stood, and began to pace, “I was made aware of the secret lurking in this system, and I set out to stop the potential calamity that may ensue. It was part of the plan, you see. Part of the Great Jest. So I planned, I plotted, I walked the many varied paths of fate, I used every ounce of the knowledge our God has provided to me, and it became clear, that the only way for me to achieve this on my own was… unfavourable. Immoral. Even the lives of such simple creatures as Mon-Keigh should not be expended so carelessly, never mind the lives of the other Eldar here... but I resigned myself to do what was necessary.”

She stopped, and regarded him calmly, “But then! Then you arrived. Feubryn Valorbane, hero of the Veleáth war, with your faithful Masque following alongside! And fate? It changed. Suddenly, another option presented itself! Despite all my power, all my ability, you could potentially do what I could not, and achieve victory without resorting to such… measures,” she emphasised the word, “I was, naturally, delighted. So I contacted you. I dropped you a hint or two. I intended to use my knowledge to guide you, indirectly to the best possible victory. That needs to change.”

Feubryn's eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because now, we are working on a time limit,” Fallacy said simply, “The Reaper's Mirth and Silent Shroud have arrived in the system.”

Feubryn sat up in interest. “When was this?”

“Yesterday,” the Solitaire replied, “Do not celebrate yet, Feubryn. Given what I know of them, they are likely to be very much in favour of the… original, plan,” she said delicately, “I have no doubt that they intend to bathe this system red with blood, and, well, you know the Reaper's Mirth,” she shrugged, “They'll probably enjoy it. Mad as a bunch of headgear-loving primitives, that lot.”

“So why haven't you went over there and convinced them to do things your way?” Feubryn asked reasonably.

“Were it so easy!” Fallacy laughed, “That would have been perfectly possible, if not for two, rather significant things… first of all, I have no idea where they are, and, while small compared to the greater galaxy, Solar Systems are still rather large to explore on your own. Secondly, I believe there is also a significant chance that they may have a Solitaire of their own with them. With another one like me around, forcing the issue would become… rather difficult, to say the least.”

Feubryn grimaced. It was bad enough having a Solitaire on your side, but having one potentially against you?

“So who is correct? Who is actually following the Laughing God's will?” Feubryn asked. “Is it they, or us? Someone must be incorrect.”

Fallacy tilted her head. “Perhaps it is them, and Cegorach wishes for this planet to die. Perhaps it is us, and Cegorach has plans that involve this planet living. Perhaps it is both! Remember that our god is, at his core, a trickster, after all! Or perhaps he genuinely does not know, and is hedging his bets,” she mused, “Remember also that nothing is infallible, even a god. But there is a bigger question, Feubryn Valorbane, the question I would have you answer right now. The lives of every living thing on this planet, up to and including ourselves, and your new friends from the Crone Craftworld, are potentially at risk. With that in mind...”

Her gaze seemed to pierce through him. “Does it matter?

He was silent for a moment, meeting her gaze evenly.

Finally, he broke the stare-off, and chuckled. “No. I don't suppose it does.”

“Good!” she said cheerfully, “Now then, since we've gotten all of that cleared up, I'm going to go out and scare some Craftworlders before we have our little get-together! I wonder if I can make another Warlock roll down a hill...” as she left his pavilion, he heard her exclamation from outside. “Wait, is that Farseer smiling? Since when could they do that?”

Done with the writing relating to my first couple of rolls. Now it's time to take a few more actions...

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2016/04/01 21:10:14

Made in us
Regular Dakkanaut

Squigs snarled and strained at their leashes as the ork search party scoured the jungle, a grizzled nob leading the hunt. A chorus of snickering, jeering, and overall boasting rose from the pack of hunters, filling the jungle with their tall talk of battle prowess once they found their foes. Tall talk that reached the ears of Guts Da Vagabond.

To the untrained eye, the massive bulk of the nob was almost indistinguishable from the branches he leaned against. His green skin, marred by battle scars aplenty and mud formed into camouflage stripes, blended into the foliage well enough that it took far more than a passing glance to distinguish canopy from greenskin. Guts offered a sneering smile to the search party below. This was a game he had played for years, ever since he had dared to challenge Neroz Da Ugly. Gut’s empty eye socket was a souvenir to the day that he had lost. Now the untamed jungle was his home, plagued by constant search parties for his head, and the heads of the few remaining boys that followed him into exile. Guts’ smile turned into a wicked grin as he saw one of the squig handlers get a little too close to one of the tree, and with a quick chop of his hand, he signaled a hidden boy to strike. A javelin whistled silently through the trees, passing the doomed ork by mere inches, and struck its target.

The tree was angered.

Javelin fully lodged in its bark, the tree creaked and groaned as it retaliated against its perceived attackers. The squig handler barely had the time to scream before he and his squig were wrapped in the tree’s crushing embrace of death. The rest of the search party gathered to the awakened tree as it still spun and reached its branches out to avenge its wound.

“Get back! I said get back you lot!” Barked the lead nob, pushing his way through the ranks of squig handlers to get a better view at the carnage. “Wot happened ‘ere?”

“I dunno boss…” piped one of the handlers. “We was looking for tha’ Vagabond boyz, and all tha’ sudden, tha’ tree snatched ‘em! I don’ like this… if tha’ trees are mad at us now, we’s better leg it back to camp…” He said, his squig whimpering its approval of the plan.

“I iz that boss of dis’ search party!” the Nob bellowed into the hander’s face. “I gets to say what we’z gunna do, and what we’z ain’t gunna do! And I says that we’s gunna get outta ‘ere before more trees gets angry.”

The rest of the party gave their brutish approval, before turning back to the camp, carefully staying clear of the trees around them. Once the last greenskin faded from view, Guts slid down the tree with his boys.

“Looks like we gots squig meat tonight boys!” Guts said, a broad smile on his lips. “Just wait till that tree calms down before ya try ta snag it.”

“Boss! We gots company!” Called a voice from the treetops.

“Company!? Tha’ search party left!”

“Dis one ain’t from tha’ search party, boss! He’s commin’ right at us!”

“Alright boyz. Get yer spears ready, an’ spread out!”

On Guts’ orders, the company of boys sunk into the landscape, each to a tree or bush, and each with a javelin poised to strike. Guts stood, seemingly alone, facing the greenskin that dared intrude into his exiled lands. As the intruder came closer, the sounds of heavy footfalls though the brush were accompanied by a faint and foreign hum. Perplexed, Guts stood his ground to see who, and what, would emerge from the undergrowth.

What emerged was something that Guts had never seen.

This greenskin's left hand was gloved in a gigantic metal claw that twitched with anticipation, while the other hand held a strange square device. On his back was a perplexing array of rods and balls that produced the faint hum heard though the trees.

“Oi!” Guts shouted to his unexpected guest. “An’ what kinda’ git are you?”

The other greenskin smiled. It was sly, knowing, and disturbing all in one toothy package. “I‘z mek Hannibal. You must be Guts Da Vagabond, yeah? Guess my gitfinda' works.” He said triumphantly, holding up the strange square device.

“What’s it to ya, wierdboy?”

“Neroz’s got quite-a prize on ya’ scalp. He says he’ll make tha’ one dat brings yer ‘ead back gets ta’ be in the honork guard.”

Guts snorted. “If ya fink ya can get in the honork by killin’ me. Ya gots another fink commin’.”

Guts gave the signal, and three javelins soared out of the brush and streaked towards Hannibal. In the blink of an eye, green energy flashed from Hannibal’s array, catching two of the three javelins and blasting them to splinters mid-air. Raising his clawed hand, Hannibal deflected the third javelin, muttering something about readjusting capacitors before turning his attention back to Guts.

“I ain’t ‘ere to join some zoggin’ honork guard. I’z here ta see if you you wants in.”

“In on wot?”

Hannibal grinned. “Killin’ Neroz, that’s wot. Yer lookin’ at tha’ future warboss.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“AN HONOR!? YA GOTS TA’ BE ZOGGIN’ KIDDIN’ ME!” Ace Blackblood bellowed at the top of his lungs as he threw furniture into the air, rampaging around his hut. Ace was one of Neroz’s honork guard, something many boys aspired to, and many failed at. Only the best of the best were called to be in the honork guard, and Ace was no exception, earning his position with a strong arm and killer aim. The benefits of being part of the honork guard were great. The best food, the most spacious housing, a small mob of boys to call your own, and being sent on only the most bloody of missions. This latest mission was not the kind of “honor” that Ace wanted.

“But boss, it ain’t that bad…” spoke a blackblood, one of Ace’s boys. “Maybe we’ll be tha’ ones tha’ get to tha’ umies?”

IT IZ THAT BAD YA GIT!” Ace shouted as he backhanded the foolish boy into a nearby wall. “He’s sendin’ us out on tha’ boats as soon as Hannibal’s done wit’ tha’ next batch’a ships! You know what happens to tha’ boyz on tha’ boats? THEY AIN’T NEVA’ SEEN AGAIN!”

Ace sat on the floor with a thump, his teeth grating against each other, and a threatening growl in his throat to prevent more foolish attempts at making the situation seem better than the truth. Ace harrumphed. The truth was Neroz did think of this as a great honor. A romanticized notion of sailing across the ocean, and taking the human city by storm, and raising banners in his name on the battlements. A dream that had no way of being realized with Neroz’s current stone-brained tactics. Ace snorted as he thought over his options. If he followed Neroz’s plans, then he would be lucky if he made it halfway to the mainland before being blasted out of the water by the humans. If he dared challenge the boss, he would lose. Good shot or no, it would take far more than a few well aimed javelins to take down Neroz Da Ugly. The only other option was escape. But if he managed to escape, he would have to climb the ranks of yet another ork tribe before he was considered capable of anything more than meager boot licking. The brooding silence was cut short by the faint creak of the hut door opening. Ace looked up to see a greenskin looking at the upturned furniture with a sickening gleam of glee in his eyes.

“Who tha’ gork are you?” Spat Ace “And what ya doin’ in my hut?”

The greenskin smiled. “I heard you’z tha’ next one dats takin’ my boats on a one way trip.”

Ace growled. “You must be Hannibal, huh? Ain’t you gots somthin’ better ta’ to than goatin’? Like buildin’ those boats?”

“I ain’t buildin’ no more boats for Neroz.”

“He’s boss Neroz to tha’ likes of ya, ya work slaver!” Ace countered, more out of prideful reflex than anything.

“What if I told ya, you ain’t gunna be on any suicide boat longer?”


“What if I told ya, that he ain’t gunna be boss much longer either?”

“What if I told ya, yous iz outta yer zoggin mind? He’s too big. You ain’t gunna stand a chance against ‘em.” Ace bitterly spat. No one could beat boss Neroz. He was stone-brained, but his might was the greatest in the tribe. Hannibal merely smiled again at the comment.

“Oh I fink dere’s somethin’ I gots ta’ show ya den. If ya don’ want ta’ get sent off ta’ a wet death, I fink you’d better come see…”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

IronGore sat in his cell and counted his scars. Brawls between his smaller cell mates were sometimes sporting, but mostly dull. The only entertainment for the battered nob came in the form of the morning matches. Gladiatorial battles for the enjoyment of Neroz Da Ugly. Wither it was against the creatures of the forest, other prisoners, or another nob that boasted himself into thinking he was capable to taking down the arena champion, the end result was always the same. They fought, the enemy died, and IronGore was patched up for the next fight.

He used to keep up with the days kept in captivity, hoping for an eventual rescue. But days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, and still there was no sign of rescue. Losing all hope in anything more than being used as the entertainment for Neroz, all IronGore had left was to count his scars.

A quiet thump woke IronGore from his nightly ritual, and he straightened as an unknown figure approached his bars.

“‘Ello IronGore. Good ta’ meet ya. I’z Hannibal. I gots a proposition for ya.”

IronGore walked to the bars and took a good look at Hannibal before speaking. “Wot’s it?”

“How’d ya like to be outta dat cell?”

“I don’ fink Neroz would like it.”

“I don’ care wot Neroz likes. He ain’t gunna be boss much longer. Sides, da new boss is gunna need some lefftenants. An’ you’d make a good un’.”

“Who’s gunna be da new boss? You? Ain’t you a bit… small ta’ be tha’ boss?”

Hannibal grinned wickedly at the jab to his size. A wicked and knowing grin. “Let me worry about that now. Do ya want ta’ be outta here or not?”

“Dere’s guards.”

“One guard. An’ he ain’t wakin’ up anytime soon.” Hannibal stated confidently, flexing his clawed hand.

“What ‘appened to tha’ others?”

“Dey’re distracted. Neroz iz handin’ out some’a my new weapons in da’ village.”

“You gave ‘em new weapons?”

Hannibal chuckled “Don’ worry. Yer’ gettin’ better ones. So, you in?”

“I’z in, on one condition.”

“Funny, I’z got one condition too.”

“Wot’s that?”

“When I’m da boss, you gets ta’ be my lefftenant. But no runnin back to SkullEata, gots it? You iz my lefftenant.”

Irongore snorted. “It's been years, an' SkullEata ain’t here bustin’ me out. He an’ his boyz ain’t kin ta’ me anymore. Dey left me for dead. But I ain’t doin’ that ta' tha’ boyz in ‘ere. If ya bust me out. We’z all getting’ out. You bust us all out, an' yer' kin ta' me.”

Hannibal smiled. “Ya gots yerself a deal.”

A few short minutes, and a few flexes of Hannibal’s claw later, the greenskins found themselves outside the arena, Hannibal dragging the drooling unconscious guard behind him. IronGore took a moment to breathe in the clean night air, and look up at the stars again. It had been years since he had seen them, and they seemed to shine brighter in a joyous greeting for him. Out of the shadows of the night came the shapes of two nobs. IronGore stiffened, his fists clenched, and poised to attack before Hannibal touched his shoulder.

“It’s tha’ otha’ lefftenants.” He explained before turning to one of the Nobs. “Ace, did tha’ handout go well?”

“He liked ‘em, boss. He liked ‘em a lot. But he didn’ go for tha’ big ‘un.”

Hannibal’s face furrowed. “Who’d he give it ta’?”

“Gort BadStomp. He said it was for krumpin’ the SkullEataz real good last time.”

Hannibal scratched his chin and thought for a moment. “Not wot I wanted, but still could be useful…” He trailed off, still deep in thought for a few moments more before snapping back to reality and dropping the unconscious ork.

“We needs ta’ ‘ead out before dem’ guards come back.” He said finally. “Guts. Give us a good ‘ead start, den torch da’ place an’ get out. I gots some toys for you boyz that I fink you’ll really like. Come on now, we got’s a warboss ta’ krump in tha’ mornin’!”

Recruitment: Victory.

The Eye of Night- Psst! Oi, git! Wanna buy sum waagh?
Sgt. Vanden- Oh sweet lord I just googled it...
Bobthehero-*laughs in hotshot volley rifle*  
Made in ca
Heroic Senior Officer

Krieg! What a hole...

----- Scion Basecamp, Drake Point -----

The Valkyrie landed in the middle of the night a lone bird in the air. Castella existed her transport with a few men that came to help secure the palace. Her left arm was held in place in a bandage. Gallus had ordered her to reported to his tent, he was too busy to wait for her at the landing pad. Gallus message had been quick, he was clearly angry at the losses of his men, she made her way to her commander tent to deliver her report.

'' Sir? '' She asked, entering the command tent

'' Ah, Castella, you're there, what the hell happened? '' Gallus asked

'' The Orks, sir, commandos, they struck the palace, tried and kill everyone ''

'' And our men? ''

'' All dead, I've asked around and going from where their bodies were, they froze up is my guess ''

'' I suppose that's what we get for sending newly qualified Scions for that ''

'' Either that or they still get their '' fix bayonet '' mentalities from the time in the Guard, I think, sir, that we should work harder to remove that ''

Gallus briefly pondered on her suggestion and nodded

'' Makes sense, you'll take care of things, what happened to you arm? ''

'' These ridiculous parade holsters got in the way of my drawing, had to use silverware as a shield ''

Gallus raised an eyebrow

'' You were wearing ful carapace armor and you used silverware? ''

'' Consider it a reflex, sir I doubt it helped much ''

'' Mhmm, well then, next time there's an event like that I'll go myself, and we'll ditch the ceremonials, go in full combat gear and with veterans, no excuses for dying like a green soldier on his first battlefield ''

'' Can't wait to see you try and eat with a power fist, sir ''

Riley smiled at the comment and continued

'' Now, what did you learn? ''

''Eh... you're not gonna like it, sir, there's a lot of Astartes present, no Guard and some Inquisition ''

'' We'll play on our then, what else? ''

'' Three problems, the Orks, and two groups of cultists, we have the name and the general description of the leader of one of them, the Tillers, his name is Horatio Payne, he's on Krius and - ''

'' Then we have our target, we'll take out that idiot while we train the PDF here, I'll make plans for that tomorrow ''

'' What about the Ork ship? ''

'' You said something about Marines being killed in the attack, as well? Well there you go, leave the Orks to e'm, they'll want revenge for their fallen brothers ''

'' Not us? ''

'' Subversion's a much bigger issue, I find and we got a lot more intel for this than for anything else, dismised ''

----- The next day -----

Fourteen men and women stood at attention in front of Gallus, amongst them, Tempestor Secundus Mallia, who was chosen to lead them. Gallus turned on a cogitator and inserted a dataslate in it. A face showed up on the screen.

'' This is Horatio Payne, so called descendant of the good governor, and one of you '' Riley looked at the two sniper teams present '' is going to put a an explosive hellshot round in him. He's holed in city on another continent, some of you will enter the city, pose as civies, the rest will relay intel here, where we will make decisions as to when and where to take the shot. Tempestor Castella '' '' Sir! '' '' here will be in charge of all of you while you're down there, she will decide who to send where. She has full autority to give the order to take the shot if such an oportunity arises ''

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

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

Made in be
Thunderhawk Pilot Dropping From Orbit

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

Kusun’s heavy footsteps resounded loudly in the long hallway leading towards the Omnia Cadunt’s armoury. The floor trembled softly beneath his feet, the mighty vibrations of the generators and engines clearly discernible in this part of the ship as it gradually moved into position.

It had been two days since they had managed to slip into the system undetected, and the ship now hung in orbit above Crion’s second moon as they prepared for deployment on the surface. He had tasked his crew to decipher the various signals coming from all over the system while he and a small strike force investigated the moon for anything useful.

Kusun growled. The thought of simply eradicating the worthless inhabitants of the blasted rock below him was tempting, but corpses sadly lacked the ability to give him any clues as to where his quarry was hiding. He would have to make do with terrorizing the slaves for now, although he knew that would not sate his hunger for long.

His line of thought was rudely interrupted when a shape nearly barrelled into him from an adjacent corridor. Instinctively, he stepped back, his hand already locked on the grip of his Bolt pistol; it would not be the first time an ambitious subordinate had come to face him.

His grip relaxed slighlty as he recognized the hideous form of an Akhenat-pattern slave-construct, which was the usual companion of-


From the darkness of the corridor appeared a second figure, one more imposing than the frail body of the aberrant machine.


Mithras’ voice was like a sliver of ice, crawling down the back of one’s spine. The Dark Apostle relished his oratory skills, always finding the right words and phrases for every occasion. His face was hidden behind his ornate, horned helmet, but Kusun could sense the Apostle’s sinister grin all the same.

If one would have passed the same hallway in that moment, they would have been able to feel the tension between the two Astartes as one might feel the cold, unfeeling texture of a ferrocrete wall.

On one side, a giant whose black armour was covered in spikes, horns and the contorted faces of bound daemons, whose visage was trembling softly, like ripples in still waters, waiting for the predator underneath to rise to the surface with terrifying fury.

On the other side, an Astartes slightly taller than the first, whose appearance was enlarged further by the unholy icon reaching upwards from his backpack. His crimson form glistened from the sacred oils that had been applied to it, although what fluids it was that the Apostle used to bless his armour was a question best left unanswered.

The slave-construct’s metallic eyes went from Kusun to Mithras, analysing both Astartes with the morbid curiosity typical of the Abominable Intelligence used by the Dark Mechanicum.

“Heard you’re going to the surface”, Mithras continued, cocking his head ever so slightly.

“You heard correctly then”, Kusun replied coolly, his eyes firmly locked on Mithras’.

“I don’t recall being invited”, Mithras smirked. “You are aware that by doing so you leave me in command of the Omnia Cadunt?”

Kusun didn’t reply. A soft laugh escaped Mithras’s throat.

“I didn’t know you trusted me with such an honour, Brother”, Mithras spoke, now audibly amused by the situation. Kusun knew the Apostle was gauging how far he could go with that power, but he had no intention of rising to the bait.

Instead, he was going to remind Mithras of his place.

“I trust you with nothing, Apostle”, Kusun replied, keeping his composure as calm as he could. “In fact, if your survival was not a prerequisite for my return to the Warmaster’s side, I would have slain you and offered up your skull to Khorne the day I was put on the same vessel as you.”

Mithras’ smile evaporated. Kusun couldn’t see it, but Mithras’ body language told him enough.

“Besides, I do not believe I have much to worry about from you, Mithras”, he continued, taking a step forwards towards the Apostle.

“Because if my memory serves me correctly, I am not the only one who has to atone for previous… mistakes, is it not?”

Kusun had stepped even closer now, his right hand idly tracing the haft of his daemon-possessed axe as he felt his rage boiling up.

Mithras said nothing. He stood there, motionless, waiting for Kusun’s next move. Mithras was a mountain in the face of a tsunami, the calm before the storm that was Kusun’s rage.

Kusun’s eyes bored into Mithras’ for a few more minutes, before he turned around and continued to walk towards the armoury. He felt the Apostle’s eyes stabbing him the back, but he knew Mithras was smart enough not to challenge him while his own position was equally fragile.

As he neared the end of the hallway, he addressed Mithras a final time.

“And do not forget, Apostle...

Omnia cadunt.”

The Black Legion lads are hanging out above Moon #2 at the moment

Also, in case someone's interested, Omnia Cadunt means 'All Things Fall'

Tactical_Spam: Ezra is fighting reality right now.

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

War Kitten: Ezra can steal reality

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

Made in us
Scuttling Genestealer

Crion - Chasing after small rodents

[Pike-ard, Crion]
The ravener charged out into the open. He was sent to suicide charge the trees and see what would happen. The hive had stopped all assaults upon the trees. There weren’t enough bodies left to throw at them. The ravener had made it to the halfway point. The trees were silent. No attack came. No surprise trick. Silence.
Continue on and Investigate
The ravener continued on its way mindlessly. Its will was to to obey, even if it meant its death. It was now steadily closing in on the tree line. Silence. The hive did not understand. Nothing was happening. Did this mean that if the hive does not attack something, there is no battle? No, the hive must attack. More biomass is always required. The brood must gather all of it, on every planet. None shall be spared. The ravener was at the first tree. It continued on and slithered over the root in front of it. Nothing happened. The ravener was entirely focused on hearing or sensing the smallest noise that would mean its death. There was no noise. All that could be heard was the soft sounds of leaves rustling in the wind.
The trees were silent. The hive had created a ceasefire for now. There would be revenge later on. The time was not now. There were orks to eat right now.
Send out a raiding party. Ambush. Kill. Consume. Retreat.
A large group of raveners exited the crashed space hulk along with a the Great One to project synapse to the forces. A small swarm of rippers scuttled behind them to finish the job afterward. The party went south, all the way back to Jorgan. To where the first enemy the brood encountered here slept. They would no longer rest soon.

[A few hours later, Jorgan, Crion]
Wait at the tree line. Send out a small force. Lure them out. Slay them all.
Raveners are designed to be experts of ambush. They slink into the shadows, slithering out of sight. Any biomass with a trained eye would see them. These, however, were orks that already had sight of prey. The orks hiding in their camp had quickly spotted the Great One striding forward, gallantly spraying its venom cannon out towards the fort, and letting loose a loud, primal roar. The bio-forms in wait were well prepared as the Great One made its way back to them. The orks had swarmed out in a large group to challenge such a mighty form as the Hive Tyrant. One of the larger nobz the lictor had spotted earlier was leading the charge. His name was "Leftenut" JagBore, a close friend of KoreGog. He would bring great biomass and would weaken the orks. The first half of the orks had made it into the tree line.
The orks received the full fury of a very angry hive fleet. Raveners surrounded the bulk of the ork army, either leaping in to slice and dice, or to rip greenskins apart with devourers and deathspitters. All ranged fire was very precise, even if it took longer to shoot. No tree was to be harmed. The Great One approached the puny nob that called himself JagBore. None could match the grand view of the Hive Tyrant. The Great One was given a wide berth by all of the nearby boyz. The fight was between one of da biggest and strongest, and one of the highly adapted and very strong. None of the orks carried ranged weapons, even JagBore.

“You’z gonna regret trying ta take our fort! I’m gonna get a new trophy on da wall taday!” JagBore said. He took a swing at the Great One.

The hive did not care about “words.” They were simply a primitive form of communication unlike the highly evolved form used by the hive. All the brood could understand from what he said, was that he thought he was going to win. False. The hive tyrant blocked the ‘uge choppa with a talon, while taking a swipe with the other. The nob dodged out of the way with surprising dexterity for such a bulky body.

“Ha, you dink I waz gonna get hit by dat? Youz weaker den I thought!”

The hive tyrant did not care about these taunts. It merely continued with the attack. It stabbed out with the talons again to try and hit him, but again, the nob was gone before they hit. This happened once more before the Great One changed tactics. As it was swiping out with the scything talons, it also fired the venom cannon. The nob could not hope to dodge it all. One talon gouged a rent in the side of the nob. This, however, only angered him more.

With a loud “Waaagghh!” the nob charged at it while taking quick chops wherever he could get them in. The hive tyrant was put on the defensive, but not for long. Honor, is not a tyranid term. It was used for foolish biomass. The orks stayed away from the one on one duel. The lictor, was waiting for the time to strike. As the relentless assault came down upon the hive tyrant, the lictor stuck from the shadows. It dug in to the back of the nob, severing its spine with an accurate blow. The nob fell to the ground, all limbs unresponsive. It still refused to die.

“Oi, why kant I move ma legs? What ha-“

The swarm was done hearing him talk. The lictor finished the job while the Great Hive Tyrant went about butchering any orks that didn’t already flee back to the fort. A nice portion of the greenskins that had went out to meet them had been slaughtered. With the bodies that had been slain, not many losses were actually an issue. The fight had went well. In the end, it was still not a lot of orks compared to what was left in the encampment.
Soon they shall fall as well. Consume. Retreat.
The rippers quickly set into the dead bodies, reclaiming the biomass left there. Soon enough, there was no sign of the battle except for some foliage that had been disrupted. The force returned home to do the will of the hive. The hive had won. The hive had proven its strength.
Long live the hive

I stopped attacking trees who stopped attacking me in return, and I sent out a ambush force to kill as many with as little deaths where I rolled a victory.

TheEyeOfNight-I want a little ripper of my own now, I will call it Little Buddy, and I will feed it the spleens of my enemies. 
Made in gb
Stubborn Eternal Guard

Flames raged around it, as Sheagoresh advanced upon the farmer and his family. The farmer himself stepped forward in a pityful attempt to protect his family. The Solitaire wasted no time in stabbing his Harlequins kiss into the man's stomach, the monofilament wire tearing his waist apart, before kicking his legs away from him. The two seperate parts of the farmer made satisfying thuds as they hit the ground. Leaping forward, Sheagoresh swept its left hand up, the
phase field on the end of the caress cutting through the human female like there was nothing there, before advancing on the bawling child. Sheagoresh judged his age to be around 6 Terran years, but it showed him no mercy as the Great Harlequin kicked him, before embedding his hand in the frightned face of the child. The silence that followed was so much more pleasing to the Solitaire, who had always been more akin to the Masque of the Silent Shroud than
any other masque. Getting up, Sheagoresh moved onto the next house, the fields of crops around them ablaze as shadowy figures danced through.

Nysshea crouched on the roof of nearby cottage, its occupants already smeared across the walls. The plan to burn the farms had been as a result of her failings, and she still bore the scars of it. The shadowseers had been able to do little for her shoulder and so she was forced to rely mostly on her right arm, an annoyance as it meant less accurate shooting. But it was not like the farmers would be shooting back. She could see the two masques prancing through
the burning fields, hunting the humans like they were no better than animals. Which they weren't. The Players of the Silent Shroud were unnaturaly quiet as they set about their task, the hiss of gunfire strangely silent, prefering to end their quary quickly lest they scream. Nysshea and the rest of the Reaper's Mirth didn't like this way, they more enjoyed hearing their prey scream in blind terror. And such was the case across the farms. Next to pockets of silence, were
pockets of absoulute madness, where the human farmers were killed horrifcally and slowly. In Nysshea's opinion, this compensated for the fact the slaughter was so small scale. The Harlequins only had the resources for a small area, and had to strike quickly afterwards lest the guard ramps up security. As long as Edreach did his job... At that moment, something caught Nysshea's eye. In a little ditch was a group of farmers, holding an assortment of 'weapons'-kitchen knives, pitchforks, some one was even holding a broom. Amused, the Death Jester watched. A burly man holding a scythe, who was obviously the leader, was rallying them, telling them that it was for their families, for the God-Emperor. What rubbish. Laughing, Nysshea aimed at the leader, just as he reached the pinnacle of his talk. The air filled with a loud shriek and Nysshea's, even with her bad arm, shot was true. The man screamed, and then exploded, drowning the group in a tide of super-heated gore. No one survived. Nysshea, grinning, stood up and applauded their deaths. That was entertining.

Beneath Hive Torcan

Edreach watched William Barett stroll through the tunnel, who was unaware of the shadowseer that lurked in the shadows. The Harlequin had entered the Bleeder's teritory head on, cloaking the shadows around him. Slipping past the guards, clouding their minds, Edreach had headed straight for the back streets, away from prying eyes. He'd observed the gang, and the Kretchmas, for a week now after their failed attempt at storming the hive. In this time, he'd
formed a plan on how best to start a gang war. He'd found that the Kretchmas were run by a single family, and that the first born son, due to inherit the gang, was not taken to walking around with many guards in tow. From there it was just a case of how to frame the bleeders. William Barett, who now walked past the clown, was the best way to do it. As a boy, William had rose to fame when he had single handedly brought down a plot to overthrow Shane O'Conner (the Bleeder boss). Since then, he had become an enforcer, and gathered more fame through acts like the 79th Kretchma assault and the green assasin. However, he was known to have a raging temper, to swing first and think about the consequences later. And through all of this he had only ever used one dagger. Right now, he was returning from a meeting with Shane, alone to be as inconspicuous as possible. Stepping forward, Edreach sent his psykic
power into the enforcer's mind, watching as William fell to the ground, already asleep. Moving quickly, the Shadowseer stole the dagger, and hurried towards his true target, wiping the enforcers mind.

The underbelly of the hive was even more confusing than the above, but the Shadowseer knew the way, as if by instinct. All the while sticking to the shadows, he stalked through the darkened tunnels towards Anton Kretchma. It wasn't long until he found him. Anton was swaying down a tunnel, clearly drunk, with four angry looking guards behind. Four? This would be easy. Surging forward, Edreach slammed his miststave into the head of one guard, crushing it against the wall like a grape. Before anyone could react to this, he wirled to the next, slamming the butt into the guards chest, and laughed as it collapsed inwards. The other two rushed at him, while Anton stumbled away. Firing his neuro disruptor, Edreach watched as the guard hit fell to the ground, screaming in agony as his nerves disintegrated. The final protector had no chance one on one against a Harlequin, but charged anyway. Ducking, the clown swept the man's legs out from under him, rising again to fire down. Turning as the man screamed, Edreach faced the son. He was gaping at the Shadowseer from the floor where he'd slipped in his drunken state, begging for his life. Unsheathing William's dagger, Edreach stepped towards the human, and plunged it through his throat, watching as the man choked on his own blood. Then, like a shadow, he slipped out.

Sheagoresh could feel that the deed was done. It was stood over the body of a middle-aged man when the Solitaire felt it. It was like a change in the air current, a subtle change of fate. But it made all the difference. The farms had never been a way to starve the hive, there were too few of them for that. It had simply been an entrance for the two masques, and now the gang alliance was off, nothing could stop them. Cegorach's will would be done.

Made in ie
Nurgle Veteran Marine with the Flu

Cork, Ireland

Cearul brought the Canagan back around towards what remained of the Planetary Governor Payne's Mansion. It was a battlefield, the ork's crude beach assault craft littered the shoreline along with corpses of both Orks and men strewn all over the area where the orks had landed. Cearul approached a landing pad where many aircraft were coming and going, the various leader's of the Imperium departing to spread word of this assault and to shore up their own defences deduced Faolan as Cearul pulled up to a landing pad with Cabhan Cadarn and Pryce Nye along with one of their own thunderhawks, the Cuir Airde, which was awaiting his return. Pryce took a step forward with a confused expression " What the feth happened ?" Faolan raised his hand, "let us embark brothers, we can reflect on recent events on the return journey". Faolan's thunderhawk took to the skies leaving Payne Manor behind them.

Cearul broke the silence " That was .... more interesting than I thought it would be"

"That is one way to put it" nodded Faolan

"What just happened ? " inquired Pryce

"It seems that this whoever this Big Boss is just tried to kill off all the imperium leaders stationed on Crion" explained Faolan

"Extremely cunning for an ork" added Cabhan

"Indeed" agreed Faolan, "Cearul I do not want an assault on such scale to happen back on the isles, whatever security Ardan has placed double it"

"Yes sir, I must admit I am eager to see what the old dog managed to conjure up" grinned Cearul

"As am I" admitted Faolan.

Silence once again entered the Thunderhawk, Faolan took the opportunity to reflect on the banquet, more specifically the leaders he encountered there. When Faolan thought of the leaders he met at the banquet Planetary Governor Payne was the first to come to mind. He came across as a self entitled idiot whose laziness in terms of security endangered the entire crusade and possibly the whole sector, needless to say after today Faolan neither liked nor trusted the Planetary Governor. From the sounds of it Tobias came from a proud legacy, he disgraces it with his incompetence thought Faolan for allowing not only speratists to rise but the foul corruption of chaos aswell. The thought of the Governor made Faolan's blood boil and he decided to move on.

His mind drifted to his brothers in the 3rd company of the Ultramarines, Chaplain Iodius and Captain Ceasar particularly. Faolan noted that they brought an unusual large amount of marines to the banquet but could not deny their usefulness considering what transpired. Iodius struck Faolan as everything a Chaplain should be, Leadership apparently came easy to the Chaplin with the marines serving with him seem to be inspired by him,Faolan gathered that if he asked his marines to follow him into the eye of terror itself they would. An inspiration to us all remarked Faolan.Captain Ceasar appeared to be friendly, at least to his fellow battle brothers and was willing take or throw a joke around, not so much unlike Cearul thought Faolan. Faolan also took note that even disarmed the Captain still fought on with his fists against the greentide of flith. Commendable indeed mused Faolan.

Faolan moved on the Lord Captain Fairfax and his entourage next, Faolan recalled how the Rogue Trader took note of what was said at the meeting specifically the three main threats that were discussed and how he agreed with Tempestor Castilla on the distrust of the Arbiters of Truth which suprised Faolan. Why would a rogue trader have so much distrust for the Angel and the Arbiters of truth ? Unless he has history with them deduced Faolan. Faolan also recalled how Lord Captain Fairfax's skin was saved by Magos Liza. An interesting person, Faolan was unsure what to call her, Magos Liza seemed to be organic apart from her rebreather and her braided "hair" of metal and cable. Faolan was impressed at her combat prowess she displayed in saving the Lord Captain, an interesting individual to be sure thought Faolan. Edward Fairfax's second in command also caught Faolan's eye, Garth displayed the usual stereotype of a commissar. He was silent, alert and looked a bit grumpy, he even had the uniform on. I must inquire as to how he managed to give up his duties to the commissars the next time I meet this man noted Faolan, I bet an interesting tale lies behind it.

Captain Tanaris of the Carcharodons Chapter sprang to mind next, a chapter with a bloodied reputation remarked Faolan. He frowned upon the way Captain Tanaris declared that he had no interest in Crion but merely the Eldar that reside upon it. Faolan believed that Space Marines are to go to where they are needed not where they willed, if every chapter followed Captain Tanaris' example the Imperium would have fallen long ago as each chapter would have their own agenda and would have no interest in assisting the Imperium. Not to mention the fact that he wore Tactical Dreadnought Armour to a banquet, prehaps as an intimidation tactic if nothing else, it seems his chapter strives on fear. Needless to say Faolan was not impressed by Captain Tanaris' display.

Another individual who impressed Faolan was the beautiful High Queen Moira Valorn
who proved that experience is not everything when she hacked and slashed numerous ork kommandos with her power sabre when they attacked the manor. Faolan was glad to see that the High Queen did not rely on her suit completely in combat.Prehaps there is more to this one than I initially thought admitted Faolan.

How could Faolan forget Ulfric Stormclaw's entrance to the banquet ? With his war horn and all, Faolan even give a chuckle at the look of some of the nobles faces when he blew into it, no doubt followed by the typical mutterings of savages and barbarians as they go to mingle with their peers or to get another glass of punch. Faolan did not mind though prehaps he even liked it seeing the nobles uncomfortable if not for a second. It should be no suprise that Faolan preferred the company of Lord Stormclaw to the other Imperial leaders so much so that he often let his guard down in Lord Stormclaw's company more often than Faolan would like the admit, must be the mead decided Faolan. Rumors about the Emperor's Hounds being a successor to the Space Wolves still persist to this very day although there is very little to support this bar a few similarities in command structure and iconography. None the less Faolan looked fondly upon Lord Ulfric Stormclaw and his battle brothers.

Faolan rattled his brain trying to remember the diplomatic suite and who was sitting where feeling as if he had forgotten a few leaders, ah yes Tempestor Castilla recalled Faolan noting her objection for the Arbiters of Truth to battle the heretics. Understandable thought Faolan but the Angels point of atoning for their sins is also valid, a slippery slope deemed Faolan and one I stayed out of. When the orks attacked Castilla was one of the first to be attacked and was unprepared like the majority of the delegation and if she was a normal guardsmen prehaps she would have perished but Tempestor Castilla was a soldier of the 85th Scions and thought on her feet grabbing a nearby silverware try to act as an improvised shield which impressed Faolan to no end. What also impressed Faolan what the Angel which leaped across the room to assist the Tempestor despite the fact that they were arguing moments earlier.

Like Magis Liza the Angel was a very mysterious figure to Faolan. She was dark haired and had bronze skin, hot white talons replaced her hands and not to mention the two great golden wings she sported from her back. The way she took down the ork that was threatening Castilla and the way she incinerated another was almost hypnotic to Faolan, he quickly shook his head and moved on to the final Imperial Leader.

The way the banquet responded to Inquisitor Garrett Randell's reflected Faolan's opinion of the organisation. The bands stopped playing, people who were having a good time chatting and gossiping stop and stared, the whole room that was filled with laughter and music just seconds ago plunged into silence as the Inquisitor entered the room, the life was sucked out of it. The Inquisition is an essential organisation to the Imperium's survival and Faolan understood that but the way cetain Inquisitors conduct their business left a sour taste in Faolan's mouth. That being said Inquisitor Randell was quick to respond to the ork threat and to come up with a counter attack. Faolan grudgingly respected the Inquisitor for that much at least.
The Cuir Airde landed back on the isles of Pratt. Faolan disembarked to find his old friend Ardan Rymus and Emyr Glaw to welcome him to their new home, at least for the for the foreseeable future. "How was the banquet Sir ?" Inquired Ardan

"Interesting, we will talk more inside" Ardan showed Faolan to his quarters while Cearul went off to complete his Commander's task. From what Faolan saw during his walk from the Cuir Airde Ardan had done well, as Faolan knew he would. He has used the terrain to his advantage forcing an invading force to attack up a slope, trees were being cleared to allow vision across a majority of the isle, high walls, tarantula turrents and patrols were set up forming a strong perimeter and by the looks of things most of the base itself was in order. Ardan reached the largest building which was more or less in the center of the complex, he opened the door and stepped aside allowing Faolan through "Always a gentleman" joked Faolan as he stepped on in, "Good work on the base old friend but I did not quite catch the name of it" Ardan donned a confused expression " A what ?" Faolan spun on his heels " A name ! What shall we call this bastion of hope, I guess you did not think of such a thing have you ?" Quizzed Faolan with a slight tone of disappointment " No I did not" admitted Ardan. "Very Well, spread the word this camp shall be henceforth called Canis Caelum" Ardan slammed his fist to his breastplate " Before you go Ardan I trust Chaplain Carwyn landed ? " " Indeed he has, will I summon him ? " Faolan leaned forward with both hands on a large round table in the center of the room " Indeed along with the rest of my war council, the banquet has highlighted a few threats to be purged" Ardan grinned "Finally the real work begins"

Takes place on Payne Manor and the Isles of pratt, also my Base gets a name Yea !! If anyone has any issues with their characters in this feel free to PM me and i can do some edits if i feel they are reasonable

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

Grim, Cambria

The night sky was filled with the sound of metal beating against metal and the red glow of molten iron as Hannibal’s boys churned out thick armor plates in a crude assembly line. Hannibal looked out from the balcony of his hut, well pleased with the rate of production as he saw grots scurry about with boxes full of newly minted bullets gleaming in the red glow. It was glorious, the vision of so many of his creations coming to life before his very eyes. The most exciting creations were not coming to life on the assembly line, but they were on his workbench in his hut.

“Ya sure ya don’ want one a’ my ‘specialty items?’ ” Hannibal asked Guts, casually pointing to a small pile of flamethrowers, and large machine guns.

“Nah, boss. Save it for tha’ boyz. Tha’ eye’s good ‘nuff.” Guts replied. Where his empty eye socket used to be, now a mechanical eye sat, a bright blue light shone behind the lens. While he greatly appreciated the return of depth perception, Guts insisted that he preferred some of the quieter fighting methods, choosing for himself a pair of metal axes and a half dozen metal javelins, all of which he proceeded to grind to razor sharpness.

“Suit yerself” Hannibal said with a shrug returning to his most recent pet project. Flipping his welding mask down with a nod of his head and making a few more welds.

“Yer sure Neroz ain’t gunna see what’s goin’ on ‘ere and ‘ave a look?” Ace questioned, his eyes not leaving the window nearest to the village. He had taken residence there as soon as they had gotten back from the arena raid, and had only looked away for the briefest of moments when ironing out the details of his custom weapon.

Hannibal chuckled in reply. “He an’ tha’ rest’a tha’ tribe iz too busy puttin’ out tha’ fire. And even den’ Neroz’ll be too buy punishin’ somebodeh for tha’ burnin’. We’z got tha’ whole night ta ourselves.”

“Iz a good night…” IronGore’s words made the room stay silent. The nob had barely spoken since they had made their way to the shipyard, only to grunt his approval on seeing the vast array of weapons that Hannibal set out for him, and the rest of the lieutenants, to choose from. He was now practically clothed in firepower. Twin bandoliers, filled to the brim with rockets, hung from his shoulders. His hand rested on what Hannibal called a tankhammer, little more than a pole with a sturdy rack mounted on it for which to place rockets on before smashing them against the enemy. From his belt hung several sizable bombs, each capable of demolishing the largest hut in an instant.

“But wot about afta’ ‘dis night?” IronGore finally finished his eyes still on the stars.

“One ‘fing at a time, now. One ‘fing at a time.” Said Hannibal as he finished his last few welds, and examined his latest masterpiece. “Don’ worry, I got’s bigga’ plans than jus’ rulin’ ‘dis tribe. You lot ain’t gunna get bored. Yer’ weapon’s all done, Ace. Wanna give it a spin?”

Ace finally peeled his eyes from the window, a wicked gleam filling them as soon as he saw the weapon. Stood on its end, the gun was as tall as his own massive frame. A barrel the size of his face was fixed to the main body of the weapon, while a smaller lead-spewing barrel was mounted underneath. Testing the weight, Ace could not help but laugh. Before that moment, the greatest firepower that Ace had ever wielded was a boom spear, and he was itching to find out just how much greater firepower he held in his massive green hands. With barely a moment’s thought, Ace snagged an iron plate and flung it through the window. It corkscrewed though the air for a few moments before a green burst of energy impacted it, knocking a hole clean though and sending it on an even tighter spiral down to the ground.

“Watch wot yer’ doin’ ya git!” Barked Hannibal as he smacked Ace upside the head.

“Ya said give it a spin!”

“I didn’ say use tha’ metal as target practice! Tha’ was gunna be part’a yer armor! Now get me another plate from tha’ forge, else ya fancy gettin’ stabbed in tha’ one spot ya ain’t armored, cuz ya’ got too trigger happy, ya’ git!”

Ace grumbled to himself as he walked down the steps towards the forge, leaving Hannibal to begin welding on his new project.

“Ya sure we gots enough time fa’ all ‘dat?” Asked Guts, assuming Ace’s lookout position towards the village, his cybernetic eye flashing green as it switched to night vision. “We wanna’ get ta’ Neroz before he gets ta’ wonderin’ where we’re at.”

“Oh ‘dis? Dis ain’t gunna take too long. We’z got plenty a’ time before tha’ mornin’. An’ I plan on bein’ prepared before we’z get Neroz. If we ain’t prepared right, ‘den we’re headin’ ta’ our grave. An’ I gots lots’a livin’ left ta’ do. Now get ova’ ‘ere IronGore.” He said, lifting a pair of wicked looking spiked gauntlets. “Lemme see if these’ll fit ya right.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Work and anticipation kept Hannibal awake all though the night, but his senses were as sharp as ever as he walked out to inspect his boys. Iron gleamed in the rising sunlight, and Hannibal could not help but grin as he saw his vision in the flesh right in front of his eyes.

This was the start of his Iron Horde.

“Boyz!” He shouted, commanding their attention. “ ‘Dis iz a big day fer us! Too long we been lead by ‘dat idiot Neroz. Wot has he done fer us? Nothin’? I says, he’s done worse than nothin’! We’z been sendin’ out boyz on tha’ boats ta’ die! And we’z been fightin’ tha’ otha’ tribes, but we ain’t come even close ta’ krumpin’ them yet! I says we’z got’s ta’ do somethin’ about it, and ‘dats wot we’z gunna do today! Neroz ain’t tha’ best anymore. We’z tha’ best! We’z gots a warboss ta’ beat, an’ a whole tribe ta’ show jus’ why we’z tha’ best! ‘Dis iz gunna be tha’ end a’ Neroz, but we’z jus’ gettin’ started boyz! Tha’ otha’ tribes, tha’ umies, dey all gunna know who’s ‘da best! We’z tha’ best! An we’z gunna rule ‘dis land!”

The gathered assembly of boyz shouted their approval, beating their metal axes and swords against their armor and stomping in a steady rhythm as they began to chant.

“Orks! Orks! Orks! Orks! Orks! Orks! Orks! Orks!”

The chant became a war cry, and soon the entire host of greeskins charged forward towards the village.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Neroz Da Ugly made it a point to live up to his name. Not only was his skin tone a shade of vomit yellow-green, his face was badly wounded in a battle against the Spider Riders. While a painboy was able to patch up the damage with large staples, Neroz made it a point to reopen his facial wounds every time they seemed to be healing, in order to maintain his gruesome looks. He had a tendency to look particularly gruesome when his face twisted and contorted in rage. The way it was right now.

“I DON’ WAN’ EXCUSES! I WAN’ ANSWERS!” Neroz bellowed, standing in the middle of the charred wreckage that once was the arena.

The rest of the tribe kept their distance from the rampaging warboss, their eyes nervously darting around, hoping to find something to take Neroz’s attention and anger before they were caught in his quest for a scapegoat. So loud, and so great was Neroz’s tantrum, that he did not notice Hannibal’s iron host until it was too late.

Fire shot in great gouts over the heads of the surrounding boyz, as Hannibal’s host closed in, separating the other orks from Neroz.

“WOT IN GORK’S NAME ARE YA DOIN’!?” Bellowed a bewildered Neroz as he watched his orks flee from the flames.

“NEROZ DA UGLY! YER REIGN IS AT AN END!” Came Hannibal’s voice as he strode out of the chaos, orks parting before him as he approached the warboss. A vision of his own designs, Hannibal sported thick armor plates on his arms, legs and torso, the array of rods and balls was mounted on his back, while a pistol was held in his non-clawed hand.

“An who’s gunna end it!? You?” Neroz scoffed as he pulled out a stone axe, the blade easily as big as an entire nob. “I’d like ta’ see ya’ try, wierdboy!”

With that, the mob of orks was silenced, watching as the Hannibal and Neroz locked eyes, preparing themselves for the fight. Anticipation hung thick in the air, and hushed bets on the fight to come were made. Then, it happened.

“WAAAGH!” Neroz bellowed, hurling through the air. It soared with incredible speed towards Hannibal, before it was struck by a flash of green energy from Hannibal’s array, sending it spinning off course, and skewering a far off tree. The audience of orks moved slightly further away from the angered and now wildly thrashing tree as the duel continued on.

Hannibal waited until Neroz had closed the distance halfway before reacting. Taking careful aim, Hannibal fired a triple burst of bright green energy, catching Neroz in the leg, his momentum preventing him from dodging. Neroz’s skin blackened and blistered as each blast burned sizable chunks out of his yellowish flesh. Still on he ran, howling with pain and rage at Hannibal as he sought to avenge his wounds. Still Hannibal waited, a wicked green spreading across his face that only led to further fury from Neroz. Shouting a massive war cry that wracked the heavens, Neroz brought his giant axe down, eager to split his foe in half. With cold precision, Hannibal spun to the side, avoiding the axe as it buried itself in the ground and raking his metal claw against Neroz’s already damaged leg, exposing the bone underneath.

Neroz’s shredded leg buckled, and as he sunk to his knees, a gruff voice rose in protestation.

“Oi! He’s krumpin’ tha’ boss! I gots forty teef on ‘dis!” called Gort BadStomp, one of Neroz’s honork guard members. “I ain’t gunna lose forty teef on ‘dis upstart!” He yelled as he pushed though the crowd, a small chorus of agreement rising with him as several other honork guard members tried to push their way in.

“Boyz! Looks like we gots some gits ‘dat don’ wanna play by tha’ rulez!” Called Hannibal. And at his words, the wall of iron bodies tightened. Ace, Guts, and IronGore, moved to the troublemakers and by force of intimidation, and force of fists to the face, kept all but Gort BadStomp in line. As Gort made his way closer to the two combatants, Hannibal’s eyes light with a sickening glee.

“Ya’ ‘fink ya’ can use my own weapon against me?” Hannibal said, indicating the large metal battleaxe in Gort’s hands as he casually dug his claw deep into Neroz’s leg with a disturbing crunch and a scream of agony from Neroz.

“Yeah! I’z gunna kill ya wit’ yer own weapon. Now ain’t tha’ downright POETIC!” Gort yelled as he ran forwards hefting his battleaxe, intent on removing Hannibal’s smug head from his body.

Hannibal holstered his pistol and pulled out a small remote as he continued to tighten his claw’s grip, increasing the sound of snapping and agonizing screams. Hannibal waited a few more moments before smashing his thumb down on the remote, and Gort BadStomp’s charge abruptly faltered as his axe suddenly crackled to life as electricity arced from the long handle into Gort’s hands.

Spitting vile curses, Gort fell at Hannibal’s feet, stunned by the sudden shock, and as he began to lift himself off the ground Hannibal jerked his clawed hand out. With a loud crack and a sickening sucking sound, Hannibal’s tore out Neroz’s femur, leaving the warboss to fall to the ground in silent agony. Gort had enough time to look up at the horrific sight before Hannibal swung the femur up in a massive uppercut, a fistful of teeth and Gort’s unconscious body soared though the air before coming down hard onto the ground with a satisfactory thud. Hannibal released the femur, letting it unceremoniously clatter to the dirt as he turned to the wounded warboss. The two locked eyes with each other, and they both knew how this fight would end.

“ ‘Dis iz my tribe now, Neroz.”

Neroz spat back in reply, his last act of aggression. Hannibal sunk his claw deep into Neroz’s neck and closed it, severing his spine and ending Neroz’s reign for all eternity. As he shoved the colossal corpse down to the ground, Hannibal planted his foot on the body and looked to the crowd. Hundreds of eyes watched him in awe. He had won. He lifted his bloody claw in the air and let loose a mighty “WAAAGH!” The crowd followed suit, the chorus of their cries echoing though the forest.

The age of iron had begun.

Rolled a critical success!

The Eye of Night- Psst! Oi, git! Wanna buy sum waagh?
Sgt. Vanden- Oh sweet lord I just googled it...
Bobthehero-*laughs in hotshot volley rifle*  
Made in gb
Ancient Ultramarine Venerable Dreadnought

"Tsa'lan! New orders from Cadre Command!"

Tsa'lan sidled over to the comms device. Harland and Fio'tak were already there, their curved helms strapped at their side. The Shas'ui removed her own helm and squatted in front of the holo-projector. Shas'O Skyhunter faced them.

"New orders, commander?" she said.

Skyhunter faced her. "You've done a good job of getting thus far. The cadre thanks you for your efforts, but we're going to need a little more."

"You want to know where Nogrod is." Harland spoke. His human voice was far more blunt than any Tau could manage. Skyhunter nodded.

"Indeed. We're going to get this Beg'el bastard, but I won't lose more of the Cadre than I have to. I'm not asking for a lot, but I-"

"You want us to find him. You want us to go into the dark zone."
Tsa'lan shot a glance at Harland again. The Gue'vesa'ui was replying to his Shas'O's orders with a dangerous speed. And, maybe she heard it wrong, but a sort of aggression?

Skyhunter's voice was blank. "Correct again, Gue'vesa. And we were rather hoping you would lead the expeditionary team."

"Commander, you meant to say that we're not all going in?" Fio'tak queried. "Only Harland's unit?"

"Not quite. We want your team in there too, Fio'tak. Tsa'lan, you are to stay here and feed back data. Testing shows that some communications will be able to get through, but only to you, Shas'ui. You'll be in the dark, I'm afraid."

"Thank you for the warning, Commander." Harland growled.
Tsa'lan didn't know if Skyhunter had heard, but even if he had, there was no sign. The comm device shut off, and darkness engulfed the chamber. Harland stood up, and grabbed his pulse carbine from it's resting place. "Unit, prepare for insertion." Tsa'lan tried to get a look of the human's bearded face, but his helmet clamped over it before she could see.


"++Shas'ui, you're getting this?++"

"It's a little hazy, but I'm hearing you."
Tsa'lan had rigged up the comms device with her markerlight. The marker was penetrating the psychic shield, partially diffracting through the eldritch energy, but allowing a semi-stable comms passageway. Of course, this left her open in the hallway. The rest of her unit were lying prone a few feet down the corridor, waiting for a rogue ork party to creep down the hallway.

Harland's unit, and Fio'tak's drones were making good progress through the rest of the ruins. Past massive barracks, foul breeding and feeding pits, and fecund mines they crept. No sign of Nogrod at all. The smaller strike team had left them far more maneuverable, and so far, no ork party had crossed them. The closest they had got was when a prowling spider had peered down the passageway. Harland had dragged the lead Pathfinder with him into a side chamber, narrowly avoiding detection. Since then, nothing.

"++Fio'tak's scouting sensors seem to indicate we've covered most of these ruins.++"

"And of Nogrod?"

"++No sign of him. You're sure that he's here?++"

"He is. He has to be." Tsa'lan tried to keep the wavering discomfort from her voice. Something was not right here.
There was an awful silence between them. Tsa'lan could feel her heart beating, faster and faster. It dominated her hearing. If Harland replied, she wasn't sure she would even hear him. When the beating got to it's crescendo, she broke the silence.
"Harland? Talk to me?"

"++What is it? Is something the matter?++" His voice was dripping with concern, a blind naive question. Tsa'lan sighed in relief.

"No, comrade. But I don't think you should stay down there any longer. There can't be much more to explore. You've done a great job so-"
"++Just one more to go, Shas'ui. Fio'tak thinks that we missed an opening. He's sent his drones down to explore, but they seem to have got stuck. I've sent him with an escort of two of my Pathfinders to get them unstuck, and then we'll be out.++"

"But they're drones! Why do they matter?"

"++Don't let Fio'tak hear you say that!++" Harland laughed. "++Remember that time with the void-pirates when he-++"
"Harland! Get up here, now. I don't like this one bit."

He seemed taken aback, and concern edged into his voice once more. "++Gods above, what's gotten into you? Okay Tsa, I'll lead the rest of my unit back up right n- Something is wrong.++"
There was a fumbling of machinery as he changed his broadcast wavelength to visual, then to the visual of his Pathfinders.

Two figures could be seen in Shas'la Ror'saal's optics. Shas'la Doi'lak and Shas'ui Fio'tak. Fio'tak was moving ahead without any of the care of the two Pathfinder behind him, dragging them along as they tried to form a cohesive unit. Dio'lak was muttering angrily at Fio'tak, asking him to slow down, but the drone commander was having none of it. The three of them passed under an archway in the corridor. Cobwebs tugged and splayed across Ror'saal's optics, but he kept moving.

The strands gave way to light. They were in a circular arena, lined with mossy stone and thick white cobwebs. Reflected daylight seeped through cracks in the ceiling and walls. Fio'tak consulted his scanner as the two escort Pathfinders raised their pulse carbines and swept the cavern. Their markerlights were useless: heavy interference rendering them inert. This would be the heart of the psychic interference. A skittering pebble drew the aim of both Pathfinders. Above it, all of Fio'tak's drones were suspended, ensnared in the translucent fibres. Their engines battled against the webs, to no avail. More pebbles cracked off the floor behind the Pathfinders, and they looked up to behold the monstrosity behind them.

Easily fifteen foot in length, and bristling with hairs and leather armour, the gigantic spider dwarfed the Tau recon team. Ror'saal looked up at the creature, dangling from a web the thickness of a tree trunk. It's malign eyes flitted from Tau to Tau. If the beast knew them as anything, it would be Prey.
Across it's massive back, an ork hung, a muscled arm gripping the extended web. Spider husks were split open and used as armour plates, bound by spider silk threads. A totem pole extended from it's back. It was a massive spider's leg, long dead, and from it, all manner of tribal fetishes and shamanistic talismans dangled from it. From beneath a ramshackle pig iron helm, two beady eyes regarded the Tau with glee.

"Another little bug enters da lair of da great Nogrod!" The ork cackled, and the spider's jaws split open. A wad of sticky web vomited from the creature's maw, striking Ror'saal, and pinning him to the ground. The camera gazed up at the ceiling, watching more spiders scramble across the roof and begin to descend. The screams and howls of Fio'tak and Dio'lak clung to the sticky walls, before abruptly ceasing. The sound of skittering spiders was the only thing left, before a pair of mandibles clamped over the camera, and Ror'saal was gone.

Harland collapsed in the safety of the Tau recon base. His helmet clattered onto the floor. His pulse carbine was clutched desperately to his heaving chest. Tsa'lan walked over to him.
The surviving two Pathfinders had headed back out of the dark zone immediately, the death screams of their comrades ringing in their ears.
Harland's eyes were wet. Soft cries were muffled in his beard, and his head was hung low over his crouched body. Shas'ui Tsa'lan didn't know what to do. She stood there awkwardly for a few moments, watching the human descend into the abyss of sorrow.
Finally, she removed her helm, sat next to him, and put a slender arm around the Gue'vesa.

"It's over, Harland. We've got him." She whispered into his ear. His body stopped shaking.

"It's over."

Made in gb
Bread for Battle!


Liza's hair rippled as it crackled faintly with static electricity, her anger manifested in the purest form. This was not her first encounter with the filthy Orks, but her first attack witnessed during peacetime.
She assisted in coordinating the efforts to remove the slain Orks and respectfully remove the Imperials who had lost their lives. With sadness she noticed the great variety of forces who had taken a hit, including the guardsmen and Astartes warriors.
"This must not happen again," she murmured to Lord Captain Fairfax, "No more mass meetings on the planet if the governor cannot organise protection. This was foolish."
Edward nodded silently in agreement, his face pale from the small wound, contrasting his dark and blood stained uniform. His eyes flicking back and forth in concern and looking for signs of anything overlooked during the attack. He was wearing a face of calm, but had yet to lay eyes on Garth. Part of the rogue trader could not feel reassured until he knew for certain that the surly commissar was safe.
His heart sank as he came across the dead and wounded Histans, laid out on makeshift tables, and he stopped still, unable to continue, "Not again." his mind thousands of miles and half a decade away.
"Your men." Liza paused beside him.
"My friends," he spoke quietly, "they should not have even been here."
"We needed to all be here to understand this situation," the rough voice from his shoulder height contested, "everything happens for a reason, even the gak."
"Garth!" Edward jumped in surprise.
The commissar did not meet his eye, "It is up to us what their death means. Whether it is a tragedy; we leave and lick our wounds. Or of it is a rallying point; we stay and assist."

The trio stood in silence. Liza knowing better than to interject such contemplation, and the pair of traders lost in thought.
Eventually some breeze or some conclusion stirred them, and as one they looked up at one another.
"There is only one answer." Edward looked toward the casualties.
"This is not our fight." Liza nodded, her voice almost a whisper.
"N-no!" Edward jolted, "we are imperials, we help."
The Magos smiled sadly, "Then we are at cross purposes Lord Captain. My priority can only be that of Mars. Of knowledge; not of warfare. We will not ignore any threats we encounter, but I will not deviate from our set task, not without direct order."
The rogue trader was stunned, and beside him, his seneschal and commissar stood silent.
"Then we will honour our contract to you, Liza. But I wish that you reconsider in time." Edward gave a sad smile.
Garth stared hard into the distance, his jaw clenched and unmoving.
"We disappoint you." Liza sighed lightly.
"I can't say no, Liza. But it is your way, as responding is ours." the Lord captain replied gently.


Edward and Garth remained for several hours at the mansion to assist with casualties, before returning with the Histans to the Sovereign, agreeing to meet with Liza once the Explorators had established their site in the south of Crion.

"One favour, Magos," Garth murmured quietly as they parted ways, "there was another commissar here tonight. You and Alfie likely saw him in passing. I'd like you to find out his name. Discretion is the word, rather than speed."
Liza gave the barest of nods to the commissar, but at the mention of his name, the servo skull honed in on Garth and began circling him gently, awaiting in instruction.
"Shoo!" he laughed but he waved a hand tiredly, and the silver skull returned to its master.


"You're bleeding."
Edward turned his head as he sat on the end of his bed, changing his shirt.
Garth stepped over, a mixture of frustration and distress on his face, "You stupid bastard, you're bleeding."
The Lord captain looked down at his chest, somewhat unfocused, as blood ran down from his shoulder, "You'd be right."
"I'll fetch a servitor." the seneschal stood.
"No," Edward stopped him, "just get a needle. I hate those things... They don't blink."
Garth gave a grim laugh, "They don't answer back either. I thought you'd prefer that." he looked over to his captain and realised quite how pale and tired the man was looking. Rummaging in a cabinet, he located a sewing kit, pads and a small bottle of alcohol.
"You will have to get this looked at." he sat behind Edward and placed his hand on his uninjured shoulder to steady him.
"You scared me, you know." Garth conceded as he began working neatly.
"I thought commissars don't know any fear." Edward inhaled sharply as Garth pulled tightly on the threads.
"We don't usually have anything to lose." the voice was just as gruff and surly as usual, but quieter.
Edward reached his hand backward and placed it onto the commissar's where it steadied his shoulder.

"Liza surprised me," Garth murmured, focused in his work, "I really thought she would help."
"She will." Edward replied firmly.
"But who?" the commissar replied darkly.
"What do you mean?"
He growled, "I've seen cogboys step past dying guardsmen and Astartes alike to reclaim technology. Now we are on a world where there's not only ancient technology but Xenos! Think what they would do to get their hands on a few pieces of exotic technology."
Edward shuddered involuntarily, causing Garth to curse as he stitched. The Lord captain exclaimed, "That would be heresy! Have you ever heard of mechanicus aiding Xenos or chaos?"
"I have, but never from anyone who stayed around for long. I'm not saying Liza is likely to sell us out. But I'm sure her people walk that line."

[ Mordian 183rd ] - an ongoing Imperial Guard story with crayon drawings!
[ "I can't believe it's not Dakka!" ] - a buttery painting and crafting blog
Made in gb
Ancient Ultramarine Venerable Dreadnought

Sunstrike Cadre's command sat around the holo-projector. All of them were clad in bodysuits, dark grey in colour, save for Skyhunter. His battlesuit was slumped over at the far end of the room, deactivated, save for the life-support function. The Tau's tired eyes surveyed the men and women of his command cadre.

Sub-Commander Shadowbrand had returned, unscathed from her infiltration operation on the human delegation. Still, Skyhunter was worried about his Recon Commander. The incident with with the Space Marines who had performed surgery on her had enhanced her biology greatly, but Skyhunter was concerned about the emotional scarring of the event. Some nights, he swore he could hear her footsteps creeping outside his rest quarters. He meant to ask her about it, but it would have to wait.

Opposite her, her direct counterpart sat. Sub-Commander Vandred, the cadre's Frontline Commander. The human had risen well through the Tau ranks, far past most auxiliaries in the old Empire. The son of a human general who had chosen to join the Tau Empire, Vandred had learnt well from his parents and become a master of harnessing and riding the bloody tides of battle. His training had benefited the warriors of Sunstrike, teaching them how to fight in close drill, and drilling them in the art of melee combat. He would never pilot a Battlesuit, but he was more than capable of fending for himself.

Other commanders waited patiently for Skyhunter to begin. The Fleet Commander, Sub-Commander Darkspear, rocked from side to side as he waited. As the commander of the abnormally large aerial contingent the cadre boasted, he had a great deal of power and influence amongst the cadre command. Of course, he would rather be following orders and relaying them faultlessly to his flight squadrons. Skyhunter had been very hesitant about Darkspear. The two had been very close, with the two commanders working their aerial tactics flawlessly in tandem under Aun'Chi's demand. But where Skyhunter had been suspicious of the Ethereal cadre, Darkspear had followed them without question. The Shas'O had been worried about a mutiny from his pilot cadre, but so far, nothing had happened. Thank the ancestors.

Darkspear's impatience was mirrored in Sub-Commander Mirrorstone. Where Darkspear was slender and swaying like a willow tree, the Territory Commander was grounded, rooted to the floor. She had once been Earth Caste, but that was before Sunstrike independence. The cadres had been integrated, forming new bonds between divided cadres. Now, she commanded the sieges and defensive actions of the cadre. Strategy books lined the Sub-Commander's walls, typed by the greatest Tau siege masters. There wasn't a huge amount to go off. Instead, she nearly constantly simulated battles in her quarters, or around the base. Vandred was more than happy to work alongside the engineer. More training for the infantry, he had said proudly. Skyhunter understood her fervent obsession with tactics. Mirrorstone had never seen combat with her own eyes, and the council chamber was an alien sight to the Tau. Skyhunter had faith she would adapt and be moulded into the command structure. She would have to.

The Shas'O took a deep breath and started the meeting. He skipped the formalities.
"Shas'El Shadowbrand, tell us about where we are. What kind of forces are present here?"

The Recon Commander stood up, her small frame dwarfed by the giant holographic map of the planet. Two smaller orbs, the moons, circled it. Two thin spires, about the thickness of a piece of string, jutted out of the planet and stretched to the two moons. The hologram slowly rotated as Shadowbrand analysed it.

"The planet we have descended on is known as Crion, in the human tongue. Our particular province is called Kalhoon, part of the Indo-Cambrian continent. It is an agricultural world, ruled by a Governor Payne. It seems that this world is rather important to the Imperium. Five Adeptus Astartes taskforces are present, alongside a Knight Household, a contingent of Adeptus Mechanicus, a Rogue Trader, and a regiment of Storm Troopers. Alongside the existing Crionian forces, of course. An Inquisitor's warband is present too, acting outside of the chain of command. In fact, all forces seem disjointed, lacking a centralised command figure. Certain figures seem more important than others, such as the Inquisitor, but gauging Imperial response would be impossible."

"Your verdict, Sub-Commander?"

"We avoid them. Too much risk to the cadre. Even if we mean them no harm, there will always be humans who disagree with our existence." She cast an apologetic look toward Vandred. "Present company excepted, Gue'Vesa'El."

"That's fine, Shadowbrand." He replied. "Why are the Imperials here? What are they after?"

"There seems to be multiple insurrections around the system. The one we have encountered is multiple feral Beg'el warbands. One such assaulted the palace with great force. I suggest we also evade these greenskins."

"Sub-Commander, we have settled down in this location." Mirrorstone spoke. "Do you expect us to abandon it at the first sign of trouble?"

"That's another issue, Fio'El," Skyhunter said. "Please, Shas'El, continue."

"There are reports of Eldar forces on Crion. Their location is, as of yet, unconfirmed and unknown, but the Imperials seems to have great hatred towards them. More threats come from the second moon, Luna Epsilon, where renegade humans prepare an assault." She swallowed back her painful memories. "And a rebel faction known as the Tillers march on the governor's palace. I doubt they would be reciprocal of our support."

"Indeed." Skyhunter muttered. "Vandred, our planned assault on Nogrod. What have you in mind?"

Vandred brushed his dark beard. "Our forces are ready. They await your command, as normal. If Sub-Commander Darkspear would condone it, I would suggest that we use firebomb munitions in clearing the tunnels, sapping and blowing open a direct aerial entrance into the psychic shield, and rappelling our forces in systematically. Nogrod would have nowhere to run."

"Good. I will meditate about this." Skyhunter turned to Darkspear. "And you, Kor'El. You said you had picked something up on our scanners?"

"Aye, Shas'O." The skinny pilot blurted out. "Patrolling Razorshark Fighters picked up an anomaly in the southern ice cap. Of course, there were strong storms and squalls at the time, and we're not sure if the signal was genuine, or simply a lightning strike. I've outfitted a wing of Orcas with thermal-insulative intakes, if you wanted to send an expedition?"

Skyhunter pondered on it. Vandred rose to his feet. "Shas'O, if I may? I would volunteer myself for this. Give me two Fire Warrior squads and a unit of Pathfinders, and I'll investigate this anomaly myself." His black eyes hung patiently on Skyhunter. Skyhunter's own amber ones met them.

"Understood, Gue'vesa'El. Choose a mix of troops, experienced and rookies. I want this done in ten Rotaa. Then we will begin the assault on Nogrod. Do you understand, friend?"

"Yes, Commander."

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2016/04/07 17:13:35

Made in de
Shrieking Traitor Sentinel Pilot

Is it at an end?

His bones ached, a dull scream of agony that sounded every day. It was the song of a million deaths in a thousand battles on a hundred worlds.

It never ends.

The voice was a thunderclap, terrifying in its enormity and intensity at once. It was tinted not with anger, but with absolute command. Lazarus knew to whom it belonged, but he dared not open his dream-self's eyes to look.

I never asked for this.

You did. When you shouted to the dark ones, when you flew into battle with naught but tooth and nail in their name, you asked for this. You asked for glory, and it is given to you.

It was truth, and Lazarus knew it. When he was younger, stronger, he had offered hundreds of lives for the attention of his masters. But now that he had lived for so long with their eyes on him, he sorely wished he could fade into obscurity again. He shivered, not from cold but from an aged dread, long-faded into his soul.

Can I not rest?

It was a hopeless plea, with neither confidence nor real vigor behind it. The voice took a long time to respond. It was not harsh, there was no rebuke within its words. But neither was there mercy.


The procession reached the gates of Hive Cogger: an enormous mass of humanity, clad in rags and bearing whatever meager possessions they could carry.

In a sense, they resembled the flood of refugees which had fled the Hive not long ago, but this crowd did not smell of fear. They were livid, loud, and ready to lash out against those they saw as their oppressors. By threes and fours they had made their way to the space elevator, by dozens they had journeyed to the home of their savior, and now, by the hundreds, they stood outside and chanted loyalty to Lazarus and his gods.

They would be fine replacement for the forces they had lost against the greenskins.

* * * *

From the pitted and cracked walls of the Hive, Mordecai and Jael watched them filter in, shouting and cheering as if the beleaguered and bloody Hive was their saving grace. Mordecai's mask sat on the ridge next to him, cracked and still red with his bloody spittle. He hadn't the heart to wear it, not while Father lay wounded in the Spire. The mask had been a gift, a token from Lazarus when Mordecai took up his role as shield-bearer. Lazarus had claimed it was from the same forges as the Flayed Legion's bone-white helmets, and while Mordecai was almost certain that was a lie, he didn't care. It was a gift from Father, and that was enough.

To his left, Jael sat on the wall, her back to the immigrant crowd, and idly tugged at the petals of a pale yellow flower in her hands. She had also been quieter since the Maw, and Mordecai was unsure if it was out of respect, fear, or confusion that she didn't try to make some manner of power play.

"That's...that's a lot of them." He muttered for the fourth time, resting his hand idly on the mask.

Jael shook her head, not at the statement, but at his needless repetition of it. "From Hive Torcan, I hear. The city's falling apart from the inside out." She flicked a shredded petal over her shoulder, emanating apathy and impatience as her own mask, refusing to give away her state of mind. She was a noblewoman, had married into it, and beyond the simple weapons drills the Brotherhood had given her, she had never dreamed of fighting. Coming face-to-face with screaming greenskin madness had shaken her far deeper than she would ever admit.

She closed her eyes violently at the sudden memory, clenching her hands and crushing the flower as she recalled slamming the stone block on the alien's head. Bile rose in her throat, but she swallowed it valiantly, hoping that Mordecai hadn't noticed. She blinked away the emotion, settling her mask back into place, and nonchalantly tossed the mangled flower off the wall.

"We won't be far behind if we stay here." She looked out, past the crowds, towards the immense orb of Crion hanging in the sky. "There are too many forces arrayed out there for us to sit here and wait for news of the Amaranth. We need friends to shield us, and enemies to trample."

"Father would not agree." The young rebel shook his head as he turned away from the crowd, picking up his mask and reaching down to grasp the battered shield from its place on the stonework.

"No." Jael allowed herself a condescending smile, which she made sure he caught a glimpse of, before rising and strutting away with far more confidence than she felt. "He's not agreeing to much right now."

The blue eye lit up, slowly at first, but with a gathering intensity, until it illuminated the Governor's bedchamer with a ghostly glow. The air grew still, as if Hive Cogger held its collective breath in anticipation. The body on the bed, for so long limited to one ragged breath every dangerous few seconds, began to twitch and gasp for air. Four rebels, seated in an honor guard, backed away slowly, their eyes wide in anticipation and zealous joy.

Lazarus opened his good eye, staring up at the ceiling above, and knew what he to do.

Just plot-pushing for now, next move is percolating within my brain. More crazy to come soon.

Also, as fun background: the original tabletop-Lazarus earned his name by killing an IG command squad in a charge, then rolling Eternal Warrior on the boon table. Not much point for a 1-wound model, but the fluff possibilities are very entertaining

War Kitten- Nothing evens the odds like a reaper chainsword to the naughty bits
Sgt. Vanden- And now I'm a whale with panties. Can't see how this day can get any better.

Fiction: God-Fang (Beastmen) / The Flayed Legion (CSM)

Made in us
Rotting Sorcerer of Nurgle

The Dog-house

Where is it? Must find it! It must be here. It is here...

* * *

An adamantium gauntlet dusted off a soot covered command console. It had been five years since life had touched the abandon corpse of the "Grand Exorcist." Or had it been five hundred years? Time was not relative to the denizens of the Warp. The gauntlet prodded cautiously at the control to determine if the vessel still had, if by some damned mechanism, life. A light on the console flickered for a moment before the bridge lit up in spectacular fashion. Static creaked over the vox relay.

"I can assume the ship is operational, Zehk?" the vox croaked, cutting in and out before dying for several moments. The gauntlet lifted the receiver and spoke once he heard the static return.

"Operational would be a very optimistic look. The Grand Exorcist is operating at 27% efficiency," an Astartes groaned back impatiently, flexing his free hand.

"Complete our task, Zehk, before you are lost to the voices."

"I am in control of the voices, Orelius."

"Complete our task-" the vox wheezed and then promptly died. Zehk broke the device in his fist and cursed repeatedly. He turned his head. Behind him were a rag tag bunch of Astartes and human, equipped in void suits and covered in varying degrees of carapace, flak or power armour. All were remnants of the New Order and and all were still loyal to their cause and to whatever hell it dragged them into. Zehk bullied his way past them and made his way down the corridors. From the auspex aboard Orelius' ship, the "Dreadful Wail" it was noted most of the halls were caved in. Battle damage from the New Order's Flagship "Warpath Furnace" had snapped the perverbial neck of the "Grand Exorcist." Many corpses, both human and Astartes were strewn about, held adrift in midair due to the inactive artificial gravity generators. Even with a majority of the ship missing, Zehk knew the "Grand Exorcist" like the inner workings of his boltgun. Zehk knew all the ships of the New Order fleet. He had to know. It was his duty. Zehk, as well as his brother, Orelius, were the Honour Guards of Taihkromn Ryus, Chapter Master of the New Order. They had failed in protecting their Chapter Master. He was on the "Grand Exorcist" some five years ago or some five hundred. Time was irrelevant in the warp. It was ironic that, after the killing blow from the "Warpath Furnace," the "Grand Exorcist" met its end fighting of daemons. The signs of these struggles were evident as Zehk traversed the halls and left his comrades to loot and pillage the dead. Corruption was everywhere. It spoke to him and he spoke back. One voice among the twisting corridors and haunted, abandoned rooms stood out over the others. It reached for him. It was always at the back of his mind, probing, searching, hiding.


It knew his name. Zehk checked his surroundings abruptly. He knew not of where he was, nor if he was still aboard the "Grand Exorcist." He was amidst ruins. Ruins of a Librarium. It struck him, after a few seconds, that it was Chapter Master Ryus' Librarium.

The book, Zehk...

Zehk's eyes were drawn towards a pile of books that had fallen from their shelf. One book seemed to call out to him, beckon him. He moved towards the pile. He stumbled on something, a body, an Astartes. It wore a skull helmet much like the Judges did. It was a Judge. Zehk looked around and discovered the floor was littered with the bodies of fallen Judges and Jurers, the guardians of the Judges. Horror sank into Zehk and he began to step back, only to fall over the leg of the Executioner, a once nigh-immortal Brother-Contemptor. For the first time since his indoctrination, fear dripped like venom into Zehk's veins and he froze, like a cornered animal.

They were weak, Zehk. You are strong...

Zehk blinked and gasped for air. He was suffocating.

Let me in, Zehk. Become stronger than the others

Zehk gripped his throat. He felt himself saying a name he never saw before. Never heard before. It burned his esophagus. It felt like acid in his chest.

Thank you, Zehk...

Zehk spasmed as he was wracked by an insufferable pain that engulfed his whole body and every inch of his soul. A darkness grew inside him like a weed. It embraced him even as his body rejected it. He grew cold. His joints refused to move. He felt his hearts stop beating and Zehk died.

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

The white winds buffeted the shoal of Orcas as they swam through the snow clouds. Their hulls passed unseen through the thick, driving snow, casting no shadow on the unsullied ground below. Nothing saw them gradually land onto the surface of Crion's southern pole, and the thirty or so Tau infantry pile out. Their sleek combat armour was slickened by the melting snow, and drips of water fell from the angular, alien plates, before freezing as it hit the ground. Gue'vesa'El Vandred pulled his fur-lined cloak around him and felt the ice crunch beneath his boot. His hoarse voice muffled into his mouthpiece.

"Shas'vre Holliday, do we have the signal?" His adjutant glanced down at the scanning device. Green lights flickered through the driving snow. She nodded in the affirmative. "Good. Sunstrike, spread out and form three-man cohesive teams. One Pathfinder per two Fire Warriors." His troops separated without a word, their crunching footsteps heralding the start of the search operation.

The signal picked up by the Air caste patrol arrays had been accurate, at least. Something was down here, in the snow, and the Tau would find it. Vandred had no idea what he would find. A crashed lander, perhaps. Ork patrols. Worse.
Part of the Sub-Commander hoped it was Imperials. Truth was, he'd never really interacted with a human from outside the cadre. Save from gunning underpowered mercenary forces down as part of Sunstrike Cadre, he had never seen true Imperials fight. Once, he would have killed them like anything else. Now, without Aun'Chi, he might actually speak with one. Were they all technophobic savages? How could they possibly have been so xenophobic and rejected the safety of the nascent Tau Empire. The idea of such a massive and crippled Imperium filled a young Vandred with awe and wonder. It only inspired frustration and anger in the Sub-Commander.

"++'Vesa'El! We've found something. Crashed Imperial wreckage. Recent.++"
Vandred's pace quickened, and he hastened to Team 12's discovery. The rest of the unit pulled in too, encircling the objective. Vandred planted his pulse rifle into the ice and examined the wreckage himself. It was Imperial, an Aquila lander. It had ploughed into the ice, cracking the surface of the earth and lodging the bulk of the lander in the earth. Scorch marks patterned past a ruptured fuel canister, and the interior was barren. Broken monitors and sparking cables greeted Vandred. So much for Imperial presence. His dark eyes fell upon the distress beacon, failing and faulty, but it had served. Vandred examined it. A cog-wheel skull emblazoned on it leered at him. The sigil of the Mechanicus.

The only thing unexplored was the pilot's cabin. His gauntlet closed around the handle, and he tried the lock. It squealed against the ice, seizing up it's hinges. Unsheathing his bonding knife, Vandred shattered the ice, raining shimmering crystals over him. He yanked at the door. It swung open, and the barrel of a gun met his startled face.
The trap triggered, and a shotgun blast slammed into his torso, blasting him out of the Aquila lander. His body smashed onto the ice, as the blast echoed around the icy plains. As his men rushed over to him, Vandred gingerly touched his chest. The shotgun blast might have been fatal to a man in flak armour, but Tau armour was far more effective. The frontal plate had been ruined, but Vandred was unharmed. Holliday pulled him up.
"What is it, sir?"

"A trap."

The roar of the shotgun was answered by a feral howl. The entire cadre raised their rifles and dropped to a firing position. Orks.
The first of the greenskins charged out of the snowy winds, clad in thermal gear and frost camouflage. His body fell to the groud riddled with pulse rifle rounds. Another ork followed him, emerging dangerously close to the cadre before being put down. Dozens more of the hulking silhouettes grew in the thick snow. Black, oily contrails streaked through the air, and rokkits began falling near the Tau lines. Vandred grabbed his pulse rifle, and shouted to his unit.
"There's too many! Pull back to the dropships at once!"

The Tau rose from their firing positions and began to move backwards. Their fire never ceased, mowing down any of the feral orks that got too close. Their corpses lay strewn on the ice, their blood spilling out from under their misshapen cadavers. Every so often, a band of orks would charge together, butchering another fireteam as it tried to withdraw. Vandred slaughtered them all. The last thing they expected were for Tau to retaliate in melee. Yet every time a fireteam was hacked to pieces, the rest of the cadre turn on the greenskins and shanked them, severing tendons and throats. The blood of dead and dying Tau streaked the escape route all the way back to the waiting Orcas. Vandred hauled the last of the Tau wounded on his Dropship, and yelled at the pilot to take off. A killing zone of orks had been set up, forming rings around where the Orcas had been. When the three aircraft took off, the kill zones were flooded, swarming with angry, wretched orks. They would be coming back for them, Vandred swore.

Vandred sighed as his compiled his voice recording for Cadre Command.
"Recon expedition #005 classed as a major defeat.
No sign of life, save for technologically adept orks. Crashed Imperial 'Aquila' class lander, affiliated to the Adeptus Mechanicus caste of the Imperium found. Expedition casualties of 31%, of which 26% are fatalities. All bodies have been recovered, and we are making our way back now.
Gue'vesa'El Vandred, signing off."

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2016/04/07 17:12:31

Made in us
Stabbin' Skarboy

Prisoner 3434 sat at the camp fire watching the caste iron pot that hung above the weak flames. An olive drab canopy torn with holes kept the rain off him and his fire. 34 as his fellow convicts knew him attempted to scratch the dry skin under his explosive collar, a risky move but the itch had become intolerable. 1597 approached the fire and took a seat in the semi dry dirt next to 34. 1597 was a long haired man and wore a full beard, his weathered orange jump suit had its sleeves removed revealing a tattoo that marked him as a Faustian. His black boots were dull, his pants drawn over the grox leather. 1597 groaned as he reached the ground. 1597 lifted the pot and took in whiff and spoke in a grizzled voice “Smells like piss and onions.” 34 laughed as he used his rusted bayonet to whittle a piece of wood “Your losing you sense of smell its piss and cabbage.” 1597 spat “Ugh cabbage, can’t stand that gak.”

It was not long after that Arbitrator Halouk came stomping towards their tent. His eyes hidden beneath his helmet’s visor, black tactical gear hung about his chest, and a stun baton clutched in his grip. The law man was an agent of Warden Hoffman. The officer kicked over the prisoners’ pot of stew, they knew better than to protest. The arbitrator began to bark, “listen up convicts we are moving out, pack up camp we mobilize in nineteen hours, Inquisitor’s orders.” The penal legionaries rose to their feet and saluted, as Halouk moved on to tell the next group of convicts. 1597 whispered as the guard went long out of ear shot “Ass Helmet”

Inquisitor Garrett Randall stood at the war table with his usual retinue around him with the exception of Justicar Freeman. Brother Freeman’s wounds were healing well and the justicar was conscious. But at the insistence of Apothecary Myrmidon and the order of Captain Athenar Freeman had been confined to rest, as such a wound would have killed a normal man three times over. Randall spoke “While the banquet did not go as planned we did get the information we needed.” Randall pulled up map of Luna Epsilon and spoke “Heretics have taken root on this moon. It is our number one priority to see this swine destroyed before they can spread to Crion.” Commissar Alenko spoke out “We will need to establish a foot hold sir.” Randall spoke “Yes, there is a PDF out post on the island of Gin, we will commandeer it as our base of operation, the same with the men stationed there.” Warden Hoffman spoke “Lord Governor Payne agreed to this.” Captain Athenar replied “The Governor’s consent is irrelevant.” Hoffman smiled “Suppose it is.” Randall pointed to another dot on the map Hive Cogger. “Our investigation will begin here, it is unlikely that any truly loyal citizens remain, as such this will be a purging operation.” Paladin Utilitarius spoke “Inquistor we have reports that some refugees may have escaped Cogger Hive, they may be corrupted.” Randall felt the burden of his next words, “We will heavily monitor them, Captain Kid I task your men with this duty, should any of the Hivers prove to be impure, you know what to do.” Kid pounded her fists to her chest “Aye my Lord I have several men who can easily pass for Crionian natives, they know how to conduct the tests.” Utilitarius raised his voice “Inquisitor why take these risks, if there is even the slightest chance they have fallen to heresy we must act now before they can spread their taint.” Randall spoke to Utilitarius with his most stern face “Thank you Paladin your concern is noted.” Utilitarius looked over Captain Athenar “Brother tell him.” Athenar spoke much more level headed than the angered Paladin “Inquisitor Randall has the right to take action as he sees fit. Though I must say I do agree it would be safer to purge them now rather than take time to conduct the trials.” Randall took in a breath “I assure you should a single man fail the trials of purity, every one of these refugees will be dealt with, but I can not damn these men until I am certain.” Captain Athenar spoke “Very well Inquisitor, though I must insist that Brother Freeman aid in conducting the trials.” Randall nodded “Agreed his psychic skills would prove invaluable, as will his devotion to the Emperor.” Athenar nodded. Randall spoke “Make ready I do not know what awaits us in Cogger hive, but we will bring the Emperor’s light to the darkness.” Commissar Alenko raised his saber and shouted “For the Emperor, and For the Inquisition.” The rest in the room rallied behind the call “For the Inquisition.”
Made in gb
Ancient Ultramarine Venerable Dreadnought

Sunstrike Cadre was going to war.

Shoals of Sun Sharks, Orcas, Barracudas and Razorsharks dove towards the Blood Dragon ruins. Escorted by the smaller craft, the Manta 'Solar Vengeance' blotted out the sun as it waded through the air. They smelled blood in the water, descending like predators onto Nogrod's headquarters. Beacons pre-established by Shas'vre Ghostwalk and guided by Shas'ui's Harland and Tsa'lan marked structural defects in the ork tunnels. The Sun Sharks were merciless, bombing the weak points with irresistible force. Specially designed drone warheads had been retrofitted to the bombs, allowing the bombs to detonate at maximum effectiveness within the earth. Orks were crushed in the seeming-safety of their warrens, their weapons of war and breeding pits flattened by metres upon metres of rubble.

Orcas descended into the smouldering pit, disgorging Breacher teams into the landing zone. Harland and Tsa'lan greeted the vanguard contingent, meeting Gue'vesa'El Vandred as he emerged from his Orca. The human general congratulated the two Pathfinder teams, and dispersed his troopers into the dark zone. Soon, the sound of pulse rifle and pulse blaster fire reverberated through the dank tunnels.

The assault was underway.


"Forward! Push them back!" Sub-Commander Vandred yelled. Primitive arrows and spears flew towards the Fire Warriors, glancing off of the rough-hewn walls. The orks were being mown down as they tried to charge through the tunnels, the tight confines allowing the well-drilled Strike and Breacher teams to fire indiscriminately. The Tau casualties had been low, and Sunstrike Cadre was nearly at their destination: Nogrod's lair.

Suddenly, a blocked off side door exploded in a hail of splinters. The Tau advance halted, and readied into a firing position. A clade of Be'gel elites, straddling fierce spiders, hulking and clad in scraps of metal armour, lumbered into the walkway. Huge shields of reinforced steel, daubed in blue and black glyphs, hung by their sides, alongside savage mauls and choppas. Nogrod's elite Nobs.

Vandred pulled out his power sword. It was an Imperial relic, passed on from his father to him - Vandred only used it in the most dangerous of situations. Faced with an ork charge, this was one of them.
"Prepare for combat! Pistols ready!"
The men at his back unholstered their pulse pistols, and readied their bonding knives. Some bolts struck true, slowing the ork advance.
Then they hit.

The first few ranks of Tau were smashed aside, their combat armour cracked and broken by the Nob's incredible strength. The Tau began their counterattack, stabbing and slicing with surprising accuracy. Vandred hacked into one, ripping one's throat from it's neck. It gargled, then collapsed onto it's mount. The spider reared up, launching at Vandred. He ducked away, and the edge of his power sword raked through it's hide. It shuddered, and died. Another blow caught Vandred in the side, knocking him to the ground. He looked up, blood on his teeth. An ork nob toting a heavy warhammer and bereft of it's mount stride towards Vandred. A Fire Warrior moved to assault the ork, but a whack from the ork's hammer sent him sprawling. Vandred reached in vain for his discarded power sword. The nob's steel shod boots kicked it clear, and Vandred felt the ork's talons around his throat. It's massive jaw swung open, revealing a mass of bloodstained teeth. Before the human could say any defiant last words, it's mouth began to close over his head.

There was a flash of heat, and the ork's head burst into a cloud of ash and molten flesh. Vandred's helmet absorbed the worst of the heat, and he fell back, the ork's grip abating around his neck. The nob crumpled on the bloody stone floor, it's head burned and shredded. Dazed, the Sub-Commander looked over to where the shot had come from. Stood down the hallway, dominating the scene, a trio of Crisis Suits advanced. At their head, an XV89 class suit lowered a pair of smouldering fusion rifles. The marking on the suit were instantly recognisable as it bounded down the hallway, past Vandred. The fusion rifles split, forming a pair of incandescent fusion blades. The ork nobs, revelling in the close fight the Tau were giving them, failed to notice the Battlesuit. Unitil it was far too late. Their smouldering corpses fell to the floor, and the suit stood at the head of the advancing Tau forces. Vandred rose to his feet, and raised his power sword high.
"Forward! Support the Shas'O!"


Nogrod's spider was up ahead. Skyhunter's elite cadre of Crisis suits were baiting the shaman, sending it's spider mount into a frenzy whilst the rest of the Fire Warriors gunned down the hordes of spiders and orks that were trying to aid their liege. Skyhunter was holding a side tunnel off by himself, reducing the myriads of attackers to molten slurry with his twin fusion rifles. A warning light flickered up on his HUD. One of his Crisis suits had been blasted by a warpfire bolt from Nogrod. The team fell apart, losing their co-ordination. The spider mount, now seeing true targets, began to lash out with fang and web. It's eight eyes locked onto Skyhunter, and it gambolled towards him.
Good, Skyhunter thought.

He overcharged his fusion rifles, sealing the mouth of the tunnel, and engaged his jet pack. His suit shot out of the way, evading right. The arachnid smashed into the wall, narrowly missing Skyhunter. It swung a thick limb at him, trying to knock the commander down. Skyhunter caught the limb, and broke it over his suit. The spider squealed, and thrust itself onto Skyhunter. The Crisis commander jumped up, hovered, and landed on the monstrosity's back. Nogrod jabbed at the Shas'O, piercing into his iridium suit with a lucky blow, but missing the pilot. Skyhunter looked down at his HUD as he tried to wrench the staff out of him.
Fusion blades, 67% ready, a flashing light told him.
Nogrod made another strike, glancing off of Skyhunter's raised gauntlet. The battlesuit batted away the staff, and aimed a savage kick at Nogrod. The ork's outstretched palm swirled with eldritch power, and a bright blue blast wave forced Skyhunter away, and tumbled him off the back of his mount. His feet digging into the earth, Skyhunter looked up to see the titanic beast bearing down on him.
Fusion blades, 98% ready.
Skyhunter stood up, hunkered down to receive the charge. His mind-impusle unit was already triggering the fusion blades. The gun casing began to slide back, exposing the volatile reactor core. The spider was a few feet from him now. It opened it's jaws to strike.
Fusion blades, 100% ready
Twin lances of pure fusion energy tore open the creature's jaw, splitting it's arachnid head clean open. The two halves of the spider collapsed around Skyhunter, and Nogrod leapt off, plunging his staff down at Skyhunter. A bestial warcry was on his lips, eyes wide in vengeance. He was midair when Skyhunter fired his fusion blasters. Nogrod was pinned by incandescent beams of heat, torn apart and roasted alive as he fell. His smoking corpse splattered at Skyhunter's feet, still clutching a blackened staff. The ork warband, as if they could somehow feel their leader's death, turned tail and broke, fighting amongst themselves to make off with the good loot. Skyhunter watched as his Fire Warriors pursued the greenskins, laying down floods of pulse fire at the tempo of Vandred's bellowed orders. The sound of bombers from up above began to echo through the caves. The orks were surrounded. So they fought.

They didn't stand a chance.


Skyhunter and Mirrorstone's orderlies were rummaging through the old Shaman's loot cache. Many things that the ork had accumulated had no purpose to the cadre, but Mirrorstone demanded to keep it, and passed it to an orderly, who dumped it in a cargo net carried by a drone attendant. So far, it was full of ores, metals, skulls, eggs, and various other items. Skyhunter swept aside a pile of debris, causing Mirrorstone to tisk. Underneath, the sigil of the Blood Dragons Chapter met his optical sensors. Ancient relics, tomes of war and battle, sat covered in dust. Most of the Chapter's weaponry had been cannibalised and lost to the orks, but a few pieces stood out. Namely, a massive power axe. Skyhunter took it up in his hands, and gave an experimental swing. It had good weight, easy to lift in his XV89 Battlesuit. Mirrorstone strode over and examined the weapon.

"I've seen these before. It's a Dreadnought weapon, mounted onto Space Marine battlesuit equivalents. I'm sorry, Shas'O, but the power coupling wouldn't adapt, I don't think it's-"
A raised hand halted her, mid sentence.

Skyhunter planted the haft of the axe into the ground. His voice had a dark humour to it.
"Then make it fit, Fio'El."

Made in us
Scuttling Genestealer

Crion - Chasing after small rodents

[Pike-Ard, Crion]
The hive was ready. KoreGog had stood for far too long. His forces had harmed the hive, and he shall be consumed in return. The lictor, now known to the hive as the Leaping Terror, was dispatched to take him out. His reign was about to be put to an end.

[Jorgan, Crion]

The Leaping Terror silently stepped out of the bushes. It now stood at the edge of tree line outside the fort of KoreGog da Bloody. The night was dark and it would never be seen.
Infiltrate Eliminate
The fort had sentries posted all around it. Fires were everywhere to light the way, since the night was dark and it was pitch black. It only aided the hive. The lictor easily slipped past the sentries without an issue thanks to its special adaptations. It now just had to find KoreGog. The Leaping Terror searched everywhere but the place was very unorganized and confusing. It looked hopeless until it stumbled upon a drunk ork. It was however, more like the ork stumbled upon the lictor. The moment the lictor noticed the greenskin coming, it had stepped into the darkness surrounding a wall. The camouflage all lictors had began to do its job. The lictor was now one with the wall. The drunk ork began to wobble past before tripping and falling to the ground like the pathetic biomass it was. It was only when he talked to himself that he became useful.

“Dat wuz some party d-d-da b-boss wuz throwin in the mess hall. I c-can’t wait ta get back in there after sentry d-duty.”
“Get off da ground ya lazy grot! Ya got work ta do ya git!” A nearby nob shouted to the drunk ork. He attempted to get up and hobble to his post, but he was no longer useful. Time to go kill a leader of an army.

The lictor peered through a hole high up on the roof of the mess hall. Inside, the orks were cheering and having a merry time.

“Ta da boss! He gotz us a propa fight!” One nob said.
“Ta da boss!” The assembled greenskin mass said.
“I like da work dat has been done ‘ere taday. You lot ‘ave earned dis fungus vodka! Drink up an’ letz get ready ta clobber some more gitz!” KoreGog da Bloody replied to this. With this, the crowd descended into a song while swigging on their drinks.
“Weez are orks and we kill dem all!
Orks, orks, orks!
Weez krush an’ maim an’ kill an’ burn!
Orks, orks, orks!
None can stop da waaaagh of orks!
Orks, orks, orks!
Fear our might or face your death!
Orks, orks, ORKS!
Weez are greenskinz an’ you are DEAD!

“Time ta loot! Time ta kill!
Time ta see ya innards spill!
I’m am da ork an’ you da git!
I a chop an’ you a split!
Time fa you ta face my mitts!
You ‘ill miss and I ‘ill hit!”

More and more singing and chanting. It went on and on. All the while, the orks getting more and more drunk. Patience is key. The more the lictor waited, the better its chances were. It was at this moment that KoreGog got up to leave. The lictor readily awaited his passage. KoreGog stepped out of the building. He stumbled a few steps out and took a deep breath. His last breath. The Leaping Terror, rightfully earning its name, plunged down upon the very surprised, and very drunk warboss. He did not even have time to turn around before the scything talons had pierced straight through the back of his neck. No words were uttered. No cry for help. KoreGog da Bloody had been slain.
Make him suffer
The lictor responded. It beat its body up over and over. Cutting and stabbing and wasting biomass. The hive did not care. KoreGog had angered the brood. It was the wrong thing to do. This same punishment would be done upon any and all that disrupt the consumption off the planet. No resistance or fear the wrath of the swarm. In the end, the warboss was still mostly intact as he was so big. He just had many more cuts on his body than necessary. The noise of this had attracted unwanted attention. The footsteps of all the orks in the mess hall were heard. It was time to leave. The lictor slinked into the shadows. No greenskin discovered the lictor as it made its escape.
A massive blow had been dealt to the greenskins. More biomass would be gotten easily because of this.
Long live the hive

So I assassinated the leader of the nearby ork klan with a major victory and I named my lictor.

TheEyeOfNight-I want a little ripper of my own now, I will call it Little Buddy, and I will feed it the spleens of my enemies. 
Made in us
Master Shaper

Gargant Hunting

"They took one of ours. It is time for us to take one of theirs." Meenos remembered Ta'lok's words. "Meenos, Seri, Voshia, I need you to go back to Kampf's Anchorage. Edgar still breathes, and is now hidden. His men are not so fortunate, and know where his rat den lies. Find them."

Their hunt had taken the trio to the slums of 'Rat Town' to find Jebediah Godwill, the left hand man of Edgar. Filled with thieves, crooks, and smugglers, it was no surprise to Seri that these dregs of society would be more willing to listen to the rebel's honeyed words. The man would be hosting his own rally here, and it was the Kroot's intent to get him before he could. From what the trio had gathered, he had chose to use the rundown arbites facility to host the meeting, as any of the law enforcement units had either joined their rebellion, or were stationed elsewhere in the region, and the man was already inside the building, making final preparations before he gave his speech.

Moving quickly, the trio slit the throats of two guards, and slipped into the facility after hiding the corpses. "Godwill will be using the lead officer's desk room as his own." Meenos whispered.

"Prey always will hide, he is no different, I hope he feels safe where his den is. It makes the finding so much more entertaining" Seri spat. Voshia stayed quiet, a sense of determination filling her. Meenos signalled the group to move ahead, and he scanned ahead as he moved. The room, while large, was vacant excluding themselves, and any decoration and furniture had been in ill repair for far too long. Cobwebs covered lights, and dust covered seats. Ahead was a small hallway, and a sign gave directions to a number of rooms, including Godwill's.

Meenos froze in place, and hissed for his partners to hide before leaping behind a long forgotten sofa. The others barely had time to find their own places to hide when several men entered the room. From Meenos' position, he counted six pairs of feet. The Kroot kept his knife close to his chest but was ready to attack on the slightest sign of being discovered.

Meenos heard several clicks before someone exhaled. He cringed at the sudden bitter smell, and knew that one of them was smoking. Shortly after, he heard a faint smack, and saw a small, smoking object hit the ground. "No smoking in here, civilian. You're lucky that we're letting you in here anyway, family relations or not." One man grumbled, his voice a gravelly growl. The man sighed, and Meenos saw him stoop down to grab the lho-stick, and the Kroot moved backwards slightly to be out of his view. In an instant, the man's head snapped towards Meenos' hiding spot, and slowly crept towards it. Meenos held completely still, refusing to even breathe. A rounded face appeared above the sofa, and the man gave a gasp before Meenos' knife was in his skull.

The Kroot didn't waste any time to spring over the couch and swing his knife into the nearest man. The man, an officer of the arbites, drew a baton and made to block the blow, but was far too slow for the Kroot. Meenos didn't need to say a word for the other two Kroot to join the fray. The trio ducked and dodged batons, fists, and the ends of rifles. For every blow sent at them, the Kroot returned with vicious execution. Meenos say one man stumble over himself as he turned to flee, and that he raised a quivering hand and muttered something to himself.

Except, it wasn't to himself, Meenos realized. A personal vox, to warn other guards, and more importantly, Godwill himself. Meenos sent a knife spinning end over end at the man, and there was a meaty thunk as it met his chest. The entire fight had only lasted a few moments, but it had changed everything.

Seeing that neither of his kin were injured, he reclaimed his twin knives and lead his pack onwards. Meenos silently cursed when he saw several guards standing outside Godwill's office, though he knew they would have been there with or without an alarm being raised. Prepare for a human attacker, the guards were shocked with horror to see inhuman creatures running at them. One had fired a shot before Seri was on him, slashing and biting into him with a ferocity unlike any other, and his lone lasround had flown past the trio harmlessly. Meenos lost himself in the combat, instinctively blocking one blow before jabbing with a knife. Rewarded with a cry of pain, Meenos kicked out at the man, causing him to stumble and slip on his own growing pool of blood. Thrusting a knife downwards to finish the man off, Meenos then rolled forwards and slashed upwards into another guard.

Meanwhile, Seri was dueling two guards at once, blocking with her bladed rifle and feigning counter attacks to keep them back. Outraged at the sight of their comrades being slain by xenos, the two rushed forwards in unison. With a glint of mischief in her eyes, Seri ducked, and both men stared in horror as their blades embedded into one another. "Too slow, humans." She taunted, and snickered to herself as both men fell to the ground together.

Seeing that the guards were caught up with Meenos and Seri, Voshia slipped into Godwill's office, but what she saw only disappointed her. Their target, their prey, was laying facedown, unbreathing and completely still. Grabbing his wrist, she tutted when she found no pulse. No marks were on the man, and she found an open cartridge in his pocket, with a pill shaped hole in it.

"You coward." Voshia hissed.

The fighting had subsided now, and Meenos and Seri stepped through the door, seeing Voshia crouched over Godwill's body. "Dead?" Seri asked, and folder her arms, already knowing the answer. Voshia nodded, and showed them the cartridge. With a grunt in response, Meenos began picking through the late Godwill's desk, grabbing anything that seemed of use. While Meenos rifled through the office, an idea came to Seri. Without saying a word, she hoisted Godwill's body over her shoulder.

When both Voshia and Meenos looked questioningly at her, she explained, "We may not have been able to kill him, but we can make him a message. A symbol." Meenos stared at Seri for a moment longer before a malicious grin slowly crept up his face.

It was a cold morning, with the breeze still seeping through Gaelos' coat. After the excitement of yesterday, and Jebediah Godwill's disappearance from a guarded building, the man had wondered what had happened. Not that the arbites had said anything about it, Gaelos thought bitterly. Gaelos pushed his thoughts away, he was used to his higher ups leaving him, the common man, behind. This was why he was a part of the Tiller Rebellion, they promised what he had never known, what he never dreamed of.

Lost in thought, Gaelos only came to when he heard the cawing of a raven. Looking up, the man blenched and gagged, hardly daring to trust his eyes. Ahead of him was a hanging body, with a hastily tied rope around his neck, letting the corpse dangle off of a street lamp. It was barely recognizable as human, as it had bloody stumps in replacement of its arms and legs, and it's entire torso had been torn to shreds. Barely able to handle himself, Gaelos crept forwards, his own grim morbidity keeping him on his path. He sank to his knees when the wind blew the body around, allowing Gaelos to see the man's face, which had remained wholly untouched in comparison to the rest of the ravaged cadaver. Gaelos shook his head, made a prayer to the God-Emperor, and after wiping tears from his eyes, double checked to make sure what he saw was true.

It was Jebediah Godwill.

Irishpeacockz-Blackjack needs a pay raise for being the welcomer to the crusade
Palleus-Write a school essay about Kroot! Pride. Prejudice. And Cannibalsim. 
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