[
40k] Thresh's story.
Hey everybody, that's right, it's me again.
I know that probably makes some people want to rip their eyes out, but I've gotten better at writing, I swear!
Any who, this is a story mainly about a dreadnought of my custom chapter, the hounds of loken. More information, here:
http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/list/587348.page#6678187
on with the story!
Prologue:the waking dead.
During the long slumbers between battle, the warrior once known as Thresh dreams. Nightmares. Sometimes he sees the faces of brothers dead, of enemies whose life he watched drain from their eyes.
Of battlefields covered in the ash of the burning dead. Entire cities drowned in skeletal remains. Faces screaming, faces laughing, faces crying, all the same thing “the never-borne! The never-borne are coming!” And sometimes, just sometimes, he relives his own death.
“Thresh, up with you! The bastards haven't got you dusted off yet!' A voice cut through the miasma of fog that momentarily clouded Thresh's mind, and he felt himself being hauled to his feet.
The world spun and blurred as Thresh's legs struggled to hold his weight. Arvak, who's voice had punctured the fog, who had pulled him to his feet, stood before him. Thresh's friend cupped a wound in his stomach with one hand, while his other gripped the handle of his bolt gun. The rubble that hid them from the enemy provided ample room to stand. The krak grenade, lobbed by an enemy soldier, had only knocked Thresh from his feet, and his helmet had saved his life. Arvak had been closer, and the armour of his stomach had been torn away by the blast, along with some of the flesh beneath it. Ruby droplets fell elegantly from between Arvak's pearl white finger tips. Thresh grabbed his somewhat damaged bolt gun, and took a half step left. He leant sideways and unleashed a torrent of bolt shells at the enemy line. Several enemy cultists, armoured in black leather or cloth, fell dead as the mass reactive shells exploded in their bodies. Blowing off limbs, heads and splintering bone.
As Thresh ducked back, a dozen solid slugs bouncing from his pitted armour, he brought up a tactical display.
Across the no man's land,a twenty metre expanse of open field, the enemy rabble, hundreds of cultists supported by a few dozen black legion astartes, held their line, although a few of the more cowardly among them fled. The hounds of loken, thresh's brothers, were slowly pushing forwards in a ragged line. Spread out along the line of battle, the hounds were leaping from cover to cover, squads sticking in the shells of blown out bunkers, behind sand bag walls, rubble piles or else crouched in trenches made for mortals.
The fourth company had suffered few losses though. Sergeant zathic and his devastators had taken up position in the ruined husk of a rhino, and spouted heavy bolter fire at the enemy. Thresh unleashed another torrent, this time aimed at a ten man squad of chaos terminators standing opposite them in the trench works, who seemed to be leading the ramshackle defence. The bolts bounced harmlessly off the man-tanks' corrupt, coal black armoured plating, and their combi-bolters blazed.
It was just him and Arvak now, the rest of their tactical squad lay dead around them. The time for mourning would come later, now was the time of vengeance. He let out more shots, ripping through human flesh and black cloth.
The enemy terminators were weathering any and all fire flung at them, directing some of the more organised cultists in suicidal charges, apparently trying to build a wall of bodies between themselves and the hounds' lines.
“we've got to get rid of those terminators! Where the hell's our armour?”
Arvak paused a moment, listening to his vox-guide.
“the armour's still west, attacked by local xenos.
Auven's squad of terminators are moving here on foot, estimated time of arrival twenty seven minutes.
Damn it, we'll have to wait for them before we can touch those bastards! Every one here's out of krak grenades, used them all against those damned fliers.”
just a short while ago, the enemy had sent a small flock of three giant bird-machine things, like dragons of old terran mythology. Heinous warp-spawned things, the drakes had taken an absurd amount of fire to kill.
“what about hakir? His devastators had laz-cannons, didn't they?”
“he's dead. Took a charge from a group of possessed freaks, managed to get that last drake with one of his men's cannon before they got him tho!”
another unexpected enemy, the “freaks” had been enemies mutated beyond belief, who seemed to have bonded to their armour and sprouted wings, claws, fangs and tails.
Possessed.
“ok. We've just got to hold out until auven's term-” Arvak never finished the sentence. He dropped, hand clutching a wound in his forehead, his other clutching a similar wound in the under side of his chin. Dead. Thresh cried out in righteous fury as he looked up to see who had killed his friend.
They were back. Three of them were here, more probably following.
The possessed. Only one had a raged weapon, a bolter that had merged with his arm. The others sprouted hideous mutations. Horns, claws, extra eyes, all things that should not be.
Thresh emptied a clip into Arvak's killer, the bolts blasting the thing's head apart in a spray of oil black blood. The other two wailed in rage as their daemonic comrade fell. They fell upon him, caws whirring and maws retching. Thresh's right arm was sliced to pieces in seconds, and a shout of pain escaped his mouth, muffled by his vox-grille. The knife maged to his thigh was in his remaining hand, and he was stabbing at anything he could get a clear look at. Blood oozed from a hundred cuts and wounds all over his body, but his blade found one of the monster's eyes. He gauged through the lens, drove deep through the ball inside and slashed upwards, ending it's terrible life.
The last of them punched its claws into his chest, puncturing a lung and slashing a rib in half.
Fire came from the friendly side, shots ripping into the daemon-kin.
the thing convulsed and fell sideways, a crater of flesh in its head. Thresh fell into a sitting position, and nodded thanks at his rescuer. a heavy bolter bearing marine of squad zathic. he saw the marines head explode as a hail of combi-bolter fire punctured his flesh.
Thresh hauled himself up to take a step toward Arvak's body. And promptly fell face first into the muddy ground.
He'd tripped over a large, cylindrical object. A silver stretched sphere with a handle in one side. His lip curled upwards as h realised he had a plan. And a melta bomb.
Thresh mag-locked his prize, dropped by one of the possessed, close to his chest. It was now or never. The hounds of loken had to get past this blockade now, lest the Black Legion forces defending the citadel, now a large dot on the horizon, escape. Thresh roared and ran from cover, zathic's devastators providing covering fire. His bolter bucked as he shot it one handed, cutting down any cultist that targeted him. He was metres away when the chaos terminators, who's armour he could now see was decorated with daemonic faces and octed stars, finally noticed him. It was too late.
As the first of the combi-bolters turned to him, he dropped his bolter, turned the handle on the charge and revealed the arming mechanism.
As the enemy astartes pulled the trigger, Thresh pressed the arming button.
As he felt mass-reactive shells penetrate his armour, he pulled his arm back.
As he felt his flesh burst, he pushed the melta bomb through the air.
As the world went black, he saw a flash explode and cover the chaos terminators in blinding light.
As the final ebbs of conciousness ebbed from his body, he felt his self, nay, his corpse, hurled through the air by the blast of the terminators' power plants over heating.
+++...system...activation...in...progress...+++
how long have we been asleep?
Thresh had long since gotten use to the idea of speaking with the machine spirit that co-inhabited his iron-form.
Talking to it, as would happen, had become common practise.
He had even begun to think of it as something akin to a friend.
+++ thirty three standard years since last awakening ritual.+++
thirty three years. That meant his friends were, or well, might, be alive.
who is awakening us?
+++master of the forge, chapter designation: Hounds of loken, mercer yefr+++
Thresh's heart sank.
Confirm?
+++confirmed.+++
so, ysdel was dead. This 'mercer' was his replacement.
Aural and optic?
+++activating.+++
suddenly, the void of his world disappeared, and was replaced by the steel grey of his personal chamber. His optics scanned the chamber. The wall opposite him was dominated by a huge bronze door, the cog-skull symbol of the mechanicus stamped into the metal.
The second wall was covered in giant campaign ribbons and purity seals. The wall opposite that was left bare.
The chamber resided in the bowels of the hounds of loken flag ship, the tribute.
Several humans and astartes were the occupants of the room, aside his own, massive, white and silver iron-form. the humans were four serfs, and they stood to the side while they awaited orders. They would be the ones to attach Thresh's weaponry arms.
His optics came fully online.
The other five figures were each suddenly wreathed In green, while the humans were wreathed in yellow.
Directly in front of his iron-form stood the man who would replace his best friend.
Behind him stood four other, all of which he knew.
Vox speakers?
+++activating...online.+++
“I am ancient Thresh, warrior of the hounds of loken. What is my purpose?”
He spoke these words, not in the voice that was once his, but in his new, monstrous, vox-calibrated voice that sounded like ripping metal.
The figure in front of him, identified as Mercer by the master of the forge symbols on his white battle plate, fell to one knee.
Interestingly, the only detectable mechanical augmetic was a steel left hand.
The four figures behind him followed.
Mercer spoke “we welcome you from slumber, dread-brother Thresh, and you're purpose is as ever, to bring the light of the emperor to those who would see it denied.”
“you are master of the forge. I shall mourn your predecessor. You will be hard pressed to fill his shoes.”
he flicked his 'gaze' backwards, to one of the kneeling figures, while Mercer tried to decide what to make of the inferred insult.
Bio-scan, now.
+++...complete+++
data flooded across the backs of Thresh's eyes.
Heart rate, blood pressure, and a dozen other statistics.
Thresh spoke again.
“solace. You look terrible.”
solace, chapter master of the hounds of loken, was hard pressed to stifle a laugh.
Merric verran, first captain and another of the figures, simply couldn't resist.
“that's what I keep telling him!”
“brothers, please. Stand. I am no ruler.”
the five stood, and mercer motioned to the humans.
They began to swarm around him, slowly freeing him from the cables that held him in place to the wall. His arms slowly lowered from the ceiling, and they clicked into place at his sides.
+++weapons check...
power fist. Dreadnought pattern.
100 percent power, 100 percent operation.
Las-cannon. Dreadnought pattern.
100 percent power, 98 percent operation.
Error. 2 percent malfunction.
Error report sending...sent. +++
his standard armaments, good.
Merric walked up to Thresh's iron-form. Circled it, while mercer watched with a quisical expression on his face. Thresh noted his sand blonde hair, cut short. Blonde hair was rare among the hounds, he himself had had black hair.
But no longer. Thresh inwardly sighed.
This was the fifth time he had woken.
The first time he had entered the sleep had been with great reluctance.
After his interment, he had remained awake for a half-dozen years, before he was near forced to enter the sleep. The second time he had awoken, he had remained so for only a year. The last time had lasted two months. This time, he decided he would stay awake for longer.
“damn, not even a hint of the damage done at terix. They fixed you up pretty damn good, didn't they?” Merric stared up at the black slit that connected to Thresh's optics.
“well, ugliness on my armour is easily fixed. The hideous appearance of your face, on the other hand, not so much.”
Merric grinned and punched the armour just above Thresh's waist. The shallow dint left was one of the symbols of their friend-ship. A similar mark was prominent on the inner surface of Merric's vembrace, and a scratched crescent moon just below that.
Merric grinned in reply to the friendly insult, since Thresh's seconding to Merric's company, after his second awakening, the two had grown quite close. Or at least, close compared to most post-human and walking iron blocks can be.
Find me information on any current battles, campaigns and/or engagements.
+++no current battles in performance...
1 campaign found...
no current engagements.+++
“so, who are we campaigning against this time, orks?
Or perhaps tau?”
“Black legion” Merric said the words with equal amounts relish and disgust.
It was only now that Thresh noticed the sword at his hip.
“so, now you don't just take helmets, but also weapons?”
“huh? Oh, yes. I mean, no. this-”
he drew the shining, blue-bladed sword. It's intricate grip was clearly made to be wielded two-handed by an eldar, but it fit nicely as a single-handed sword in Merric's grip.
“- was given to me by... a friend.”
“oh, do tell. How is Avicus?”
Thresh stopped. Since his death, and being in the constant company of his machine-spirit, he had become more and more... obnoxious.
Used to the automatic response of the machine spirit, he asked to much, to quickly.
He made a note to correct the issue.
Merric didn't seem to notice.
“oh, uh, yes. Well, long story short?
I made friends with an eldar seer and she became possessed trying to save Avicus from a chest wound, tried to uhh, do something to me, and I had to kill her with this. Her blade.
Loretta.”
at the mention of it's, or rather her, name, the large stone set into the cross-guard flashed a silvery blue.
Thresh inwardly chuckled.
“and here I am thinking that I’m talking too fast.”
Merric grunted, and pulled a flask of coffee-brew from somewhere.
. “Any way, you wanted to know about the campaign. We've got the bastards by the tail, and we're nearly ready to deliver the finishing blow. They've crested some kind of storm over their last citadels on primaris , and we can't get any orbital through it. Unnatural it is. So, we're going to mash our way in.”
"For a moment I thought we were going to go by you usual plan, oh wait, smashing our way in IS your usual plan.”
“and?”
Thresh shrugged, a very, very awkward manoeuvre that looked more like his entire arms rising and then falling slightly.
Thresh realised the others, aside from Mercer and Merric, had left.
“what is happening to Solace?”
Merric cast his eyes downwards, and his usually jubilant face took on an air of seriousness and genuine sorrow that seemed almost unnatural.
“we both know what is happening to him.”
“no. NO!” Thresh's iron-form hummed as it readied for battle in relation to his suddenly heightened anger. His las-cannon hummed.
Deactivate weapons systems.
+++warning. Suddenly enhanced anger has led to adrenaline increase. Are you sure you wish to deactivate weapon systems?+++
yes.
+++compliance+++
the humming in the las-cannon stopped.
Thresh calmed himself. The equivalent of taking deep breaths. That was the thing he missed the most about his old-life, the ability to take in a deep breath, to smell the promethium rich stink of a star ship interior. Or the exotic tang of an alien jungle.
“we will find a way to stop this. We will.”
“Aie my friend. We've already slowed It down.”
“slowed it down? How long does he have?”
Merric sighed. “negative three months.”
Thresh felt as tough he might cry out.
“leave me. I wish to... rest.”
“the time for mourning comes later. For now, I want to reunite you with the company.”
“fine than. We will go meet the company. How many days until our next engagement.”
Merric was all grin. “about seven hours.”
-Arghent flame 1500pts- 
1500 pts
2000pts 
The Emperor's Redemption: