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(GOOD GOD!!!!.....................................meep...

You didnt tell me this guy writes for BL! If plot aror counts for what I think it does the we're all screwed!!!!!!!!1111111)

So you can write this wall-o-text in ONE day, but writing one little event takes whole week?

*Is confused*

Devastator wrote:So you can write this wall-o-text in ONE day, but writing one little event takes whole week?

*Is confused*

That's all Gorskar's work. I just organised it in one place.

edit: Typo.. grrr..

WARORK93 wrote:You didnt tell me this guy writes for BL!

Gorsky won't admit it.. but he did secretly work for BL. They just fired him without printing his books because his stuff was so awesome-licious-gasmic-sauce that it overshadowed all other authors and made Matt Ward cry in a corner whilst soiling himself and weeping as realisation of the atrocious abominations of background writing he's done overcame him. So now Gorskar floats umong us other entities and inhabitants of the warp.. um.. I mean Dakka members.. doomed to forever be exiled from the mighty palace of publishing that he so greatly deserves residence in, for his literary works are pure genius, and make even the likes of Dan Abnett and Graham McNeill tremble in awe.

Chowderhead demands his event!

And a sandwich!

*Hnads chowder a Sandwich* Your mom made it for ME! But WHATEVER!

Holy crap thats ALOT of text... if i tried reading all that to fast,id get sucked into a void were letters taunt me...evil o's.
so were does my guy come in? or are we not starting? my head still hurts o.o ...

Darkvoidof40k wrote:

WARORK93 wrote:You didnt tell me this guy writes for BL!

Gorsky won't admit it.. but he did secretly work for BL. They just fired him without printing his books because his stuff was so awesome-licious-gasmic-sauce that it overshadowed all other authors and made Matt Ward cry in a corner whilst soiling himself and weeping as realisation of the atrocious abominations of background writing he's done overcame him. So now Gorskar floats umong us other entities and inhabitants of the warp.. um.. I mean Dakka members.. doomed to forever be exiled from the mighty palace of publishing that he so greatly deserves residence in, for his literary works are pure genius, and make even the likes of Dan Abnett and Graham McNeill tremble in awe.

Dude, my modesty's gonna kill me!
But yep, that was me. Did you really track down that whole fanfic?
(Also, Gorskar's orks are speed freeks, so red with yellow flames on their armour.)
(PPS: Great to meet you, Warork, though the Boss may not think so, know what I mean? )

Flaunt it Gorsky!

Flaunt it!

Gorskar.da.Lost wrote:

Darkvoidof40k wrote:

WARORK93 wrote:You didnt tell me this guy writes for BL!

Gorsky won't admit it.. but he did secretly work for BL. They just fired him without printing his books because his stuff was so awesome-licious-gasmic-sauce that it overshadowed all other authors and made Matt Ward cry in a corner whilst soiling himself and weeping as realisation of the atrocious abominations of background writing he's done overcame him. So now Gorskar floats umong us other entities and inhabitants of the warp.. um.. I mean Dakka members.. doomed to forever be exiled from the mighty palace of publishing that he so greatly deserves residence in, for his literary works are pure genius, and make even the likes of Dan Abnett and Graham McNeill tremble in awe.

Dude, my modesty's gonna kill me!
But yep, that was me. Did you really track down that whole fanfic?
(Also, Gorskar's orks are speed freeks, so red with yellow flames on their armour.)
(PPS: Great to meet you, Warork, though the Boss may not think so, know what I mean? )

(Good to meet you too, lets just say I think War and Gor are gonna have one fun time, though I think in the end no matter who wins we should both be happy cause I can tell you now, when two WAAAGH's clash NOTHING is left standing.

Hmmmm...might be a problem considering my orks are also supposed o be speed freaks. Anyway, their banner would be something like an orky version of a jolly roger: ork skull with two chainaxes crossed, something like that.

And yes, the only thing is, I'm currently shaking in my boots at the amount of awesomeness Gor represents.........on second thought, anyway two warbosses can see tusk to tusk? )

Well.. Gorskar is a Warlord.. Warklaw is a Warboss.. go figure..

And curse the fates, I might be totally unavailable all weekend, so I'll do my best to get some event done tonight.. but with me and events, it's very "all or nothing". It'll either all happen, or not happen.

@ klimino - the roleplay started ages ago; I hope you've read the entire thread. But that long piece of text was taken from my good friend here's (Gorskar.da.Lost) fanfic of the Ork Warlord of the same name.

If you haven't read the entire thread, then I suggest (order ) that you do so.

edit for early spelling.

Gorskar.da.Lost wrote:

Darkvoidof40k wrote:

WARORK93 wrote:You didnt tell me this guy writes for BL!

Gorsky won't admit it.. but he did secretly work for BL. They just fired him without printing his books because his stuff was so awesome-licious-gasmic-sauce that it overshadowed all other authors and made Matt Ward cry in a corner whilst soiling himself and weeping as realisation of the atrocious abominations of background writing he's done overcame him. So now Gorskar floats umong us other entities and inhabitants of the warp.. um.. I mean Dakka members.. doomed to forever be exiled from the mighty palace of publishing that he so greatly deserves residence in, for his literary works are pure genius, and make even the likes of Dan Abnett and Graham McNeill tremble in awe.

Dude, my modesty's gonna kill me!
But yep, that was me. Did you really track down that whole fanfic?
(Also, Gorskar's orks are speed freeks, so red with yellow flames on their armour.)
(PPS: Great to meet you, Warork, though the Boss may not think so, know what I mean? )

1) Screw your modesty, put that in your sig and have an ego inflation everytime you post.
2) Yes, I got all your fanfic together .
3) Warklaw's dudes ain't speed freaks.. they have lots of foot sloggers and vehicles and Kommandoes and such. Just a mix. His original horde might have been speed freaks.. but now all the orks in the hulk are following him.

Two ork waaaaaghs colliding you say?

As the resident Eldar Farseer of this thread, i feel i'd be doing my character a disservice if i did not perform the ancient elder ritual when something interesting/awesome/bad news for someone else happens.

*steeples fingers.*

"Just as Planned"

Darkvoidof40k wrote:

1) Screw your modesty, put that in your sig and have an ego inflation everytime you post.
2) Yes, I got all your fanfic together .
3) Warklaw's dudes ain't speed freaks.. they have lots of foot sloggers and vehicles and Kommandoes and such. Just a mix. His original horde might have been speed freaks.. but now all the orks in the hulk are following him.

(3. Okay, srry I imagined them as speed freaks, and BTW whats the difference between the titles Warlord and Warboss? Thought they were the same thing...)

A Warlord has subordinate Warboss', the latter of which have their own mobs. A Warlord is in charge of the entire Waaaagh! (big waaagh!)

Darkvoidof40k wrote:A Warlord has subordinate Warboss', the latter of which have their own mobs. A Warlord is in charge of the entire Waaaagh! (big waaagh!)

(Well..................you smell funny!!!

*runs away and cowers in corner, crying over his loss of dominance* )

WARORK93 wrote:

Darkvoidof40k wrote:A Warlord has subordinate Warboss', the latter of which have their own mobs. A Warlord is in charge of the entire Waaaagh! (big waaagh!)

(Well..................you smell funny!!!

*runs away and cowers in corner, crying over his loss of dominance* )

Pussy! Man-up and assert your dominance!

Darkvoidof40k wrote:

WARORK93 wrote:

Darkvoidof40k wrote:A Warlord has subordinate Warboss', the latter of which have their own mobs. A Warlord is in charge of the entire Waaaagh! (big waaagh!)

(Well..................you smell funny!!!

*runs away and cowers in corner, crying over his loss of dominance* )

Pussy! Man-up and assert your dominance!

(And I will, as soon as my character is out of limbo, I'll end up setting out on the near impossible task of trying to make Warklaw sound more awesome than Gor....

In other words, MOAR EVENT, DARK!!!)

Meh. I'll see what I can do about rapping it up tonight. So many good characters; so hard to choose who to kill.

WARORK93 wrote:(And I will, as soon as my character is out of limbo, I'll end up setting out on the near impossible task of trying to make Warklaw sound more awesome than Gor....

In other words, MOAR EVENT, DARK!!!)

Well, think about it this way. Your Boss has the height and weight; mine has the experience and know-wots. Should be fairly even!

Gorskar.da.Lost wrote:Well, think about it this way. Your Boss has the height and weight; mine has the experience and know-wots. Should be fairly even!

(Thats actually a decent point, sounds about right. )

Afraid to inform y'all that there'll be no player event tonight.. just ain't got the time for it, unfortunately. *shrug* Life calls, so there probably won't be any event tomorrow or Saturday (I won't even be at home.. untimely family business..) and on Sunday, whilst I might (read: won't) have time in the morning, I'm going out all day with friends.. so.. yeah. Sorry dudes. Don't give me grief over it, and enjoy the event summary.

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


PLAYER EVENT - Summary


Death From Above - PART 1
Major Mortensen sighed heavily as he looked out across the massive, open battlefield that was now filled with craters, smoking vehicle wrecks and choked with the corpses of hundreds, their blood mixing together in disgusting pools. The medicae had insisted that he remain in the medical tent for a few hours, but he had declined, knowing that his men needed him and he had only suffered a flesh wound anyway - a slugga round had grazed his left side. Accepting only a heavy dose of stims, he hurried out of the tent, leaving the howls of injured men behind him. He called his vox-man, Bern, and when the man arrived he pulled the handset from the heavy radio pack, before speaking into it. "This is Major Mortensen to all Platoon commanders, sound off!"
"This is Lieutenant Garl," "Lieutenant Charkos here sir," "Lieutenant Thomson, reporting sir!"
Mortensen waited for a few seconds, but nothing but static greeted him. He sighed heavily. "What's the status down there? Looks like all hell's come to give us a visit out there!"
"The Orks' numbers are swelling far beyond our control, we'll either all be slaughtered or all pushed back within the next hour, if that," Garl informed the Major grimly.
"I'm pretty sure Lieutenant Briggs is dead sir, I saw his unit get overrun about twenty minutes ago - the Orks broke through our lines, but my unit managed to push them back. However, we're stretched thin sir! We need reinforcements!"
Major Mortensen stood thoughtfully, "Charkos, what's your situation?"
"Well Major, I believe I sighted the Ork brute that's in charge of this horde earlier!" Charkos reported.
Now this was important. Cut off the head and the body will die - the universally accepted way of defeating an Ork horde. "Lieutenant, find that Ork and kill it! It's our only chance! I'll be with you shortly!"
"Yes sir!"

Finally, a plan of action thought Kyel Charkos. He discarded the empty pack from his Lasgun, and having used up his own ammo, leaped onto a dead Guardsman, and scavenged two fresh power packs, and he loaded one into his Lasgun. He then assembled a team of eight men from nearby; including one Melta gunner, and after briefing them on their mission they set about looking for their prey. Kyel knew, however, that finding the Ork wasn't the hard part, it was killing it that was tricky. He'd heard that these monstrous aliens could withstand even a Krak missile to the face! Vrek, Krak missiles could blow through a Chimera or even a Leman Russ, but the idea that the Ork they were trying to kill could survive a hit like that? It sent a shiver down his spine.

What Charkos didn't know however, was that Warboss Warklaw Gordakka was looking for him too. His bionic eye never lied, he knew the humie that'd busted his ride, and he was gonna find 'im and tear him apart. He felt hot impacts on his back, and he spun round to see a few Guardsmen futily trying to bring him down. "Vrek you, you ugly green bastard!" One of them shouted defiantly. Warklaw laughed loudly, and ran at them. Two Guardsmen ran, but the one that had shouted at him stood his ground, firing his rifle straight into Warklaw. The humie was so incredibly outclassed, but still he stood fighting. Even as Warklaw towered over him at double the man's height, and even as Warklaw plucked him from the ground with his power klaw and eviscerated him, the man still stood defiant. He screamed as he died, "For Ousia! Brave as a Gator--" his defiant last shout was cut short by his screaming, which quickly turned into gurgling as blood filled his throat and dripped out of his mouth as he died. Warklaw discarded the messy corpse. "Dese 'umies ain't 'fraid a' nothin' - I likes dat! Shame dey can't fight fer nuffin, though," he grumbled.

The vox was filled with the voice of Lieutenant Garl. "Garl here, Thomson's down - just saw some bloody huge Ork rip through 'im! Vrek me, he must be at least twelve foot!" He exclaimed. This didn't comfort Charkos one bit, but he knew that he would have to find this Ork. He acknowledged the information with thanks, and his team began moving in the direction of where Thomson's platoon was positioned.

Warklaw bellowed a mighty Waaagh! and he was soon surrounded by a large mob of thirty Orks who took up his warcry. A Platoon of men shouted their own battle cry in reply, defiantly swearing on the honour of their homeworld that they'd see the greenskins dead. "For Ousia!" Shouted Lieutenant Garl, vowing to avenge Thomson's brave death. With his men and the battered remains of Thomson's platoon, they charged as one, and the Orks surged forward with animalistic ferocity to meet them. Garl fired his Boltgun into the mob with practiced precision, dropping two Orks before they knew what had happened. The loud cracks of Lasguns filled his ears, complimented by the loud bangs of the Ork Sluggas. Warriors from both sides dropped in the fury of the shooting, but before long the two sides met in vicious close-combat. The Orks natural brutality met by the Ousian's rage and hatred for the greenskins. The Orks had an advantage in melee, but Garl's Platoon had risen to almost double the Orks' numbers when they had met up with the remains of Thomson's men. The fighting was furious. An Ork wielding a crude axe slashed at him, and he ducked the overhead swing, firing three bolts into its chest, which detonated inside the Ork, killing it instantly. Burk dropped next to him, his face cleaved off by an Ork choppa. Garl rammed his bayonet through the Ork's skull, killing it. All around him, the bloody fury of the close-quarters fight raged. Twenty Guardsmen had already died, and thirteen Orks had fallen. Garl turned to his left, and saw the Ork Warboss chopping and hacking left and right, killing with every blow. Mike died, his head and torso crushed beyond recognition in the Ork's claw, and Paul was smashed into the ground as the Warboss slammed his giant chain-axe down on him. Then a heart-warming cry filled the Ousian's ears, driving them to fight all the harder out of fear, respect and pride.
"Ousian's! Fight like there's no tomorrow damn your sorry arses! Give these green bastards hell, Emperor damn you! Fight harder!"
Garl smiled at the sight of Commissar Matthew, watching in awe as his crackling power sword cleaved through Orks left and right, and his Plasma pistol melted every Ork he shot. The experienced Commissar was respected by the whole regiment, and Garl would be damned if he'd fail Matthew now. He ran to his friend's side, shouldering his boltgun in favor of his own Chainsword. "What took you so long?" Matthew asked with a grim smile as he cleaved the head of an Ork. "Oh, you know, the small matter of an Ork horde!" Garl said as he cut down a charging greenskin. "We have to kill that Warboss!" Shouted Matthewson, and Garl nodded. The two company heroes turned to face the towering greenskin, who had also focussed his attention on them. With a warcry, they charged.


Shadow Fiends
It watched and it waited, patiently observing as the Humans advanced cautiously down the corridor, three abreast. There were normal humans, clearly better equipped than the normal human warriors, yet more surprisingly in this unusual party whose motives were a mystery, there were many of the elite human warriors. They were all fully within the long corridor now, so none of them would have time to escape the ambush.

Nyragaz raised his hand and his force halted. Something was awry, he could feel it. "Brother, what is the purpose of our delay?" Queried Sergeant Ulrich. Nyragaz did not reply, for no reply was necessary. Something was heading towards them. Soon it had enveloped them all - an all-consuming darkness that appeared out of nowhere. "What manner of witchery is this?" Growled Brother Ascherfeld nearby. The darkness encompassed the entire corridor now, and none of them could see - not even the Adeptus Astartes with their genhanced vision and the compensators in their helmets. They were in total darkness. That was when the screaming began.

It was Brother Elmar, he screamed out as his throat was slit by a darkly metallic warrior with scythe-like claws instead of hands. They were amongst them all now. More screams. Boltguns fired, Lasguns flashed, offering glimpses of skeletal warriors from the darkest nightmares of mankind. Seven were dead before they knew it, eight, nine, ten - the Necrontyr flaying their skin from their bodies in a vicious and remorseless assault.

Nyragaz unsheathed his Power Sword, thumbing the activation rune, causing the blade to crackle with blue energy. He brought it up to block scything claws that attempted to remove his head, his ancient blade cutting through them. The return thrust went straight through the chest of the Necron, destroying it. It collapsed to the floor, before disappearing in a green glow. Sergeant Ulrich lost an arm to a stealthy attack from behind him, but he decapitated his assailent deftly with his chainsword; the grey metallic head clumping on the steel floor of the Hulk before disappearing.

The attack was over almost as quickly as it began, the darkness fading and leaving no trace of their foes. The floor was, however, littered with dead Imperials, at least twenty-three by Nyragaz's count. A serious loss to his strike force.

Ascherfeld roared in anger nearby, "We must avenge these deaths!"


Knights and Daemons - Part 1
Khan'das roared in delight at the sheer number of skulls they had reaped and the amount of blood that now flowed freely in Khorne's name. Indeed, his hounds had killed many hundreds of the Humans and Orks fighting in this area, and Khan'das himself had dispatched a particularly large group of Greenskins known to themselves as 'Nobz'. The relentless slaughter had lasted many hours. But he had now grown bored of such simple prey; the slaughter was great and it was true that the Blood God cared not from whence the blood flows; but there was no glory in this slaughter - these deaths meant nothing in the greater scheme of things. If Khan'das was to be elevated to the hallowed ranks of the Daemon Princes', he would have to kill many more of greater standing.

Then he sensed something; a new presence that revolted him. He turned to see a giant Daemon; whose body flowed with distorted colours not of this realm; whose position Khan'das eternally coveted. That despicable Slaanesh-worshipping dog Celestus Maglovin had joined the fight.

Celestus rejoiced in the delight of slaughter, snuffing out the lives of the pitiful mortals surrounding him. His warband charged into the remaining Humans and Orks, butchering them swiftly. A roar from nearby attracted his attention, and when he turned to look, he saw Khan'das. Celestus laughed mockingly at the servant of Khorne who was no doubt enraged that Celestus' warriors had stolen the fight from him. He grinned widely as the blood-red Herald of Khorne rode over to him atop his Bloodcrusher.

"Khan'das, to what do I owe this pleasant visit?" Celestus asked mockingly.
"This was our fight! Those souls were to be slaughtered in the name of Khorne and their skulls taken for the skull throne! Not to be used to satisfy your own warped delights!" Bellowed Khan'das.
Celestus always enjoyed the conversations he had with Khan'das. They.. amused him. The very fact that he had once been a mere mortal, a Space Marine amongst many thousands of the Emperor's Children Legion, and now he was a Daemon of far greater stature than Khan'das had ever been in its impossibly ancient existence endlessly enraged the Herald, and Celestus took great delight in that.
"Calm yourself, little Herald," Celestus said, his voice filled with mischief and deceit, "for there are many more skulls for you to reap,"
"What are you up to?" Khan'das snarled in reply, his Daemonic horde gathering around him.
"The Daemonhunters of the corpse-God are here, Khan'das," Celestus explained simply. He felt Khan'das's interest peak instantly.
"Show me where they are! I will take their skulls for the skull throne!" Khan'das demanded.

A great roar that created terror in every Daemon and mortal present sounded from behind them all. The Unbound was here. The massive Bloodthirster towered over even Celestus, and many lesser Daemons scattered in his presence.
"The Grey Knights!" Hissed The Unbound. "I will claim the head of their leader myself! Yes.. I can feel their presence now! You, servant of the Dark Prince," the Bloodthirster indicated to Celestus, "You will take us to them!"
Celestus recoiled in anger, "You expect me to march into battle against the Grey Knights and die for you?"
The Unbound gave voice to a mind-shattering roar, "You dare defy my will? You will fight the Grey Knights with us, or I will destroy you here!"
Celestus was filled with rage. He knew he had no choice; The Unbound was quite possibly the most powerful being aboard the Space Hulk. "Very well," he conceded, turning to lead the massive horde of Daemons and traitorous Space Marines. The coming fight would be brutal.

The Grey Knights all felt it at once: a large warp signature that could mean only one thing: Daemons were coming. Many hundreds as far as Brother-Captain Glaudian could tell. "Brothers, ready yourselves! The Great Enemy is coming for us, and they shall not find us wanting!" He shouted. They were in a large storage bay, and his men quickly created a defensive perimeter out of the many supply crates and scraps of metal they found lying around. They had created themselves a defensible position.
"What is it?" Asked Marshal Night.
"Daemons are coming."
"How can you be sure?"
"We have felt them; the denizens of the warp have a malign psychic signature - part of being a Daemonhunter is knowing when the Daemons are coming."
"Of course," replied the Marshal.

Glaudian surveyed his force. There was Justicar Venatio's Purifiers who were reciting the Litanies of Purity in preparation for battle off to his left. Justicar Cross's Purgation squad, who were checking their weapons. But the bulk of his force were the revered Terminators of Justicars Gideon and Hiracio. But mightiest of all his warriors were the Paladins. These fabled warriors were second in skill and experience only to him, the other Brother-Captains and the Grand Masters.

It did not take long for them to come. It started as just a faint noise, coming from the dark and labyrinthine corridors and access ways that opened into the storage bay. But then they came. Hundreds of howling, snarling, blood-red Hounds of Khorne, charging madly in their blood lust. As soon as they had appeared, dozens were banished back to the warp by a hail of fire from the Grey Knights. Storm Bolters barked, Psycannons thumped and Psilencers rattled as they fired round after round of psychically-charged bolts. But soon there were too many; the Hounds' numbers swelling too large for their guns to kill them all, and then it was down to bloody close-combat. The Terminators, with the Purifiers and Purgation squad either side. The Grey Knights were unmovable. The Daemons poured forth from the depths of the Hulk, and were pushed back time and time again. Justicar Venatio and his Purifiers unleashed a great Psychic flame, incinerating large swathes of Daemons, the Purgation squad laying down point-blank fire that decimated just as many, and the Terminators fought back with unmatched ferocity. But it was not long before more opponents presented themselves - screaming Cultists sporting hideous mutations charged madly at the Grey Knights, followed by their vile masters: Chaos Space Marines. Tied down in hand-to-hand combat, the Daemonhunters could do nothing to stop the first volley of shooting from their traitorous counterparts. A storm of bolter rounds, searing plasma bolts, and from some, vicious sonic attacks, hit the Grey Knights' lines like a thunderstorm. Daemons and Cultists were cut down by their own allies' fire without a thought; their lives inconsequential. Two Terminators from Justicar Gideon's squad died, their ancient Aegis armor vulnerable to the super-heated plasma. Three Purifiers and one of Justicar Cross's Purgation squad also died.

Michael Cross shouted a curse at the Heretics and Traitors before raising his Storm Bolter and snapping off a hail of shots that killed a dozen Cultists, his remaining battle-brothers following his example. The Psycannons reaped a fearsome toll upon the Traitor Marines, killing five, whilst the Psilencer felled another two. The Terminators also fired back, killing another six. But then the Traitorous host advanced, followed by more screaming Cultists. More were cut down in the crossfire, but the two sides met in combat once again.

"Push the Heretics back, in the name of the Emperor!" Shouted Glaudian, rallying his troops as he and his retinue joined the fight, counter-attacking with a skill and fury that had so far been unprecedented in the battle. The Paladins tore into the Traitors, and between themselves, Marshal Night and their Brother-Captain they accounted for a further twenty-seven Traitor Marines, the other Grey Knights finishing off the rest. But it had been a bloody fight - only Justicar Cross remained of the Purgation squad, and as well as a Terminator from Justicar Hiracio's squad another Purifier had been killed. In the darkness, something stirred. More Daemons. a tide of Daemonettes and Bloodletters charged in, hacking and slashing madly at the Grey Knights. Justicar Cross picked up an Incinerator from the corpse of his fallen brother and emptied it into the Daemons, killing many. Even as he was surrounded and hacked apart by five Bloodletters, he smashed three of his killers asunder with his Daemon Hammer.

Glaudian knew that there was only one way to stop this great tide of Chaos. "I am the Hammer," he began intoning. His Paladin squad felt the Psychic energy building up within Glaudian and they too pooled their considerable psychic strength into him. "I am the sword in his hand," Glaudian continued, the Psychic energy welling up inside of him, "I am the gauntlet about his fist," the energy was building up to breaking point, and an aura of silver energy was forming about him, "I am the bane of his foes and the woes of the treacherous," the Daemons too now felt the great build up of Psychic energy, and attempted to scatter and flee before him. But there was no escaping his fury, for there was nowhere his mind could not reach, "I am the end!" Glaudian finished with a great shout that echoed in the warp; and the immeasurably destructive powers of the Holocaust were released; instantly destroying the Daemons around them. Glaudian dropped to one knee, the great strain it took to summon the Holocaust taking its toll on him. He was breathing deeply, his energy almost spent. But now was when he needed it most, for as they looked, two great monstrosities of Daemonkind advanced, surrounded by many terrible horrors of the warp. Glaudian saw Bloodcrushers of Khorne with devil-like Bloodletters riding them amongst the horde.

Feris recovered from his shock and anger at the great Psychic witchery enacted by his brothers as the great, towering Daemon leaders finally revealed themselves. The fight so far had been tough, and he had already suffered a wound on his chest where a Hellblade had pierced the ancient battle-plate of his armor, but he knew the battle had only just begun - for what was to come would see the deaths of many of the noble and pure men that he had been fighting alongside. For coming towards them, at the dark heart of the Daemon horde stood a Daemon Prince, and worse, a Greater Daemon of the Blood God, who emitted a palpable aura of malice and murder. Thoughts that weren't his found their way into his mind; whispering to him, telling him to turn on his brothers with promises of power beyond his wildest dreams. Enraged, he forced them out of his mind, deciding to allocate himself many hours of gruelling physical and mental punishment for his lapse in mental strength; should he survive.

As the Grey Knights charged, it was Marshal Feris Night of the Black Templars who was at the front with his sword raised high.


The Emperor Protects - Part 1
Inquisitor Marcus Profugus studied the holographic display in front of him with great interest. Things were looking bad. Though several regiments of Imperial Guard were engaged in the battle for the gargantuan, cavernous sections of the Hulk they were currently occupying, there seemed to be no end to the Ork reinforcements; their numbers swelling with every passing minute.
"How many men do we have engaged?" Marcus asked one of the officers next to him.
"Almost twenty-thousand foot soldiers; though estimates suggest that we may have already lost as many as four thousand," the man replied darkly.
The Inquisitor, despite his stereotypical unshakable mindset, raised an eyebrow in surprise. He had fought Xenos countless times before.. but he had never seen anything of this insane magnitude. The fighting had only been going on for five hours, and if they continued to lose troops at the current rate their forces would be spent by the morning.
"And what of the Orks? How numerous are their accursed forces?"
"Projections show that we're facing a horde of at least thirty thousand, perhaps more," the Officer replied, a shiver running down his spine as if it was painful to say the words. It almost was.
Marcus nodded contemplatively. Looking across the holographic display once more, he noticed their western-most line was held by the woefully outnumbered Ousian 23rd. Three-thousand men. Only three-thousand against almost triple their own number. The odds were not good. That wasn't even factoring in casualties; according to the display they had lost close on a third of their men already. Multiple requests for armored support from desperate and angry Ousian commanders flashed on the display, but they were all unanswered and all at least two hours old. Marcus wasn't surprised. Firstly, armored support had already been sent to their positions, but it had been entirely destroyed. Secondly, the Orks were well and truly amongst the Guardsmen in many places, so he was certain that the commanders were now too busy trying to hold their battle lines to be demanding support anymore.

He looked at their other forces - there were the Ousian 21st who were defending their current location - the strategic command of the Imperial forces itself - and they weren't doing too badly. However the Orks continued to charge at them madly and wrack their lines with dozens of crude artillery positions. For the most part, however, this was their most stable front. But Marcus knew that if the others fell, this position would be quickly overrun.

Their eastern forces were composed of the 8th Perciprian Dragoons heavy infantry and the 3rd Reth drop-troopers, who were currently doubling up as an airborne hit-and-run surgical strike force, swiftly eliminating small, vulnerable Ork targets before moving on. The 9th and 10th Perciprian regiments were going to be landing soon, which was definitely good news - a further eight-thousand heavy infantry was to be a very welcome sight. But where was the bloody armor? They needed tanks, Emperor damn it, and the Orks were taking full advantage of the Imperial's lack of armored support.
"When are we going to get armor reinforcements, Lord-General?" He addressed the overall commander of the Imperial Guard forces directly.
"Inquisitor," Lord-General Allanus turned to reply, "The Hikkian 17th are en route, eager to avenge their fallen company I might add."
"Excellent, but when they arrive have the Perciprian reinforcements accompany them; we can't allow the Orks to eliminate our armor before it even reaches the battlefront this time."
"Agreed, I was just thinking the same," replied the venerable tactician.
"What time can we expect them to arrive?" Marcus asked.
"Unfortunately, they are due to arrive tomorrow morning."
Marcus cursed quietly under his breath. "That means we'll have to hold out overnight. As I'm sure you're well aware, our eastern forces - the Ousian 23rd - are set to crumble within the next eight or so hours; by the evening that front will be lost unless we reinforce them."
The Lord-General nodded in agreement, "True, but I have decided upon a plan of action. When the 9th and 10th Perciprian Dragoons arrive in two hours, we will lead a mass counter-attack, combining their strengths with the Ousian 21st, in an attempt to destroy the Orks attacking our position. Once we have accomplished that, we can set our goals to relieving the embattled Ousian 23rd."
"A risky strategem, Lord-General, which will be both costly in time and life. Do you really believe we can accomplish this before the west falls?"
"Inquisitor, we have little choice but to hope we can and have faith in victory. The Emperor protects."
All officers within earshot repeated the phrase, simultaneously speaking and making the sign of the Aquila over their chests.
"Indeed he does, but it's men that win wars at the cost of their own blood," the Inquisitor said, the grim truth of the statement not lost upon any of the officers.
"If this gamble doesn't pay off, then we may as well just consign our souls to the Emperor now and put a Las bolt through our brains. It'd save time," moaned a junior liaison officer from one of the various regiments stuck in this meat-grinder. A single shot rang out from across the hologram display board, hitting the liaison officer square in the eyes, taking his head off messily. All eyes in the room turned to the intimidating form of Lord Commissar Praxuss, who holstered his smoking Bolt pistol without a word. "Carry on," he said quietly. Slowly, the command centre regained its chaotic atmosphere; everyone working all the harder after the execution that had just occurred. A small Servitor appeared quickly to clean up the mess.
"Well gentlemen, there you have it. I think that-"
"Lord-General!" Came an anxious shout from across the room.
"What is it?" Allanus spun on the spot to look at the speaker, angry at being interrupted. The whelp had better have a good reason for his rudeness, or else he'd have Praxuss expend another round. The communications officer stood to attention and offered a curt salute. "Sirs," he glanced nervously around at the mighty Imperial heroes that gazed back at him with mild interest, "We just received a transmission, Emperor bless us, reinforcements have just arrived!"
The interest of the commanders peaked instantly. Lord-General Allanus was the first to speak, "Is it the Perciprian Dragoons? They're not scheduled to arrive for another two hours!"
"No sir, even better!" The excited communique officer exclaimed.
"Well have out with it boy, who is it?" Marcus ordered.
The officer handed him the data-slate that recorded the message, explaining vaguely as he did so, "Angels sir! The Emperor has sent his Angels to save us!"

Inquisitor Marcus Profugus smiled. "I think this war just turned in our favor."

The Emperor Protects - Part 2





The ramp slammed down on the metallic ground with a clank, the Thunderhawk it was attached to hissing out out of vents and its engines were whirring to a stop. Out of the massive gunship came a retinue of awesome warriors; clad in the finest armor and armed with the finest weapons the Imperium could muster. They were the Adeptus Astartes; the Emperor's Angels of Death; the Space Marines. One of the approaching warriors stood out from the rest; his armor far more magnificent than those he commanded. He carried a great warhammer in one hand, and a Mk 7 Power Armor helmet in the other. He was flanked by ten warriors with white helmets; veterans of their chapter - warriors who had served for centuries, and could slaughter dozens with but their own fists.

The hallowed veterans met with the Imperial officers, dispensing with pleasantries.
"Captain Jordan Gaius of the Imperial Fists fifth Battle Company," the lead Marine introduced himself, "and you would be?"
"Lord-General Allanus," the grizzled commander turned to introduce his fellows, each by name, until finally he indicated to the armored figure hovering nearby, "and that is Inquisitor Profugus."
Captain Gaius acknowledged the young Inquisitor with a curt nod, before turning to a second warrior behind him, "This is veteran-sergeant Santos, my second-in-command."

Marcus studied the Captain; his face was covered with scars earned in battle centuries before he had even been born, and his silver hair was close-cropped and pristine. His yellow armor was covered in ancient battle damage, and a long, flowing cloak trailed behind him. The Thunder Hammer he held at rest was easily as tall as a man, and hummed with hidden power. An archaic Bolt pistol was holstered in a well-worn holster at his side. Truly, they were in the presence of a mortal God.

"What is your situation?" Demanded the Captain, and Lord-General Allanus met the gaze of the Space Marine that towered above him at almost double his height. "Our western forces are set to crumble by the evening, they need immediate support Captain."

Gaius nodded. Both men were wise enough to know that no more time need be wasted here, for every second spent in discussion was a second that could be spent putting a Bolt round in an Orks' skull. "Very well, I shall take the bulk of my forces there," He turned to Santos, "You will remain here, keep me updated and act as my presence here until such a time that I am reunited with my Guard counterpart."
"Yes, Captain," Santos replied, his disappointment at not joining the battle plain in his voice, but he corrected himself, knowing that it was his duty to serve in whatever way Gaius deemed fit. He also knew that his Power sword would taste greenskin blood before this war was done. He and his squad turned to join the entourage of Guard officers. Gaius turned and embarked his Thunderhawk, the mighty craft roaring as it took off. Soon after, half a dozen more such craft followed it, heading west.

Santos spoke to the Lord-General, "We must return to your command centre."
"Yes, let us return," Allanus replied, walking off to their headquarters.

Marcus smiled.

Death From Above - Part 2
The Imperial forces - specifically the Ousian 23rd - were being overrun. Hundreds upon hundreds of good, honest men would never again see their home; embrace their loved ones or share a bottle of their regiments' finest Lausk with their comrades and friends after a hard-won battle. They lay, crumpled and brutalized; most barely recognisable. But that didn't matter now. Their deaths didn't matter now. All that mattered now was the death of Warboss Warklaw Gordakka, the terrible beast that was responsible for all these deaths. Not because he killed them all - though kill many he did - but because a horde beyond counting of his own hated kind had flocked to him at his call, like hungry birds to bread crumbs.

The ground was literally a green tide as far as the eye could see, however Captain Jordan Gaius' genhanced vision could pick out each and every ramshackle Ork vehicle as he observed the great battle below them from his Thunderhawk's porthole. He watched with a smile as other Thunderhawks strafed the Ork forces with bombs and shots from the great cannons mounted on their backs; and he took great delight in observing the destruction those mighty craft caused. Other, more ponderous Thunderhawk variants carrying heavy armor deployed further back, lowering the revered Land Raider and Predator battle tanks to the ground with utmost care, so that their destructive purpose may continue to be fulfilled with all haste. He also noted the deployance of one of the two Vindicators that had been attached to his large task force. Sergeant Cruor was sure to reap much glory from this battle as he lead the Imperial Fists' armored forces from his ancient Land Raider, the Gladius, which had an impeccable record of service that stretched back almost eight-thousand years. The right to command it was only gifted to the most talented of the chapter's tank commanders. Turning his gaze back to the warriors that accompanied him, he and tactical Sergeant Vorus exchanged glances; the veteran-sergeant's expression telling him all he needed to know. But he already knew that his men would be battle-ready, for Sergeant Vorus was diligent in the extreme in the execution of his duties, and in the one-hundred and fifty-six years they had fought alongside each other, no battle-brother under Vorus' command had ever performed in a manner other than exemplary. But his squad had suffered many, many casualties over the years, and none of the Marines under Vorus' command were from the original roster - the seven Marines that had not been killed over Vorus' eighty-two years of command in his current position had all been promoted to either the Veteran company or as Sergeant's of their own squads in Gaius' company. What was more, Vorus was absolutely loyal to him, for he had twice been offered a place in the Veteran company, but had declined both times, deciding instead to remain in service of his Captain and friend. It was nigh-unheard of for any Space Marine to turn down such a promotion, let alone twice, and Gaius allowed himself to indulge in pride at the notion that he inspired such complete loyalty in his warriors.

From further down the Thunderhawk, he heard Sergeant Aurellias' deep voice chanting the Litanies of Devotion with his Assault squad whilst they oversaw final preparation of their wargear. But perhaps greatest of all of them, was Miguel. Old Miguel. The venerable Dreadnought stood motionless in the dark rear of the Thunderhawk, held in place by support pylons and mag-clamps. His enormous power fist and assault cannon lay still now, but when combat reached them, which soon it would, the serene stillness and silence of Miguel's armored form would disappear, shed like a snake's skin, and replaced by unstoppable battle-rage and fury as he waded through the greenskins. Gaius did not know exactly how old the Dreadnought was, but Miguel had served under nine Captain's previous to himself, making him the tenth commander of the fifth company that Miguel had fought, and imparted wisdom, for over the last two-thousand years. Gaius had himself served the Emperor as a Space Marine for two-hundred and seventy-six years, and one-hundred and four of those years he had spent as Captain of the fifth. But Miguel had always been there, ever since he had first layed his awestruck eyes upon the mighty Dreadnought as a Scout when his squad was attached to the fifth battle company for an extended campaign, and as he had risen through the ranks from Devaster to Assault Marine to Tactical Marine, and eventually to Sergeant and soon after Company Champion. Even now, as Captain, he was humbled in the presence of such a great warrior, who stood immune to the degrading affects of time.

As if sensing the Captain's thoughts, Miguel spoke quietly to Gaius, the fake voice emitted from the sarcophogus' vox-grille chilling him more than the Daemon-spawn of Korask or the rigorous and excrutiatingly painful genetic modification and initiation he had undergone to become one of the hallowed Adeptus Astartes, for he knew that it took a greater soul than his own to endure the terrible half-life of a Dreadnought.
"I.. remember.. when you were just.. a Scout, raw as uncooked fish," the Dreadnought rasped.
Jordan chuckled, "In the many centuries I have known you Miguel, you have never changed. You are one of the greatest heroes of our chapter, and I hope one day you will finally agree with me on that."
"Jordan.. I have told you.. many times.. I am no.. hero!" Miguel replied, hidden anger registable in his tone, "This.. is a tomb.. of living torture.. for myself and.. all other Ancients.. I wish for it to end so dearly.. but.. I live to serve, and live I do."
Captain Gaius bowed his head. To most Space Marines, to be, as Miguel would put it, incarcerated into a Dreadnought was a great honour - to serve the Emperor evermore. He had thought like that once, too. But having risen to his current rank, he learned over the years that to be a Dreadnought was to suffer and to become less human than the Adeptus Astartes already were. Never again would Miguel shout a warcry from his lips; never again would he tear out a traitors throat with his own hands or cut down a charging horde of Greenskins or Tyranids with boltgun and blade. Never again would he feel the warmth of the ground underneath his feet. Truly, Miguel had sacrificed everything it meant to be human in his pursuit of eternal service in the name of the Emperor of mankind. Gaius asked himself once again, was it worth it? Is there a point where service becomes too pure, and too much is lost? Or perhaps to not strive to reach such a state was blasphemy, and worthy of execution? Jordan sighed, and hefted his mighty Thunderhammer, gripping it tight as the voice of the pilot sounded over the vox, "Prepare for landing!"

The craft shuddered and slammed down to the ground with a clunk that reverbrated throughout its frame. Simultaneously, the restraints on the Marines and Miguel released, and as the ramp hit the ground, Gaius was already out, thumbing the activation rune on his weapon, and it crackled to life; dangerous energy corruscating about its head.

.....

You know, I still have hope in this RP.

If I don't then this place is doomed.

I am content to wait.
After all, I made you wait like a million years for the next instalment of my fanfic, right, Darko?

Gorskar.da.Lost wrote:I am content to wait.
After all, I made you wait like a million years for the next instalment of my fanfic, right, Darko?

[I see leverage for my argument] Why yes.. of course..



I always forget with my roleplays that I'm writing events, not books.

are we still permitted to do character posts? So long as they don't affect the main plot?

Lord Harrab wrote:are we still permitted to do character posts? So long as they don't affect the main plot?

Yep.

Can I attack the WAAAGH! were the Gaurdsmen are, The 23rd are the ones without the Space marines right?

TheWildHost wrote:Can I attack the WAAAGH! were the Gaurdsmen are, The 23rd are the ones without the Space marines right?

The 23rd is where Scrazza and Warork's characters are; with the Space Marines; in the event.

You should re-read the event.

Warning! Wall of text Inbound!


an insight to my character's past with more to follow once i like the flow of it.

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Eluna hurried down another corrdior towards the struggling Imperials, once more surrounded by a nimbus of softly glowing runes, the acient symbols guiding her through deserted caverns and tunnels, helping avoiding the thickest knots of green-skin presence, those that she did encounter were quickly and easily removed from her path, and now she was close, almost close enough to help the Mon'keigh tip the balance...

She ducked through another low opening-

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--and roughly forced another thick branch aside, the forests pressed in thickly around her, casting unpleasant shadows across the narrow path that twisted between the thick trunks.
Eluna paused, and glanced down at the weapon she now carried, the graceful curve of a shrunken catapult gleamed back at her in the moonlight.

"Eluna, what's wrong?"whispered the Guardian behind her, Jovas, if her memory served her right, she hadn't known him long enough to his name to stick,

"Nothing." she replied, continuing to push through the low branches, "for a second I thought we were.. in a cave?" she frowned trying to keep fragments of the vision within her mind, it had all seemed so clear.

"A cave?" Jovas replied, with a soft chuckle, "These trees are like walls i suppose, but i thought you'd be able to tell the difference after your combat training. You're not an artist anymore, you're a Black Guardian now."

Eluna turned a fixed the helmeted man behind her with a glare that would have made a Phoenix Lord cower, then shouldered her weapon and pressed on, determined not to embarrass her mother by failing her first combat mission.

"Hold" said a third voice after a few minutes of stealthy travel, and the robed, majestic figure of Farseer Sharra appeared, moving unhindered through the forest despite the heavy robes she wore, and joined them on a steep ridge that looked down over a dark and well traveled looking road "we are in position. now we wait."

"Your will, Exalted Farseer." Jovas replied with a respectful nod, and moved away to ensure the rest of the squad were in their places.

"Mother," Eluna replied in turn, but her matriarch didn't look at her, instead she was peering though the trees down the slope the slope and loosened the witch-blade from its scabbard.

Further down the mountain lights had appeared, and the heavy rumble of Mon'keigh armor encroached upon the waiting eldars' superior hearing and she hefted her weapon expectantly, excitement flushed through her body ath the though of her first battle, but she quickly stilled it, remembering the many lectures and stories she had heard of the fall of her race, and the ole that unchecked emotion had taken within it.

beside her the sleek form of a starcannon platform edged forward into a firing position, the hum of its anti-grav moter muffled beneath the crude roar of the human's own machines as they crawled up the slope towards them.

"Not yet." came her mothers cautioned within her mind, "Do not fire until the signal is given."

The humans were closer now and Elnuna got her first look at these primitives that dared to invade an Eldar world and she gasped despite herself, earning a warning glance from her mother, but she was too focused on the creatures down slope to care.

They were taller than she expected, their weapons and armor were as primate as she had been told back on Ulthwe, yet well kept and effective looking for all that, and the beings that carried them stood proud and intimidating, singing a battle chant in their crude tongue as they marched.

The tank that led them was a study construct, bristling with weapons and swiveling a huge barreled weapon back and forth as it studied the road ahead. It was panted in a dull mix of greens and browns that made it hard to see against the trees behind it and she glanced down at the bone and black colored form of her mesh armor, she had been proud when she had been given it, yet now it seemed to stand out horribly against the foliage around her, surely her own race would have been smart enough to discover a similar method of concealing their warriors from enemy attention.

The tank drew level and Eluna held her breath, certain the machine's crew would spot her hiding ineffectively in the shadows and end her life with a single shot of the massive weapon.

"Now! her mother yelled, standing and point down slope with her blade "for Khaine, For Ulthwe! Cut them down!

The shriek of a fire-pike cut through the night from the other-side of the road and the lead tank exploded into a huge fireball, scything down several humans that followed with fragments of semi-molten armor plate.

Eluna's training kicked in without her conscious thought and she shouldered her weapon and sent a flurry of razor sharp discs down slope into the nearest humans, the gaks cutting through their chest-plates with bright flashed of blood .

"Ambush!" a human yelled, unlike the others her wore a black cap and coat, and carried a crackling sword, " Xenos Filth on our right flank! Reform and drive them back in the Name of the Emperor! Defend the Inquisitor."

the warriors around him reformed, a pitiful few, and returned fire up the slope where the Fire Dragons were situated, the sharp crack! crack! and ruby red beams of their weapons a marked contrast to the nearly silent storm of fire the elder poured down on them.

at her mothers psychic command Eluna and the rest of her squad rose from their concealment and charged down the slope, their weapons still sending a hailstorm of silent death into the rear of the human's formation.

Then she was amongst them, discarding the long rifle in favor of the curved knife at her belt and she lunged at the first human she saw, a female she noticed distantly before she drove her knife into the join between helmet and chest-plate.

"Anna!" another human yelled in grief and rage, and lunged at the young Eldar with his knife attached to the underside of his own weapon. "you'll bleed for that Xenos filth!"

Eluna was unprepared for such a fearsome counterattack and it was all she could do to fend him off before a blast of energy struck him from the side and he fell, his body landing on top of that of the female, still clutching at her throat and coughing up blood. Human and Eldar eyes met and the young Guardian recoiled at the hatred that blazed in the humans eyes before a shrieking chainsword slashed down and severed her head fully from her body.

a Striking Scorpion pulled his blade free and bounded away towards the one in the coat, now the only human still standing, surrounded by countless bodies of her kin, and Eluna couldn't help herself from pausing to watch his struggle in amazement and awe.

his blade was whirling around himself like a silver wall,repelling all strikes the elder made at him, and he even turned a few away far enough for a counter attack, that caused another Guardian to fall, and Eluna felt herself silently hoping that this one would survive.

But that hope was dashed when the scorpion arrived, drawing the humans blade away with a feint, then spilt in in half from head to hip with a singe swipe. and with the Human leaders death, the battlefield fell silent.

Eluna glanced around in search of her mother, fearing that she had fallen, then sighed in refill as she found the farseer standing over the corpse of another human, this one far more gilded that the one one the black coat had been, and hurried over to join her.

'Mother." Eluna began, "i'm glad that-"
"Be silent" Sharra ordered, then reached down to pull a weapon out of the dead human's hand, an Axe of obvious Eldar design and inside Eluna boiled with sudden annoyance, they had killed these beings for nothing more than a fancy blade?

"Our task is done." Sharra announced, "we will return this to its rightful place on Ulthwe, gather our fallen. Leave these vermin here to rot."

Eluna turned and stormed away, hating her mother and herself for taking the lives of such fearless warriors, then her gaze fell on the female and the male who had tried to defend her and she made a vow, a vow befor Khaine and Isha that she would no longer take her mothers word as fact, that she would study these creatures herself and form her own opinion, even if she had to walk the path of the outcast to achieve it.

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- a low opening...

Eluna paused, and glanced back over her shoulder at the half sealed bulkhead, had that been a vision? What had caused that memory to resurface so suddenly?

She turned back the passageway ahead of her, then stepped forward-

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Into her mothers quarters, her footsteps echoing softly on the wraith bone floor, her singing spear adding another echo at each alternate step, and her runic armor fitting her mature body like a second skin. Gone was the timid and cautious guardian that tried so hard to please an uncaring parent, in its place was a confident and well traveled Farseer, who only responded to her mother call because the fates had demanded that she be present.

She crossed the mosaic of the craftworld that covered most of the entrance chamber with a determined air, through the Crystal done far above the Eye of Terror blazed as a constant reminder of her peoples past mistakes, yet she did not bother to glance up. Instead her eyes were focused on the elderly figure sat on a throne of the same bone-white substance their entire society was made of, surrounded by a group of lesser seers, warlocks, that bent knee around to wretched woman in the hope that she could throw them a hint of her wisdom.

"Daughter." the older Farseer greeted her with a quick bow, not a millimeter more or less than protocol demanded one seer greeted another, yet there was no respect there, Eluna mimicked her just as sincerely.
"Mother."
"Leave us." the older woman ordered the sycophants around her, and they departed on swift feet. no one wanted to be caught between these two if it came to another row.
" I see you have not yet formed yourself a council of advisers." her mother commented as the last of her own left the chamber, "are you so arrogant of your own abilities you feel you do not need them?"
"No, exalted one." luna replied smoothly, 'You taught me never to listen to fools."
'and yet you consent with the Mon'keigh." her mother retorted, "wasting your time on such vermin when your own people suffer and die."

Eluna's face was impassive, "They are not the mindless brutes you make them out to be, Mother. You know my feelings on the matter."
"Yes i do." came the reply, scathing and disapproving, "and it was not the desire to argue those feelings that brought you here, so explain yourself and begone. I have other more important duties to perform."

Still not a muscle moved on the younger woman's face, "very well, i seek permission to lead a strike force to the galactic south, a war brews there that may have great repercussions for our people-."
"denied." her mother replied instantly, "it is a squabble between two mon'keigh factions, i will not allow you to waste eldar lives on your perverted hobby."

Eluna bowed again, "as you wish, than i will take my leave and leave you in peace"

they exchanged bows, the meeting over, then Eluna turned on her heel and marched off, her spear gripped in white knuckled hands, her mother was blind to it, she knew now. if the so called "Saint Feroisa" the humans had gathered around failed to cleanse the worlds she had targeted of the Chaos worshippers that infested them...

She shuddered at the thought, unwilling to complete it even within her own own head, then headed to the webway portal alone. Sometimes she wished she had embarked upon the path of the Ranger before that of the Seer had claimed her so suddenly and tightly over a century ago, but the past was gone beyond her reach now, it was to the future she now looked and saw Oblivion staring back.