Switch Theme:

Crusade of Fury 2: Second Sun  [RSS] Share on facebook Share on Twitter Submit to Reddit
Author Message

Forum adverts like this one are shown to any user who is not logged in. Join us by filling out a tiny 3 field form and you will get your own, free, dakka user account which gives a good range of benefits to you:
  • No adverts like this in the forums anymore.
  • Times and dates in your local timezone.
  • Full tracking of what you have read so you can skip to your first unread post, easily see what has changed since you last logged in, and easily see what is new at a glance.
  • Email notifications for threads you want to watch closely.
  • Being a part of the oldest wargaming community on the net.
If you are already a member then feel free to login now.

Made in ca
Heroic Senior Officer

Krieg! What a hole...

----- Sky above the Krios continent -----

Garvel stood up, undoing his buckles as he did so. The flight was rather long and he had to walk around the Valkyrie a little. His decision came at a wrong, however, as the Valkyrie jerked violently. sending him crashing on the walls. His armor took most of the hit, but every Scion could feel their Valkyrie lowering.

'' What's going on? '' asked the Tempestor in charge

The pilot voice blared on the PA '' Fuel's out, something's wrong with the externals, I'll land it, but you guys will have to hitch a ride on the bird or leg it ''

'' Land it? '' the copilot asked

'' I stand by my word, there's a clearing on our right, we'll head there, release the fuel tanks, it'll get in the way and we're deep in it enough as it is ''

'' Gotcha, fuel's down, landing gear coming down as well ''

'' Aight '' the pilot switched on the PA '' Hang on, we'll make it, but it won't be your softest landing ''

The pilot killed the PA and switched comms with his copilot '' We still got a bit of juice, we're aligned pretty well with the clearing, I'll kill the engines and use whatever we got left to power up the VTOL's, should keep the cargo alive, you keep an eye on with the lascannon scope, don't want to hit a tree on our way ''

The gunship came down hard on the open space, the strapped in Scions were fine, but Garvel was thrown around like a ragdoll. The ramp opened and the six intact men and women exited the cargo bay, carrying the uncouscious form of their comrade. The Valkyrie crewmen met up with the stormtroopers.

'' Sent a message to the rest of your squad, they're coming down now, what happened to him? '' asked the pilot

'' Unstrapped himself, we do that on long flights ''

'' Is he...? ''

'' He'll be fine once we stimm him, carapace armor's pretty tough, despite what one might think ''

The Scion carrying the medkit was busy looking through his pack for stimulants when the other Valkyrie landed nearby.

Mallia ran up to the half of the operators under her command.

'' What happened! Why is that trooper down! ''

The pilot answered

'' Some flaws in the fueling system, we ran out of fuel, had to land it here, your man unstrapped himself ''

Mallia facepalmed

'' Hope one of you has a plan, we can't fit everyone in the same bird, we can't abandon a perfectly fine Valkyrie here, either ''

It was at time that Garvel stop straight up

'' Ma'am! I got it! You and your half land at the LZ like we planned, set up the camp, we'll leg it! ''

'' That's... at least a day walk ''

'' Our suits have stims injectors, we'll run on that juice and crash as we come to our hole, then we can infilitrate that city and take out the target? ''

'' And the gunship? ''

'' Who ca- ''

The other pilot interrupted the stormtrooper

'' Simple, we drop you at the rendez-vous, transfer some fuel from one bird to the other, cross the ocean and meet up with some of your men on the other continent, get fueled proper and then reach the base ''

'' What about sending another Valk? ''

'' Too much risk, I am not even sure we passed through unseen, sending another Valk is asking for trouble ''

'' Alright, but I want the downed team to stay by the gunships until they take off, make sure noone stumbles up on the undefended ship ''

The grounded Scions spread around, establishing a secured perimeter around the Valkyrie, while the rest of them boarded their functionning transport and flew to the landing zones. Two hours later, the Valkyrie came back, and the pilots quickly started transfering fuel.

'' I've already calculated the distance we'll be able to travel, according to the Tempestor I talked to, squads are already being sent to secure the area where we'll land, we're good to go ''

The Tempestor left in charge by Mallia nodded

'' We'll get moving then, see ya back at the fort ''

----- Krios continent, the 85th cache near New Pavus, a day and a half later-----

The cache had been dug fairly slowly, but considering they were doing with half the men they were supposed to, Mallia couldn't complain. The rest of her troops were making regular radio check and would be fairly close to her location right about now.

It took about twenty minutes for the first armored shape to become clear, the cameleoline coat made the Scions almost invisible in the forest. Extra precaution.

'' How did it go? '' she asked

'' Well we need called in for a contact, did we? '' answerd the Garvel

'' I suppose so, you got ten hours of rest now, then we'll send you off in the city, there's a road nearby, we'll figure out the details once you've reset ''

'' Aye ma'am, with pleasure ''

The newcomers were awakened by their colleagues some time after. Mallia was getting ready to brief them.

'' The five of you will enter the city, you'll dressed in civies. Bring weapons if you must, they don't really check for e'm at the gate, we made sure, this is stricly reconnaissance, figure out if the Tillers are strong here, and then learn where Horatio is, once that's all done, I'll send the snipers and they'll take the shots, unless you're 100% sure you can take him down on the spot ''

The team nodded

'' Find an abandonned building, or a hole or whatever, lay low down there and then conduct your mission, we've set up comms up in a tree out there, so you'll be able to reach us if anything goes wrong. Now go and change yourselves, we readied autopistols for you ''

The five stormtroopers headed out of the hole in ground, wearing unremarkable clothes, with their gear hidden in whatever pockets they had. They reached the road in a few minutes and started to walk towards New Pavus.

'' Not a lot of refugees, coming today ''

'' Gonna make our job easier, look at the walls, see if there's a way to get through for the snipers ''

The team stopped talking once they've reached the city gates, a few men were keeping watch, but none of them stopped the Scions, so far so good, except for the massive delay, they didn't any particular weaknesses in the walls, but that would warrant a more complete reconnaissance. They looked around the city for a while before finding a place they could occupy in piece, the team had brought few possessions with them, folding mattress and whatnot, they've them down and quietly proceeded to reinforce their new house.

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 us
Loyal Necron Lychguard

Working on it

This piece was co-written by myself and Vanden with some help from 2BJ1 and Chazz

=====Governor's Mansion, Crion=====

Iodius stood over the bodies of Danner and Bedre. Both veterans of hundreds of years of war, both killed by savages. Iodius swore revenge on every damned ork he could find, but that would have to wait. With the Carcharadons in attendance of the banquet, Iodius thought it would be the only way to mend history. He had asked Captain Taranis if he and Ceasar could accompany him to his camp. Afterwards, they would discuss terms of the truce, and, hopefully, renewed relations. Taranis was intrigued by the thought, and he offered the two a trip on his Thunderhawk to his camp. That was a start at least.

Ceasar put on his helmet. He didn’t want the Carcharadons to see his dismay. He didn’t like them any more than any other Battle-brother of his, but he knew that if they were to win this war, steps would have to be taken. As a precaution, he placed a single bolt into his ‘Stalker-pattern bolter’. Any shenanigans would be met with a bolter to the head. His thoughts were interrupted by a voice
“How many ways have you thought to murder our allies Ceasar?” Iodius leaned on the wall, he obviously witnessed the loading of the bolter.
“At this moment? Four. One of them is throwing them out of the Bird.” Iodius raised his eyebrow
“You know that’s a heretical thought? I can have you killed for that…”
“I know, but you won’t. You know exactly what I think about this, and what the majority of our brothers do.” Ceasar nodded, he understood. The past between the two chapters was sour, but that’s why he was trying to fix it.
“Aye, I do, but quit your moping and deal with it. We have a plane to catch.” With that Ceasar bowed and strode out of Ceasar’s sight, leaving him to further prepare.
“Be a shame if that plane came crashing down…” Ceasar spoke under his breath.
“I heard that.”

The trip to ‘Strike Base Armageddon’ was a silent one. Iodius and Ceasar sat on one side, while Taranis sat on the other. Ceasar rarely lifted his head, and Iodius’s eyes were closed. His mind had wandered back to the fateful day that he learned of the betrayal. He felt his lip curl in disdain, and felt the eyes of Captain Taranis fall on him. He was too young to know exactly what happened, but there was no doubt in Iodius’s mind that he had heard what had happened.
The pilots voice was heard over the Stormbirds vox.
“Three minutes until we reach ‘Strike Base Armageddon’.”
Ceasar nudged Iodius to wake him from his thoughts, the startled Chaplain automatically reached for the hilt of his Crozius, but held it in place as he remembered where he was.
“Three minutes ‘till we reach the Carcharadon camp. Wake up and at least try to make yourself presentable.” Ceasar grumbled.
“Presentable? We’re Adeptes Astartes, not some pompous noble trying to impress a governor (Like those Ultramarine gakkers…), We are always presentable.” Iodius smirked.
“At least put your helmet, don’t want to scare our new allies out of their socks now do we?” Ceasar always had the upper hand when it came to smart-assed comments, Iodius would never surpass him in that. Taranis smiled, it was uncommon to see two different individuals get on so well. The Stormbird touched down on the outskirts of the camp, and the trio walked out to be greeted by the Techmarine Ogun and a Chaplain. Ceasar’s grip on his bolter intensified as the Techmarine strode out to greet his newly arrived captain.
“Captain, you did not tell us you were bringing guests.” He bowed his head to Taranis and cast his eyes over the two strangers. He looked over the two, this time the insignia on one of the strangers shoulder pad catching his eye. “That symbol…I’ve seen it somewhere…”
His eyes lit up and he nodded.
“Hmm…I see…Come, we have much to discuss.” With that, the Techmarine strode away from the four further into the camp.
Sensing Iodius and Ceasar’s confusion, Taranis turned.
I can speak through telepathy. My voice has been shattered by the likes of an Eldar witch we search for, but luckily Ogun was able to create a psy-vox.
Iodius shook his head
“My mind is my own, I ask you leave it that way.” Taranis nodded.
“At least we can communicate, but it seems I look like an idiot when I speak to you that way.” Ceasar was less guarding when it came to speaking psychically.
“You are an idiot.” Iodius coughed under his breath.

=====Strike Base Armageddon, Clerth, Crion=====

Exitar watched as the last remaining fragments of the Eldar vehicles were loaded into crates prepped for the Carcharius when it brought Taranis back. The tech was to be sent to the Adeptus Mechanicus on the planet as a sign of good will. This gave Exitar an idea, he moved over to the communications bunker and stepped inside. He addressed the man in charge, “Contact the Agrona, have them send both the MAximus and the Griseus. Contact the Nasus and have them start flying sorties over the forest, try and find any sign of Eldar. I’ll contact you later for results.” “Yes sir, I’ll see that it gets done.” Exitar turned as Ogun entered the bunker, “Captain’s back.” Exitar followed Ogun out of the bunker just in time for the Carcharius to touch down on the airfield. The side door opened and Taranis stepped out followed by 2 other marines. What appeared to be Captain and Chaplain of the chapter Dorn’s Wish if his memory proved correct.

Taranis had begun telepathically communicating with Exitar, “Have there been any developments?” “Yes, the Eldar have attacked the base, we have caught and tortured one. These are the Eldar we’re after.” The amount of hate that Taranis exuded chilled Exitar to his bones, and then it vanished. “You have this captive? And what is with those crates?” Exitar looked over at the lumbering aircraft as the last of the cargo was loaded and it prepped for launch. “We are sending the remains of the Eldar tech to the Mechanicus on the planet. How did things go at the banquet?” “Poor, the Governor is an ignorant man, but we have evidence now. Oh, and Orks attacked.” “Sounds like quite the evening.” He looked to Ogun and again began to telepathically communicate, “Take Oligidon and Microdon and scour the forest, find whatever trace of the Eldar you can find.”

They followed Taranis for about 30 seconds until he stopped to meet two other marines, one appeared to be a Techmarine, the other was a massive Chaplain clad in ancient Tartaros plate. No words were spoken, this must have been a psychic conversation. The Techmarine walked away and Taranis turned around, “That was Techmarine Ogun, he is in charge of defending this base and this,” He gestured to the machine man rigidly standing there, “is Exitar, the Company Chaplain and my second in command.” The gargantuan figure next to him rumbled, as if waking from an aeon long slumber. He looked at Taranis, “Who are our guests?”His voice had the hiss of bionics, and Iodius presumed he was almost as ancient as his armour, though that was practically impossible. “Hail, I am Captain Ceasar of the Tenth company. Before anything else can you please tell me, what came first, the armour, or you?” Ceasar joked. It was risky, but he was one for first impressions.
“Your death will come last if you don’t hold your tongue.” Exitar’s voice was a whir of biomechanics.
“I try telling him that he needs to watch his words…I am Chaplain Iodius, and by the Emperor it is good to see another Chaplain…” Iodius exclaimed, none of it was exaggerated.
“You have no other Chaplains?” Exitar seemed slightly surprised.
“I am the last one remaining in the Chapter. We suffered a major treason as of late, and we’re still reeling from it.” Iodius’s face dropped, the memories of his fellow Chaplains clogging his mind.
“You will get over it, the Emperor will see to it.” Exitar’s voice lacked any emotion.
“Indeed…In time…Come now, let us stop with this depressing topic, we have an alliance to forge no?” Ceasar was quick to change the topic, as it too hung on his heart. Taranis nodded, and lead the two over to a large bunker. They sat and began talking for the next hour, until the conversation hit a wall.
“I am sorry, but the sins of the past cannot be forgiven in a few sentences and good alcohol. The Chapters history cannot be rewritten in a day. It just simply cannot be done.” Ceasar sat back and crossed his arms, obviously disturbed by the notion of forgetting everything.
“Then what do you propose you do Captain? Or is all this talk of Peace and Alliance just a waste of time?” Exitar was also unhappy, he had better things to do than talk about peace and harmony between the two chapters.
“We fight.” Iodius finally lifted his head. This being the first time he said anything the entire conversation.
“We what? Are you mad Chaplain?” Ceasar was taken aback, the notion of fighting another chapter was absurd, especially one that they had bad relations with.
“Probably. But think about it, an honour duel, between the two that actually remember what happened that fateful day.” He gestured to Exitar and himself. “It also helps that we’re both Chaplains. Even ground.” Iodius was calm, for once…
Taranis turned his head towards Exitar, whose gaze had been fixed on Iodius. Exitar made no movement, but it was clear he would accept.
“Aye, I do indeed still remember the day. This is a fair ask, Chaplain, but where, and when?” Exitar leaned back and crossed his arms. This might just get interesting.
“I can’t see why not now. With the armour we have on our backs and our fists. I’d assume that a space can be cleared in a marginally short time?” The last part was addressed to Taranis, who nodded and went to rise.
“Actually, we have a combat training ground we can use.”
“My, you are always the one with the stupid ideas Iodius…” Ceasar held his head in his hands. This was going to be the second duel he was going to see his best friend in, although he was sure he would come out of this a lot worse.
“Guess I spent too much time around you.”
“You’d think that you would’ve grown half a brain by now if that was true…”

It took not but a minute of walking before they reached the grounds, the men readied themselves. Iodius and Exitar stood at opposite ends of the arena. Each administering Rites on themselves. Ceasar stood next to the Captain of the Carcharadons.
“How long do you think it’s going to take for them to knock each other out?”
“No more than 5 minutes.”
“Want to make bets?” Ceasar laughed, and to his surprisal, was met by a hand reaching out and grabbing a bottle of fine Macragian wine. “Oh, one second…” He fished around in a small satchel he brought with him, and, after a few moments, pulled out a cask of Fenrisian ale. “Nicked this last time we visited Lord Stormclaw.” He was met by a raised eyebrow and a firm handshake. “This will be interesting now.”
“Of course it will be, it’s the two most stubborn people on the planet duking it out, what more do you expect?”
“I see your point. Good luck”
Iodius rose from his kneeling position and removed his helmet.
“Let’s make this interesting, helmets off. Almost evens the odds.”
“No, helmets stay on.” Exitar felt himself becoming gore hungry.
“Helmets on then. Let’s do this.” Iodius raised his fists, and the timer began.

Iodius began the fight. Using his superior speed and manoeuvrability, he lunged at the giant. Two quick blows to Exitars helm left him surprised, but he recovered quickly. Lashing out with the back of his armoured fist, he backhanded Iodius two metres, then closed the gap with one massive step. He brought his massive foot down on Iodius’s back, but he was no longer there. Already Iodius had rolled to the side and kicked at Exitars legs. The blow did not even sway the giant, as once again he brought his foot down, this time stomping right on Iodius’s left hand. Iodius felt bones break, and quickly bit back a grunt of pain. He planted his feet firmly on Exitars breastplate and pushed backwards, which in turn sent Exitar back a few paces. Iodius used the opportunity to get to his feet, but by that time, Exitar was already upon him. An armoured fist sailed through the air and Iodius barely backstepped to avoid it. It was followed by blow after blow from Exitar, and Iodius felt him get closer and closer to the arena boundaries. Instead of dodging the last strike, he grabbed at the armoured fist. His muscles tensed as he felt himself slide back thirty centimetres. He had stopped his assailant, and pulled himself closer to Exitar. He brought his left elbow up onto the ancient Chaplains faceplate, he heard the hit resonate inside the helmet. The blow staggered Exitar only angering him. Exitar grabbed at Iodius, who was still trying to scramble away from Exitar to avoid his revenge. Too slow, thought Exitar. He felt his hand move over something, and he closed his grip and pulled. Iodius felt himself being dragged back towards the furious Chaplain. Exitar smiled as he held the Chaplain by the foot, and he drew his arm back and swung him around. He released and saw Iodius spiral through the air and land on the ground with a thud a full six metres away. He skidded another two before finally coming to a rest. Iodius knew he wouldn’t win the duel like this. In terms of strength, Exitar won hands down. But if Iodius used his superior speed, he could possibly gain the upper hand. Exitar reached up and pulled his jaw sidewards, hearing a click. ‘Better’ he thought. Exitar turned his attention back to the dazed Chaplain and began making his way towards him. Exitar knew he was winning at the moment, but he knew that he should not underestimate his opponent.

Taranis’s eyes widened as the timer passed the five minute mark, and heard Captain Ceasar chuckle.
“Guess you owe me that beautiful beverage ey?” Ceasar rubbed his hands together, wondering what he could do with such power…
“How about we raise the stakes?”
Taranis once again reached out and pulled out another unopened bottle of Wine. This time, Ceasars eyes widened at the sight. The gambler inside him was reaching out, begging for the second bottle…
“What are you changing it to?” He could barely handle the thrill of the bet.
“Nine minutes. Winner goes home with four large bottles of alcohol.”
Ceasar knew he shouldn’t…But, he reached for yet another cask of Ale and placed it with the rest. He then outstretched his hand and smiled.
“May the best Chaplain win.” Taranis also smiled and grasped his hand, urging Exitar to beat Iodius quicker.

Iodius feinted right and darted beneath Exitar’s guard, hammering his foot onto the back of Exitar’s knee, bringing the warrior to a kneeling position. He followed with several other boots to his other knee, before Exitar finally got his hands on him and began squeezing the life out of Iodius. Iodius struggled in the iron grip, but managed to get his good arm out, and began pounding at Exitar, each blow bring a grunt from both opponents. Eventually, Exitar released Iodius and took several steps back, holding a hand to his helm. Iodius in turn, wheezed as he tried to once again fill his lungs with air. Several more minutes passed of the back-and-forth dance the two Chaplains were performing. And the bets had reached a new height. In the pile sat seven bottles of Wine and three bottles of Ale, along with several notes with a scribbled ‘IOU ALCOHOL’ tossed into the pile. Thirty minutes passed, and neither opponent seemed to give way. Both swayed from the constant fighting, and both were wounded. Iodius limped around Exitar, who in turn squinted to see Iodius, his one remaining good eye struggling to see through the blood, and his bionic eye’s lens was shattered. Iodius once again lunged in towards Exitar, trying to catch him by surprise, but instead, was met with a boot straight to the chest. He fell backwards and felt his chestplate buckle as Exitar followed him down with his foot. He felt shards from the armour bite into his ribcage, and he struggled to lift the giant weight off of him. Exitar knew all it would take was one more stomp. As he lifted his foot to finish the fight, Iodius pushed upwards with surprising strength, and managed to get Exitar to fall backwards. Iodius pounced onto Exitar’s form and once again began pounding at his cracked helm with renewed vigour.
“STAY *Punch* DOWN *Punch* EMPEROR *Punch* DAMN *Punch* IT *Punch*!” Exitar could no longer hold on. He felt his head tilt backwards, and felt his eyes roll back. Iodius saw this, and fell off the giant.
“Just for the record…You fell first…” Iodius gasped between breaths.
Exitar mumbled something that must have been in his native language and managed to laugh once before he slipped into unconsciousness. Iodius followed suit less than three seconds later.

“The bonds of Brotherhood have been renewed. And I welcome it!” Ceasar exclaimed as he grasped Taranis’ hand and shook it up and down vigorously.
“As do I, but tell me…Who won the bet?”
Taranis was smiling, already knowing the answer.
“Ah yes…The bet…I’ll have the Thunderhawk drop the rest off once we’re ready to go…” Ceasar was sad to part way from the plethora of alcohol he had pilfered over the many years of Captainhood.
“I’ll tell you what, how about I take a few casks and you take a few bottles.”
“That’s generous of you Taranis.”
Taranis’ eyes made their way to the pair lying in the middle of the arena.
“You think we should get them up?”
“Just send an apothecary, we have Wine and Ale to taste.”
“That would give Artemis something to do. Wait, what do you mean we?
“Why of course! You can’t drink on your own now can you?”
“I suppose not. Come, I shall prepare a feast for the occasion.”
“The new alliance or the procuration of new drinks?”
“Bit of both.”

The captains made their way to the feasting hall when they passed the armory. Taranis stopped for a second and looked at the door. Ceaser stopped shortly afterwards and looked the door over slightly confused.
“What, is the door a heretic?”
“This is where the Eldar captive is being held.”
“A live Eldar? At least you have evidence to show the Governor. May I speak with it? Perhaps my methods and approach will allow me to get more answers for you.” Taranis mulled this over.
“I believe you have an Eldar to interrogate. They walked through the door and started down the corridor. Taranis pondered what the other captain had just said, maybe he wouldn’t kill the Eldar yet. Perhaps it still had use.
After a couple minutes of walking they finally arrived at the location. Before them, was the broken body of what seemed to be a Warlock of the Iybraesil Craftworld. He felt no pity for the Xeno, as its crimes against the Imperium were uncountable. It was time for Ceasar to see what information he could collect. He pulled up a chair and dragged it across the room until he was face to face with the Warlock. He sat down and the Warlock raised its bloodied head. He noticed that it was missing most of its fingers.
“I told you before mon’keigh…I shall say nothing more…” Ceasar said nothing as he inspected the Eldar, casting his eyes up and down the Xeno, as if…Looking for something…
“I see your soulstone is missing.” The words ‘soulstone’ unlocked something deep inside the Warlock. Fear. “It’s not a well known fact, but did you know that the more pain a Xeno such as yourself has sustained after the loss of its soulstone dictates how much more pain it feels once it’s soul goes to Slaanesh?” The Warlock's eyes widened at the statement. It had clearly not known it and contemplated whether it was true or not. “I speak the truth Eldar. Now, if you give me information on your warhost, your farseer and what you know of this planet, I will ensure, that on my honour, your death will be quick. If not, well, lets just say my friends aren’t as nice as myself. Your choice.” Several minutes later Ceasar returned to the company of Taranis.
“The Warlock truly knows nothing, but he did tell me he overheard something about Harlequins. Seems like this lot isn’t the only Eldar on the planet…and I’ll bet you my cellar that that’s where the Eldar moved to. I couldn’t see them staying here after what you told me.” Taranis seemed to think on the statement for a while.
“You don’t have a cellar anymore remember?”
“Oh…Yeah…” Both Taranis and Ceasar laughed, and Taranis began making his way to the captive, but was stopped when Ceasar placed a hand on his shoulder. “Make its death quick. I promised on my honour.” Taranis looked at Caeser, “I don’t I’ll kill the Eldar yet, not until the Governor sees it. Then yes, it will be quick.

Taranis walked out of the building and was surprised to find Exitar standing and waiting for him, his armor still beaten. “Exitar, I thought you were still recovering.” “I need not recover long. I bring news, aerial reconnaissance reports show no sign or trace of the Eldar.”
“What of Oligidon? Did they find anything?”
“No, nothing…”
“Then we are at a loss here. I’ll contact the Governor, invite him to our feast. I want you to keep watch on our wishful friends.”

Sometime Later

The Governor’s shuttle gently landed on the airfield of Strike Base Armageddon. A few moments after landing the shuttle door opened before several of the Governor's personal guards exited the vehicle and stood to the side. The Governor stepped out of the shuttle with the pomp and circumstance of a king, he was followed by a hooded figure which grabbed Taranis’ attention.
“Governor, welcome to our strikebase.”
“Thank you Lord Taranis, it is my pleasure to be here.”
“Before we attend the feast I have some things I must speak with you about. If you would follow me please.”
“Yes, of course.” The plump man struggled to keep up with the massive Astartes. The Governor looked to the hooded figure behind him before looking at Taranis. He seemed to think his words over before speaking.
“Lord Taranis, I believe we may have gotten off to the wrong start at the banquet.”
They were nearing the base armory, but the Governor had not noticed.
“Is that so? I believe I should be the one apologising after my interruption.”
“Oh, uh, well apology accepted. After talking with my advisers and reviewing some, incidents that have occurred, I have come to the conclusion that Crion might have-”
They had reached the building and Taranis had opened thedoor for the Governor. He walked to find a being strapped to a chair, it wasn’t dead, merely unconscious. The Governor’s jaw dropped at seeing the alien in front of him.
“We caught this one after they launched an attack from the Jungle. We searched for them but they have disappeared. We are currently seeking aid to hunt these Eldar down so we may end this.” A third voice spoke.
“We may have what you are looking for.” The hooded figure revealed itself to be a Kroot.
“A Kroot? I do believe you can help, as long as your allegiance remains with the Emperor we shall have no quarrels. Governor, I may not have need of your PDF, but now that you mention assistance. There is a Guard regiment, the ‘Redeemers’ as their known, stationed on the Forgeworld of Stalos. Contact Colonel Axius, tell him the Void needs steel, he will understand.”
“Why of course Lord Taranis, I will have my men contact them, but remember I need this to be confidential, Emperor knows what would happen if the populace found out.”
“Of course Governor,”Exitar had entered the building by this time and was waiting for the conversation to finish. “What do you require Exitar?”
“The feast is soon to start and Captain Ceaser says he needs his drinking buddy.”
“Of course. Governor, you looked famished, Exitar will escort you to the feasting hall. I will be there shortly, but I must speak with your friend here for a minute.”
Taranis and Ta’lok waited for Exitar and the Governor to leave the building before resuming communication.
“I believe we not yet acquainted, I am Taranis, captain of this company. You are?”
“Ta’lok, I lead the rest of my kin on this planet. We’d be glad to help, but I’ll need something to bring back to my kin.”
“I see, well, I can promise you a share of the Eldar bodies we kill. You help us, and I’ll guarantee that your kin eat well. I have allies coming to aid us as well, perhaps they will also have work for you.”
“This sounds like a good proposal, so what exactly do you need?”
“I need you to hunt the Eldar of Craftworld Iybraesil, this is one of them.” He gestured to unconscious Eldar across the room. Ta’lok looked hungrily at it.
“If you accept this deal you can have him. He has fulfilled his purpose here.” Ta’lok pondered the offer and mulled it over.
“You have a deal Astartes.”
“Wonderful, contact me before you leave, I’ll have the Eldar packed up for you.”

The Next Day

Exitar sat on a stool next to Taranis’ bunk, he was reading one of the local papers. After reading a couple pages he set the paper down and picked up his Crozius. He deactivated its power field and looked it over, then he started poking Taranis with it. Taranis quickly turned to look at Exitar who sat there still clad in his Terminator plate.
“Exitar? How did you get in here? Why are you prodding me?”
“We have received word from Colonel Axius.” This peaked the captain interest.
“Have we now? What has he said?”
“He is sending us three companies to aid our cause.”
“Only three?”
“Apparently Stalos has been raided a few times by Corsairs.”
“Understandable,” He thought for a second, “Chaos Corsairs or Eldar Corsairs?” Exitar cocked his head slightly.
“He didn’t say. Where shall we have them stationed?”
“I’ll think it over, but rally the men. We have slaughter to prepare for.”
“Yes, sir.”

This message was edited 2 times. Last update was at 2016/04/09 23:25:15

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

Made in us
Stabbin' Skarboy

KoreGog was dead, but the reign of brutality that his clan had wrought was far from over.

Kort BloodSpitta who the orks had come to refer as “The Mean One” had assembled all the clanz prominent figures, nobz and various odd boyz in KoreGog’s great hall where only the night before the great Koregog Da Bloody feasted and celebrated the capture of Eldar. Kort BloodSpitta was every bit as cruel and as violent as Koregog and believed himself every bit as strong. The ork was covered in tattoos and scars, each a memory of a good fight.

BloodSpitta spoke “KoreGog is dead, dat makes me Warboss now.” A nob shouted “Zog you I won’t follow a git faced weasel like you.” The mean one growled “I’m da biggest I’m da boss.” The rebellious nob spat “Yer a fat one fer sure, but I’m da ardest and killyest so I ought ta be Warboss.” BloodSpitta flipped the massive table and gave a feral growl. Blek a Runtherd laughed “Only one way to settle dis, one of you has gotta die.” The nob drew his choppa sword and charged at Kort shouting “Well it aint going ta be me.” Kort unveiled a pair of bearded axes. The nob swung but Kort effortlessly dodged the attack. The nob swung again and again Kort dodged only this time Kort brought one of his axes down at the bend of the ork’s arm severing it. The nob howled in pain, Kort smiled as he pressed his advantage. Kort put his axes in the ork’s chest and the nob fell to the floor. The rebel was barely alive, and kort took a swing, and another swing, until it stopped moving. Than after the beast was dead Kort kept swinging and swinging. Each blow sprayed him with his opponent’s blood. Soon there was nothing easily recognizable of the opponent only a pile of blood and mashed gore.

Blek gulped nervously “Well suppose that settles it unless any of you ladz have anything to say.” All the orks in the hall were both impressed and terrified at what they had just saw, each happy that it wasn’t them. Blek took their silence as a clear thumbs up “All right den, all hail Warboss Kort BloodSpitta Da Mean One.”

A new Boss emerges after the death of Warboss KorGog. ork victory revealed
Made in gb
Swift Swooping Hawk

In a scenario not unusual for Crion over the last couple of weeks, a small group of shadows darted through the jungle, jumping through the treetops from branch to branch.

Feubryn had tasked Dranc, along with Imryll and Fallacy, to investigate the nearby mon-keigh ruins at Fallacy's suggestion. Apparently, in those ruins there may lie some hint as to what secret was hidden in this system.

So, the three of them set out – they were dropped off a couple of miles out by Starweaver then made the rest of the approach on foot.

“And thus, the three heroes made their way through the canopy, inching ever closer to the end of their quest,” Fallacy muttered from the front, “But what perils would await on the Heroes' Path? They would soon find out.”

“I take it you do not know what dangers we should expect, then,” Imryll said quietly as she leapt alongside him.

“I would assume there will be Human traps,” Fallacy shrugged mid-leap, “Other than that, I can not say.”

“Between the three of us, we should be able to handle most dangers,” Dranc interjected, “Anything we can not kill, which, given present company, is a very short list, we are fast enough to flee from.”

“Well, let's find out,” Fallacy said, “I can see the entrance.”

The entrance to the ruin was rather unimpressive. The Imperial architecture had long been covered in a variety of quite recognisable architectural horrors, as familiar as the warriors standing around outside it.

“Orks,” Imryll sighed, “I suppose we should have guessed.”

“It seems we must deal with the current tenants first,” Dranc pointed out needlessly, staring at the small group of Orks, “If I may deal with the ones outside? I have an amusing idea.”

“By our guest,” Fallacy waved him on grandly.

Two Orks stood in a watchtower, as a small group of their fellows stood around beneath it.

“I'z bored,” complained one of the Orks, “When'z we gonna go out with Koregog's boyz and have a propa fight?”

“When da boss sez so, so keep it down,” the other countered, “You know wot da boss'll do if he hears you snifflin like a Grot.”

The other Ork's reply was cut off as a rock hit him square in the head. “Ow!” he snarled, “Oi! You lot! Which one of you runty gitz just chukked that rock at me 'ead!”

One of the boyz down below shouted back. “Nobody been chukkin nuffink! You'z definitely hit your head, Zog, but it wasn't nuffink we did!”

“Wot did ya say, ya git?” Zog demanded, “Well 'ere then, 'ave it back!” he picked up the rock in question and hurled it down at the shouter.

The rock hit the shouter in the nose. He staggered back – before his blood began to bubble underneath his skin. This continued for a moment, then, without giving the rest of the boyz around him time to react, he exploded violently, spraying the Orks around him with acid and painfully killing them all.

Zog stared at his hand in shock. “Did you see dat?” he demanded.

“I saw it good, Zog,” the other Ork replied, staring at the scene in stunned surprise, “You just chukked a rock off his 'ead and he went and 'sploded!”

“It'z got to be a blessin' from Gork an' Mork,” Zog said reverently, cradling his hand, “I'z been given the Rockchukkin' Hand of Gitsplodin!”

“We'z got to tell da boss,” the other Ork agreed.

“Zog da boss! Wif dis hand,” he raised his hand into the air, “I'z gonna be da boss!”

A sound echoed, like air being sliced, as razor-sharp projectiles cut through the Ork's raised hand at the wrist, slicing it off entirely.

“No!” he cried in dismay, “Not da Rockchukkin' Hand of Gitsplodin!”

The hand hit the floor as more projectiles carved up the other Ork. Zog dropped to his knees, cradling the severed hand, “You woz too 'splodey for dis world,” he said solemnly, before he was proven right as the hand began to bubble.

Dranc gave a deep chuckle as the final Ork was killed by the explosion of his own severed hand.

“Creative,” Fallacy murmured appreciatively, “Putting a shrieker round in that Ork just as the rock hit him was good timing.”

“I do my best to please,” Dranc gave a grandiose bow, “Now then, ladies. The way is clear. Shall we proceed and enter this Ork-filled primitive ruin?”

“Oh, Dranc,” Fallacy pretended to fan herself, “You know exactly where to take a girl on your first courting!”

“I'm afraid I'm not so easy to impress,” Imryll said calmly as they moved toward the entrance, “You will have to treat me to a meal, first.”

“I will bear that in mind,” Dranc said in amusement, “There will undoubtedly be more down there.”

“Good,” Imryll responded primly, “It wouldn't be fair if you had all the fun.”

Meanwhile, Ros Hannoi, Indo-Cambria, Crion

Cuddio's Mimes were at work again - this time, planting more listening devices throughout the city. They focused once again on buildings from the higher economic classes, and once again managed to slip out unseen. If anything important happened in Ros Hannoi, the Masque of the Blameless Culprit would know about it.

They had planted everything they could in Ros Hannoi, and the network was unlikely to expand further here. The next target would be another city...

Minor victory, planted more bugs in Ros Hannoi.


Dranc ducked under the swing of an axe, bringing the scythe on his Shrieker Cannon around in a sweeping arc that separated the Ork's legs from his body. He saw several more charging down the hallway at him, and responded by opening fire with his Shrieker Cannon on fully automatic. In the reasonably narrow corridor, the Orks had no chance against the hail of Shuriken blades and were swiftly cut down. This granted him a moment's respite, which he used to check on his two comrades.

Imryll slammed her Miststave into an Ork, sending him flying into a wall with physical force one would never expect an Eldar of any description to be capable of producing. Another approached her from behind - only to swiftly turn and start savagely attacking the Ork next to him, who responded with an equivalent level of brutal violence. The two fought tooth and nail, only for one then the other to suddenly slump as Imryll picked them off with shots from her Neuro Disruptor. The most surprising thing about that scenario was that the Neuro Disruptor worked on Orks at all - before he first saw one of his comrades use one against an Ork, he had been quite sure the Greenskins had no brain to speak of.

A series of guttural roars caught his attention before he could try to determine where Fallacy was - another group of Orks were charging down the corridor at him, this time holding their primitive boom spears. With several loud bangs, five large projectiles were launched at him at high speed, and, primitive or not, getting hit by one would still hurt. While four of them would fly wide, one had luckily managed to fire at the right spot to hit him through his holo-field - leaning backwards, he committed himself to a full backwards cartwheel to allow the spear to fly harmlessly over his head. Unfortunately, this had given the Orks an opportunity to close the gap between them, and he was forced to back away as the lead one swung at him with a large, bladed club. It swiftly followed after him as he backed away toward the wall. Dranc cursed internally – fighting in enclosed spaces like this was not his strong suit. Having a long weapon did not help.

He turned, running up the wall and performing an acrobatic backflip to avoid the swinging club once again. As he sailed over the head of the Ork, he caught it's neck with the flat of his blade. As he landed on the ground behind it in a crouch, he pulled down hard - the Ork was bent forcibly back at the knees only to be held up by Dranc's hand - shielding him nicely from the savage overhead chop of another Ork, who sank his axe deep into the chest of his comrade. The Ork growled as it pulled the choppa free, preparing to swing it again, this time into Dranc.

The attempt was short lived, as a blast of pure telekinetic force barrelled into it, pulverising its internal organs and knocking it into another Ork with some force. Imryrll stepped forward, calmly firing off a shot with her Neuro Disruptor at the last remaining Ork. "I think we should find Fallacy," she said.

"Indeed," Dranc agreed, pushing the body of the dead Ork off him with a small effort, "I believe she went ahead to tackle the leader."

They proceeded down the corridor, which ended at a T-junction - and quickly determined, by way of observing the trail of bodies, that Fallacy had gone left. They followed the trail into a larger chamber, where they found the other member of their group.

Fallacy was currently in the middle of six large orks, one slightly larger than the others - Dranc determined them to be Nobs, and a Boss, the largest, strongest and most deadly Orks in a given group, who had worked their way to the top of the warband by being brutal, vicious and cunning, the epitome of the Ork war machine made flesh.

They didn't stand a chance.

The Solitaire was currently balanced on her hands, twisting around in a whirlwhind of kicks that, coupled with the twinned Harlequin's Caress' equipped on her legs, took savage chunks out of the attacking Nobs. One fell to the ground as his kneecaps were literally kicked out, before her leg swiftly came back around and scythed through his head, finishing him off. Another roared and swung down at her with a savage blow - a casual turn of the leg parried the strike wide while the other foot snapped forward, kicking out the Nob's heart, which was still beating before it hit the ground.

Fallacy then pushed herself up into the air, spinning around into an axe kick that cleaved clean down the middle of another nob, who immediately slumped to the ground. Landing on her feet, she leaned to the side to allow another enormous axe to chop through the empty space her torso had formerly inhabited, before she let loose with a combo of kicks almost too fast for even Dranc to see, felling the offender.

The last Nob gave a guttural shout and came at her in a leaping charge. Fallacy darted forward, coming to a stop underneath the offender - before flipping back onto her hands, legs shooting up to catch the Nob by the neck between them. The Solitaire swung her legs down with as much force as she could muster, pile-driving the still-airborne Ork head-first into the ground and splattering his skull and cranial matter across the stone floor.

It had taken a few seconds. The Boss, to his credit, did not look scared - only furious.

"You dancey shiney git!" the Boss roared, "You gone and krumped all me boyz! I'll krump ya right back!"

With a roar that seemed to shake the room, he charged at the Solitaire, the gigantic two-handed maul in his hands raised and ready to pulverise her into a fine mist. The maul smashed down onto the ground with a mighty crash - but his elusive foe was not under it when it landed.

"Wot?" he blinked, then fell to the ground with a mighty crash as his entire body seemed to stop functioning, revealing Fallacy behind him, who walked calmly away from him with her back turned. She did not look back once. "Why can't I feel me body? What did you do you zoggin dancey gigh..." with a loud, brutal cough, blood sprayed out of the large Ork's mouth, and his head slumped down, dead.

There was a moment of silence.

"I would have made him explode."

Fallacy turned to Dranc. "What?"

"When you killed him," Dranc elaborated, "You should have made him explode, and not looked back at the explosion as you walked away. It would have given a much better effect."

The Solitaire blinked, before looking distraught. "Oh dear, you're right! I completely missed an opportunity there for a dramatic 'great warriors don't look at explosions' scene! No, no, no, I need to fix this!" she zipped over to the dead Warboss, kicking him in the side, "You! Resurrect yourself! We need to do it again!" when there was no response, she kicked him again. "I don't care if I snapped your spinal cord at the neck and destroyed your internal organs, you need to get up and do it again!" When it became apparent that the Warboss was not getting up again, she dropped to her knees in despair. "I really messed up..."

“You didn't even make a quip,” Dranc pointed out helpfully.


Imryll ignored the wailing Solitaire as she addressed Dranc. "I believe that's the last issue we'll have with the Orks," she said calmly, "We should search this place. Look for anything that is subtly hidden enough that the Orks would not have found it."

“Noted,” Dranc nodded, before turning away to search down one of the corridors.

“And you,” he heard Imryll kicking the sniffling Solitaire, “Get over it and make yourself useful.”

The Blameless Culprit Encampment, Jorgon, Indo-Cambria, Crion

Cuddio entered the pavillion of the High Avatar, to find Feubryn looking extremely irritated.

“Cuddio,” the High Avatar greeted, “You have news?”

“…” Cuddio informed him.

“So the infiltration was successful,” Feubryn nodded, “That's good. At least we have some good news today.”

“…?” Cuddio tilted his head, mask changing to a look of confusion.

“It seems the Dusk Knight and Twilight Troupe decided to interpret my request to obtain some Ork weaponry in a rather different way to what I was intending,” Feubryn sighed. “I intended for them to go out, ambush a patrol and take their weapons so we could frame the local Warboss for an attack on another Boss in the neighbouring region, as you know.”

Cuddio nodded.

“I've had a message back from a frantic member of the Twilight Troupe,” Feubryn continued to explain, “Apparently, the Dusk Knight decided that the best way to frame the Warboss for an attack on another boss would be to steal his personal weapon from the armoury in their fortress.”

The Master Mime's mask changed to a look of exasperation.

“As you can probably imagine,” Feubryn's even tone did not betray his thoughts on the matter, “This hasn't gone well for them. It seems the Dusk Knight, not only having this foolish idea, also ended up triggering a trap and has now, along with two of the Players from the Troupe, been captured by the Orks.”

Cuddio's face turned neutral. “…?”

Feubryn stood up. “Well, we're going to have to mount a rescue, aren't we? Get everyone ready. The troupes, the Voidweavers, your Mimes, I want us ready to move out the moment Imryll, Dranc and Fallacy return. And make no mistake,” he growled, “When we bring them back, I will tan that fool's hide for over-thinking and bungling things to this extent.”

Major defeat – the Troupe Master of my Twilight Troupe and two other players are now held captive in the former fortress of Koregog the bloody. Probably worth noting that they tried this before Evergreen's Lictor assassinated him, it just took me some time to get a chance to write it all up.

Dranc narrowed his eyes as he caught sight of something unusual. So far, they had found nothing but the wonders of Ork interior decorating and ruins long-destroyed, but underneath an Ork banner, he spotted a faint, uniform crack in the wall.

He pulled the banner to one side, and began to feel around the wall – after a moment, he found a loose part of the stone, and pushed it in.

He stepped back as the stone moved aside, revealing another corridor. He wrinkled his nose beneath his mask as an awful smell came out of it – the cause quickly became apparent as he spotted the long-burnt corpse of an Ork. At the end of the room was a door, and next to the door, extending from the wall, was a statue, in a shape he imagined was supposed to look like the Mon-Keigh's rendition of a dragon.

He stepped inside carefully, eyes alert for anything, as he made his way toward the body of the Ork. He looked over it – the damage was clearly done by a flamethrower of some description. Was this the work of one of the former defenders, or -

He heard a click. And instantly understood that the Ork had been burned beyond recognition by a trap – a trap that he had foolishly walked into as well. Flames burst out of the mouth of the statue, bathing the entire mini-corridor. It was impossible to avoid, and he wasn't quick enough to get out -

The world seemed to blur as he found himself fall to the ground outside the corridor. Standing above him was Fallacy – who looked at him with a wagging finger.

“You should really be more careful, Dranc,” she chided him, “You're the only Death Jester in the Masque, remember. If you fall, it's really going to limit what kind of performances they can play.”

Dranc blinked, getting his bearings. “My thanks,” he finally said, “I was reckless.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “Unusually so, for you. But what's done is done.”

It took them a few minutes to work out how to disarm the fire trap. Of more interest, however, was the door. Untouched by the Orks, and with no obvious locking mechanism, there was obviously some secret to this door…

But what?

Minor victory, searched the ruins at Site Havishan.

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2016/04/12 17:58:23

Made in au
Adopted Son of the Emperor

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

The 2nd Helsreach ‘Gorgons’. Straight out of the previous campaign, Lord General Henri McFallus sighed. He pictured Helsreach once more for the nineteenth time this hour. It had been ages since he had seen its twisted but beautiful horizons. He missed the rivers of molten lava, he missed its one spire city, but most of all, he missed his daughter. She was probably nearing seven years old, but he wasn’t even sure anymore. It had been almost seven years since he left her, and four since his wife’s death. Antonia. He still remembered her name. It was his last words to his wife,
“She shall be named Antonia, in honour of her grandfather.” He remembered the long kiss they shared afterwards, and feeling his wife’s tears on his cheek. He could still remember how soft and fine her hands were…He felt himself tearing up himself, and he cast the thought from his mind. He would have to wait until he saw his angel. He had waited a seven years, he could wait another year or two. Sadly, his astropath intercepted a message, one that practically screamed ”HELP US”. Of course he would have to once again tell his Regiment that they were going into war once more. They were all veterans, and all of them longed to see their wives and world again. But they wouldn’t.
“Ben, relay the message again.” He spoke to his second in command, a veteran and dear friend of his. Ben stirred and groggily opened his eyes.
“Wawasdatsir?...” His breath stank like amasec, and Henri recoiled as it hit him. Unlike the General, Ben went straight to the Generals ‘Only in extreme occasion cabinet’, opened it, and proceeded to empty half of the bottles. Henri was not inclined to stop him. Different people reacted in different ways to this news such as this. Henri’s was to reminisce about what he wasn’t going to see, some would sit and mope, but the majority would get whatever alcohol they could find and drain it.
“I said, get the transmission up again.” Henri said it louder than before, and Ben slowly rose to his feet and sarcastically saluted his friend.
“Yessir, if you don’t mind me drinking more of your brilliant beverages you have procured the past years…” He stumbled towards the console in the middle of the room, then punched in a couple of numerals and fell backwards into his seat.
“(Static) Payne of Crion. We are under attack, (Static) Orks unifying. (Static) Separatist scum. (Static) Heretics. We are deserate, our PDF is incapable of defending against all these threats. Any Imperial forces in the area, we beg of you to come to our aid. Coordinates follow…”
“Crion. Agri-world, lost contact with the rest of the Imperium about 7 months ago. Guess we can’t turn down a request from another Govenor gakking his pants now can we?” Henri rested his head in his hands.
“We could pretend we never heard it…” Ben was still trying to find a way out of the engagemet, but he knew Henri was never going to turn it down.
“Want me to tell the Commissar what you said?” Henri tried hiding the urge to laugh out loud as he saw Ben’s reaction.
“Commissar? Oh no, I never said anything! DontbeperposterousIdontknowwhatyourtalkingabout.” He hurried out of the room, only to burst into laughter a few seconds later. The laughter went on for about a minute, and was indeed very contagious, as Henri felt himself slipping of his chair. He had no idea why either one of them was laughing so much, but he welcomed it. Ben stormed back into the room and clutched his side.
“It-It-it huwts!” He collapsed to the ground and rolled side to side, in agony, but still laughing. Henri sat and cried tears of joy, as it was somehow funny to watch his best friend in so much self-inflicted pain.
Commissar Kurt Van Feineish ran into the room with his bolt pistol drawn.
“Sir is everything…alright?” He raised his eyebrows at the sight of the two grown men rolling on the ground like school-children. “Sir?”
Henri nodded to Ben, who slowly reached up and replayed the message once more. The Commissars face dropped as he realised they were going back to war.
Ben looked up at Kurt, and, inbetween bouts of laughter managed to say “That ole’ Govenor gone and shat his pants, and Henri here is sending us off to smother his face with it.” He barely managed to finish the sentence before laughter once again consumed him, and surprisingly, Kurt began laughing. They both stopped to stare at the spectacle.
“Can-can he do that?” Henri gestured towards the laughing Commissar, this being the first time either of them had seen it.
IT’S A MIRACLE OF THE EMPEROR!” Ben exclaimed and threw his hands in the air, and, once again, the contagious laughter spread through the entire ship.

Several hours later, and even more empty bottles of alcohol later, the trio became serious.
“Now, how do we tell the troops?” Ben asked, with the occasional hiccup inbetween.
“We, do not. You tell the men.” Kurt chuckled.
“What?! Why me?” Ben painckedly looked around at the other two.
“Because, you drank about three quarters of my alcohol. And I have no idea what happened to whatever I didn’t take off you…” Henri wasn’t displeased with Ben, he was just making his life harder. Good old fashion fun he thought. “Ah don’t worry, I’ll tell them. They deserve to hear it from their Commander, not some second rate thug.” He looked at Ben, who, surprisingly, didn’t take the joke badly.
“A second rate thug would never be able to hold his stomach as well as me.” He joked back.
“The Imperium would never allow a second rate thug into the Guard.” The Commissar tried his best at joking, but his lack of experience meant that he would be the target of comebacks very ofter.
“Then why are you here Commie?” Ben’s head lulled back and forth, obviously blind drunk, but that did nothing to stem the reaction from Kurt, who rose and struck Ben with his Bolt pistol.
“That is considered treason, Major. I would shoot you right now had the General asked.” He leaned in closer to the stunned and bleeding Ben. “Know your place.” He reached out and pulled the man back up, who appeared to have sobered up after the blow.
“Yes…Yes Commissar…” Ben reached up to the cut above his eye, and winced at the pain.
“Now that that’s sorted…What shall I tell the men…” Henri once again began thinking of a speech to lift the troops’ spirit.

Henri stood on a podium in the hangar bay of the Hopilite, a Endevour class light cruiser. He gazed upon the faces of the assembled troops, all were weary, all wanted to go home. He had to shatter those dreams now. He would now see the men and women he had served with the past six years with cry, curse and hate him. But, it was necessary. They would forgive him in time.
“Men, Women, all of you have served with me all the way. We have faced Xenos, Greenskins, and even the Horrors of Chaos. And we prevailed against all odds.” A cheer went up from the crowd, and several helmets were flung into the air. “We prevailed, and we should be going home to our wifes, our children, and whatever else you are into!” Another cheer went up, and even more helmets were flung into the air. “But we are not.” The noise drained from the hangar, all eyes were on Henri now. “Our lovers’ beds shall once again remain empty for another year. We have, once again been summoned to another planet. Wracked by insurrection, a Greekskin uprising, and possible chaos ” He saw the eyes around him tear up. Their faces contorted into a look of anger, sadness, and confusion. He continued. “We have been once again requested to aid this world. We are to go there, squash the rebellion, purge the Greenskins off the face of the world, and then we will leave. We will go back to our lovers, and there we shall stay, Emperor willing. But for now, we do the Emperors will.” Silence. Henri closed his one remaining eye. “I miss my family as much as any of you do. But, we cannot forsake our souls in exchange for some time with our families. Now, set course for Crion. Send word of our arrival and make sure the PDF is ready. We’re going to take out our anger on them, along with the Xenos and Chaos that taint that Emperor forsaken world.” The crowd infront of him shifted. It was a simple mission, they would arrive, kill whatever Xeno they could find, train the PDF, and they would leave. Shouldn’t take more than a month or two. Henri didn’t know how wrong he was.

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 us
Stabbin' Skarboy

The banner of the inquisition stood before the gates of outpost Cain, under it an army. The guards on duty did not hesitate to open the gates for agents of the Inquisition, they knew better. They quickly summoned Watch Commander Malcom Grayson and the officer quickly rubbed the wrinkles out of his uniform and rushed to the front gate to greet their unexpected guests.

Randall was already giving orders to his men as they entered Fort Cain’s courtyard. “I want those melta charges taken to the armory right away, I want the Penal camps set up outside the walls by nightfall, and would someone please fetch me Warden Hoffman.” Randall quit his string of commands when he saw Commander Grayson approach. Randall smiled and extended his hand to the confused Commander “Ah you must be Commander Grayson; I compliment you on such a well maintained bastion.” Grayson sook the inquisitor’s hand “I am sorry Inquisitor you have me at quite the disadvantage, I never received word that we would be visited by a member of the holy inquisition.” Randall laughed “My apologies Commander, I am Inquisitor Garrett Randall of the Ordo Malleus. You needn’t feel worried about not expecting our arrival we sent no word. You see discretion is one of our many weapons. Also I am afraid we are more than just visiting.” Grayson raised an eyebrow “Oh?” Randall looked over his shoulder to Commissar Alenko and gestured for him. The Commissar nodded and stepped forward unrolling a scroll and began to read “Effective immediately by order of the Inquisition; This bastion and its garrison being of vital importance to the Emperor, is until further notice under the direct command of Inquisitor Garrett Randall. Your complete compliance and nondisclosure is required failure to meet these standards is tantamount to heresy. We thank you for your cooperation in advance.” Commander Grayson was attempting to wrap his head around what he just heard, “Did you just take command of my station and conscript me and my men into the Inquisition.” Randall spoke “To put it bluntly yes, though I prefer the term deputized over conscripted.”

Grayson shook his head he did not like this news “Inquisitor I welcome you as an ally but…” Grayson stopped speaking and began listening to his com bead. He put his hand to his headset and began speaking “Well sink it.” A moment pass “Well fire it again.” A longer moment pass “What in bloody feth do you mean they’re having no effect their wooden boats they can’t stand against our artillery.” Captain Kid shook her head “Sounds like trouble, I’ll ready the men.” Grayson began shouting “Well hit them with the bloody Storm Shard then!” Alenko spoke “Their getting close.”

A dozen massive long boats paddled through the water towards the island of Gin. Artillery rained upon them but they could not penetrate the kustom Mega Force Field that one of the ships emitted around the wooden armada. Black sails and red iconography of a boot looming over a brain marked them as being under the command of Mad Dok Kavorkoz Da Pain Boss. Soon enough they were on the shore of Gin and the boarding ramps hit the beach, hundreds of ork boyz began charging for the out post, with wild and feral intention.

Commissar Alenko watched as the Inquisitorial Storm troopers, Penal legionaries, and PDF troopers formed ranks upon the bulwark of the out post. Alenko raised his saber and brought it down shouting “First rank fire, second rank fire.” Orks fell but the feral leapt over their fallen brothers and continued their war path toward the out post. The orks were only a few feet away from the gate, they charged with extra fury seeing their prize uncontested. Then in a flash of light Elevin heavily armored figures stood before them. Paladin Utilitarius raised his nemesis force Halberd and roared “For the Emperor.” The ten grey knight terminators returned the call and began unleashing their wrist mounted storm bolters upon the tide of green skins. The ork ranks nearly halved before they reached the Grey knights. The bladed battle between the orks and grey knights did not last for long. Dozens of orks fell as they met the force charged halberds of the Sons of Titans. Soon enough the green skins took enough losses to break their mob mentality. The survivors began hurrying back to their massive long ships, all the while taking more fire from the guards and battery mounted Storm Shard mortars. With the enemy gone the silver clad champions were away in another flash of the eye.

Commander Grayson looked to Commissar Alenko and asked “Who in the Emperor’s name were they.” Alenko looked over to the Captain and spoke “Remember that part about nondisclosure, that goes double for them. I suggest you forget about them Commander or the inquisition will make you forget, or worse.” Grayson nodded and watched as Randall approached. Garrett spoke holstering his plasma pistol “Now commander what was it you were saying before we were so rudely interrupted.” Grayson got to one knee and spoke “My men and my fortress are at your disposal Inquisitor.” Randall smiled “Good, I was worried I’d be forced to promote Lieutenant Gonzaga to watch commander.” Grayson forced a smile, he wasn’t entirely sure if the inquisitor was joking.

Inquistor Randall has made it to Luna Epsilon and they get a good warm up against some of Dok Kavorkoz's orks before heading off to go fight some chaos.

This message was edited 2 times. Last update was at 2016/04/11 07:48:48

Made in us
Regular Dakkanaut

The forest grew weary as the cannibalization of the hulk shard increased. The red glow of metal burned though the night as more of the village orks worked the line, eager to work for the promised reward of their very own set of iron armor, weapons, and a chance to conquer more land. Gort BadStomp stood on a makeshift lookout post above the work line and barked orders at the orks below. His hands, rendered useless after his incident at the duel, were now replaced with crude metal claws. They were a “gift” from Hannibal, along with a stinging reminder of what had happened before when the last time he attempted to kill Hannibal with his own weapon. Gort grudgingly went along with it. An ork without the use of his hands was of no use to any of the other tribes, and Hannibal was fond of using his loud mouth to keep the other orks in line. Gort decided that revenge over lost limbs would wait until a more opportune moment, and so he kept himself occupied by bellowing orders at the orks below.

Hannibal sat in his hut surrounded by metal plates. His dirt floor was gouged and scraped as the mek sketched hundreds of new inventions in the dust with his claw. A pounding came from his door, pulling him away from his newest design. Opening the door, Hannibal was greeted by one of vagabond commandos, covered in camouflage stripes and holding a metal javelin by his side. Hannibal waved him inside and sat down.

“You gots word from Guts? What’s tha’ Skull Eata’ camp like?”

“It’z big boss. Real big.” The commando began, sketching the outline of the fortress out in a pocket of unmarked dirt floor, poking points of interest with his javelin as he continued. “ ‘Dey gots metal bunkers, an’ lots’a boys with shootas an’ some real big shootas in towers all along ‘ere, an’ ‘ere.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed. “Shootas? How in mork’s name did ‘dey get all ‘dem shootas? Did tha’ metal comet hit ‘dere?”

“We didn’t see no metal comet frags, boss. But we did see somefink real intrestin’.” The commando leaned in closer, daring not to say it too loud. “Offworld’a greenskins.”

Hannibal leaned backwards, the spite in the commando’s voice was reflected in the mek’s face. Off-worlders here and now was bad timing for the Iron Horde. They needed to gather up more orks and boost their numbers, but an off-world boss would never willingly take orders from a feral ork, iron or no iron. Hannibal thought for a moment, studying the fortress sketch before finally looking at the commando again.

“Report back ta’ Guts. Tell ‘em ta’ see if we’z got a clearin’ near tha’ fortress. No less than five hundred squiggoths away, but don’ go more than’ a thousan’ away. An’ don’ get spotted by tha’ skull eata’s, gots it? We needs ta’ make sure dey’ don’ thin’ we’z a threat yet.”

The commando nodded, turned around, and walked out the door without a sound, a surprising feat, for a greenskin. Hannibal turned back to the floor, studying the fortress for a moment more before using his boot to scuff out some of his less favorable sketches. Humming a drinking tune to himself, Hannibal began to sketch again, and made a mental note to order the stockpiling of more squig oil when he was done.

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

Hidden in the trees, Guts looked down at the ever thickening patrols, his mechanical eye piercing straight though the night, and giving him a good view. Guts and his commandos had searched for a clearing, but it seemed the patrols where almost as thick as the jungle. Skull Eaters armed with boom sticks and off worlders armed with shootas showed up at every turn, and the team had to stop for fear of being detected more times than it was able to move on. As the last greenskin slipped out of view, Guts let out a sigh and shook his head.

“Das it boyz. We’z ‘eadin’ back.” Guts said, his hushed voice low in defeat.

“But boss, ain’t we supposed ta’ find a’ clearin’?”

“If ‘dere iz a clearin’ it, ain’t worth findin’. At tha’ rate we’z goin’, we’z gunna get found long before we finds any clearin’. An’ some clearin’ ain’t worth tradin’ our surprise for.”

“If you sayz so boss. But yer’ tellin’ tha’ big boss about it…”

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

Guts’ commandos braced themselves for the inevitable tantrum. It started as soon as they entered the Iron Horde’s turf, and their fears only worsened the closer they walked to Hannibal’s hut. Once they were in front of Hannibal himself, their muscles tensed and knotted as they readied themselves to run away at a moment’s notice. At the same time, however, they could not help but want to watch, certain of the torrential tantrum that would soon follow. Thus, they stood, ready to leap at the first sign of anger, but helpless to do anything but watch as Guts explained the situation. When he finished, Hannibal stayed still, only the hammering of iron and the grinding of teeth could be heard in the silence.

“Tha’ Skull Eata patrols didn’ have any shootas?” Hannibal asked, his eyes directly locked onto Guts’.

“Jus’ boom sticks, boss.”

“An’ yer sure ‘dey didn’ see ya?”

“We got out clean, boss.”

“Good, ‘den ‘dey don’ know we’z still eyeballin’ ‘dem. Get some more supplies ‘an patrol tha’ border. An’ grab Ace an’ his blackbloods while yer’ at it. We don’ wan’ tha’ skull eata’s or tha’ off worlder’s gettin’ any funny ideas before we’z ready.”

Guts turned and left, his commandos standing still a few moments longer before awkwardly following suit, unsure of what exactly happened, and waiting until they safely left the hut before muttering to themselves about Hannibal’s lack of reaction. Hannibal let them mutter, he was busy reshaping his mental plans. The clearing plan did not work out, but there were many other plots and schemes swirling in Hannibal’s mind. Perhaps this was for the best, he thought. The fact that the off world orks did not seem to share their technology with the Skull Eaters brought to mind a new scheme, one that may end in more surviving orks. And Hannibal needed as many orks as he could get for the Iron Horde to grow. If convinced to join the Horde, space orks could be valuable. His tribe was eager and willing to fight, but many of their minds proved too primitive for any weapon that was more complex than ‘point and shoot.’

And so he sat for hours, carefully inspecting each plan and calculating each possibility before he finally stood, a new plan in his mind and a gleam in his eye.

A few minor victories/minor defeat in reconnaissance of the Skull Eaters. And Hannibal has been busy making things.

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
Keeper of the Holy Orb of Antioch

avoiding the lorax on Crion

Trickster departs.

“Isles of Pratt, they not far off according to the maps we where suplied on the moon and nearby cities” Conan was sat in his office, Battle leader ment paperwork and even space wolves needed admin. “Aye floki. Easy flight, well within the range of a sormfang or stormwolf, ready your gear, depart soon as your fueled and there's a spare slot in the pattern”

“Conan you owe me one after this, try not to kill any contact reports! “ Floki relaxed, he was a senior wolf guard and easily had the rank and vetrancy to handle a meet and greet type job. But was conan sending him for a reason he did not know?

Wolf base

Volund was supervising the restoration of the space port and it's repairs, so much work to do and the hangers where's being repaired but days off weather tight, Radar was online and outer auto guns had power suplies now stable with the secondary grid working.

“So much fething work” grumbling ,two days straight work on the base by serf teams working in shifts where tired, hu!and could only keep the rate and secdule up before they made mistakes and would need to be swapped out. “Agmar tell team 12 to take a hour to rest, one nearly fell off a roof and another nearly broke a leg, swap with 11, run way is running ahead of plans and we need not waste lives”

“Aye my lord, il see to it” Nodding to Yarl Agmar, human but he knew his job well and was very good at it. Well not quite human he had passes selection and would of made a good space marine, yet fate had a different plan and he still served with honour. Yarl agmar headed to Jeep like buggy to take him to the chomand post, why he forgot to bring a vox man? The Jeeps vox was on the blink again, scavenged off the base they where junk when new and few decades of sitting in a garage had not helped, still beat walking.

To Pratt isles

The sea was stormy below as the gunship flew out towards the Pratt islands, nor roomy with its massive hell frost cannon, and missile pods but was fast and floki was not one to waste time flying a slow craft. Reading the digital map, one hour left on the flight despite the driving rain, in some ways this world reminded him of home as below a great group of sea borne animals broke the surface to breathe. Not quite a great kraken but one would still make a great feast on its own.

“Up 500 feet, get us over that stormline” a order met by a beep from the servitor auto controls, if it came to real flying Floki could fly this machine in far worse condition and weather without issue. Feneris wass a harsh planet but it's storms made ood training that few planets could ever match.

“This is claw Delta Charlie bound for the isles of Pratt, require permission to land on terms of parlay” Floki waited until the vox crackled and replied. “ claw delta Charlie, permission granted, pad sectus 9, welcome to the isles of Pratt. “

The landing was easy, the powerful engines were not fazed by the high winds and storm landing perfectly on the pad without trouble. Floki stepped down from the cockpit of his gunship into a stormy evening whilst a Marline escorted by a gleaming guard of escorts waited for him. They had more time to plan than they made out.

“Veteran Ardar, Emperors Hounds. Excuse the Captain, away at the event. I'm next full senior” A long scar across his face told of a past experience but the face was still welcoming to the spacee wolf. “Floki, wolf guard of Ulfric storm claw, my Lord too is away at the events, guess it's up to us to work this out. “

Taking in the space wolf. Twin lighting claws and a little shorter but had a sharp look about him that his blades where not the only sharpened weapon. This marine could be worked with and was not the idiot the chapter where made out to be by some. Next to him Emyr stood silent bearing sword and shield with his helmet secured revealing jet black hair and a oddly for the hounds clean shaven. “Excuse my guard he is always the quiet one but in security we all need a man we can trust”

With a exchange of nods the marines made there way to the chomand bunkers at the centre of the base and saluting the guards at the door leading down to the cool fortified levels where the chapter had made its home. The meeting chamber was Spartan but we'll equipped and hospitable. “So. MY bearded brothers outr chapters have rarely met, but the Wolves reputation proceeds you” “aye and yours to us, your chapters history is not as long but still worthy of telling and some strong reference to fearsome hounds of war, one day have to match one in test vs a Ferrasian wolf”

Ardar was laughing, the wolves seemed the type he could work with “aye but no cheating, people know of those legendary wolves the size of a rhino who stalk your planet. May be less fair “

Negotiations took a few hours to iron everything out between the two chapters and there respective members but left on good terms. “ aye see you at our mead hall, we always knows how to entertain a mighty feast of legends.. Grim joy welcomes your chapter “ climbing into the gunship Floki took control as the storm had picked up, this may just be a interesting flighty he thought as the gunship rose and took off into the brunt of the storm front he passed earlier now fully engaged and powerful. “This is floki, mission success over”

High queen moria placed the wax seal upon the terms of truce and alliance for the hounds, one chapter was useful, two more so. Marines where hard to sway however and take careful work. But a knight house was a might force to have at your side and her house would need allies. Floki handed the scroll to the hounds and passed on the loyal message to the hounds from house valorn, they would read and view it carefully go weigh its value.

Floki arrived back to watch the blood eagle leaving for the feast at the mansion, its bigger size was proving far more steady in the storms heart. Knowing Ulfric he would make a clear statement and maybe not go down well with the overly sensitive nobility, inquisition too, there presence was not entirely confirmed but the signs where obvious.

After the banquet (post chunk, due to timing this is two weeks work in one chunk)

Floki groaned from the pain of the shattered shoulder, not serious and he had survived worse but would have him off front line duty for a while. “Fething ork feels like I got shot all over again” Ulfric Storm claw looked on as conan applied the basic medical aid till they got back to grimjoy. “Locked the armour and sealed it to keep it steady till we can patch you up floki, im a wolf guards not a wolf preist. “ “conan, get security upgraded at our base, if they have the guts to attack there they could hit anywhere. Use whatever you need to. “ “aye lord storm claw I will get us secured, the northern bastian we can rebuild with time” Ulfric nodded his approval to the plan and sat in contemplation of the events and lords present. The knights would fly home once they had filed there reports with the inquisition.

Shocked by recent events, the party, its security and the orks managed to do so much damage. Yarl agmar was angry at the failings, angry at conplacancy and idiots. The knights where UN armed yet held there own vs the orks whose primal power and lack of fear was a potant combination.

Amanda valorn was looking down at her bronze armour now splattered with streaks of both red and green blood from the attack. The sword was clean and perfect as ever the power field never left a dirty blade, the sword, her oath. Maybe she should take Agmar up on that drink at the hall, could not be a worse idea than the chomando raided party, least her oath to defend her queen had been proven and set in blood, but blood was not just green but red.

Meanwhile sertf crews worked to rebuild the northern bastion section of the outer wall and others toiled to get the last few hangers secured as a powerful storm was incoming and the knights armsmen had been moaning of wet hangers and tools. They would of dphad a shock on feneris, this was every day weather on the coast. “Powerful one boss, cancelling all remaining flights out there” a vox oporator informed a senior serf “aye OK. Tell the crews to hurry on the Bastian north, I don't want to lose work or lives. Pull team 10 off break water by 17.00 at latest, teams 20-32, get the the control tower water tight asap, storm shutters if we can, boarding if not. “ taking to the order, the box crew began to issue orders to relavent teams. “Aye sir, all done, even braced though the outer bastian will have it rough. Yarl agmar already informed grey hunter sqaud dark wolves are pulling duty there tonight when it's at worst”


Ok so yes put of sync. It's a older chunk and newer.
But finally done.

Sgt. Vanden - OOC Hey, that was your doing. I didn't choose to fly in the "Dongerprise'.

"May the odds be ever in your favour"

Hybrid Son Of Oxayotl wrote:
I have no clue how Dakka's moderation work. I expect it involves throwing a lot of d100 and looking at many random tables.

FudgeDumper - It could be that you are just so uncomfortable with the idea of your chapters primarch having his way with a docile tyranid spore cyst, that you must deny they have any feelings at all.  
Made in us
Ultramarine Master with Gauntlets of Macragge

What's left of Cadia

Woten, Moon #1

Falkon walked around the massive form of the Knight Atrapos and winced as he gazed upon the vicious scars, gashes, and dents that had been left by House Valorn’s encounters with the feral orks of this dirt ball. While the damages to the House’s Knights wasn’t severe, it was still bad enough that it would take several days of repairs by the House’s Sacristans to restore them to prime fighting shape, which meant that the armsmen of Valorn had to step up to the plate. The enemies of Man would not wait, so neither could House Valorn. Queen Moira had already sent him a message, asking him to set a meeting with Wolf Lord Stormclaw so that he and the Lord could discuss how to deal with the Feral Ork problems on this moon. He glanced again at the damaged Knight and sighed. Despite all their training the Knights still had precious little actual combat experience, and it stood out to Falkon’s trained eyes. He and his fellow armsmen had reviewed the footage collected by the Knight’s onboard cameras in an attempt to learn how to best fight alongside the massive Knights, and despite the fact that the Scions worked well together, Falkon could still see all the little mistakes they made. A momentary pause here, a slightly too slow reaction there, to a Knight these didn’t mean all that much, but to anyone on the ground such things might mean death. Falkon sighed and clenched his power fist at his side as he completed his inspection. He would pass along the damage report to the Sacristans and then he needed to go talk to Sera about altering the Knight’s training routines, and the thought of talking to Sera made him blush for some reason. The two of them had been close ever since he had come to find himself in Valorn’s service a few years ago, but it was only recently that he found himself examining every encounter he had with her. He sighed and shook his head, he wasn’t going to examine his feelings right now, if ever, he had his duty to attend to. He just hoped that his duty kept him as far away from the Scions of the 85th as possible. While officially the Imperials who had fallen during what he referred to as the “betrayal” had been killed by enemy fire, Falkon and a select few others amongst the Valorn armsmen knew the truth. They had been betrayed, and Falkon wasn’t sure that he would be able to control himself if he got too close to those treacherous Scions again. He clenched his fists at his side again until his anger subsided. Maybe that was why he got along so well with the surviving Scions of Valorn, both of them had suffered terribly at the hands of traitors. With that thought he turned on his heel and began walking back towards the impromptu barracks that had been set up for his fellow armsmen in the city.

Just some proof that I'm not dead. Just rather busy.

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2016/04/12 00:40:24

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
Master Shaper

Gargant Hunting

"Weez all gonna go a lootin'!
A lootin' weez 'ill go!
Nuttin'z gonna stop us!
Cause weez of BadToof an' wherever we go,
Skulls are cracked and loot iz towed!
Off to Gorehound's base we go!"

Gorgrim belched out a laugh, and fired his gun in the air, making enough noise to be heard over the roar of trukks. Snickering at the sudden noise, Grizby clambered up onto the trukk's dashboard, fiddling with a knife of bone in his hands. "Weze gonna get him good dis time, boss. Den youz kan have all dat scrap." Grizby said, looking up from his knife.

Gorgrim pounded a fist into the trukk, "I already know dat. But dis feral git is 'ard. But he ain't 'ard enuff. Not when we play tug of war wif him an' da trukks." Grizby snickered at the thought, and nodded enthusiastically. Getting to Gorehound's settlement wasn't hard, and neither was ramming his trukk though it's gates, dragging several orks underneath his tires as he charged forwards. The other trukks followed suit, and buildings and walls were crushed underneath their orky treads.

Gorgrim leapt out of the trukk, firing his skorcha into a group of grots that had rushed forwards, aiming to loot his trukk. Laughing, he yelled out "Fore!" And sent the last grot's head flying into a wall when he swung his thunda hammer into its terrified green face.

"An' don't ya grotz forget dat I'm in charge!" Gorgrim laughed, and loped forwards, hearing the heavy thumps of his nobz close behind him. Gorgrim had only spent a few minutes to find Gorehound, and the two circled each other, sizing up the other warboss. Both warbosses sheathed there weapons, preparing to beat the other into submission with nothing but their bare hands. "Ya still don't look dat big, Gorgit." Gorehound laughed, and lunged forwards, sending an uppercut at Gorgrim. Grabbing the feral warboss' wrist, he sent the fist downwards, making da Cook stumble forwards, and into Gorgrim's other waiting fist. There was a collective groan from Gorehound's gathering of nobz, and jeers and laughter from Gorgrim's. A kick into Gorgrim's leg ended their laughter, and Gorgrim felt his head collide with the ground. Before he could move, Gorehound was on top of him, punching into Gorgrim's head repeatedly with the weight of a mountain behind each hit.

"Zog. Off!" Gorgrim roared, and shoved the ork behind him, and tried to ignore that he felt several of his own teef missing. Taking several steps back, Gorgrim let Gorehound come to him, and sidestepped his lunge before stomping on the feral's chest. Laughing through coughs of blood, Gorehound grabbed Gorgrim's leg, and pushed upwards, sending BadToof stumbling over himself backwards. Again, da Cook came at Gorgrim, and he felt his side tear open as Gorehound swung at him.

"Dats a knife, ya cheatin' pansy!" One of Gorgrim's boys yelled, and soon the rest of the nobz were hollering and chanting, laughing and protesting the lack honor at the duel.

"No cheata' will be my boss!" One nob yelled.

"Dats how Mork would want it! Stab 'im again!" Another jeered.

The arguments came to blows, and Gorehound and Gorgrim found themselves in the middle of an all out fist fight. The pair never lost sight of each other, and traded blows in the middle of the sea of fighting orks. "Look out boss!" Gorgrim tore his eyes away from his opponent to see Glotzinga running towards him, his whirlagig soaked in blood, waving his arms and pointing towards an oncoming trukk. Gorgrim's trukk. It was a flaming wreck, and it plowed through the massive mosh pit and promptly exploded, sending limb and scrap in every direction.

Gorgrim staggered away, covered in blood and soot. "Me trukk. Da Smasha of Gork is gone!" He groaned, ignoring the burn marks across himself. Gorgrim heard fighting in the distance, but none close to him. The warboss knew that either he was the lone survivor of the crash, or the others had limped away, trying to clear as much distance as they could from the smoking ruins. And as much as it pained Gorgrim to admit it, Gorehound was too 'ard to die in that explosion. "But he ain't 'ard enuff for me." BadToof growled.

"Boss! Boss! Over here! I found somefink!" Gorgrim sluggishly turned his head, hearing a shrill voice. Grizby? He wondered, and a rock flew and hit him in the nose. Roaring in protest, he bounded forwards, only to find Grizby sitting on part of a broken war trak, throwing an apple into the air before catching it. Shaking his head, he throttled the grot, and picked him and and set Grizby on his shoulder.

"What do you want, you zogger?" Gorgrim rumbled.

"I found somefink. It's dat way!" Grizby said excitedly, entirely uncaring about Gorgrim's punch.

"Don't tell me where to go! I'm going dis way!" Gorgrim announced, drawing his weapons and heading in the direction Grizby pointed to. It didn't take long to find what got Grizby so excited, and even less time to hear it. Ork bones were being snapped, gunshots and rockets were being fired, and there came a deep, booming, metallic, yet also orky, laugh in the midst of it all.

"Dat's a Gorkin' deff dread!" Gorgrim said, and realized it was fighting Gorehound's orks, not his own. "An' it's on my side!" With that, he gave a cry of Waaaaagh and charged forwards, gunning down orks and hammering into their skulls.

"Who'ze you?" The deff dread rumbled, shearing another ork in half.

"Gorgrim BadToof, now, who are you?" Gorgrim demanded, shoving the barrel of his gun into an ork's eye before priming his skorcha.

"Killrod Deff 'Ead" it stated blankly, "an' I ain't no Killa Kan." With that, it simply charged forwards, smashing the final ork in the mob into paste before turning to Gorgrim.

"Gorgrim. You'ze fight good. Dat Gorehound boy ain't a boss. You is." Killrod said, his weapons moving idly around. Gorgrim grinned, liking where this was going.

"Come wif me, weze are gonna go back to me camp, get some dakka, and smash dis place ta bits. Loot it all."

"All?" Killrod said. "Let's go."

Gorgrim let out a belch of laughter, and throttled Grizby again, cutting off his statement of "I told ya so, boss."

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2016/04/20 01:45:24

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
Stabbin' Skarboy

The streets of Cogger hive were filled with an unholy silence, the air was thick and reeked of blood, the only lights in the underbelly of the hive were stray vehicle fire and the las gun mounted holo lights of the troopers of 4892nd penal legion.

Arbitrator Halouck looked at the Auspex scanner implemented to his wrist. The small wrist mounted computer was the Arbitrator’s best means of keeping his charges in line as with a few simple button presses an arbitrator could detonate the collar of any of the prisoners under his command. Should an arbitrator die in the field command of his squad would transfer to another Arbitrator. Should the fight seem beyond hope an arbitrator might detonate the collars of his charges to ensure the enemy can not extract any information from them. However, this level security came at a cost as it was not unheard of bomb collars to detonate by mistake after being hit by a lucky bullet, or the collar’s anti removal feature might be trigger if a prisoner moves in an odd fashion. Still for all its flaws it ensured that the convicts were well behaved, well at least when near the watchmen was near.

3434 felt over encumbered by the darkness of this place, it reminded him too much of home. He watched 1597 advanced up the street with his las gun aimed forward. He took cover behind an advertisement display then waved the rest of the squad forward. They had been at this scouting for hours and had come into contact with nothing. From the looks of the place there had clearly been a war here, las burns and bullet scars on the walls and casings on the floor. 34 saw no one and heard nothing but still he could shake the feeling that he was being watched. The squad of convicts had reached their destination a small abandoned house.

An actual home in a hive is rather uncommon as most common under hivers lived in the massive hab block tenements, but this was once the abode of a priest of the Ecclesiarchy and he was afforded this luxury. This holy man’s house was to be outpost five of twelve to provide recon ahead of the rest of the inquisitorial forces, they would rejoin the main force once they began the operation to purge the hive.

1597 kicked the rotting wooden door open and 22 heavy boots came storming in checking everywhere for contacts. Arbitrator Halouk checked his scanner again before declaing the house to be clear. The arbiter began “3434 and 0351 you two have first watch the rest of you rest up.” Halouck heard a call on his micro bead, “Sir I think you should get a look at this.” Halouck headed upstairs to where 7387 had called him. As he entered the door he saw the back of the prisoner in front of him was an alter. 7387 with a grim look upon his face moved to unobscured the guard’s view. The stone table was a horrid sight, carved with chaos stars and coated in dry blood. But above the sacrificial alter hung 8 grizzly visages, and though without eyes could peer through souls of those who looked upon them. Halouck pressed at his com bead “5219 bring the flamer.”
Made in gb
Ancient Ultramarine Venerable Dreadnought


Sunstrike Cadre moved on quickly from Nogrod's annihilation. The cadre had suffered very little casualties in the final battle, and the feral ork warband was destroyed. Sunstrike Cadre annexed their fortified lines out to cover the Blood Dragon ruins, with Fio'El Mirrorstone leading the archeological dig crews. Shas'O Skyhunter left the Tau to her own devices, and rallied the rest of Sunstrike Cadre.

Three strikeforces were assembled, tasked with investigating some of the key locations and notable sites Shadowbrand had scouted.
Closest of the three was a minor human hive on Indo-Cambria's west coast. Ros Hannoi, as the city was called, was the only real hive on Indo-Cambria, and would make a useful staging post for Sunstrike Cadre to solidify their survival on Crion. Skyhunter had made this clear - if Sunstrike were to hold onto their land, they would need to win over some natives and insert themselves into the Crionian society. 1st Reconnaissance Cadre, under Shas'vre Ghostwalk's command, had been tasked with establishing a beachhead and relaying data to the rest of Sunstrike.

The other location was far isolated from any other sites too. Shadowbrand had spoken of undersea cities, dwelling leagues under the sea surface. One of these cities, known as AHC-02, lay off of Kalhoon's coast. More protection from retribution Tau fleets or angry Imperials would be welcomed. To this end, Gue'vesa'El Vandred and his elite would be tasked with infiltrating and securing the entrance to the city, via hijacked Imperial bathyscaphes.

The third prong was the most hazardous. Far away, on the main Crionian landmass, Shadowbrand had reported numerous fortified points, fortresses and coastal defences. Black Water Bastion was one of the most infamous of these, and massive amounts of troops had been diverted to it. A perfect target - slow and single minded. Shas'O Skyhunter would lead a small kill team of Crisis and Broadside suits and one of the cadre's Riptide suits. Shadowbrand would accompany the elite team, alongside a team of her own Stealth suit veterans. They would have to lay low immediately.

In a manner of days, all three taskforces had departed from Cadre Command, leaving the bulk of Sunstrike under the command of Sub-Commanders Mirrorstone and Darkspear, with orders to hold at all costs.

Taskforce Alpha - Shas'vre Ghostwalk
The team's Orcas had landed just off the coast itself, with the frothy spume at their backs. Shas'ui Tsa'lan had hopped up the cliffside, with her full team of Pathfinders at her side. Harland and Ghostwalk were covering the squad from the base of the rocky slope. The Shas'vre had eschewed his Ghostkeel suit for the mission, this time clad in XV25 Stealth suit plate. His fusion blaster was unpowered, but his markerlight swept across the nighttime sky. His voice sounded in Tsa'lan's ear.
"Hold. Searchlight on your left. Find cover."

"There!" Harland lit up an opening in the rock face. The waypoint lit up on Tsa'lan's HUD, and she began to scurry to the tunnel.
No sooner had her men piled into the tunnel than a harsh, burning light swept across the mouth of it. The light kept moving, unaware of the Tau under it. One of Tsa'lan's Shas'la called her over. He was tapping against the end of the tunnel. His knuckle elicited a sharp metallic ringing. A hatchway. She grinned and raised a hand to her headset.

"Shas'vre - we've found a way in."

Two silenced blasts from Ghostwalk's fusion blaster turned the bulwark into molten slag, and the recon team proceeded into the tunnels. Judging from the fecund waste around their ankles and putrid stench swirling around their suits, this was a sewage network. They had swept the dank warrens for about half an hour before they made their first contact. Two sewage workers, toting flamethrowers and eradicating a sub-chamber of some kind of filth. The breathy hiss of their flamers and the amber glow of their fire could be noticed from all the way down.
Ghostwalk nudged Tsa'lan.
"Shas'ui, clear the way." She raised her pulse carbine halfway before Vandred stopped her.

"Wait. Let me speak to them and see if we can find a safehouse in the city."

Ghostwalk growled in frustration. "Human, you are at risk of jeopardising the entire operation. If this backfires on you, you will suffer for it."

"Understood, Shas'vre." Harland muttered. "Right, Terral and Ahzair, come with me. Remove your helms and strip off your main armour plates." All three of the humans stripped down to their fatigues, bereft of their few armoured plates, and waded towards the sewage workers.
"Hail, friends!"
Harland's voice echoed through the tunnels. The two workers halted, and turned their guns on the three Pathfinders. Ghostwalk indicated for one of the railgun bearers to prepare a shot.

"What? Who are you? Why are you down here?" The first worker blurted out. "This is a contaminated zone!"

"We got lost, about three days ago," Harland blathered. "We've been waiting for someone to come and get us since!"

"Oh yeah?" said the second. "Why were you down here?"

Ahzair took over. "We were out for that bounty on them orks. Couldn't find none."

"And what would you kill them with, eh?" The flamers hissed menacingly. Harland moaned internally, and pulled out his bonding knife. His comrades did the same. He handed them to the workers. The turned the blades over in their hand. "Say, where did you get these? These look awfully like their from-"

"Ultramar!" stammered Harland. "From Sotha, believe it or not. We're bounty hunters, you see."

"Why didn't you say so!" The worker burst into laughing. "That would explain your accent as well." Harland baulked - he had forgotten his developed Tau accent. He masked over it with a smile. Judging from Azhair and Terral's expressions, they had too.

"You do seem to like those knives there." Harland pointed out. The workers nodded, running the blades over their palms. Harland knew that to give up one's bonding knife was a grave sin, but pragmatism took over. "You know, we've actually missed the rent on our accommodation by now. If we gave you those knives, you wouldn't be able to put us up somewhere, would you? Purely temporarily, of course."

One worker turned to the other. "Actually, we were just talking about a small property my in-laws left behind. Killed in the tunnels or something, I don't know. Instead of writing it off, I'm sure you fellers could hole up in there. I've got the key right here, just take the tunnel left behind you, take the right turn, and the entrance is above you. The city should be asleep, most of our Arbites are patrolling the coastal front. They think they found something, you know?"
Harland gave a quizzical expression, and motioned for the worker to continue. "Of course, it's two streets down, past the Statue of the Angel Sanguine, and take the left alley. Number 21, I think."

"Thank you for that, friend," Harland shook his hand, as per human custom. "You have no idea how grateful we are."

Taskforce Sigma - Gue'vesa'El Vandred
"Ready weapons!" Vandred's voice bounced around the interior of the massive brass sphere.

Vandred's detachment was rapidly descending through the water, moving further and further away from the sun. The initial insertion had gone well, with Vandred's Orca hovering above the floating dock and disgorging two Breacher teams and some Pathfinders. The few dock workers were no match for the Tau soldiers, and their bodies were tossed overboard. Claret liquid oozed out into the ocean.

The three squads clambered into the bathyscaphes and plummeted through the bloody water. Through the reinforced pexi-glass window, Vandred could see AHC-02. Bioluminescent bacteria swarmed in nutrient cages, illuminating the outer dome. Kelp farms and geo-thermal vent stations sprawled out of the main structure, forming a vast network of structures on the ocean floor. The bathyscaphes drifted on their logic engines, with automated servitor pilots directing the brass orbs through the silvery water. Docking clamps engaged, and the craft began depressurising. Vandred whipped out his pulse pistol and power sword, and prepared for heavy resistance.
The lock hissed open. The Breachers' fingers clamped on their triggers.
The hatch swung open.


Air swept between the two rooms, and the Tau spilled out into the empty hallway.
"Spread out, lock down a beachhead." Vandred barked orders as he strode over to some form of console. "Fio'Ui Jul'tan, see what you can find."
Vandred's Earth Caste assistant withdrew a drone from his pack, and began tapping across the surface of the panel. After a few taps, Jul'tan punched the metal, and pulled off the panel, revealing a multitude of wires and gas tubes. His drone swept in, and spread a mass of mechadendrites over the wires. In a matter of seconds, a screen above Vandred lit up.

Several dozen live footage images popped up. They showed one of two things - empty streets and blowing debris, or furious battle scenes. Both forces were human, blasting down fire lanes and behind makeshift barricades at eachother. Vandred's helmet AI scanned some of the fighters. Their suits had a match to data Shadowbrand had found out earlier.
The Tillers.
The loyal elements of the Governor's troops were repelling the rebel Tillers, but both sides were running out of ammunition. Lasgun packs were being depleted faster than they could recharge, and many soldiers were blasting down the bullet-strewn streets with antique slug-throwers and carbines. The flames of Molotov cocktails and other firebombs still fanned the heat of the war. Vandred grinned under his helm.

"Keep your heads down. Pathfinders, spread out and find a place for us to lay low." The dozen scouts dispersed into the depths of AHC-02. Vandred turned to his assistant. "Jul'tan, contact Cadre Command. Tell them to muster all of their own weapon stock and prepare it for delivery."

Taskforce Ultra - Shas'O Skyhunter
Skyhunter hunkered down close to the edge of the crops. Black Water Bastion's guns had remained levelled at Indo-Cambria, waiting for more ork invaders. They'd never thought to look up. Skyhunter's taskforce had dropped from high altitude, before activating their retro-thrusters and plummeting into a nearby field. In the dead of night, the Crisis Suits were nigh undetectable. Behind the Shas'O's vanguard, two Broadside suits and a Riptide had been abandoned, their pilots remotely sweeping the area with their marker drones. Skyhunter whispered into the team comm channel.

"Anything to report?"

"No patrols, commander. Just a small farmstead up ahead, inhabited. An elderly Gue male."

"Do they pose a threat?"

"No, commander. Permission to mark for shot?"

Skyhunter increased his magnification, and watched the farmer squatting outside his house. He was old, sending up plumes of smoke from a worn pipe. Next to the house, a large barn stood forlorn. Judging from what he could see, he reckoned it would be able to hide the deactivated Riptide suit until was needed, and from unwanted Imperial patrols. It was only a matter of taking the barn for themselves.
Skyhunter looked again at the old man. They could kill him easily. A fusion blast would incinerate him, leaving nothing but ash on the wind. No Imperials would ever know, nor would they care about the fate of an old man a mile out from their fortress walls. They never looked out for their own. It would be so easy.


Skyhunter rose up from the crop and flew silently towards the man. His thrusters, silent as the wind, held him mere feet above the earth, carrying the commander aloft on the air. The man never noticed, until Skyhunter's feet clattered onto the wooden decking. The man spun around, and regarded the flat black flanks of Skyhunter's Crisis suit. His face dropped, but his eyes maintained contact with the suit.

"Have you come to kill me, creature of darkness?" His voice was cracked, ancient.

Skyhunter's voice was hard, forged of steel and iridium. "Not necessarily. We mean you no immediate threat."

"Then what is it? Speak, and let this be over with."

"I want your co-operation."

"My land, ain't it? Everyone wants my land. The soldiers outside, always demandin' my tithe be increased. Comin' in and takin' my food off my table. Stealin' bad crops, and blamin' me when it makes 'em puke." He sighed. "I ain't got nothin' left for you, creature. So you may as well kill me now."

"We're not after your land. And if you help us, no human will be asking for your crops any more. We have come to liberate you."
The man tottered to his feet and gave a salute to Skyhunter. The Tau gave a bow of respect and gratitude. In the moonlight, Skyhunter could see silvered streaks falling down the man's face.
"We'll help with your crops. Just let us hide in your barn there, and forget about us. Your crops will be cleared by the morning. No-one will bother you again. On that, I swear."
Made in de
Shrieking Traitor Sentinel Pilot


“Throne!” Commander Kass shook his head, tossing the data-reader onto the small conference table. He sat back with a huff, and snatched up a steaming recaf cup. “Emperor take these blasted heretics! Turned the whole Hive Cogger into an ork-loving hellstorm.”

He realized too late that one of his aides was trying to gesture towards the door. “Sir.”

Isaac stood there, dressed in a fresh captain's uniform. The PDF at Blackwater had been more than willing to accommodate the “Crazy Coggers” into their base, if only because it meant more rest between guard shifts. Whispers still followed them everywhere, and opinions varied between those who thought they were cowards for fleeing, and those who thought they were insane for still existing after that attack. The truth, of course, was more complicated, but the Crazy Coggers had melded quite well with the camp in the meantime.

Kass waved him in. “Aw hell, Venier. Didn't see you there, get some recaf.” The commander gestured to the nearby steaming pot, and 'Captain Venier' followed with a nod.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Didn't mean to insult your hive or nothing, it's just,” The big man shrugged, trying to think of something eloquent. “I'd wanna bust some skulls if it were mine, you know?”

Isaac paused and nodded, suppressing the distinct visual image of cracking the Commander's head open with the recaf dispenser as he poured himself a cup. “I think I do, sir. I think I do.”

“And get this 'arch-heretic' sort.'” Kass tapped one of the readers, and a decent representation of Father Lazarus flickered to life, pieced together from reports and rumors. It was good picture, strong and heroic, the way rumors were supposed to spread. “'Arch-bloody-heretic'. Haven't heard that phrase on Crion since...well, since never.” He took a sip of recaf and grimaced hard, at either the flavor or the reports in his hand. “Stories are preposterous: killed a greenskin chief, wears an old colonel's coat...I supposed he gaks lightning and spits lava too. You get a look at this scum when you, you know, took off, Vernier?””

Isaac allowed himself a slight smile at the commander's evasion of the words 'fled', 'retreated', and 'ran'. It also helped suppress the proud smile he wanted to express as his eyes tracked over the reports. Word was spreading about the Battle of the Maw, and Lazarus' story was becoming legend among some of the more volatile hives.

“Yes, sir, I think I might have caught a glimpse.”

“Well, Scions'll pulp them soon enough. And what the Scions don't get the Astartes will.” The commander set down his cup and made the sign of the Aquila as he mentioned the Marines. “And if there's anything left after that, word has it we've got a fething Knight house on-world. I tell you boys, the whole thing's going straight to the Warp.” He lifted his cup in a toast, and the aides joined him in a toast. “Just be glad it's nowhere near us.”

Isaac raised his cup, and delivered his most winning smile as he considered the absolute irony in that statement. “Let's hope it stays that way, sir.”


The sun was beginning to lower in the sky, casting a reddish glow over Mount Gorgon in the evening haze. The wind had died down, making the journey across harsh rock mildly more comfortable, at least for Pine. The young rebel was wrapped in a tattered red sheet to protect himself from the wind, and had no other assigned task than to keep his eyes open.

His partner, Caleb, lagged behind him, lugging a large backpack with a series of antennae sprouting from its back. It was an old mining sensor, but to call it an auspex would have been an insult to an entire generation of Mechanicum. It was a simple high-freq sonar, pinging the rocks to look for weaknesses, any place that fortifications might dislodge part of the mountainside. Hive Cogger was a burning corpse, and the Brotherhood would soon need to find another place in which to station themselves.

“More caverns.” Caleb sighed, flexing his shoulders to try and work the aching out of them. “We should forget fortifying the place, could just hide inside for an eon or two.”

“We're not hiding.” Pine shot a venomous glare at the planet hanging above them, pulling his makeshift cloak tighter as he felt a sudden chill. “We're waiting. Waiting for Father to give the word.”

Caleb scoffed, and released one strap of the sensor, letting it drop to the rocky ground beneath them. It made a satisfying clunk, and he rested heavily on a nearby rock. “We're wandering around a mountain to kill time, Pine. When it starts to get dark, we'll return and tell them what they already know.” He spread his arms to gesture to the entire mountain. “It's a rock.”

The sensor began to squeal, flashing like a wildfire as the ground suddenly trembled. The little machine's pinging sounds became more and more frantic, as the cavern beneath their feet suddenly filled with solid mass. The rock under them suddenly glowed red hot, the heat spreading like water under their feet. Their screams of pain were cut off in a deafening roar as the mountain erupted open, and something clawed its way out.

Jael cupped the blue flower in her hands, idly brushing the petals away from the center. Beneath those, a set of smaller and more vibrant blue petals were growing outwards.

“That's why we say these never fade.” She smiled softly. “The new blossoms grow inside the old, and replace them once it's time.”

“That's fascinating, Jael.” Mordecai gritted his teeth in frustration, tossing aside another series of pages. He was beginning to regret asking her about Crion's people, but as one of the few members of the Brotherhood who came from the Legion and were not recruited, it behooved him to know his new territory. “I suppose you make some hallucinogenic tea out of them to see the future too?”

She shot him a glare and set the flower aside. “No. We believe in omens, not forced visions. Strange weather, shooting stars, even some animals. There's a bird-”

A sudden and alarmed shout from outside the chamber cut her off. In a heartbeat, both of the rebels were on their feet, Jael with her knife and Mordecai with his shield, dashing out to the grand balcony overlooking the hive below. A group of cultists were gathered at the edge, pointing excitedly towards the horizon.

A serpentine shape, small from this distance, wound its way into the sky, twisting and rising on great wings. Fire exploded from its mouth, illuminating a tortured and blackened countryside below, where the smoldering remains of an outpost lay below. It took Mordecai a long moment to realize he was looking at a dragon.

He felt a sinking pit in his stomach, and inclined his head towards Jael. “Any idea what kind of omen that is?”

Sudden laughter, a hoarse bark of mirth, caused them both to spin around. Lazarus stood in the doorway, leaning heavily on it but still standing. His torso was covered in yellowed bandages, many of which were still moist with blood. His skin was pale, but he was smiling: a genuine, pleased smile that he had not worn for some time. The fact that the sorcerer A'Khel, in all his arrogant knowledge, had not forseen this unique turn of events amused him to no end.

“A dragon, waking from a deep sleep, breathing fire on an unsuspecting world.” He lifted off the doorway, and limped forward with his malicious smile growing. “I'm going to say it's a very good omen.”

So apparently I woke up a dragon after rolling a defeat exploring Mt Gorgon. Oops. Also, Isaac made it into this episode, so he gets paid

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
Regular Dakkanaut

Avarquell, Cambria

IronGore trudged through the jungle, followed by the groaning of wagon wheels and disgruntled orks. Soon the tree line broke way for the Skull Eater’s fortress. IronGore silently motioned forwards, as five large wooden wagons creaked forwards, filled to near overflow with barrels of ork grog. The company of orks silently moved towards the fortress gate, machine guns slowly following them, and a look of determination in IronGore’s eyes. He waited until they were close to the gate before finally shouting to the battlements.

“Oi! Ya guard gits! Open up! It’s IronGore!”

“IronGore, eh?” Came the reply as the guard leaned over the battlements. His gleaming armor, and gun in his hand made it clear that it was an off-world ork. “I ain’t eva’ herd of no IronGore. I don’ remember you bein’ one of tha’ tribe.”

“ ‘Cuz Neroz had me locked up in tha’ arena, ya git!”

“An’ how’d ya get out?”

“Some runt decided he wanted ta’ be tha’ new boss. Dey wrecked tha’ arena, and me an’ my boyz got Neroz’s good grog. Figured, we’d give it ta’ da’ Boss Skull Eata’ if he lets us back in.” IronGore said with a chuckle, patting one of the hefty barrels.

“I ain’t lettin’ ya get in ‘dis place. It’s tha’ Big Boss’ orders.” The answer was resolute. As unmoving as the fortress walls.

“ ’Den let me talk ta’ Boss Skull Eata’, an’ he’ll give ya tha’ orders!” Barked IronGore, starting to lose patience.

“I says I take orders from da’ Big Boss! An’ Skull Eata’ ain’t tha’ big boss. So I says you betta’ turn around an’ git yerself outta ‘ere before I gets too trigger happy, an’ start usin’ you an’ yer’ boys fer target practice!”

IronGore stood, glaring at the guard, and eyeing the many guns still aimed at him and his boys. Then, with a final grunt, he turned around, motioning for the wagons to follow.

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

Grim, Cambria

Back in the safety of Hannibal’s tribe, the wagons came to a halt. A disgruntled groan came from one of the barrels before the top of it flew off, and Gort BadStomp climbed out.

“ ‘Dat waz a waste’a time!” Gort “We gets stuffed in tha’ barrels for nuffin!”

“Shut yer zoggin’ mouth, Gort.” Came Hannibal’s reply as he knocked the lid to his barrel aside. “Lest ya wanna’ get zapped again. ‘Sides, it wasn’t a whole waste. We still got tha’ good grog.” He said, slapping one of the barrels, and it giving a satisfactory slosh in return.

“Be better if we gots ta’ drink it…” Gort muttered as he climbed out of the barrel. As the two Nobs set their feet on the solid ground, many of the other barrels began to come open as ironclad ork upon ironclad ork spilled out, grumbling and stretching. Only half of the barrels remained unopened, sloshing about as the orks dropped to the ground.

“Not a bad idea, Gort.” Hannibal said, stroking his chin. “Tha’ boyz deserve it after that long of a haul. What do ya say boyz? Get tha’ wagons back to ‘da hall, an’ ‘ave a good drink on me.”

A chorus of grunts of agreement and a small cheer came from the boys as they began pushing the wagons towards the tribe’s hall. Even Gort allowed himself a small smile, showing the stubs where new teeth were growing, before following the wagons.

“Ain’t you comin’?” He asked, noticing that Hannibal stood still.

“Nah, I gots otha’ fings ta do.” He said, halfway lost in thought, before walking towards his workshop, new schemes and ideas circulating in his mind about how break Skull Eater fortress.

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
Stubborn Eternal Guard

The two masques reached Torcan before anyone knew what was happening, though the clowns made a ceremony of their arrival. The lower level that they arrived at had no guards, just civilians and they died in suitable gory fashion. Nysshea was at the for front of the attack, and made sure of her promise. The first victim was an adult male, and he was kicked to the ground, where the Death Jester proceeded to cut out his spine. Still holding the bones, she darted forward, strangling the next human with the spine. She gutted a women he crouched over her baby, which Nysshea tore apart spectacularly, and proceeded to use the women's intestines to hang her next victim, tying the end of the organ to a vent in the ceiling. And this wasn't even the most gory death in the hive. The Silent Shroud were methodical, killing as quickly as possible down the centre of the hive, but the Reaper's Mirth were revelling in the bloodshed. Humans were crucified, pinned to the walls with their families jagged bones and fathers awoke from an illusion to find not a Harlequin impaled upon their blade, but their own children. The streets literally ran with blood, ankle high, and gore was pasted to the walls and ceilings, painted into images of ironic tortures and of Cegorach.

Nysshea stepped forward, stepping over corpses. She shoved her fingers into a man's eye sockets, watching the man scream in agony as his eyes ran down his face, like vile tears. She then broke his legs , leaving him to starve to death in darkness. As his screams reached a crescendo, she couldn't restrain a giggle at his pain. Dancing over his screaming form, she stalked towards an old woman crouched in a doorway, kicking her in the ribs and enjoying the way they cracked under her foot. Then, punching her hand through the women's chest, she squeezed her heart and tore it out of the ragged hole in the human. The women's eyes widened at the site of her own heart, and Nysshea had a sudden urge to bite it. Raising the organ above her head, she let the blood fall into her mouth, tasting it, before taking a little nimble of the muscle. It wasn't bad. Flashing a bloody and feral grin at the lady, she tore a giant chunk out of the heart, taking time to chew it and taste it all. Dropping what was left of the heart, she moved on through the hive, enjoying it immensely.

Sheagoresh had its own performance, however. A small group was mounting a defence, the Tillers of Horratio Paynne. They were up a few levels, and Sheagoresh was headed there now. Running along impossibly fast, he didn't even break stride to cut down the humans in his way. It wasn't long until he reached the futile defence, Harlequins already amongst them. Clumsy autoguns fired at the Solitaire, but it twisted through them, laughing at how slow they were. And then it was amongst the humans. Whirling around, it cut them down without remorse, too fast for their human eyes to keep up with. They had no use to it, they knew nothing. It was only interested in Horratio.

Sheagoresh left the other Harlequins to deal with the them, running along the walls in a feet impossible for even other clowns. Into the heart of Tiller territory. The first he came across were nothing but grunts, a second layer of defence. They died. He cut them down, dancing through. Half of the humans died from their own autogun shots. Moving on, it walked through the hallways, slaughtering everyone in its path. Eventually, Sheagoresh came across Sergei Zekva,
one of Horratio's lieutenants. Sergei was, in fact, the one who started the fight, charging forward, and swinging a giant machete. Sheagoresh, twisting round to avoid the blow, felt a kick suddenly connect with his stomach. So the human had some fight. The Great Clown waited for the enforcer to strike next, before ducking under the wide sweep of the blade and slamming its shoulder into Zekva's groin. He staggered back, and the Solitaire didn't let up, surging
forward with a lightning fast strike of its hand that tore through the man's stomach like it was nothing. Falling to his knees, the man tried to lift his blade, but the Harlequin was already behind him, pushing the Kretchma to the ground with his foot. It was then that something caught its eye. A letter, tucked into the back pocket. Reaching down, the clown pulled it out, reading the crude human language sprawled across the paper. It regarded a Tiller operative
called Seeder, who was relaying orders from a man code named Red Omen: "Red Omen’s orders are to fortify sector 83-19 and 47-02, keep secure no Bleeders or Kretchmas until we can negotiate a more permanent alliance, we will need them for when we assault the upper hive. Seeder." Red Omen was most likely Horratio, and Sheagoresh thought that if they could find Seeder, they could find Horratio, if he was close enough to be relaying orders. Still clutching the note, Sheagoresh moved out, searching for more victims. They were here for slaughter after all.

The two masques left no one alive on the bottom floors. The hallways echoed with screams of agony, and the hive was pasted in human, decapitated heads lining the streets which were slick with gore. And yet even as iron willed guards despaired at the genocide, laughter rung through Torcan, chilling its remaining occupants of the top floors to the floor. It told them that though the PDF guards kept watch now, they would die. And it would be a specticle.

Made in ca
Heroic Senior Officer

Krieg! What a hole...

----- City of New Pavus, slums -----

The five man team had been scouring the city for a few hours now, and had found very little. The name of a local tavern had come up a few time, and it was about time to eat anyway, so the Scions figured they'd kill two Xenos with a lasbolt and headed to the Emperor's Saloon. Food and drinks were decently prized and the Scions enjoyed their first beer in a long time, all the while keeping an eye for stranger follks.

'' On your right Garvel, don't turn back, guy with some bodyguards, most likely, you see him Mallear? ''

The Scion nodded and added

'' I think I see stripes, we'll have to get closer, too many people walking around ''

Garvel stood up

'' That beer went down too well, gotta use the facilities ''

The man stood up and walked by the suspect table, noting his rank and catching little of the conversation, news of an Hive and nothing else, nothing good. Garvel went back to his table a minute after and updated his comrades.

'' He's a major, he's also wearing the sloppiest dress I've ever seen for an officer of his rank, especially considering there's not much going around here, also mentionned an Hive, but at this point, it could be anywhere ''

Praetia answered

'' Then we'll figure that out later on, I think this is a good chance for us to progress, update the Tempestor and try and act like civies, this guy's gonna notice right away we've got training if we don't hide it right ''

Another Scion left for the facilities, relaying the informations to the Tempestor Secundus back at the cache.

'' You have my go '' said Mallia over the vox '' Try and avoid confrontation, this is our only good lead, I'd rather that guy stay alive until Payne's dead ''

The Scion sat back and nodded

'' Another drink then, take shots, and play the part of the refugee drinking liquid courage ''

The team made its way towards the major and were stopped a meter or so away from him. Mallear had to supress a smile, sloppy work, they were well within range to take out the guards before they could fire a shot. But that wasn't their intention and everyone looked down like a pack of scared dogs. One of the guards made a move to shove them away from his officer, but he was interrupted.

'' Leave e'm be, will you? Seems they been through enough, they don't need the last bastion of hope kicking them away ''

'' Las-la-last bastion of hope sir? '' asked Garvel

'' Relax kiddo! Sit down, have a beer, I am Major O'Connell or was, officially, but I kept my rank under the new administration! Ah! ''

'' You mean... the uh... Tilters? ''

'' Tillers my good lady ''

Garvel and Praetia looked around

'' Aren't you afraid to proclaim that outloud? ''

'' Here? Never! The Imperium has no power in this tavern! But enough about me, what about? I've been talking and talking, but perhaps I am talking to the wrong people? ''

'' We're from uh Luna Espilon, city of Arcadis Bay, too many Greenskins, not enough Imperial ''

The Major raised an eyebrow at the answer

'' That's... rather far away, you walk that all by your five selves? ''

Praetia shook her and looked at the Major with sadness in her eyes

'' There were more of us, but we left our home with nothing but what we could carry, no map, we got lost, many died, we were the lucky few ''

O'Connell grunted

'' Uh... uh, that would make you ridiculously lucky, in fact, almost too lucky one would say ''

'' Lucky enough to join ya? We got no possesions, no nothing, the Emperor has abandonned us... '' whinned Garvel

'' Well we're always looking for new recruits, and your travel seemed to have shaped you very well. We shall celebrate with a pint! '' O'Connell looked at one of his guard and waved him away. The man came back a few minutes late with enough beers for everyone. The Scions took theirs and the atmosphere was noticeably lighter, it was at that moment that Mallear asked O'Connell why'd he join. The Major scowled and everyone felt the unease of the man.

'' Before I joined up with the PDF I was just some hiver scum from Katagor. I remember being hungry, fighting other children for scraps of moldy bread. I was strong enough to make it out of the hive and into the PDF but few were so fortunate. Once I a had the false honor of attending Supreme Lord Fat Ass’s parties. Mountains of food, ten times what the party goers could eat. They ate near none of it and just threw it all out, fething nobles. Crion produces more food than any other Imperial world, so why is it that there are children starving in the underbelly of the hives? The problem starts and ends with Tobias Payne. You see no governor before him has had starvation, no governor before him had demanded such high tithes from the people, we suffer and he smiles atop his ivory tower. When I heard the legends of the long lost bastard Horatio, being a man of the people, promising to restore a fair and equal tariff and end our decades of suffering, I had to see for myself. What I saw was a man worthy of command, a man I’d be honored to fight and die for. So told my captain he could shove and joined up with the Tillers, no regrets no matter what ''

Garvel and two of his comrades played the part of the outraged civilians and took a long sip to move the conversation away.

'' What about the man that leads all this? You mentionned Horatio, but we don't know much about him! ''

'' Aaaaaaaah! Horatio, now THAT'S a leader I'll follow to the warp and back. He's close to his men, sometimes even lead raids agaisnt that waste of human flesh the Imps call a Governor. You should see him on the field! A leader of men through and through ''

'' Oh... seems like quite the man indeed, can't wait to meet him! '' said a Scion

'' That'll be complicated, not everyone just knows where he's going, and even if you join us, you'll be at the bottom rung, there's little chance you'll be able to come across him ''

'' Bah, we've been lucky so far, weren't we '' and the group laughed and drank more of their alcohol

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 us
Rotting Sorcerer of Nurgle

The Dog-house

"My lord, he has locked himself in there," a human whispered to Zehk's second-in-command, a Night Lord Apothecary who only went by 'Witch Doctor.' He was a scrawny creature, even for an Astartes and walked with a limp despite not having a combat injury. He had long, oily black hair that always covered his face apart from his mouth which was always pulled back in a shrill grin. He spoke in a hysterical tone that often left those who had been in his company with a sick feeling deep inside.

"And?" the Witch Doctor spoke in a tone that could be gravely mistaken for happy. It was imperative that one did not assume the Witch Doctor was happy less they wished their organs to be used in his ritualistic medicines. Being prone to dramatic mood swings, it was best not to remain in close proximity with the Witch Doctor either. His voice quickly became a hiss, "What am I supposed to do about it?"

"Lord Orelius-"

"He is on his ship! He is not here... In this... Mausoleum," the Witch Doctor said in a hushed tone as if he was about weep. He bowed his head and hid his face with his hands.

"My lord..." the human started nervously before the Witch Doctor's spastic laughter cut him off. The Witch Doctor waved the human away and approached the vault door Zehk hid behind. With a soft tap of his knuckles against the Ceramite of the door, he drew Zehk's voice out from within.

"She is coming..." Zehk whispered over the vox, his frantic voice trailing off, "She's in my head, brother... I can't make her leave."

"Who, Zehk, who is in your head," the Witch Doctor inquired, whilst looking for a way to open the the vault door. It was not a coincidence that the Witch Doctor served as Zehk's right hand. Zehk was prone to daemonic possession and the Witch Doctor was a master at exorcisms via rituals and incantations, thus granting him the name "Witch Doctor."

"The Hunter... She hides in the shadows... They all do!"

"Calm down, my Lord. I need you to open the door so I can help you."

"NO!" Zehk roared over the vox as the rest of his motley crew came to join the Witch Doctor at the door, "They are coming! Keep them away!"

The Witch Doctor slammed his fist into the vault door. They would need a Chainfist or a High-powered Las-torch to open the vault from the outside and that would take a considerable amount of time, something they would soon not have. An Astartes from Zehk's crew informed the Witch Doctor that foul Daemons were prowling the ship and they picked up on the scent of the trespassers. Before the Witch Doctor could make the call to abandon Zehk until they had enough equipment to open the vault, one of the humans came running with news that the dead, both Astartes and human had began to rise. They would have to get Zehk now or he would be lost forever. If Zehk was killed aboard this blasted vessel, Orelius would surely have the Witch Doctor's head. With that imagery firmly planted in his mind, the Witch Doctor formed Zehk's crew into a solid firing wall, ensuring that any creature, alive or dead, would have to wade through hell to get to the vault. It did not take long for the first abomination to shamble into view. Its body was decayed almost to the bone and was covered by an impossibly black cloak. It opened its mouth and emitted a banshee-like howl before hurling itself towards the Renegades. After a hundred rounds had pierced its skeletal body, it slammed into the ground dead and its black cloak vaporized, leaving only a splintered body. More of its kin, the dead, rounded the corners and filled the hallways as they threw themselves towards the living.

"Zehk, open this damned door. We do not have-" the Witch Doctor commanded his lord before something else caught his attention. Within the writhing tide of the dead was a single figure, much larger than the others. It too was wearing a coat of shadows, but much unlike the others, the figure appeared to be alive. That is when the Witch Doctor noticed something was very wrong. The humans of the crew could not, to save their life, hit any of the dead. Their shots went wild and ricocheted off the walls or struck one of their comrades. Surely enough, the human line was overrun in mere seconds of the appearance of the mysterious figure.


The Witch Doctor knew who addressed him. He drew his bolt pistol and pulled the trigger. A resounding click answered him and he tossed the jammed weapon aside. He took one step forward and everything became dark. He activated his helmet lights and scanned the area. He was in a fortress, a fortress of Nostraman design. A voice called out to him in the darkness.

"Morg..." the voice called, raspy, gagging. The Witch Doctor went into a full sprint after the voice. "You let me die, Morg..."

It was his Primarch, Konrad Curze. He was alive after all these years. The Witch Doctor ran down the hallway towards where he thought Curze's sanctuary was. Once he reached the door however, his visions faded and he found himself once more inside the "Grand Exorcist." He was at a dead end, the door in front of him sealed tight. It was the vault he desperately needed open. He called out to Zehk, whom was still raving over the vox, but it was to no avail. Behind the Witch Doctor, Zehk's Astartes fell one by one, hoping that the path behind them would have been cleared by now. The Witch Doctor spun when the last Astartes was dead and faced the undead horde. At its forefront was the figure, now clearly a Bloodthirster to the Witch Doctor albeit its skin was a deep grey and it wore no armour besides its cloak.

"You are oddly feminine for a daemon of Khorne..." the Witch Doctor taunted, backing himself into the vault door. The daemonette approached him and crouched so they met at eye-level.

"And you are short for an-" the daemonette began before the Witch Doctor thrust a combat knife to its throat. The daemonette was deceptively quick for its massive size. She easily dodged the knife lunge and grabbed the Witch Doctor's arm. He thrust his other arm, the one that housed his Narthecium into the daemonette's face, causing her to recoil and release the Witch Doctor. He then dove towards a fallen bolter, but something stopped him midway. He looked down and realized that he'd been run through the chest with a massive sword. "Oh look... I've been impaled," he coughed out, almost finding it humourous that he'd die like this. His laughter died when his lungs filled with blood and his body stopped twitching.

* * *

Raak'tiil forcibly removed her sword from the Astartes that had just made a ruin of her face. She drew her sword up and looked at her reflection. A diagonal scar ran across her face and over her nose, ending above her right eye brow. If that Astartes were alive, he would have paid dearly for making her face asymmetrical. Raak'tiil sheathed her sword behind her back and approached the vault door.

"Is my monkey inside there?" she asked the door. It replied by slowly grinding open. A body stumbled out and greeted the greater daemonette with a clumsy bow. It didn't take long for Raak'tiil to notice its shadow was distinctly ape-like.

"Yes, I am inside this... fleshy thing," the body replied, awkwardly making its way down the hall, "Return to Ewryht'eikl and tell him we have the last of the New Order. I shall resurrect more of the dead and return them to his domain."

Raak'tiil nodded and dispersed into the shadows.


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 be
Thunderhawk Pilot Dropping From Orbit

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

Kusun snarled as he cut another farmer in half with a single swing from his axe. The man’s guts splashed wetly on the dirt, staining the ground with a puddle of deep crimson. Swinging his axe around in an effort to clean some of the gore off of it, he took stock of his surroundings.

The small human village was burning, thick, ink-black smoke trailing upwards from the inferno. The wooden houses of the farmers were reduced to ashes by bouts of promethium, spewed forwards by a flamethrower wielded by of one of his subordinates. The few farmers that managed to stagger out of their burning homes were quickly cut down by the rest of Kusun’s escort, who were similarly busy murdering every living thing in the small village.

But Kusun was not yet satisfied. The blood was flowing, as the Blood God demanded, but slaughtering a few defenceless Imperials lacked the appeal of actual combat. He wanted to feel the sweat of effort running down his spine, the stinging pain of wounds received and given, the thrill of death coming so close to claiming him. Only then did he feel alive, on that precious, adrenaline-filled line between life and death. It was why the Blood God had reached out to him so long ago, in the dust-filled gladiatorial arenas of the World Eaters.

The sound of his vox crackling to life brought him out of his musings.

“What is it?”

“I have some interesting news for you, cousin”, Mithras spoke, audibly amused even through the heavy static. Communications between the Omnia Cadunt and the surface were rather hazy for some reason, and although Mithras swore he had someone looking into it, Kusun suspected the Dark Apostle kept the static as a way to subtly annoy him.

He had to admit, it was certainly working.

“Enlighten me”, Kusun sighed, as he kicked a farmer’s dismembered corpse.

“Gladly”, Mithras grinned. “We’ve managed to identify a few of the signals floating around, and there are some… exciting ones among them.”

“Keep it brief, Apostle. This is not one of your sermons”, Kusun replied, slightly annoyed.

A soft laugh resounded over the vox.

“As you wish, Lord.” The sarcasm in that last word alone was so thick, one might have mistaken it for an Ogryn’s skull. Kusun could almost feel Mithras make an apologetic gesture, a wicked smile across his face. He slammed his axe into the corpse again, hoping it would keep the idea of violently strangling the Dark Apostle at bay.

“There’s your usual fare of Imperials, a couple of our erstwhile brothers among them.”

“Anyone familiar?”, Kusun asked. The thought of facing other Astartes again brought a crooked smile to his face.

“The Wolf’s sons, for starters.”

Kusun groaned. Of course, the Space Wolves would be here. Another saga to add to their sacred halls, as they would say.


“The Carcharadons, surprisingly enough.”

“The Sharks and the Wolves. Can’t imagine that going well.”

“We can only hope. There are other Astartes signals, but we haven’t been able to identify them yet. Other than that, there’s two Knight Houses in-system, and some Imperial Guard regiments.”

“And you call that interesting, Mithras? I didn’t know you’d lowered your standards.”

Mithras tutted. “Aah, but my dear Kusun, I’ve saved the best for last, as always.”

Kusun rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“There were a couple of rogue signals, some of them lasting not even a second before disappearing again. I suspect at least one of them to be of the Eldar.”

“The Eldar? What would they want with this world?”

“Who knows. It’s not like they’d tell us, anyway.”

“And the other signals?”

“One of them seems to be coming from Hive Cogger, a city north-east of your position. Chatter seems to indicate it’s been locked in some sort of civil war as of late, with some Chaos-backed rebels, apparently.”

“You think a Chaos warband is behind this?”

“I do so indeed. If what I’ve been hearing is correct, it might be the Flayed Legion.”

“The who?”

Mithras tutted again, a sound Kusun had rapidly started to despise.

“The Flayed Legion, led by the ever-enigmatic Flayed Lord. They’re a rising star within the Eye, last I heard. I think they could be useful.”

“You believe they know anything of our quarry?”

“Even if they don’t, their presence here is a good distraction. If we’re lucky, we might even be able to work together.” Mithras seemed enthusiastic about the idea, oddly so, even. Kusun would have to keep an eye on him when they approached the Flayed Legion.

“We will head to Hive Cogger, then.”

“Perhaps we could try letting them know we’re coming first, cousin? I doubt they’d welcome us with open arms.”

“We, Mithras? I wasn’t aware you were coming along.”

“Oh I am, my dear cousin. In fact, I’m coming down with the Storm Eagle to pick you up. Because you weren’t planning on heading there without a diplomat, were you?”

Kusun groaned again, the thought of spending more time in Mithras’ company was already damaging his psyche.

“It’ll be a while before I make it there, Kusun. Shall I tell the crew to find a way to contact the Flayed Legion?”

Before Kusun could reply, a loud rumbling grabbed his attention. A group of PDF troopers appeared from the hills in the distance, heading to the village, armoured vehicles speeding ahead of the infantry towards the burning village at a hellish speed.

Kusun smiled.

“Don’t bother, Mithras.”

“I believe I already know a solution for that little problem…”

Kusun and a couple of Black legion dudes are heading to Hive Cogger from Zandriel

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2016/04/15 17:21:53

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 ie
Nurgle Veteran Marine with the Flu

Cork, Ireland

Faolan sat restless in his chair studying the various maps of the jungle as he had been for hours. Sunlight pierced through the blinds covering the window revealing the dust particles in the air. Faolan's War Council would meet soon, he had spent hours coming up with various solutions on how to approach the greenskin menace that was so close to Canis Caelum and finally he believed he had come up with something to present to his eager peers. Not that Faolan could blame them, Space Marines were not created to patrol bases and kill the odd ork, it was past time to begin purging the various filth that ravaged Crion and it's orbiting moons. Faolan pulled himself up his desk and decided to freshen up a bit before meeting with the Council, it is going to be a long day thought Faolan as he left the mound of old reports and maps and his quarters behind

Faolan entered the War room fresh and began walking over to the globe emitting from the circular table in the center of the room, examining his subordinates as he done so. The room was dark despite it being dawn with the only light source being the globe in the center of the room, leaving the corners shrouded in darkness Faolan still managed to capture some details of his men despite the darkness. Cearul stood patiently awaiting for his Commander to begin, Faolan noticed he did not trim his usually well maintained beard, did he forget or is he growing it out ? Through the darkness Faolan could just make out Chaplain Carwyn’s skull shaped helm, a helm that has struck the fear into countless guardsmen both loyal and traitorous. Apart from his helm Carwyn was submerged in darkness, his jet black plate blending into the shadows. Four figures lingered in the corners of the room waiting to begin discuss tactics. One figured sported a scar on his face , Ardan, a second had his hair braided, and the other two could barely be seen, Faolan presumed Emyr was one of them and the second was probably Pryce. Faolan approached the globe and activated a few buttons, the globe shifted and zoomed in on a jungle area north of Canis Caelum across the sea. The shadowy figures embraced the light of the globe and revealed themselves, Faolan was correct in his assumptions as Emyr, Cabhan and Pryce stepped forward. “ Listen up brothers, as most if ye know Governor Payne’s mansion was assaulted by a band of greenskins. Before we were rudely interrupted the Governor mentioned various threats plaguing Crion and it’s moons, the orks were one such threat. Tobias Payne reckons they are organising into a Waaagh, as such we will strike them while they are still in their petty warbands weak and isolated”. Faolan motioned to the globe, “ Just north of our position is one such warband, it’s exact whereabouts are unknown but we know the general area of their encampment. They are led by one who calls himself Gorehound Da Cook.” Faolan pressed a few more buttons and a tactical map appeared. “ Three teams assisted by Cuardach hounds will fan out and search the jungle for the foul greenskins, keep in constant comms and report in when you find what we are looking for”. A round of grumbling and nodding heads gave Faolan the confirmation he needed. I will lead strikeforce a haon, Ardan you have command of strikeforce a do and Carwyn you have strikeforce a tri, each strikeforce shall consist of whatever squad you feel comfortable with but the hounds are essential to the mission, we move out in two hours” a chorus of fists slammed against the chests echoed throughout the room as the three strikeforces went to prepare. As Faolan was about to leave he spotted something moving in the shadows instinctively his hand was gripping the hilt of Fang Bearer in an instant. Hound Master Rhodri emerged from the shadows grinning from ear to ear, Faolan cursed. “ Rhodri last I checked you were not on my War Council” spat Faolan “ Perhaps we should change that “ joked Rhodri. Before Rhodri could blink Faolan charged the apothecary grabbing him by the throat like a dog by the scruff and pinned him against the wall. “ Presume to tell me how to run this company again and I will starve the hounds for a week before feeding them their Master” Faolan noticed how Rhodri’s arms were up in self defence placing his narthecium right near Faolan’s throat, Faolan tightened his grip. “This is not the first time I have had to put you in your place apothecary but it will be the last ” Rhodri managed to nod and Faolan released him. “Speak” demanded Faolan. “ Rumor has it Sergeant Turlach found signs of a certain beast we may be looking for” revealed Rhodri. “ I’ve read the report, what of it ?” Asked Faolan his patience wearing thin once more “ May i inquire as to when we will be following up on this piece of information ?” Inquired Rhodri. Faolan frowned “ Who said we would follow up on it ?” “ I trust you remember Baltair Seoc’s command ? This would be a terrible opportunity to pass up” Faolan sighed “Orks will be the priority but I will look into this beast” Rhodri bowed “ It is all I ask my lord”. Done with the conversation Faolan marched out the door to ready his strikeforce and leave this folly behind him.

The sun was still rising when Faolan emerged from the command center, a light rain had started to fall along with a light mist, peaceful thought Faolan, something an angel of death should never know. As Faolan was taking in the crisp morning air Techmarine Cadfael took the opportunity to approach his Alpha, “Alpha Faolan” bowed Cadfael “ Brother Cadfael” nodded Faolan, Cafael revealed a dataslate in his hand, “I heard about the ork assault at the banquet fear not I have coordinated with brother Cearul and have secured the coastline against any enemy foolish enough to approach” Faolan smiled “ One less thing to worry about, well done brother. Now if you excuse me I have an ork to hunt” departing Faolan made his way to the landing pads where Assault Squad Trodaithe have been assembled along with Cearul and Pryce. With their Alpha’s arrival the three thunderhawks took flight to track down the ork menace infesting the jungles near Canis Caelum.

Faolan’s thunderhawk dropped down next to the others in a clearing in the forest. Carwyn, Ardan and Faolan distanced themselves from the rest of their force, Faolan began the conversation. “Right Ardan you and your marines will head north west while me and my marines will march north, Chaplain Carwyn you will search northwest with any luck we will track down this beast before dinner”. Ardan and Carwyn spoke no words they did not need to action was what Faolan wanted right now and they had their orders. Gathering his marines Faolan began navigating his way through the jungle making sure he was heading north. Something felt wrong almost as if they were being watched through the trees. Faolan’s vox cackled to life, it was Chaplain Carwyn “Alpha something is wrong here I can feel it something in the trees” “Agreed brother, the hounds confirm your statement even they are on edge,be on your guard and report in regularly”. Faolan and his marines followed the hounds as they tracked smell and sound, such is the specialty of the Cuardach breed. The hounds led Faolan and his group to what appeared to be another clearing at first but upon further inspection it was clear that these trees were crushed aside by some huge creature, “Faolan here, how goes the search ?” Ardan was the first to reply “No sightings sir even the dogs are clueless, some of my men swear they saw the trees moving though I don’t believe it” Chaplain Carwyn chipped in “Unfortunately Commander my news is no different from Ardan’s nothing to the North west either” This search isn’t going as well as Faolan hoped. “Found some crushed trees must have been made a beast” Faolan reported “Must be a huge beast” mused Ardan “Indeed let us search for an hour more and call it a day” just as Faolan said so bolter fire rang in his ear “The trees are moving I repeat the trees are moving !” Faolan was about to respond when the trees around him shifted and changed “ All units fall back to the rally point now !” Before Faolan could retreat the trees parted to reveal three squiggoths charging Faolan’s position with a big ork on the back of the squiggoth in the center “ Oi Spesh Marine wot you doin’ in my Jungle ? You hoping ta krump me eh ? Yous not da first and won’t be da last, Have at im boyz” raising his choppa dozens of boyz emerged from the treeline charging his squad. Faolan was more worried about the squiggoths than the boyz however this battle was a hopeless one and ordered the retreat. Due to the trees shifting and changing the paths had changed making the way back even longer and harder, the hounds were spooked by the shifting wood so the marines could not rely on their senses. The trees themselves picked off a few marines as a branch would fly down and pluck a marine up into the canopy never to be seen again however the odd tree struck an ork aswell perhaps the jungle and the orks are not on the same side ? Faolan knew they were almost out as the foliage was thinning out and they could see the sky, Ardan and Carwyn confirmed they reached the rally point and that the thunderhawks were on standby. On the last stretch Faolan was grabbed by two branches and hoisted up into the air, acting quickly Cearul ordered the men to chop down the trees holding their Alpha in their wicked grasp, before the trees were toppled they let go of Faolan and retreated back. The last thing Faolan saw was the ground rushing to meet him as the world went dark.

Gonna start introducing breeds such as the Cuardach, action takes place near Gorehound Da Cook while the rest takes place in Canis Caelum

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 de
Shrieking Traitor Sentinel Pilot

Lazarus never cared much for symbolism. In all his battles and all his trials, he had never had a use for crafting elequent icons out of his circumstances. He preferred to use his faith, will, and cunning to carry out his Lord's command, and so no need to bring overmuch ceremony into the bargain. However, this dragon was a new hurdle. He didn't dare send forces after it, not with wounds from the Maw so fresh, and the immigrants from Torcan still arming themselves. But he could not ignore it, all of the Hive had heard its roar when it broke free of the mountain. And so he would use it.

"If there is order, it is because the gods allow it." He paused, recovering from a wounded muscle spasm before he continued. There was something unsettling about the mountain, but its definition evaded him. "We bask in order so that we may fully relish our fall."

Behind him, listening to each word, were two dozen of the finest, bloodiest, most suicidally loyal killers of the Brotherhood. All of them had stood with him at the Battle of the Maw, and had walked the streets by his side when the city first fell. The accompanied him now, on the slopes of the mountain itself, though they did not know why he had asked for them.

"This world is in fragile order. Envy it, for it has yet to experience the full glory of the gods' gifts." He spread out his arms, wincing at the effort, to take in the mountain itself. "The gods send armies, storms, and sometimes...they send creatures of their own." Lazarus turned to the first of the towering killers, who bowed his head in respect. "Lamech. You have read A'Khel's Ninth Canticle have you not?"

"Yes, Father!" The man's voice boomed through his gas mask, ceremoniously streaked with ork blood, which Lamech refused to remove. Lazarus suspected the disciple was planning to decorate the mask with an artistic blend of blood sprays before this war was done.

"And what is the first parable therein?"

"All things are but ashes in time!" Now that was pride in his voice. Lazarus was impressed, and mildly surprised that Lamech could read in the first place.

"So they are. So they are indeed."

He turned, resting his hand unsteadily on a blackened, cracked boulder as one of the wounds from SkullSnake flared up in his side. Again, the feeling of unease came over him as his eyes swept across the stones. He raised the hand, dusted with the ash and debris of the mountainside, and extended it to the first of the chosen disciples. With one finger, he drew a rough serpentine shape on the man's rough iron chestplate, figurative of the dragon which dwelt below.

"From this day you will be Drachen. You will lead your brothers, and bring the fire and fury of the gods themselves to the enemies of the Flayed Lord." He nodded his head once in respect. "Fire and fury."

As one, they raised their weapons and held them high, as if in offering to the dragon within the mountain. Their chant was strong, filled with venom, hate, and praise all in one.

"Fire and fury!"

Lazarus' eye narrowed as he realized what felt wrong about the mountain: the foliage remained. Not a shrub nor tuft of grass had been burned away by the dragon's fire, only the rock below had taken the heat of the fire. Rising to his feet, Lazarus did his best to dismiss the uneasy feeling in his mind, and led his new Drachen back towards the hive.

If you can't beat it, make it your mascot. And pardon the crappy photoshop skills.

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
One Canoptek Scarab in a Swarm

“From what Ilbist has discovered on this… signal, we know that it is a planet with two moons. We also happen to know the source of this signal. It’s coming from some ancient ruins. We… well we are going to gain access. Any…” I twitch a bit from the blood that still emanates from the foul trophy Gilutekh has crafted. “Any… threats will be taken care of…”
“My lord…” Ilbist speaks up once again. “I also know that the place we are going to rise is… empty as of now. So movement would be vital at this moment.” I think about what she said. My brethren do not possess any functional monoliths, so we would not have a base… perhaps we could just use this as our place of strategy… not that my army would listen. They usually just drag their deformed figures around until they find something to hack up, but maybe this time would be different. I place my hands on the black stone table and look at my two commanders.
“We move now. Rally the army. We are rising by the ruins and gaining access.” My commanders nod and take off. It’s time to rise. I feel energy in my core crackle and burst as I warp out of my safe haven. My resting place. I feel dirt and stone compress my body as I begin my ascent to the over world. I was never built to dig, but my hands rend the dirt away and open the ground. I force my head out first, and then the rest of my disfigured corpse form comes with. The over world is bright. It’s too bright. Gilutekh crawls out of the ground next to me, and Ilbist forces her way up soon after as well. I watch with twisted delight as my brothers rise from the ground like a scene straight out of the tales of the living. I hate their forms and their behaviors, but I can at least take delight in this singular moment. Gilutekh breaks the silence of talk by pointing out the direction of the ruins.
“M-m-my lord, the ruins are th-th-that way…”
“Thank you Gilutekh. We must make haste. This place is foul and tainted with enough life as is.” My legion begins the march over to the ruins. Some move with a primal and ancient eeriness and a slow enough speed to match it, but others have evolved beyond the clumsy walk of old and run towards the objective. Ever here there is diversity I suppose. The march would seem like an eternity to a mortal, but I arrive before I even begin to think about thinking. Thus is the way things ought to be. Less thinking and more doing.
I approach the ruins and find an ancient stairway leading down. The dust is thick and heavy. Disgusting. I step down the stairs with Gilutekh and Ilbist flanking me to reach a great Adamantium vault. I do not notice whose tomb it is as I order my commanders to begin to work on the great door. They slash at it endlessly making small cuts in the mighty prey. I worry not about how long it’ll take. I have all the time in the world after all. Once they slash a necron sized hole in the door, I enter to find a scene that would have made my blood boil if I had blood. Great “VI”’s mark the walls with giant murals depicting a space marine captain and his marines slaying a huge number of necron warriors. I am disgusted. I scan the room to find two other things of notice. A fairly ornate and ancient sword is encased in glass towards the center. If my hands weren’t already covered in five swords, I might have been excited, but the Hyperphase sword in the center would make for an excellent mount. The body of my fallen fellow overlord Moolahk of the Hoptek dynasty. I don’t remember what he was known for, but I did know his corpse would look good on my mantel as well. I order Ilbist to take the sword and Gilutekh to take the body up to the surface. It was time to leave this disgusting place.
I arrive at the surface, and my Flayed horde is still wandering aimlessly around. I needed to find them a target to slaughter soon. It was only a matter of time before they did it themselves.
I am in Spiri as of now. I apologize for the wait on my arrival. I know it's a little short. Track has me running up the walls, and it's getting to be crunch time for my AP class. Time is not very abundant these days. I hope you enjoy.

 Tactical_Spam wrote:
Considering how Paradoxical that statement is, Vlad is very much alive as he is dead.

Made in us
Ultramarine Master with Gauntlets of Macragge

What's left of Cadia

Namrex Dunes, Moon #1

It was time. Falkon could barely contain his excitement as he read the message that Queen Moira had sent to him. While the repair-work on the Knights was going according to schedule, Moira felt that they could not cease their efforts against the Feral Orks for even a moment, they needed to keep hammering the tribes so that they could not organize a response. Falkon had heard rumors that some new Warbosses had landed on the planet itself, and if it was true it made his mission all the more crucial. If these new Bosses were powerful enough they could rally all the Ferals on this planet under their command and turn them into an unstoppable army. The very thought made Falkon shudder a little bit. He had seen just how dangerous Feral Orks could be under the command of a more modern Boss during the Crusade of Fury, and he wasn’t eager to repeat the experience. He turned his attention back to the message, he was being ordered to take a fewl squads of armsmen and head to the Namrex Dunes. There, a local Warboss was on the rise, and so it fell to Falkon to cut the snake off at the head before it could rise up to bite the Imperials. The problem would be in how he could get the Ork’s attention, smash them, and then get away. House Valorn lacked conventional ground vehicles, so they could not facilitate any sort of fast escape, which meant that Falkon whad to consider his options carefully, for a great many lives were now relying on his skills as a leader. He sighed and stared at his boots for a second. Things were much simpler back when he was a regular Guardsman… He shook off the bout of self-pity and jogged over to the armory, where he began to don his armor and weapons. As always when he saw the armor that he and his comrades were equipped with, Falkon couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe overtake him. The armor itself was based on an ancient design that had first been used amongst the Solar Auxilia during the Great Crusade. It had been modified slightly over the years by House Sacristans, who gave it gyro-stabilizers and reinforced plating around the chest and throat, but the basic design had mostly gone un-changed. And the weapons…. Every time he saw them he was reminded of just how well connected House Valorn was still. They had the means to equip every single one of their men-at-arms with Volkite rifles. Most planetary governors considered themselves blessed if they could give one squad such weapons, and House Valorn had hundreds of them in their armory, just waiting to taste battle one more. With a grin he hoisted his rifle from where it rested on the table and ran his preliminary checks on it. He nodded in satisfaction as he saw that everything was in perfect order. He expected no less given the dedication that the Sacristans showed, but it paid dividends to be sure. Too many times had he seen good men die because they failed to take care of their equipment, and Falkon did not intend to become one of them. He hadn’t survived Orks, Heretics, and Trecherous Allies only to die because of equipment failure. His checks finished, Falkon donned his helmet and jogged to where the lander was waiting. It was time for battle.

Just as the last of the armsmen jogged down the landing ramp of the lander, Falkon heard the roar of bike engines, and as he turned to investigate the source of the noise he saw a group of silver-armored bikers roaring towards him. From the briefings he thought that these must be members of the “Arbiters of Truth”, and as they pulled up to the waiting armsmen and stopped Falkon couldn’t help but feel a vague sense of apprehension. It wasn’t fear, but the sense that these were not men who one should trifle with. Every one of them moved with a lethal grace that reminded Falkon of a predator. He shook off his fear as the leader of the bikers dismounted and approached him. As he drew closer Falkon realized that the man in front of him was a giant! While most Astartes towered over the average man, this one seemed to be a giant amongst giants, and Falkon took an involuntary step back as he took in the giant that now stood before him. The armor on his left arm, including his shoulder pad, seemed to be made from the bones of a great beast, and his facemask was wrought into the shape of an angry face, as if the wearer himself was projecting his hate of his foes to everyone around him. On top of the mask was strewn a crown of teeth and bone, doubtlessly from the same creature that the armor on his left arm was made of. After a few uncomfortable seconds in which neither group spoke, the giant finally said “Armsman Falkon? I am Judge Hetarr of the Arbiters of Truth. We will be assisting you in your battle against the Orks this day. My brothers and I will grab the Orks attention and we will bring them back into a killzone. I would recommend that you and your comrades keep up and establish yourselves in the killzone before we get back. I’ve already sent the coordinates to your tablet.” And with that the Astartes turned on his heel and strode back towards his brothers. As he did Falkon released the breath that he had been involuntarily holding. The arrogance of that man was astounding! While most Astartes seemed to come off as condescending to the average man (even if they really didn’t intend to do so), Hetarr took it to a whole new level, and Falkon got the sense that most men were far too intimidated by his formidable stature to notice. The thought made Falkon stand up a little straighter, and he turned to his comrades and began barking orders, and as one they began to run towards the designated coordinates. They would prove their worth to Hetarr, Falkon would not let his casual dismissal of their skills pass without a fight!

*The Ambush*

Falkon could hear the faint sounds of bike engines in the distance, growing closer by the second. He looked across the canyon to where his second-in-command Amika crouched amidst a cluster of boulders and twirled a finger over his head to indicate that she should ready herself and her squad. She nodded in reply and she gave a series of hand gesture to her squad mates, who then disappeared to their positions amongst the rocks, while Falkon did the same for his squad. As the bikes drew closer Falkon could also faintly hear the roars of the Orks as they pursued the bikers. Falkon raised his Volkite Rifle and aimed it at the narrowest point in the canyons. There the Orks would be at their most vulnerable, and it would be there that they would die. He did not have to wait long for the Orks to arrive. Seconds after he raised his rifle he saw the first Arbiter Biker round the corner, swiftly followed by the rest of his squad. Mere moments after the last biker roared past the ambush point the first of the Orks rounded the corner in hot pursuit. It seemed that the Arbiters had managed to drag the whole tribe with them, and Falkon silently thanked the Emperor that this tribe was one of the smaller ones. Then he saw something that made his heart beat faster in his chest. In the middle of the pack of Orks there was a massive figure who had a few metallic objects pinned to his chest. While he couldn’t make out the exact details from this distance Falkon knew that those were medals pried from the corpses of noble soldiers, and that the massive Ork was none other than Kernal Bloodkill. If they played their cards right they could decapattate the Ork tribe right here, they just had to wait for the right moment…. As the Orks sprinted ever closer to the ambush point Falkon raised one hand to restrain his comrades from firing until they right moment. There! “NOW!” Falkon yelled and then he began firing. The Orks in the canyon had just enough time to look up at the source of the noise before they were engulfed in Volkite fire. It was hardly a battle, he would recall later, it had been more like a massacre. The crude armor of the Orks provided zero protection against the lethally accurate fire of the armsmen arrayed all around them in the canyon, and Orks fell by the dozen. Kernal Bloodkill had scarcely lasted for a few seconds after the firefight started before he was burnt to a crisp by the massed Volkite fire that engulfed him and his boyz. A few minutes after the shooting started it ceased as the last boy turned tail and tried to flee before being scythed down by the armsmen. As one the armsmen let out a roar of victory. They had gone up against a numerically superior foe and they had come out victorious! The best part was they had taken no losses in the bargain! Falkon and his comrades cut off the burnt head of Bloodkill and took it as a trophy of their victory, and Falkon thought it would do nicely as a gift to Chaplain Iodius and his chapter. They had suffered at the hands of the Orks, and the head of Bloodkill would go a ways towards establishing friendly relations between the two groups. Their good mood persisted all the way back to their lander, even the fact that the Arbiters had scarcely stayed around long enough to congratulate the armsmen on their victory did very little to diminish their pride. Falkon did notice though, with a tinge of worry that Judge Hetarr was not with his brothers. He didn’t have long to ponder this fact though, as he stood there he received another message from Sera telling him to return to their base, apparently the Sacristans had managed to seriously upgrade her Knight suit. By the time the lander took off Falkon had pushed the Judge’s disappearance to the back of his mind, he had other things to worry about.

Rolled pretty well for my assault on Bloodkill, and the Arbiter and I steamrolled em. Vanden, if you want to write up getting a slightly burnt Warboss head in a blurb of yours go ahead, since my guys took his head for you. Also, rolled my first major victory to repair my Knights, and I got some upgrades for em! All in all a good day for me

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
Rotting Sorcerer of Nurgle

The Dog-house

"There was a time, Chapter Master, when we met secretly because you felt obligated to protect me, but I am well and capable of protecting myself. I welcome the thought of your guidance and direction though I have grown my own wings and can now achieve greater heights than you may ever. I am no longer an alley girl from Gallor Prime," the Angel spoke, her words almost as cold as adamantium. She remained standing as her Chapter Master, Ajax Sylus, sat upon his throne hesitantly, his pride slightly wounded by the Angel's harsh words. Neither wore their usual battle plate and wore only the simple white robes that all the members of the Arbiters of Truth wore.

"Every time we speak, must you distance yourself further from me?" Sylus sighed. His eyes never left the floor as he spoke with the Angel. This minor detail irked the Angel more than it should have.

"I have not distanced myself from you as much as you have from me. You have made me part of your petty games, Ajax, and I do not take kindly to being played," the Angel snapped after a drawn out silence. This brought Sylus' eyes up to the Angel, though neither wished it did. Sylus gripped the arm of his throne tightly and readjusted himself. Both found the place this conversation would bring them to uncomfortable.

"There are things in this galaxy that are bigger than you and I. My only choice was to have you take up the mantle of the Angel-"

"You could have left me alone, just as you did with the others from Gallor Prime. I did not want to be a part of your ancient prophecies. You have dragged me into these convoluted schemes that have no end. Each of your fething crusades have been about the same damn thing."

Sylus tensed up and readjusted himself. By the look on the Angel's face, she was beyond furious, though it didn't take a physical appearance to notice. The melodic tone was gone in her voice and her tattoos no longer shone brightly. Her expression and body image became much darker as a result and Sylus felt it was very unnerving. She continued.

"You are trying to find him. You are looking for Ryus."

She was right. Sylus had said that he never felt like Ryus had truly died and it happened to be coincidental that their new handler, Inquisitor Birminghold, was incredibly interested in a warband called the "Fallen Order." The Angel didn't need a divine intervention to see that the old sins of the New Order were still apparent in the Arbiters of Truth. They were still subversive and deceitful to the bone so much that their face as a highly superstitious chapter was hardly true. They hadn't changed slightly and barely repented for their misdeeds in the Charadon System. Now that the Angel was granted access to all the information about the Arbiters of Truth, or the then-New Order, she could see that almost their entire history was seeded with lies and underhanded plans. Despite all of this, all of the cowardice the Arbiters harbored, the Angel had hoped Ajax Sylus, the one human, hardly a fitting term in both character and appearance, that mentored her into the Angel, would be different than all the rest, but it turns out that he was just like the others.

"We cannot rest until he is dead..." Sylus trailed off, clearly entrenched in thought. The Angel has never seen him in such mental anguish as he was now.

"Why do you need me? Why can't you kill him?" the Angel demanded. She was not going to be lied to now. She would not leave until she found the truth.

"You are an untouchable. You do not exist in the Warp which makes you a prime assassin against Psykers... Against Ryus."

"So that is my only purpose? I kill Ryus then what? You'll get rid of me like you got rid of him?" the Angel cried. Sylus had never seen the Angel cry, but it brought him much sorrow to see it now. She made her way to the door.

"Annala, I..."

"For the first time since we left Kattifrakk... You have mustered the courage to use my real name... Congratulations," the Angel said, coldly, void of all emotion and walked out.

Not much, but I figured I'd get something out for the Arbiters of Truth.

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 us
Regular Dakkanaut

The crackle of the fires, the stomping of heavy boots, and the occasional shout or grunt formed a rhythmic tune that filled the night as the shadows danced with the flickering torchlight of Skull Eater fortress. Guts stood at the tree line, his eyes carefully observing the patrols along the fortifications. A smile broke across his face as he saw an opening, and without wasting another second, he dashed towards the wall, leaving only a slight rustle though the underbrush as a sign of his passing.

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

SkarGore walked his patrols, his massive frame causing the wall’s wooden planks to creak and groan in protest. He was bored. Worse than that, he was bored, and had to walk the rounds at night. His hands gripped his javelin as he thought it over. Night was always when the best drinking was had, and the least interesting things happened to the guards. He longed for a good raid, to be part of one, or even to be attacked by one. Any chance to fightwas more than welcome. His eyes darted back and forth, attempting to will the shadow’s figments into foes, but he was disappointed again and again.

SkarGore let out a heavy sigh as he leaned against the wall’s battlements, picking at the dirt from under his finger nails, thoroughly convinced that this watch would end just as any other, with the taste of stale leftover grog and disappointment.

A thump.

SkarGore’s ears perked at the sound, tracing its origin to under the machine gun tower. Walking slowly and softly, he approached the sound. His heart pounded with anticipation, and his hands began to sweat as he gripped his javelin, and alarm horn tightly. Reaching the bottom of the tower, SkarGore saw the source of the sound. A dead greenskin, one of the watch, his heart impaled by a metal javelin. Beyond him crouched a nob, his skin covered in camouflage stripes, and a quiver of javelins was slung on his back. SkarGore grinned as he slowly hefted his javelin, his awaited moment of glory had come.

SkarGore’s foot shifted.

The nob’s ears perked.

The javelin flew.

Streaking though the air, the javelin rushed towards the nob, grazing his leather armor as he spun to the side. The nob hurled a pair of iron javelins, one after the other, as he fell through the air and rolled to his feet. SkarGore fell to the ground, the javelins striking him in the thigh and the shoulder. Through grunts of pain, he grabbed his horn and blew it with all the strength he had left. The horn’s sounding abruptly ended as the nob rushed over and kicked it out of SkarGore’s hands, but he blew long enough.

“You’zgunna die.” SkarGore taunted, coughing up blood. “You’z stupid ta’ fink ya could take tha’ fort all by yerself.”

The nob smiled as he drew a bulky looking pistol from his belt. With a click, a brilliant flare flew into the night’s sky, illuminating the whole fortress.

“Commin’ alone wasn’t part’a tha’ plan, chump.”

With that, the nob ripped out the iron javelins with a single hand, and plunged them into SkarGore’s chest.

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

As the flare filled the sky, the very air around Hannibal shifted from tense anticipation, to eager aggression.

“ ‘Dat’s ‘da signal. Let’s go boyz!” A roar of joyous rage followed Hannibal’s order, and the iron horde advanced.

Skull Eater fortress was in disarray. The night watch rushed to their emplaced guns, and the rest of the forces ran about, trying to arm themselves before the fight began in earnest. The dark proved to be the iron horde’s ally, as the defenders could see nothing. They hustled to their post, hearing the sound of many steady footfalls rise louder and louder.

“Wot in tha’ name a’ gork iz ‘dat!?” Yelled one of the defenders as the horde finally game into view. Each of Hannibal’s orks held a large iron plate of steel larger than himself, and all of them held together in a unified defense, presenting the defenders of Skull Eater fortress with not a horde, but a solid wall of iron on all sides. In the middle of the horde was a battering ram, it’s body made from a black ore oak, and the head was metal, shaped in the vision of a squiggoth baring its teeth. Frightened and confused yells came from all over the walls as their assailants came ever closer, the defenders unsure how to fight this foe.

“Well don’t jus’ stand ‘dere ya gits!” Yelled a nob from the top of a guntower. “Shoot da zoggin-“

His instructions were cut off mid sentence, as the base of his guntower, and two other guntowers, was blasted away by massive explosions. The defenders watched helplessly, as those defenses crashed to the ground.


Only footsteps.

Then the bullets fired.

The walls of Skull Eater fortress erupted in angry gunfire, hot lead raining hard against the iron wall of shields. The iron horde kept coming, the bullets bouncing off the shields, only leaving dents in the thick iron plates as they came to the door. The shields parted, giving way for the battering ram to come forward.

“Heh. A ram. ‘Dey gunna be at ‘dis a long time.” an off world ork said to another, feigning more bravado, and more faith in the gate’s latch bar, than he had at the moment.

Hannibal smiled as the ram came to a stop in front of the gates, a few of his orks fell to the death rain, unlucky casualties as the shield wall reformed around the ram, but the horde as a whole remained unharmed.

“Put on tha’ braces!” He barked, his quiet planning done. It was time for action, and orders. And orders were best received when bellowed loudly.

Ironclad boys rushed forward, fitting solid metal braces on the otherwise free-swinging battering ram. The wall’s defenders only had a few moments to wonder between gun bursts before Hannibal pulled a lever on the side of the ram. The squiggoth’s mouth opened, once baring its teeth, now it was in mid howl, and deep in its throat where over a dozen rockets.


The rockets flew out of the ram in an instant, striking the solid gate with a furious assault, turning the front into Swiss cheese, and its heavy tree-sized latch into splinters. Hannibal ordered the braces removed, and with a single mighty swing, the gates flew open. The iron horde rushed in, casting aside their shields, now past their purpose, were cast aside as soon as they entered the compound.

Hannibal stood at the gate, barking orders to his lieutenants. “Gort, Ace, get up an’ clear tha’ battlements. Give us some supportin’ fire! IronGore, we’z takin’ tha’ ground. Krump as many as ya want, but Skull Eata’s mine.”

With that, the nobs flew into action. Gort rushed towards the nearest set of stairs, his hands now replaced with a pair of massive power claws. He could not help himself but grin as he rushed the enemy position, ripping though armor and green flesh as if it were paper, and carving a bloody path up to the battlements. Ace followed suit with his blackbloods, their bullets cutting swaths though the enemy ranks that attacked them.

As the iron horde fought further in the fortress, the enemy resistance increased. More and more defenders filed out of their huts and grog halls as more attackers came through the gate. A near standstill was reached with Hannibal and IronGore in the middle, inching forwards swing by bloody swing. Soon, they fought their way to several of Skull Eater’s nobs. Hannibal raised his pistol, firing a volley of green energy blasts at his foes, and catching one in the chest, and ending his life. IronGore leaped forwards, brandishing the back end of his tankhammer, revealing a razor sharp axe blade that he swung towards the nobs. One nob was unlucky enough to be caught in the first swings, going down as the blade carve though his heart. Two more nobs were more agile, dodging and blocking the blows as IronGore pressed the attack. Then, with a swift spin, IronGore turned the hammer around and swung it migtilly. The nob raised his javelin to block the swing, and the rocket detonated, showering the nob with red hot molten metal as the directed blast went off.

Watching his comrade fall to the ground, the last of IronGore’s foes rushed him, pressing his attack before IronGore had a chance to reload his hammer. The nob gave mighty swings, keeping IronGore off balance enough to keep him from giving any retaliation. At last, the nob’s relentless attacks paid off, and IronGore was knocked to the ground with a heavy handed strike with the Javelin’s handle. There was no ceremony or gloating to be had as the nob moved to finish off IronGore, save a sneer of satisfaction.

The Javelin raised up, its stone surface stained with the blood of IronGore’s allies. As the nob began to stab it down, a blur of motion caught his eye. He turned, but too late, as a metal javelin impaled his head, sending him crashing hard into the ground. IronGore stood up, placing a rocket into his hammer, and turning towards his savior.

“Good shot, Guts.”

Guts smiled as he pulled the javelin out. “I figured ya’ could use the help, seein’ as tha’ boss iz buisy.”

Guts nodded behind IronGore, and the two turned to watch as Hannibal squared off with a gargantuan ork clad in thick metal plates from head to toe. Only his head was truly visible, but IronGore recognized that face instantly.

“Skull Eata’…”

Hannibal and Skull Eater sized each other up, their battleground became the eye of the storm raging around them as no boy dared enter their fight. Hannibal made the first move, firing his energy pistol at Skull Eater. The armor did a fair job as the green energy impacted, and largely vaporized, large chunks of the clunky metal, but Skull Eater remained untouched. Skull Eater responded in kind, firing from the two machine guns attached to his hand, all the while bellowing and charging towards his challenger. Hannibal’s array proved itself once again, as the lightening shot towards the bullets, forming a glowing, crackling barrier that none of the projectiles passed.

The two met in combat, Skull eater bringing his mighty claw to bear. Hannibal moved to the side, barely dodging the massive blow, causing the claw to crash into the ground, before swinging up with his own. He struck the armor hard, and sunk the claw in deep, before ripping out a sizable chunk of metal. It was only metal, to Hannibal’s dismay, and his foe remained unscathed. With a jarring crunch, Hannibal was struck on the head as Skull Eater tore his claw out of the dirt, and brought it up in a backhanded swing. Hannibal was thrown to the ground, his helmet thrown clean off. His ears ringing, Hannibal spit out a broken tusk before standing again to face his foe, only to find Skull Eater climbing into a truck. Hannibal rushed towards him, but it was too late. The truck’s engine roared to life, and Skull eater was driven though the chaos and out the front gate, escaping certain defeat as Hannibal’s boys continued their crushing advance.

“ ‘Dis isn’t ova! Ya hear me! I says ‘dis isn’t ova!” Skull Eater shouted as his truck sped away. It did not take long for his remaining boys to realize their boss had fled, many of which surrendering to the iron horde with only a few die hard fanatics preferring to fight to their deaths.

Hannibal stood still, a small trickle of blood coming from his empty tusk socket, and his eyes still on the horizon where Skull Eater fled as Ace came up to him.

“Hey boss, we got’s tha’ fortress. Tha’ boyz are thinkin’ a’ havin’ some a’ tha’ grog ‘dey gots in ‘ere ta’ celebrate afta’ we’z done lootin tha’ bodies.”

No response.

“Boss? Er… Boss? Ya there?”

“Wheels.” came Hannibal’s response “We’z gunna need some wheels.”

Finally captured Skull Eater fortress!

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 au
Adopted Son of the Emperor

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

Iodius awoke from his deep sleep. He asked the nearest apothecary the date. One day. He had been out for a day. He groggily pulled himself out of the medical bay. His entire body ached, and it reminded him of how he felt during his initiation. His years as a scout were hard, but this fight dwarfed it. His imaginary list of injuries had increased by a marginal amount. He found it hard to smile, hell, he found it hard to do anything. He bit down the grunts and marched on. He nodded to whatever Space Marines he saw on the way to his destination, and they nodded back. He had earned respect for beating their Chaplain in combat, and it was rightly earned. Then he arrived. One of the three original bunkers that were here before the Carcharadons made landfall. He entered the building and made his way to the very centre of the building. He removed his helmet, bent his knee, rested his elbow on his knee and planted his head in his hand. The shrine of the Emperor was a glorious one, depicting Him slaying a Great Dragon of old. He sat there for several hours, Space Marines came and went in the time he was there. He felt his mind begin to wander.

Iodius awoke. He was sweating and breathing hard. He checked the chronometer in his eye. Eighteen hours. He had been sitting there eighteen hours. He had no idea what he had dreamt of the past hours, as if it was a black stain in his memory. He rose, put his helmet on and made his way out of the temple of the Emperor. He arrived at the quarters that had been assigned to Captain Ceasar. He knocked. No response. He made to open the door, and it gave way. Ceasar was strewn over his bed, one leg dangled off the edge, and his helmet was on the floor. Stuck in his hand was an elegant looking bottle. Iodius removed his helmet and reached down. He pried the bottle from his fingers and read the label, which was drawn over with several dodgy pictures of Tau and Eldar getting shot.
“Macragian Ale’? Where the hell’d you get this…” He whispered to himself. Ceasar shifted on the spot and covered his face with his arms. “Still asleep ey…” Iodius made his way out of the room once more and called over a few Carcharadons. He grinned and led them back into the room.
“On three…One, two…Three” Iodius blocked his ears
“SURPRISE!” The assembled Marines bellowed at maximum vox amp. Ceasar never knew what hit him. He sprung at least a full metre off the bed and landed flat on his face.
“WHAT WHO WHE-“ He saw Iodius laughing in the corner. “Oh I hate your arse right now…” The Carcharadons shared a laugh and left the room, going back to what Iodius dragged them out of.
“Y-Y-You should’ve s-seen your face! AHAHAHAHA!...” Iodius reeled backwards, clutching his stomach and laughing with unheard of volume.
“Oh I hate you. Now, what was that for and what do you want?” Ceasar rubbed his face, still sore from his fall.
“Ah..hahaha…Oh that was good…Anyway, why’d you get drunk? I’m going to assume that Captain Taranis had something to do with it?” Iodius wiped away a tear.
“Aye, we may have drank a little last night. Now answer my other question” He righted himself and leaned on the bed, occasionally taking a swig from his bottle.
“We have spent too much time here, and I have not heard anything from ‘Encampment Belial’. And I don’t think you need any more time with your drinking buddy, it’s getting quite unhealthy.” Iodius rose and helped Ceasar up. “Get yourself cleaned up, we leave in the morning. Say bye bye to Taranis. I have much to think about.” Iodius patted Ceasars shoulder guards and walked out, leaving Ceasar to clean up the room.
“Ugh I’m going to miss you…” Ceasar looked at the bottle and kissed it. “Next time friend…” He rubbed his temples and began cleaning his mess.

The two left from Strike Base Armageddon early in the morning, only notifying Captain Taranis. A thunderhawk was called from the Battle Barge in orbit and picked the two up. Taranis and Ceasar grasped each other’s hands and shared a laugh.
“If you ever need anything, just ask. We will be there.” Ceasar laughed, he had made a new friend.
“Same to you friend, have a nice trip.” Taranis nodded and stepped back.
Iodius sat in the cockpit with Mikelus. He was above farewells, but would admit that he would miss these Marines. He enjoyed their company, and looked forward to future engagements with them. Ceasar entered the Thunderhawk and sat down. Iodius went back to the front of the Thunderhawk and sat with Ceasar.
“Hell of a week ey?” Ceasar said tiredly
“Ain’t no rest for the Wicked.”

The return was undoubtedly chaotic. They arrived to Cedric(company champion) waiting with at least another four marines. The Champion walked up to Iodius and bowed.
“Brother, there have been developments whilst you were away.” He wore his helmet, but Iodius could hear the sorrow his voice. Cerdic did not wait for a response, and turned away to lead them to the chapel of the base. Iodius was taken aback when he saw the four bodies. Each one had wounds similar to that of power weapons. Orks did not have such technology, especially the orks in the immediate area. He reached down and rested his hand on the Aquilla on the nearest one. It was bloodied.
“How?” Iodius closed his eyes, almost knowing the answer.
“There was a traitor within the ranks. Manus. He was overtaken by some foul power and murdered his own brothers. It took my blade to put him down.” Cedric held his head low, unwilling to meet Iodius’ gaze.
“Where is he?” Iodius rested his hand on his crozius.
“He is contained in the barracks. We have been interrogating him the past three days, and have increased security as a precaution.”
“I shall see him. He has much to atone for.” Iodius turned and went to leave, but stopped as he reached the door. “Tell me Cedric, why have we heard nothing from you the past few days?”
“We were unable to fix communications. Techmarine Strates has not been able to fix it, says something about a disturbance in the force distributors in the communication array.” Iodius nodded.
“Carry on Cedric.”
Iodius marched to the barracks. He felt something stir within him that he had never felt before. The apparition marched next to him, each step was just as vindictive as Iodius’. Iodius had sheathed his crozius to hold something he picked up on his way there. He reached the barracks within minutes of setting off. He heard the growl before he entered.
“Chaplain…Come to gloat?” Manus’ voice was not of this world. Raspy and deeper than it had been before. The room was barely lit, with only a few fires burning in the four corners of the room, and Manus was bound in the centre. Iodius said nothing, just removing a combat knife from his hip. He went to Manus, and began sawing at his shoulder. The once proud marine bared his teeth at Iodius as his tattoo was sewn off. As the skin was finally removed from his shoulder, Iodius stepped back. The skin was thrown to the side, and Iodius punched Manus.
“Ahaha…That’s right…Let go of your rage…Succumb to the urge…” Iodius gritted his teeth and punched harder. Each punch drew a laugh from Manus. The laughter peaked, and Iodius roared. He removed his helmet and hit Manus with it. Each blow drew more and more blood, Iodius felt blood in his mouth, and realised he had bitten down on his own tongue. He hit Manus once more and pulled back. He grabbed what he had brought with him, and put it over one of the torches. He left it there until it was red hot. He grabbed the metal aquilla and felt it burn against his armoured hand. With his other hand he held back Manus’ head.

Iodius wiped the sweat off his brow and looked over the traitor.
“The reward for heresy.” Iodius held his Crozius in an iron grip, its head glistened with blood. “Death.”

The start of something sinister within the ranks.

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 us
Loyal Necron Lychguard

Working on it

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

Taranis stood in the middle of an open pasture, taking in the environment. He closed his eyes and felt the warp. He slowly raised his hands and as his hands rose, so did the earth beneath him. He felt the power of the immaterium surging, bending the planet, shaping the landscape. Taranis was lifted into the air upon a pylon of rock, it stopped and settled when he could see above the tree line. He sat down and looked over the land, it was peaceful.
“Captain!” Taranis stood up and walked to the edge of the rocks and looked down. Artemis was there.
“What is it Artemis?!”
“The Guardsmen are but 10 minutes out, would you like to greet them?!”
“Sure.” He lowered the pylon back down to ground level. “Good to see you Artemis, how goes your work?”
“Fortunately it is slow, the men are well trained. I have something to ask of you.”
“Of course, walk with me Artemis,” They began walking back towards base, “What is it you require?”
“I assume we plan to be on this planet for awhile, yes?”
“I would assume so, why do you ask?”
“I wish to look over the local villages for possible recruits.” Taranis thought it over, he hadn’t even thought of replenishing ranks.
“You may Artemis, I suppose that would help.”
They arrived at the base as the first of the three Tetrarch Heavy Landers made ground fall. The Captains and their subsequent staff and orderlies approached first. First was Captain Vitear, a suave man with a look of regality about him. He face only marred by a single scar on his cheek. Following him was Captain Matesius, he was an average sized man of above average intelligence, his right arm was bionic as was his left eye. The two captains greeted each other as Captain Sibarios walked right past them. Sibarios was a gruff brute of a man, such was expected from the son of a former Vostroyan. All three Captains stood in a line ready to greet the man who had helped save them. Taranis walked forward flanked by Exitar and Artemis, all clad in armor.
“Captains, glad to see you’ve come to bring His wrath upon the enemy. I would hold off on deploying yet until we can establish a proper location for you to set up. May I inquire your names?”
“I am Captain Vitear, I lead the Iron Reclaimers Infantry Company. If a hill needs storming, we’ll take it or die trying.”
“I’m Captain Matesius of the Purifiers Infantry Company. I’ll make sure the enemies of the Emperor are but ash.”
“Hehehe,” Captain Sibarios chuckled, “I’m Captain Sibarios, I lead the Manumit Host Armored Company, if you need something one let me know, I can get it done.”
“Very well men, it is good to have you hear. Do what you must, but I need you to follow me..”
The Captains gave their staff orders and sent them off before before following the giant Astartes. They walked for a minute or two before approaching the command stronghold of the Strikebase. They entered and walked down a hall before entering a room with a rather large table. They all sat down and looked around for a bit. Taranis was first to speak.
“I’m forming a Strikeforce to send to Hive Torcan,” He threw a small box into the center of the table and it projected a map of Crion, “There are Eldar rumored to be there, the Governor wants us to go in and take them out. He emphasized, however, that this is to remain as confidential as possible. Matesius, I want your company to go with Exitar and take those Xenos down. Vitear, we’ll have you set up next to Armageddon, you’ll be deployed when we find a suitable target for you. Sibarios, how well can your men entrench?”
“We can dig like wolverines if need be, are there mole people about?”
“No, I want your tanks to entrench around the base behind the walls we’ve built. We’ll turn this place into a fortress yet.”
“I can do that.”
“Good, I trust you all will succeed in the Emperor’s name. Strikeforce Apocalypse will launch in two days, dismissed.” The Guardsmen left the rooms and back to their own companies to start preparations. After they had left, Taranis turned to Exitar, “You will be leading this Strikeforce, you will take Squads Leiodon, Typus, Mokkaran, Corona, and Pelagios. The Carcharius will drop you off. The Perlo, Ditropis, and Maximus will go with you as well. Is there anything else you need?” Exitar thought it through, “I would like to call on the Astartes of the Dorn’s Wish chapter, I wish to see their resolve in combat. I would also like to contact the Armsmen of House Valorn, I Knight could facilitate this operation.”
“So be it then, you may contact them. Artemis, I want you to go with Exitar, perhaps we may find recruits in this battered Hive.”
“Yes sir, I will be on the lookout.”
“You both may go. I will contact the Agrona and see if anything recent has occurred.”
They all parted ways, Artemis went to the barracks to monitor the men and make sure everyone is healthy, Taranis went to his chambers to switch out of his armor, and Exitar walked to the communications room. He entered the building and went to the man in charge of the building.
“You there, I need you to establish a vox link with Chaplain Iodius of the Dorn’s Wish chapter.”
“Yes m’lord, here you are.” The serf handed Exitar the vox, it was a couple minutes before a voice was heard.
“Exitar? What is it you need?” The man’s voice was forced and pained, he was obviously still hurting from the fight.
“I am to lead a Strikeforce against the Eldar of Hive Torcan and it would be deeply appreciated if you could send some help.”
“Hmm… hold for a moment,” The vox went silent for a couple minutes, “I will accompany you along with Squads Pelis, Giecos, and Androdian. Where is this Strike force leaving from?”
“We leave from Armageddon, in two days time. Welcome to Strikeforce Apocalypse.”
The vox went silent. Exitar was glad that the conversation went better than he thought. He still had another call to make though.
“Patch me through to House Valorn.”
“Yes m’lord.” Exitar held the vox for a few minutes before it whirred to life, a female voice came through.
“This is Amanda Valorn of House Valorn, with whom am I speaking?”
“This is Exitar, Chaplain of the Carcharodons 9th Predation Company.”
“Hello Chaplain, with what can I help you?”
“I am requesting one of your Knight kin, we are launching a Strikeforce to combat the Xenos threat at Hive Torcan, I figured the Knights of House Valorn would enjoy the opportunity to smite the enemies of the Imperium.”
“Indeed we would, Knight Sera Valorn has just gotten her Knight repaired, I’m sure she would like to take her Knight out for a spin.”
“Thank you, we are congregating at Strikebase Armageddon in 2 days time.”

-----Two Days Later-----

Exitar stood to the side of the strike base's airfield, Artemis and Matesius standing next to him. He walked up and down the line as the 5 squads he was taking were filed and in rank. He looked over his astartes before speaking,
“Men, within the hour, we will be enroute to Hive Torcan. We are to eliminate the foul Xenos that hid within its walls, and we are to be discrete with it. The Governor wants this to be confidential, but we will do what is needed.” He stopped speaking as a large whirring was heard, it was not but seconds before a teal Thunderhawk came over tree line. It slowed and landed about 50 meters away from the gathered men. The front ramp lowered and a Chaplain walked out followed by 30 Marines. Iodius took a look at the gathered Sharks and gestured for his men to do the same. Exitar was first to greet, “Ah, chaplain, it is good to see you again.”
“Likewise. I bring with me Squads Pelis, Giecos, and Androdian.”
“Allow me to introduce you to most of the commanders. This is Artemis, apothecary for our company and this is Captain Matesius of Purifiers Infantry Company.”
“A pleasure to meet you both.” He thought for a second, “What do you mean most commanders?”
“We are awaiting on a Knight Sera Valorn.”
“An Imperial Knight? I’m impressed Chaplain, this is a worthy battle group.”
“Yes,” A large rumble was heard as the Carcharius approached the base, an Imperial Knight hanging beneath it, “Here they are now.” The Knight was lowered to the ground with a large thud. The Stormbird detached from the Knight and landed, out of the side door emerged Sera Valorn who was accompanied by 10 armsman. As they approached Exitar couldn’t help but notice the ancient armor and weaponry they possessed, it was as if the Solar Auxilia still existed. The Knight pilot surveyed the 80 gathered marines, “Well this is an impressive battle group chaplain.”
“It is,” Exitar and Iodius spoke at the same time and then looked at each other.
“Sorry, I should have specified.... What is that?” She looked past the commanders and at the massive ship behind them. Matesius swelled with pride. “I am Captain Matesius of the Purifiers Infantry Company, that is the Lander that hold my company.” Exitar looked back, “Speaking of introductions, this is Chaplain Iodius of the Dorn’s Wish chapter, this is Artemis, apothecary of our company, and that’s Matesius as you now know. Let us move out then shall we?” Exitar began giving commands,
“Leiodon, Typus, and Pelagios, you will be riding in the Caestus Rams, dismissed. Iodius, accompany your men in your Thunderhawk.” Iodius nodded and then began herding is men into the Thunderhawk. “Matesius, return to your Tetrarch and ready your men, you will receive orders before arrival.” “Sir.” Matesius gave the Astartes a salute before turning and leaving for his ship. “Mokkaran and Corona, report to the Carcharius. Valorn, you and your armsman will accompany myself and Artemis aboard the Carcharius. Let’s move out people.”

=====Outskirts of Hive Torcan, Hotch, Crion=====

Exitar had spent the majority of the flight viewing a holographic map of their landing zone, mapping out where the defenses would be and what changes to the environment would have to be made. He had reached his conclusion, he picked up his vox unit and switched it Matesius’ channel. “Matesius, I have your orders. I want you take your men and have them start building into these positions. My men will assist you with the construction of defenses.” “Yes sir, i’ll begin delegating command.” He switched the vox over to Iodius’ channel, “Iodius, the Imperial Guard will begin defense works, can your men provide overwatch?” “I’ll have them patrol the perimeter.” He put down the vox and stood before walking over to the Knight pilot, “When we touch down I want you to get in your suit and scan the area for threats.” “I will do so Chaplain.” Exitar began walking to the cabin of the Stormbird when the vox went off, “We’ve arrived at the LZ.” He stopped midway and walked to the door and opened it, he leaned out and saw the area they would be setting up camp, it was right outside of Hive Torcan.
It took about 30 minutes for the Marines to land and get to work, it took an additional hour to finish unloading the massive Tetrarch. Exitar stood on a small hill between the camp and the Hive and looked at the latter. He surveyed the walls and higher buildings, his gaze fixed on a spot where he thought he saw movement. He caught a glimpse of a mask before it disappeared into the shadows.

The Harlequin's new exactly where they were at. This offensive had just gotten significantly more difficult.

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

Made in ca
Heroic Senior Officer

Krieg! What a hole...

----- City of New Pavus, slums -----

The infiltrated Scions weren't going anywhere so far, they had wandered around, looking for other high ranked Tillers to approach, the only thing they'd found were a few pro-Tillers propaganda fliers, including some with pictures of Horatio, at least they'd recognize him now, and would be able to gun him where he stood if they came across him. The mission had been delayed for too long and Mallia was getting impatient, they had very little intelligence gathered, it was probably time to change strategy.

'' I vote we snatch the Major and interrogate him our way '' said a Scion

'' That could work, his guards are sloppy, and they weren't wearing decent armor, our silenced pistols should make e'm go down quick, don't think the guy will resist interrogation for too long ''

'' We'll have to track him first, can't take him in that tavern, too many people ''

'' Obviously, you guys brought some sleeping darts? ''

'' I did! ''

'' Great, I'll confirm orders with the Tempestor and we'll plan it in more details ''

Mallia reviewed what her men told her and gave her them her go

'' This has been a huge waste of time, go ahead, we need progress ''

----- Drakes Point PDF Training Post -----

Riley was in a foul mood, the PDF bunch he was assigned were exceptionnally incompetent today. He shot the slowest with a '' training bolt '', the lowest setting possible on a hellgun, still extremely painful, but not likely to cause lasting wounds, or to kill.

'' You're wounded, idiot, now your squad's gotta carry ya... FIRST SECTION! You got a men down, fething act like it! '' One trooper came back to help his comrade, Riley gave him a few seconds before shooting him in the head.

'' First section! Noone was covering your buddy while he was treating your wound, some gakhole shot him in the head '' This time, the PDF's followed their procedures and two men showed up, one checking up on the wounded, while the other was providing covering fire. To their credit, the soldiers managed to move their comrade pretty quickly, and he was swiftly left under the care of the platoon medic.

'' Alright you two get back to your section, they'll need you '' The pair moved up and their sergeant ordered them in position to support the rest of the squad. They made good progress despite their losses, taking their objective. Unfortunately for them, the rest of the platoon did not fare too well, and an enemy counter counter attack charged at them, hitting the sergeant with a burst of lasbolts to the chest. His armor probably would've stopped the worst of the hits, but for the purpose of the exercise, they would count as kill shots.

'' Two IC, take over, repel that charge, you're in a good spot! ''

The new man in charge answered by ordering his squad to throw frags

'' FRAG OUT! '' said a trooper, followed by the muffled explosion of the training grenades, the rest of the squad rose up, slowing down the enemy where it was, and forcing them to take cover and fire back, there would be no close combat on this assault. Lasbolt lit up the training ground as both forces exchanged fire, the men under Riley supervision slowly taking their enemies down. In the end, they had lost two more men, but had been victorious.

'' All right, not too bad, you guys started off really sloppy, but at least you pulled outta that one, but remember, when you go take care of a wounded, make sure you bring someone to cover you, you don't know the state of your buddy, and you might get attacked while you're treating him, no doubts you guys would've pulled through with less losses with an extra gun up there, you're all dismissed ''

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 us
Regular Dakkanaut

Skull Eater fortress had been transformed.

Wooden walls reinforced with iron plates, twice the gun towers, the machine gun emplacements were doubled, and new rocket launcher emplacements studded the walls and bunkers. The orks now called it Iron Skull fortress, a boast that even Skull Eater could not defeat the Iron Horde. Hannibal let them change the name. He rather liked it.

The days following the fortress victory were filled with laughter and drunken song. Even the surrendered orks were gladly welcomed into the horde, drinking along with the rest. Hannibal, however, never joined in the festivities. He preferred seclusion as he plotted out the reinforcements of Iron Skull fortress, and worked on his latest project.

The sound of song was drowned out as Hannibal’s project roared to life. Crowds had begun to gather at the building Hannibal claimed as his new workshop before the door burst open, as Hannibal rode out atop a large iron bike, and sporting a wicked grin. Nobs bellowed bids of hundreds of teeth at Hannibal as he drove around the inside of the fortress, his bike gleaming from the twin gun barrels to the tailpipe. A few hours later, Hannibal was back in his workshop, humming a song to himself as welded the frames of four new bikes, with a chest filled to the point of bursting with teeth placed in the corner.

It was then that an ork boy came to his door. It was one of the off world orks who had surrendered during the battle. He, and the rest of his kin were welcomed into the iron horde in the typical ork custom, and Hannibal was quite pleased with the grasp of technology the off world recruits had and made sure to put them to good use.

“Boss. We scouted out tha’ otha’ bases, an’ ‘dere ain’t no sign a Skull Eata’. Ain’t no sign a any a his boyz.”

Hannibal put his tools down, and pushed the welding mask off. Wiping the sweat from his green brow, he bade the boy to go on.

“The camps were empty. ‘dey took tha’ weapons. Nothin’ left ta’ look. Ya fink Skull Eata’ decided to leg it afta’ tha’ beatin’ you gave ‘em?”

Hannibal shook his head, but smiled at the thought of him besting Skull Eater in combat. While not exactly the way it actually happened, Hannibal was happy with letting the new recruits believe that he was the mightier ork. Skull Eater proved to be a strong, and durable opponent. In his heart, Hannibal knew that the threats Skull Eater made were not idle ones. This report only confirmed his suspicions.

“He ain’t runnin.” Hannibal said. “He’s got too much pride fer’ dat. He’s gatherin’ fer’ an attack. Get Guts an tell ‘em to come ‘ere. We gots more buildin’ ta do.”

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 au
Adopted Son of the Emperor

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

Iodius readied himself once more. The Thunderhawk roared through the sky, bound for the coordinates relayed by the scout group. He was angry at the development at Encampment Belial, and this was a perfect pass-time. An ork establishment was found somewhere in the desert, and Iodius went with twenty-nine other battle brothers, each eager to spill xenos blood once more to destroy it. Iodius hoped that the damned leader was there. To kill him, would be to cut off the head of the ork tribes in the region, and make their eradication quick and easy. Iodius closed his eyes and edged the pilot to fly faster.

The orks of the Namrex dunes were surprisingly adept in technology, their Trukks only exploding 4/10 times the driver turned on the engine, their ranged weapons only jamming every 7 shots, and usually exploding afterwards, their melee weapons were usually clubs or crude axes…Well, at least the orks thought they were pretty savvy. But no amount of DAKKA could prepare the orks for what was coming. The Thunderhawk streaked overhead, disgorging missile after missile into the most fortified parts of the camp. Trukks burned, orks died. It was glorious. After each pass, the orks would try to regroup, but the low moral, little to no discipline, and common rivalries prevented such a thing from happening. By the time the Thunderhawk landed and delivered its payload, the orks were pretty much gone, running away from Iodius and his pent up rage. Only a few stragglers remained when Iodius reached the camp.
“Orks spotted moving due north. Do you wish for me to hunt them down, Chaplain?” Mikelus’ voice sounded in Iodius’ ear piece.
“No, I wish the pleasure of killing them myself. Circle above us and tell me what you can see, we shall start heading out now.”
“As you wish, Chaplain.” Iodius heard the distinct noise of the Thunderhawk taking off and saw it pass overhead. A few minutes later and Iodius once again heard Mikelus. “Chaplain, it appears that these orks are running straight into a sandstorm. Visibility is bad, and they shall be slowed for quite some time.”
“My thanks, we will arrive there soon. Iodius out.” None shall escape the will of the Righteous. He would make sure of that.

The battle took place nearly 40 minutes after the transmission. Iodius met the orks in the middle of a fierce sandstorm, that limited visibility to four or five metres. As such, Iodius and his Brothers heard the orks long before they saw them. The orks had spent a very long time in these sandstorms, and as such, grew accustomed to the low visibility. There was no end to ork adaption, Iodius thought.
“WAAAAAGGGGHHH!!!!” Iodius heard it. The same voice. Kernal Bloodkill was here. The air around Iodius suddenly became congested with bullets, although the majority of them were directed upwards. Iodius had seconds to react when several orks materialised infront of him. He swung his Crozius at the first, at its head rolled off back into the sandstorm. The second and third were killed by quick shots from his bolt pistol, but the rest were on Iodius before he could do anymore. He felt his rage flair as he felt at least four different weapons breaking on his armour. The orks fell one by one, and Iodius could feel himself calming slightly. All that changed when the Kernal finally arrived at Iodius’ position. Iodius swing his Crozius at him, but it was deflected by the orks massive gun, the sheer bulk of it turning aside Iodius’ weapon. He felt a sharp pain as the Kernal unleashed a salvo at point blank range. The bullets tore through Iodius’ skin, although the majority of them passed clean through. Iodius fell backwards and collapsed into the sand. His marines were pushing the orks back, and the Kernal saw this. He had no time to finish Iodius.
“OI, Call da boys back, we’ze gots ta get outta ‘ere!” That was all his orks needed. Iodius saw the Kernal once again on the back of his boar, about to make his escape once more. Iodius gritted his teeth and lifted his pistol. He pressed the trigger, but the hammer mearly slammed on a empty magazine. As such, he did the next best thing.

His Crozius soared through the air and hit Kernal Bloodkill in the head. Iodius saw him fall from his saddle and land on the sand. That was it. It was over. Iodius was about to rise up and claim his prize when he was stopped in his tracks. The orks body was rising once more. Iodius let out a groan and voiced his dismay so loudly, that even the Kernal heard him.
“Ugh, Emperor damn you ork! Why aren’t you dead yet?!” Iodius rose and began making his way to the Kernal, who was still struggling to get up.
“Dats because you ‘aven’t said da magik word, Space Marine.” The Kernal grinned from ear to ear, exposing his sharp yellow teeth. Iodius heard a rumbling come from behind, and the distinct noise of an engine. He turned, only to see the silhouette of an ork trukk zooming towards him. It was at this moment, he knew, He fethed up. He did the only thing he could, and thrust out his fist with all the strength he could muster and felt the impact. His fist punched its way through the thin grate at the front of the Trukk and straight into the engine. The brittle ork contraption broke and caught fire, igniting the fuel stored only a few centimetres from it. Iodius wasn’t awake to see or feel the explosion, but he was sure he’d feel the aftermath of it when he woke up.

He was right. He felt how he looked, which was pretty darn bad. The good news kept on coming however, with news of the Kernals escape. Iodius got off the cot in the apothecarium and made his way outside. His Marines suffered minimal injuries, and even managed to find Iodius’ Crozius for him. A serf ran to him.
“Mi’lord, we have someone on the vox, he goes by the name of Exitar” The serf bowed his head and awaited the response.
“Exitar? What does he want…Ugh…Ceasar must’ve forgotten something there…” He looked down on the mortal. “My thanks, lead me to it.”

Ceasar sat in his command tent organising strategies and other menial tasks when a serf burst into the tent.
“Lord, I bring joyous news!” The serf exclaimed, obviously eager to tell his Captain something.
“Yes? Well what is it man, spit it out!” Ceasar thought he’d humour the little guy.
“House Valourn armsmen have sent over the charred head of Kernal Bloodkill! They got him!” Ceasar raised an eyebrow.
“Get me a ride. I want to thank them in person and want to meet the ones who succeeded where even we failed.”
“Yes Mi’lord”
“Oh, and one other thing…”
“Anything Mi’lord.”
“Get me beverages to take with me. I want to see how many it takes to knock out a human.” The serf smiled.
“Yes Mi’lord, but I’m pretty sure it’s about six glasses of ale before they’re out cold.” It was Ceasars turn to smile.
“Oh, great, thanks for taking the fun out of it…”
“Anytime Mi’lord.”

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 au
Adopted Son of the Emperor

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

North Vox, Crion.

As the first Valkyrie roared into North Vow, each guardsman prepared their own weapons. A display of power was needed to show these backwater troopers what real training looks like. Each trooper was different. Modified weapons, hot-shot lasguns and sniper rifles. Each had their own choice in firearm, choosing whatever they were good at using. This routine assignment was going to be over quickly, but they still needed a base of operations. Defenses were set up within the hour, communications established and a perimeter was set. Several kilometres from Kampf’s Anchorage, the ‘Gorgons’ established their base.

“Get that cog-head here! The turrets are on the fritz again.” Ben called out to no-one in particular. He looked over at what the Tarantula turrets were trying to target. Something in the treeline he thought. If the turrets were loaded, there was no doubt in Ben’s mind that the turrets would’ve spent it in less than ten minutes. A few minutes of kicking the turret and excessively cursing, the Tech-priest arrived, and was highly displeased with Ben’s treatment of the turret. After blessing the turret, administering firing and targeting rites and even tinkering with its machinery, the techpriest stood back.
“It seems that the turret believes there are hostiles in the treeline.” The techpriest muttered, his voice a mix of mechanics and old age.
“Well, can you fix it?” Ben asked, annoyed at the less-than-helpful techpriest.
“No. Theres nothing wrong with it. Just clear the trees back and it’ll fix itself.”
“Is that the only option? Ugh…And I thought my life was going to be easy…Alright, get some squads assembled, give them axes and a couple Chimera’s, we can use the wood burned to keep us warm at night.” Within the hour, a line of Guardsmen trickled towards the treeline.

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
Forum Index » Dakka Fiction
Go to: