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So this is what i have been writing lately out of pure boredum. This is the first few pages, i have maybe 2 dozen more that i am slowly working on putting into my computer.
This story involves the Prassium 809th Army Group. The fluff for my current IG army. So read and let me know what y'all think. Cheers.
SO here goes.
Blue blood dripped from the heavy blade, wielded with a sure strength. Hewing bodies apart, and slicing thick armor plates. This sword notched with many a hard parry and many bone shattering blows. Besides it the glowing blue aura of a plasma pistol. The power of a small sun embodied in each volatile round it fires off. Melting countless bodies to nothing but liquid flesh, Xenos and Guardsman alike.
These are the weapons wielded by a powerful man. His mere presence struck fear in the bellies of men. Fear into the biomasses of his foes. A man who’s courage and fearlessness had won countless battles. Commissar Gorrel stood gallantly with many corpses at his feet. Vile blue blood splattered around him soaked his cloak and tabard. He relished in his kills, enjoying nothing more than seeing the unholy enemies of the God-Emperor slain.
“Disgusting Cowards!” He bellowed.
”Onwards! Push these scum back, men!”
Around him were 50,000+ Imperial Guadsman. Each wielding a las rifle with deadly accuracy. Each newly inspired by their Lord Commissar’s valor and equally in fear of him. They cheered as they rushed forward to chase down and exterminate the enemies that had forced their sickening presence onto this planet. The thunder of a whole Leman Russ Battle Tank formation shook the ground upon which the fearless Commissar stood. He grinned with pure pleasure as the 48 tanks rolled past him.
He knew the battle was won and he allowed himself a quick prayer.
Sergeant Jerry Balder sat comfortably in hi cupola. His hands rested o the grips of a Heavy Stubber machine gun mounted atop his Leman Russ Battle Tank’s turret. The barrel still smoking from recent firing, radiated heat at him as his tank crawled forward. Before him was a dozen similarly outfitted tanks. Almost all of them were equipped with a deadly Battle Cannon. A handful equipped with the Vanquisher Battle Cannon, specifically designed to penetrate deeply into the armor of enemy tanks. Balder glanced down to see his driver Corporal Lee Garver. A man of mid twenties, sat thumbing screens and checking diagnostics as they lumbered forward.
“Hey, Garver! You got a Lho-stick? I could use one after that” Sgt. Balder inquired, slowly sliding into the belly of his tank.
“Sure thing, Sarge. Though I only got a couple. Looks like I’ll have to talk to Archibald later” Garver’s hand slid into his breast pocket and produced a long Lho-stick.
“Need a light?”
“No, I always have my father’s lighter! I’ll be dead before I lose that!” Balder replied. He placed the Lho-stick between his lips and held the open flame to its end. Inhaling a deep, smoke filled breath.
Ahhh, he thought. I wonder sometimes why the Minotorum banned these things. He then heard the ever familiar sound of gunfire. He tossed his flak helmet back on and climbed up to man his heavy stubber.
Stretching vastly over the landscape of the planet lay a large barren field. It lacked all flora and fauna you would expect on a temperate world. The ashen scenery was a somber reminder of what an orbiting Battlecruiser could do. The blackened ground showed no signs previous settlement nor that anything had ever been there. Grand Marshall Du’Vell viewed the wasteland from high atop his outpost. Seeing a vast sea of Guardsman foot soldiers moving forward with a keen, well practiced precision. Many Battle Tanks formed long lines throughout. Followed by Chimera Armored Troop Carriers. Vox chatter flitted through his head as he watched ecstatically as his specific battle plans unfolded. He thought of how many times had the armies under his command followed his tactical plans and well thought out stratagems. A dozen? Two dozen, perhaps more? Time had slurred together the memories of each individual campaign he had commanded. Each with a crucial mission in the name and honor of the God-Emperor. The many medals adorning his chest, each accounting for an act of Excellency he had performed and of the numerous victories achieved. The gaunt face, scarred twice across showed little in the way of emotion. He stood with an air of pure authority. The vibrant red cloak he wore majestically adorned with the names of planets liberated. Also the name of which he and the whole 809th Battle Group hailed. Prassium.
“Grand Marshall, Sir. Vox is for you, Battle report from Commissar Gorrel” Stated a gangly trooper tasked with answering and screening all vox communications addressing Grand Marshall Du’Vell.
“Good, I would love to hear his good news” He strode over to the vox Sergeant.
“Grand Marshall Du’Vell, Proceed Commissar Gorrel”
“Sir, Reporting full retreat of the enemy forces. The 26th, and the 323rd are currently advancing in formations to chase down the fleeing foes. The 83rd is refueling and resupplying the outposts we have prepared. The 106th is doing fire runs on the retreating forces. The day is ours Grand Marshall.” Commissar Gorrel’s gruff, unfaltering voice was masked slightly through the static of the vox caster.
“Excellent my good man” He nodded his approval. The vox went silent. He stood up and went back to his Magnoculars to survey his troops once again.
The day is ours… for now. He couldn’t get the words of the Commissar Gorrel out of his head. The words uttered mere hours before the Xenos invasion had begun…
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