False Gods: A Warhammer 30k Roleplay (IC)

[New Sriker]

Calmora
Present

Juno sat at the table and listened to both of his brother's responses. Juno looked at Titus and smiled. “I’m sorry for my accusation brother, and I hope you can forgive my rudeness.” Juno then looked at Eyrian and told his brother “I’ll try to understand why you called for the exterminatus, but I can not make any promises. I hope after you finish talking to Titus me and you can have a good conversation together.” Juno stood up and walked to a wall, where he would sit down with his Centurions and wait for Eyrian to call for him.

Juno looked at his Centurions and told them his orders “Sons, you go rest, I’ll wait for Eyrian to finish his meeting with Titus.” Juno looked at the oldest and most experienced Centurion, Kharn and said “You are in charge until I return from me and Eyrian’s meeting.” Kharn Looked at Juno and responded “Yes my Primarch, I shall do as commanded.”

[Woodstovia]

Aenius Polems
Salutaris Militae
Indus Beta

Aenius admired himself once more in the mirror of his personal tent. He was wearing a ceremonial dress uniform and even he had to admit it made him look good: a black tunic above pure white pants and black cavalry boots were accented with reds, a thin white sash rested over his chest and stomach, a crimson cloak, golden epaulettes and a black headpiece with a single white feather from a Yinnian eagle sticking up out of it. Aenius was not a particularly handsome man. He was of average height and build, and thinning blonde hair which had slowly retreated up his head as well as the weathered face of a veteran officer denoted his age as being on the wrong side of 40.

The uniform would look impressive to most, especially the shell-shocked natives who were only beginning to come to terms with occupation, and it was designed to be impressive. But to those who knew (and therefore mattered) it bore the toxic label of “Line Officer” - those who were of mediocre rank and had overwhelmingly been promoted from regular, frontline soldiers. To sons of Laeron being a Line Officer was one of the worst positions you could find yourself in. Regular soldiers were often treated with a sort of patriarchal affection from higher-ups. They weren’t expected to be intelligent or well-mannered, but they were loyal and brave and would submit to their masters. Line Officers on the other hand were “almosts”. They were expected to be intelligent, well mannered, gregarious, ambitious, talented, but often fell up short due to the lack of a noble upbringing. A regular footsoldier using his oyster fork to attack a slice of baerric meat, or stirring his tea counter-clockwise? An amusing sight. But a Line Officer was expected to know better and would face admonishment or scorn if they failed to live up to some undecipherable “code of nobility” that everybody better than a Line Officer knew off by heart.

Still, Aenius had done well for himself. He had been born amongst the mountain tribes of northern Laeron, near where The Livegiver had first landed. His father had shepherded goats while his mother had stayed at home, raising his children. His upbringing was certainly not too privileged, although unlike those from other planets his family’s stability had never been in doubt due to Laeron’s strong economy and welfare net which was particularly sympathetic towards tribal folk who still lived outside of the more “civilised” interior Empire. Aenius had wanted more out of life than the mountains and had signed up for the Salutaris Militae. He had served with distinction for nearly 25 years now, he’d even been wounded twice against the damned Eldar at the battle of Mont-Parlic 3 years ago. His armour had been shredded to pieces and his heart nearly blasted off. He was lucky to survive, but luckier when The Lifebringer had handed him a medal and promoted him to Captain. Aenius clutched the piece of metal tightly. He’d always carry a part of that day with him.

Aenius was technically still a Captain but his role had changed considerably. Initially, he’d been given a frontline command, leading a platoon of his very own in a position he greatly enjoyed, but around a year ago the command structure of 9th army had been shuffled due to the graduation of Prince Clovis la Venier. The Prince system was an oddity of the Laeronese nobility. Sendrilon (Aenius’ heart started pounding at the thought of the name) had been crowned Emperor of Laeron (a title now sparsely used due to the prominence of The Emperor, beloved by all). Due to his… Unique biology and outlook Sendrilon claimed he would not sire any royal family, and so the titles of “Prince” and “King” which may have been otherwise reserved for his offspring had been made senior ranks of nobility instead. Prince Clovis was the 3rd son of the King of Antianelle, the 2nd largest of Laeron’s continents and had studied at the legendary Nunziatella Military Academy. Due to his reportedly outstanding grades, he was immediately given the rank of Lord General, and given command of the 9th army as a whole. Aenius had been assigned to become a member of his staff, a link between the Prince and regular troops.

Aenius did not dislike Clovis… He was an extremely intelligent man. Although the Laeronese regarded birth as highly important a flat-out incompetent would never be given a high rank like Lord General no matter his blood. Clovis definitely could lead, but… All of Laeronese’s nobility stunk of the Nouveau Rich. Humans had been slaves on Laeron until relatively recently, so unlike in other worlds none of Laeron’s now noble families had much history to fall back upon. The root of a noble family’s power always linked back to their role in The Lifebringer’s liberation. This insecurity seemed to pierce at the heart of every noble, and so they engaged in endless wars of posturing. Clovis was a celebrity, and film-makers and stylists accompanied him as often as members of the military. That was why men like Aenius were important though. To keep them grounded, to curb their excesses.

Aenius set out from his tent towards the previously royal villa of Indus Beta where Clovis based his headquarters. It was a stunning building which was isolated from the rest of Indus Beta’s civilisation, and so had been left untouched by war. With its previous owners disposed of, Clovis had swept in and claimed the place. Aenius wasn’t sure why he was being called now though. He had a few ideas - some tensions had been reported between the Sons of Heaven and the Ghouls over which worlds were to be garrisoned by whom, and there was discussion of Indus Prime becoming a recruiting ground for the Sons of Heaven once it was fully pacified. Perhaps Clovis was wondering about regimental assignments and which worlds to prioritise?

Aenius was of course met with disappointment.

Before his eyes was a... Ball? Great chandeliers hung down from an immaculate palatial ceiling, women in dazzling and exotic dresses danced with officers, great tables of food had been set up and well dressed servers offered up flutes of wine, holograms of Laeron played to amused veterans, reminding them of home.

Aenius felt as though he’d stepped into another reality. Just 2 months ago this had been an active warzone, and the Militae were still looking into potential terrorists, just what was happening here?

From across the room, a slender young man with long blonde hair clapped and rushed over. Clovis. He was beautiful rather than handsome, with striking purple eyes and an immaculate and ostentatious uniform of dark lilac clearly put Aenius’ to shame. Clovis beamed and wrapped an arm around the less enthusiastic Aenius and spoke in refined accent:

“There you are! A ball is not complete without a fish you know!” Clovis tittered “Oh, it’s an old story I suppose you wouldn’t know of it. What’s that look of disgust on your face? Is it the women? I understand they're barbarians aren't they? Well I could only procure natives for tonight so they’ll have to do. I did however manage to ship over food from our dear home! Help yourself! We even managed to get oysters from Lake Aerio! They aren’t fresh so they don’t taste nearly as good as they do back home." He looked Aenius up and down "My 24 was it? Years without Laeronese women or food? I question your sanity Aenius, you should have resigned years ago.”

Clovis placed a hand over his heart and smirked “A Prince and a goat farmer! What jests the galaxy plays upon us, but know this! Like The Deliverer did for our planet I, Clovis la Venier will uplift you! I will see you civilised yet. Although I imagine you’ll be more trouble than the planet was. Now the oysters-”

“We’re at war if you haven’t noticed.” grunted Aenius, refusing to move as Clovis had tried to yank him over to the food tables.

“The war? Ah! Oh yes I was supposed to record an address for Laeron, that’s right!” Clovis turned and shouted at some lackey. A camera crew seemed to appear instantaneously and Clovis found an empty well to stand before so that nobody would be able to tell where he was. The party halted as he cleared his throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Laeron, this is Prince Clovis la Venier, speaking to you from the frontlines, and from the deepest recesses of my heart. Although many quite rightfully praise my own tactical brilliance in delivering yet another of our marvelous victories I would like to take just a moment to acknowledge the true reason behind my victory. The brave men and women of the Salutaris Militae who fought nobly on the frontlines of this conflict. Some of whom paid the ultimate price. The price of a new future for humanity, of a truly galactic Imperium ruled by our Emperor, beloved by all. So please, I beg each and every one of you. For just one minute after my speech has ended, let us all engage in a minute of silence for the fallen.” the cameras cut and Clovis bounded back to Aenius.

“Now those oyster-”

Aenius was incensed by the fakeness behind every word of the address and the anger started bleeding into his voice.

“I came to speak about the war, the real one, not your speech!”

The party went quiet again and Clovis sighed, the joy suddenly gone from his face “Just a moment!” he announced, leading Aenius to another room, laden with maps and holograms of various nearby planets and dataslates of post-battle reports. It was strewn around rather haphazardly but Aenius didn’t want to assume anything by that, he knew how stressful command could be.

“Go then, speak of the war.” Clovis said, taking a seat.

Aenius’ eyes scanned over the various positions the Salutaris Militae were taking up. “Where is that Cathedral? The one all the rumours are about?”

Clovis rotated a map and indicated towards a garrison point. “There.”

“We’re garrisoning it? I thought it was being investigated first by the Mechanicum or Sons of Heaven? There were reports it was adversely affecting people's mental states. I understand if you're hesitant to believe them but they should be-”

“Yes, yes. I already gave the order. Anyone guarding the xenos shrine who later admits or exhibits mental difficulties stemming from it is to be “redeployed” and immediately executed.” he yawned “We’ll rotate the squads assigned to it regularly though so I don’t think too many will die. I'm not surrendering the capital to the Mechanicum.”

“Executed?!” Aenius was shouting now, his anger plain to see. “These aren’t just pieces on your board here Clovis! These are people, real people. People with families and lives back home, mothers, fathers, brothers… To kill anyone who may be a victim of some Xenos technology? This is just plain cruelty!”

“Watch your tone goat-fucker.” Clovis hissed, his voice not growing any louder. “If you forget my title or speak to me in that way again I’m cutting that tongue out of your mouth and sending you to lead a penal regiment. The order has been made, some will die. It’s no different from sending them into battle. Their deaths will be less painless than whatever some filthy Xenos would inflict on them anyway.”

Aenius gripped the table, knuckles white as he squeezed his anger away. He knew he couldn't speak again, or stop the order now it was out. Clovis rose and wiped some imagined dirt from his spotless white gloves. “I’m sure you’ve been told a great many things about your rank and role, but I’ll let you in on the secret Aenius. You exist to amuse me. That’s all. You can tell yourself you’re a great military thinker if you like, whatever helps you sleep at night. But you are my piece on the board. Remember that.”

A smile lit up Clovis’ face as he returned to his festivities.

[Lunas Legion]

Uriel Febua
Ultima Segmentum

"How many today, Brother?" Uriel asked, hands placed on the pommel of a two-handed power sword. He wasn't much of a swordsman, he much preferred his lightning claws, but this weapon had called out to him. There was nothing particularly special about it, it was just an enlarged version of a normal power sword, made for two hands rather than one, but it just... Spoke to him, and it felt right, his hands resting on it as he stood next to Brother Andros' command throne, his head at the same height as Andros' despite the latter sitting atop a dais.

"Four, today." Crallas Andros, captain of the Rex Bestia, groaned. "The serfs have a permanent ten-person detail on clearing duties, and Brothers Kriek and Scutar have declared themselves 'Charnel Guard'. They've even painted their armour red so that the blood doesn't show as much as it does on silver."

"Let them humour themselves. They served with my Terminators for years, so I won't tell them otherwise if they feel that is their duty." Uriel said. "If I told them not to blow it, they would blow it. If I demonstrated to them what happens when you blow it, it becomes a test of courage. If I simply ignored it, questions would be raised, and I would have to explain anyways. But you called me for a reason that wasn't four of our brothers turning into bloody meat."

"I suppose." Andros said, leaning towards Uriel. "But I did not call you here for the casualty counts. There have been... Mutterings, in the fleet."

"About what?" Uriel laughed. "I did not take you for a gossip, Brother."

"Word about what Lord Atlas told you has... Started to filter through the ranks. Some have doubts, most do not, all agree that the end of the Great Crusade nears and that we are unsuited for peace." Andros said. "But there are some who do not wish to wait. We are Brazen Beasts, brother. It is not in our nature to be patient."

"And what would you do, brother?" Uriel asked, shrugging helplessly. "One legion cannot defeat nineteen. Three cannot defeat seventeen. I trust Atlas."

"Aye, brother, but not all of us do." Andros said, his voice becoming a serpentine hiss. "Some of us wish to end this. A decisive blow against Terra itself, a surprise strike that would be so unexpected it could not be blocked or countered. The longer we wait, the more chance someone in our legion or Atlas' or Sarov's informs someone not so inclined. Time is not on our side, brother. We cannot wait. Some of my men are chaffing as it is, baying to be let loose. It is only a matter of time before a captain takes it upon himself to do so."

The Brazen Beasts lacked the iron discipline of the other legions, in favour of a very loose, almost liquid-like, style of aggressive warfare.

"You would have me embrace this." Uriel said.

"Yes." Andros nodded. "If you do not, someone else will. I, myself, believe we should. A legion of space marines is enough to overcome Terra's defences, even as formidable as they are. If we succeed, we will have delivered victory to Atlas in a single decisive stroke."

"And failure?" Uriel asked, his grip tightening around his sword.

"Then we shall have our final battle." Andros grinned. It was a feral grin, not one Uriel remembered ever seeing on the captain's face before. "The Emperor will send others after us, to hunt us down like the beasts we are. Of all the legions, I cannot think of one worse than ours to hunt across the length and breadth of the Galaxy."

"I will consider it." Uriel said impassively. "For the time being, I believe our campaigns in this sector of space are over. Have astropathic messages sent out, calling for all available ships to muster over the forge-world of Voss while we re-equip and resupply, send single messages to the leaders of the other large concentrations. Brother Sinon, Brother Gideon, Quintus and Allectus."

"It will be done, brother." Andros bowed his head slightly, turning his attention away from his Primarch.

It was just buying time, Uriel knew. Delaying the inevitable choice he would have to make. He could put it to a vote, of course, but they were Brazen Beasts; if given a choice to fight or to wait, they would always choose the former. Uriel turned away, sword rising as he left the bridge, coming to rest over one shoulder, looking doubtful. He did not share Andros' belief in the power of his own legion; Battlefleet Solar was a formidable force, and although Terra did not have a garrison of marines, it had the Custodes, and they were not to be underestimated. No, he still had time to choose. At least until his Brothers made the choice for him.

[Morrdh]

Timizora system
Kalas Sector

They'd met some of the inbound Imperial forces in the Timizora System where Gaelin was able to present his report in person in addition to logging petitions for repairs and munition resupply. He got both, in a fashion, at the cost of returning to the Myrd System to battle the Orks once more but this time beside the Imperial armada. Gaelin accepted as it paid to the people he'd expect to come to his aid one day being on his side, after all they were meant to be allies. Though it was clear that the senior fleet commander, an Admiral Azmov, thought less than highly of high due to his status of a Rogue Trader Militant.

The ship's artificers had worked miracles on putting right what damage the cruiser had sustained from it's previous encounter with the greenskins, though the ship hadn't had it's munitions stores fully replenished but it was the best that Gaelin could expect under the circumstances. Gaelin's flotilla had to make do with whatever scraps was thrown it's way, though Gaelin wondered how much of that was down to the Admiral herself. It was possible that the upcoming battle may change her opinion, but Gaelin didn't count on it.

They were still some hours out from making ready for the Warp when Gaelin received a diminutive visitor again.

"You again." He muttered, spying the small creature in the corner of the room. "Or another, it is hard to tell."

"Oh very well, what do I owe this honour?" Sighed Gaelin when the creature merely cocked it's head. "I mean your kind typically have a reason for doing what they do."

"Horn? What horn?" Gaelin asked, sounding puzzled. "Do you mean the Orks?"

The creature melded into the shadows without giving an answer.

---

Gaelin was still troubled some hours later by what the creature had stated, what did it mean?

At first Gaelin had presumed that the creature meant the Orks, though deep down something told him that wasn't the answer and the creature didn't seem willing or able to impart any further details. It was damnable frustrating, though from what had been passed down by his forebears it was par the course with the so-called 'Fey Folk'. The creatures never acted without purpose and never said anything for no reason, though unfortunately the answers and clues would only be gleamed later. Though Gaelin did wonder whether it was a test, or perhaps giving the scent to a hound to then chase until the quarry had been brought to heel.

But to what purpose?

He became aware of Cowpar starting at him, expecting a response. "Ah my apologies Mr Cowpar, I was just reviewing Admiral Azmov's battleplan in my mind."

"If you say so sir." Cowpar replied. "Wanted to report that all preparations for transition are complete and the fleet is under way."

"Thank you Mr Cowpar, please proceed then."

"Aye sir."

As Cowpar went off barking orders to the bridge crew Gaelin glanced at the battleplan on a dataslate, the strengths and weaknesses of the opposing fleets seemed to have been taken into consideration. The ploy to use an asteroid field to screen the main battle line was a clever move, it had the benefit of helping to protect the Imperial warships whilst negating the Orks' sheer strength in numbers. He made couple of amendments of his own to position his escorts where they could unleash a devastating torpedo volley on the Xenos, if needs be have his fastest ships conduct hit and run flanking attacks.

As a last aside, Gaelin opened a vox link to the Imperial flagship. "Morrigan's Wrath to Sirens Call. May your guns fire true and see you through to victory, all speed Admiral."

[Revlona]

Calmora

Eyrian slowly walked away from titus several minutes later, their conversation having been completed. He smiled at his brother Juno as he approached him, his eyes having a tired look to them as he met his Brothers Gaze. He was not physically tired, his mind was merely exhausted from the day. Much could have gone wrong with the Warmasters visit and much had almost gone wrong despite his efforts.

"Brother, apologies for the wait," Eyrian says as he sits down across Juno winces, willing to show his pain more obviously with just his brother in attendance. "You came to celebrate, I intend to join you. The great crusade is coming to a close, can you feel it?" He says as he raises a full mug to his mouth and swallows it down.

Calmora Auxilia Ship Honorable Warrior
On route to Kalas Sector

10,000 men, women, and vehicles stood shoulder to shoulder in the bowels of the massive warship that was manned by the Auxilia of the 8th legion. Before them stood five men and one woman in a line, the senior of the six commanders stepped forward as if to address the regiment. "Men and women of the 22nd, tomorrow at roughly this time the ship in which we are travelling in shall exit the warp. Upon exiting we shall be subject to the hellfire that is war. We sons and daughters of Calmora have for over a century fought in the Great Crusade of Humanity. We, like our brethren of Calmora in the Astartes have bled and died for humanity. I ask you to do it once more, tomorrow we shall enter war. Those people to your left and right are your comrades, you have spent months together, you have bled and sweat together, I am sorry to tell you that not all of you will make it through the coming conflict, that is the way of war. But I can promise you one thing, no matter the enemy we face, no matter to storm of bullets or horde of Xenos, I shall do everything in my power to lead you to the victory that humanity demands of you. We sons and daughters shall make the Emperor on Terra proud! Calmora for Terra! Calmora for Humanity!!" Colonel Robert Jackson said.

"Calmora for Terra! Calmora for Humanity!!" 10,000 voices said back to him.

[Imperialisium]

The Vengeful Spirit
Medical Bay 12

"She's waking up, Doctor! Doctor this ones awake!" came the voice of a dark haired, fair skinned and eyed, woman in unmarked Navy overalls. No rank insignia or badge. No medical identification or equipment to suggest she was medicus either. The woman on the bed groggily fluttered her eyes open as vision came and went. Blackness receding as her pupils took in the soft glow of an overhead light. A gray haired man entered her vision abruptly and peered into her eyes with a small electronic microscope. Followed by turning his head to look at something beside her head.

"She'll make it. Just need to keep the nutri-fluids pumping. Thanks for volunteering to help Remembrancer."

"Of course Doctor."

A slender pole rose from over the dark haired woman's shoulder and the red light of a recording pict-caster blipped on. An Imagist? Kyleen Zera looked down at one of numerous survivors extracted by the Imperial forces from Teltos Primaris. Lifting her head up to look at the row of beds to the left and right. Hundreds, no thousands, had been brought onboard to the Vengeful Spirit alone. Each one skeletal from starvation and hard labor, sunken cheek bones and deep eye sockets, thin hair and flaxen skin stretched over bulbous bones, some were theorized to not survive the trauma that they had endured at the hands of their Greenskin slavers. She rose quickly as the sound of whirring machinery could be heard through the walls. Soon punctuated by rapid kur-thunks and sound of clanking mechanisms.

"What is that?"

The Doctor looked at her for a moment, "The sound of the Vengeful Spirit's autoloaders cycling at full speed."

Bridge of the Vengeful Spirit

"Bring us about! 8 Degrees starboard! Gunnery decks 2 through 6 fire salvoes amidships! Vox operator signal the Imperious Dream to come about thirty degrees by seven and fire a torpedo salvo into the incoming Greenskin cruiser!"

Krisztoff von Tisza und zu Solaire, Fleet Master of the 13th Expeditionary Fleet and one of the Imperium's finest military minds in regards to Void warfare looked at the central holo-lith and pict screens with ceaseless vigilance. Moving methodically as he navigated entire battlegroups to target, the Vengeful Spirit in the thick of it all as the mighty pinnacle of Human ship engineering finished slaying another Greenskin cruiser with pinpoint volleys of its lances, macrocannon batteries, and missile tubes.

"Sir! Imperious Dream reports torpedoes away! On target!" said the Officer of the Vox as he himself monitored his own crewmen and servitors.

"Excellent. I want Vice Admiral Spaulding's squadron to form up to portside for a drive at the Greenskin's remaining cohesive battlegroups."

The Tactical Officer, notified by an ensign, spoke up abruptly, "Sir, Blue Squadron reports that the Callous Blade and the Puritan Respite have suffered heavy damage. Request permission to disengage?"

"Permission granted. Have the Ventril cover their withdrawal." replied Krisztoff without pause. Over a thousand ships had faced off a similar number of Greenskin vessels. But due to Vasilisa's initial strike and Krisztoff's acumen, complimenting the superior organizational prowess of the Imperials, saw some seven hundred Greenskin hulks as glowing embers in the space above Teltos Primaris. Debris already forming an ongoing meteor shower across an entire hemisphere of the planet below.

"Incoming Warp signatures! Fifty-Six capital ships and seventy-four escorts exiting near Teltos Secundia! Confirmed Greenskin signatures." said the Augurs officer rapidly with a bead of sweat forming on his brow.

"Signal Admiral Horatio to form his fleet elements up to intercept should they seek to link up with the Greenskins over Primaris. Immediately!"

"Yes, Sir!"

Krisztoff rested his chin in the crutch of his right hand as he gazed at the evolving tactical situation. Sixty-six Imperial ships had withdrawn away from the battlezone due to damage with twenty-one others likely needing to do soon. Eighteen drifted in the void as casualties of the battle so far...

Solaria

Solaria was a beautiful world by all accounts. Clear skies, fertile soil, lush forests, oceans teeming with life, and scenic landscape. It's people enjoyed a high quality of life and void commerce bustled with as much fervor as the swollen markets of the planet's well maintained, clean, and ordered cities. The Crystal Palace, the seat of the Golden Queen and Her Government, was but one of many bustling edifices in the city. Its white marble, gold and silver leaf adornments, bronze sculptures, and gem studded frescoes declaring the wealth of the Hegemony it ruled. Of course, for generations it also sported the robed adepts of the Administratum, Departmento Munitorum, and various other Imperial government organs that came with being part of the Imperium. But one thing was clear, this was one of the thousand worlds directly ruled by the Government of the Golden Queen who in turn operated as the Emperor's personal Vicar in the Hegemony. That is save for the detail of the Golden Queen being often off on the Great Crusade and thus proper governance was handled by the Aetherial Council.

The head of which, the Master of the Crystalline Assembly, was one Agniezka Szopron. A woman in her late thirties and gifted in the arts of politics, diplomacy, and court. Her snow white hair and piercing ice gray eyes gave an imperious appearance not entirely dissimilar to the visage of the Golden Queen herself. Perhaps this had to with her appointment as much as her consummate skill? Did the Primarch of the Sun Angels see some of herself in the young Agniezka? One could only guess.

As she walked along a beautiful shaded colonnade with a red robed Magos of the Mechanicum and a less mechanical adept of the Munitorum.

"I assure you all quotas will be exceeded. The Departmento will have more than seventy-million fresh recruits by the end of the year." said Agniezka smoothly with a smile. The Adept consulted his data-slate from under his hooked nose. A biomechanical eye adjusting its pupil lens automatically at the pulse of a nerve.

His voice was gruffy and weathered as much as his hunched form, "There are some in the Departmento Munitorum who believe that some new assessments by the Administratum are in order for over eighty planets in the Hegemony. Possibly the tithe rates do not reflect growth."

"The Hegemony has exceeded all quotas for the past ten Solar years and many more prior. Vasilisa herself even has made sure to deliver all that Terra," looking over and laying a soft hand on the Mechanicum Magi's red robe diplomatically, "and Mars has required. Surely, to demand more could be construed as a slight to her and our efforts in the service to the Imperium."

The adept appeared flustered, clearly not thinking that such a statement could be seen as an insult to a Primarch of the Emperor, "Oh! Oh, I did not mean to insinuate, I-I, will assure all of my colleagues that the Hegemony's tithe rates are beyond satisfactory."

The mechanical voice of the magi's vox-grille sounded, "Mars likewise withes to commend the Hegemony and of course Lady Sanguina's earnest friendship with the Mechanicum. Despite Kelbor's misgivings many on several Forge Worlds speak very highly of the Primarch's efforts to assist us in all projects."

"Of course Lord Tyrell, My Queen only wishes for Mars and Terra to prosper as we have." Agniezka's response was accompanied by her removing her hand from the Magi's robe. Tyrell of course knew many things the Departmento didn't. Such as communication between the Hegemony and other Forge Worlds on various projects personal to the Primarch. Some of which were under construction in shipyards else where in the Hegemony. Several ships were currently in progress of being built or planned. Designs shelved by Terra and Mars that had been retrieved through no small effort, some taking multiple Terran years to be copied, and now in the hands of Hegemony shipwrights.

Then there was the politicking by the 5th Legion itself in the requisition of Mark IV suits and other such weaponry. Something that even Agniezka was hazy on and the Astartes members of the Aetherial Council never elaborated upon. If they were present of course.

The stomping of heavy boots could be heard behind them and stopping to turn the trio saw the approaching, armored, form of Praetor Maximus Zaeldoron Vlach.

"Lord Vlach, I hope your journey from Terra went well?" said Agniezka politely.

The Astartes removed his helm with the hiss of seals disengaging. Removing it to reveal a chiseled face, hair shaved and bald, with deep green-blue eyes. A pair of thin scars ran along the ridge of his right cheekbone. Giving a slight creased appearance to an otherwise handsome face. Agniezka had to fight to not blush at his cold look.

"Lady Szopron," responded Vlach while nodding to Tyrell and the Departmento functionary, "My journey went well. Calm currents the Navigator said. I will return to Terra soon but I wish to see in detail the planned distribution of equipment and recruits among the Legion."

"Of course Lord Vlach. Todays session of the Council will begin shortly, this way," waved Agniezka to follow.

[Morrdh]

Arcadan Tertius
Arcadan System
Kalas Sector

The Gretchin scampered, though it's mad and careless flight allowed Segail and his squad of Astartes to track it with ease. In it's haste the creature ran past bemused Orks, though they paid it little heed and didn't notice the Astartes who slipped past them in the shadows. Though these Orks that the Shadow Ravens squad encountered could've been dispatched with relative ease, Segail and his warriors had a much greater prey that they stalked.

On the Astartes moved, like ghosts, as they tracked their mark until at last it reached a large encampment occupied by the savage greenskins. The Shadow Ravens hunkered down into cover, pulling out scopes as they did so to observe the encampment. It looked to be host to a number of war bands, though of particular note was a structure larger than all the others. There was a quiet exchange of signals between the Astartes. Prey found.

A curt vox exchange later and the Shadow Ravens waited, ears straining for the distant roar of ramjets in the sky. Moments past and they were rewarded by a flight of Legion gunships which came screaming in low before opening up on the encampment, blasting apart the stupefied Xenos who'd glanced up at the noise. Using the gunships' strike as a distraction, Segail and his warriors slipped into the camp and slayed any greenskin that crossed their path. Segail knew they only had a limited amount of time before the Orks rallied, so he and his men rushed on towards the large structure that was their objective.

[Endem]

Nikolai
Myrd System

The Immortal Scourge's fleet appeared in the system left off the Voln Armada, and have immediately started firing onto the Ork ships as they made their way towards the Voln Armada, a couple of tense minutes later when plasma, torpedoes and fire reigned on the field of battle, it appeared that the marines made it, they hailed the Armada, even though they still exchanged fire with the Orks.

"This is Primarch Nikolai, to the Admiral of the Voln Armada, what are your orders"

The communication operators sent the message to the Capital ship of the Voln Armada, Nikolai was now breaking many things, first of all was the fact he technically outranked anybody who was leading the Voln ships, yet, their tactics seemed to work, and he would never want to disrupt a tactic, that brought success.

Jurij
The Command

The few Terran marines given command over half the legion have gathered in one building, in one chamber colored green by a few lights shining from the floor on the peripheries of the toom, one of the marines decided to break the silence

"Why have you gathered us here, Jurij"

He asked disdainfully

"I have brought gifts"

Jurij replied

"Gifts?" One of the marines scoffed "Are we children during the Sanguinalia?"

The marines laughed collectively at Jurij, then silence grew again as they all, simultaneously and without exceptions, felt something worming their way into their heads, as they tried to suppress impudent thoughts sprouting like weed on a unkept field, then Jurij brandished the Chalice.

"What wicked sorcery is this?"

One of the marines asked

"Not sorcery, and not wicked, those thoughts your feeling, they are the desires you tried to suppress, you need to wait no longer, he has called to me, and he will grant you those desires, only for your allegiance"

The marine that first took voice spoke up again

"You are proposing treason!"

Jurij chuckled

"Treason to whom! Not our beloved Emperor, but the worm, the snake which calls himself our Primarch, we all know what he did to our legion, we should defy his tyrany"

Some of the marines nodded, other acknowledged, most of the Terran marines were not happy with what happened to the legion after they were reunited with their primarch, yet still one was defiant

"I will not partake in treason, Jurij! You will not see the light of tomorrow"

The marine, the first one to speak clearly prepared to leave, unfortunately for him, Jurij would not allow it, before the marine could react, his skull was pierced with a bolt round, and with the last defiance gone, the Terran marines joined Jurij in his dark path, and soon, they would corrupt their loyal legionaries.

[Ormata]

Ultima Segmentum
Kalas Sector
Industrial World Arcadan
3.922.000M31

About that planet, high above the concerns of the militia and other such survivors, high above Arcadan Municipia and Arcadan Secundus, high above the shell and shrapnel, the mountains and clouds, high above laid another prize to be had, a rough cut gem in the starless night. The shipyards, however small they were, however damaged they were, still presented a piece of the Omnissiah's will made manifest, still were a fragment able to be reclaimed. About them, within the debris and shrapnel, among the girders and supports, were Orks. Armed with crude cable or maneuvering pack, equipped with hammer and axe and cutter, they continued to dismantle the shipyard eagerly, heedless of the battle nearby only by virtue of lacking the means to do anything about it. They were a swarm of ugly, impudent fireflies trying to make a mark by cutting into what was. And yet, just as before, the Void Tyrants would meet them in this, in speed and fury. As the fleet maneuvered to set troops and materials down, a gift and message was being prepared.

Launch. The cluster of little lights sped away from the formations of fighters and bombers, away from the vast plasma engines of the capital ships, and away from the battle seemingly entirely. They marked about the planet, making not at all for a direct course to the shipyards by launching earlier, and in this that cluster developed speed. Swinging themselves about the sphere, their approach to the shipyard was nearly unseen by the Orks there. They were landing craft, true, yet such a thing was not to be. The first group's transport slowed early, Marines exiting in the void with rapid order as the vessel came to a halt some many kilometers from their target. With suspender gear and gravitic boots, the squad of Tortoribus exited in rapid order. Coupled as they were to the vessel, a priest plying the Machine Spirit to ensure compliance, cogitators engaged to find the optimal firing solutions and the snipers wasted no time. They opened, shots out as each took what they were assigned. Ork workers found themselves engaged at such long range, the projectiles holding no air resistance, no other such deviant factors, only the gravity and curvature of the sphere. Heads and chests were ripe fruit to detonate, some scrambling for cover once the realization hit. They were hampered by the gear employed, though, and as some found their shootas that second group came.

They had exited the transports as well, though they hadn't slowed. Mere blurs in the blackness of the void, notable only by the most minor of markings, the Marines slowed themselves ever so marginally with the firing of their bolters, showed themselves with the brief and sporadic flashes of such weapons. Some slowed themselves by impacting against the shipyard plating, the armor yielding into craters as they came to the crouch to briefly fire their weapons, while others had oriented themselves into a laying position, feet first. Seeing a Legionary fly through an Ork torso was not a common sight under normal conditions, though by every measure it worked. The Void Tyrants fought with the fluidity borne of practice, the instincts of a hunter combined with the discipline of true servants of the Cog. They would move straight through, Ork blood and flesh bursting into a green cloud with the larger pieces buckling and flying to random directions, before moving forward at breakneck speed. What was known however, despite the variety in halting, was that not one Marine slowed down before impact with maneuvering thrusters. The Ork was slow and strong, but it didn't matter. They were very, very dead.

The Void Tyrants continued to advance, moving across the structure as transports would move ahead. Protected as they were with void shield and heavy armor, equipped as they were with detachments of Astartes on heavy bolters, they plied the debris field for the more creative or stealthy Ork, for any heavier forces which may be present. It was unlikely, but an Ork bringing up a Deff Dread as a crude dismantler was not outside the realm of possibilities and the boarders had little to halt such a thing. The Tortoribus continued to supply covering fire, edging forward slowly to keep the distance. All the while, auspex arrays continued to survey the shipyard and surrounding area for any desperate attempts or extreme mistakes. While the personality profile of the Ork didn't fit one intending to suicide an installation into oblivion for the purpose of enemy casualties, they were very stupid. One accident and equipment would liken to a bomb. Of course, the Marines advanced. They were determined to retake the station, to destroy the foul bastards infesting it.

++PATRON, PATRON, THIS IS TRIDENT
+STATUS REPORT AS FOLLOWS:
+V-OPS IN PROGRESS
+NO CASUALTIES
+T PLUS TEN
+HOW COPY++

++THIS IS PATRON
+SOLID COPY
+CONTINUE TO REPORT
+PATRON OUT++

The fleet was not idle however, as it made approach over the specific targets earmarked for the Twentieth. While Thunderhawks and other such transportation was loaded with Astartes and material, Skitarii and assorted supporting elements, for the Void Tyrants no first strike would truly be successful if not performed with speed, with precision. They were to take the various Communications Arrays planetside, quickly and quietly, and so from the vessels above different packages were launched. A meteorite storm fell from those ships, little trails of fire behind each and every pod, moving down and down. Already Ork communications had been jammed over every frequency, their chants silent, their reports nonexistent, and the storm fell farther and farther still.

Impact. The cogitators had been accurate; it was but a hundred meters to the station as the Drop Pod opened and the occupant emerged. Even as inaccurate fire sparked about the earth and pod plating, even as it rained down, about the Dreadnought the air shimmered and parted, bent and broke, and the volkite cannon burned eagerly. Dispassionate optics viewed what little garrison had been given to the array even as Mechadendrites twisted and parted, danced or hung limp. The air hummed with a fury, a deadly wish of vibrations able to turn hearts to jelly. This was Brother Omiel of the Fulgur and he was unhappy. About the Dreadnought Pod a dozen other opened, Conquestus in their signature Terminator plate. Like wires hung loose the manipulators of these stood behind them and their heavy bolters began to ring out in practiced, short bursts as the unit began to walk towards their enemy.

An Ork charged, intent on earning the first kill of the day against these seemingly stupid Marines. It was very wrong in that as the air turned to blood and gore, the arm of that beast turning to nothing more than green mist as the flensing razors the Marine had were put to work, as the Mechadendrites took apart the barbarian with clean efficiency. Even as blood and flesh filled the air the Ork opened his mouth for a roar as the choppa he had held began to fall, as the other arm came against the Void Tyrant to pick him up by the throat and throw the Astartes to the ground, but even that was asking to much. Raising bolter in a quick order, three rounds were all it took before the corpse found it's way to earth. Other such scenarios played out the same, again and again, and Omiel was not at all idle in the midst of this. The Dreadnought waded into close combat, armor protecting him against any with a blade or klaw, shield protecting against shoota, and the world about that titan was a whirlwind of death. As time passed, the Communications Array was secured.

Arcadan Municpia

As the battering ram of the Lightbringers blitzkrieg slammed against the Ork, squads of the Purifiers supported their advance, striking out against those positions too heavily fortified to be quickly swept away. Clad in thick Tartaros armor, they brought death with assault cannon and melta, weathering oncoming fire like a mountain before the rain. However, even Terminator armor buckles before weapons designed to destroy a tank.

That was the situation Lambda-squad found themselves in, pinned by an Ork gun emplacement, sporting a looted lascannon that forbade their advance. The side-alleys were filled with rubble, cutting off a flanking maneuver, and nearby AA prevented a strafing run by Imperial CAS. Other Legions would grin and engage in bloody melee, wading through the maze of rubble and metal wreckage, while some would throw auxilia into the meatgrinder until the Xenos was dead. The Purifiers were not other Legions.

<<Steel Rain, this is Lambda-Actual. Confirmed life signs in Sector 17, Grid b6. Auspex reads 112 warm bodies. Request VX-8 strike, five shells, no delay. How copy?>>

<<This is Steel Rain, solid copy. Five shells, no delay, ten seconds to splash>>

Orbiting the planet sat a strike cruiser, tasked for this specific purpose, bearing all manner of death. Minor adjustments of course were made, maneuver propellant dusting out into the void as the voidship assumed position for the fire order. Cogitators crunched numbers and further adjustments were made in turn, accounting for wind and planetary rotation; Accuracy was paramount to such duties. Only with their course exact, bearing specific, did they let loose invisible death.

Five shells lanced through the atmosphere, shrieking like the banshee of old Terran myth as they took mere seconds to arrive. The Ork gun emplacement shook, partially shattered by the impact, but still standing. The Greenskin celebration of survival was cut short as the air became death. There were no screams, no angered retorts, only the silence of death. It would be inefficient otherwise.

That was the beauty of VX-8. A high-lethal nerve agent, designed to kill as quickly as possible and then dissipate. Colourless, odorless, tasteless; An invisible killer. An ork staggered out of the building, brutish hands grasping its throat as it fell to the ground, letting out a confused choke as its own body shut down. Waste products began to pool around it as it jerked in seizure, frenzied eyes rolling to the back of the skull. After a few more agonized moments it finally collapsed, slack-jawed, blood and bile pooling to the side of the street. The collected Astartes observed with dispassionate interest, curious to see the xenos surviving for as long as it did.

Some would remark that the Purifiers did not view this as war, but pest control. They were right.

<<Good effect on target, Lambda-Actual out>>

Lambda Squad moved in silence, heading to their next target.

Arcadan Municipia Communications Array

The station had been cleared of Ork contacts with a smaller augur system set up on the tower to act as their ‘scope’, while three of the squad had moved off to a secondary position a kilometer off to act as their sniper position, and all things were set. Brother Omiel, for his part, was somewhat disappointed that their job had come down to an exceptionally brutal and fast combat followed by an intense need for silence, but there was little pleasing or fixing that and things were just how they were. They would kill far more Orks by supplying information than by simply assaulting the enemy. The jamming was cleared, the station active again as a relay for vox transmissions, and the Conquestus began to listen and make notes of every single message that came across Ork nets, timestamping them as colleagues above on the Filii Vetustissima did the same for the direction and range of the vox. They were determined to find and eliminate the Ork command structure, if it ever could be called that, in rapid order and closed, private nets, the information was fed into the cogitators aboard the command vessel and precise locations received in response.

Thumbs up. They were on it. Rapidly the group eliminated those targets within the cities and other obvious locations for Ork activity, such as the ore deposits to the northwest, mostly in order to limit civilian and friendly casualties. It was a fairly simple process, that method of matching lines and ranges in order to determine an exact location to target, and all things told. Then they sifted through and eliminated those messages that were simply reports of subordinates to superiors, though the positions of those senders was noted down. They wanted to kill generals, not corporals. A channel was opened.

++PATRON, THIS IS SIPHON++

++THIS IS PATRON, GO++

++PATRON, FIRE MISSION FIRE MISSION
+FIVE STRIKES TO FOLLOW
+FIVE STRIKES TO FOLLOW
+TANGO TAC THREE SIX, TANGO TAC OH FIVE, VICTOR TAC SEVEN ONE, BREAK
+BRAVO TAC ONE THREE, DELTA TAC TWO ONE, FOXTROT TAC THREE NINE, BREAK
+DELTA TAC THREE FOUR, ZULU TAC TWO ONE, UNIFORM TAC SEVEN FOUR, BREAK
+PAPA TAC FIVE FIVE, ROMEO TAC ONE TWO, ALPHA TAC OH ONE, BREAK
+PAPA TAC EIGHT TWO, PAPA TAC ONE FOUR, VIKTOR TAC THREE TWO, BREAK
+REQUEST TWO TWO, NO DELAY
+HOW COPY?++

++FIRE MISSION AS FOLLOWS
+TANGO TAC THREE SIX, TANGO TAC OH FIVE, VICTOR TAC SEVEN ONE, BREAK
+BRAVO TAC ONE THREE, DELTA TAC TWO ONE, FOXTROT TAC THREE NINE, BREAK
+DELTA TAC THREE FOUR, ZULU TAC TWO ONE, UNIFORM TAC SEVEN FOUR, BREAK
+PAPA TAC FIVE FIVE, ROMEO TAC ONE TWO, ALPHA TAC OH ONE, BREAK
+PAPA TAC EIGHT TWO, PAPA TAC ONE FOUR, VIKTOR TAC THREE TWO, BREAK
+REQUEST TWO TWO, NO DELAY
+STANDBY
+STANDBY++

About the fleet, ten projectiles left there. They were comets, falling down to earth faster and faster before airbursting some dozens of meters above the Ork positions. This was, doubtless, going to be ineffective against such a thing as an Ork in a bunker but then again how often was one to come across an Ork in a bunker? They would deal with those enemies in their own time. For now, it was enough to massacre those targets out in the open. If prior engages were anything to go by, the Ork general was in a vehicle with their vox, possibly out in the open with binoculars trying to view the battlefield. Orks were not exceptionally smart beings. The missiles fell and fell, fell before five locations lit up like plasma.

++THIS IS PATRON
+HITS ON TARGET
+OUT++

[Imperialisium]

Kalas Sector

As the opening engagements of the liberation of the Kalas Sector were underway. Intense combat across the Arcadan, Moorn's World, Myrd, and Teltor systems between the Ork Waaagh! and the Imperiums retaliatory counter-offensive. The initial reports sent by Astropath estimated casualties among legions and army forces to so far be within acceptable standards. But this was just the beginning and the need to quickly check, then destroy, this resurgent Greenskin threat was of paramount important for the overall stability of surrounding Sectors and the Great Crusade as a whole. Yet, unexpectedly, a directive straight from Terra was received by Imperial Astropathic Choirs and disseminated to the Primarchs. Calling for them meet for an Imperial Council in the Moorn system. The expectation of course was that the system be cleansed of Greenskins by the time Malcador and Kelbor-Hal arrived. The transmission did not openly state what was to occur at this no doubt important Council. But that it would transpire nonetheless.

Teltor System

The Greenskin reinforces were checked by the quick interception of Admiral Horatio's Battlegroup Serpentine. The remaining Greenskin ships that had originally defended Teltor Primaris disengaged. Fleeing away from the Imperial forces which hounded them in an expanding three-dimensional defensive perimeter. A trio of Greenskin vessels joining the wreckage of their fallen comrades as the Imperial gunnery kept firing until effective range had been exceeded.

Master of the Fleet Krisztoff von Tisza und zu Solaire had requested permission to pursue. But the request had been denied by Primarch Vasilisa herself, who now waged an intense ground campaign on Teltor Primaris , and directed Naval assets be used to support the ground operations taking place. Supported by over ninety Gargants and even larger contraptions which defied Imperial classifications of Greenskin constructs.

Battle of the Kyth Plains

The Greenskins had chosen to give battle in and around several urban centers. With more hordes arriving from the countryside. Over ten million Greenskins surged forth from several vectors to assault the Imperial forces arriving to liberate the world. But on the Kyth Plains the God-Machines of the Legio Ignatum and Metalica ignited their reactors. Whirring to life four Imperator Titans, Forty-Two Warlords, Sixty-nine Reaver, and Thirty-One Warhounds supported by fifty-seven Imperial Knights from a half dozen Houses marched to meet them in one of the largest engine fights of the Great Crusade.

Their ordinance lighting up the atmosphere of the planet as at their feet over one million Imperial Army troopers supported by twenty-six thousand tanks and thirty-four thousand other vehicles charged. Supported by entire battalions of the Sun Angels.

The Kyth Plains, adjacent to the Jahlren Arcology, became host to one of the biggest battles of the decade. Itself subsumed within the fires of war even as behemoths several dozen meters in height exchanged blows among the plains. Swarms of tanks and vehicles exchanged fire and maneuver against their Greenskin counterparts. While the firepower of a million warriors of humanity withered the fields and pockmarked the landscape. To the rear of the Imperial formations seventeen thousand artillery pieces opened up. Detonating swathes of the landscape in the fiery retribution of humanity's wrath. An entire attack wing of Imperial aircraft strafed and engaged ground targets along with whatever aerospace forces the Greenskins possessed. The wreckage of craft from both sides adding to the dotted landscape of destroyed vehicles and a field of corpses...

The Jahlren Arcology was not spared damage. Precision strikes by Imperial aircraft gave way to an intense carpet bombing missions to clear various levels of the arcology's perimeter buildings and habitation stacks of Greenskin defenders. Followed by companies of Sun Angels supported by tanks, APCs, and Land Speeders engaging Greenskin forces in the rubble and ruins of the Arcology. Swiftly joined by tens of thousands of Imperial Army soldiers arriving directly onto the battlefield by bulk landers and gunships.

Amidst it all, the the banner of the Primarch crossed the field's outside the Arcology. Like an Angry Terran Goddess of old the Sun Angel's Primarch bestride the battlefield. Her Imperial Purple Armor complimented by her panoply of war. Her blade slick with Greenskin blood and from her helmet's vox-grille she bellowed harsh cries of challenge to the Xenos before her. To give the Greenskin race small credit, they took the challenges willingly, even as they ended up as dismembered piles of flesh moments later. To the West a Greenskin Gargant detonated as its reactor was breached by a well placed shot from a Warlord Titan. A trio of missiles fired by a Reaver flattened a column of Greenskin armour charged in a rag tag formation. Their tossed hulls raked by massive caliber weaponry from the Titan as if to add insult to injury.

Vasilisa pushed forward, the sight of the Emperor's Eldest constantly raising the Imperial morale to greater and fiercer feats of courage. The Athanatoi beside her as they cut through the Greenskin ranks like fire in a wheat field.

<<My Primarch. Vermillion-Encryption Astropathic Transmission from Terra. Malcador. Council is to be held in the Moorn System. Data-Packet uploaded to your suits Machine-Spirit>>. Came the voice of Lord Arkidamus, the head of the Athanatoi beside the Primarch as he brought notice to the transmissions to her. She blink clicked the data-pocket in her helmets viewing feeds a second later. Scanning the contents of the transmissions encrypted elements. The council would be a couple weeks away by Terran time. She would cleanse the Teltor system on schedule...

Moorn's World

The Imperial planetary drop was of great relief to the Imperial defenders, beleaguered and besieged, but it was not an automatic victory. Imperial forces surged from the North towards the city such as the Parsarians. The Lightbringers and other Imperial forces had landed directly before the walls of Moorn Hold and with the survivors of the garrison managed to bloody, then repulse the vanguard of the Greenskin's assault. Imperial Vanquishers even managing to destroy a Gargant and disable another before a harsh horn sounded and the Green tide ebbed. The Greenskin's falling back in a chaotic, but by their standards rather organized, retreat to positions further afield.

The Imperials had of course been bloodied. Of the original Imperial defenders every unit was down to their last scraps of ammunition, working equipment, serviceable vehicles, and well under strength in manpower. The Imperial relief forces also accounted casualties. Some thirty-three Space Marines had fallen or been wounded and needed medivac. Thousands of other Imperial soldiers had fallen or been wounded as well. While four Vanquishers and forty-one other Imperial vehicles had been lost or damaged beyond battlefield repair.

Arcadan

Even as the shipyards had been reclaimed by the Void Tyrants in their surprise attack. The battle on the ground would be much harder. Even with Naval pinpoint strikes. The Greenskins were too intermixed with Imperial survivors and within Imperial cities and infrastructure that to purge them from orbit was to effectively render the planet's assets worthless. Forcing the arriving Imperial forces into a battle across the surface of the planet and subjecting them to urban and rural combat to clear the planet of Greenskin warbands.