NATION

PASSWORD

False Gods: A Warhammer 30k Roleplay (IC/reboot)

For all of your non-NationStates related roleplaying needs!
User avatar
Imperialisium
Postmaster-General
 
Posts: 11556
Founded: Apr 17, 2011
Democratic Socialists

False Gods: A Warhammer 30k Roleplay (IC/reboot)

Postby Imperialisium » Wed Feb 03, 2021 11:33 pm

OOC

Aureliana System
Aurelian Federation


For over a thousand years the Federation has stood as a beacon in its own corner of the Galaxy. The original human settlers recall from scant records and data fragments having arrived several millennia prior on ancient starships now no longer existing. Whereby centuries past as these human colonists feuded alongside each other and neighboring alien species. Until finally first the humans and then several alien races signed the Aurelian Pact. Bringing peace and prosperity to their section of Galaxy, which they had no contact with others outside of their interstellar neighborhood, believed to be permanent. That changed with the arrival of strange ships in the farthest flung systems of the Federation. The Outer Colonies. Initial contact yielded information about an 'Imperium of Man', a 'Great Crusade', and an 'Emperor of Mankind,' who ruled from what was supposedly the fabled homeworld of Humanity: Terra. However, relations soon soured when it became apparent that not only the Federation consorted with 'Xenos' but also 'Abominable Intelligence.' What the Federation knew as Artificial Intelligence. What followed was at first a protracted conflict between arriving Imperium fleets. But these were beaten back for over three years. Until a sudden and overwhelming force appeared. What was once separate fleets numbering at most a dozen to two dozen ships became invasion fleets hundreds strong. Fielding post-human warriors known as 'Astartes' and led by what Federal Naval Intelligence called a 'Primarch'.

Within six months the Outer Colonies fell to the onslaught. One hundred and six worlds lost in not even a year. The Federal Armed Forces suffering heavy losses in space and on the ground were even initial Pyrrhic tactical victories turned into defeat. The Inner Colonies were swiftly invaded soon after. With the Federation mass mobilizing and fortifying its remaining star systems it held on. Forcing this Imperium to besiege entire planets into submission. Xenos member worlds of the Federation fell the fastest for the Imperium seemed to make no effort in dialogue with the non-human citizens of the Federation. No quarter or qualm about violently exterminating these member species off the Galactic map.

Now, four and a half years into the conflict the Federation had marshalled much of its remaining strength in its capital system of Aureliana. A dual binary star system home to six inhabited planets and over half a dozen asteroid colonies. Preparing to launch a mass counter-offensive against this 'Imperium' and drive it back.


Aureliana Prime
Langrange Defense Ring Command & Control


Gentle steps shuffled on the metal floor as heavy magnetize capable boots moved forward. A man in a blue and white uniform of the Federal Naval Service moved onto the large circular command bridge of the massive Geo-synchronous defense network covering the Capital Planet of the Federation. This sphere of weapon studded stations and orbital magnetic accelerator cannons pointed outwards into the blackness of the void. Vigilant for any sign of the 'Imperium'. On the bridge a large black haired creature reminiscent of ancient Terran Great Apes, also in a blue and white uniform, turned and spoke in a guttural voice. Its voice modulated and genetically altered to be able to speak. The wonders of the Federal Uplifting Program. “Commander, its busy but quiet out there. NAVCOM reports that scout ships at the edge of the system show clear scopes and no gravitic disturbances.”

“Good, just what we like to see,” replied the Commander as he brought a steaming cup of caff to his lips. Tasting the brown, cream sweetened beverage, feeling the welcome rush of caffeine. Not that good mattered to his compatriot. His homeworld had been decimated by these Imperials and his entire people there put up against a wall. The thought of such acts of xenocide made his stomach churn. But to his subordinates credit he made no emotion or sign of mental compromise. We'll get these bastards, just you wait. FEDHIGHCOM has a plan.

Moving over to the outer system scanning team he looked over a brunette human woman's head, a fish like man with six digit fingers typing furiously on a computer console, as he brought up data pertaining to a commercial bulk trawler named the Spring's Coming.

“Ice trawler? Anything I should know about?”

“Not sure Commander. The Spring's Coming has been out in the outer belt collecting ice for the water market on the desert planet of Sahar-El. But there was a very brief, only a couple seconds, radio burst from the ship before it went dark for twenty minutes.”

“Ship is fine now though, right?” said the Commander as he ran a hand through his black hair. His olive skin not helping to hide the bags under his eyes.

“Well we think so but there is something about the transmission...” The woman began dialing in some knobs while the fish like creature to her left, also in the blue and white uniform, turned and spoke through a mechanical radio grille. His voice customized by his own choosing to be soft and perhaps a bit posh. “The ship gave standard reporting and operating procedure kickbacks exactly twenty minutes and six seconds after going dark. Report log listed a communication glitch and possible computation error in its navigational system. It will be checking in at Commercial Dockyard 7 to have it looked at.”

“Alright, good, send that report up to NAVCOM for their analysts to take a look at it. What about the transmission?” The Commander leaned down as the brunette haired ensign pressed play. A crackle over her console's audio speakers for then a blurp of something. Something definitely audible.

“Play that back?”

The ensign played it back and there it was again, a blurp of something popping. At least it sounded like popping to the ears of all three present. “Okay, send that up to NAVCOM too. Keep a scope on it just in case.”

“Aye, Commander.” The sensor reading of the ice trawler drawing ever closer.

Nodding the Commander rolled his neck in a nice relaxing stretch as he maneuvered in a large circle about the bridge. Checking in at various posts before he wound up looking out the wide view ports down at the planet below. The surface under him gradually going from light to dark as the hours past below on that rotating orb. Before him the vast array of the Federal Military Shipyards. The Kala'den Commercial Shipyards and Wharves. The System Communication Array and NAVCOM Headquarters. All arrayed in a vast network of metal girders, Geo-synchronous structures, or cresting the massive towering spires of the planets eight space elevators.

Night settling over the Western Hemisphere of Aureliana Prime. Its five oceans and six continents sandwiched between two pleasant stark white polar ice caps. The Commander took another sip.

“Spring's Coming you are clear for approach vector in system. Hold onto charted course line 47-3-B. You will be given a signal for final approach on my mark.”

Checking his wrist watch the Commander enjoyed the sight below him before closing his eyes for a moment to relax. The space before him alight with thousands of craft and ships. Mostly civilian. But hundreds of warships of the Navy were mustered or in dockyard berths arrayed neatly like a massive three-dimensional fabric lattice.

“Spring's Coming adjust course. Spring's Coming you are moving off course. Spring's Coming do you read?”

The Commander nearly choked on his next sip as he heard these words from the brunette ensigns mouth. Growing more stern by the syllable. Turning around swiftly the Commander rushed over. “What is it Naveen?”

“Spring's Coming just ignored our hails. They're off course, and every second a data spike is being sent out of system.” The Commander looked at the sensor readings. The Spring's Coming was not going to hit them but was now moving well off course. “Try to raise them again. Notify NAVCOM and Grand Admiral Hood that we have a possible problem.”

“Spring's Coming just went full thrust!” spat the fish like naval ensign seated to the right. Collision alarms and warning klaxons blared as the Spring's Coming main plasma drives ignited. Cycling rapidly up to full power as the kilometer long bulk hauler began to accelerate exponentially.

“Signal w-!”

“SHIP LAUNCHING CRAFT!” came a frantic scream of a shout from behind him. From the tactical team behind him. The Commander turned to watch the central viewing screens to see four smaller pod like craft with claws shoot out of the side of the Spring's Coming towards the Command & Control station. Within seconds the craft ignited their fusion cutters. Blasting and slicing into the station as its claw like mandibles anchored the pod like bodies of the craft. It was all happening so fast!

The Spring's Coming went beyond normal safety parameters for acceleration. Red-lining its core as the ship rapidly approached an appreciable fraction of light speed. The ice hauler rocketing past the Command & Control Station to collide with the Commercial Dockyards. Smashing through steel girders. Four civilian ships and two bulk freighters were annihilated by the impact. The Spring's Coming continued on as debris rained out in all directions. The deaths of twenty thousand dock workers behind it. Crashing into Battleship Row, grazing the carrier Ralliere, and ripping the fore-third of the cruiser Demtre away in a shower of alloy. The ice hauler continued on its orbital rampage unabated. Its momentum seeming unassailable as it impacted the NAVCOM headquarters station in a thunderous detonation. Thirty-six thousand navy personnel died as the structure went critical. The ice hawler, now a massive slag heap of red hot metal, erupted from the back of the station and careered on its orbital death arc to crash into the System Communications Array. The debris and devastation of its path an expanding cloud. Sixty-seven other ships were destroyed by the expanding debris outright as several damaged ships died at their berths or cores went critical. The Battleship, three and a half kilometers long, Lacreion, smashed from its girders now listed freely. Its drives off and half of its crew having died from the exceedingly violent impact. Drifted like a bird struck mid flight to planet side. A plume of smoke and debris following it as the mighty warship began its death dive. Prow first.

Forty-three other ships were heavily damaged. Twelve others listed from damage to cause further havoc.

The Commander dropped his half drank cup of caff onto the floor as he could only watch the horror unfold before him in a matter of seconds. Nano-seconds of damage translating into cascading waterfalls of subsequent terror as the debris of the ice trawlers suicidal charge expanded at a fraction of light speed. Shredding lightly armored craft in a hailstorm of razor metal. Habitation units vented. Industrial complexes suffered hull integrity failure. The Spring's Coming ripped out the other side of the System Communication Array, enough of its punch robbed to come out like a shotgun blast of several fiery pieces, cascading to strike the the habitation orbital rings around the nearest space elevator. Over a hundred thousand homes had their interiors, within the span of nano-seconds, given over to the cold embrace of hard vacuum.

A heavy hand gripped his shoulder, he turned, it was his hairy subordinate. “Commander!”

It was then that he registered the other alarms. SECURITY BREACH, DECKS 27, 42, 51, AND 103. SECURITY PROTOCOLS ENGAGED. ALERT. SECURITY BREACH.

The message repeated and in the distance else where in the station he could hear the thuds of weapons fire. “Close off the bridge! Secure the area. Alert all commands! We're under attack!”

The deep space observation officer, a lieutenant, whipped his head around, “Incoming multiple gravity disturbances. Detecting over nine hundred plus enemy ships exiting into Realspace!”

The Commander looked above, “Mother of Mercy.” The enemy fleet, no doubt fed data last minute from the Spring's Coming had made a calculated jump to be within close range. Merely a million kilometers away.

His apish subordinate dashed over to the security panel as the lights in the bridge twinkled for a moment. A boom below them sounded. People were screaming blood curdling wails in the hallway. A hairy paw of a hand smacked the emergency release protocols. Right as a pair of Navy personnel came sprinting frantically around the corner of the hallway. “Stop!”

The emergency blast doors shut on them. Their fists banging as the man and woman that rounded the corner screamed for them to open the doors. Their cries soon matched by rapidly approaching foot falls. Heavy foot falls. Their screams rose to ear splitting, hair raising, shrill wails before a pair of thudding booms silenced them.

“Draw your side arms.” said the Commander. Behind him the blast shutters lowered to shield their view ports. Everyone, the Commander included, drew their phase pistols and pointed them at the blast doors. The sound of something on the other side made the Commander cautiously step back. Then it clicked in his head. “Get do-!”

Slagged metal shot inwards as plasma charges detonated. Three of the bridge crew were blown back bodily. Naveen was killed by shrapnel to the throat, skull, and chest. The fish like ensign was thrown bodily back to have what amounted for his spine snap back across his console in a sickening manner. The lieutenant from earlier exploded from some other impact. Then another bridge crew member, then another. The Commander opened fire. Beams of energy rapidly cycling into the vapors of the Plasma discharge. His arm exploded. The Commander screamed. Looking down a pair of silvery-grey armored feet stood before him. The muzzle of some heavy looking weapon hefted by an inhuman sized body pointed at his chest. The Commander closed his eyes...

* * *

Federation City

The city was a teeming metropolis covering over sixty-eight thousand square kilometers. The capital of the Federation. Amid the urban residencies of the spacious palatial homes of the city's upper class a celebration was held for a young woman's birth day. Friends and family gathering as they drank and sang till the Sun of Alpha Sol diminished below the horizon. The festive attitude only diminishing as groups gradually took their leave to head home. Only one late comer arrived and was greeted by the person of the hour.

“Uncle Merrick!” A late middle aged man in the livery of a Federation Navy Vice Admiral smiled as a young adult woman, his niece by the sounds of things, gave him a big hug. “Hey there mountain bear chill, chill, you'll break this old man's back with your strength.” They separated as the young woman adjusted a conical multi-colored birthday cap on her red haired scalp. Her fair face beaming with joy.

“Figured I'd swing by on my way up to the Fleet. Got you something more appropriate for your age.” Merrick revealed a bottle of fine alcohol. 'Austerbrev Wine'. From the fertile and exquisite vineyards of Aureliana's Southern mountain chain of the same name. She gave a warm thanks and welcomed him in. But his mood turned dour as he spoke quickly, “Can't stay long. Got a schedule to keep. Take care.”

The Vice Admiral stepped away for the awaiting ground car due to take him to the nearest space port for transit up into orbit. His vehicle smoothly sliding away into the night as the young woman looked up and frowned. Various objects blossomed orange and red in the night sky. Getting bigger. Her eyes widened as over ten thousand fragments of space debris were lit by the fires of re-entry. She almost dropped the bottle of wine as she watched their impacts. Blossoms of fire and mushroom clouds arose in the distance. Something, once a conning tower, smashed into the financial district. Leveling five sky scrapers. She froze. Froze as she watched the wounded form of the dying Lacreion come singing from the heavens. Its hull glowing from re-entry. Its prow ripping the top levels off of industrial complexes as it sank into the ground at a speed surpassing the sound barrier. The boom of the shock-wave picking up an onrushing brown cloud of debris that flooded towards her. The ship digging a six hundred meter deep rut behind it as its hull was stripped away layer by layer. Cutting a path through four residential neighborhoods, two commercial districts, and then crashing to a stop amid the mid-town spires. Twinkling glass, shattered, presaged the collapse of twenty-four high rises. She could only watch as the onrushing dust cloud struck her. Blowing her off her feet...

The young woman coughed, her birthday cap torn from her scalp, her body covered in brown and gray dust. Screams and panic from onrushing people flooded the neighborhood. Others huddled in their homes. Windows and glass decorated the pavement around her. Gazing up at the sky she saw flashes of energy weaponry, thousands of detonations, and every now and then the violent blossom of a reactor going critical as a ship's heart went super nova. The power was out in the neighborhood. A hand gripped her, “Come on, Constantina, we have to go!” It was the voice of Uncle Merrick.

Constantia coughed as she was hauled up. Her ape like neighbor, belonging to the same species from Sahar-El, was next to him. His spectacles dusty while her family and friends came out holding whatever belongings they could carry.

“Come on! Come on! We need to get out of the capital.” Said Merrick as he pushed her along to follow her neighbor. Julian. The ape-man waving for them to follow.

“Shouldn't we take a car?” Constantina's mother said with dust matte hair. Merrick shook his head as they moved at a quickening pace. “No, everyone will be trying to do that. We'll try to get a mag lev out and then take a aircar from there to a space port to try and get off world.”

“Off world?” Constantina heard her mother say. Merricks reply was dour, “We got hit by this by surprise. NAVCOM is gone. NAVHIGHCOM got hit by atomics not too long ago. Massive MIRV assault blanketed the Southern Continent. Half our damn headquarter bases are gone like that!”

“Navy Command is gone?” said Julian from the front of the group as they continued. Moving into a shopping district as they thundered along the pavement. The battle in space silhouetted above them in a dazzling display of light and blossoming, silent, explosions. The fires of thousands of debris impacts. Gave a reddish hue to the atmosphere of the city around them as fires raged. Constantina stole a glance up as more debris began to rain down. Then the sky erupted in fire and fury.

The capitals atmosphere defense guns blossomed as thousands of AA pieces opened up across the city and surrounding rural areas. Missiles shot up into the sky. The blossoming blacker than blackness of flak rounds detonating. Lasers lancing up to the heavens. Moving through the district people were screaming, shouting, desperate to get anywhere other than where they were now. A short distance away the Nordrehn Aerospace Base was launching its fighters into the atmosphere.

The group moved on wards as booms sounded around them. Something from space was shooting back. Constantina again stole a look up as thousands of foreign craft dueled the Federation's pilots. The sky alight with tracer fire as a wave of fire-like-rain materialized before her.

“Come on!” said Merrick as he urged her on. Her eyes stolen by the strange sight above as she kept pace with her family and neighbor. The fiery rain coalescing into pods. Metal pod like devices on turbojet engines that crashed to earth. The surrounding environment suddenly rising in cacophony as fire arm discharge echoed across the city-scape.

Rushing along a plaza Constantina looked to her right to see Federation Army troopers deploying from trucks and moving into defensive positions. A tank rolling up behind them. To her left troopers on a roof top engaged something in the distance only to disappear in mists of red chunks. Constantina gasped. Julian reaching back to grip her and haul her along.

Merrick moved them to the left and down some subway stairs into the city's metro. “Come on off the streets!” He waved them down the steps as the sounds of weapons fire grew louder and louder. Shouts from soldier and civilian. While in the distance, back from where they'd come, Constantina saw a lance of light strike the ground. Merrick dove down the steps after them as another dust cloud flooded the streets. The group moved along and saw they were not alone. Thousands of civilians had huddled in the metro.

Merrick was moving already. Pushing his way past people. Constantina's father now spoke, huffing and puffing from the physical strain. “Where are we going Merrick!”

“Fallout Shelter from the old wars down here.” Was Merrick's response.

Following Merrick's lead the group took a wide side corridor and then down some more steps. Past some more people. The metro suddenly rumbled and the ceiling shook from surface detonations. Something with treads rumbled by above them. Taking a right they arrived at some open doors to reveal a room huddled with people of various species. The fallout shelter was full and no personnel from the government were present. Seeming to spot the other side of the shelter in the gloom of red emergency lights, Merrick beckoned them to follow. Moving and filing them along next to the far door.

He moved in close to them, “Alright, we stay here for a moment to catch our breath. Then we go through this door. This will lead us to a metro sub-station a kilometer down the track. From there we go up into the Magornor District, its residential, we move from cover to cover till we get to the mag lev lines.”

Everyone nodded in affirmation. The ceiling shook again as the war above them increased in fury for one minute, then a second, then silence. Leery silence. Constantina's stomach knotted while the images of those soldiers exploding into red mist made her eyes water and she began to ventilate heavily into her hands.

“hey hey, mountain bear, be strong. We will get through this,” said Merrick as she mimicked breathing deep and smoothly, out and in. The musky air sucked in and out of her lips as she tried to calm herself. Closing her eyes for a moment she could feel the pounding of her heart rate slowly begin to lower itself.

Crash. Clunk-clunk. Screaming erupted as a tidal wave of people surged into the side hallway and towards the shelter. Others no doubt fleeing down the tracks. Julian looked at Merrick who unconsciously spat, “Right, leaving.”

Gripping the circular handle he twisted hard right and kept turning. Until the heavy bolts of the shelter door disengaged and the door swung outward. Merrick went through, then Constantina, and Julian, then the onrush of people swept into the entry way. “Mother! Father!” shouted Constantina as she looked back and saw her mother fall, trampled, her father crushed up against the doorway as a flood of people frantically tried to escape.

Julian, gripped her, hoisted her up, as she screamed for her parents until her lungs gave out. The trio moved running into the darkness of the metro access tunnel.

* * *

They had been running for what seemed like forever when they came across a doorway leading to a still lit stairwell. Opening the door with a clunk of bolts Merrick went in first. Then Constantina, with Julian watching their backs. They could hear no others behind them in the darkness, the pitch blackness which required them to keep a hand on the walls for guidance, not that there wasn't anyone following of course. The thought made Constantina sweat. A nameless horror of these invaders following them!

They ascended the stairs and peeking through a doorway they exited into a sub-station. Booming detonations above them but not as direct as before. Curiously enough, the metro sub-station was entirely devoid of life, no civilians huddled nor station personnel. A tram sat empty and silent to their right. Moving up the stairs gingerly to the ground level they peered over concrete railings to see a scene of burnt out vehicles. Pockmarked roads, and corpses. Thousands of military personnel and civilians dotted the streets, balconies, and rooftops. A pair of burnt out tanks, a burnt out convoy, and a downed rotor-copter that had crashed into the fourth floor of an apartment block. Flames crackling from its still burning fuel supply.

Then the ground shook so violently that Constantina nearly fell over. Julian once again picked her up to her feet and the trio made their way towards the mag lev line. “Air strikes,” muttered Merrick at the carnage. Above them Constantina could still see dueling air craft and the blossoming barrages of void warfare above them. But back where they had come she could see larger landing transports lowering to planet side from space. They weren't Federation.

Moving along the pathway for another hour. Occasionally, punctuated by artillery and air strikes in the distance, or the rattle of gunfire in some far off street battle. They could hear shuffles and cries. People were piling onto mag lev trains at the station. The long silver bodies of the magnetic track running trains piling high with people. A new train arrived while another left. Station personnel urged order but there would be scarcely any. A team of soldiers in combat gear fought to orderly have people board the trains for departure.

The trio made their way to the front and Merrick showed them his uniform, “You need to let me and my companions pass through.” The soldier, a young man barely nineteen, managed a sloppy salute as he looked at his companions. Nodding slowly he stepped aside. The act causing an uproar of protests as the trio were allowed past. A protest soon joined by a horn like dirge. Blaring at them like a herald of doom. Constantina looked back and saw from the raised platform of the mag lev shapes striding through the smoke and flame. Giant striding bipeds with various other smaller ones swarming at their feet. Though smaller could scarcely be accurate in that even the smaller bidepal war machines were easily the size of an apartment block. Many wielded massive chainsaws for arms while their other sported some projectile weapon. The larger ones sported practically all projectile weapons. Banners, black and silver, hung from large pennants or between their bipedal legs. Approaching opposite came an answering cry as the Federation's own Mecha of equal side strode forth from the country side. At their feet surged thousands of Army tanks, APCs, and mobile artillery. Entire corps of soldiers moved forth. While the invaders also sported various vehicles and infantry forces moving forward. Both sides erupted in a volley of deathly madness.

Pockmarking the earth. Renting trenches into the ground. Collapsing structures. Fires bloomed and blossomed as the city-scape and environment became a scarred and charred hellscape. Julian had to haul Constantina onto the tram she was so taken in by the awe inspiring sight. Gothic war machines dueling her peoples own giants of war in a terrible duel to the death.

The mag-lev lurched forward smoothly as they pulled away from Federation City. The growing distance allowing her to see the battle unfold with the backdrop of a burning and war torn city beyond.

* * *

The mag lev tram moved on its course at breakneck speed of 400 kilometers an hour. Merrick constantly checked his watch every minute. As if he was worried about being late for something. Julian was silent and rocking slowly back and forth. Everyone on the tram seemed dirty and despairing. She could only wonder how many families had been torn apart or lost in the fiery carnage.

Casting her amber eyes about she momentarily doused in darkness, save for the trams running lights, by a mountain side tunnel. It passed within a moment and there lay more devastation. People in hushed tones rushing to the windows as the towns and cities to either side burnt in the fires of war. Armies clashed while mighty warships could be seen descending into atmosphere. Constantina watched as one city she knew from geography class, Armorel, was suddenly subject to bombardment from a three kilometer long warship of unusual design. Its prow and superstructure angular like a serrated knife. Level the city in a series of barrages. Armorel, home to a million people, was leveled. Why? Who were these invaders that ravaged her home so?

A pair of black dots were looming towards them. Skimming the mountain range behind them and veering on an approach. Merrick turned and tore Constantina to the ground. The track behind them was cut in two by a series of explosions from missile fire. The rear compartments of the mag left barely making it away while the tram adjacent to them, moving just behind on its own track, erupted into fire and curling metal like a burst tin can. The two craft, painted red, zipped off and away. Their mission to cut the rail line completed. The other tram must have been only in the way. In the way. The thought mortified Constantina.

* * *

The mag lev tram slowly moved to a standstill. Giving everyone aboard pause. A pause turning to abject horror as their destination burned. Tracer fire and flitting swarms of foreign air craft above it. The rattling detonations of gruesome street battles ripping through its structures in a dazzling display.

“We need to get off the train. We'll take the underground.” Stated Merrick as the trio manually opened the doors. Some others seemingly had a similar idea. But milled about unsure while the trio took off along the side of the track. Keeping low in the ditch as they moved towards the first buildings. Closer than the woodlands alight with gunfire and pockmarked by detonations from the fighting in the around the city. “Down!” Shouted Merrick and all three hit the dirt as an invader aircraft roared above. A single missile leaping from under a wing to streak behind the trio. Striking the mag leg train in a shower of fire and shrapnel before zooming off.

Shakily rising to their feet the trio moved on with renewed effort. Legs shaking from strain and panting breathe the three moved into the city proper and into an abandoned apartment. The back door unlocked, food still on the table, but apparently abandoned as Merrick who had vanished inside came back to wave them in. Closing the back door behind them and making sure it was locked the trio moved into the kitchen.

“Alright, on the other side of the city. There is a NAVSPECWEP facility.” Silence and blank looks matched Merricks statement. The Vice Admiral cleared his throat, “Its a top secret facility for special weapons being experimented on for the Federation. The war, despite what the talk show hosts say, has been going poorly for months. Now, I think we've for sure lost.”

No word from Julian. Only silent acceptance of what was likely the truth. A rumble of engines and the trio dropped to a crouch. Outside they heard hushed voices. In a language they knew. Rising slowly Merrick moved over to a window and smiled.

* * *

Captain Arv'ald of the 44th Federal Mechanized Division stood before them in the kitchen. His depiction of the situation to Merrick was grim. Contact with major cities gone or non-existent. Capitol was hit by a WMD of some kind. Building was basically vaporized. The red armored giants known as “Astartes” as what Arv'ald said had landed en masse. From what the Captain seemed to describe they appeared nearly impossible to kill without significant firepower. The Fleet's surviving ships had retreated from orbit in disarray. Grand Admiral Hood was confirmed KIA over Aureliana Prime about an hour ago. Further, the enemy was landing millions of regular human soldiers and various war machines in numbers the Federation had not seen before. Their strikes were like clockwork. Major installations and logistics bases taken out rapidly. Fleet Anchorage crippled within moments. Communication and energy grids gone if not compromised. Army Command was fragmented and falling apart more every hour.

Clunk clunk-clunk. Shouts erupted outside as the rest of the company outside suddenly opened fire frantically. Captain Arv'ald moved to a window to look outside. Only for his head and upper torso to detonate. Showering Constantina in red mist. She screamed as the kitchen's walls detonated from hypersonic rounds puncturing and detonating. By some miracle she was unharmed. Merrick grabbed her while Julian followed them out a side door. Falling over a corpse Constantina hurried into another apartment. Crossing the threshold to see that half of the building was now rubble. The street around them a battle ground between two forces battling it out. Federation troopers putting up a valiant if futile effort. Their weapons rattling off rounds and bolts of energy while others chucked grenades. Across the way red armored giants. Astartes. Surged forth faster than Constantina's eyes could properly track. Whirring blades sawed man and woman alike into meaty chunks. Grenades hurled by the Astartes shredded bodies. Their own fire arms reducing entire squads into pink-red paste.

A whirl of a jets deafened Constantina's ears as she tripped and fell. Julian pausing to lift her up. But the ape-man seemed off. Looking down she saw it. Shrapnel had lodged in his leg and side. “Jul-,”

“Go,” said the ape man. Constantina looked up and froze as the sound of the jet pack turned to see her. Standing over a freshly eviscerated Federation army sergeant. “Go!” he bellowed in the gutteral speech of his race. Shoving her back as he bellowed a challenge to the red giant. Merricks hands gripped her as he made her jump down a man hole cover into a murky dank tunnel. But Merrick did not follow. Instead he slowly closed the man hole cover and moved away with a muttering of 'go.' Followed by a small plastic card falling between the slits of the man hole grille. A card she barely caught.

Constantina watched as a red gauntlet gripped her Uncle's shoulder. Pulling him from view. She barely contained her sorrowful cry with shaky hands. She needed to move. But where? She knew where in the back of her mind. To the facility. It would be safe there. Looking to her right she abruptly dashed off with tears streaming down her face.


* * *

Two hours of running in murky dank sewage tunnels and she reached what she believed to be the Northern terminus. Shaky weak hands gripping rusty access railings she pulled herself up. Arms straining to lift and move the heavy metal grate above her. She peered warily over the lip. She couldn't see anyone. A small metal door embedded in the side of a hill, shielded by some trees, holding up the card as if it would tell her to move forward she crawled forth. Scampering to the metal door she could now see how heavy duty it was. Smooth gunmetal surface. Looked more like a vault that anything else.

A small black slot to the left of the door stood out to her. Sliding the card inside the rumbling sound of bolts unlocking. Mechanisms turning. A hiss of pressurized air and the vault door swung inward half way. Moving inside she was startled to see clear white light. What if someone sees! She hurried in and without thinking closed the vault door. Moving in she was met by another door. She entered the same card and again it opened. Moving inside she was met by white lights and a large space. Offices to the left. Smaller labs with clear window panes of hardened plastic. Walls of machinery that she could scarcely guess function of. Then a larger security door wide enough to fit a large transport truck through stood before her. A third time she slotted the card, eyes widening in shock, as the scene unveiled before her.

Rows of metal gurneys hooked up to heavy cables to various machinery with winking lights of myriad colors. Clear plexi-steel coverings over each one would allow one to peer inside. Moving in slowly, nervously, Constantina made for the closest one and looked. She dropped the card and gasped. Inside was a baby. Apparently asleep, with odd shackle like devices around its neck and limbs. She averted her eyes as she stumbled along the rows. Each one holding a child with the same bizarre restraints. Then there was one apart. One with a single collar for a restraint of black metal. Yet, there was something off about the baby. A certain wrongness.

“Its a blank child.”

Constantina froze. A sultry, honey sweet, rumbling mountain of authority for a voice coaxed her ears. It spoke her language but with a peculiar accent. Turning slowly she saw a giant clad in purple. Easily more than twice her height. A face of utter beauty and perfection staring back at Constantina with a bemused smirk on the side of perfectly formed lips. Perfect silver white hair, like fresh fallen snow, cascaded down from this amazon of a woman's scalp. A sword hung at her hip, just under her left arm which was positioned to rest on said hip. Coming into the room a pair of purple giants entered. Followed by a full squad of the red armored giants. Astartes. Constantina backed away into the gurney as fear gripped her.

The amazon of a woman held out her other hand cautiously, more likely out of fear of turning over the gurney than Constantina's own discomfort, “I have assured your Uncle that no harm of me or my legion would befall you.”

Constantina paused, aghast at what she had just heard, but the visualization of what followed caused her to sink to the floor in traumatic shock. The amazon stepped aside and there, unharmed, was her Uncle Merrick. The amazon woman indicated to him, “Quite the asset, your Uncle has become for the Imperium. A rich reward, governorship of this world in the name of the Emperor, I would find most befitting.”

Constantina began to hyper ventilate as everything she ever knew died tonight. So much so she could scarcely do anything as a giant in white armor with a helix insignia moved up and injected a sedative into her neck. Mercifully sending her into a medically induced coma.

Her last images of the amazon peeling back the top of the gurney and gently reaching in, like a mother to a child, such grace defying all expectation. As the magnificent purple-clad queen with hair of virgin snow plucked the child and held it to her chest. Stepping out of view as darkness shrouded Constantina's vision.

* * *

Eighteen Hours Post-Invasion of Aureliana Prime

Cythera stepped off the platform onto the fields outside of 'Federation City' as the locals called it. Stepping onto the short grass of what was once a massive marshaling field for public events. Rows of Sun Angels in perfect formation lined both sides. Columns of Imperial Army troopers behind them and beyond. While Titans of the Legio Mortis stood above. Knights of an assortment of houses pledged to the 25th Expeditionary Fleet stood beside them. Formations of aircraft soared above while no less than a dozen Navy ships hovered above the surface. Smoke plumes from the city still rose high in the sky as surviving civilians, of which three billion of an original seven billion population survived by effort of the Primarch's planning to limit expected collateral damage, were being corralled. To be subject to Iterators, Administratum personnel, and thus be on their initial steps to Compliance as new citizens of the Imperium of Mankind.

A purple Stormbird hovered into view and came to a graceful landing as the Remembrancers, including the imagist Cythera, watched. Her pict-caster snapping and video feeds recording everything of note. The Stormbird lowering its ramps to disgorge the Athanatoi and of course the magnificent eldest of the Primarchs. Though eldest was sort of a misnomer. Eldest only in most seniority of discovery and service to the Imperium. Of which it was not much more than some of her siblings like Atlas and Ravadiana.

The Remembrancers bowed deeply while the Astartes and Army troopers knelt. Even the Knights and Titans did a bow of sorts. More of respect than subservience.

Before her, surviving members of the Aurelian Armed Forces High Command awaited to formally give their unconditional surrender of remaining Federation territory. Their morale broken by the shocking defeat of over one hundred million Federation troops mustered on the planet. Much of their fleet currently reduced to ember burning hulks or clouds of debris now orbiting the planet. This battle was truly The Emperor's Victory.
Last edited by Imperialisium on Wed Feb 03, 2021 11:38 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Resident Fox lover

User avatar
Revlona
Negotiator
 
Posts: 6465
Founded: Jan 23, 2017
Father Knows Best State

Postby Revlona » Thu Feb 04, 2021 2:13 pm

The Etis System
Etis Primus


The stars above Etis Primus twinkled endlessly in the night sky, their bright whites, yellows, and blues a stark contrast to the pitch black that was the greater part of the galaxy. These same stars had hovered over the world of Etis Primus for millenias uncounted, always a steady comfort for those that called Etis Primus their home. Always a comfort, until recently that is. For the stars had betrayed them, loosing upon them the Heretics which dared to take the world away from it's rightful owners. No diplomacy was attempted by those who came above, not from these Astartes or their Imperium of Man, not from their Primarch, not from anyone. They had looked upon the Etisians with disgust and had resolved to clear the Galaxy of them. They had assumed it to be an easy job, these lesser being and mutants were barely above the brutish Orks in appearance after all, they would be swept aside with ease. How wrong they were.

It is true that the Etisians, far related offspring of the first humans forged this way by their planet, failed initially to stop a beachhead from forming upon their planet. They attempted to meet these superhuman Astartes head to head and failed, this however proved to merely change their thought process. Guerilla warfare, fast attacks, and unexpected counters proved to through their enemy constantly into disarray. In return their enemy did nothing other than what they had done in the past, continuing to believe that smashing his head into an immovable object would work. This was not the case and is not the case now.

The war has lasted for nearly two and half Etisian years and shows no sign of ending soon as a semi-stalemate has been in effect across the great singular continent of the world. The attacks thrown at them by this Legion of Astartes thrown back time and time again. However every Etisian counter has fallen to the same fate, so now the Etisians can only hope to hold their own until the invaders wear themselves out and leave. That is the hope of the Etisians, a useless hope, for the stars betrayed them once and have now betrayed them a second time.

Far above the world the stars stopped glimmering in some places, great and bloody tears ripping the blackness of space apart as giant metal ships slipped from the Immaterium. The Vipers Astra and their Primarch had started this war, the Unifying Sons and Lucian Calrona intended to finish it.


...


"Lord Marshall, we shall be entering the optimal drop zone in 2 minutes, Princeps-Exemplar Erion reports that his 5th Cohort is ready. General Hyundi and his regiments report the same." Captain-Exemplar Sussanah Toussant, the only mortal to ever be granted the Exemplary Mantle and captain of the Indomitable Son said. The words spoken to a figure in the command above her, the Power armor and great blades alone making him a sight to behold if his stature didn't do that already, even sitting down.

"Very good Captain-Exemplar, inform the fleet that they are to take their predesignated positions and begin the bombardment upon my command," Lucian Calrona, Primarch of Humanities Third Legion Astartes said. His face emotionless and his body still as he leaned comfortable into the seat, his eyes closed as he spoke. The plan was a simple one, it called for a mass drop of the fifth Cohort upon the major Etisian city designated Timeria by Imperial Intelligence. This city, comfortably behind the frontlines, served as the hub for all supply, troop transportation, leadership, and communication for the Etisians. It was a gross miscalculation to gather all such assets in one place while fighting a well armed intelligent enemy who could use such things against you, however from reading through the reports of the war so far, the Imperial Forces had acted with anything and everything except intelligence. Seizing Timeria should see the Xeno forces thrown into disarray and allow for a killing stroke to be dealt.

Barely thirty minutes later the first reports were being fed to him in the Bridge of his flahship, he felt no need to take direct control of the combat as he trusted his Princeps-Exemplar to do what needed to be done. The Garrison of Timeria had seemingly been taken by complete surprise, barely getting off any anti-air fire before the drop-pods of the Sons slammed into the city and disgorged ten thousand astartes. Soon after came the half a million Auxilia in support and already Lucian could see his plan unfolding quite spectacularly.

"Key me into my brothers command channel," Lucian said, the communications officers hurrying to do so. "Brother, I have arrived with a portion of my Legion. I suggest launching a general push along the lines, you should find your enemy in complete disarray. Your tactics should finally work." He said before unkeying his mic and going back to watching the constantly updating map and feed of reports within the city. "Captain Tumera, take your file north-northeast three blocks, the enemy are concentrating their for a counter attack, break them." He said as he noticed reports building up about enemy forces gathering in a single spot. This war would soon be over he knew.

Aureliana System
Aureliana Prime


Heavy footsteps echoed through the walls of the Orbital Defense Station serving as Aurelianas temporary capital, it's former capital being levelled in the process of bringing the world and federation into Imperial Compliance. Princeps-Exemplar Ferrison, one of the four princeps to carry the title of Exemplar, was proud of his third Cohorts actions during the closing stage of the campaign. His Cohort had come late to the war so had only been able to take part in minor skirmishing and the seizure of the capital world of the federation. The Warmaster had used them well however, in the Princeps opinion that is. They had been used to do what they did best, dropping hard into enemy lines and engaging them in deadly close quarters battle, it was well thought out and worthy of her title.

Aureliana however was now in compliance and the duties set to them by their Marshall meant that they would be departing soon. That is why the Princeps walked the hallway of the new capital, his armored feet echoing with every step he took. He passed several of the new members of the Aurelianan government, including the new Governer who had betrayed the planet to safeguard himself and his kin. Ferrison allowed himself a moment to think on that act and wonder if he would have done the same in the mans position. He did not reach a decision before he reached the room which was serving as the Warmasters private quarters and office, he waited very briefly outside the room before he was allowed access.

The Princeps barely stopped his kneejerk action of falling to one knee in fealty, that was how strong being in the presence of a Primarch was to him and Vasilisa was not just an Ordinary Primarch either, she had been made second only to the emperor as his Warmaster. Only his own Primarch, Lucian Calrona, stood above her in Ferrisons mind. He did not kneel for her but did bow at the waste before righting himself and saying, "Warmaster, I've come to inform you that me and my Cohort will be departing the planet and system tomorrow. I give you my respects and would like you to know that it has been an Honor serving with you. If there is any word you wish me to bring my Marshall I would be honored to do so, we leave to rendezvous with him after all." He looked into her eyes as he spoke, if the Princeps would have to rank the Primarchs by those he respected other than his own, she would be first.
Last edited by Revlona on Thu Feb 04, 2021 2:21 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Lover of doggos

User avatar
Audunia
Bureaucrat
 
Posts: 63
Founded: Jun 29, 2020
Democratic Socialists

Postby Audunia » Thu Feb 04, 2021 3:08 pm

The Etis System
Etis Primus


Etis Prime was an ugly world, though it hadn't always. Before myself and the Vipers Astra arrived to exterminate these deviant pests from these worlds and spare humanity a future threat, it was a verdant world. Large forests ran the circumference of the world, it's seas were vibrant and seemed to glimmer like a thousand emeralds cut to perfection. It's cities, while not comparable to that of Terra, could still be considered a pride, large towers of ivory white brick reached into the skies, they always reminded me of a skeletal hand, reaching out.

But this was not to be. The Vipers Astra, my Legion, did not consider the safety of natural beauty pertinent to battle. We ground the green fields into sloppy mud that sucked in squads whole with no hint of their presence. The forests had long been set alight, the clear skies choking and throbbing with swirling darkness. The Titans of my Legion, the Firebrands, reduced their cities to rubble as their thunderous weapons shattered towers and brought even the strongest walls crumbling down. The serene peace that whispered in the air instead screamed in terror as Etians were torn apart by bolt rounds, scorched by las-gun fire, were vaporised in an instant from orbital bombardments. As was the way the I made war, a brutal slog that broke the will of every defender.

The Etians, however, seemed to possess other ideas. They blunted my attacks and did nothing but frustrate me as they fought to avoid their inevitable demise.

...


In this carnage, did I stride. Nehushtan Saraph, Primarch of the VIIIth Legion, the Vipers Astra. After weeks of fighting, we had finally breached through the hurried defences of some city I cared not to remember the name of. It wouldn't matter in the end, there would be no souls left to refer to it as such. I stared with cold indifference as the frustration of weeks of futile assaults was taken out on the battered defenders of the city. My Vipers had replaced their bolters with chainswords, the violent revving of their engines hung in their air, while the wet sound of them hitting their marks was one of the few sounds of war I didn't care to hear. If I were a lesser Primarch, I might've taken glee in this ecstasy of carnage, delivering the retribution this foul species deserved for existing, but I didn't care.

This world was one of hundreds I had conquered throughout my life, the excitement of battle hardly aroused any feeling in me anymore, not like it used to. Though I could tell something was off in this defence. Whereas in the other worlds I had taken from the Etians, their defences had to be broken, bit by bit, but these defenders seemed to melt away in a panic. It confused me, and I did not like to be confused.

A signal of beeps rang out in my comm-beads, though the tune is sang was not one of those my Legion used to identify its units. This one was a newcomer to this battle, and I had a sneaking suspicion one of my brothers had mistaken my stalemate for failure on my part. I connected to the signal, a series of impacts smacking ineffectually against my warplate. I responded half-heartedly with a response of my own, my bolt-pistol barking as it spat explosive ordnance at the source of the firing, seeing small pufts of red reaching into the air as they met their mark.

"Brother, I have arrived with a portion of my Legion" the voice crackled through and I recognised it instantly. Lucian Calrona, Primarch of the Unifying Sons. I groaned inwardly, I had always found that name somewhat ridiculous. Lucian continued, his voice only slightly marred by static interference " I suggest launching a general push along the lines, you should find your enemy in complete disarray. Your tactics should finally work".

My jaw clenched as Lucian finished his words, the distinct click of the vox-channel cutting off showed he was in no interest to chat. Good, neither was I, trading barbs and veiled insults over the vox-channel during battle was hardly a wise thing to do. My fists clenched regardless, anger surging in me and my brother's final comment. My chainsword roared in my place and I charged into the carnage, letting out my frustrations in battle was better than letting them simmer in command.

My chainsword flew in wide arcs, it's sharpened teeth ripping into the exposed flesh of the Etisians, or rendering their increasingly haphazard armour useless as it crumpled beneath my attack. One particular Etisian had decided he would make his name in my death, he flew at me from a covered position, a simple blade clutched in his hand. I shot my hand out and caught him by his neck. I had not worn my helmet to this battle and I stared at him and he stared at me, the vigour and suicidal bravery in his initial attack faded as he saw the superiority of my form. I crushed his skull with my gloved hand, though it was not as clean as I make it seem. Etisians had strong bones and their skulls were no different. It is not different to imagine the final moments of that particular Etisian. I let his body fall from my hands and I cast an eye up to the sky. Up there was Lucian, and I had no intention of dealing with his biting wit just yet. I decided I would delve into combat and at least try to enjoy myself for the time being. Though I did send out a vox-message to all units to advance, if Lucian's plan had indeed worked, then it would be pointless to not seize on the initiative he had taken.

User avatar
Acerbez
Diplomat
 
Posts: 596
Founded: Sep 09, 2017
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Acerbez » Thu Feb 04, 2021 6:18 pm

Departure of the Scale fleet from Hollea Sector.
Destination: Segmentum Obscurus. Sector unknown.

Image
The Sanctum of Atrophos: Phalanx class starship


Recount of Ullanor:
At the onset of the Ullanor crusade, the 4th legion was let loose against the Ork empire alongside their siblings in a bitter rivalry to prove most efficient. The Heralds of the Scale had deployed their shock troops in select deployments across the front but where the were deployed- they were done so very generously. Like a swarm of vultures, pinions of black assault jump packs that glistened their polished surfaces to the night sky. The Vanguard assault forces of the Scale conducted some of the most prolific night raids across the Ork empire. Encampments were decended upon like carrion as visceral shades of blood splattered the once Ork soil like a chaotic canvas of pure retribution. The screeching roar of their descent upon the green skins would mark their conscience for generations had any survived.

Given the size and depth of the Ork empire, their tactics had grown and demonstrated a spec of complexity in comparison to the stereotypical approach Orks maintained. Conducting their own crude manuevres and defences against the forces of humanity in vain attempts to rebuke their inevitable fate- extermination. Detachments of the elite Sin-Eaters reigned down upon their foes with an intent entirely unknown to Ork-kind. Atleast an intent they had not yet experienced. For the 4th sought to exact much more than death upon their foes. Instead, they craved the utter humiliation and broken will of the Orkoid, something seldomly recieved in the midst of a full blown Waaagh!

The gruesome disembodiment and disfiguration of the Ork anatomy ascended to unprecedented levels. Cleaved torsos, rent skin hanging from chest to waist, strategic amputations executed in the most brutal of ways would turn each night raid into an overture of mayhem and discord. The Maestro's weaving their taloned lightning claws and bolter rounds like focused mad men. Operational initiative was given to the first company's Arbiter commander, Rezha Salarn, at the behest of the 4th's Primarch Kotaez Aisa. The primarch having full confidence in his subject, Kortaez instead preyed from above Ullanor's orbit, aboard the Sanctum of Atrophos, while affording the achozen their rightful honors of serving. The Heralds exhibited a knack for such wanton destruction perhaps only matched by their brothers, The Brazen Beasts, but unlike the crude tide that was the Brazen Beasts- The Heralds would more often than not, up the ante. The majority, if not the remainder, of the sibling legions proving to be too methodical or reserved in their brutalities- despite their self proclamations. Sanctioned night missions meant to further demoralize such an unintelligent foe, 4th legion Thunderhawks would fly just out of the vicinity of the Ork defences in the dead of night, cutting through the polluted skies of Ullanor and begin dropping the mangled bodies of the Orks killed just hours before. Undoubtedly found by the outlying boyz that roamed the outskirts of contested territories. A tactic schemed by Rezha Salarn.

Without a shred of doubt, the pocket company of the 4th legion deployed to Ullanor's surface became the distasteful topic of both their enemy and their allies. For even in the day, the 4th walked in the night, encased in their power armor behind tinted lens and flare filters, untouched by the sun of Ullanor. Regardless, they would be remembered so long as any witness lived. Despite their savage successes and contributions, just before midway of the Ullanor campaign, the Hollea sector capital planet would make the folley of rebellion and attempt to rebuke the edicts of the emperor. Inciting a coalition of neighboring planets to raise arms against the Imperium, with no nearby force, save for the crusaders themselves, the emperor of mankind ordained that the 4th legion withdraw from Ullanor and bring their Scale fleet to bear upon self proclaimed Lord of Hollea Secundus.

Perhaps slighted by the fact that he was excused without consideration, Kortaez was assured by the emperor that his intent was to showcase the Phalanx class starship in the 4th legion's possession, and proclaimed rumor of its presence, would certainly resolve any excursion and thought of sedition with haste. Regardless, Kortaez in his own loathing made oath that the Sanctum of Atrophos would produce much more than that. That much was certainly true... As the expedition combined with the conflicts themselves lasted until the conclusion of Ullanor- the 4th legion was less than pleased of their stated achievements of the Ullanor Crusade. The parade and its entire jubilant ceremony, highlighted the endeavors of only those legions that were present at its end.

As for Hollea Secundus and the arch-duke Melus Anello, Imperial records of its pacification maintain that wanna-be usurper's conditional surrender and petition for atonement was met by a single vox-comm transmission from the 18th company's Scale commander.

"We have received your offer of surrender and reject it; we did not come to receive your supplication but to enact judgement. The time to surrender has long passed. The verdict is writ by your own hands. Now is the time to die."

Unofficially, Kortaez himself ordered that the Hollea Secundus capital hive be subjected to orbital bombardment until it's entire vicinity be at the same level as it's underhive. The order was taken so literally from their leige that at 2 different stages of the bombardment, scans of the hive were undertaken to ensure that not a single spire stood even lop-sided above the flat ground. The incident took 2 Terran weeks, as the intervals were spread out to ensure survivors were never allowed to rest. The conclusion of the Hollea pacification saw 3 planets brought back into the fold of the imperium. 1 planet bereft of a capital hive, and 2 with their populations subjected to skinning pits, rampant crucifixions and impalements of their seceding nobility, and a new take on life in servitude to the Imperium of mankind.
Last edited by Acerbez on Thu Feb 04, 2021 7:39 pm, edited 8 times in total.
Roleplay in Aeterna Publicae

User avatar
Antimersia
Attaché
 
Posts: 93
Founded: Mar 04, 2020
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Antimersia » Thu Feb 04, 2021 7:12 pm

Reth
Tephaine System


Soldiers walk through the hard metal hallways. The tapping of fingers on screens and various input devices. The dull murmur of a dozen different conversations happening at once. The sounds of the bridge of ship are so common that they are almost perpetual. They fill the ears of Adalon Cyprus, Primarch of the fifteenth legion the Umbral Hornets, as he stands in the bridge. The sounds combine into a soulless music as he gazes out at the planet Reth before him. The turquoise sea, and golden planet wide archipelago would be a welcome and awe inspiring sight for Adalon on any normal visit to this pleasure world. But as his legion descends upon the planet, he mourns the wasted opportunity. The Imperial Governor of Reth passed away and left an empty seat in his place. Following his death, Reth has failed to fulfil its Imperial Tithes, and has ignored all attempts at outside communication from the Imperium. Adalon and his legion, being the nearest Imperial forces to the system, were tasked with discovering why Reth was no longer in compliance, and to reign them back in.

All attempts at hailing the planet have come up empty. Just like previous attempts. As such Adalon had no choice but to deploy astartes to planet, after doing some hours of study and reconnaissance of the planet. He would prefer to avoid any loss of life, but with no information to proceed with, he sends his marines down and ready for a fight should one be unavoidable. The bright red glare of ships entering the atmosphere peppers Adalon's view of the planet. He turns to a young woman operating the communications terminal on the bridge. Her uniform is bright yellow with black trim, with several commendations attached to the left breast of her jacket. Her honey colored hair is pinned up into a bun. Adalon gives her a warm smile as he looks down towards the much smaller woman.

"Ensign, please hail the planet's surface once more." Adalon says calmly. His voice deep and powerful, yet smooth in its delivery.

"Yes, my Lord Primarch." the ensign replies dutifully. She activates a direct line to planet wide communications on Reth, establishing a connection to allow Adalon's voice to be heard. "Link established my Lord Primarch. If anyone is down there listening, they can hear you now." Adalon nods to her in thanks.

"This is Adalon Cyprus, Imperial Primarch of the Umbral Hornets Legion. Repeated attempts at communication with your world, have failed. Marines have been dispatched to the surface. If there is anyone in a position of Command, I will be descending upon the city of Korinth. Contact me there and we can discuss a peaceful return to Imperial control. May the light of the Emperor shine brightly within you all." He states proudly through the comms. He nods to the ensign, indicating to her to sever the connection. Once severed he turns away and begins to march through the halls of his Gloriana, the Oasys. His heavy ceramite boots clanging against the metal floors. His scythe, made of a powerfully sharp and unique alloy, rests attached to his back. Cattleprod, his electrified power maul is holstered on his right hip. And the Dispatcher, his belt fed heavy bolter is holstered on his left. He, along with several members of Adalon's personal guard, the Dust Giants, enter into a thunderhawk together. The engines roar as they lift off from the Oasys's hangar and soar off towards Reth's surface. The ship shakes as they pierce the atmosphere, streaks of flame lining the edges of the ship. Stabilizing as it approaches the planets surface. The city of Korinth growing in view of the pilots as they continue to descend.

"Making approach on Korinth, land fall in one hundred sixty seconds." The pilot called out to Adalon and the Dust Giants accompanying him through micro-beads in their helms. Adalon begins to speak to request that they circle the city once over to scout the situation on the ground before they land. But before he finishes even a single word the pilot begins to speak again, his voice panicked and boisterous. "Evasive maneuvers, everyone brace for impacts!" The Thunderhawk sways suddenly, in order to avoid an incoming projectile. A powerful flash of fire blasts past the side of the ship, then a second and third projectile fly up from the surface and strike the vessel directly. The first rips right through the ship, creating a hole so large that the cockpit is nearly severed from the rest of the ship. the second strikes the back of the thunderhawk, knocking out its engines and sending it into a dangerous free fall. Adalon leaps into action, moving up towards the cock pit, carefully traversing the newly created gap. Exposed wiring and machinery visible all around him. Winds flowing through at gale force. He uses the magnetized force of his boots to step one foot over into the cock pit, allowing him to reach in and grab the pilots. The junior pilot, has sadly died, his head bashed in by the impact. The senior pilot is alive, but panicking as he futilely attempts to steer the ship to safety. Adalon pulls the pilot from his seat and brings him back into the rear of the ship. He wraps his arms around his snugly but not tightly as he braces to take the impact of the crash in order to protect the pilot. The cock pit finally rips off, the speed of the fall pulling it away as the thunderhawk careens down towards Korinth. The ship slams into a skyscraper below, sredding through the marble walls and floors as the crash wipes out sevens stories before the wreckage finally comes to a halt.

User avatar
Morrdh
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 8285
Founded: Apr 16, 2008
Democratic Socialists

Postby Morrdh » Thu Feb 04, 2021 9:40 pm

Alizarelia Kallax

Even after more than a century since she was 'found' and brought into the service of the Imperium, Alizearelia still hadn't shaken off the pirate lifestyle she had experienced during her formative years. If anything it appeared to have rubbed off on the already independently spirited Marines of her Legion, the Void Reavers, since she took command of it. The Legion, if it could be called that, operated as a series of independent fleets and warbands on the fringes of Imperial space acting as the vanguard of the Crusade. Each fleet was tasked with forging a path through the dark cold depths of the void and scouting any system they came across, though the individual fleet commanders were at liberty to raid the shipping lanes of any spacefaring civilisation they encountered.

For her own part, Alizarelia had taken a so-called 'wolfpack' of three Dauntless-class Light Cruisers and forged ahead. She was a chasing a lead she had on a Human stellar empire, at least a collection of Human worlds that had vessels that regularly plied the spaceways between them. Some weeks into her hunt her efforts had paid off, managing to find a system that sat upon a trade route. After transiting back to realspace, the ships under Alizarelia had gone silent and drifted through the void like predators lurking in the dark.

With the sensors on passive, least they gave away the ships, Alizarelia gleamed what she could from the augur array and planned her move. There were a few bulk carriers, no doubt carrying ore or foodstaffs, that plodded along but were otherwise largely uninspiring prey. What did pique her interest was a small, but fast transport with a couple of escorts that had recently transition and were heading in-system. On Alizarelia's word, the wolfpack powered up and then went full thrust on an intercept course.

"Disable the transport's engines, I wish to board it." Alizarelia ordered. "The escorts are fair game."




The battle was joined and was over with in less than a couple of hours, the wolfpack managing to disable or destroy the two escorts whilst a lucky shot from astern knocked out the transport's engines. Sensing blood, Alizarelia gave orders for her ship to close so that she could board the prize whilst the other two vessels took up sentry positions. Once docked with the disabled transport and the airlocks breached, Alizarelia led the armoured forms of her Void Reaver marines with howls and cries.

Alizarelia herself largely didn't bother with armour power, even the custom one made for her when she assumed command of the Void Reavers. For starters the armour didn't feel right with her sword arm, it seemingly offered no real gains and so she dispensed with wearing it in order to have free range of movement with her sword arm. Likewise she didn't bother with a helmet purely on the basis that she never wore one during her time as a pirate, instead the helemt that came with her power armour found alternative use for the bolt pistol that she very greatly accepted. On the whole her armour was much stripped down compared to the marines' own standard, though this was down to taste and preference.

With her chainsword Scourge in hand, she charged into the ranks of crewmen desperately trying to defend the transport. Framed by her black and white hair, her face was a look of pure fury as she hacked and skewered her way through the ship's defenders. By the time she'd cleaved her way into the heart of the ship, her dark armour had been splattered with a crimson hue. The surviving crewmen broke and fled before the onslaught of Alizarelia and her marines as they hacked and blasted whatever got in their path.

"Take the bridge!" She ordered, pointing Scourge at a nearby squad of marines. "Rest of you, with to the holds!"

The carnage of battle was subsiding now that the will of the ship's crew to fight had been so brutally broken, some fled in terror to the far corners of the ship whilst others pleaded for mercy. Alizarelia and the marines with her just ploughed on through the crewmen they encountered on their way to the cargo hold, Alizaerlia blatting aside some of them with her chainsword. When at last they came upon the cargo hold, a curiously robed man stood before them. "I beseech you! Take everything else but leave the artefact!"

"Beseech what you want!" Snapped Alizarelia as she pushed the man out of the way and sent him toppling over backwards. "I say what we take."

Alizarelia strode towards the container that the man had been protecting, assuming it held the artefact that the man mentioned. She smashed the lock with her chainsword and then kicked the lid off to reveal the curious object contained within. At first glance it appeared to be some sort of stone obelisk or statuette, though it was streaked with obsidian and the more she looked at it the harder it became to focus on it. She reached out to pick it up-...

....A galaxy in ruins...

...Worlds burning....

...The blasted hulks of ships adrift in the void...

...A cry...

...Laughter...


...a pounding headache and she found herself somehow having been thrown backwards across the cargo hold. The marines, seemingly spooked by what had happened, had adopted a defensive stance and one of them held his bolt pistol to the man's head. With a groan she got unsteadily to her feet, though every fibre of her being felt as though it was on fire. She shook her head to clear it along with a couple of deep breaths, then continuing like nothing had happened she barked out orders. "Bring him back to the ship long with everything else!"

"Everything cap'n?" Asked one of the marines.

"Yes, everything." Replied Alizarelia as she gave the marine a withering look. "The next fool to question me will be taking a walk out of an airlock, now get to it!"

As the marines got to work hauling the various crates out of the cargo hold, Alizarelia stood off to one side and watched them. She was painfully aware that she had shown a moment of weakness in front of them, no doubt that would give rise to questions about her leadership and possibly even challenges by those sensing an opportunity to seize command of the Legion. Though she found herself asking why she'd touched the artefact because it almost seemed like something had drawn her to do so.

And the vision.

She wasn't sure what to make of them, though some of the worlds aflame she saw she recognised.

Including Terra.
Irish/Celtic Themed Nation - Factbook

User avatar
Acerbez
Diplomat
 
Posts: 596
Founded: Sep 09, 2017
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Acerbez » Thu Feb 04, 2021 9:50 pm

The Sanctum of Atrophos,
The Observatory.


The large expanse that is 'the observatory' was constructed as one of the Phalanx class vessel's many follies. Amongst the spires, it was a viewing dome constructed like that of a regal throne room. It's cold stone floors and gothic edges were molested by darkness and reflected only the dimmest of lights, illumination panels activated and dailed down to their lowest setting only to assist the gaggles of serfs that were enlisted to maintain the massive planetoid vessel. In truth it was no better than candle light. A priviledge it seemed, merely afforded to them, because the astartes that shared Kortaez's gene seed need no light to make use of their sight. The serfs that tended to their duties were not mistreated in most affairs, provided they found themselves useful and resisted the temptation of idling.

The massive dome gave way to peer forward of the Sanctum of Atrophos, one of many mountain peak like spires that had sight of the foredeck and its massive loading bays, amongst the rest of the various ship sections. Infinite specs of star light dotted the blanket of the void in front of any individual that stood within this sanctified throne room of pre-imperial aesthetic. Its walls decorated with odd tapestries depicting seemingly gruesome yet dignified arts of the many 'achieving battle moments' of not only Legion Primarch, but also of the heroes within the Heralds of the Scale. It would be a noble sight surely, had the images portrayed not been as morbid as they were. These depictions, in the legion's view were as noble as could be. While not overtly obscene or sickening, they were medieval and had cruel undertones from whomever's imagination had produced them. Mastercrafted Weapons and armor from various ages fastened to pedestals lined the walkway of the crimson silk rug that made its way from entrance to throne. The display was very imperial in nature, but Kortaez found himself growing more perturbed with its design with each passing day.

The Sanctums entire interior had a faint hum that reverberated throught the entire vessel's cross section and wings from the ship's engines propelling it forward. Had it not been for this, the observatory would be invaded by an ear shattering silence only ever broken by the anguishing roars and screams that disturbed The Bird of Hermes, in his frequent times of solitude.




The Command bridge of the Strategium

The ambiance of the command bridge was comparable to that of any battlebarge in service to the imperium, if only 6 or more of those bridges were collided and mashed into one. The plethora of holo slates that displayed the various operations spanning the entire vessel, the illumination of screens observing the most prominent sections, scores upon scores of control boards manned by ensigns that were dutifully managing their own endeavors as they were seated next to thick coils of wire that ran throughout the ship and gave it life.

"Lord Intercessor Kara." one of the ensigns petitioned from behind the armored astartes officer while holding a data slate. "Speak..." Kara raised his armored hand and waived with light disregard. "Its... Its..." the ensign stuttered, failing to produce an audible sentence. Becoming increasingly agitated, The lord intercessor turned his neck and side eye'd the junior navy officer, his power helm resting at his station, the red tinted eyes of the native Nyctashan bore into the smaller constituent with impunity. "If simple verbal communication proves to be such a burdened task for you, perhaps your capabilities lie elsewhere, ensign... Now spit it out." Kara was being blunt but with only a slight tone of authority, as this statement surely inferred that should the ensign continue stalling then the outcome would reach the realm of punishment very quickly. " It's the Apothercarion reports on the last half dozen intakes of recruits. Apothecary Gandera has placed an Iniquis status on more than half. They're not surviving the transition process after the gene seed is merged into their body's. The Lord Arbiter commanded the reports be delivered to his quarters once the results became decisive..."

Having gained his attention, Kara slid his armored body around the command console with fervor and began strutting towards the smaller naval officer. Extending his hand to procure the data slate, the ensign handed it over almost excitedly. As if he were shedding the weight of a one ton stone. "What were the origins of thee neophytes?" Kara snapped. "Nyctasha, sir. It appears that the quality of the tithes have plummeted. There's also something else Apothecary Gandera notated in the slate sir..." the ensign finished reluctantly, attempting to end this dialogue as quickly as possible. Kara had slid the feed's interface with a quick stroke of the finger, his eyes followed the Nyctashan text like a metronome. Gazing at the report, Apothecary Gandera had taken it upon himself after interviewing a large sample of the recruits and made use of a cross reference from the librarium aboard the Sanctum Of Atrophos. The data was housed in one of the many console archives and had record of the thousands of prisoners sentenced on the 4th legion's home planet. The apothecary was arguing a very concrete case with evidence that the majority if not all of the last half dozen intakes were comprised almost entirely of Nyctashan prisoners that were hastily beefed up and relinquished as tithes to appease Nyctasha's ruling primarch. However, due to the livelihood of these participants before the gene seed trials, their body's had no foundation to survive the transition. The implications went further and absolutely meant that the ranks of the 4th legion were being inflated with a murderous and treacherous rabble, going back for who knows how long. This condition of the gene seed trials killing neophytes had been a set back even before the Ullanor crusade had ended.

"What is your name, ensign...?" Kara growled as his mind began racing. "Ensign Folir, Lord-Intercessor." the naval officer responded. "With whom have you shown this report to, Folir?" Kara peered down to bear into ensign Folir, Kara's pupils shrinking with focused anger. "Just you, lord-intercessor." Looking back towards the bridge's front, Kara felt as if he were counting the barges in the fleet that sailed at the van and multiplying numbers in his mind to guestimate... "You are to say nothing of this, ensign Folir. Should news of this circulate beyond the circles it is meant to, i will personally see to it that your eyes, ears, and tongue are removed from you and that you live a long and cruek existence down in the pits. Do you understand?" Kara hissed in a hushed tone as to isolate his commentary only to Folir, but it was certainly heard by other ensigns within earshot." Yes, Lord-Intercessor." Folir sounded off without even a moment's pause before saluting. However, like a gust from a typhoon, Lord-Intercessor Kara had swept past him, only the brush of his foxbat cloak indicating his direction.

Delivering this news personally to Lord Kortaez spells death. I need to relinquish this report immediately to Arbiter-Vizier Helrax. Kara thought, as the step of his power armor seemingly slammed into the grates beneath his boots. Only when they touched the stoned floors of the Sanctum's hallowed halls did his stride begin to wind down- realizing how his posture was that of a scared bird. None amongst the bridge dared watch Kara take his leave.

It's as if the planetary governor Gholrix's treachery is intentional... Kara thought to himself. His jaw clinching with force as his cheeks twitched slightly.
Roleplay in Aeterna Publicae

User avatar
Lunas Legion
Post Czar
 
Posts: 30328
Founded: Jan 21, 2013
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Lunas Legion » Fri Feb 05, 2021 11:30 am

Indrania Stratia Megasa
Gladium Stellae, In Orbit of Desperation


It was a fitting name, Desperation, for what Indrania was attempting to do. A desperate act, a single final attempt in desperation to try and repair the century old rends that cut through her legion from all directions. Was it a good idea, perhaps, perhaps not. She was no predictor of such things, her instincts more inclined to numbers and wires than the too-unpredictable variable that were people.

It helped to stare out into the blackness of the void from the room she'd selected for this Council, atop the observation spire of the Gladium Stellae. It allowed her to forget all the research she'd had to put in to do this properly, all the ancient, almost arcane traditions that needed to be navigated around to call a Council of the Masters while not being the Legion Master but rather its Primarch. As traditionalist and hidebound as the First could be, it meant that everything was written down somewhere in codes of conduct and tradition, and such things could be wielded as weapons.

The last Council of the Masters had been called during the Rangdan Xenocides, when the First's decline had turned irrevocable, and Daia had become its Legion Master. This would be the last forever, one way or another.

Indrania didn't turn at the light hiss off the door, barely audible but the sound distinct to her, carved into her mind as the sign of danger, her hand reflexively moving down towards one of her pistols.

"The Order of Destruction has arrived, Lady Primarch." Brother Apian voice was clear and artificial through his armour.

"The last, then." Indrania said, shutting her eyes and breathing out. The Masters were paranoid and traditional souls; not one would so much as set foot aboard her ship even as they waited in their Thunderhawks until every Master was present and able, so they could arrive in the proper order of precedence. Were the order of precedence different, perhaps she might feel more confident about moving earlier, but it was not to be, and there would be no violating the order. Summoning all sixteen of the Legion Masters, along with the Legion Master had required the invocation of the Council of the Legion, and so its rules must be followed to the letter lest the plan go awry.

Minutes passed, and the void that Indrania looked into became a void no longer, ships gradually drifting through it as the various Hosts moved to carefully picked positions, guided there by the vast navigation-cogitators aboard the Gladium Stellae. There would be no challenge, since gathering a full half of the First into the orbit of a single planet required something to be controlling it centrally.

"The first Stormbird has set down in Hangar A-2." Brother Apian said, breaking the silence.

That would be Daia, as the Legion Master. Indrania's hands curled up slightly at the thought. Daia had been unintentionally frustrating at worst, actively undermining her authority at best.

"So it begins." Indrania said, not turning away from the window, watching the ships instead. The next few minutes were silent but for the pounding of armoured boots against the floor as the Masters filed in one by one in silence, Indrania not bothering to so much as acknowledge them. This wasn't part of the plan, it was simple pettiness on her part as she stood there with her back to the sixteen Masters, arrayed around the table in order of precedence, her place at the table opposite to that of the Legion Master, in theory the lowest place of precedence, meant as insult to anyone who cared for such things.

She let the silence continue. As Primarch, it was her right to speak first, but she wanted to make them break the rules. To frustrate them.

Minutes passed.

"Why are we here, Lady Primarch?" The Master of the Host of the Bones said, his voice the throaty, deep growl of a beast. "Are we here to be subjected to your silence forever? Some of us have wars to fight."

Ah, yes. There. The anger, the impatience, the dislike of answering to anyone but themselves.

"I would like you to guess." Indrania said, looking out into space.

"What." The Master of the Host of Bones said. "You want us to guess what you have summoned us here for?"

"Did I not just say that, Master?" Indrania's voice was quiet and low, her hands moving to her hips.

"A Council of the Legion is not to have games like this played at, Lady Primarch." Daia sneered. "No doubt it is just your latest, misguided attempt to 'remake' this Legion in your own image."

"Indeed." Indrania said, her voice impassive. "One final attempt, if you will. If I fail here, I will not attempt again."

"Then consider it a failure." The Master of the Host of Iron spat. "You have tried and failed every time before. You have tried appealing to our vanity. To our desire to make the First what it once was. To bribe us through your control of the supply lines. Threatening us with purges like some of your siblings, but only bluffing. We will not be stripped of our powers. We will not divide up our Hosts and combine them into combined, unspecialised forces, diluting their strengths when the Crusade is all but over. The Legion will not change what has made it what it is. You know nothing of leadership, of command. Keep yourself to the books, with all due respect, Lady Primarch, and let those of us with experience command how we wish."

"I see." Indrania sighed. Her allies had wanted to simply shoot them all immediately, not even giving them a chance to speak. She had insisted on mercy, on giving them at least a final chance to "Then so be it."

She moved like lightning, her hands darting to pull Decimator and Obliterator, each pistol moving independently of the other to positions she'd practiced before she opened fire. Two of the Masters died instantly, unable to react as the substance leapt to those next to them, eating through their armour like it was nothing to devour the flesh beneath, tearing across the Masters like a combatant in its own right.

The survivors grabbed for weapons as her pistols moved like clock hands, slow, methodical movements across the table as she picked off her enemies one by one with her pistols, power armour and flesh dissolving dissolving into piles of grey goo, the substance lashing out with whip-like tentacles as it searched for matter to devour but finding nothing. The last two went for their weapons, power swords humming to life as they were drawn, but Brother Apian stepped forwards from beside her, lightning claws flashing and impaling one, scything another's leg open.

Indrania looked up, breathing lightly as she looked over the table. It hadn't even taken twenty seconds. There were no survivors.

Had she made a mistake, in killing those allied to her for now? No, she decided, she hadn't. It had been an alliance of short term interests, fuelled by petty rivalries and self-interest, not genuine alliance. Better to clean the rot out all at once.

"Have their bodyguards killed." Indrania said coldly, turning back to look into the void of space. By the end of today, the First would be hers body and soul, or it would perish. Brother Apian nodded and left, and finally Indrania allowed herself to slump down in relief as she stared out at the void, alone.

Was this what the Crusade had done to all of them? Made monsters who did what was necessary? She placed a hand on the window, almost longingly as she stared out at the void. She did not care about the Crusade, but a decade of it had pushed her to doing this? It wasn't about the murder, it was about the inefficiency of it all. Why couldn't they just have listened rather than fighting tooth and nail, so she could reform her legion and prove that she wasn't just the Last Primarch, rather than the Hosts claiming all the glories for themselves?

Lances of light split the void in front of her as she shut her eyes, not wanting to watch. The survivors would be hardened and loyal, worthy material for her legion. She had simply done what was necessary, in the end.
Last edited by William Slim Wed Dec 14 1970 10:35 pm, edited 35 times in total.

Confirmed member of Kyloominati, Destroyers of Worlds Membership can be applied for here

User avatar
Imperialisium
Postmaster-General
 
Posts: 11556
Founded: Apr 17, 2011
Democratic Socialists

Postby Imperialisium » Fri Feb 05, 2021 10:51 pm

The Warmaster

Vasilisa, Warmaster of the Imperium, had set up a brief and temporary base of operations within a former Federation Orbital Defense Fortress. The 25th Expeditionary Fleet had disbursed as the remaining Federation planets in the system announced their surrender. While Merrick, former Vice Admiral of the Federation Navy, was installed as the Planetary Governor. A position he took too enthusiastically. Not looking up at the Princeps before her Vasilisa nodded. "Your services on this campaign have been much appreciated. I look forward to it being a new laurel on your banners. Give my best to my brother." Her tone was polite, as she gazed at charts of the system's planets and asteroid colonies. Notes scrawled around them in her own hand writing denoted positions of her forces wrote from eidetic memory.

* * *

Cythera walked along what was once a shopping boulevard in the capital city. Long lines of civilians stood ready to receive soup rations organized by the nascent Imperial administration. Ships belonging to the civil aspects of the Great Crusade arriving throughout the following forty-eight hours of the Federation's surrender. Follow on ships that had come in the wake of the 25th campaign. Ships bearing colonists, Administratum personnel, Officio Militaris personnel to organize the Imperialis Militia and set up the basis for eventually new Army forces being raised across the system to join the Great Crusade. They were joined by Mechanicum adepts, members of the Remembrancer Order like herself, and all manner of Imperial agencies covering everything from soil samples to commercial trade lane charting.

Gazing along the buildings she looked at the devastation. Much fighting had erupted down this boulevard between the Sun Angels emerging from their drop pods and defending Federation forces. Though the bodies had long been removed. Squads of Imperial Army troopers marched down the streets while sentries watched the lines of civilians. Taking a left onto a thoroughfare Cythera snapped some idle pictures of people and buildings. Until she arrived at a plaza were a long column of Federation troopers, sullen and exhausted, had been rounded up. Their guns tossed into great piles with their equipment stripped and piled in rows in side alleys. Imperial Army troopers watched the defeated foe vigilantly. Cythera snapped a picture.

Moving along she continued walking through the city, until the whine of a heavy jet engines rose rapidly in her ears. Swinging its bulk around the fore-ward landing ramp lowered to reveal a lone Astartes that trooped down the gangway. "Imagist. The Warmaster requests your presence with the other Remembrancers aboard the Vengeful Spirit."

Cythera was going to ask why, but the Astartes had already turned away and seemed not at all patient to hear inquiries.

* * *

The Fortress halls were alive with activity as Vasilisa strode, purple armor gleaming, through a large observation gallery roughly sixty meters long by thirty meters wide. Just behind her walked Merrick. His pace quick in order to keep up with Vasilisa. A pair of Athanatoi, bearing the Imperial Aquila and Imperial Purple, stalked them both. A Hierophant walked off to the side, matched by a Sun Angel Librarian. Ravadiana was ever the communicative sister and to see a Heirophant attache in the numbers of the 25th Expeditionary Fleet was not an uncommon occurrence.

Merrick's face was flustered. The conversation had been going pleasantly until the topic of the psyker children and blank child had come up. "I was not aware of any tithes to these Black Ships, Warmaster? You promised me they would remain here for study and evaluation. Especially the psi-negative children?"

Vasilisa mused her response, "I am altering the deal. The Psyker children of lesser talent will be tithed to the Black Ships. The Hierophants will take half of the remaining Psykers of useful ability likely to survive induction into the Legiones Astartes. The others will remain with the Sun Angels or sent to the City of Sight on Terra."

"But, the Psi-negatives. You said that they were anomalous to our populations. That the Imperium would invest much in their research. "It is an anomaly. Statistically a blank child is a one in one to two billion possibility. Many do not survive childhood for a variety of reasons. Yet, aside from that particularly potent child there has been no less than twenty-three found within this system. Curious if it has to do with the pylons found in the neighboring Cormor System."

"I-."

"I am aware of your lack of knowledge on those structures. The Mechanicum will analyze the ruins. Your job, need I remind you is to govern in the name of your new Emperor."

Merrick lowered his head. There was no chips he held to argue about keeping them here for the benefit of his own importance and powerbase. To increase the importance of his newfound dominion in the eyes of Terra and Mars. Stopping by a glass door leading to a recently refurbished room. Its innards cleared save for a gurney with a lone figure strapped to it.

"Constantina!" Merrick rushed over to the door. Yet it did not open. He waved his hand next to the open glyph to no avail. The lock screen flashed red, denying him entry. "She cannot hear you," said Vasilisa apathetically.

"Why is she there! She was supposed to be remanded to the custody of my security forces!"

"Examination by Legion apothecaries revealed a startling finding. She has a gene like the children. Curiously, it became active under the duress and induced coma."

"What are you going to do with her?"

"She is to be trained as a valuable asset of the Imperium, and inducted into the service of The Emperor."

Merrick relaxed his shoulders ever so slightly, lowering his head, "So she will be safe?"

"Yes, she is after all coming with me. Far safer than here on this planet I assure you," smiled The Warmaster.

Merrick's eyes widened, he stepped forward, adrenaline or foolishness'. He could barely force it. The eyes of the Primarch bore into his very soul. Stripping what he was psychologically, mentally, physically, emotionally to the bone. "You can't-."

Vasilisa stepped forward slowly, a faint red glow behind her pupils, and it was at this moment Merrick noticed the elongated canines of the otherwise perfect woman before him. Staring down at him like a predator bored with her prey, "I am altering the deal. Pray I do not alter it further, Merrick. I would hate to leave a larger garrison than necessary."

Merrick shrank away before her penetrating gaze. His very soul shriveling against her imperious will. "As you will, Your Eminence." Vasilisa retracted at the submission. Her demeanor swiftly returning to its amicable intoxication. Vasilisa abruptly turned to her Librarian, Tiberian, and the Hierophant, "Ready our precious cargo for transport to The Vengeful Spirit. The 25th will depart for Kar Duniash for much needed resupply. Notify my sister to prepare to receive sixty-four Delta to Gamma level Psykers." At that she strode away, her Athanatoi in tow. Leaving Merrick to slink off back the way they had come across the gallery.
Resident Fox lover

User avatar
United Islands of Polis
Diplomat
 
Posts: 615
Founded: Jun 27, 2015
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby United Islands of Polis » Sat Feb 06, 2021 12:48 am

The Primarch Aleksandr Zorkastanov, II Legion, Primordial Guard
In Orbit of Hervosa V, Gloriana Class Battleship Pride of the Nation


The 72nd Expeditionary Fleet had found the planet of Hervosa V a few months after having taken in new recruits from Gentium, directly after the Ullanor crusade. This planet like many of the others listed was originally just a number, 7264, a planet taken into Imperial Compliance without a single shot having been fired. It was the pride of the legion that they could talk and converse compliance instead of having to fight for it, allowing for a better foundation of trust to the Imperium and to the Emperor.

For moths they have been in orbit with the Starthilfe and Operatory Vosstanovleniya alongside their Imperial Army escorts in helping around in projects to rid the planet of initial infrastructure programs, diseases, and health concerns which the populace cannot solve themselves at the time being. The planet was home to a small star system which was mostly inhabited, a small space faring nation on a galactic scale.

Aleksandr Zorkastanov was heading towards the Hall of Diplomacy, a room where the Conference of Sentinels or where the heads of states would meet with the primarch in order to settle or talk about terms. Today was going to be radically different for the time being. Grand Sentinel Helios Alistair walked beside his primarch, clad in the Cataphractii Terminator armor in the olive green and brown of the Primordial Guards.

The Primarch gave a bit of a laugh looking at the shorter Grand Sentinel, causing the second in command to look at his primarch, sighing a bit. “Is there a problem, my Marshal?”

“Yes, you look like you do not have a neck.” Aleksandr said as they rounded a corner, a smile tugging at the edges of his face.

“Perhaps if you gave me a customized suit then perhaps I too would have a neck.” Helios chuckled a bit.

“Now then where would I get my dose of comedy then, old friend?”

“The rest of the Ostriye Tolchok perhaps?”

“Ah yes, and their fearless leader, Grand Sentinel Helios Alistair, the neck-clad Sentinel. That goes against our legion philosophy of being subtle.”

The pair finally rounded the last corner, reaching the Hall of Diplomacy. The doors swung open as the other 14 Grand Sentinels stood in unison as their Primarch entered the room. The hall itself was a grand looking room, of fine Gentian artisanship and craft, mixed with Terran designs as well. A long wooden table adorned with the legion’s coat of arms, parallel to the Imperial Aquila adorned on the ceiling to remind them of where their loyalties must lie. The viewports of armored glass looked towards Hervosa V in its night cycle. The city lights being the only thing visible along with the flare of engines.

“Gentlemen, sit down. We’ve only a few matters to discuss at the moment.” Aleksandr placed the Spear of Necessity in its stand beside his chair and sat down.

Aleksandr opened the hologram console showing a map of Hervosa V and its surrounding inhabited planets. “We will be discussing the growing concerns of dissent against the Imperium amidst such a sudden compliance. At the moment there have been major riots in the three capitals, rising dissent amongst the educated and rich, along with some of the people openly harming both Imperial and Astartes helping them improve.”

“My Marshal, we have gathered reports from Andarna Cothrom Scions that have infiltrated the government institutions. There have been cases of extreme corruption in the system. Seeing that these riots and dissent are coming from those of the educated and the rich who wish for autonomy, aiming for the execution or imprisonment of these corrupt officials can appease and or shock both sides back into compliance.” a Grand Sentinel from the far end of the table spoke up.

Aleksandr pondered for a moment. “That is a good idea, do we have potential targets?”

“Yes, sir. 2,714 potential officials from across the three worlds.” Grand Sentinel Alistair spoke up.

“Categorize them into three classes ranging from severity, highest to lowest. What about criminal gangs? Organized or otherwise?’ Aleksandr asked the Conference.

“We have a few.” files popped up to the hologram feed as a Grand Sentinel from the middle spoke. “However we may need to bring in Astartes to do this, quicker and not as sloppy as the Imperial Army.”

“Perhaps we can assign some people from the Andama Cothrom to deal with it. They can blend in with the Imperial Army in these areas considering the bulk of an Astartes could cause them to run away.” Aleksandr said, much to the agreement of some of the members.

“Very well, my Marshal.” a Grand Sentinel wrote down something on a data pad.

“We will start with this then, effective as soon as possible. For the time being, if there are any more concerns, this conference will be open to hear it.” Aleksandr mentioned before closing the meeting completely.

“There is on, my Marshal. The ranking of the classes per severity, what will be the according punishment for them.” Grand Sentinel Alistair asks.

Aleksandr sighs for a bit before answering“The first two are going to be captured and sent to the judiciary branches of the government, another thing to note is that we will be replacing their equivalent of the Arbites with those who are un-corrupted, truthful, and dedicated. I will leave that up to you.”

“And the last class, sir?” a Grand Sentinel closer in seating to his primarch asks.

“Separate them into two classes, the lower class shall be tried as well, with the death penalty, life imprisonment, or expulsion from their homes forever. The higher ones, send to me. All their assets are to be liquidated and given back to the people. It’s not only about justice, it’s about sending a message” Aleksandr responds back.

There was a quiet and grunts of agreement soon enough, allowing Aleksandr to end the meeting. “With that settled, if there are no further inquiries, I adjourn this meeting until next week, or the need to address an emergency ensues. Good evening everyone.”

In the days following there was a mass arrest of current and former government officials. For the first few times in the history of man, it was the correct people who were being put to the test for crimes the people have seen been done. The criminal organizations and families who were identified had been wiped out as well in a surprisingly clean fashion by the Andama Cothrom Scions alongside with some help from the Imperial Army. Perhaps the one thing Aleksandr did not like was the fact that some entire families were killed, alongside with the children out of fear of retribution. He did not like to sweep it under the rug, but for the time being it would have to be.

The message came clear to the people as the heads of the Berdurfas crime family, the ruling one in all of Hervosa V, were all hung alive from the tallest skyscraper in the capital, surrounding the cylindrical building in the bodies of the criminals. The people rejoiced at the justice and safety they have earned, the trust in the Imperium being better cemented, but deep inside they also knew that to go against the tenets of the Imperium meant severe penalties.


Undisclosed Location, High City, Hervosa V

The Land Raider Chariot of Balance rolled to a stop, lowering the rear doors to allow for Aleksandr to dismount, some of the Vigil Confido and Grand Sentinel Alistair to get out of the vehicle. Following Land Raiders and Rhinos followed as they disembarked some of their passengers, all clad in terminator armor.

The desolate bunker was in the process of refurbishment by the Imperial Army, recently having found it the work was not yet done. Aleksandr walked into a wide room where three individuals were. Sacks on their heads and tied down. With a hand motion to the Andama Cothrom Scions and the Astartes, they ripped the sacks off of their heads.

In front of the primarch were three men of what should have been honorable backgrounds, twisted out of greed. General Lewin Potočnik, Doctor Finees Sargsyan, and Finance Director Roldán King. Aleksandr sat down in front of them on a chair and pulled out an old paperback folder of the information pertaining to them. The folder was sized appropriately for a normal person, however as a primarch he could still read the whole thing properly.

“Lieutenant General Lewin Potočnik, recipient of the Diamond Heart, Hero of the Gallatian Plains Campaign, and mastermind of the Gallatian Genocide. Censored by killing journalers, who are to me, Journalistas, who are to the Imperium, Iterators and Remembrancers.” Aleksandr’s reactions were stoic, but seeded with disgust.

“Doctor Finees Sargsyan, accomplished deadly diseases pathologist, and plunderer of over 15 trillion credits during a time of a pandemic. A shame the pandemic did not claim you. And Finance Minister Roldán King, syphoning unknown amounts of stocks to attempt a crash on your stock market, reasons unknown. Now what am I going to do with you wastes of space.” Aleksandr leans back, placing Spear of Necessity on his lap.

No one spoke a word, it was a very weird silence so to say. Aleksandr had to explain to them what was happening.

“Citizens of the Imperium, I’m giving you a chance to speak and decide for yourselves.” Aleksandr explained properly to them with annoyance.

“You heard the Lord Primarch! Speak!” a Scion smacked the head of the ex Financial Minister with the rear of his hellgun.

“Scion, not too harshly.” Aleksandr says calmly, the scion much to his shock regains his composure shortly after.

“I won’t speak to a man who won’t get his hands dirty.” General Potočnik spits at the primarch, landing right on the foot.

“Oh I’m far from clean, especially now with that.” Aleksandr points to his sabaton. “But I have done worse and better, so don’t use that high morale standpoint on me.”

It was more silence, accompanied with some quiet sobs. Aleksandr and the rest have stood there like statues for an hour at this point. Hefting the modified Guardian Spear, Aleskandr went ahead with what was going to happen in that instance.

“You all acknowledge your wrongdoings and that is good, but refuse to say it. For the crime of hampering the development of humanity and the extension of human suffering, the three of you are hereby to be executed.” the Spear of Necessity hummed to life, the blade crackling with electricity as the seemingly stainless diamantine tip had its edges turn white hot in comparison to the Custodian blue.

“Your Imperium will know that you did not uphold the law but ursurpured it! What will the royal family you serve think of you now then, General?” Finance Director Roldán King yelled with all the conviction he could muster.

“Oh yeah.” Aleksandr placed the Guardian Spear down. “I am a son of the Emperor, he told me to unite humanity and bring it to a golden age. You are in the way.”

Aleksandr lowered the weapon as the volkite beam weapon beeped as it made a full warmup to allow for a continuous stream of firing. Like a hose of light and radiation, he blasted the three convicts, sweeping left and right until the bodies looked like they had been left under the sun for months, leaving no trace of them unless thoroughly examined by an apothecary, or a coroner.

“Leave their Citizen Registration Cards and call the Arbites tomorrow, they’ll know what to do.” Aleksandr turned off the Guardian Spear as the low humming rang about the room.

“We will censor our involvement will we?” Grand Sentinel Alistair asks.

“We just killed the three sickest men in the next three star systems. I don’t think we need to censor anything.” Aleksandr smirked at the ending, ridding the galaxy of more corruption.

Before turning, Aleksandr turns to the Scion captain before leaving completely. “Captain Nakanro, when we get back to the Pride of the Nation I need you to go to the Apothecaries, you and your men are to take three 250mg potassium iodide pills for a week, one per each meal. I’m afraid the radiation from my weapon might affect those not in power armor.”

The captain simply thanked the primarch before they all left. The next morning, the only thing the press was printing and covering all over the many worlds were the deaths and arrests of the people responsible for the unnecessary suffering of the majority of the people. Aleksandr would have opted for a longer more legal manner, the Great Crusade waited for no one, and would require him to make some shortcuts sometimes, he was learning this, slowly accepting it, but would stick to how he does it normally, it helped build trust.
Last edited by United Islands of Polis on Sat Feb 06, 2021 3:00 am, edited 2 times in total.

User avatar
Danubian Peoples
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1055
Founded: Sep 21, 2018
New York Times Democracy

Postby Danubian Peoples » Sat Feb 06, 2021 10:13 am

OOC NOTE: WILL EDIT OR REDACT POST IF NECESSARY.
Primarch Orestes Charon of the XI Legion
Planet Eolon

Itrine, Former Xenos City

Orestes stood mighty in the ruins of Itrine. Clad in his armor, and wearing a durable helm. The landscape surrounding him was as far as you could get from the comparably nigh-indestructible Primarch standing at the center of it all. The once magnificent city had been been rendered broken and deprived of its occupants, the Eoloan xenos. The various buildings lining its street were in various states of disrepair, but Itrine as a whole was still somewhat recognizable, if only as a parody of its prior glory. Similar sights could be reported from other cities across Eolon. Orestes knew he and his legion could be made to do so much worse. But the Emperor would not allow it. Another reason to hate father, thought the Primarch. The Eoloans themselves however, were given far less clemency than their cities. The invasion lasted a mere 48 hours, thousands dying within the first few seconds alone as orbital bombardment and drop assault rained from the heavens upon their cities. By the end of it, the Eoloans had gone from thriving species on the cusp of interstellar travel, to three-eyed skulls lining Eolon's streets. They were eradicated, with merciless efficiency and terrifying tactics.

Orestes however, did not in the ruins for long. He began to walk, taking no care to the xeno remains beneath him as he moved. His destination, a lonely spire standing tall. Prior to the invasion, it was the tallest building in Intrine, a fact that became all the more obvious as the city fell to the ravages of war. It blended in with the other skyscrapers of Itrine, but Orestes knew it was of so much more importance. The amount of information you can extract from a bloodied and brutalized xeno is wonderful, he thought. He began to scale its height, leaving his Astartes bodyguards at the building's foot. Assited by a jump pack and Primarch strength, the ascent though difficult, was manageable.

Having reached the top, Orestes was now greeted with a strange object. A spherical mass, small enough to be held in one of Orestes' hands, held up by a series of wires. These wires scaled back down from the top of the spire, and spread out across its construction. The sphere itself hummed a quiet tune comparable to that sounded by cogitators when they run. The Primarch wrested the sphere from the wires, severing the connection between them. Electric arcs flew between the sphere and the wires as Orestes carried the object away. Clasping the sphere in his hands, Orestes looked upon its surface.

"Just as I suspected," he said. "A strange relic the xenos used for power." He lept and descended from the very top, crashing down into the ruined streets below, power sphere still in hand. He was rejoined with his bodyguards at the bottom. Radioing to his Legion, Orestes spoke. "I have what I came for. The artifact is in my hands. How many of the Eoloan xenos persist?"

A voice replied on the comm. "None, Primarch."

"Then we depart with haste." Orestes replied. "We leave this planet to the Imperium." He continues his thoughts in private. It is a shame we cannot level this planet so thoroughly.. This sphere should serve my realms well, perhaps as an additional power source for one of the hives. Or maybe not, it is unknown how much of the city it served, at least until further inspection of its power lines. Regardless, it is a good thing the Imperium does not possess its power. The Primarch and his bodyguard Astartes walk, this time away from the spire, away from the city. They leave behind them the gutted remains of Itrine, once home to foul Xenos, now the foundation for future Imperial colonization. Make no mistake the Orestes would much rather keep this world for himself, but its strategic indefensibility and distance from Rytax means that for now he will have to make do with ravaging it as much he is allowed to.
...

Gloriana-Class Battleship Lord Colossus, In Orbit Around Eolon
Bridge

Having returned along with the Watchers from their excursion on Eolon, and with the recovered artifact safely kept in temporary storage onboard the vessel, Orestes arrived at the ships' bridge. It was here were the gargantuan craft was piloted, with several persons continuously manning the various control panels lining quite a few of its walls. He had a single seat reserved for him at the center of the room. Its construction was brutalist in style, consisting of solid metal blocks, with little in terms of extraneous features. It was a very large seat nonetheless, fit for the Primarch's stature. Arrayed in front of him was a control panel. From here spoke with authority and demanded obedience. "Navigators. Set course for Rytax. The fleet will be entering the Warp shortly. Relay this message to the rest of the fleet." And so it was, the other vessels also orbiting Eolon being told to prepare for warp.

The ship's drives roared into action, and in time, the Lord Colossus and the other vessels around it would disappear into a realm of unreality.
...

Planet Rytax, Capital of Orestes' Realms
Private Room, Lord's Palace

It was here, in the secretive, windowless Private Room of the Lord's Palace that Orestes could stand atop the one metaphorical rock high enough to see the entirety of his regime. And it was here where he was at the moment. Having recently arrived from Eolon, and having just superceded the Regency Council as usual, he sat down on a seat comparable to that on the Lord Colossus's bridge. This time however, a stack of data-slates atop a desk surface for him to read. Aiding him in this task were a few screens that could better show the gathered data. The information in front of him originated everywhere from Rytax itself, to nondescript outposts, perhaps even the Imperial Capital of Terra. He could be at it for days at a time, doing nothing but reading up on reports from spies, dossiers on potentially threatening individuals, the budgets of various planetary administrations within his fiefdom and of course the goings-on of the wider Imperium of Man.

His outside reactions were short and quick, much of the thinking and reacting happening inside, if it happened at all. When the slates confronted him with positive reports for his realm's functioning, Orestes said "Good." He merely nodded at word of an attempted rebellion crushed before it could even begin. He'd grown almost, accustomed to his empire running like a well-oiled machine. Such was its nature. Nightmarishly totalitarian. Frighteningly efficiently in keeping all the control in Orestes' hands, while also continuing its own existence potentially indefinitely.

The reports on the outside Imperium were received with more reaction. The Great Crusade's status after the Emperor's departure was something to keep an eye on. Having named Vasilia Sanguina Warmaster, he'd gone back to Terra, to work designs so far uknown. Though still showing little reaction, a lot more was happening inside when Orestes was greeted with tales of new Imperial acquisitions, and the integration of old ones. Worrying. Despite the Emperor's departure it appears that the Great Crusade is still progressing at a steady rate.. for now. thought the Primarch.

But matters relating to his sibling Primarchs, now those were by far the most interesting. The most opportunistic-but also the most threatening. Upon reaching for the first data-slate pertaining to the Primarchs, Orestes couldn't help but let out a devious smirk. "Interesting," he said. "Very interesting indeed.."
Last edited by Danubian Peoples on Sat Feb 06, 2021 10:23 am, edited 2 times in total.
NS stats are not used.
This nation does not reflect my IRL views on anything.
Sorry for any mistakes I make with regards to history while roleplaying in historical RPs. Also I am not a qualified historian or academic. None of the make-believe I do is likely to stand up to academic scrutiny.

Valdez Islands is my puppet.

User avatar
Krugmar
Minister
 
Posts: 2134
Founded: May 06, 2012
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Krugmar » Sat Feb 06, 2021 6:35 pm

Ozymandias
Unknown System
The Ghost Stars


The personal quarters of the Primarchs was elegant and luxurious, a vast set of rooms filled with statues, relics, and various amenities and comforts. Only a few of the statues were Imperial and purpose built for the room, the majority had been taken from conquered worlds, some obscene xenos creations not made for human aesthetic tastes.

In the edge of the room, underneath a statue of the Emperor which had been decapitated in a botched uprising and peppered with numerous strange symbols, sat Saphira. Before her was a voice-activated archaic game, one which had survived as long as the Emperor.

Her opponent entered the room, making his way towards her silently.

“She will be making her decision now, or perhaps she already has.” Said Saphira, not looking up from the board.

“She has killed them, and ignited her war.” Replied her brother, Raziel, taking his place opposite her.

Saphira cocked an eyebrow, “That certain? Did you ascertain this from your agents?”

Raziel laughed, but gave no answer. “Legionary to d4” She said. “Where did you learn this?”

“Events are moving as I expected, legionary f5”

“Legionary G3. Expected, but are they welcome?” She asked.

“Not to most. Legionary to G6” Raziel replied.

She chuckled, “His plans require so much pain. Iterator G2.”

“I am not entirely certain things are going as planned. Iterator G7.”

“Primarch C3.”

“Primarch F6.”

“Then we stand a chance of losing? Iterator G5.”

We lost the moment the Emperor set us on this task. Primarch C6.”

“But the galaxy, you know I do not see what you do, and my eyes are on what comes to us slowly, not what rots us within. Sigilite to D6.”

“You must be focusing upon what is coming. The hunger you have seen is worrying, but it will take time to reach us. Atlas will soon make his move. Legionary D6.”


Star of the Waning Summer
In transit


In one of the many dark and forgotten places of the ship, three members of the Ekthroi met in secret. Azrael, captain of Atlas’ bodyguard, Agamemnon one of the legion’s principal captains, and Erebus, who up til now had been a minor figure in the philoi.

“Our Lord seemed… uneasy.” Said Azrael

“It will take time for him to understand the forces we serve. He thinks of them as xenos, and so instinctually distrusts them.” Replied Erebus.

“It is pitiful that he will not embrace them fully, and still holds to his ideal for humanity, an ideal which will hold us back.” Spoke Agamemnon bluntly.

“Hold your tongue, he is still our Lord.”

“Calm yourself Azrael, I think only of his future when I say that.” Replied Agamemnon.

Erebus nodded his head, “Agamemnon is right, Lord Atlas must understand the powers he is dealing with. I am confident Ravadiana will help him along his journey.”

“The Witch? I am glad we have her and her sorcerers on our side.” Replied Azrael.

Erebus looked uneasy, if only that were certain, he thought.


Ozymandias
Unknown System
The Ghost Stars


“Vasilissa will take the bait then? Legionary H4.” Asked Saphira

Raziel chuckled, “How could she not. She trusts him, they all do. And they all hate Orks. Legionary to E6.”

“And we will do nothing to stop it? Sigilside castle.”

“Legionary H6.”
“Iterator F4.”

“Iterator D7.”

“Legionary E4.

“F5 takes E4.”

“I notice you didn’t answer my question. C3 takes E4.”

“The answer is irrelevant, you will not like the answer, the answer never changes… need I go on? Primarch to D5.”

“Primarch to E2. The answer changes everything, for me.” Saphira replied, giving Raziel a soft glare.

“Sigilite to E7. There are no secrets between us sister, you know I do as He has ordered.”

“Standing by while traitors destroy His work, helping those traitors burn the galaxy? Not to mention that book you wrote. Some of the mortals believe it, they’ve taken to worshipping Him. Legionary to C4.”

Raziel smirked, “Not my best work. Primarch to B6.”

“Did he ask you to make it? Legionary to C5.”

Raziel chuckled, “Such a thought would fill Him with rage. He is more human than you think. No, I took the initiative. D6 takes C5.”

“F4 takes C7. I do hate it when you go in guns blazing. We should have discussed this.”

He sighed, “We’ve talked about this, I cannot change the past, no more than we could have discussed it. Castle.”

“Iterator to D6.”

“Sigilite to F7.”

“D6 takes F8.”

“Interesting, he would not expect that, nor that not all sacrifices are in vain. A8 takes F8.”

“D4 takes C5.”

“Primarch to D5.”

“So we have seen the same future. I would almost feel sorry for him, were this not all his own doing. Legionary to F4.”

“Custodes to D8. It is not entirely of his own doing. He has had people pushing him, things whispering to him, and knowledge worth an eye to gaze out at the universe through, corrupting him.”

Saphira cocked her eye, “I thought that only a metaphor, an explanation. It truly happened? Primarch to C3.”

“It’s how they watch and wait, it’s why my agents have been so quiet. They daren’t move even a muscle until the time is right. Primarch to B4.”

“Primarch to D6. And of the people pushing him, it is troubling to me. I see a spider, but I see no face. I see its webs, but no centre. What have you seen?”

Raziel’s face turned dark. “Sigilite to F8. It is no daemon, nor god. I see a human face, one cloaked in darkness.”


Star of the Waning Summer
In transit


A knock at the door alerted Atlas to his guest. “Enter” He said, and in came a legionary. Where once his Zhetaroi armour had been covered in gore and drenched in ungodly fluids and stench, now it was restored, and adorned with the rankings of captain.

“My Lord, you summoned me.” Said Vikare, saluting as he entered.

“Yes, I had some questions for you.”

“Anything, my Lord.”

“You are a member of the Ekthroi now Vikare, you have the privilege of addressing me by my name.”

“Apologies my- Atlas.”

Atlas chuckled, pouring a glass of Stirian Blue for himself, and one for Vikare. They drank, and sat in silence for a few moments. Atlas stared deeply into a nearby mirror, mounted upon the wall, gazing at a golden eye, as one stared back at him.

“Tell me Vikare.” He said lazily, as if in a daze, still not having broken eye contact. “Tell me, did you see anything in your journey, in the warp?”
Vikare hesitated for a moment, “There were strange creatures which boarded our ship, after Ingethel commanded us to lower the fields, but-”

“No.” said Atlas firmly, “Did you see any visions, any glimpses of what might be.”

Vikare shook his head, “No, I experienced only what was before me.”

“Ah, forgive my disappointment. It is not for you, but only that I cannot share my discomfort properly. I am scared, my son. These allies Erebus promised me are… unsettling. Is this right?”

“What you say is right to us, what you will do, we will do.”

Atlas smiled faintly, “I know, and that-.”

“And when you set the galaxy alight, we will feast on the corpses.” Said Vikare, though his voice was twisted, inhuman and guttural. Atlas looked over and saw the legionary clawing at his throat, and then retching up his drink.

“You did not come back alone, did you?” Atlas asked.


Ozymandias
Unknown System
The Ghost Stars


Saphira gazed at the board for a while, thinking of their likeliest move. D6 takes B7.”

“Primarch to D4.”

“B7 takes D8.”

“Iterator to B5.”

“D8 takes E6.”

“Interesting, but if you think this is only about one man, then you are wrong. Both of these are mere pawns, willing to sacrifice and be sacrificed. Iterator to D3.”

“None of this is a game Raziel. Iterator to D5.”

“It has always been a game. Who the players are, I don’t know. Sigilite to F5.”

“E6 takes D4. All that matters is victory. Tell me there is a victory at the end of this.”

Raziel stroked his chin, “At the end of this? Yes, a victory of sorts, I think. I hope. But at the end? I am only human, as is He, and in many ways so are they. F5 takes D5.”

“Primarch to C2. They could just be figments, boogeymen from our psyche. Human legends across the stars.”

“G7 takes C3. If so, then the Eldar have something to truly be ashamed about. And to think they consider themselves the civilised ones.”

She laughed, though it soon faded. “B2 takes C3. Do they have a part to play in this? Some of them were a part of that cabal. Did their plan interest you?”

He shook his head, “Perhaps they were right, but it doesn’t matter. Their plan conflicts with why we were made. Sigilite to A2.”

“C3 takes B4.”

“And that is game.”

She looked confused, hurt even, “You are lost, yes, but the game is not over. Neither of our Emperors have even been placed in check.”

“And mine won’t be, vulnerable as it looks. The ending of this game is just the beginning of a thousand more.” Raziel replied, pushing himself up from the table as the virtual figures began to vanish.

Saphira looked at the empty board as her brother departed. She traced her finger across the empty squares, pulling it along to where her Emperor had been, where Terra would be. With a smile she recalled a line Raziel had written in that accursed tract, one which now began to spread like fire. Though all now seemed dire, she allowed herself a faint hope.

“The Emperor Protects....”
Liec made me tell you to consider Kylaris

User avatar
Antimersia
Attaché
 
Posts: 93
Founded: Mar 04, 2020
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Antimersia » Sat Feb 06, 2021 10:26 pm

City of Korinth
Reth
Tephaine system


The sounds of weapon fire filled the wreckage of the thunderhawk. Adalon's Dust Giants began to shove debris out of the way. The hole in the ship where the cock pit once was, thankfully ended up facing upwards at the end of the crash. Pieces of marble from the building they had slammed into had fallen down into the hole, partially blocking it. It was like moving skipping stones for the powerful astartes. The sun light peering through the fresh hole in the building illuminated the inside of the ship. Adalon took the moment of calm to check on the pilot. He is bruised and clearly concussed. But thankfully survived the impact. Adalon gingerly handed the human pilot to one of the Dust Giants.

"Take care of him. Hail up to the Oasys. Relay this order to them. Send in, the Tillers." Adalon commands the Dust Giant as he takes the barely conscious human into his arms.

The rest of the Dust Giants and Adalon begin to climb up and out through the hole. Their magnetized boots clanging with every step upwards. The Dust giants step onto the ruined story of the building and sprint over to the windows, taking over behind the walls beside them. The entire room appears to be a massive onsen. With blue tile floors, palm trees in pots in the corners of the room, that are likely fake and only for decoration. The marble walls are adorned with blue fresco. The windows span from the floor and almost reach the ceiling, rounding off at the top. Outside the windows the city center can be seen. A sprawling circular plateau with a massive and opulent fountain in the center. The opulence of which, is almost hidden by the rubble it has become. The teal cobblestone of the city center has a cooling feel to it. So much so that the astartes looking out through the windows can't help but feel confused. There doesn't appear to be any enemies visible anywhere in the plaza. No sign of turrents, or anti air weaponry at all. Adalon comes out of the ship himself, drawing his father's scythe and readying it in his hands. He steps over towards the wall with the windows.

"Status report." He says firmly.

"No hostiles visible, my lord primarch. The plaza below appears empty. Activating thermal scans." The astartes replies while activating the system within his helmet. He scans the plaza, still seeing nothing. It appears so barren that it is as if no one has been in the plaza for months. And yet the sound of gunfire and explosions can be heard in the city around them. The astartes scans through his full range of spectrums that his power armor is capable of, searching for any signs. Finally, the astartes makes visual with the enemy, or rather visual with the sounds of the enemy. Scanning for audio signals, the astartes sees signal originals all over in every building of the plaza. Including the one they are in now. The explosive sound of a powerful weapon firing danger close pulls the astartes attention. But only for a moment, the moment ending quickly as a projectile pierces through the astartes' helmet and shreds away half of his head. His lifeless body limply dropping to the floor with a powerful thud. The being that fired this round, clearly unable to withold their excitment with hitting the marine, screams at the top of its lungs.

"WAAAAAAARGHHHH!!!!" The Ork yells from the building directly across the plaza. Several other orks can't help but join in, yelling their own battle cries.

"ORKS! Take cover, get ready for a fight men! The green menace has made themselves known and drawn first blood! We shall draw last blood!" Adalon roars at his men, readying them for the ahead.

The Oasys
In orbit around Reth


Aboard the Oasys, Captain Samson Price, astartes Captain from the first chapter is holding temporary command of the Oasys while his primarch is on the surface of Reth. He is almost frantic. Every ship and drop pod that has descended upon the planet has yet to respond to any hail from the legion in orbit. No communications appear to be getting through to the planet, nor making it back up to them. As is in the directive of his temporary role, Captain Price takes two decisive actions. The first, if the he actives the Tillers, a group of astartes in terminator armor meant to lead the charge in the invasion of a planet with their shock and awe tactics. The second, is he has an ensign deliver a message to the ship's astropath. The message comes with the order to deliver the message to every primarch, as well as the empire itself. Letting them know of the situation, and requesting immediate reinforcements to aid in discovering just what is occurring on Reth.

User avatar
Tethrys
Secretary
 
Posts: 30
Founded: Jan 25, 2021
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Tethrys » Sun Feb 07, 2021 7:07 am

Anza
Vallenheart Hive, Mortior III


With her face set in a considering frown Anza watched the throngs of people milling about below. Her own voice echoed across the Hive city's levels through the various PA systems and speakers that had once ordered the populace to work for their alien masters. Grotesque slug like things that seemed to have the entire human population of the world indebted to them in one way or another. The idea sickened Anza. Now though Vallenheart and the rest of the planet and system would soon be more beacons of the Imperium's light in the galaxy. She would ensure it.

"Sons and daughters of Vallenheart, your destiny beckons! Heed the call of the Empire, of the Emperor himself and step forward into a new era in his service. Service to an Empire for all Mankind, an Empire for you!" The speakers called out over the masses with her own recorded voice as the people were processed by a mix of Auxilia and Astartes. Nearby large pyres for the xenos of the world roared as Knights fueled it's flames with more bodies of the alien filth.

Turning and making her way down the stairs of the damaged building she had been watching from Anza gathered her followers as she went. Her second in command, Robin Argyle fell into step beside her and began filling her in on the situation both on Mortior III and the rest of the Mortior system.

"Lady Raven, the last of the xenos ships have been destroyed near the edge of the system by the third division and both the fifth and sixth divisions are reporting full success in the purging of Mortior VI and Mortior IX. What few of the filth remaining are only those kept in hiding here by their misled slaves." She announced.

"Excellent, have you managed to gather up those in charge of the various systems and maintenance of the city?" Anza asked as she glanced at several men and women who had tried to help one of the xenos escape receive their own punishment, hanging over the roadway like ornaments.

"As you commanded. They were gathered and briefed on their new missions in service to the Empire. All of them have vowed to exhaust every resource to get the city into production once more as soon as possible." Robin replied as the pair rounded a corner witnessing several marines beginning their descent into the next levels of the city.

"Again, excellent Robin, you continue to impress me." Anza said with a dismissive wave. With that the woman bowed slightly and left to handle more of the reconstruction of Mortior III. While the Legion would not remain behind to fully repair the world, they would help to transfer power to Imperial forces and get the ball rolling.

"People of Mortior, hear my plea! I beg you defect to the Empire! Abandon the slug like monsters that have ruled your people for centuries as they have abandoned you. Should you fight against us they will not come to your rescue! To them you are but cattle, mere tools to use and toss away, but the Empire was founded by man, for man alone! Find solace with your brothers and sisters! There is no shame in surrender! Listen to me your friends have already chosen the proper side! You want to save your loved ones? The only way is through the Empire for those that stand before her might are doomed to anguish and death!" The speakers echoed.

Things were truly wrapping up here. Soon she and her legion would move on to continue the Great Crusade elsewhere. In the end, the conquest of Mortior III would hardly be a footnote when compared to the greater campaigns she and her siblings had waged in the name of their father. Then again, Anza dreamed of the day that every last world of the Empire had her voice carry the sound of victory across their lands. It would come eventually she was certain of it.

However as much as Anza truly believed that, she also worried for changing times. Already father had selected one among them to act on military matters in his stead, not that Anza disagreed with his choice Vasilisa was likely the only clear choice for Primarch that nearly all of her fellow primarchs could agree would lead them effectively. She simply fit the bill. Anza's only issue was that it seemed a signal that the crusade would soon be drawing to a close. Without the crusade, she wasn't sure exactly what she would do. Her speeches and rallies were all fine and good, but at the heart of it she was a warrior, what would become of her should war end?

Shaking the thought from her mind, it was better she left such worries to father after all, Anza began her return to her small command center here in Vallenheart. She would need to begin preparations to move on from here. While the Crusade may be nearing it's later stages, there was still a great amount of territory to conquer in the name of humanity.

"How are you citizens of Mortior III? To those that continue to resist the embrace of the Empire it seems to me that you are poorly informed about the going of the war to say nothing of a correct explanation as to your role as the servants to the alien beasts you claim as masters. Nothing is more horrendous than to be ordered into a war to die or be maimed for life without the faintest idea of your true value to those that order you. Isn't it clear these slug like monsters are gambling with your lives while they flee into hiding in bunkers across the world? Abandon your post before it is too late brothers and sisters, I beg you to come to us and see for yourselves that only through the Empire will you ever be truly free and loved!
Last edited by Tethrys on Sun Feb 14, 2021 5:47 pm, edited 1 time in total.

User avatar
United Islands of Polis
Diplomat
 
Posts: 615
Founded: Jun 27, 2015
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby United Islands of Polis » Sun Feb 07, 2021 8:15 am

The Primarch Aleksandr Zorkastanov, II Legion, Primordial Guard
In Orbit of Hervosa V, Gloriana Class Battleship Pride of the Nation


It had only been a few days after the purges of the corrupt had happened. The initial reception of those rioting was to riot harder and fiercer at the sudden purge. However when the records of the purged personalities were released and their fates, the dissent and riots had mostly subsided almost instantly, with only a few pockets of skeptics from the educated groups and cold treatments, however those were only a few and sparring, in a few more months or years they would have over 90%> approval rates soon enough.

"And tell me, Head Governor, what did you do to the assets of Mister King?" Aleksandr sipped from a primarch sized cup, the content of very strong caff soothing the mood.

"We liquidated most of them, leaving the family only bear necessities until they find a job, as per your request, Lord Primarch." Head Governor Torvald spoke.

"Very good. I take it however that the King family did not take this very well?"

"Of course not, Lord Primarch. However they are secretly thankful."

"Now, onto a more serious note. Tithes." Aleksandr cringed at the mention of the word. He did not hate it, he realized that this was a tax, but he had to sympathize with the compliant to earn their trust.

"Truly a grueling topic, Lord Primarch. What does the Emperor have in mind for tithes?" Head Governor Torvald sipped his cup.

Aleksandr pulled out a data slate and handed it over to the smaller man. "The Emperor and the Administratum say that with the state of your compliance and current state, you may simply send money to be blunt. If you would like to increase friendly relations I advise you send technology to the Mechanicus of Mars, be careful what you send however, they are... particular with how to use technology. However you can send regiments of your best PDF units to be a part of the Imperial Army, and maybe some recruits to try their hand at becoming Space Marines, that should give you a barrier of protection from each of them. Create a balance of sorts."

"Of course. Would your legion be open to accepting recruits from us?" Head Governor Torvald swiped to another page on the data slate.

"Send them to Gentium. They will fight hard to get a spot, there are many aspirants, even some reaching as far as the asteroid colonies not far from here, maybe a few light years away from here." Aleksandr encouraged.

"Then I will send the toughest men of my systems! They won't disappoint you Lord Prim-" Head Governor Torvald is cut short as the doors of the Hall of Diplomacy open. Grand Sentinel Alistair came in shortly after. A data slate in hand as well, one appropriately sized for an Astartes.

"My Marshal, Head Governor Torvald." Alistair bowed to both. "I apologize for the intrusion. Our Astropaths have picked up a request of help from your brother, Lord Adalon. He requests assistance in beating back an Ork attack. According to the message he has lost contact with his fleet in orbit and neither can get through to each other." Alistair hands the data slate over to his superior.

Temporarily, Aleksandr showed some shock, however no one would have caught the momentary lapse in the moment. The quiet however was broken by the voice of the Head Governor. "It seems important , Lord Primarch. If you would like we could discuss this further whenever you need to."

"Yes, good sir. I will have you talk to Grand Sentinel Koshtan, you two will settle the remaining affairs." Aleksandr finishes the rest of the contents of his cup before standing up. "It was nice to talk to you, Sir Torvald. Enjoy the rest of your day. Alistair, have someone escort Sir Torvald back to his shuttle."

As the meeting was disbanded, the two made their way towards the bridge. Upon arriving at the bridge’s astropahtical communications suite, they were met with Grand Admiral Zubarev, who was also reading out the messages coming in.

“Marshal on deck!” Everyone saluted the green giant before being dismissed and returning to their duties.

“Lord Admiral. I have received my brother’s message. Is there anything else I need to know.” Aleksandr asks.

“No, my Marshal. However I was expecting you to be here.” Admiral Zubarev’s blue bionic eye blinks for a moment. “What are your orders for now?”

Aleksandr ducks a bit to get closer to an auger screen “We will leave a portion of the fleet, especially the Mechanicus fabrication ships and the Pinnacle of Industry here with an escort. We depart for the Tephain system.”

“At once, my Marshal.” Grand Admiral Zubarev bows before barking orders to depart.

The fleet left at such a sudden moment that messages of praise and good luck had to be temporarily put into a spam filter unless the cogitators and or the astropaths tire themselves too much, however Aleksandr was still polite enough to send back a response message for the people of Hervosa V.

”I shall return soon, friends! Keep the Hervosa system safe!”


The Primarch Aleksandr Zorkastanov, II Legion, Primordial Guard
In Orbit of Reth, Gloriana Class Battleship Pride of the Nation


The warp, according to the navigators, was not as erratic during their transit. Hervosa V was a good few days away from the Tephaine system and they were able to arrive right on the dot of their predicted schedule. The fleet, incomplete, emerged right out of the warp, immediately in minimum visual range of the The Oasys.

“Ensign.” Aleksandr spoke as a young ensign jumped to life from his seat. “Send a message. I require an update on the situation on the ground and my brother.” The ensign wrote it down on a data pad before disappearing into the elevator shaft to the communications suite.

“My Marshal. A report thus far of Reth is that it was a compliant world up until the death of the Planetary Governor. A failed response forcing Lord Adalon to the surface and has lost contact since then.” Grand Admiral Zubarev spoke.

“I see, so there’s some sort of jamming device then. Scrounge up all electronic warfare ships and blast a hole through their jammers.” Aleksandr said with determination.

“We tried, my Marshal, nothing happened. However when our astropaths tried they felt a disturbance, they described it as very erratic and unorganized.” Grand Admiral Zubarev handed over the oversized data pad.

Aleksandr read the report quickly, putting the data slate down moments after receiving it. “So warp based jamming, interesting.”

“Helmsman, take us into a geosynchronous position. Lord Admiral, have the Beast Made of Steel deploy its Lightning squadrons. Find my brother.” Aleksandr demanded.

As the fleet made its way closer to orbit, the Nemesis Class Fleet Carrier Beast Made of Steel got as close as it could before entering the gravity well and deployed the reconnaissance aircraft. It would have to stay there until it could retrieve those that would make it back.

While information was being gathered, an emergency meeting was called for. The Hall of Diplomacy was full once more, however the rest of the Grand Sentinels were not there in person, but in hologram, each except Grand Sentinel Alistair and Aleksandr being the only ones who were there in person.

Aleksandr drew on the holographic display. “Moving onto the Rules of Engagement. For as long as the civilians do not attack you and your men, you are to move them to a temporary safe location. We will be forming two formations. A frontline where my brother will be, and a safe zone to rescue civilians into. HVTs are to be separated for questioning on why a re-compliance mission was required.”

Grunts and responses of understanding rang about. Grand Sentinel Alistair announced to the group that the Lightning fighters that survived had sent a message back, but incredibly garbled, they would have to wait until they returned to their carrier for a proper message.

“Theta 2-5, Gamma 4-8, Beta 6-2, Fulcrum 8-8, Horus 9-2, and Kite 9-3 had confirmed sightings of your brother, however the warp jamming has made identifying their IFF tags and locators difficult.” Red dots showing the positions of the fighters appeared on the feed, however there were well over 39 dots.

“Well this is as accurate as our estimate will ever get. He’s probably in the middle, right there.” Aleksandr raises his finger and points.

“If I may, I think he’s here, my Marshal, in this larger mass of dots.” a Grand Sentinel points out.

“That may be true, but remember, the jamming does not allow us to see a full picture, it is the center, thank you for your input however.” Aleksandr praises his subordinate in their task to find his brother.

“Orks. The reply from Captain Ankano is that they are fighting a considerable Ork force, my Marshal.” Alistair interrupts.

“Throne on Terra, the civilians.”

Reth, High Atmosphere, Approximate Location of The Primarch Adalon Cyprus

Thunderhawks accompanied by Avengers from the Imperial Army void forces were the speartip of the advance. Right behind these aircraft was the bulk of the Primordial Guards vanguard. Stormbirds and other landing crafts carrying vehicles and support equipment, along with Valkyries carrying the Andarna Cothrom Scions.

”Tashkent Lead confirms the sighting of Lord Adalon, they’re holding off a significant force.”

“Initiate Phase 1!” Aleksandr holds tighter onto the overhead handhold.

The Thunderhawks and Avengers flew right over the battle line of Adalon’s Umbral Hornets. Some of them had fallen out of the sky from the greenskin anti-air fire, despite having been inaccurate, the mass of fire was there to make up for it. While they were distracted, the Stormbirds and other landing crafts had landed hard. Dust kicked up from the landing struts while the jets caused a cloud of smoke, covering their landing in a way.

While Aleksandr disembarked alongside Grand Sentinel Helios Alistair and the rest of the Vigil Confido and Ostriye Tolchok, the first Zachitnik Glava of the Primordial Guards, he saw the Thunderhawks and Avengers turn around and pummel the anti-aircraft fire and whatever their munitions could get their hands on, creating a much safer corridor of exit for air assets. Aleksandr placed his helmet on and hefter the Spear of Necessity and got into the thick of it.

The Stormbirds that were empty lifted off, firing at whatever they could as they left to retrieve more legionnaires. Aleksandr saw three greenskins attempt to charge him as they got past the first terminators at the front. He blasted two of the Orks with the Volkite beam weapon, turning them into charred husks instantly, the third attempted a hit, but had the modified Guardian Spear stuck in his gut and cut vertically, the white hot blade exiting through the split head.

Aleksandr yelled into the overall communications network. “Brother!? Brother! Where are you in this quagmire?!”

Aleksandr got to the front and swiped sideways in a wide one-handed swing, getting five Orks in one hit. This garnered the attention of a larger Ork, one in a mechanized suit of sorts. It let out a roar before it started rampaging at him like an angered Stier. Aleksandr charged at the Ork as well, accepting the challenge.

“For Ullanor! Ura!” Aleksandr feined at the last moment, blasting the Ork with the Volkite beam weapon, causing it to stop its stride temporarily, just enough time for him to jam the white hot blade of the Spear of Necessity into the heavy chestplate.

The momentum caused it to fall down clumsily as the mechanical systems started to fail. Aleksandr got on top of it and spent no time going for a clean and precise kill by cutting the head off and re-joining the battle line.
Last edited by United Islands of Polis on Sun Feb 07, 2021 10:26 am, edited 3 times in total.

User avatar
Bentus
Senator
 
Posts: 4269
Founded: Dec 18, 2013
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Bentus » Sun Feb 07, 2021 4:00 pm

The IIIrd Corsairs
Etis Prime, The Etis System



The Etisian campaign had been a gruelling slog for the Imperial forces, with the native xenos forcing them to pay in blood for every inch of ground that had been torn from their clutches. What had been expected to be a relatively uneventful conquest had devolved into a brutal war of attrition, with the invading armies receiving only minimal support as the Crusade focused itself upon the greenskin menace. Even pressed up to the shores of their homeworld, the Etisians continued to man and strengthen their defences, determined as they were to stretch out the bloody conflict for as long as they were able.

It was into this campaign that the IIIrd Corsairs were deployed, with their titanic war machines intended to provide some much needed firepower for the undermanned Imperial Army. Such a comparatively minor conflict, especially with so much honor and prestige to be found at Ullanor, would’ve been dismissed by most of the Legios Titanica. But the Firebrands were all too eager to respond to the call that their peers had left unanswered. Engaging with the enemy, the devastating firepower of the maniple’s Reavers only added to the wave of destruction that was roiling the planet, and the Etusians swiftly came to know the wrath of the Mechanicus’ god-machines. But there was only so much ground that five engines could cover, and with the entire planet convulsing with battle, they alone were not enough to swing the tide.

That grinding stalemate would last, until all at once the Etisian defenders fell into disarray and a general offensive was called. All across the front, the Vipers Astra and their Imperial allies flowed like a tsunami into the lines of fortress-cities and battlements that had held them back for so long. At first, the Etisians buckled under the pressure of the assault, before they quickly began to break. All across the lines, Astartes and Guardsmen broke through barricades and bastions that had been stubbornly resisting them for months. Victories bred courage and confidence, and each step forward encouraged the attackers to redouble their efforts as they sought to carry their sudden momentum to total victory.

Mirella couldn’t help but also get swept up in the excitement of the blistering attack. Willing her mount forward through the battered city streets, each lumbering step of her titan caused the ground to shudder beneath its weight. Towering above the soldiers and vehicles that maneuvered about Deliverance’s feet, the princeps felt the machine spirit sharing in her desire to press onwards to the heart of their enemy. Turning around one city block, Mirella emerged into a firefight. Desperate to stem the Imperial advance, the Etisians had dug themselves into a set of foxholes further down the street. Shells and laser blasts zipped over the ground as the two sides exchanged fire, but the emergence of a titan signalled an imminent end to the attempted resistance.

Levelling her gatling blaster down the street, Mirella simply had to will the monstrous weapon into action. Spinning itself up in a matter of seconds, she saw some of the Etisians risking the small-arms of the Guardsmen below her as they sought to escape the coming hail of destruction. She smiled coldly at the sight, knowing that there’d be no escape for the xenos from the Emperor’s warriors. Her weapon erupted with a roar, with each of the rotating barrels unleashing the equivalent of an autocannon round downrange in rapid succession. The defensive line erupted into a plume of smoke, with dust and debris filling the air as sandbags, concrete, flesh and bone were ripped to pieces and thrown asunder. The few Etisians that had attempted to outrun the engine’s wrath never had a chance, as their fleeing silhouettes were shredded into mist.

After a few seconds of continuous fire, Mirella allowed the onslaught to cease - a necessary pause to give her weapon time to cool. But as the smoke cleared, it was clear that her attack had the desired effect. Signalling her god-machine’s triumph, a deep, booming horn emanated from the walker, and Mirella received a reply in the form of cheers from the soldiers at her feet. A faint smile adorned the princeps’ features as she saw the infantry racing surging forward beneath her, quickly moving to take advantage of the opening that she’d provided and deal with any survivors. But Mirella didn’t stay to bask in the victory, knowing that her engine would better serve the Crusading forces elsewhere as they continued to press their offensive. Willing the machine spirit to pick up its pace with the promise of more combat ahead, she felt an impatient thrill at the growing rout.

Deliverance, you are advancing too quickly. Wait for the Red Queen to catch up or you'll be too exposed.”

Mirella frowned as her superior’s voice echoed in her head, transmitted directly to her thoughts through her engine’s vox network. “Captain, the xenos are on the run. Any delay could give them a chance to regroup and dig-in. Some of the infantry have already advanced ahead of us through the city.”

“That doesn’t matter, Mirella.” Clarke responded, his voice devoid of the sense of celebration or triumph that was gripping most of the Crusading forces. “We don’t know why their lines are collapsing. Until proven otherwise, we have to assume that it’s a trap.”

For a moment, Mirella considered arguing further. She had no doubt that it was by the Emperor’s grace that they’d been able to advance so quickly at all, but she could hardly say that out loud. And being faithful wasn’t the same as being blind. Slowing her engine, Mirella was about to send her reply when she suddenly felt something slam into her side with enough force to send her stumbling into a neighbouring tower.

The accelerated shell, having flown towards her at many times the speed of sound, detonated upon impact with her Reaver’s void shield. The explosion illuminated the city block, with the blastwave tearing up pavement and shattering walls that were caught in the vicinity. Grimacing as warning lights and alarms flared within her engine’s cockpit, Mirella heard her moderati feeding her updates on structural loads and minor damage reports from throughout her engine. Turning her gaze towards the direction of the attack, the air shimmered as the void shield tried to reform itself after taking such a powerful blow. Further away, she saw a lumbering silhouette rising from where it had been hiding in the cityscape. A massive barrel was smoking on its carapace, with the titanic destroyer weapon clearly having been lying in wait for the right moment to strike.

Cursing under her voice, she reconnected her vox link while trying to force the grinding motors of the Deliverance’s limbs to bring her own firepower to bear. “I’ve been engaged by a xenos walker. Void shields are holding strong and -”

A flash of light caused Mirella to cut herself off. Reacting instinctively, she braced herself as a second titanic shell detonated not far from where she’d been standing mere moments before. The blastwave once again caused her void shields to shimmer, except this time the already strained energy field gave way entirely and flickered out of existence.

Cursing as the second walker rose to join its sibling, Mirella felt an anger burning in her chest at the audacity of the primitive machines. How dare they defile her Deliverance with their attacks! Her foes appeared to hesitate, clearly having been unprepared for the strength of the Mechanicus’ shielding technology as the Reaver continued to stand. But as they saw Mirella move to right herself and return fire, they quickly made to try and recharge their weapons for a second fusilade. Not willing to give the hateful aliens such an opportunity, the Deliverance’s laser blaster began to hum with energy as its capacitors pulled their charge from its reactor. Pointing the arm-mounted weapon towards her second foe even as it desperately tried to maneuver out of the way, Mirella unleashed a bolt of light from the weapon that screamed across the battlefield. Striking the smaller walker’s upper arm, the laser cleaved straight through the metallic joint and sent the enemy reeling from the damage.

Knowing that she didn’t have time to celebrate the effectiveness of her opening salvo, Mirella immediately began turning her engine around to her second opponent just in time to see that it was already lining her up with its lighter weaponry. Mirella braced herself for the inevitable damage that would come now that her shields were down. But the shots would never come as an entire building beside her opponent seemed to erupt into an explosion of rubble and debris.

The Etisian walker didn’t even have a chance to move as a massive red hand, its metallic claws glimmering with lethal energy, reached from the cloud of debris to envelop its head. The power claw cleaved straight through the xenos’ thick armour, piercing into the cockpit as if it were plunging through flesh. Staring out through the slowly clearing smoke screen of its own creation, the Red Queen’s eyes glimmered menacingly at its doomed prey, before the whirring of ancient pistons closed its grip. Sparks of electricity and fluids erupted from the walker’s head as it was crushed by the Imperial engine’s grip, with the metal cockpit swiftly being transformed into a twisted tomb for its pilots.

Ripping the mangled piece of metal clean from its torso and leaving what remained to keel over and collapse with a bellowing thud onto the ground, the Queen kept up its momentum as it lunged its way towards the surviving Etisian engine. Reacting in fearful desperation, the xenos attempted to fire at the approaching monster with its still functioning arm, but the rounds pinged harmlessly off of its reinforced carapace. The guttural roar of an engine-sized chainsword could have been mistaken for the battle cry of the terrifying beast as it was swung into the Etisian’s side. The roar of rotating teeth were immediately eclipsed by the dying screams of the Etisian’s screeching metal, with the chainsword quickly chewing through steel and metal as it tore its way clean through the enemy walker. Separated diagonally at the chest, the two halves of the destroyed walker slid apart and fell to the street below. It was unlikely that any crew could have survived such an assault with the damage that had already been done by the Deliverance’s laser, but the Red Queen was always thorough with its kills. Lifting a metal foot into the air with the whirring of pistons and hydraulics, the Reaver slammed its weight onto its fallen foe’s cockpit, destroying it completely and crushing any souls that might still have lived.

“Mirella, are you okay?”

Mirella had found herself lost in the brutal dance that she’d just witnessed, but Janessa’s voice over the vox shook her from her stupor. “Y-yes!” She replied, shaking her real body’s head as she found her voice. “Thank you, Red Queen. I didn’t take any major structural damage, although my voids need time to charge.”

Inside her own engine, Janessa breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She’d grown worried as the distance between her and Mirella had increased as the other woman had excitedly pressed on ahead. She didn’t doubt that the Deliverance would have been able to handle both of the primitive walkers on its own, crude as they were without even a token effort at shielding, but physical damage to an engine always came with a host of risks.

“I’ll stay with you until they do.” Janessa replied, seemingly oblivious to the coating of oil and grease that covered her walker like the blood of a living enemy. “Captain, any word on other ambushes along the front?”

Clarke’s voice once again entered the line from his perch further back from the front. “No. It looks like you just stumbled upon a desperate last stand. Although Asmodius has determined the reason for the Etisian’s withdrawal: it looks like another Astartes Legion has just entered the system and launched a strike en-masse behind enemy lines. Their defences are crumbling on every front.”

Mirella blinked in surprise, and she exchanged the equivalent of a glance - embedded as they were with their giant engines - with Janessa. The Red Queen’s pilot was the first to respond.

“Clarke, say that again?”
Last edited by Bentus on Sun Feb 07, 2021 4:00 pm, edited 1 time in total.
- - Bentus
- -
1 2 3 >4< 5
Possible threat.
Forces active in a warzone.
At peace.
Member of The Galactic Economic and Security Organization

NationStates Belongs to All, Gameplay, Roleplay, and Nonplay Alike
Every NationStates Community Member, from Raider Kings to Brony Queens Make Us Awesome.
"Though I fly through the valley of Death, I shall fear no evil. For I am at the Karman line and climbing." - Bentusi SABRE motto

North America Inc wrote:13. If Finland SSR or Bentus anyone spams the Discord with shipping goals, I will personally tell your mother.

How Roleplays Die <= Good read for anyone interested in OPing

User avatar
Acerbez
Diplomat
 
Posts: 596
Founded: Sep 09, 2017
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Acerbez » Sun Feb 07, 2021 10:19 pm

The curse of Solomon


The consistent humm of the Sanctum of Atrophos remained constant. In irregular intervals, loud grid locks would clammer and shifts of interlocks would occasionally be heard from throughout the immense vessel's larger systems. The viewing dome gracing star light upon the throne room of the distraught primarch, Kortaez Aisa. After having heard the discoveries of Arbiter Vizier Helrax and Apothercary Gandera- Kortaez found himself alone yet again after dismissing his achozen commander. With a visage twisted in an amnesia like trance, the apex astartes sat upon his regal seating hunched over, knees to elbows. The massive ornate lightning claws held out as if begging for a 'scrap of understanding' to be placed in them. The peripherals of the Bird of Hermes began to blur and darken hastily without warrant. Having been here time and time again, his mind reeled and his eyes widened and strained as he attempted to methodically follow the teachings of his sister, Ravadiana, within the confines of his conscience to repel the oncoming torment.

The affliction felt akin to the force of inertia. Kortaez could feel himself being dragged back within his own mind toward his lucid subconscience. Anxiety overwhelming the emotional spectrum of Kortaez, he began to lose the posterity of his will! His emotions of fear and anger began to tear their claws into his psyche.

"ARRRGHHH!!" I will... NOT.. "RAAHHH" Kortaez stood up from his throne bellowing only to stumble its stone steps and crash into the cold rock, the knee of his artificer armor grinding the stone and ruffling the baroque rug laid atop, his left hand reaching forward to catch his fall. His breathing turned to a heavy pant as his body shifted its function to address his surging heart rate. Beads of sweat began to form on the primarch's brow, his teeth grinding into one another with immense force. The 2 honor guard stationed behind the closed entrance began to look to one another in indecision. Uncertain how to act, as they had become increasingly more and more aware of this maddening behavior plaguing their beloved lord.

A gravelled chuckle grew and echoed from what seemed to originate from the hoisted power armor on the throne rooms walkway- no the darkened corner? No, surely it was produced from behind the hanging banner aloft behind the throne itself. Where was it coming from? Kortaez's shocked face peered in all directions to find this old acquaintance.

"Hahaha.. Hahah... The retinue... They can hear you, Aisa! Wallowing and bellowing like the willow, hahaha!" the voice spoke, taunting Kortaez. The primarch raised himself and teep kicked the ceremonial armor standing vigil. "LEAVE ME! I REBUKE YOU, CURR!" The primarch roared with such resolve that its echo barreled through the sealed doors while the scrambled crash of the ornate armor coupled it and dispersed, spreading across the the hallowed floor of the Phalanx's Observatory. Startled, the 2 honor guard began to inch away from the sealed confines in panic.

"ARRHH! SHOW YOURSELF! SO THAT I MAY BEAR MY TALONS INTO YOUR SKULL AND REND YOU APART, COWARD!"

At this statement, mixed with the former command, it shook the 2 guard into trepidation. Choosing instead not to suffer their lord's wrath, they strut toward the end of the corridor to pretend they heard nothing, all the while hearing everything.

The edges of Kortaez's vision deepend, giving way to ink-like tendrils that stretched further towards his center of vision. The primarch's mind raced uncontrollably, but with a split instance of confidence, the twisted face of Kortaez turned into a killer's yet again. As if confronted by some foe of equal footing, Kortaez drew his mind back to act as Ravadiana had said to in times like this. Frantically, the primarch searched his body for the small talisman given to him by his sister. She had assured him it was a ward used by the psykers to ward the chaotic currents of their mind and ease the turbulence of regressing into a shambling lunatic deserving of only death.

"Why do you hide from yourself, still? Why do you flee from me? You. Yourself." Kortaez let out a slight whimper at the voices proclamations- so very afraid of this oncoming episode. These divinations, these forced interludes of his own mind's betrayal. Unable to locate the gift from his sister, Kortaez slinked forward, back upon his knees. The azure talisman hanging idly upon a the crown of the now vacant throne seat. "Look at me, Bird of Hermes... Devouring your own wing, to keep yourself tame!" Kortaez's brow furled sullenly, his hair fallen over his eyes, covering his now blooded eyes and frantic expression. Like a child beaten and left to die, A stream of tears slid down the Primarch's cheek. Wetting the cursed tattoo embedded into his face's skin. Defeated, Kortaez looked up toward the entrance of his domain in a blur, but instead of the ornate doors of the Sanctum of Atrophos, he peered directly into a hazy entity that could not be seen through- An unnatural sea of darkness.

The shadowy silhouette of his own face sneered back at him as the inky pool expanded into infinity and seemingly snatched him via tendril, propelling him into a feeling of free fall into space. A most pure void.

Hallucinations of apparitions defiling the golden power armor of his father as he lay lifeless. Burning worlds of inferno as seen from space, their crust fractured and splintered while sinking within themselves. A sinister cackling laughter of an unknown but familiar woman in sync of a man, occuring in tandem. Vast fields of strewn corpses artistically murdered in fashions all too familiar to the son of Nyctasha. His subconscious shooting his personal overview within kissing distance of the corpses. Alive but dead, they choked pitifully on their own blood but smiled in mockery at him- A garden drenched with terror and anguish. The sight of his brothers, Lucian and Aleksandr, atop heaps of Kortaez's beloved legion clashing against one another. Adalon's large silhouette in a pyre of green flames, bellowing insults to the heavens. Cruel derisions, one after another flooded Kortaez, anatomically perverted monstrosities and blood soaked beasts having their way with humans that were clearly imperial subjects. And beyond a shred of doubt, Vasilisa... Their father's supposed favorite, striding in stoic fashion amongst a hall of treasures and ornaments with an unnatural jeer that stretched from ear to ear. Her legion kneeling before her by the thousands, chanting praise while beating their breast with armored gauntlet.

"I dont care if i die..." A staple thought that reiterated itself repeatedly in the background like a sporadic adlib. Then, as if Kortaez had fallen from a jagged cliff a hundred and ten leagues high, his chest lost for wind, a massive weight had rolled over his body as if heaven itself bore itself against him, in mind, body, and spirit. Squinting his bloodshot eyes in a feeble attempt to open them fully against this horrid sensation, Kortaez was exposed to a new muddied and opaque vision- the faces of Nehushtan Saraph, Drennus, and Orestes Charon. A disgustingly venomous look of ridicule and pity reflected from their faces upon him.

"You are cursed." Orestes proclaimed while given a joyful titter.

"The Curse of Solomon? How befitting!" Drennus sneered.

"Do not fear, brother. We are fear." Nehushtan spat with hubris.

Abruptly awash with slight euphoria, Kortaez falsely felt he was no longer held under weight- as his spirit of anger and vengeful reprisal began to outstrip this foreboding disquietude. Barring his own fangs at his siblings, growling with contempt and burning pools of antipathy in the black of his eyes-

"Because you wolves kill cleanly, and I do not? You also kill quickly, and I have never done that, either. You fight, You win, and you stalk back to your ships with your tails held high." Kortaez snarled like a rabid dog. Like the stolen breath of love, Kortaez Aisa seemingly released himself by vocation.

"If you were ever ordered to destroy another sibling, you would do it by hurling warrior against warrior, seeking to grind their enemies down with the admirable delusions of the 'noble savage'. If I were ever ordered to assault another, I would virus bomb your recruitment worlds; slaughter the serfs and slaves; poison the gene-seed repositories and spend the next dozen decades watching you and them die slow, humiliating deaths. Night after night, raid after raid, The Scales would overwhelm the stragglers from your fleets and bleach their skulls to hang from our armour, until none remained. But that isn't the quick execution the Emperor needs, is it? You go for the throat. Hahah..." Kortaez spurned at the spectres of his kin.

"We go for the eyes. Then the tongue. Then the hands. Then the feet. Then we skin the crippled remains, and offer it up as an example to any still bearing witness! You all are still warriors before you become soldiers. We... We're ordained murderers first, last, and always!"

Then it went black... Reverting Kortaez back to the windowless asylum of his mind that was usually always the beginning of these frightening divinations- this time in reverse. Void of light and darker than a killer's dreams, only himself and his old acquaintance.

"Where darkness of unruly power is gurgling, grumbling, and screaming. The darkness of unrestrained power, the archangel's wings hovers over. Innumerable roads make way, that empire that lies in ruins. But if the Spring nation's fall, howling with a crowd's shout, the soveriegn, show benevolence? The 'monster' shows them all no mercy.

I, The Curse of Solomon."
The voice poetically sung.




The Scale fleet
In mid warp travel


Arbiter-Vizier Helrax, having been divulged of the treachery undertaken by the Planetary governor of Nyctasha by the Lord-intercessor Kara, had immediately interrupted his primarch's 'meditations' and shared this news. Helrax himself, visibly witnessing the heart break of this betrayal in the eye's of Kortaez, Helrax too felt a bitter sadness and gloom take over the atmosphere.

After all that has been done and given in priviledge? After all the despair and ugly history they all endured upon Nyctasha before they were ascended into the ranks of the legion- This...? After everything Kortaez Aisa had undertaken to bring them back to civility and wholesome-ness. Stealing Nyctashans away from their shade of vulgarity, providing them all as a whole, a reason to be proud!

The Navigator had been commanded to reroute their course for home by the Primarch. To bring the scale fleet in full to their native system. It was without knowledge, this action would spark the episode that had ambushed Kortaez, how would it have been known? The chain of command and the upper echelons of the 4th legion and its fleet commanders were certainly alerted and informed of this betrayal, but the news trickled down into the rank and file of the legion. Judgements and opinions spread like wild fire as assumptions and whispered discussions invaded the fleet, as all were very privy of the views and beliefs of their primarch- They too shared these beliefs.

Like massive boulders sling shot across the galaxy into the cosmos, the fleet began to emerge from warp travel at the edge of the very system they all claimed as their home. One by one, hundreds of ships began to pile in. Astropaths communing to the close reaches of Erinya and Kyrannus, the 2 closest planetary assets of the Heralds of the Scale, that lay at the very fringe of their domain.

"Arbiter-Vizier!" a Scale captain called out while pacing quickly across the bridge of the Sanctum of Atrophos. The naval contingencies knowing full well to pay obvious attention. Turning his gaze to his subordinate, the snarling helmet of the Vizier met alignment with the incoming astartes. "We have a communication from the Sorrow Glaive. It's Arbiter-Vizier Aramu, he has established contact with Kyrannus and is on the holo-field awaiting you.

Helrax nodded and strode to the bridge's center past the rows of ensigns and their consoles, the metal grates of the floor protecting the thick coils that ran from system to system jarred against his boots, only to approach the life sized grainy feed of the holo-field that produced a light blue projection of his comrade, Aramu.

"Helrax, inform our lord that Nyctasha has rebelled and betrayed us. Planetary governor Golrix has made threats and advances against the Mechanicum cult of Kyrannis in open attempts to arm itself against the legion and imperium whilst claiming its independance." The deep voice of Aramu coupled with the helmets vox was followed by nothing but silence from the bridge.

Helrax, breaking away from his shellshock, broke the single line of communication between the Sanctum of Atrophos and that of Sorrow Glaive and forced communications to all ships of the fleet.

"This is Arbiter Vizier Helrax, curator of the Sanctum of Atrophos. I am mandating an action of Lex Imperialis upon the Nyctasha system and surrounding systems. Until further deliberation with our Lord, Kortaez Aisa, any ships, imperial or otherwise, are to be approached and treated under Impetus protocols. Make no exceptions- Nihil Effugium." Helrax's hiss merging with the cackling static of the comm's conclusion.
Last edited by Acerbez on Mon Feb 08, 2021 1:55 am, edited 8 times in total.
Roleplay in Aeterna Publicae

User avatar
Danubian Peoples
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1055
Founded: Sep 21, 2018
New York Times Democracy

Postby Danubian Peoples » Mon Feb 08, 2021 3:58 am

OOC NOTE: WILL EDIT OR REDACT POST IF NECESSARY.
Primarch Orestes Charon of the XI Legion
Planet Rytax, Capital of Orestes' Realms
Private Room, Lord's Palace

"..interesting, oh so interesting.." went the Primarch. Orestes analyzed the contents of the data-slate he held up to his face. On its electronic screen was information pertaining to his sibling Primarchs, sourced from a mix of official channels, clandestine spy networks and hearsay, and routed through potentially dozens of asteropaths. The data had gone through some curation by a few trusted hands before being handed to the Primarch, with egregiously fallicious materials scrubbed from the final platter of content, but most of the discerning and thinking would be left up to Orestes.

When at last he finished reading through the data-slates, Orestes began to compile his thoughts on the matter into a series of notes. He dwelled deeply on the subject, reclined in his seat as the gears within turned. Upon finishing his contemplation, he began to record his thoughts on the subject matter.

So it appears that my 'eldest,' Indrania has done away with the belligerent Masters of the I Legion. Will have to recalculate and reconsider avenues for intrigue.. Such a waste of good pieces. Whatever move she takes next is perhaps going to be susceptible to exploitation. Experience has taught me that a quick decapitation of leadership is sometimes not enough to destroy one's foes. Even on the battlefield. Post more ears around the affairs of the I Legion. I want to know where this goes.

The federation has at last fallen, and the Warmaster herself, along with a few more of my siblings were present to bring down the final blow that resulted in its effective capitulation. Very concerning. Such highly developed colonies and orbital installations are going to be a massive boon for whomever or whatever lays claim to them. Especially that jewel of a capital planet. A shame it isn't closer to where I am. Regardless, it has fallen into hands not my own, and should be logged as an asset belonging to potential enemies at best.

Both Lucian, Nehushtan and their legions, have been stuck fighting on Etis Prime. Despite heavy efforts from the native defenders, the invasion seems to be making good progress, especially with word of reinforcments coming around. For all I know Etis Prime could've fallen already. Such is the nature of this galaxy's information. Always three steps behind the present at best, a truth I must begrudingly accept. Current projections however tell that the invasion can be expected to continue for the forseeable future. For the time being, the Vipers Astra and the Unifying Sons will be tied up fighting this battle. Useful to know. Perhaps I should aid in the invasion? Even a small force could be enough to expedite the effort by several factors.

Adalon and his Dust Giants, currently facing off against Greenskin hordes on Reth. The planet had gone silent in the moments leading up to their landfall. Aleksandr and his forces have since made for Reth after hearing responding to a distress beacon sent by Cyprus. A similar beacon has most likely been sent to others, though I presume Adalon has either omitted me from his list of recipients, or that the currents of the Warp are in flux again. Perhaps it would be worth it to.. respond? Destroyer weaponry is highly effective against otherwise robust Ork spores, so my forces could be of help. This could also be an opportunity to build favor, and perhaps abscond with some of Reth's trasures. Duly noted.

Note on above notes. Consult with War Council for advice on planning out potential campaigns.

Such were the words Orestes entered into an increasingly large archive of personal notes. Oftentimes he'd browse its myriad contents, seeking his own thoughts of the past as advice for affairs of the present. No advisory council, even of the smartest minds, could ever be truly sufficient to guide Orestes' will in his mind. They were prone to failing and deceit, susceptible to the whispers of ambition and goals that deviated from their Primarch's. But his own mind? That was safe, that was always safe. If Orestes counted on even one man, it was himself.

Such a strange irony then, that Orestes, perhaps one of the most duplicitous Primarchs, was also his own greatest confidant.


Planet Rytax, Capital of Orestes' Realms
Planetary Astartes Recruiting Platform No. 5


The day was cold. The ambience seemed a deep blue. It was noticeably uncomfortable to be outside. Deep breaths misted the air. Behind a row of barbed wire there stood a long line of young and fit men, purportedly the cream of the crop of this sector of Rytax. Each one having lived a Spartan ideal of a life from an early age. Some bore physical scars from that time, but every one them was of wounded mind. For why else did they stand silent, locked in quiet obedience, as they walked towards a life of naught but pain and death, each one wearing simple white clothes in the cold.

From behind the fence there stood a Remembrancer, attached to the XI Legion and tasked with detailing its duties and functions. He'd been very eager to do the job, as the works of other Remembrancers spoke nothing but praises of the legion's, efficacy, and the peace and stability afforded to the worlds their Primarch ruled. He would find out quickly that it was nought but a lie. On multiple occassions he'd been made to turn in in-progress writings for 'inspection'. At first, the changes seemed comparatively minor, perhaps meant for brevity, reasoned the Remembrancer. The grievous damage sustained by the Legion's Astartes due to copius use of Destroyer weaponry was brushed aside, replaced with the more general term 'battle scars.' Then came the bigger redactions. The strict curfews, the constant survelliance, the cult of personality, the controlling natue of it all was either left out, or made 'not-as-bad.' The Rock of Traitors, a monument to the death of resistance, was devoted only a single sentence. Usually it was the hand of some faceless Marine or elusive official who'd force him to make these alterations, but on occassion Orestes would have the XI's remembrancers rounded up and subject to a rigorous confrontation, many of them unceremoniously executed for hiding even a single secret note from their eyes.

The death of his fellow Remembrancers, the constant alterations and redactions in his work, the grim and gloomy nature of the world around him, that fact that he'd been reduced from esteemed journaller to propagandist by this sordid and twisted excuse of a Primarch, of Astartes and of Imperial planets drove the Remembrancer into a deep rage. A quiet one, but one that tore through his inner psyche. He grabbed his journal, and in defiance to these tyrants began to write in the cold.

The Astartes recruits in front of me... no, that isn't right. Recruits is far too generous for this. Slave conscripts, much like all the other armies here. Otherwise fit and fine men, brainwashed from a young age to serve the whims of their Lord, their Primarch Orestes Carrion. I hate him. Him and his Legion, him and his system. Watching over me like a predator watches his prey. I am a Remembrancer, one who writes for the good of future generations of the Imperium. What good is this propagandistic drivel I am made to write? What good is the mountain of lies, that me and my peers have been made to build for the purposes of this tyrant-Primarch. Why is any man allowed to run a regime in such stark defiance of the Emperor's will? A son of the Emperor, no less. Building himself up as living god amongst his subjects. He may feign secularity, but I see him as little more than betraying the Imperial Truth. I will not have it. I will not! First I thing I shall do once I get off this garbage assignment is write only the most scathing critique of this twisted dictatorship! Even if it kills me, I will-

The Remembrancer's grip weakened on his pen. The long writing implement fell into the cold ground below, having lept off the pages of the man's journal. He'd froze. A laspistol found itself pointed straight at the back of his head, the hand of some guardsman ready to pull the trigger. "Do it," he said, his final words misting the frigid air around him.

Bang.

Where the remembrancer once stood, there instead lay his cadaver, and a journal. Standing over their kill, the silent guardsman methodically picked up the journal, its pages flapping in the cold wind. The men at the recruiting platform heeded no attention to the murder, remaining unflinchingly motionless in their line. The guardsman gave a quick flip across the small book's pages, the finely written Gothic of the remembrancer interrupted with a bevy of thick, black rectangles. They paid no curiosity to the writings however, instead radioing in to their superiors. "Remembrancer Loranofex has been dispatched. One journal confiscated from cadaver. Will now send to proper ministry for processing."

A few months later, the writings of Remembrancer Loranofex would be made publicly available for consumption. Its glowingly positive reception of the XI Legion, Orestes Charon, Rytax and several other worlds of the Primarch's domain was of note.
Last edited by Danubian Peoples on Mon Feb 08, 2021 4:04 am, edited 4 times in total.
NS stats are not used.
This nation does not reflect my IRL views on anything.
Sorry for any mistakes I make with regards to history while roleplaying in historical RPs. Also I am not a qualified historian or academic. None of the make-believe I do is likely to stand up to academic scrutiny.

Valdez Islands is my puppet.

User avatar
Antimersia
Attaché
 
Posts: 93
Founded: Mar 04, 2020
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Antimersia » Mon Feb 08, 2021 1:22 pm

The planet Reth
Tephaine system


Loss of contact with their primarch put the fifteenth legion into a state of furious resolve. Battlebarges from every chapter began dropping in astartes. The first in, as per the orders of Captain Price, were the Tillers. Marines in terminator armor specifically trained and designed to be the stalwarts and piercing units to break through the front lines of whatever enemy the Umbral Hornets may face. Behind them astartes follow quickly behind, using openings they create to encircle and overwhelm the Orks that have taken hold on every island in the planet wide archipelago. The vast majority of the legion has been dropped down onto the surface. As well have many members of the second legion, The Primordial Guard. Though even with this increased presence, and the now dwindling presence of the Orks as marines from two legions slaughter the greenskin threat, reliable communication between the surface and the ships in orbit is nigh impossible.

Marines of the Umbral hornets push through with relative ease on many of the islands. The smaller ones had only a few thousand Orks on that. And they are easily dispatched by the might of the legion pushing forward. Many Ork skulls are vaporized by the might of power glove wielding marines during the battles. Plasma grenades turn their green bodies to ash. And grenade launchers eviscerate the fungal foes. Although, on the larger islands like the one that is home to the capitol city of Korinth, the greenskin presence is vastly larger. Numbering in the hundreds of millions, the wave of bodies and lack of ability to properly mobilize troops toward more active areas, leaves Adalon and his forces within Korinth and the island at large struggling to make a proper advance. What is worse, many of these Orks remain cloaked. Leaving Adalon and his marines to continue to search for the cloaked Orks through the same frequency scanning that allowed them to find the threat in the first place.

Adalon leads the charge of his Dust Giants in the central plaza of Korinth. There are thousands of the Greenskins around them. They, on their own are no match for the primarch or his personal guard. Adalon, slicing through them by the dozen with his scythe. But together, in such large numbers, they are a considerable force. They are able to advance on the Hornets almost faster than they can dispatch them. Even with other marines and a formation of Tillers arriving in the city, the numbers are too great to be able to hold out forever. Adalon sheathes his scythe, pulling his Dispatcher from his hip. He aimed the belt fed heavy bolter at the crowd of Orks continuously charging at him and opened fire. The loud and power bursts of heavy bolter fire rang through the plaza. Each massive caliber round tearing through columns of Orks like they were paper. Limbs and arterial spray erupting from within the crowd. The gorgeously teal cobblestone begins to stain red with Ork blood. It is now that Adalon heard in his mircrobead, the sounds of a familiar and welcome voice. Aleksandr had arrived to give aid. Adalon knew that Captain Price must have sent out a distress signal the moment they lost contact with one another. A contingency that Adalon was proud that Price followed through on without a hitch.

"Aleksandr, I am in the central plaza. Follow the hoard and you shall undoubtedly find me." Adalon roared into his helm over the deafening heavy bolter fire. It was at this moment that Adalon noticed something odd. The clearity of the comms with Aleksandr, as well as a sudden but feint sound of Captain Price's voice in his ear. Machinations whirled in his mind as he put the pieces together. The red blood flooding the streets was beginning to weaken whatever effect the planet wide blue had on the power of the Ork Wierdboy that was creating this communications disturbance. He spoke to Aleksandr again, "Brother, make them bleed, to be heard."

User avatar
Parcia
Negotiator
 
Posts: 7448
Founded: Feb 11, 2016
Democratic Socialists

Postby Parcia » Mon Feb 08, 2021 1:29 pm

Port World of Kur Duniash
Arethusa’s Wrath
Skydancer’s


The lights came on to reveal the singer on stage. She stood, clad in a flowing ruby gown that reflected the soft yellow light in to an array of little red beams that bounced across the room and lit up the faces of the many men and women gathered around the array of miss matched tables and seats. Her honey blond hair gave of a softer, secondary glow that seemed to cast a halo about her that gave the women a some what angelic appearance.

Add to this a pair of striking violate eyes, a face of elfin beauty and flawless pale skin and she had every man, and most of the women, in the audience swooning over her before she even spoke the first word of the song.

Some times when I...

Her voice carried around the room, accompanied by a swell of music from the ship’s band playing their antique brass, wind, and percussion instruments accompanied by a Bass guitar and piano in the old Terran jazz fashion.

Normally the ship’s band, being naval officers, wouldn’t step foot in Skydancer’s, finding the Harakoni to be rough and tumble lot who didn’t share in many of the long standing naval traditions that spacers and voidsmen did. But tonight was different. The enlistedmen’s club had one advantage over the Officer’s club several decks above them, and that was size.

Damn near 300 people, troopers, sailors, hell even members of the Army’s commissariat and the Navy’s flight crews were in attendance, with the consort being broadcast live over one of the auxiliary 1MC vox channels. Rumor had it they were even playing it over the bridge as the singer enthralled the crowd.

Ellianora von Classe was absolutely killing it, and Leonid Hanamura watched from a dark corner seat, far in the back, as the 109th’s most lethal markswomen sing her heart out. It was a welcome distraction from the news of the recently cut orders from sector command he had gotten just a few standard hours earlier.

They were being attached to the Astartes Legion under Vassilia Sanguina, a women and military commander he held little love for beyond the respect her office and status of Primarch demanded. Something told him his life was about to get vary interesting and Hanamura was feeling his age in relation to interesting assignments.

He took a sip of his alcohol and looked back at Ellianora. She wore sparse else beyond the gorgeous dress, a gold Aquila necklace around a slender neck, a single gold band on her ring finger and a pair of black heeled shoes.
The only thing that could be said to detract from the women’s angelic appearance was the slate gray metallic line running from her right eye, across the side of her skull and down to the base of her skull were it disappeared in to her skin. Even that she wore with pride, having combed over her long blond curls over her left to show off the spotting skull’s uplink and control hardware as if it was some badge of pride, and given her official tallied kill count, it was.

As the music slowed and she finished her set, Hanamura downed the rest of his drink and got up to leave, dusting off his officer’s dress uniform and taking one last look around the room. Something told him this would be the last time he might see some...most of these people in such happy moods.
Last edited by Parcia on Mon Feb 08, 2021 1:30 pm, edited 2 times in total.
So apparently Cobalt has named me a Cyber terrorist, I honestly don't know to be Honored or offended.
Right leaning Centrist from Florida No I am not The Floridaman...hes my uncle. Other then that dont @ me about politics, im leaving that
hell hole behind until I leave Uni.
I reserve all rights to my posts, OCs, and contributions to any threads I post on.
I'm a Catholic too, figure that shit out!
http://www.threadbombing.com/data/media ... e_Lock.gif storage
Hooyah Navy.

User avatar
Acerbez
Diplomat
 
Posts: 596
Founded: Sep 09, 2017
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Acerbez » Mon Feb 08, 2021 8:07 pm

"1000 howls brings 1000 talons"

The Scale Fleet
Location:Nyctasha System, Segmentum Obscurus


The dying sun of Nyctasha had made its cycle to stand across the incoming fleet of the Scale. Now it had placed the homeworld of the IV legion in between a white dwarf headed for a black hole and a swarm of vultures. The sun's aged UV rays illuminated the bridges and viewing domes of the massive armada. Bouncing to and from while reflecting off of the dull sheen of the swarms of battlebarge class starships and cruisers. The light invaded their interiors only to be repelled by the blood tinged black polish of the IV legion astartes while they looked upon their old home from behind flare filters and gnarled helmets. Having now spent decades, if not a full century, upon these mechanical instruments of war, it had been far too long for them to recall much of Nyctasha's surface other than its thick industrial pollution and smell of burnt oil and heated furnace.

Present now, standing resolute as a goliath amongst his own men, the Primarch of the 4th legion astartes, The Son of Nyctasha, sneered beneath his artificer helmet at his stolen jewel. A deep, profound hatred, now emenated from his very person- an aura of choking malice that had its own heat.

Ensigns, remembrancers, and astropaths looked aft at their superior lords with anticipation as the planet Nyctasha grew closer. Lord-intercessor Kara stood behind Arbiter-Vizier Helrax, who stood just barely to the side of his primarch. Both officers of the cadre were making their own speculations and assumptions as to what angered their lord. Guessing at what transgression may have been the bigger thorn that stung their primarch so deeply.

Was it the treacherous Golrix? Helrax pondered this. While the lord intercessor's station as a fanatic had yielded him more truth in the matter, despite his rank. Because in the same manner it had alarmed him and troubled Kara so much. It was the act of poisoning the IV legion with the scum and villainy they sought to eradicate. A stain on what they percieved to be the white garb or their pure spirit of retribution. Regardless of how ugly the other legions and primarchs viewed their actions. Now we're stained...

The IV legion was always on the border between sanction and censure! But it was proven time and time again that the tribulations of this great crusade needed the IV legion, beyond the shadow of doubt, to undertake what no other legion would do. These sentiments resided in the mind of all of the IV legion. How other astartes pretended to crack the whip but were always so afraid of 'pure savagery', so much so that they stated it debased themselves to go so far? These opressive authoritarians who stated to understand the instrument of brutality but acted only in efforts to exert control.

There is never suppose to be 'control' after treachery. The fact that they do not see this fundamental difference is what separates them from Kortaez, from the Heralds of the Scale!




The Sanctum of Atrophos would have been able to be seen Nyctasha's surface had the world not been veiled in darkness by smog and plumes. Only the tallest spires of the 7 largest hives could bear witness to the return of The Curse of Solomon.

The sounding alerts of incoming transmissions were hailed at the Sanctum of Atrophos, surely a line of communication from the usurper, Governor Golrix. Helrax turned backwards to view the center holo-field that blinked repetitively to indicate an awaiting transmission.

"My lord...?" Helrax raising his arm invitingly in a pointed gesture at the holo-field. But the shrouded master with pinions of night fastening his hooded cloak to jagged epaulets did not budge. A thin aura of sickly blue cascading off his frame from the inverted view and opposing sun created a theatrically unsettling appearance for both astartes and humans aboard bearing witness.

The vox of Kortaez's helmet hummed to life as his rasp voice sallied forth from it. "They have been weighed... And measured." The primarch stated coldly.

"Order each of the 6 wings to select one hive as a target, not one is to go unmolested." Kortaez's growling vox brought shivers to the crews. The muted holo-field of Golrix's figure, clearly speaking with some high held confidence, was waved away by the clawed gauntlets of Helrax. The grains of the projection dispersing like sand in the wind. The last millisecond of the communication gave sight to the governor's grim realization. His eyes widened in a discovered terror just before being waved away as if they were nothing. There would be no parlay.

Helrax cancelling the singular line of communication and again, forcing open transmission to all parties involved. Legionnaire... Traitoris PDF... Civilian... Man, woman... And child would hear the snarling demi-god. The Sanctum of Atrophos housed all the encoded scriptures necessary to override even the planet-side comm-arrays to pass his mandated sentence. A most swift judgement...

https://youtu.be/H1r9og2YLrU

"1st wing, lay waste to Hive Pelus".
"2nd wing, incendiary salvos upon Hive Yitani."
"3rd wing, Rovaire, 4th wing, Zalla, 5th wing, Baun, 6th wing, Kaxes!" Kortaez barked with controlled rage.

"And Kara." Kortaez called out without even moving slightly as he watched barreling gusts break the atmosphere and create light on Nyctasha's surface. Any aboard Atrophos were simply struck, looking both to their lord and planet like befuddled fools- Uncertain as to which spectacle was more jaw dropping.

"Yes, my primarch?" Kara resounded, his bare voice echoing upon the bridge, his exposed head not adorned with his helmet.

"Deploy the Life-Eaters with Golrix's estate as the center target. After which, target the Tartarus trench with a cyclonic torpedo." Kortaez ordaining in pious disgust, his voice not breaking once nor giving any hint of remorse for his actions. Even if someone had actually disagreed, it mattered no longer. The last tether and string was being severed by fate. Atrophos.

All they could was watch... Taking in the callous spectacle for everything that it was. Pure retribution.
Last edited by Acerbez on Mon Feb 08, 2021 8:55 pm, edited 3 times in total.
Roleplay in Aeterna Publicae

User avatar
Ossric
Bureaucrat
 
Posts: 59
Founded: Oct 15, 2020
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Ossric » Mon Feb 08, 2021 9:29 pm

The Chondax Cage
Image


Malliston sipped at the wine that had been brought to him by one of his Legion's serfs. It was one of his favorites, a vintage from his home world that left a mild sweet aftertaste and stained his lips faintly purple. At the moment he was reclining the in the comfort of his command chair aboard his ship the Steel Spire enjoying his time outside of his usual combat armor and contemplating the campaign to cleanse the Chondax system. Here the damned ork hosts had fled upon the Imperial victories in nearby Ullanor. Here they met Malliston's forces as he prepared for them.

Even broken from the Ullanor Crusade as they were the ork hordes outnumbered the Stone Wardens by a large margin and rather than another legion of Astartes to help fill that gap he had only the Stygian Steelhearts, Imperialis Auxilia. Thankfully, what they lacked in power and skill they made up for in sheer numbers and determination. Something that greatly pleased Malliston, though his slight scowl would have most astonished he felt that way at all. On the world below, the namesake for the system, the Orks had found their home. So too had Malliston's troops. Bastions were built into the natural defenses of the few cliffs and mountains that rose over the vast salt plains that dominated the world. Here his marines reinforced their defenses with bunkers within bunkers and miles of trench systems. Turrets, minefields, gun batteries of all types were set up to hold the lines, however these were not the main focus of the ork hordes.

Beyond the defensive positions held by the Stone Wardens and the majority of the Steelhearts, cargo ships, made to look full of important equipment while carrying only units of Auxilia and the necessary equipment to begin digging in and building outposts settled down. Altogether each of these ships and their passengers was wholly expendable. That of course was their purpose whether they knew so or not mattered little to Malliston as it mattered not at all to the galaxy at large. Upon landing the Steelhearts, usually newer recruits or those who had previously shown to have disciplinary issues, scrambled to assemble their defenses, all the while the roving ork hordes, sensing both a weak target and plenty of salvage for their own vehicle and weapons made a bee-line for the small cut off units. As they neared however the orks would be subjected to ever increasing supporting fire from the Bastions that remained just within range to cover their exposed comrades. Swathes of orks would be easily cut down, mines, shells, lasers, and bolter shells tearing the greenskins apart in a shrieking and howling mess of blood and steel. Yet in the end there would simply be too many. That was the nature of the ork after all, his greatest strength lie in numbers.

Eventually the outposts would be overrun, slaughtered to the last man. Leaving only an empty cargo ship with sparse amounts of equipment and rations for the orks to take, but just enough to distract them as the beacons on the ship were used to zero in an orbital bombardment of their location rendering the orks to nothing but ash, mist, or in the least a pulp. Altogether the casualties were high for the Steelhearts, however the ork dead mounted far quicker.

"I see the forces have made marked progress across the whole of the planet." Malliston commented idly as he flicked across the various viewer feeds showing him points of view from several of the Bastions below on the planet.

"Yes your strategy has worked just as you intended Lord Stygia." The elderly man beside him replied. "Racing to Chondax itself to draw the majority of the orks in to you then destroying their ships to keep the bulk of them planetside was brilliant. Now that the rest of the system is cleansed it is just this planet that remains." He said evenly with no actual sense of praise in his voice.

"It was more of a gamble than I typically like, but I knew the best planet to face the bulk of the horde would be here. It's open plains make fore easy targets on large moving bodies of enemy troops and it's few locations for defensible strongholds make it difficult for the vermin to turn my plan against us. Though I wonder Danton, do you feel no remorse for sending your men to their certain deaths on those ship by my order?" The primarch rose an eyebrow as he turned his unnaturally young looking face toward the old man.

Rather than answer the grim veteran hummed with a sense of neither support or disagreement with Malliston's use of his men. After all they had the discussion before and both men had come to the same conclusion based entirely on logic.

Astartes were simply more valuable. In all honesty it made their use of the Steelhearts recruits and problem troopers as bait easy to swallow. Already great headway had been made using this strategy, however it wouldn't last forever as the greenskins would slowly catch on to the move. Already Malliston had heard more of the orks returning to slamming themselves against the defenses of his bastions. Soon it would be time for the third stage of his strategy for the Cleansing of Chondax. With that thought Malliston changed the view to look upon the largest of his bastions. Nemis Sepulcre was a massive shield like gate to miles of underground tunnels and caverns expanded and modified to be capable of handling several dozen large landing platforms upon the top of the mesas. In front of it series of trenches, tunnels, and turrets were organized to further it's already impressive defenses.

Outside of Nemis Sepulcre there was massing another ork horde, one of the largest the planet had seen gathered in one place bent on finally taking one of the human bastions that held not only Auxilia forces but also one of the largest contingents of Stone Wardens currently deployed to the surface of the planet. The oncoming battle would no doubt prove to be massive in scale for what had taken place so far in the campaign. Nothing in comparison to the Ullanor Crusade, yet still Malliston felt the natural urge to lead his children in battle even if it would not be the grandest of moments.

"Danton, ready yourself we shall be going down to join our forces at the Nemis Sepulcre bastion. Let us surprise the orks with just how many Astartes and Auxilia we can fit into that fortress' walls." He said with a slight twinkle in his eyes. Some of the most emotion shown on the primarch's stoic face beyond his characteristic sneer.

"At once my lord." Cerobius replied. The old man already thinking ahead to the battle and how best to position his men within the defenses.

User avatar
Parcia
Negotiator
 
Posts: 7448
Founded: Feb 11, 2016
Democratic Socialists

Part one.

Postby Parcia » Mon Feb 08, 2021 10:38 pm

Aureliana Prime system
Aureliana Federation
Federation Navy Special Weapons facility 17: Ghost Front
.
.
.
Imperial designation: BLACK KEEP

Operation: Shadow Fall


D-hour +1

The Wrath did not come in with the rest of the fleet, rather warping in amid the chaos of the initial invasion action and doing as little as possible to stand out towards the enemy as she could. She discouraged her CAG, most of which on other assignments. The valkaries took off as the battle cruiser skirted the upper atmosphere of the northern most continent of the planet. Braving land based defensive batteries, the elder ship floated over the city known as “Coronet” and its rather large contingent of Federation army troops.

The valks took rather oddly, screeching their engines just long enough to clear the ship before cutting to as low speed as possible and ascending to their max atmospheric altitude, the barrier before they’d need to close of their drives, burn closed, and make for the void.

North of the Federation base, designated RED KEEP by Imperial intelligence, lay a small testing and development center, something the Imperium had a keen interest in. The drop ships stayed over the city for a few minuets, skirting the edge of the void and the ground based anti-aircraft systems, before red lining their drives and making for the Imperial behemoth.

She landed the birds, powered on her void shields, and then proceeded to take aim with her lance batteries and melt several key infrastructure points of Coronet city with high wattage energy fire.

No one noticed, amid the beams of white hot energy that turned the rainy, overcast night to day, of the 30 or so shapes that the drop ships let go before their return to the mother ship.
So apparently Cobalt has named me a Cyber terrorist, I honestly don't know to be Honored or offended.
Right leaning Centrist from Florida No I am not The Floridaman...hes my uncle. Other then that dont @ me about politics, im leaving that
hell hole behind until I leave Uni.
I reserve all rights to my posts, OCs, and contributions to any threads I post on.
I'm a Catholic too, figure that shit out!
http://www.threadbombing.com/data/media ... e_Lock.gif storage
Hooyah Navy.

User avatar
SherpDaWerp
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1053
Founded: Mar 02, 2016
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby SherpDaWerp » Tue Feb 09, 2021 12:17 am

Formerly-Exodite world One-Five-Four-Four
Craftsmen Garrison CDXLIV

"Another quiet day on the Northern Front," remarked Ansgaar - a member of the third guild of the garrison, specialising in artillery combat - to noone in particular. Indeed, since the pacification of One-Five-Four-Four, the world had been conspicuously absent of the war gripping the rest of the galaxy.

"Oh, shut up, would you?" grinned Ulrecht - also of the third guild - next to him. "Every morning on duty rotation you say that. We've all been here the same ten years as you have."

"I know, I just- would it kill those filthy Eldar to have done something? Anything to justify our posting here."

"That bloody webway is the justification for our posting here. Without razing the planet, there's always the possibility that a gate remains."

"Well then could they use it a little bit more?"

The two ceramite-plated warriors began their patrol of the outer battlements, so ingrained in their muscle memory that they barely needed to tell their legs to move. As had become standard, they lingered for a moment on the roof of their bunker, surveying the Imperial city below. These were their charges - the ordinary people of the Imperium, mankind's greatest strength - and it would not do to forget their purpose.

Vox-chatter broke the silence. "Western Auspex array reporting. Come in, Northern Battlements?" Ulrecht and Ansgaar's responses were perfectly in-sync, a marker of the long years spent patrolling together.

"Northern Battlements reporting. Situation report?"

"We're seeing movement beyond the walls near your location. Requesting investigation."

The two brothers rolled their eyes, but nonetheless turned towards the highlighted location. Almost daily, movement was reported out there - the wildlife on this planet was hardly docile - but the sensors had yet to turn up anything of note. Today, it seemed, this would change. Beyond the walls, a strike force of Eldar troops approached, and rapidly. A squadron of jetbikes, travelling too fast for an unaugmented human to register - but Ulrecht and Ansgaar were no mere humans. Sounding the alarm, they ran to battle stations - and called in the remainder of Third Guild to repel the strike force. It would be vital seconds before their artillery could be brought to bear, though, so for the moment they were alone against the xenos threat.

"You just had to complain, didn't you!" shouted Ulrecht, though in truth he had begun to tire of the endless routine as well. The marines both hit the deck as a hail of shuriken fire split the air above their heads. Returning fire was second priority to staying alive in such a remote outpost - but it was still a priority, and both marines quickly reached cover to start shooting back.

Aiming a boltgun at a jetbike moving several times the speed of sound is no easy feat, let alone when they start shooting - and this skirmish was no exception. Bolt-fire exploded all around the xenos jetbikes with not a single direct hit - but one unlucky Windrider was caught in the blast when one exploded directly in front of them. With no time to swerve at several hundred meters per second, the Eldar took a particularly nasty piece of shrapnel through the chest and fell to the floor, crumpled and broken. The jetbike, instantly losing psychic control, shut off it's engines and crashed to the floor with a wraithbone-shattering crunch.

The remaining Windriders, boosted by the loss of their comrade, redoubled their fire. Softening the defences before the force's bulk was their objective, and losing to two Space Marines was no way to go about achieving that. Shuriken after shuriken thudded into the walls of the bunker, their nano-molecular edges cutting deeper and deeper each time. Slowly but surely, imperceptibly thin cuts edged their way through towards their marine opponents.

"Gah!" exclaimed Ansgaar, as a shuriken made it's way through a crack in his power armor, slicing deep into his gut. More and more holes were opening by the second - Ulrecht was bleeding from no less than twenty papercut-thin wounds across his joints. "Damn you Holdek, where's our fire support!"

On the far side of the fortress walls, the third guild's pride and joy - a Deimos-Pattern Whirlwind Scorpius - spun into position. Locking its launcher on to the speeding jetbikes, it fired a quick salvo across the city. The brothers on the front lines turned in their makeshift dugouts to see a barrage of missiles come down with the fury of the Emperor himself. The jetbikes, focused on their targets, were unaware of the missiles until it was far too late, and the forest outside the bunker was soon replaced by a twisted mess of broken jetbikes, metal shrapnel, and Eldar corpses.

"Took you long enough..." muttered Ulrecht, as he dragged himself across the roof of the bunker to his brother. "We need Medicae support - those accursed eldar razors have got us both cut up pretty badly."

"Hold the line, you two - Second Guild is on the way to your location now. We haven't seen the last of those blasted xenos yet."

"Understood," countered Ansgaar, wincing at the effort. This battle had only just begun...

The second guild, a force of some twenty hardened Astartes - to a man trained in the use of the heaviest man-portable weapons available to the legion - had been enjoying some rare downtime in the garrison's forges. A disappointing facsimile of the legion's flagship, but a good way to pass the time on a quiet deployment. That had been cut short by the Eldar attack - now, they were on their way to the Northern Battlements fully armed and armored to deal with the threat.

Upon arriving at the site of the incursion, they found another battle underway - after the jetbikes' failure to breach the walls, the Eldar had sent a much heavier force to deal with the marines' emplacement. Fire Prism grav-tanks and a larger force of guardian warriors had begun to level the walls, with little resistance to be seen. This was about to change - with the arrival of second guild and their heavy weaponry, flaming melta projectiles and heavy bolter rounds began to fill the air, while a combat squad of five marines, each wielding a heavy flamer, marched towards the Eldar forces. The fire burned a wedge through the lightly armored guardians, filling the air with the stench of burning hair and flesh, while grav-tanks crashed to the floor, repulsors destroyed by a hail of superheated metal.

The third guild's artillery, halted by the Eldar's psychic shielding, restarted their bombardment as the enemy turned their attention to the more immediate threat. Scorpius missiles landed among the remaining xenos and began tearing their way through lightly armored flesh. Arquitor Bombards levied their payloads of rocketry and demolition shells, and smaller Rapier fire platforms turned their gaze upon the alien foe. The effect was immediate - between the burning fires of second guild and the overhead artillery of third guild, the Eldar incursion was rapidly crushed under the boot of the Imperium.

Craftsmen Garrison CDXLIV, 4 rotations after the attack

"First guild reporting a successful mission - we've tracked their grav-tanks back to a cave in the hills, hiding the webway gate that allowed the incursion. Our melta charges made quick work of it."

"Good job, first guild. Return to the stronghold - there's been a transmission from our Lord Father Carmirre."

Craftsmen Garrison CDXLIV, 42 rotations after the attack

Ansgaar shot awake in the infirmary of Garrison CDXLIV, blood pumping from both hearts. There was Eldar attacking! They were at the walls! Ulrecht had already falle-

Medicae servitors interrupted his panicked, rambling thoughts with a faint beeping sound. The Garrison's apothecary rounded the corner at a brisk pace, coming to rest at the foot of his bed.

"You survived, good. Many more rotations in a coma and we'd have had to start considering Dreadnought interrment," he said, without a hint of irony.

"Was I that close?"

"Very. Your compatriot Ulrecht was closer, but he's been awake for nearly three rotations now."

"d- Did we stop them?"

"Affirmative. Your stand held the line long enough for second guild to bring the full brunt of their weaponry to bear, and only a few days later, first guild found the source of the incursion. With what should be the last gate destroyed, our garrison company is slated to depart in two-hundred rotations' time. Now, however, you need to rest. You need to back to full fighting strength - Father himself has summoned all the legion's available forces to his side."

"For what?"

"That's the question we're all asking each other." The apothecary turned and left the room - presumably to treat any other wounded company members. No sooner had he left, however, when Ulrecht limped in.

"How're you managing? Heard you got it worse than me," croaked Ansgaar, with a weak attempt at a smile.

"At least I'm walking," shot back Ulrecht, his voice a harsh whisper. "We're moving out soon, you'll need to get up and walking. Wouldn't want you having to greet Father still a cripple!"

"Are you kidding me? He'd love it. It sure as hell would make a good story to tell the Neophytes."

"Right you are, my friend. Right you are..."
My Got Issues? contributions | An Abridged History of GI (+additions)
Any premise tips, option structure, re-written bits, advice, or ideas for issues that I provide are fair game to be used by anyone.

User avatar
Morrdh
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 8285
Founded: Apr 16, 2008
Democratic Socialists

Postby Morrdh » Tue Feb 09, 2021 4:58 am

Ullanor

The noise was thunderous.

It reverberated through a man's body and even his soul. It made normal conversation difficult, forcing either person to yell to be heard or seek refuge in a soundproof bunker in order to converse. As a senior ranking Imperial Army officer, Air Marshal Colm Mangan had the honour of viewing the march-past from the great pavilion that was made of black marble and heavy granite that had been built piecemeal on Terra and then shipped across the void by special envoy. The route of the march itself was a gigantic boulevard, a parade stage as wide as the footprint of some entire cities. World engines and mobile stone-burners had been brought in to effectively level a continent and crush the remnants of the defeated Orks beneath smooth, heavily reinforced rockcrete.

Then there was the parade, the Triumph itself.

Lumbering Knights tottered at the feet of towering Titans, all around them was a sea of tanks and dress uniform clad soldiers like a legion of ants. Mangan knew that every common man and woman that marched past had the honour of wearing the onyx-and-gold Ullanor Triumph Bar upon their uniforms, just like the one he wore upon his own uniform. It was rumoured that the medal was forged from Bolter shells that had been recovered from the field and melted down, it true it certainly attested to the fierce fighting that wage upon the ground.

A thundering roar from above made him glance skywards where the sky was cut to ribbons by the contrails of a thousand or more aircraft, even higher could be glimpsed Imperial warships moving as slowly as they dared through the upper atmosphere as waves of interface heat rolled off their Void shields. Mangan's focus was on the aircraft, trying to pick out which formation was that of the 1st Gwentian Air Guard. Close to some 300 aircraft, and their crews, came under Mangan's command and had conducted themselves exceedingly well against the Orks. Mangan knew that the ground crews had worked day and night to ensure every single last aircraft would be able to take part in the Triumph's flypast. It wasn't just for the Triumph, word of the demi-god like Primarchs and the Emperor himself being present had spurred the fitters and mechanics on.

Though Mangan felt a swelling pride of what the men and women under his command had achieved, it was tinged with a touch of sadness. He mourned for all the aircrew they'd lost since leaving dear old Gwentia and for the fact that his advancing years would soon force him to step down from command, he just hoped that his successor was up to the task.




Aureliana Prime system
Aureliana Federation
Cruiser Ardent Will


There were shouts and frantic use of power tools as the ground crews raced to finish last minute tasks, least the launch be delayed. Flight Lieutenant Gráinne Cronin, after a crewman helped strap her in and then removed the safety pins for the ejector seat, ran through her pre-flight checks. The Thunderbolt's two turbofan jet engines were running smoothly, though until it'd hit atmo only the rear mounted rocket engine would be used to propel the fighter. Having made the ejector seat live, the crewman patted Cronin's shoulder and then rolled the cockpit canopy forwards before Cronin herself locked it in place. Attaching her rebreather, Cronin checked the oxygen flow and gave the crewman a thumb's up so at last he could retreat. A quick vox check with the rest of her squadron, Cronin then readied herself for the forthcoming launch.

"Pilots, standby. Depressurizing hanger bay." Droned a dull, almost metallic voice as klaxtons started sounding followed shortly by a series of loud clunks that reverberated round the hanger. Frost started to form on the glass of the cockpit, then the voice crackled once more over the vox. "Operating hanger bay doors, beginning launch sequence. Launch in five, four..."

The nose of the Thunderbolt dropped slightly as the launch rails moved into position, Cronin poised herself to hit the rocket fire button whilst watching her instruments like a hawk. Everything seemed good and no abort call came as the metallic voice droned on as it counted down. "...one. Launch!"

Cronin hit the button and found herself being forced back into her seat by the force of the rocket as it fired and launched the fighter, causing it to shoot out of the side of the voidship. The rest of her squadron joined her, along with aircraft from other squadrons that were being launched. Ahead and below them laid Aureliana Prime, a world that the Imperium had come to claim. Using the Thunderbolt's manoeuvring thrusters, Cronin turned her aircraft towards the planet and joined up in formation with her squadron.

After weeks and months of transit, it felt good to be flying again.
Last edited by Morrdh on Tue Feb 09, 2021 5:21 am, edited 1 time in total.
Irish/Celtic Themed Nation - Factbook

Next

Advertisement

Remove ads

Return to Portal to the Multiverse

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: Arduo, Google [Bot], Grande-Louisiane, Jovuistan, Theyra

Advertisement

Remove ads