- Location
- madison
will disrupting the ritual cause them to waste power?
-
Going forward, links to content from Twitter (now X) will no longer be embedded. Pre-existing links should not be affected.
The Long Night Part One: Embers in the Dusk: A Planetary Governor Quest (43k) Complete Sequel Up
- Thread starter Durin
- Start date
will disrupting the ritual cause them to waste power?
the battle of point 43.
- Location
- madison
the battle of point 43.
Marshal Rakes frowned, Something is wrong. Something more than yet another wave of angyls assaulting the walls. The latest assault is going poorly for the enamy, so far about a third of them died discovering that had not, in fact, knocked out the SAM sites they had been bombarding with sorcery, and the rest were hopelessly inadequate to push through the kill box they found themselves in. So why where his instincts screaming? Once more he poured over the reports of the enamy, nothing, no missing reserves, no hints of a brewing ritual.
Rakes has not lived as long as he has by ignoring his instincts, so he persisted. After the third check he saw it, and his blood ran cold. The assault was just a hair sloppier than the last 3, like it wasn't lead by the same commander. His mind raced, if the enemies assault had worked, what would be the worst thing to go wrong? Void generator 43-Z going down.
Rakes looks up from the hololith, and takes off running, his bodyguard trailing behind him. He can't call a check-in, not against this type of foe. All it would take is one suborned officer and he'd be tipping his hand. Instead, he simply signals for his bodyguard to be ready and races down the hallways. He knows he's right when his comes cut out and all speech stops. A glance at a bodyguard shows them making meaningless gestures. Rakes grits his teeth, its blocking communication not sound. He rounds the corner and immediately goes into a roll, pulse fire whizzing though where his head would be.
PDf troopers, Mind control? Confusion? Doesn't matter, there isn't time. He comes to a kneeling position and snaps of a trio of shots from his rifle, the burst of plasma reducing them to burning ash. The generator room is up ahead, the door reduced to slag, revealing the sickly Gold of angyls within. He needed to give no order, behind him his men opened fire, as blast doors began sliding down. With an act of will, he kicked on his teleport module, reappearing on the other side of the slamming door.
Lesser angyls dotted the vast room, a half dozen falling to his first volley before they'd reacted to his presence, but a dozen more remained, and of their lord there was no sign. Lesser daemons would not have made it so far, their commander was in the room somewhere. As the daemons pivoted Rakes sprinted, diving behind a pillar as a barrage of golden warp fire pelted his position. He could see a vast shimmer on the other side of the room, the emergency shield protecting the generator. He could only hope it would hold.
"You are brave heathen, submit and I promise you a fitting position."
Rakes smiled, it had revealed itself rather than strike from hiding. It wasn't a fighter. He'd have a chance if he could find it.
"I merely wish to avoid wasting such talent, come now, don't you love the emperor?"
The lie hit his mind like a battering ram. Stealth, command, corruption, it would be spread thin for a 4th circle. Probably why he'd been able to outmaneuver it so easily. There was no follow up assault, just a second of indignation. Rakes burst from cover, sprinting to another pillar, raining burning death as he ran, warp fire burning divots into his armor. The damn thing would be near the generator.
By the time He reached the next pillar, he'd taken out another 3, thumbing his gravtics for a quarter second, he threw his reduced mass backward, catching the nine golden bastards by surprise. They were already pelting where they thought he'd be with fire. By the time they'd corrected he'd burned down another 4, then the concussion mine he'd armed went off and sent him hurtling forward an instant before his position was consumed in a conflation of waprfire. He hadn't been able to align it right, it had sent him tumbling madly through the air, so he was only able to pick off one more daemon before he landed.
There was a moment where he was vulnerable, a scant few seconds after landing where he would have been an easy target, but something unexpected happened. Met with sudden resistance, with the last flicker of the true emperor's light weighing on their souls, the angyls hesitated. Marshal Rakes had not lived almost four hundred years on Avernus by hesitating. 3 more daemons died in furious Starfire, the last panicking, and fading away. For a heartbeat, there was silence.
"Come now, I can see your soul, you wish to protect, is that really what you do here?"
Rakes rose to his feet, cautiously scanning the room. It was somewhere in here with him. It wouldn't leave its objective. He just had to find it before it battered down his mind.
"You could leave you know. Abandon this hell."
It had been silent while he fought its forces. Had it been boosting them instead? The emergency shields seemed more stable, it had given up trying to reach them.
" you stay here and fight monsters for what? So you can go elsewhere and fight monsters?"
It was making sense, that was not a good sign. Should he try and blast the doors? No, it would take to long. Could he bet his will against however long reinforcements would take?
"Your men boast of their strength, but is it worth the price? How many people die on the walls every day?"
A faint noise, and Rakes whirls, to see a dripping pipe. A puddle of coolant forming in the wake of the damage his battle had wrought. Throne damn it all, where was the accursed thing?
"How many children die in their beds each night?"
Ranks froze, old pain resurfacing.
"How many wives and husbands have you buried?"
His grip tightened as the claws in his mind found purchase.
"How many children?"
Rakes sumped, weighed down by old pain, his rifle held loosely. the daemon had no more words. What else did it have to say? His head fell to the ground forsaking his search. A noise above ignored a clatter of equipment unreacted to. Rakes simply stared at the ground. There is a slight distortion in the puddle's reflection, and Rakes activates his teleporter with a triumphant smile. A flash of warpstuf and he's above, watching the bastard drive his sword through the ground he'd stood on moments before.
The creature is fast, it's turning before its blade hits the ground, His riffle hisses as safties disengage, and he goes full auto. The look of shock on its face before the first shot connects is priceless. It charges, wading through his barrage as it rises to meet the falling marshal. Perhaps a more potent angyl would have survived, or perhaps not. But when Rakes boot makes contact with the ruin of its skull, its nothing but crumbling ash.
His armored form lands with a thunderous crash, and he falls to his knees. With a grunt, he rises to his feet, and his coms at long last come back on.
"This is rakes here. Report."
"Sir! There's been a development, the enemy is massing."
Of course, their expecting the shields to go down. It occurs to Rakes, that they still have orders that were made under the assumption that that would be occurring. He smiles.
"Get an engine seer team to void generator 43-Z, route helguard and psyker regiments to sections 42, and 41 with orders to hold fire."
It wasn't going to quite be Apollons folly,
"Once in position, standby to flicker the void shields, keep them down for 1 minute."
But if the abomination was going to make the same kind of mistake, he'd gladly keep setting the same kind of trap.
@Durin I felt Rakes fight deserved an omake.
Last edited:
A Burning Rain.
- Location
- madison
A Burning Rain.
The golden legion is on the move. They are at last in a place of least danger. Not safe of course, nowhere is safe upon avernus. But they are past the oceans and their horrors, before them the ground has been scoured at great cost. They are not yet within range of the guns of Cassarondo. Great blasts of psychic wraith smash into them from beyond the horizon, but the losses are acceptable. They can feel the hate from the enamy, even here. The desperate desire to harm them in the sky, the grim determination to thwart them in the distant fortress. But they are safe, under the ages of their god. The skies have been claimed by he on terra, hiding them from the eyes of their foes in his infinite benevolence.
The first blast is met with laughter and mockery. A lance blast obliterates a distant mountain. The holy jeer at the foolishness of the unclean. The second with knowing smiles, the third with strained ones, the fourth with concern, the fifth with dawning dread. The rain of fire does not stop, every heart beat more and more weapons join in. like an oncoming rainstorm, the fire thickens with increasing speed.
Forests burn, mountains crumble, lakes boil and the ground shudders and cracks. The golden legion is buffeted and scattered by burning winds, burned and crushed by molten stones returning to the world they were blasted from, the legion has not yet been struck, not directly. Yet they die all the same. A commander dies under some unseen catastrophe, and the chain of command shatters. A dozen centuries press on, a dozen more pause to form a barrier seeking to outlast the mad blind barrage.
Those that press on die first. Burning like everything else between them and the horizon. Those that paused live, for a time. Before by chance a blind lane strikes their shield directly, consuming them all in a beam of killing light. The tip of the spear has been annihilated, but the barrage continues, until once more blasts of psychic death signal elimination of the front ranks, and the location of the next formation.
Like a roving storm the barrage creeps north, nothing is spared. Not the animals, not the few scattered people, not the very landscape, and certainly not the servants of the star father. Armagaden rains blind and hateful from the sky, consuming all in equal measure. What use is blinding those willing to burn the world to slay you?
Eventually. The rain stops. Leaving behind a molten hellscape. The vanguard is gone, obliterated like everything else. The next wave will be more cautious. Moving quickly in shielded formations, relying on approaching too close the things the heretics would dare not risk. Some of them would make it, but many would not. Few would make the journey unscared, and fewer still would make it unshaken. To look upon a world broken the hate of your enamy is no small thing, and here upon this strange hell even demons can now fear.
@Durin a quick little thing.
Considering last time we fought a third circle Angyl it was with multiple paragons, I think someone with 35 combat beating one solo like this is too much. It's quite a nice action sequence though.
Irregular Forces of the Militarum Militiae
- Location
- Australia
@Durin
-----------
On Avernus, the military may be broadly split into two categories: the Astra Militarum, the regular soldiers of the Imperial Guard and PDF who in times of war are expected to fight off-world; and the Militarum Militiae, the irregular civilian-soldiers of the militia who are normally only ever assigned to defend the planet itself. While the Astra Militarum is by far the most elite and well-equipped military of the two, there are several segments of the Avernite militia that can match or in some cases exceed the quality of the regular army. Oftentimes these elite militia groups are comprised of retired guardsmen or PDF troopers who've settled into civilian life, but many times they come from more unusual sources, such as corpo kill companies, explorer guilds, or even xenos mercenary bands. These irregular among the irregulars often bring unique skills and capabilities to the table that serve to supplement the Militarum Militiae in various ways.
Guild of Explorers
The Guild of Explorers, in cooperation with the various other explorer guilds it's connected to, provides elite soldiery with extensive on the surface, seas, and depths of Avernus. The combat strength they bring to the Militarum Militiae is not only strong, but varied, with skills and wargear that reflect a number of different environments.
Bushmen - The explorers who venture out on the surface of Avernus are masters of terrain and have learned how to turn the strength of the beasts they encounter to their own ends in several ways.
Sailors - The subaquatic divers that trounge through the ocean's depths for luxury foods are a potent power infantry force, and the personal retinues of corsair captains often wield warp-crafted artefacts gained in their adventures to alien lands.
Cavers - The warp-inured madmen who claim territory over the caverns under Avernus' Spine are amongst the most lethal of all of Avernus' fighting forces.
Kill Companies
Kill companies are mercenary groups who act as guards or wildlife exterminators, typically directly on behalf of their corporate masters but sometimes work for other groups such as the Adeptus Mechanicus. Their line of work doesn't afford them as much prestige as the members of the Astra Militarum, but on average, they get better pay than equivalently skilled PDF soldiers and guardsmen. They also have access to much more technology than regular troops, who are equipped by the Deparmento Munitorum - an organisation notorious for how slowly it distributes new technologies, often taking decades or even centuries to do so. As a result, many kill companies are hotbeds of military innovation, deploying wargear and tactics that may one day be emulated by the PDF and Guard.
Xenos Mercenaries
If there's one thing human Avernites have more of than most Avernite xenos, it's technology. If there's two things human Avernites have more of than most Avernite xenos, it's technology and wealth. The technology and sheer scale of operations that humans work at means that human organisations control more wealth than some entire xenos states do, and this has not gone unnoticed by the aliens. Attracted by the immense riches on offer, several non-human mercenary bands have temporarily integrated themselves into the Militarum Militiae, working with and for various private groups and the government military in the name of profit. Some xenos use their earnings to purchase tau technology from the quartok, increasing their combat power even further.
Trolls - Several tyranid parts have made their way into the hands of Avernite weapon artisans, with which they craft potent biological weapons. These weapons have become highly valued commodity amongst the Trolls thanks to their power and non-metallic nature. As a result, there has been a steady stream of Trolls willing to fight on behalf of humanity in order to purchase these weapons.
Euryales - Greed drives euryales to human lands. After working only briefly for the humans of Avernus catapulted Lamia into becoming the most wealthy living euryale, several others of her kind have been inspired to travel to the second-newest People of Avernus in search of wealth. Many stop at trade and civilian service, but the most ambitious and avaricious of them go into military service, eager for the greater wealth their power can garner them.
***
Militia unit tabletop document
***
-----------
Irregular Forces of the Militarum Militiae
On Avernus, the military may be broadly split into two categories: the Astra Militarum, the regular soldiers of the Imperial Guard and PDF who in times of war are expected to fight off-world; and the Militarum Militiae, the irregular civilian-soldiers of the militia who are normally only ever assigned to defend the planet itself. While the Astra Militarum is by far the most elite and well-equipped military of the two, there are several segments of the Avernite militia that can match or in some cases exceed the quality of the regular army. Oftentimes these elite militia groups are comprised of retired guardsmen or PDF troopers who've settled into civilian life, but many times they come from more unusual sources, such as corpo kill companies, explorer guilds, or even xenos mercenary bands. These irregular among the irregulars often bring unique skills and capabilities to the table that serve to supplement the Militarum Militiae in various ways.
Guild of Explorers
The Guild of Explorers, in cooperation with the various other explorer guilds it's connected to, provides elite soldiery with extensive on the surface, seas, and depths of Avernus. The combat strength they bring to the Militarum Militiae is not only strong, but varied, with skills and wargear that reflect a number of different environments.
Bushmen - The explorers who venture out on the surface of Avernus are masters of terrain and have learned how to turn the strength of the beasts they encounter to their own ends in several ways.
Sailors - The subaquatic divers that trounge through the ocean's depths for luxury foods are a potent power infantry force, and the personal retinues of corsair captains often wield warp-crafted artefacts gained in their adventures to alien lands.
Cavers - The warp-inured madmen who claim territory over the caverns under Avernus' Spine are amongst the most lethal of all of Avernus' fighting forces.
Hawk Riders - This extend clan of men and women have, in their childhood, pair bonded with a newly-hatched giant hawk, known as a warhawk, and have learned to ride atop their backs. The warhawk's agility in the air puts shame to dragons and their intelligence reaches into the lower level of sapience. Together, they form a powerful skirmishing and aerial shock force.
Blueback Riders - Blueback deer are deer found in Lindon, distinctive for the blueness of their backs strength of their antlers - on par with power weapons. To get the deer to accept them, riders have spent several months eating nothing and drinking solely from the milk of blueback deers - something that's only survivable thanks to the preeminent medical technology of Avernus. The Blueback Riders are powerful shock cavalry that can traverse through thick forest without breaking stride.
Phase Raiders - Phase Raiders equip themselves in carapace armour forged from the bones of phase tigers and dual wield gauntlets that integrate their claws. Like the animals from whom they got their wargear from, they can phase through solid objects. Phase Raiders are highly effective melee combatants and stealth operatives.
The Soul Avengers - The Soul Avengers are an explorer guild and its members can be described by those of an orkish disposition as "dead 'ard". To be initiated into the guild, an aspirant has to slay a well-fed ammut crocodile by spearing it through the stomach with a specially-designed mono greatsword. Though teamwork, poison, sleep ambushes, and other cunning methods level the playing field somewhat, it is still a daunting challenge. Should they succeed, the soul energies of the beast's stomach will saturate the blade and provide the new Soul Avenger with a weapon to rival the infamous might of the bloodletter Hellblade.
Citadel Veterans - The Citadel Veterans are among the few cavers who survived the doomed expedition to the third citadel of the Grey Plains. They're good at killing and staying alive.
Blueback Riders - Blueback deer are deer found in Lindon, distinctive for the blueness of their backs strength of their antlers - on par with power weapons. To get the deer to accept them, riders have spent several months eating nothing and drinking solely from the milk of blueback deers - something that's only survivable thanks to the preeminent medical technology of Avernus. The Blueback Riders are powerful shock cavalry that can traverse through thick forest without breaking stride.
Phase Raiders - Phase Raiders equip themselves in carapace armour forged from the bones of phase tigers and dual wield gauntlets that integrate their claws. Like the animals from whom they got their wargear from, they can phase through solid objects. Phase Raiders are highly effective melee combatants and stealth operatives.
The Soul Avengers - The Soul Avengers are an explorer guild and its members can be described by those of an orkish disposition as "dead 'ard". To be initiated into the guild, an aspirant has to slay a well-fed ammut crocodile by spearing it through the stomach with a specially-designed mono greatsword. Though teamwork, poison, sleep ambushes, and other cunning methods level the playing field somewhat, it is still a daunting challenge. Should they succeed, the soul energies of the beast's stomach will saturate the blade and provide the new Soul Avenger with a weapon to rival the infamous might of the bloodletter Hellblade.
Citadel Veterans - The Citadel Veterans are among the few cavers who survived the doomed expedition to the third citadel of the Grey Plains. They're good at killing and staying alive.
Kill Companies
Kill companies are mercenary groups who act as guards or wildlife exterminators, typically directly on behalf of their corporate masters but sometimes work for other groups such as the Adeptus Mechanicus. Their line of work doesn't afford them as much prestige as the members of the Astra Militarum, but on average, they get better pay than equivalently skilled PDF soldiers and guardsmen. They also have access to much more technology than regular troops, who are equipped by the Deparmento Munitorum - an organisation notorious for how slowly it distributes new technologies, often taking decades or even centuries to do so. As a result, many kill companies are hotbeds of military innovation, deploying wargear and tactics that may one day be emulated by the PDF and Guard.
Sutarius Phalangites - The Sutarius Phalangites operate under the assumption that melee combat is inevitable, and so fight in archaic phalanx and schiltron formations with elongated arc lances known as arc pikes. Properly supported, they are highly effective against melee-heavy enemies such as daemons, tyranids, and Avernite wildlife.
Hulk Rail Fusiliers - Cumbersome and with bone-shattering recoil, the overcharged rail rifles wielded by the Hulk Rail Fusiliers can only be wielded thanks to their power armour and gene-bulked might.
War Hounds - On Avernus, canids are popular animals. They're kept as domestic pets, field aids, and guards. Some breeders specialise in raising large quantities of fearsome attack dogs that are good at clearing weak screening infantry such as gretchin and conscripts, and act as effective chaff themselves. Those rare few veteran canids that survive their lethal missions are occasionally outfitted in suits of power armour that inject combat drugs into them, turning them into truly fearsome killers.
Geshit White Blades - The Geshit White Blades are kill company mercenaries that go into battle in modified XV25 stealth battlesuits. These custom battlesuits eschew the XV25's stealth capabilities and reroute the spare into their motive actuators, cutting costs while improving their speed. The Geshit White Blades earn their name for the armament of their battlesuits: the deadly fusion blades - meltaguns that can optionally fire a constant stream of energy shaped in the form of swords. Between their speed and striking power, the Geshit White Blades are fearsome anti-tank and short-ranged combatants.
Lutican Engineering - Lutican Engineering is a kill company that, despite what its name suggests, does not specialise in combat engineers. Rather, it provides mercenaries that pilot war machines known as Punisher Engines. Punisher Engines are essentially Penitent Engines that have had their more sacrilegious features removed and replaced with a sanctified, armoured cockpit, saving the rest of the otherwise innocent frame from an eternity of bondage to a heretical design. Durable, strong, and fairly cheap for what they are, Punisher Engines are piloted to great effect by the mercenaries of Lutican Engineering.
Hulk Rail Fusiliers - Cumbersome and with bone-shattering recoil, the overcharged rail rifles wielded by the Hulk Rail Fusiliers can only be wielded thanks to their power armour and gene-bulked might.
War Hounds - On Avernus, canids are popular animals. They're kept as domestic pets, field aids, and guards. Some breeders specialise in raising large quantities of fearsome attack dogs that are good at clearing weak screening infantry such as gretchin and conscripts, and act as effective chaff themselves. Those rare few veteran canids that survive their lethal missions are occasionally outfitted in suits of power armour that inject combat drugs into them, turning them into truly fearsome killers.
Geshit White Blades - The Geshit White Blades are kill company mercenaries that go into battle in modified XV25 stealth battlesuits. These custom battlesuits eschew the XV25's stealth capabilities and reroute the spare into their motive actuators, cutting costs while improving their speed. The Geshit White Blades earn their name for the armament of their battlesuits: the deadly fusion blades - meltaguns that can optionally fire a constant stream of energy shaped in the form of swords. Between their speed and striking power, the Geshit White Blades are fearsome anti-tank and short-ranged combatants.
Lutican Engineering - Lutican Engineering is a kill company that, despite what its name suggests, does not specialise in combat engineers. Rather, it provides mercenaries that pilot war machines known as Punisher Engines. Punisher Engines are essentially Penitent Engines that have had their more sacrilegious features removed and replaced with a sanctified, armoured cockpit, saving the rest of the otherwise innocent frame from an eternity of bondage to a heretical design. Durable, strong, and fairly cheap for what they are, Punisher Engines are piloted to great effect by the mercenaries of Lutican Engineering.
Xenos Mercenaries
If there's one thing human Avernites have more of than most Avernite xenos, it's technology. If there's two things human Avernites have more of than most Avernite xenos, it's technology and wealth. The technology and sheer scale of operations that humans work at means that human organisations control more wealth than some entire xenos states do, and this has not gone unnoticed by the aliens. Attracted by the immense riches on offer, several non-human mercenary bands have temporarily integrated themselves into the Militarum Militiae, working with and for various private groups and the government military in the name of profit. Some xenos use their earnings to purchase tau technology from the quartok, increasing their combat power even further.
Trolls - Several tyranid parts have made their way into the hands of Avernite weapon artisans, with which they craft potent biological weapons. These weapons have become highly valued commodity amongst the Trolls thanks to their power and non-metallic nature. As a result, there has been a steady stream of Trolls willing to fight on behalf of humanity in order to purchase these weapons.
Euryales - Greed drives euryales to human lands. After working only briefly for the humans of Avernus catapulted Lamia into becoming the most wealthy living euryale, several others of her kind have been inspired to travel to the second-newest People of Avernus in search of wealth. Many stop at trade and civilian service, but the most ambitious and avaricious of them go into military service, eager for the greater wealth their power can garner them.
***
Militia unit tabletop document
***
One of the main updates by Durin noted how phase tiger parts sometimes slipped through the crates we packed them in to export to other worlds. Also I believe our phase tiger riders phase with their mounts.
On gene-bulking, this is from Codex Adeptus Custodes, page 28:
If the Imperium had the tech to "gene-bulk" mere work gangs then we certainly do as well. On why that lets them heft such heavy guns...
Deck Gunners
On gene-bulking, this is from Codex Adeptus Custodes, page 28:
Deck Gunners
If they can do it with skinny zombies and magic, we can do it with big muscledudes in power armour.
Last edited:
- Location
- The internet
Castiel: "Stop tempting fate before The Sanginour shows up and power bombs you through half a hive, again."
sabreFather
Dr Pepper is the flavour that I savour
- Location
- Land of Bears and Loggers AKA Oregon
Only nitpick is at the end. PDF (which is always capitalized) do not use Neutron Rifles. They use Pulse Rifles & Carbines, and one or two guys in a squad *might* have a Plasma Gun or Neutron Gun. But otherwise not bad.
A perch for a god
- Location
- England
A perch for a god
Dis starport was possibly the weakest point in the cities defenses. Dozens of the hundreds of half kilometer wide landing pads were simply left open to the air, jutting out from around the centre of a vast spire, growing thinner as it climbed above the city below. Only the towering city cathedral to the emperor and grand spire that made up the governor's palace came close to matching the star port in scale, and those were both built first as fortresses.
As the weakest point of Dis, it was protected by merely tens of thousands of entrenched heavy weapons, just hundreds and hundreds of silos filled with the ordinance of the dark age of technology, and only millions of soldiers hiding inside almost uncrackable bunkers.
With such comparatively weak defenses, then, the swarm of Angyls being kept from holding a beachhead on one of the pads was a minor miracle. A glittering torrent of las fire burnt any lesser angyl making an approach up before they could reach a pad, stronger ones were torn from the sky under volleys of artillery and missiles while all were scratched and torn by a relentless hurricane of impaler fire.
When the true golden monsters of Tjapa came, those that would not be overcome by something so base as firepower, the heroes of the sane lept forth to face them. Arch Angyls of the third circle fell upon the landing pads only to be met by archaeotech swords of the Varangians, the gravetic weapons carving through warpstuff as a blade did meat at the dining table.
Alongside these long lost Angels of Ultramar stood the best of Avernus' armies, Primaris Psykers driving monsters back with their own great powers, Last Hunters proving their value over and over again, not just murdering at range with the apoethsis of human rifles, but also tearing and ripping against the forces of the Abomination with Saurus crafted blades. Any doubts that the Avernites had about the last hunters value in a brawl or the power of the people of the crucibles weapons blew away like spiderwebs under an aircraft engine.
Also, stepping forth against the forces of chaos for the first time, came the Warriors of Thunder. For fifteen thousand years humanity had held them in reserve, forever considered inferior to the emperor's later creation, the Astartes. Today, on the landing pads of the starport of Dis, they proved this assertion false. Bearing the emperor's Raptor, emblazoned in shining silver upon their heavily armoured chests they charged, thunder hammers raised. The Angyls broke upon them like a wave upon a rock, the untainted work of the emperor combining with the unbreakable will of the Black Irons to create an unbreakable object, upon which the liars of the false lord could make no progress.
The Angyls attacked, and the defender's held.
The Angyls attacked, and the defender's still held.
The Angyls attacked, and the defender's held, but the elites, the mighty warriors who could fight, and claw, and scrabble to kill the leaders of the Angylic host were taking serious casualties.
The Angyls attacked, this time lead by their true captain, a second circle Archangel, his name meaning nought but death and fear. A brave captain of the Varangians, Ulyesses Faar, the first asartes to hail from Danann in two thousand years threw himself at the towering golden champion and for a moment his silver power axe crackled and shined as it met the off-gold sword of the greater daemon.
For one moment the crafts-might of Svartfelhiem held up against the raw brute power of the Abomination. For one moment the captain held the blow above his head. For one moment it looked as if he might turn the blow, attack back again and fight the monster attacking the city off.
For one moment it looked as if he could have won, and then the axe shattered, and the almost-golden blade tore down, rending the silver armour, and tearing the flesh of the captain through his shoulder downwards. He died that day and with his death the soldiers defending the pad broke and fled, rushing towards the great armoured gate opening from the landing zone to the towering starport spire, home of the lifts that heaved cargo to space from Dis.
The Arch-Angyl surveyed it's target, and allowed itself a smile, seeing the once brave defenders of Averneus run before his might. While lesser children of Tjapa might be unable to face down these followers of the false saint, even the strongest mortal warrior would fall before him, cowering and screaming.
A deep sound, a clunk, very unlike the boom of artillery, echoed across the landing pad. The last of the loyalist troops took up defensive positions to the sides of the thousand foot high gate, and it began to open. Slowly, at first and then ever more certainly the opening widend and smoke, chaff and cloud poured through the door, concealing what stood in the cavernous space between. The Arch-Angyl could just about make out a figure, humanoid, but far far too tall.
The sound made by a warhorn of a Iron God, even on a battlefield where the constant rolling of explosions roared has a unique impact. It's howl, metallic and hard carried with it the inevetibaility of a avalanche at a volume that could be heard all along Averneus' Spine. The Sanctus Feorum, by far the greatest of warlord Titans ever forged by humanity, the jewel in the crown of the genius of the greatest Explorator in the history, entered the battlefield.
The Arch-Angyl, who's name means death and fear, looked upon his new foe with relish. A titan? How glorious! He would rip the cumbersome beast apart like he had a thousand others. He would eat the soul of the screaming princeps as the machine watched, before he turned his ever ravenous eye to the god machine itself.
He let out a primal cry, demanding power from his vassal daemons, and began to grow, bright light shining from his wings, as they became wider than the titan was tall. His sword became a blade of shining gold flame, and his armour twisted and buckled as he expanded to match his foe.
The titan, bringing to bear it's shoulder mounted weapons did not give him this chance. Archaeotech targeting systems identified his weakspots, and the twin plasma destructors let loose their Solis Oblitarum, lighting the war around Dis with a second Sun.
The bombardment staggered the Arch-Angyl, but it stood firm, the landing pad glowing white hot around it. The Sanctus, blessed with its new heart let lose another round of sunfire, and yet another, firing it's weapons faster than anything in the imperium. The Arch-Angyl parried the blows with his sword, but the torrent of fire emerging from the titans shoulders forced him back towards the edge of the landing pad as it pressed it's inevitable advanced towards him.
The Daemon, burning now, head to foot, saw only one way to win. Pain, unknown for millennia, racked it's unreal form. Staring through the haze of fire and rage, the one who's name means death and fear, raised his sword and charged.
His first blow was parried by the lightning fast claws of his opponent, but his second bisected a plasma annhilator, unleashing an enormous ball of white fire. The Angyl, seeing another claw coming for him, sidestepped and sliced the titan across the leg, leaving a deep scar, and causing instability in its stance. Spinning away, the monster of the Abomination lept past a blast from the remaining canon that severed a landing pad.
The Titan twisted, working hard to face the Angyl, but despite the gravetically assisted arms moving fast enough to cause the air to crack, the princeps could hardly bring her claws around in time to parry the next volley of blows from the flaming gold sword. She felt the pain as the Sanctus was sliced around the waist, missing one final light blow.
Mobility was even further reduced now- the gravetics could keep the titan fighting, but major damage had been done to power uplink and physical drive cables. Sparks skittered and oilflows ran from the titans wounds like tears, but she turned again to face the second circle. This time, she'd do something different.
The Daemon lunged at the warlord with its sword yet again, and instead of parrying it away, the titan itself forced it into its already sliced shoulder, earning a great scream of pain from the princeps. The titan, yet to be done, placed both of it's hands on the blade proper, and put pressure on it.
At first the Daemon laughed, as it attempted to push the blade deeper, and upon finding it could not it switched to a pulling motion to no avail. The impaled titan lurched to the left, and then to the right, hauling the Arch-Angyl with it, both fighters hands upon the blade.
This is a test of strength, and nothing more. A hundred lifetimes in the service of the emperor, facing a being made of pure, unadulterated warp stuff.
Suddenly, something conceptual shatters in the blade, followed by the rapid physical disintegration of the golden sword itself. The Daemon, which had been holding Sanctus on the end of it, suddenly felt fear.
The titan lumbered forward, catching the Angyl in its clawed fist and smashing it against the floor. The creatures scale fled it, leaving it once again small compared to the raging god machine. Grabbing it by its legs the Sanctus Feorum began to smash the Daemon into the landing pad, the Spire and all its lesser brethren as they attempted to make good their escape.
Their captain, now utterly beaten, had no such chance and was crushed back to the immaterium under the hard adamatine foot of the greatest warlord titan ever to take to the field in the name of the Emperor.
Easily visible from the now secured landing pad, the forces besieging the lonely citadel began to turn and see a single great plasma annhilator open fire on them with terrifying accuracy, tearing greater daemons from the air with a single blast. It was, of course, the weapon of a god.
Dis starport was possibly the weakest point in the cities defenses. Dozens of the hundreds of half kilometer wide landing pads were simply left open to the air, jutting out from around the centre of a vast spire, growing thinner as it climbed above the city below. Only the towering city cathedral to the emperor and grand spire that made up the governor's palace came close to matching the star port in scale, and those were both built first as fortresses.
As the weakest point of Dis, it was protected by merely tens of thousands of entrenched heavy weapons, just hundreds and hundreds of silos filled with the ordinance of the dark age of technology, and only millions of soldiers hiding inside almost uncrackable bunkers.
With such comparatively weak defenses, then, the swarm of Angyls being kept from holding a beachhead on one of the pads was a minor miracle. A glittering torrent of las fire burnt any lesser angyl making an approach up before they could reach a pad, stronger ones were torn from the sky under volleys of artillery and missiles while all were scratched and torn by a relentless hurricane of impaler fire.
When the true golden monsters of Tjapa came, those that would not be overcome by something so base as firepower, the heroes of the sane lept forth to face them. Arch Angyls of the third circle fell upon the landing pads only to be met by archaeotech swords of the Varangians, the gravetic weapons carving through warpstuff as a blade did meat at the dining table.
Alongside these long lost Angels of Ultramar stood the best of Avernus' armies, Primaris Psykers driving monsters back with their own great powers, Last Hunters proving their value over and over again, not just murdering at range with the apoethsis of human rifles, but also tearing and ripping against the forces of the Abomination with Saurus crafted blades. Any doubts that the Avernites had about the last hunters value in a brawl or the power of the people of the crucibles weapons blew away like spiderwebs under an aircraft engine.
Also, stepping forth against the forces of chaos for the first time, came the Warriors of Thunder. For fifteen thousand years humanity had held them in reserve, forever considered inferior to the emperor's later creation, the Astartes. Today, on the landing pads of the starport of Dis, they proved this assertion false. Bearing the emperor's Raptor, emblazoned in shining silver upon their heavily armoured chests they charged, thunder hammers raised. The Angyls broke upon them like a wave upon a rock, the untainted work of the emperor combining with the unbreakable will of the Black Irons to create an unbreakable object, upon which the liars of the false lord could make no progress.
The Angyls attacked, and the defender's held.
The Angyls attacked, and the defender's still held.
The Angyls attacked, and the defender's held, but the elites, the mighty warriors who could fight, and claw, and scrabble to kill the leaders of the Angylic host were taking serious casualties.
The Angyls attacked, this time lead by their true captain, a second circle Archangel, his name meaning nought but death and fear. A brave captain of the Varangians, Ulyesses Faar, the first asartes to hail from Danann in two thousand years threw himself at the towering golden champion and for a moment his silver power axe crackled and shined as it met the off-gold sword of the greater daemon.
For one moment the crafts-might of Svartfelhiem held up against the raw brute power of the Abomination. For one moment the captain held the blow above his head. For one moment it looked as if he might turn the blow, attack back again and fight the monster attacking the city off.
For one moment it looked as if he could have won, and then the axe shattered, and the almost-golden blade tore down, rending the silver armour, and tearing the flesh of the captain through his shoulder downwards. He died that day and with his death the soldiers defending the pad broke and fled, rushing towards the great armoured gate opening from the landing zone to the towering starport spire, home of the lifts that heaved cargo to space from Dis.
The Arch-Angyl surveyed it's target, and allowed itself a smile, seeing the once brave defenders of Averneus run before his might. While lesser children of Tjapa might be unable to face down these followers of the false saint, even the strongest mortal warrior would fall before him, cowering and screaming.
A deep sound, a clunk, very unlike the boom of artillery, echoed across the landing pad. The last of the loyalist troops took up defensive positions to the sides of the thousand foot high gate, and it began to open. Slowly, at first and then ever more certainly the opening widend and smoke, chaff and cloud poured through the door, concealing what stood in the cavernous space between. The Arch-Angyl could just about make out a figure, humanoid, but far far too tall.
The sound made by a warhorn of a Iron God, even on a battlefield where the constant rolling of explosions roared has a unique impact. It's howl, metallic and hard carried with it the inevetibaility of a avalanche at a volume that could be heard all along Averneus' Spine. The Sanctus Feorum, by far the greatest of warlord Titans ever forged by humanity, the jewel in the crown of the genius of the greatest Explorator in the history, entered the battlefield.
The Arch-Angyl, who's name means death and fear, looked upon his new foe with relish. A titan? How glorious! He would rip the cumbersome beast apart like he had a thousand others. He would eat the soul of the screaming princeps as the machine watched, before he turned his ever ravenous eye to the god machine itself.
He let out a primal cry, demanding power from his vassal daemons, and began to grow, bright light shining from his wings, as they became wider than the titan was tall. His sword became a blade of shining gold flame, and his armour twisted and buckled as he expanded to match his foe.
The titan, bringing to bear it's shoulder mounted weapons did not give him this chance. Archaeotech targeting systems identified his weakspots, and the twin plasma destructors let loose their Solis Oblitarum, lighting the war around Dis with a second Sun.
The bombardment staggered the Arch-Angyl, but it stood firm, the landing pad glowing white hot around it. The Sanctus, blessed with its new heart let lose another round of sunfire, and yet another, firing it's weapons faster than anything in the imperium. The Arch-Angyl parried the blows with his sword, but the torrent of fire emerging from the titans shoulders forced him back towards the edge of the landing pad as it pressed it's inevitable advanced towards him.
The Daemon, burning now, head to foot, saw only one way to win. Pain, unknown for millennia, racked it's unreal form. Staring through the haze of fire and rage, the one who's name means death and fear, raised his sword and charged.
His first blow was parried by the lightning fast claws of his opponent, but his second bisected a plasma annhilator, unleashing an enormous ball of white fire. The Angyl, seeing another claw coming for him, sidestepped and sliced the titan across the leg, leaving a deep scar, and causing instability in its stance. Spinning away, the monster of the Abomination lept past a blast from the remaining canon that severed a landing pad.
The Titan twisted, working hard to face the Angyl, but despite the gravetically assisted arms moving fast enough to cause the air to crack, the princeps could hardly bring her claws around in time to parry the next volley of blows from the flaming gold sword. She felt the pain as the Sanctus was sliced around the waist, missing one final light blow.
Mobility was even further reduced now- the gravetics could keep the titan fighting, but major damage had been done to power uplink and physical drive cables. Sparks skittered and oilflows ran from the titans wounds like tears, but she turned again to face the second circle. This time, she'd do something different.
The Daemon lunged at the warlord with its sword yet again, and instead of parrying it away, the titan itself forced it into its already sliced shoulder, earning a great scream of pain from the princeps. The titan, yet to be done, placed both of it's hands on the blade proper, and put pressure on it.
At first the Daemon laughed, as it attempted to push the blade deeper, and upon finding it could not it switched to a pulling motion to no avail. The impaled titan lurched to the left, and then to the right, hauling the Arch-Angyl with it, both fighters hands upon the blade.
This is a test of strength, and nothing more. A hundred lifetimes in the service of the emperor, facing a being made of pure, unadulterated warp stuff.
Suddenly, something conceptual shatters in the blade, followed by the rapid physical disintegration of the golden sword itself. The Daemon, which had been holding Sanctus on the end of it, suddenly felt fear.
The titan lumbered forward, catching the Angyl in its clawed fist and smashing it against the floor. The creatures scale fled it, leaving it once again small compared to the raging god machine. Grabbing it by its legs the Sanctus Feorum began to smash the Daemon into the landing pad, the Spire and all its lesser brethren as they attempted to make good their escape.
Their captain, now utterly beaten, had no such chance and was crushed back to the immaterium under the hard adamatine foot of the greatest warlord titan ever to take to the field in the name of the Emperor.
Easily visible from the now secured landing pad, the forces besieging the lonely citadel began to turn and see a single great plasma annhilator open fire on them with terrifying accuracy, tearing greater daemons from the air with a single blast. It was, of course, the weapon of a god.
The use of Solis Oblitarum in our forces is rare, but I'm certain some could be put on the sanctus, and it's probably the best for fighting daemons.
Also Sanctus Feorum is a hero and deserved another Omake.
Also Sanctus Feorum is a hero and deserved another Omake.
Last edited:
Deep Creatures Part 2: Deep Orks
Omake: Deep Creatures Part 2: Deep Orks
Vitrivitiziel Lanternbearer, Archangyl of the 3rd Circle, Interrogator of Chedolaomer, brought his flaming blade down to cleanse the misbegotten greenskin filth from its path once and for all. He had been tasked by his master to secure a beachhead in the caverns below the False Saint's hiding place from which the Host could strike. The effort had not been going well.
The boundary zone between the lower caverns had seemed an ideal starting point. Reality was stretched thin and perforated by numerous spatial distortions and gates, and the pulsing radiance that fortified the lower depths was barely present. The initial breaches into reality had formed with expected ease, and the initial scouting parties sent through had reported success.
It was only when the vanguard of the Host began to pour through that things began to go wrong. Nearly half the initial breaches had closed suddenly, tangles of stone vines with obsidian thorns weaving into being over them in an eyeblink, followed soon after by what was taken as an assault by a swarm of mewling things. It had taken an inordinate time to determine that the wretches dropping into the Warp were the remains of the vanguard. Interrogation had revealed little save lurid accounts of nightmare realities populated by thorn eyed men.
A third of the remaining portals had had to be abandoned when green mica slabs had appeared along their edges and long grasping fingers had snaked out to snag the angyls arrayed to pass through. Noone was sure what had happened to those captured, but all were in agreement that it was unsuitable for purposes.
Another third had to be abandoned when their exit points were engulfed in seething masses of spiders.
For all that, the Host was undaunted. Finally a force had pushed through in sufficient numbers to open the way for their leader. Before his blazing light the beasts harrying his forces quailed and fell back, burning a path to the certainly poorly defended undergates of the city.
And then, as he raised sword and lantern high to urge signal the advance, the orks had come. They had poured out of rifts in space much like the Host's own divine gates, roaring and screaming and bellowing their heathen cries of WAAAAGH!!!
To be fair, they had seemed as surprised to be here as the Host had been by their arrival. It hadn't stopped them from attacking.
Which brought him to where he was now, his blade driving down to cleanse the universe of the horde's warboss. Cut the head from the snake and the body would die. Then finally, finally, he would be able to complete his mission.
The ork parried, catching the blow on the crossguard of its halberd with a two handed swing.
The ork attacked, chopping from left and right with a pair of ornate cleavers.
The ork attacked, bringing its hammer down in a powerful two handed swing.
The ork attacked, bringing its curve bladed spear up in a brutal upward slash.
The ork parried, catching the blow on its oversized shield and mace.
The ork stepped back, leveling its pistol and firing a screaming caustic gretchin in his face.
Vitrivitiziel reeled back, ichor pouring from cuts to its sides and thigh, one arm hanging limply from a pulverized shoulder. A thought blasted away the gretchin and cleared his gaze. His opponent danced nimbly back, the bewildering array of arms and flesh and weapons it had sprouted flowing back into themselves and leaving a single undersized warboss standing with a crescent bladed spear.
With a thought Vitrivitiziel's wounds knit closed and bones righted themselves. The ork's eyes narrowed.
"We playin' dis game den? Zog it, Iz hatez dis game. Roight, list'n good ya heally bastard! Iz'll tol'rat yaz healin' yazself, but iffen Iz cutz off yaz arm, an' yaz growz it back Iz'll be roight pissed I will! Yaz 'ear me ya shinny git?"
The ork surged forward. Vitrivitiziel raised his lantern high and blasted the ork with cleansing light.
The beam tore into the twin cleavers the ork raised to block it, their blades blackening and charring.
The beam caught the halberd's blade, and a portion sheared off to sear the tunnel wall.
The beam struck the curved spear, shearing off another lance of searing light to scorch the ork's surroundings.
The beam blasted aside the head of the hammer the ork tried to put in its way.
The beam slammed into the ork's shield, driving the ork back with the fury of the blow.
The beam seared the two screaming gretchins tore from the ork's pistol from existence.
The ork flew back, slamming into the wall behind it in six places before flowing back into itself. It was back on its feet an instant later, charred arms out in front of it brandishing warped and twisted cleavers. With a grunt of disgust it threw them down and glared at Vitrivitiziel.
"Oi, wat da zog waz dat? Dat ain't sportin' loik, breakin' me favrit choppas! An' look at dis!" the charring on the ork's arms vanished, replaced by healthy green gripping a shining shield and mace. The lantern's light had scoured the layers of paint, filth and orkish adornments from the shield, revealing ornately worked metal beneath. "Iz 'ad dis all noice an' orky loik, an' now look a' it! Itz all poncy 'gain!"
The ork's tone was, if anything, aggrieved. It was yet another thing that just didn't make sense about this whole mess.
"What are you?" Vitrivitiziel hissed.
The ork looked at him, bafflement spreading across its face.
"Wat kinda question iz dat? Ain't it obvious loik? Iz an ork!" the confusion dropped away into a feral grin. "Well, mebbe Iz tellz a lie dere. Iz ain't an ork, roight? Iz six!"
With a laugh the beast threw itself at Vitrivitiziel again.
@Durin
Vitrivitiziel Lanternbearer, Archangyl of the 3rd Circle, Interrogator of Chedolaomer, brought his flaming blade down to cleanse the misbegotten greenskin filth from its path once and for all. He had been tasked by his master to secure a beachhead in the caverns below the False Saint's hiding place from which the Host could strike. The effort had not been going well.
The boundary zone between the lower caverns had seemed an ideal starting point. Reality was stretched thin and perforated by numerous spatial distortions and gates, and the pulsing radiance that fortified the lower depths was barely present. The initial breaches into reality had formed with expected ease, and the initial scouting parties sent through had reported success.
It was only when the vanguard of the Host began to pour through that things began to go wrong. Nearly half the initial breaches had closed suddenly, tangles of stone vines with obsidian thorns weaving into being over them in an eyeblink, followed soon after by what was taken as an assault by a swarm of mewling things. It had taken an inordinate time to determine that the wretches dropping into the Warp were the remains of the vanguard. Interrogation had revealed little save lurid accounts of nightmare realities populated by thorn eyed men.
A third of the remaining portals had had to be abandoned when green mica slabs had appeared along their edges and long grasping fingers had snaked out to snag the angyls arrayed to pass through. Noone was sure what had happened to those captured, but all were in agreement that it was unsuitable for purposes.
Another third had to be abandoned when their exit points were engulfed in seething masses of spiders.
For all that, the Host was undaunted. Finally a force had pushed through in sufficient numbers to open the way for their leader. Before his blazing light the beasts harrying his forces quailed and fell back, burning a path to the certainly poorly defended undergates of the city.
And then, as he raised sword and lantern high to urge signal the advance, the orks had come. They had poured out of rifts in space much like the Host's own divine gates, roaring and screaming and bellowing their heathen cries of WAAAAGH!!!
To be fair, they had seemed as surprised to be here as the Host had been by their arrival. It hadn't stopped them from attacking.
Which brought him to where he was now, his blade driving down to cleanse the universe of the horde's warboss. Cut the head from the snake and the body would die. Then finally, finally, he would be able to complete his mission.
The ork parried, catching the blow on the crossguard of its halberd with a two handed swing.
The ork attacked, chopping from left and right with a pair of ornate cleavers.
The ork attacked, bringing its hammer down in a powerful two handed swing.
The ork attacked, bringing its curve bladed spear up in a brutal upward slash.
The ork parried, catching the blow on its oversized shield and mace.
The ork stepped back, leveling its pistol and firing a screaming caustic gretchin in his face.
Vitrivitiziel reeled back, ichor pouring from cuts to its sides and thigh, one arm hanging limply from a pulverized shoulder. A thought blasted away the gretchin and cleared his gaze. His opponent danced nimbly back, the bewildering array of arms and flesh and weapons it had sprouted flowing back into themselves and leaving a single undersized warboss standing with a crescent bladed spear.
With a thought Vitrivitiziel's wounds knit closed and bones righted themselves. The ork's eyes narrowed.
"We playin' dis game den? Zog it, Iz hatez dis game. Roight, list'n good ya heally bastard! Iz'll tol'rat yaz healin' yazself, but iffen Iz cutz off yaz arm, an' yaz growz it back Iz'll be roight pissed I will! Yaz 'ear me ya shinny git?"
The ork surged forward. Vitrivitiziel raised his lantern high and blasted the ork with cleansing light.
The beam tore into the twin cleavers the ork raised to block it, their blades blackening and charring.
The beam caught the halberd's blade, and a portion sheared off to sear the tunnel wall.
The beam struck the curved spear, shearing off another lance of searing light to scorch the ork's surroundings.
The beam blasted aside the head of the hammer the ork tried to put in its way.
The beam slammed into the ork's shield, driving the ork back with the fury of the blow.
The beam seared the two screaming gretchins tore from the ork's pistol from existence.
The ork flew back, slamming into the wall behind it in six places before flowing back into itself. It was back on its feet an instant later, charred arms out in front of it brandishing warped and twisted cleavers. With a grunt of disgust it threw them down and glared at Vitrivitiziel.
"Oi, wat da zog waz dat? Dat ain't sportin' loik, breakin' me favrit choppas! An' look at dis!" the charring on the ork's arms vanished, replaced by healthy green gripping a shining shield and mace. The lantern's light had scoured the layers of paint, filth and orkish adornments from the shield, revealing ornately worked metal beneath. "Iz 'ad dis all noice an' orky loik, an' now look a' it! Itz all poncy 'gain!"
The ork's tone was, if anything, aggrieved. It was yet another thing that just didn't make sense about this whole mess.
"What are you?" Vitrivitiziel hissed.
The ork looked at him, bafflement spreading across its face.
"Wat kinda question iz dat? Ain't it obvious loik? Iz an ork!" the confusion dropped away into a feral grin. "Well, mebbe Iz tellz a lie dere. Iz ain't an ork, roight? Iz six!"
With a laugh the beast threw itself at Vitrivitiziel again.
Underdark Ork (++C, ++I) Ya 'ave ta be roight kunnin ta live down 'ere.
Six-Ork (++C, *6 damage, *6 hp, *2 kill limit, taking damage after losing more than 1/6 health has a chance to degrade this trait to Five-Ork) I ain't an ork. I'z six!
Playful One Wrought Panoply (Armor 19, +100 against warp effects, Pen 21, *3 damage, chance to inflict bleeding status) Da ponces are roight good sports when dey lose, Ah'll give dem dat.
Six-Ork (++C, *6 damage, *6 hp, *2 kill limit, taking damage after losing more than 1/6 health has a chance to degrade this trait to Five-Ork) I ain't an ork. I'z six!
Playful One Wrought Panoply (Armor 19, +100 against warp effects, Pen 21, *3 damage, chance to inflict bleeding status) Da ponces are roight good sports when dey lose, Ah'll give dem dat.
@Durin
In the depths of the caverns, in a forest of purple needled trees, four ornately crafted figures stood silently regarding the surroundings. One kicked disconsolately at the ground where the footprints of a charging ork were still visible. One by one the figures fell limp as their animating intelligences fled back to their bodies.
"Anyone have any idea what that was all about?" Shirvial asked, flicking his tufted ears in consternation. "Were'd all the enemies go?"
"Maybe we should check with the others, see if they're having trouble?" Pampala asked.
A quick survey of the other play areas found them deserted.
"Where is everyone?" Tuuv asked plaintively.
A shout from the common area caught their attention: the play areas were insulated from the sound of the commons to prevent distraction. Tuuv poked his head out of their area to find the rest of the people gathered around the central array of scrying mirrors, raucously yelling and cheering. Tuuv's slitted eyes fixed on the central mirror, and the golden sky it showed. He popped back into the play area, eyes wide with excitement.
"Guys hurry! An Event just dropped!"
"Anyone have any idea what that was all about?" Shirvial asked, flicking his tufted ears in consternation. "Were'd all the enemies go?"
"Maybe we should check with the others, see if they're having trouble?" Pampala asked.
A quick survey of the other play areas found them deserted.
"Where is everyone?" Tuuv asked plaintively.
A shout from the common area caught their attention: the play areas were insulated from the sound of the commons to prevent distraction. Tuuv poked his head out of their area to find the rest of the people gathered around the central array of scrying mirrors, raucously yelling and cheering. Tuuv's slitted eyes fixed on the central mirror, and the golden sky it showed. He popped back into the play area, eyes wide with excitement.
"Guys hurry! An Event just dropped!"
Last edited:
I have to wonder if @Durin fears incursions as much as we do.
I mean, I can imagine sitting there, cursor hovering over "Post Reply", certain in the knowledge that moments after he hits that button he's going to be hit with an utter deluge of every batshit crazy idea his already halfway lunatic readers can formulate into a semi-coherent narrative.
I mean, I can imagine sitting there, cursor hovering over "Post Reply", certain in the knowledge that moments after he hits that button he's going to be hit with an utter deluge of every batshit crazy idea his already halfway lunatic readers can formulate into a semi-coherent narrative.
- Location
- Toronto, Ontario(occasionally)
You probably need to repost and tag durin for him to learn of it.
Other thoughts: is sending the Phase Tigers after the ritual a good idea, or stupid now that their best hero is gone? would Xavier be enough to substitute?
Last edited:
- Location
- England
It's the first true test of them as a unit lol. Personally I say we hit them heavy and hard with Battle psykers, Eldar and Black irons backed up with hellguard and heroes hopefully including Arethra.
Wrt to Omake tagging, doesn't durin have notifications turned off?
Wrt to Omake tagging, doesn't durin have notifications turned off?
Quote notification, not tag notification.
Weapon Minds
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
Weapon Minds
In the depths of the region known to humans as the Azure slept a pair of ancient minds. Both a pair of Weapons, created for their singular purposes. To defend their home from attack and to do that they must annihilate all those that attempted to desecrate it. It was their duty, their privilege and their joy to fulfil this purpose and they did so with gleet.
The Deep One of the isles, roused itself, shaking off its tiredness to assert its full power upon the world. The feeble minds of the daemons cracking beneath its power, their inability to not follow commands proving to be their greatest weakness as Angel fought angel within the skies, confused and horrified that their fellows could turn upon them with such viciousness, while it caught a Second Circle within a twisted maze of confused space and time, allowing it to struggle as its nearly useless mind floundered, lacking orders from its superiors on how to escape this unexpected binding.
Upon the surface, the Island Turtle rose its head, calculating attack vectors, connected to the thousands of others of its kind that slumbered across the World as it assessed the legions flying above it in disregard for all laws of physics and was glad.
There was nearly no need for aiming with such a force, it could simply fire into the skies and let its bursts detonate, knowing that it would consume daemons in their millions with nearly every attack. And so with incredible precision the attacks began, as explosions were controlled with perfect accuracy to explode around and on top of the Archangyls, obliterating the Angyls coordination and turning them to dust, the survivors then struck by the human orbital defences compounding the effect as they fell listlessly back into the warp.
Across from the isles, a golden swarm rose from the desert sands of the Duat as one of the smallest weapons of the world made their presence known. The Sun Beetles, little bigger than a human thumb nail at their largest, came together, the concentrated power of a sun within each of their bodies as the solar energies spewed forth from their beings, the purifying rays cutting through Angyls as they supported their allies with ground based beams of power surpassing lance weapons in their potency, before sacrificing themselves by flying into the enemies snarling and spitting mouths.
All Avernites remembered how a single beetle had destroyed a million men in a blink when a single one mistepped. Now those same creatures were actively searching and destroying their opponents and the Avernites looked on in awe and joy as they watched their foes fall burned and blackened to the earth as suns bloomed across the world, as the white hot rays of the weapons lashed out across the world.
These were merely the first responders of the World's Wrath, the weapons whose traditional positions were closest to Dis. Across the World a million more weapons, bred solely for the defence of the world were coming online, as a force that could burn a segmentum to the ground mobilised to fight back the infinite hoards of the warp without fear or hesitation. Only eager expectation.
Weapons have feelings too.
Murderous feelings, but feelings all the same.
@Durin
In the depths of the region known to humans as the Azure slept a pair of ancient minds. Both a pair of Weapons, created for their singular purposes. To defend their home from attack and to do that they must annihilate all those that attempted to desecrate it. It was their duty, their privilege and their joy to fulfil this purpose and they did so with gleet.
The Deep One of the isles, roused itself, shaking off its tiredness to assert its full power upon the world. The feeble minds of the daemons cracking beneath its power, their inability to not follow commands proving to be their greatest weakness as Angel fought angel within the skies, confused and horrified that their fellows could turn upon them with such viciousness, while it caught a Second Circle within a twisted maze of confused space and time, allowing it to struggle as its nearly useless mind floundered, lacking orders from its superiors on how to escape this unexpected binding.
Upon the surface, the Island Turtle rose its head, calculating attack vectors, connected to the thousands of others of its kind that slumbered across the World as it assessed the legions flying above it in disregard for all laws of physics and was glad.
There was nearly no need for aiming with such a force, it could simply fire into the skies and let its bursts detonate, knowing that it would consume daemons in their millions with nearly every attack. And so with incredible precision the attacks began, as explosions were controlled with perfect accuracy to explode around and on top of the Archangyls, obliterating the Angyls coordination and turning them to dust, the survivors then struck by the human orbital defences compounding the effect as they fell listlessly back into the warp.
Across from the isles, a golden swarm rose from the desert sands of the Duat as one of the smallest weapons of the world made their presence known. The Sun Beetles, little bigger than a human thumb nail at their largest, came together, the concentrated power of a sun within each of their bodies as the solar energies spewed forth from their beings, the purifying rays cutting through Angyls as they supported their allies with ground based beams of power surpassing lance weapons in their potency, before sacrificing themselves by flying into the enemies snarling and spitting mouths.
All Avernites remembered how a single beetle had destroyed a million men in a blink when a single one mistepped. Now those same creatures were actively searching and destroying their opponents and the Avernites looked on in awe and joy as they watched their foes fall burned and blackened to the earth as suns bloomed across the world, as the white hot rays of the weapons lashed out across the world.
These were merely the first responders of the World's Wrath, the weapons whose traditional positions were closest to Dis. Across the World a million more weapons, bred solely for the defence of the world were coming online, as a force that could burn a segmentum to the ground mobilised to fight back the infinite hoards of the warp without fear or hesitation. Only eager expectation.
Weapons have feelings too.
Murderous feelings, but feelings all the same.
@Durin
- Location
- madison
eh, Rakes rolled "win" on his hero survival roll, and gave a giant bonus to his city. so I'm assuming that means he killed the enamy leader. though you do have a point, I'll strip out the reference to a specific circle.
- Location
- To the left. No, not there, the other left.
The 3rd Circle from the last invasion had 21 Armor and almost as much HP as a Warhound, no way a single dude with plasma rifle could kill one.
The Mountains move
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
The Mountains move
Elder Onyx Quartzite prayed to the earth, listening to its movements and torment as another series of detonations heralded yet another wound within its surface and the banishment of another series of Angyls.
He felt the dust floating to the ground around him, as the chanting of his tribe echoed around him, as through the rock and stone he felt the chants of the other tribes, a cacophony of voices so grand that he had not believed it possible as a mere pebble mourning the death of their Chief at the hands of the human Rotbart.
His people once so few in those times were now numerous. Fed by the humans in exchange for peace, as they learned from them and within themselves. Changing their lives. The paths once set in stone altered or abandoned entirely as they adapted, while they grew. Writing, trade, theatre, arts, organisation and more, as clans abandoned the nomadic lifestyle to take up mining within the rock and farming upon the slopes of their mountain homes.
Some chiefs had even stopped calling themselves that, becoming kings and queens. Still the mightiest of their tribes but operating in a starkly different manner to how they once had. One tribe was even attempting a strange system of government where all had a say in the matters of the tribe, if they wished to have one. Yet, it functioned well and as the experiments and changes continued to be successful, they adopted more differences still. Some of their folk even went to the humans in search of work, returning with blades of chitin and flesh that could withstand their almighty strength, as their metallurgists experimented to try and find a material that would not bend at the lightest touch.
But it was within his field of mysticism that he felt there had been the greatest shift, for the growth of their people had meant that there were more who felt the touch of the earth. Who could feel the song of the world, and divine its music, which in turn advanced their abilities by leaps and bounds, as they communicated and talked with the insectoid nynye, who they found ready to discuss their own methods in exchange for some simply work.
And as time passed in meditation and thought the secrets that they divined from the stones were incredible. Their knowledge growing in leaps and bounds as new pupils added their own perspectives, amplifying their powers to new heights, as they sought out their most ancient tribe members who had retreated into isolation to contemplate and to ascertain their mysteries, and took advantage of the Wanderer's presence to learn a fraction of her craft and ancient memories of their people's powers.
And so, strengthened they performed their newest and greatest power, the culmination of centuries of experimentation and thought. The capstone that so many elders and mystics had considered over time but had never considered possible until now.
And so the Angyls looked on in disbelief, for the mountain range itself seemed to come to life, as the mountains stood to their feet, eyes alight with the gaze of the trolls, before they began their attack.
Let us forget not the trolls, for they were the first People we encountered and they've been taking advantage of free food to get big and buff!
@Durin
Elder Onyx Quartzite prayed to the earth, listening to its movements and torment as another series of detonations heralded yet another wound within its surface and the banishment of another series of Angyls.
He felt the dust floating to the ground around him, as the chanting of his tribe echoed around him, as through the rock and stone he felt the chants of the other tribes, a cacophony of voices so grand that he had not believed it possible as a mere pebble mourning the death of their Chief at the hands of the human Rotbart.
His people once so few in those times were now numerous. Fed by the humans in exchange for peace, as they learned from them and within themselves. Changing their lives. The paths once set in stone altered or abandoned entirely as they adapted, while they grew. Writing, trade, theatre, arts, organisation and more, as clans abandoned the nomadic lifestyle to take up mining within the rock and farming upon the slopes of their mountain homes.
Some chiefs had even stopped calling themselves that, becoming kings and queens. Still the mightiest of their tribes but operating in a starkly different manner to how they once had. One tribe was even attempting a strange system of government where all had a say in the matters of the tribe, if they wished to have one. Yet, it functioned well and as the experiments and changes continued to be successful, they adopted more differences still. Some of their folk even went to the humans in search of work, returning with blades of chitin and flesh that could withstand their almighty strength, as their metallurgists experimented to try and find a material that would not bend at the lightest touch.
But it was within his field of mysticism that he felt there had been the greatest shift, for the growth of their people had meant that there were more who felt the touch of the earth. Who could feel the song of the world, and divine its music, which in turn advanced their abilities by leaps and bounds, as they communicated and talked with the insectoid nynye, who they found ready to discuss their own methods in exchange for some simply work.
And as time passed in meditation and thought the secrets that they divined from the stones were incredible. Their knowledge growing in leaps and bounds as new pupils added their own perspectives, amplifying their powers to new heights, as they sought out their most ancient tribe members who had retreated into isolation to contemplate and to ascertain their mysteries, and took advantage of the Wanderer's presence to learn a fraction of her craft and ancient memories of their people's powers.
And so, strengthened they performed their newest and greatest power, the culmination of centuries of experimentation and thought. The capstone that so many elders and mystics had considered over time but had never considered possible until now.
And so the Angyls looked on in disbelief, for the mountain range itself seemed to come to life, as the mountains stood to their feet, eyes alight with the gaze of the trolls, before they began their attack.
Let us forget not the trolls, for they were the first People we encountered and they've been taking advantage of free food to get big and buff!
@Durin
Not on his own, but an entire city and army can rack up a hell of a lot of chip damage
- Location
- United states
It's kind of funny that people say that one single person with a plasma rifle could never kill something that is the equivelent of a titan when we have at least 2 people that could do so using swords.
And yes I know that they are exceptional cases. Still find it amusing.
Last edited:
- Location
- Lowton
One day we are going to get a ranged focused paragon and I shall be a happy cat
- Location
- Peterborough, NH, USA
Something along the lines of
Paragon Combat Trait: Hunter's Strike. Pinpoint accuracy and hitting specific targets are the hallmarks of a hunter in combat. May add half of Intrigue to Combat. Always hits mundane targets within viewing distance. Powerful wards are necessary to reliably stop attacks at any range in sight.
Or,
Paragon Combat Trait: Superior Sniper. A sniper may not fire often, but every shot is deadly. Double combat bonuses and range when using a rifle. Negate Armor of 10 or less. Halve effects of Armor of 11 or more.
Or,
Paragon Combat Trait: No Such Thing As Too Far. Distance is meaningless to you. Every ranged attack ignores distance penalties up to 10 km, and halves them up to 100 km. Increase attack power as target gets closer.
Or,
Paragon Combat Trait: Always Lands. The very fabric of space warps to allow your blows to connect. Attacks from any weapon will always hit, so long as the attack could have reached them in the first place. Impossible to dodge by mundane means.
Personally, I imagine the last as an Ork Mek Paragon Trait, where their gatling gun, in defiance of all logic, is more accurate than most sniper rifles.
Swords tend to beat rifles in 40k. It's not like our world, but that's part of the charm of it.
- Location
- western US
I had a thought the other day......
you know how people transcend/paragon/whatever because they do something so epic that the warp goes "oh, you must be really good at that, I'd better make sure you keep being epic".
what happens if someone does something so epic-ally BAD that they gain a "paragon" trait in suck?
Their trait probably lets them have NEGATIVE stats.....
you know how people transcend/paragon/whatever because they do something so epic that the warp goes "oh, you must be really good at that, I'd better make sure you keep being epic".
what happens if someone does something so epic-ally BAD that they gain a "paragon" trait in suck?
Their trait probably lets them have NEGATIVE stats.....
- Location
- Peterborough, NH, USA
They'd probably die, but Ahra probably has at least one.
- Location
- western US
now that I think about it, the ork warleader head'crusha counts as this.
they were so dumb that the universe reinforced this and they gained super-stupidity.
did durin ever give us his stat-sheet?
