Bulwark Against The Terror (Warhammer 40k Chapter Master Quest)

[Rolled 77, 55, 23]

Tul'Ra took a fraction of a second to consider his options, before tapping his voxbead. A Space Marine at a dead spring could outrun any Ork, but they were surrounded. For the same reason, fighting their way out would incur casualties. Which left hiding.

"Scouts, adopt pattern Serrwyrm. Variation three."

Named after a particularly nasty breed of burrowing predators native to Nocturne, infamous for their ability to slip away from retribution after striking. In so doing, they would exhaust even the strongest opponent until they were easy pickings. The pattern called for each Scout to find the best available cover while actively being hunted, making their own judgement on whether relocating to a better spot was worth the risk of moving.

"Activate locator beacons and prepare for teleport extraction at T-Minus two hundred and ninety seconds on my mark. Mark."

Even as he whispered to his communicator Tul'Ra was moving, slipping away from the central plaza, darting between shadows. Against humans, the audacity of sticking close to the heart of the enemy might have paid off, but Orks were too simple to fall for such a bluff. They would simply start their search from where they were and expand outward from there, without pause to consider where the enemy was likely to be.

He found what he was looking for in a large stone construction, a warehouse where the Orks kept their explosives if he was reading the orkish runes right. They'd piled large slabs of stone in a crude amalgamation of a building and bound them together with some sort of adhesive, but the slabs didn't entirely fit together and Tul'Ra was able to find a nook in the wall about halfway up, large enough for him to fit into. When he threw out his camo-cloak over himself, he was practically invisible even if the Orks had the thought to look up, while giving himself an excellent vantage point.

Every miserable second seemed to crawl by as he watched the Orks stomp around in search of him and his squad. Gastrukk and Zurgog bellowed orders which were then repeated by their respective Nobs, making for a deafening cacophony of noise.

As he'd predicted, the Snakebites had started their search at random, simply wandering around and checking whatever they saw. The Blood Axes seemed to have at least a passing resemblance of a plan, which mostly consisted of shouting loudly about which places had already been checked. Arguments and fistfights broke out whenever they tried to share the plans with the Snakebites, only the prospect of finding the Space Marines forestalling further bloodshed.

Despite his best efforts at teaching them, Tul'Ra had always known it was possible, even likely that several of the Scouts would perish on this mission. The only true teacher was the Anvil of War.

Which was why when Brother Isaac was dragged out of his hiding spot beneath a rain cover by a pair of Blood Axes, Tul'Ra hardened his heart.

There were still three minutes left on the chronometer. Even if he had the whole squad at his back, they would all be dead before reaching Isaac.

He was in the middle of a bellowing horde of thousands of Orks, kicked and shoved down despite his attempts to get up and fight. From his position Tul'Ra had a perfect view of how Isaac pulled a knife from his boot and stabbed it into a nearby Ork's throat. The rest of them simply laughed, an enormous nob grabbing Isaac by the weapon arm and twisting. Another took him by the leg.

And then they started pulling.

Astartes were made to be tough, Salamanders even moreso, but that only went so far. Isaac was being torn apart limb by limb, and all his enhanced physiology did was keep him alive and in pain. They stuck blades into him, twisted and bit and pulled, red blood spilling across the ground.

All the while laughter rang across the Ork citadel, echoing from the stone walls.

Tul'Ra clenched his teeth, shifting in his hiding position. He could not save Isaac… but he could give him the dignity of death.

Gently, he pushed the barrel of his rifle past the camo-cloak, settled the crosshairs over his target, and fired.

It took the Orks a moment to realize that their captive was dead, and not by their own hand. This seemed to anger them, their roars entering a furious pitch as they dispersed once more in search of the one who had denied them their prize. Fury drove them forward in a frenzied hunt. Time passed in tense silence.

"Captain." The vox frizzled. "This is Nathieu. I am about to be discovered."

Tul'Ra cursed under his breath. "Any chance of evasion?"

"Negative." There was an edge of tension in his voice. "I'm hidden by the meat storage near the eastern wall, and can't move without being spotted. The Nob with a chainhammer is making his way toward me. I suspect he smells me."

Tul'Ra swung the scope around to look towards the east. Vast slabs of squig meat and other, less identifiable pieces of flesh were hung from huge hooks, drying in the sun.

"I see him." He was silent for a moment. "Alright. Do not move. All units, do not move unless you need to relocate to a better spot. Do not break off the pattern, even if you see or hear something."

"And what will you be doing, Captain?" That was Mathias.

"Buying us some time." Tul'Ra said as he checked the chronometer.

One minute.

He shouldered his rifle- paradoxically, it was too subtle for what needed to be done. Instead he pulled his bolt pistol from its holster, aimed, and fired. The booming report of the gun filled the air, followed by the snap-hiss of the rocket-engine and the distant detonation of the warhead as the bolt took the Ork's head off. Instantly, xenos heads snapped to attention at the new threat, searching for the source.

Tul'Ra kept firing. Twelve shots, twelve dead Orks. He ejected the empty magazine and slapped on a new one, before clasping his cloak over his shoulders and leaping out of his hiding spot. If the gunfire hadn't been enough to alert the Orks to his positions, the rocket trails would have.

He landed in a crouch, already moving towards the nearest entrance, pulling his sword free from its scabbard. Chiptooth wasn't as long as most power swords preferred by Astartes, more akin to the gladiuses used by the Ultramarines, but it did the job as it plunged upward through the throat and into the brainstem of the first Ork to bar his path. He cast the body aside and dove into the building whose wall he had hidden in,

The building consisted of a single room, housing a trio of Orks and perhaps two dozen gretchin attending to piles of boxes and materials.

The three Orks died in as many seconds, Chiptooth glistening with blood. The gretchin fled in terror, and Tul'Ra let them. Stealth wasn't the point anymore.

There were thirty seconds left when the first Ork burst in, looked around in confusion, and took a bolt round to the back of the head. As did next eleven Orks, their headless bodies piling in the entryway, until Tul'Ra had to pause to reload and the thirteenth had the wherewithal to look up.

Tul'Ra had lodged Chiptooth into the wall above the entrance and hung from it, firing his pistol from the hip. He activated the power field, pulling his sword free and dropping down onto the lucky number thirteen, stabbing the Ork in the spine.

He shoved the stumbling corpse into the xeno behind it, and swung his blade in a horizontal arc that freed its head from its shoulders.

The Orks hadn't had the engineering aptitude to make a door for him to bar, but their corpses served as an adequate barricade. It took only a few moments for the greenskins to clear the way, but every second was valuable.

Less than ten now.

The Orks streamed inside in great numbers, surrounding Tul'Ra, but they were wary now, expecting another trick. The Scout Captain twirled his blade, watching them.

Stone creaked and cracked as Zurgog forced its way inside, the Ork's shoulderspan too wide to fit through. Beady red eyes glared at him with unconcealed malice.

"You'z a right git, ya know dat? None of you space marinez iz gettin' away. But you… you'z 'ead is goin' on me bosspole."

Tul'Ra said nothing to him. Instead:

"All units, activate locator beacons."

Only then did he look up, meeting Zurgog's gaze.

"I doubt that, xenos."

He pulled out a grenade from his belt, thumbed the activation rune, and tossed it over his shoulder.

The last thing Tul'Ra saw before the teleportation field shimmered over him was the look of realization on the Orks faces as they finally seemed to remember what the building he had hidden in was.

A munitions bunker.

-2 Scouts Dead (Gene-Seed not recovered.)
-8 Scouts promoted to Scout Sergeants.
-Intel gained on the Jungle Warzone:
--Orks extremely numerous but overall poorly equipped. Not feral, however.
--Numbers mainly consist of Snakebites and Blood Axes. Snikrot has asserted leadership and appears to have some kind of plan, but friction exists between the clans.
---Snakebites: Traditionalist greenskins who eschew many advanced technologies in favor of Squigs and their sheer innate toughness.
---Blood Axes: Unconventional Orks known to be willing to use multi-step plans, misdirections, retreats and even diplomacy.
--Innermost jungles heavily infested with the Orkoid ecosystem, numerous and highly developed Squig strains.
--Overall terrain mapped out, Snakebite stronghold located. Tul'Ra believes there must be a Blood Axe stronghold hidden somewhere.
--Snikrot's location and activities unknown.
---Two notable lieutenants identified:
----Killboss Gastrukk: Blood Axe, Snikrot's enforcer and right hand.
----Beastboss Zurgog: Snakebites, chafes under Snikrot. Wounded/Killed?

Over the course of five years, you spend time familiarizing yourself with the Chapter's high leadership, as much as yours and their duties allow.

You've previously worked with Kor'Hadron extensively in your capacity as the Master of the Fleet, as he was responsible for the maintenance of all ships and aircraft of the Salamanders as one of the three Masters of the Forge within the Chapter. He was often attached to 4th Company on campaign, observing his blessed machines in action and providing his considerable talents in keeping them operational.

He is also a devout believer in the Cult Mechanicus even beyond the standards of Techmarines, having replaced almost all of his flesh with cybernetics save for his brain. It has served him well in his duties, and proven an invaluable asset time and again when you've had to deal with the scions of the Red Planet, even if his proselytizing can prove irksome at times. He has been a reliable comrade over the years, a friend, even.

Traits Revealed:

-Enginesmith: Skilled with the principles of thrust and velocity, plasma reactor and void-hardening, this one has a talent for building and repairing craft of all sizes and shapes, from antigrav skimmers to warships. Provides a bonus to repairing and maintaining aircraft and voidships.

-Machine Ascendant: Devoted belief in the Omnissiah often has a way of producing mindsets that seem alien to outsiders. Provides a personal defensive boost and a bonus to diplomacy with Adeptus Mechanicus, and a penalty with everyone else.


Va'Sor remains an enigma to you, resisting all attempts to get a read on his true character. Stoic and few-worded, he keeps his personal opinions to himself, rarely offering more than clinical, matter-of-fact commentary when prompted. That is not to say that he is obstructive: your Chief Librarian seems dedicated to his duties and fulfills orders given to him to the utmost of his ability.

As a battle-psyker, Va'Sor specializes in Divination. The Librarians of the Salamanders are steeped in the shamanistic mystic tradition of Nocturne from the days before the Imperium, when wise men, seers and witches offered advice and aid in surviving the unforgiving landscape. In particular, Va'Sor utilizes the ancient traditions of Boneseers, glimpsing future events from inscribed animal bones that are ritually burnt and shattered. Beyond that as befitting his rank he is skilled in multiple other disciplines, including pyromancy, telekinesis and telepathy.

Traits revealed:

-Enigmatic: Mysterious and closed off even to his brethren, this one does not reveal his thoughts and secrets easily. Penalty to diplomacy, bonus against read and analyzed.

-Boneseer: This one has a talent for foresight and precognition, harnessed through the ancient mystic traditions of Nocturne. Provides a chance to receive advance warning of threats on the rise, or other foreknowledge of events yet to come.


Elysoth does not like you, this you already know. The Chaplaincy spoke at length against your ascendancy, citing your youth and the fact that you had only been a Captain for a mere two decades, and a Sergeant for three before then. Master of Sanctity Leotrak had acceded to the Pantheon Council's vote, but he had chosen Elysoth to keep an eye on you in your new post.

And that is what he does, not only to you but the entire Chapter. The threat of his judgement hangs over everyone from Captain to Battle-Brother, and he is not shy with dispensing it. Yet, his sharp tongue often offers valuable insights, and you've come to value his advice. In demeanour he is the epitome of a Space Marine Chaplain, fiery in his oratory and unwavering in his faith. Quick to quote the Book of Fire and the teachings of Vulkan, he holds the traditions of the Salamanders highest in his regard.

Traits Revealed:

-Critical: This one does not hold back on offering criticism regardless of whether it's wanted, even if it is true. Especially if it's true. Penalty to diplomacy, but may offer advice or insights that would otherwise go unsaid.

-Fiery Orator: This one is skilled in getting his point across, whether that be during a sermon in the Reclusiam or on the battlefield. Bonus to inspiring morale and teaching.

-Traditionalist: Holds to the core values of the Eighteenth Legion and the teachings of Vulkan above all else.


Fal'On is one of your oldest friends, first meeting in the deserts of Nocturne as you took the trials to ascend into the ranks of the Salamanders. You stood together against the elements and the deadly predators that sought your death. Some one hundred and thirty years ago you entered the Scout Company together under Sergeant Tul'Ra's watchful eye, and joined your first squad. Fal'On was eventually recruited into the Apothecarion, you ascended the ranks, K'hargan still serves as a Firedrake in the First Company to the best of your knowledge, Fulean was slain by Orks on this very planet, and Val'Kir… you do not speak of what happened to Val'Kir.

Treachery brings a bitter taste to your mouth, even all these years later.

Still, it is good to reminisce of easier, better days with your battle-brother. Fal'On is always quick to crack a joke, a fact that you're sure is a part of his success as an Apothecary. Either his patients are put at ease by his mannerisms or outraged by his irreverence: either way they're distracted enough for him to do his job. But beneath the sarcasm, you know that his demeanour is a way for him to cope with the cruelness and bleakness of mankind's existence in this galaxy. Perhaps compassionate men should make for poor Space Marines, but Fal'On has yet to slack in his duties.

Traits Revealed:

-Sarcastic: An irreverent joke or a cynical remark can go a long way, or they might . Provides a bonus to diplomacy with certain individuals, and penalty with others.

-Compassionate: Even among the Salamanders, this one possesses exceptional empathy for the suffering of others, no matter who they may be.


Pra'Tar led one of 4th Company's Assault Squads under your leadership, though how the Techmarines ever managed to make a jump pack powerful enough to carry him to battle you'll never know. A mountain of a man even for an Astartes, the artificer warplate assigned to him had to be adjusted by Kor'Hadron to fit his prodigious size. Boisterous and good-natured, he is a rock that his men can depend upon, and there's none other that you would rather have fighting at your side.

Traits revealed:

-Anvil of Strength: Vulkan was renowned as the strongest of the Primarchs, and his genetic heritage lends this son of Nocturne great physical might. Bonus to personal combat.

-Inspirational Warrior: Through deeds and words, this one exalts his comrades to ever greater glories. Provides a morale bonus to those fighting alongside him, and a boost to diplomacy.

-Boisterous: Loud and full of enthusiasm, this one does not hide their thoughts or deeds.


Xiaphian Mox is a warrior known to you by reputation, once a rising star among the Salamanders' ranks. From the 2nd Company, he was Mir'San's protege, and favored by some to replace the Old Drake. Perhaps his transfer to your command was a chance for him to live up to his potential, as Mir'San shows no signs of slowing down despite his age.

You take your measure of him, fighting alongside 3rd Company for a time as they hunt the Ork submarines, and you are forced to admit he is most likely the finest tactician of your Chapter, even above yourself. He wields the squads under his command like they were extensions of his own limbs, optimizing battleplans on the fly and reacting to unexpected turns of events lightning-swift. In person, however, you find that he is dour and cynical, even pessimistic. His relentless naysaying makes him difficult to get along with, and you know that he will not have an easy time inspiring others.

Traits Revealed:

-Tactical Genius: This one executes deadly and decisive strategies on the battlefield, and can direct his troops flawlessly even in the maelstrom of battle. Bonus to battlefield command.

-Cynical: One cannot be disappointed if they always expect the worst. Bonus to seeing through feints, traps and other deceptions, but a penalty to morale and diplomacy.


Gargidemi was drawn from 3rd Company's Devastator Squads, an aggressive and zealous warrior. Like his former Captain Agatone, he is a blunt instrument with a penchant for destruction like few others. While his actions might be seen as normal or even exemplary in some Chapters, among the Salamanders Gargidemi earned a reputation for leaving little save for ash in his wake.

He surprises you, however, when you get to know him. He is a genuinely talented void commander, having taken charge of 3rd Company's ships on many occasions while Agatone led the remainder of his troops planetside or in boarding actions. Aggression might be a poor quality for an Imperial Navy Admiral, but the ships of the Adeptus Astartes are more often called upon to break blockades and force landings on enemy-held planets, and in such a role Gargidemi excels.

Traits Revealed:

-Destructive Zeal: The fires of Nocturne burn brightly in this one. Bonus to command when collateral damage is not a concern.

-Lord of the Burning Skies: Even the greatest of Space Marines cannot win a battle if he cannot reach it. Bonus to offensive void/aerial combat operations.

-Aggressive: The best defense is a good offense. Bonus to offensive operations, penalty to defensive.


Pyrion Zeon is another old face to you, formerly a Tactical Sergeant from the 4th Company. There used to be a common joke running among the ranks that his geneseed must have been swapped out with that of an Ultramarine before implantation, and while you discouraged such talk you can see where it started. A strict disciplinarian, Pyrion expects professionalism and self-control from his men at all times, even beyond the norm among the Adeptus Astartes. Whilst his manner might not make him popular, it does have a way of drawing out excellence from those under him.

Pyrion has also extensively studied tactics and works of great tacticians and generals of ages past, from the writings of Vulkan to the Codex Astartes of Guilliman, the Omega Treatise of Leman Russ and even the penned thoughts of Macharius and other select mortal commanders. You've seen the insights he has managed to gleam from them for yourself, and you cannot doubt that Pyrion possessed a talent for command, but you also know from experience that he has something of a blindspot when situations take a turn for the unexpected, and he cannot apply the wisdoms of the ancients. To fully mature into his role he must first break through this weakness.

Traits Revealed:

-Disciplinarian: This one does not tolerate idle hands or lapses of judgement. Penalty to morale for those under his command, but also a boost to battlefield command.

-Student of History: This warrior's knowledge of historic victories and defeats allows him to perceive the flow of battle unerringly, but ancient wisdom cannot always be applied. Bonus to battlefield command, but a penalty to adapting to unforeseen circumstances.


Of your Captains, Zo'Tal was the only one not to be drawn from the ranks of Sergeants, but instead from his position as the Champion of the 5th Company. After testing his skills in the practice cages, you can say with certainty that he is every bit your equal in hand to hand combat, and quite possibly your superior. His swordsmanship is sublime, wielding two weapons with greater precision and grace than most can manage with one. Alongside the master-crafted blades he requisitioned from the armoury Zo'Tal wields his former weapon, the relic sword Sunfang, one of the famed drakeblades forged in the heat of Mount Deathfire that still glows with burning heat.

Beyond his martial skills, Zo'tal appears to be an adequate but unexceptional commander, competent in his role. Perhaps a little prone to leading by example rather than command, but then you are all new to your roles. His manner is quiet and stoic, little given to words or speeches. Still, silent resolve has a way of accomplishing what words alone cannlt.

Traits Revealed:

-Bladelord: A veteran of the duel, a peerless swordsman and an exquisite example of fighting form. Those who lock swords with this one do so at their peril. Bonus to personal combat.

-Stoic: Quiet and impassive, this one rarely shows emotion or reaction.


The service record of Drukeus Ado is exceptional in its unexceptionalness. Decades of long, hard service, as a reliable part of the battleline. Transferred between Companies several times, his superiors have often praised him for his capacity to adapt and always bring something to the table, no matter the situation. And… that is it. No outstanding victories or qualities, no crushing weaknesses. He is simply the epitome of a Salamander, as reliable as the bedrock itself.

Traits Revealed:

-Dependable: This one can always be counted upon to do their part, but rarely more. Reduced chance of critical success and critical failure.

-Versatile: Having fought in countless battlefield roles and conditions, this one can adapt to be whatever the situation calls for. Bonus to adapting to new circumstances.


Kar'Thelar is the youngest of your new Captains, shockingly so. You know that it is hypocritical of you, but you cannot help but doubt how a Space Marine barely into the second half of his first century will be able to fulfill the duties of a Captain. Still, some newly-founded Chapters have to make do with trusting the role on a new recruit, and in the end there is nothing you can do about it. Besides his lack of experience, Kar'Thelar seems genuinely promising, filled with energy and idealism. Time will tell if it will last in this cruel galaxy, but for now it seems to lend him tenacity in battle that has to be seen to be believed. You've never witnessed another marine simply get up after a direct blow from the Hammer of Salvation, unpowered or no.

Traits Revealed:

-Inexperienced: This one is yet to be truly tested upon the anvil of war. Penalties to command actions and personal combat.

-Idealistic: Genuine belief in that one can make a difference in this galaxy combined with a need to prove oneself has a way of motivating a warrior. Bonus to morale.

-Stubborn Defiance: Sometimes, victory means simply never giving up. This one can keep fighting through wounds that would have killed most others, and inspire his warriors to do the same.


Tul'Ra was old even among the Salamanders, and surrounded by the fresh-faced Steel Dragons his age is only magnified. Over the span of three centuries he has slain countless foes and trained many warriors, including yourself. His resolve and unflinching demeanour in the face of Tyranid Hive Fleets, Daemonic incursions and armies of traitors has long been a personal inspiration in your own journey. Sometimes you wonder if it rankles him, to serve under his old student, but if so he has never shown even an inkling of such thoughts.

Traits Revealed:

-Indomitable: Once you've fought and killed just about everything the galaxy has to throw at you, its dangers and horrors start to lose their effect on you. Bonus to morale anto resisting mental effects and conditions.

-Analytical: Centuries of experience combined with an eye for detail make for invaluable tools for any commander. Bonus to assessing the situation and predicting enemy actions.

-Grizzled Survivor: For a Space Marine to grow old, they must by necessity have a talent for surviving against all odds. Bonus to personal survival.

-Unconventional: In war, there is no such thing as honour. Only success and failure. This one does not shy from whatever means will bring about the former.

[Rolled 94, 36, 11]

The Tempest Ocean of Armageddon gains its name from the unrelenting winds that buffet it, turning it into a frothing maelstrom difficult to navigate at the best of times. It is a desolate, unforgiving environment where little life safe for certain species of hard-shelled crustaceans dwell, industrial pollution and toxic emissions from underwater volcanoes having rendered the ocean inimical to all but the hardiest of lifeforms. The seawater is so hazardous that the Imperium has found constructing vast pipelines and pumping stations to funnel fresh meltwater from the glaciers of the Deadlands to the south to be more efficient than attempting to purify it for human consumption. Of course, as waste from the Hives is dumped into the seas the glaciers will eventually run out, but the Adepts of the Administratum estimate that the current solution can be sustained for many thousands of years still.

Nevertheless, the situation presents another problem, one that became apparent during the Third War when the Orks under Ghazghkull's orders began targeting these pipelines: if they are severed, the Hives are limited to what water they can recycle. Significant war assets were diverted to defend them, but thousands upon thousands of kilometers of pipeline quickly proved impossible to fully defend, and the only thing stopping billions of people from dying of thirst was the fact that they had already died by Ork hands, thus leaving more resources to feed the remaining population. Still, as Armageddon now looks towards recovery, the remaining water stocks are quickly dwindling unless the vast network of pipelines and pumping stations can be repaired.

The Deadlands, as their name implies, are devoid of life save for a handful of anti-orbital weapon emplacements now destroyed, as well as the ice mines and associated pumping stations. In this desolation, the Orks found it easy to build many hidden bases, Mekboys quickly converting the components of their landing craft into crude yet effective submarines, which they then used to mount surprise assaults upon the southern shorelines of Armageddon Primus and Secundus as well as harass the pipeline network. Although many such bases were destroyed during the Third War, it has become apparent in the years since that at least one had escaped detection, as submarine attacks continued to mount against the work crews attempting to repair the pipelines and pumping stations. The water situation within the Hives was growing critical, and unless addressed, billions would be consigned to death by thirst.

This solution would come in the form of the Steel Dragons 2nd, 3rd and 8th Companies under the overall leadership of Chief Librarian Va'Sor. The Orks' usage of submarines made going on the offensive impossible, kilometers of seawater shielding the greenskins from both detection and retribution. Instead the Astartes adopted a reactionary model of action, with the 8th taking up the arduous task of protecting the work crews, splitting into small detachments to guard them as they went about their duties. The 2nd and 3rd would take to the skies, prowling the oceans on Thunderhawks and Land Speeders for Ork craft and acting as a quick-reaction force to respond to distress calls and pounce upon the Orks wherever they emerged.

It would not take long for them to taste combat, the greenskins emerging from the depths on their submarines to attack the pumping stations. Although the pipelines themselves would be much easier to sever, it seems that the Orks prefer to loot machinery and tools over raw metal, mobs of Lootaboys literally ripping apart the sea platforms they were fighting on. Guided by Va'Sor's visions, the Steel Dragons were able to intercept and destroy a number of Ork submarines, while the work crews were able to go about their duties unmolested.

Casualties would prove light, of note being the Marines that ended up thrown overboard into the ocean and sinking into the seafloor. Alive and largely unhurt yet unable to return to the surface on their own, the logistical challenge of recovering these marines proved quite novel. After many alternatives were floated, eventually the Steel Dragons would resort to simply dropping anchors and sufficient chain for the marines to climb to the surface themselves.

They were soon reinforced by a quartet of rare Fire Raptor Gunships, fresh from the forges of Archmagos Vahn. Though smaller than Thunderhawks and possessing no transport capacity, the Fire Raptors quickly proved their worth in battle with unmatched agility and ability to provide pin-point close air support.

With navigational data wrested directly from the brains of the Orks via the application of the Omophagea implant and Va'Sor's telepathic gifts, the Steel Dragons converged upon the greenskins' base of operations.

-----

The Ork base echoed with the staccato double-booms of bolterfire and the crackle of flames as the Steel Dragons went about their business. The impromptu dock had been built into a cove carved into the side of a glacier, forming a hidden harbour from which the Orks had been able to operate undetected, until now. Submarine pens lined a small half-circular lagoon, the water now turned to frothing white foam by the thrusters of Thunderhawks, Fire Raptors and Land Speeders as they strafed the base, hammering the Orks before the advancing Steel Dragons.

At the center of the primitive dockyard was an elevated platform adorned with a crude throne, from which the master of this particular warband could watch and survey his minions as they went about their business.



Va'Sor had discarded his force staff but he was not unarmed: the gauntlets of his power armour glowed with the heat of the forge, sparking with flame as they made contact with his opponent's weapons. Against him stood a massive Ork with a Power Klaw in one hand and a crude power tool on the other, as well as an array of cybernetic arms fitted over its shoulders, each ending in a welder, crude servo-clamp or a whirring saw. Va'Sor moved with preternatural grace, reacting to the Ork's movements before it made them, but the sheer number of blows raining down upon him was too much to fully block or avoid, and the Librarian was already bleeding from half a dozen, albeit minor, wounds. Steadily, he was being driven backward while the Mekboss ranted and raved.

"Now you'z gitz 'ave done it!" It screamed as it beheld the destruction being wrought upon the submarine base. "You'z ruined everyfin' I'z built 'ere! Now 'z gonna take yearz ta get everyfin da way I'z 'ad it!"

Va'Sor said nothing as he blocked an incoming blow from the Power Klaw with an open palm, but even as he did so a buzzing sawblade bit into his thigh, shearing through the ceramite in a spray of blood and forcing him to one knee.

Before the Ork could land the finishing blow however, the air was filled with the scream of jump packs, and a salvo of bolts exploded against the greenskin, driving it backward. Captain Pra'Tar landed beside Va'Sor with a thunderous impact, his executioner's blade gleaming in the sunlight as it arced downward to cut the Mek's arm off at the bicep.

"Skrew diz!" The Ork roared. "Diz ain't da last you'z seen o' Scrapboss Wuzdakka!"

With a flourish, the Big Mek picked up a remote from his belt using his remaining arm, thumbing the big red button on it. Before the Space Marines could react Wuzdakka has disappeared in a flash of light, leaving only scorchmarks in his wake.

"One of the submarine pens was empty." Pra'Tar explained as he offered the Librarian a hand to pull him to his feet. "You have fought well, my brother, but I fear it may have been for naught."

"On the contrary." Va'Sor said, picking up his staff. "I was waiting for this. Teleportation leaves behind a momentary ripple in the Warp, and if you know where to look and when, you can follow the trail. His ship is a dozen kilometers off the shore, and a few more down. We have our target."

"But we have no weapons capable of reaching so far beneath the waves."

"Have we not?" Va'Sor asked, raising a finger to his ear. "Hammer of Light, this is Chief Librarian Va'Sor. Fire for effect on the coordinates I am transmitting to you now, penetration-pattern. Authorization code Eighteen-Two-Three-Epsilon-Yellow."

"It would take time for a Strike Cruiser to move into position, unless… you planned this from the beginning?"

Va'Sor said nothing, merely watching as hell rained down from the sky.

Three slivers of light descended from on high and hit the ocean surface in great geysirs of water. An instant later, the magma bombs from the bombardment cannon of the Hammer of Light detonated, unleashing the fury of nuclear fire. The surface of the ocean itself ruptured outward in an enormous explosion of steam and flame, shockwaves rippling outward.

"Let us be done with this." Va'Sor said, turning away.

By the time the tsunami waves reached the Ork base to scour its remains from existence, the Steel Dragons were long gone.

-Ork Submarine threat neutralized, water situation stabilizing.
-Big Mek Wuzadakka's escape thwarted by Va'Sor, priority target neutralized.
-Water pumping network remains a key strategic weakpoint in Armageddon's defences.

[Rolled 28, 85, 55]

The mountains of Armageddon were one of the two main strongholds of the greenskins over the five decades between Ghazghkull's invasions, and it was here that the last battles of the Third War were fought. With fire and blade the vengeful Imperials purged the greenskins to the last, yet it is an immutable truth that Orks are damnably difficult to eradicate fully. Already, isolated spores have matured into small groups of xenos, eking out a living amongst the endless valleys, plateaus and cave systems that make up the planet's five major mountain ranges: Death Ridge, Volcanus, Hecate, Diablo and Pallidus.

The 7th Company roamed these mountains with vengeance in their hearts, putting these isolated tribes to the sword one by one. But not fast enough. It never is enough, with Orks. No matter how many they kill, there are always more. Not large enough groups to be threatening, not enough to be a challenge, but they seem endless in number. Worse, unless an inordinate amount of time is spent cleansing the area, leftover spores inevitably grow into new greenskins, necessitating another pass. Either way, the purge has slowed to a crawl, merely keeping the Ork numbers in check rather than culling them. The Steel Dragons simply do not have the numbers, not for Armageddon of all worlds.

-Ork presence in the mountains contained but not reduced. Full purge will require additional forces.

However, there is an incident that requires your personal attention, after Captain Drukeus passes on that one of his squads has discovered something disturbing. The coordinates they relay to you bring you to a desolate valley in the remote regions of the Volcanus Mountains, far from civilization.

What you find as your Thunderhawk lands is the site of a massacre.

Over a hundred power-armoured bodies lie strewn across the ground: it is difficult to get a firm count due to the state of mutilation and dismemberment the corpses are in. Surrounding them is a small mountain of dead Orks, as well as the wrecks of numerous vehicles of both Astartes and greenskin make. The ground is scorched black and littered with spent casings and the detritus of war: it seems you've come to the site of a last stand.

Yet, you were not aware of any other Chapters operating on Armageddon.

"The bodies are old." Fal'On says, following you out of the Thunderhawk. "The dry, cold mountain winds have kept them preserved. Most likely since the Third War."

You nod in acceptance at your Chief Apothecary's words, as you kneel to inspect the nearest body. The ceramite is colored black and purple, and on the pauldron the fallen warrior bears the symbol of some manner of dark-feathered bird.

"Twilight Crows," your mind supplies from your neophyte days more than a century since, when such minutiae was used to test the memory of young initiates. "Sons of Corax from the Eleventh Founding."

"What interests me is how the corpses have remained untouched." Fal'On says. "Orks lay spores when they die and 7th Company reports these mountains are teeming with them, yet all this wargear has been left where it fell, unlooted. I didn't know Orks paid respects to the dead."

"I have stood watch over them, young one."

The deep, rumbling voice that speaks is tinged with echoes of static. As you wheel around, hand reaching for the haft of your hammer, you realize that one of the wrecks is not entirely destroyed, merely crippled. A Contemptor-pattern Dreadnought leans against a Gorkanaut hulk with both its legs missing, one gone at the knee and the other at the hip joint. The severed power fist from its left hand appears to have been buried deep into the Ork walker's chest, but the twin volkite weapon in its right seems fully functional. Supplied with this knowledge, your eyes fall upon multiple scorch marks on the ground and the bodies around the wreck.

"My long-range vox... is damaged." The Dreadnought speaks with a wheeze, laboriously, as if in pain. "I… drove off the looters. How… long has it been?"

"It has been over a decade since the war has ended." You say slowly. "We hunt the Orks that remain."

"Good, that is… good." He breathes out slowly, but it seems that he relaxes slightly. "Sons of Vulkan, eh? Salamanders finally… produced a Successor."

"I am Chapter Master N'Varr, formerly of the Salamanders, yes." You nod, cautiously pulling off your helmet and tucking it under your arm. "We Steel Dragons were named wardens of Armageddon, to safeguard it against further danger."

"I am… Ancient Talamacchius, of the Twilight Crows" He wheezes out. "Now the Crowfather, I suppose, by virtue of elimination." Damaged joints groan as the Dreadnought shifts in place, and you realize he is trying to point at something. "Young Vivelius' body is somewhere over there."

"Then-"

"This is all that is left of us, yes." Talamacchius cuts Fal'On off. "I suppose… your next question is what happened to the rest. " He seems to momentarily gain strength, his voice gaining clarity. "Ah, Scaturia! Its verdant hills and lush forests were our home for millenia. The people there valued art and could craft wonders with a woodcarver's knife. But our homeworld was also our doom, for it concealed poison deep within its bowels."

"What happened?" You ask.

"Death. Silver death, that brought ruin with arcs of green lightning. Numberless they were, marching from their tombs beneath the ground. We fought… and we died." His momentary burst of energy seems to leave him, his hulking form slumping against the Ork mech. "Scaturia burned. What remained of our fleet rained fire upon it… until nought but dust and rocks remained. Less… than two hundred Twilight Crows remained. We heard of the muster for Armageddon. We chose… to go out on our own terms."

"You could have rebuilt." Fal'On argues. "Petitioned the Terra for aid. Even those decrepit old men would've-"

"We had failed… in our Emperor-given task." Talamacchius rumbles. "Tell me, son of Vulkan, if Nocturne was gone… would you simply pick up and start again elsewhere? If the Orks returned to this place, and won?"

To that, neither of you have anything to say.

"We came to this world to die… in service. And die we did. The last of our ships were lost in orbit, and we made planetfall. We fought with honour. This is but the last of our battles. We… made rivers out of Ork blood. Only…" He is audibly pained as he speaks, melancholy evident in his voice. "Only I remain. For… years it must have been, I have watched over this place. Watched my brothers' corpses lie where they fell. Our sacred relics sit in the dirt and grime." He turns toward you. "And for that, I would ask you for a boon, Son of Vulkan."

"Name it, but I can make no guarantee until I hear it."

"Please… bury my brethren. I ask for no great monuments, but simply something that they might be remembered by." He breathes in and out slowly. "And second… my Chapter was granted certain relics by our progenitor, upon our founding. The Blade of Sharrowkyn. The Wicked Talons. The Banner of Midnight. I would see them returned to the Ravenspire. I would… ask you for passage to Deliverance, so that I might bring our relics and what remains of our gene-seed to the Raven Guard. May they serve future generations of Sons of Corax better than we did."

"This is no small task you set before us, ancient one. Deliverance is across the galaxy from Armageddon." You say, your mind already at work. The trip could well take years, and such cargo would require heavy escort. It would be a prize beyond worth to many factions, and the galaxy is in turmoil like never before.

"Indeed, and I would not ask you to do so without reward." His weapon-arm gestures towards the field of bodies. "Besides the relics, whatever wargear… you can salvage, shall be yours. I would rather see it serve the Emperor again, in defence of the world my brothers died for."

You'd seen Corvus-pattern power armour, various weapons and vehicles, even several suits of Terminator Armour. You couldn't say for sure how much of it could be repaired until the Techmarines had taken a thorough look at it, but you could tell a decent chunk would be. Astartes wargear was built to last.

But here, standing before the Dreadnought's ancient gaze, you have to make a decision.

Decide what to do with the Twilight Crows relics and gene-seed. The mission does not need to be started immediately on Turn 3 even if you agree, but delaying it will have effects. Minimum force deployment is a Strike Cruiser and a Company, and estimated mission timeframe is 1-2 turns.

[] You will honour Armageddon's defenders, and their wargear shall serve once more in her defence. You will agree to Talamacchius' proposal.
[] Honour is its own reward. You will agree to bring the Twilight Crows relics and geneseed to Deliverance, but refuse the offer of salvage.
[] You cannot spare the warriors nor the ships. You will bury the dead and pass on a message, but the Sons of Corax will have to pick up the relics and geneseed when they next pass near Armageddon.
[] Write-In.