Age of Burning Empires: IC

[SteelWriter77]

"The Lockstep: Brutal machine foot soldiers of the Men of Iron, originally records indicate their purpose to be peacekeeping forces during the Golden Age of Man, clearly modified with the intent of wiping out mankind, while no match for an Astartes, beware solders of the Imperium, their weapons unleash a foul Radioactive blast".- Guide to the Machine Monstrosities of the Men of Iron Vol I​

Far from the ongoing conflicts on the main battle lines of the Imperium against the Men of Iron, the Emperor of Mankind would after many years of working towards stabilizing the internal workings of the Imperium, rejoin the Great Crusade. His armies of Thunder Warriors under Lord General Adriuius Ushotan rejuvenated by the works of the Warriors of Peace and their Jade General, the Adeptus Custodes, his ever vigilant warrior guards under command of Constantin Valdor never straying from their lord's side as they would carve into the southern realms of the Machine menace.

He of course would not fight only with his own warriors, Warriors of Peace along with their Primarch fought alongside the Emperor, their mystical powers and steadfast commitment apparent as they performed their duty against the mechanical menace of humanity's past.

From the Eternity Guard, came the Old Guard under their leader Reon Essling, seeking to serve alongside the Emperor once again. It was with united purpose that the Imperium went to war with the Men of Iron, the Emperor like a shining beacon of golden might as he cut away armies with his flaming sword, his armies of golden warriors deploying their might with a precision unmatched by any of the Legions

Nowhere was the Emperor's presence felt more than on the world of Hydris, where the forces of the Imperium would seek to break the Hub world of the South, devastating the Men of Iron's efforts and drawing their ire away from the main lines.
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The Jade General knew from the strategy meetings with his Father and his Generals that the Men of Iron would be drawn to those with the talents of Chi Manipulation, their hatred of such arts being told to him from the Emperor, but to hear of it is far different to seeing it. They had no souls but the Jade General could feel their hatred as they tore themselves apart just to have the chance to kill himself or his father, their methods of war, perfectly suited to bring death to life just by its mear use, while he was not of the faith of the Machine God like those of the Mechanicum, he could not deny their claims of these beings being nothing but the purest form of evil held merit.

Hydris was a perfect example of this abhorrent hatred of biological life, from the moment he beheld the world, he saw what it once was nothing short of a paradise world, life abundant on a world of red leaves and bluegrass, a world where humanity could settle into a peaceful existence away from the wars of the Great Crusade. Now it was a dying world as smog choked it's skies and sensors detected radiation eating away at whatever had not died to the toxins being pumped into the air.

The Jade General always put himself to the standards of the Monks of his youth, looking to their examples of self control over his emotions, but to see such destruction upon a world to leave it bare of life and Chi, his calm was almost compromised, something that was apparent as streaks of white and black power would rain down on battlefields.

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Xian Dong crushed the Men of Iron Lockstep in his Powerfist, the last of a so-called ambush the machines attempted on their group. He looked over his brothers and their aids for this mission, their red armor already cracking in some areas and burns marring some of the ornamentation designs, a shallow frown formed under his helmet, not an ideal situation but seems that that was the only damage to his own forces. He turns to see their allies for the mission, their golden armor was in worse shape then his own warriors but they seemed far more motivated, already preparing their weapons for when the Men of Iron attack next.

He saw High Libarius Magnus speaking with his commanders, quickly and with purpose. Truly Xian Dong was uncertain about the Thunder Warriors, he knew their loyalty could never be in question and that they held a newfound respect to his General for curing the misalignment of their souls…but the way they held themselves always spoke to his inner thoughts as predatory, where as the Custodes held a almost mechanical essence, both were clearly unnatural to his senses and had endeavored to keep himself separate from them as much as he could. Something he kept in mind as he approached wordlessly to the Chi using Thunder Warrior, his eyes a bright sky blue that contrasted his dark features.

"The wounds sustained are nothing of consequence son of Jade, my Brothers and I have faced such toxic wounds before " Xian Dong did not need to speak for his question to be answered, something he has gotten used to with others talented in manipulating Chi, but never something he got used to.

"Our scouts believe we are reaching the target soon, what does your instinct tell you of the coming battle?" Sight of the future was always a risky prospect, but it's uses could not be denied even if it is vague at the best of times.

"Many will die in the attack, but far more will die if we do not act…such is the way of War in our time" said the Thunder Warrior with the placidity of a Monk aware of his near death.

"...Let us continue then High Libarius." Xian Dong would not let his unease dictate his action as he put his focus on the mission to destroy one of the many factories churning out Warforms.

The group would continue silently for some time, finding their destination and preparing for the battle to destroy it. The battle for the factory would be a costly affair, nearly a hundred of his brothers dead and himself gravely wounded, the protectors of the factory almost claiming his last eye, only by the actions of Magnus was Xian Dong able to gain the upper hand and prevent his own death. "Ready yourselves Brothers, we will not let reinforcements take us by surprise."

"Our work is done here son of Jade, but the War needs our action soon." Spoke Magnus, his eyes looking out of the factory and to the wider world.

From the distance he saw the main lines continuing the fight and now pushing the advantage given, this factory would no longer supply the Men of Iron with new bodies. With narrowed eyes he looked to where Magnus himself was looking, seeing the dark form of a great Worm like body flashing every so often "Indeed High Libarius, the battle for the Orbit still needs completion." he spoke plainly, turning to the rest of the group he helped them gather themselves before they all moved on.

Xian Dong would still find discomfort with the Thunder Warriors, but he could understand their use for the Great Crusade, especially in times of these wars of such apocalyptic nature.

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The blast nearly knocked Gremory off the massive metal monster, but his firm grip kept him on his target, his eviscerator still cutting deep into the silver body of the flying beast. Some of his brothers were not as lucky, the defenses of the craft blasting away ceremite and flesh, leaving some limbs to still be grasping onto the metal as the remains of the body fall away.

But Gremory did not think of his fallen brothers, only his mission mattered in this moment as he cut more and more into the enemy. The metal Worm that flew over the battlefields needed to be taken down, it's death would free the skies for his brothers to deliver supplies to the further fronts or drop retribution upon these machines.

Reaching this position was not an easy task, dropping from high orbit onto the many mile long war machine with the goal of cutting open enough of part to throw in specially made Mechanicum explosives. Many would consider the mission suicidal, but they were the Old Guard of the second Legion, their duty outstripped such things. With one last push with his eviscerator he had made a opening large enough to throw in the explosive, Gremory then leapt from his position after setting it to blow, as he fell to the battle ground below, he turned to watch as a section of the great metal Worm burned brightly for a moment,before a gaping hole was blown open, as soon as it appeared, he saw Thunderhawks and other aircraft of the Legion firing all their munitions into the new opening, blasting with the fury of the Emperor.

He did not see when the Thunderhawk flew past him, nor did he see the Assault Marines grabbing hold of him to throw him inside the Thunderhawk hanger bay, but he did see Reon Essling standing before him.

His harsh landing clearly cracked bones, but he paid that no mind as he stood and saluted to his superior "I am ready for my next mission Captain General, just point where I am required." it would be untrue to say that Gremory did not smile like a beast as his brother simply pointed to the chaotic battle below.
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Across space, other battles took place that would define the southern conflicts, Custodes given orders by their Emperor to lead Astartes and Imperial Army soldiers against the eastern worlds, still in the midst of colonization by the Men of Iron, and areas of intense resource use for them, to cripple this area would make the push for the Emperor far smoother.

On one such world, Ra Endymion watched as the Astartes prepared their defenses, quickly putting together metal barricades and setting up gun lines for them and the Imperial Army. Already the battle for this world was proving his own long held ideas that he and his brothers did not need the Astartes, had it only been his own forces assigned to this campaign, the world would be conquered and the machines broken.

But as Tribune he must obey his Emperor, if he desires that time and care be taken with the second Legion slowing down the work, then it shall be done. Of course during his musing one of the so called "Hunter-Killer" machines had attempted to rush past and begin a slaughter of the Imperial Forces, but Ra would strike first, his Guardian Spar cutting through the machine creature. A Probing attack if he had to assume, in a single second since the machine fell, Ra aimed and threw his Spear into the body of another Hunter-Killer watching.

The commotion finally alerted the rest of the Astartes into action, a disappointing four seconds, but again he must not bemoan his lot to deal with such weakness, his squad had already informed him the main attacking force was taken care of before they could even be detected by the Astartes, so there was no real danger for them to waste time or build their little forts.
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Reon Essling was what many would consider an ill tempered man, he had no tolerance for fools and strived for perfection in the matters of War, expecting his Legion to follow in his example. Such a mindset came from his earliest days in the Legion, before their Primarch and where they had earned their name in protecting the Emperor during the unification Wars. The Custodes and Thunder Warriors were his soldiers of course, but Reon knew the purpose of the second legion was far greater than being just another Legion. The Old Guard, his order was given to him by the Legion Master before him, to keep the traditions and showcase the worth of the second to all.

Such were his thoughts as he led his brothers against the boarding Men of Iron, the battle for Hydris had been won by the Imperium, but the Machines kept arriving in the system, trying to surround the Imperial fleet. On board the grand ship of the Emperor himself, the Bucephalus, Reon and his Brothers fought against Locksteps and Golems, their size and power no match for the Eternity Guard's best.

The Old Hundred, venerable Dreadnoughts from the first of the Legion, whose wisdom and experience had taught hundreds of legionaries about their history, tore through the mechanical hordes like paper. Reon himself found a semblance of pride in his Legion at the sight, despite personal feeling between himself and several of the Old Hundred, both he and they agreed that their might would be used against the Men of Iron. As for his own efforts, he stood on the precipice of where the Bucephalus ends, and where the foul machine pod of the Men of Iron began.

Clad in his Terminator armor, he lifted his Power Sword towards the seemingly empty dark, a wordless challenge being declared towards any that dwelled within. He did not wait long as a swarm of smaller machines rushed out, none truly after him or answering his challenge, but many cut down as they entered his range. What answered his challenge stepped in front of the Astartes, it was a mockery in every sense, clearly modeled after an Astartes in Terminator Armor, flanked by smaller normal Astartes versions holding the radioactive weapons of the Men of Iron.

Reon would enter into this battle full of rage, against the Simulacrum mockeries of Astartes warriors, their efforts to emulate the battle prowess of the Legions was evident in how similar they fought like the Umbral Watch and Blood Jaguars, bodies clearly altered to be far more effective in those styles of combat. But Reon was undaunted, no matter the wound or burn upon his person, he cut and fought the Men of Iron. One by one they fell, until it was only the largest remaining, powersword met power-field emitting fists as the two fought, despite his prior injuries, Reon powered through any pain as he cut away the arms of the Simulacrum and stabbed his sword in the chest of the machine. Blood dripped from his wounds, his armor burnt and cracked from the battle, the dangers of these new machines would need to be reported, fighting like the best of the other Legions.

But it seems even in victory he would have no rest, the sounds of other adversaries approached his position, Hunter-Killers aiming their weapons and clearly waiting for him to try and move out of the way, their cruelty outweighing their pragmatism. The roar of a eviscerator was all the warning the Hunter-Killers received before Gremory and others of the Old Guard charged forth, Reon's instructions having been followed to the letter, anticipating the machines to try such a tactic against Reon. The fact they had all watched his victory personally was a…additional bonus, he would be seen with glory this day, and that was a grander victory then many others.
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The bridge of the Bucephalus, normally a place of serene calm, was frantic with activity as Vox lines from across the vessels and wider battle filled the massive chamber with noise, Thunder Warrior Commanders barked orders to their subordinates scattered across the many battlefields. Custodes held firm lines across the ship, cutting into paths the machines try to take to reach their Emperor, the Jade General found himself tested as more and more Men of Iron Ships arrived in system, their guns firing the moment they exit their form of Warp Travel.

But the Emperor was silent, his face as stoic as ever while more and more of the machine horde came into the system, drawn by his own presence and the amount of power the rest of the Psyker forces emitted by their very existence. Imperial ships fought against swarms of bladeships, against vessels of geometric shapes of increasing complexity. Truly had this been any other fleet, this battle would be one of the most costly of the Great Crusade, but this was the fleet of the Emperor of Mankind, and he would not be stopped this way.

"ENOUGH" ​

That single word shook the Bucephalus and reverberated with power that all felt, the glow of the Emperor's eyes expanded as he raised a open hand towards one of the larger Men of Iron vessels, to the bridge crew, what occurred that day would be told for generations as the Emperor clenched his hand and with the force of Humanity's most powerful Psyker, the Glorianana sized vessel was crushed by unseen force. His voice would then be felt by all of the Imperium's forces in the system.

"RISE UP HUMANITY, LET NOT OUR DREAM OF UNITY BE HALTED BY THE MONSTERS OF THE PAST, LET YOUR RAGE BE ANSWERED FOR ALL YOUR ANCESTORS WHO SUFFERED AT THE HANDS OF THE MEN OF IRON"​

The battle would continue for only ten minutes, as with this single act, the Imperial Army, the Thunder Warriors, Custodes and Astartes forces fought with a renewed vigor and purpose. The sheer ease in which the Emperor destroyed the massive vessel threw the Men of Iron into disarray, making their destruction all the simpler.

It would only be after the battle had concluded that the Jade General would see the power that his father had wielded with such precision, for in the depths of the massive ship, parts still held power and could be recovered, inside were hundreds of Unsouled, none had died due to the Emperor's actions, nor were they harmed, such power and control from his Father sparked something inside of the Jade General, something that he would keep as the war against the Men of Iron continued.

 

[triumph8w]

BEGINING ​

The cheering was still ringing in his ears.

The room he was standing in was as grand as he had ever seen—and yet still it was a ruin. Bolted together plates of steel and titanium made up the floor, while tattered banners hung from the roof. Behind him was a solid slab of a door, where even now the gladiatorial games were winding down. A cool breeze, tainted only slightly by old fumes and the stale breath of a dying planet, cut through the room. From the open balcony Starscream could see Kaon, shrouded in night.

Starscream, small and alone, shivered.

It had been a magnificent thing. Proud warriors, proud heroes, clashing together on the red sands. Each holding a guttural strength to lithe elegance that was truly beyond him. But for all their power, all their skill, they paled against the man he had come here for. Tronous was a power unto himself. A titan amongst men, a being of star-stuff fashioned into crude flesh, all to raise them up. The boy could admit to himself that he was cynical. Why wouldn't he be? In the hell that was Kaon, that disgusting, dying city of rust, clogged with the slush of dead dreams, what use was there in lying to yourself? None at all. If you looked at the city's disemboweled guts and flinched, then you were dead. Maybe not that instant, nor the next day. But that cold hand would reach for you all the same, for you provided an open door, an weakness in which it could grasp you.

But seeing the gladiator, seeing Tronous, was like looking at the stars for the first time.

Starscream had heard about him. There was not a soul in Kaon who hadn't. The gladiator went from strength to strength, and seemed set on a good career. But after each of his battles he began to speak, his proud voice filled to the brim with defiance and contempt. Starscream had come to the area with his gang as a treat, a reward for a job well done. To watch the battles in awe and forget their troubles for but a moment, and to gain some small amusement by watching this rising star proclaim his weakness, his death-point, for all the world to hear.

But when Tronous spoke, the arena was silent. Starscream was silent. He had bested his opponent in three brutal strikes, leaving that nameless person, some disgraced flunky of the High Council, to take in the red sands while Tronous spoke. The words Starscream had heard then used to only exist in his head. A silent contempt for the world around him, and a painful inability to change it. He was weak. He was always weak.

But Tronous wasn't.

Starscream had to speak to him. It wasn't a question, a wild urge to be disciplined and mastered, it was a need. The titan had given voice to his thoughts, to his contempt, to the dead hope within him that anything, anything at all could be done to change their fate. They were all going to die in the rusty necropolis of Kaon. That he knew That everyone knew. It was an iron fact…but now it wasn't.

It was a blur. Starscream wasn't actually quite sure how he had managed to talk the guards—Tronous men, his Ascensionists, into a meeting. And now here he was, alone and waiting. He began to wander, moving away from the door and taking in the banners. They towered over the room, hanging from the rafters, but each and every one of them was as worn and tattered as Kaon. He could see the city spread out before him from here. The sight of it caused his lip to curl.

With a groaning screech the door behind him began to open. He turned, watching as it yawned open, and a titan stepped through.

Tronous was without his armor, wearing instead a simple brown shirt and pants. He had been a titan in the arena, standing astride the world. But Starscream had been viewing him from a distance, then. Now that he was in the same room he could only marvel at the man's size. Even with the distance between them, his shadow fell on Starscream. Whether that was due to the light playing tricks, or the man's size, Starscream couldn't tell. The gladiator scanned the room before his red eyes met Starscream's own. A strong jaw framed a worn face, lined with scars. While spiky gray hair, cut short and smoothed back, rustled in the breeze.

There was a moment of silence as the two measured one another. Then Tronous smiled.

"Starscream, eh?"

The young man bristled, crossing his arms. "Yes." He said somewhat shortly. "I'm quite fond of it. The–" He fumbled over his words, before scowling. "The name, that is."

Tronous' smile widened and he waved a hand. "Didn't mean it like that. Names a name. And, frankly, I think you picked one of the better ones. Certainly more imaginative than Crackskull."

Starscream slowly uncrossed his arms, his face a mask of befuddlement. "Crackskull?"

The gladiator chuckled. "Yes. Simple man, solid. Forgot his name often enough that he just chose one for himself. Shame what happened to him. Enforcers."

Enforcers. With just a single word, no more explanation was required. They barely bothered to touch Kaon, but when they did…

"At any rate," Tronous said, closing the door behind him and walking further into the room to meet Starscream. His stride was slow and heavy. Placid and unhurried. "You wished to speak to me."

Starscream straightened, attempting to stand as tall as he could—which was not by much. He was always skinny, but next to this titan of flesh he was just a small stick, waiting to be snapped. "Yes," he said. "Yes I did." Clearing his throat he attempted to center his thoughts. It was hard. Harder than he would've thought, to give voice to these feelings.

"Your words, in the arena…" Starscream began, slowly and carefully. "They were…"

He flicked his wrist in annoyance and his stumbling. What had come over him? He was never this bad, never. He made it a point of pride to always be ready with a quick word. Tronous, for his part, said nothing, simply leaning against a wall and watching Starscream, face unreadable.

"They spoke to me." Starscream eventually settled on, hating such bland words. But he couldn't find something that gave a proper voice to the depths of his hate and contempt for the high and mighty lords that kept them all in this squalor. The words that came so easily to the gladiator. "I will admit that I have not always been the most righteous soul, for I have done what was necessary to survive—for my people to survive. But all that, everything I've done, everything, wouldn't have needed to happen if the High Council could just-"

He cut himself off with a hiss, swallowing the emotion. Scorn was all well and good. But it had to have a tinge of irony to it, like the fact you were saying the words at all was a joke, worthy of its own contempt. Nobody could actually see you truly believe what you were saying. That was a weakness, and weakness led to death. It was cruel. Cruel and unfair, and he despised it all. But hateful or not, he had to play by those rules.

A silence fell on the room, save for the wind rustling the old banners. Tronous had crossed his massive arms, laced with scars, while Starscream spoke. There was something to be admired in how his face gave nothing away, and projected a simple abject neutrality. That took skill. Skill and self-restraint. After a few seconds passed the gladiator pushed himself off the wall, and began to walk closer to Starscream.

"Have you ever seen Icaon?" The titan asked.

Starscream blinked. "Wha-? No. I've never left the city."

Tronous huffed. "It's a very pretty place. All gleaming towers and clean streets. People walk them without fear, carrying no weapons, instead holding all sorts of wealth and luxury in their arms with such a casual air that it boggles the mind. The High Council keeps everything for themselves. Even freedom. Especially freedom."

He walked past Starscream, moving to the rusting railing on the balcony.

"They could help us, with that wealth. Build Kaon up. Not into a gleaming citadel, but a proper home. But they don't. I wondered why, in my youth. Why not? They have the means, so very obviously. Everything they control is leaps and bounds from what the rest of the planet is able to muster. Do they not care? Do they enjoy our suffering? What of fear? Do they fear us, or their own loss of control? Eventually I found my answer."

He turned from Kaon to look at Starscream, his red eyes gleaming.

"It doesn't matter what their reasons are, their actions remain clear. And they chose inaction. They are content with our suffering, and discontent when we attempt to help ourselves, because we slip beyond their ability to control. Show we do not need them. They are the most cruel sort of lord: Apathetic, yet covetous."

Starscream watched the gladiator speak, his eyes wide. He flinched somewhat when Tronous' eyes met his own, but held his ground.

"Look what they have taken from you, without even caring." Tronous said softly. "You cannot even speak clearly of your hate, of your pain, for the environment they have fashioned leaves you no choice but to uphold their artificial image. I've heard you speak before."

Starscream's mouth fell open. "You—what? I'm just some small-time jockey."

Tronous chuckled, the sound not unlike the rumble of a stirring mountain. "Maybe. But you are clever, and passionate. Your strength is something that the High Council fears, seeks to crush within us all."

He reached up and tapped his own head with a calloused finger.

"The mind. Free of their control, of their warping. No matter what, Starscream, no matter all the cruelty, the hate, the pain and the bile, they cannot take that. Not wholly, not completely. For it is yours."

He shifted again, moving away from the balcony. The gladiator's heavy steps rattled the metal plating on the floor. As he moved he cast Starscream in his shadow.

"I've had enough of it. Of all their hate and ignorance, servile greed and base apathy. Enough. I'm glad you asked for this meeting, Starscream. You have my thanks. For I need you."

"M-Me?" Starscream said.

"Your help. Your mind. Your strength. I seek an end to this pain enforced upon us by an uncaring elite. I cannot do it alone. Nobody can. And nobody should. This is a quest for us all, for within it is the very fate of our world."

"And why should I help?" Starscream said reflexively, his mind whirring.

Tronous smiled. "I understand. Its a dangerous endeavor. Their strength is immense. But I have heard your words, and no matter the self-deprecating scorn you lace with them, I can tell the true ire of your hate. They've taken so much from you."

"From us," Starscream muttered. His gang was larger once, but so many had been lost. From fighting over the scraps with other rats, taking desperate job after desperate job, evading the Enforcers whenever they deigned to come out this far, and enduring their blows when caught.

He flexed his hands, something dark boiling within him.

"You'll see to their end?" He asked, tilting his chin to meet Tronous eyes. "To revenge?"

"More than that," Tronous said firmly. "I'll see to something better. We will."

"Why do you want me?" Starscream asked. "Just another body?"

"Because you are clever, crafty, and you believe. You believe that this must end, you believe that something new is needed. You have a hope that most here don't. Hate will give me plenty of bodies, but I need people willing to look past that, to the future that must come after the High Council."

Tronous waved a hand, gesturing to the ruin of Kaon laid out in front of them both.

"It is rust and ruins now. But you can see a time when it will be something greater, can't you?"

Starscream followed his hand, and stared out at Kaon. He could see the spires which once reached orbit, snapped in half now, their broken edges illuminated by the full moon. Looking at the city one would think it dead, devoid of any inhabitants and left to rot. Nobody could live here, not for long, and not pleasantly. It was as if all the cruelty of the universe bled into this point, poisoning everything it touched. Even him.

But oh, what it could be.

The spires restored, the streets clean, the buildings safe, the people healthy. A place where the future held something greater than a bottle of clean water, where you could look at the months ahead and actually expect to see them. Where people could connect without the expectation of gain, could hold something meaningful and pleasant in their lives.

"Yes." Starscream said, his voice quiet. "Yes, I can see it."

A heavy hand was placed on his shoulder. Starscream looked up to the man who placed it there, and returned his smile.

"Then help me make it happen."

When they were done speaking, the dark night had faded, and the sun shone on Kaon.

 

[SteelWriter77]

"The Rifle-Keepers of the Dawi-Zharr are a suburb example of their inner cruelty, blasting jagged molten slabs of rock with their first blasts to melt through armor, then the second blast is a torrent of fire to eat at the newly espoused flesh, make no mistake soldiers, our enemy's are sick Kark-stains" Colonel Rick "Slag-Breaker" Zimmerman of the Shieldbearers 15th Auxiliary forces speaking to his soldiers before landing on Than Vios​

Eastern Space, still unknown to much of the Imperium and a site of an ongoing conflict between the Seventeenth Legion and the Dawi-Zharr Empire, a War between the blades of the Star Knights and these stone skinned abominations. However it would not be a war they would fight alone for long, as the virtuous eleventh Legion would come to aid their fellow legion in bringing down this menace. Their fury had been earned by the refusal of the Dawi-Zharr to surrender at Sampson's command.

It is said the two Brothers did not speak long once Sampson had arrived, but the effects of his arrival sparked a turning of the deadlock that had gripped the front, Starscream wishing to not have his glory stolen would proclaim rather famously "This War will End within the Year By the Blades of Mankind's Champions." a statement that without context inspired all to fight harder to showcase the unity of the Imperium.
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As before, the spear tip of the advance belonged to the Star Knights and their Astartes, but now with the Order of their Primarch to bring this conflict to a conclusion, the Titans of the Seventeenth began their assault all across the lines.

The siegework of the Shieldbearers became a foundation for several plans, as the bombardments their ships brought in opening salvos created both distraction to the enemy and areas to begin a proper assault for the Star Knights. These two strategies would create cracks in the stable defenses of the Dawi-Zharr, the main goal of Starscream following in the words of an ancient Terren Proverb, "A Death of a Thousand Cuts".

But the reinforcements would not end with just the Eleventh, as Varil and Ahurani, Primarchs of the Twelfth and Eighteenth Legions, their presence having been felt several times in recent times, had brought with them now not several squads or a company of their Astartes, but the might of their Legions to fight alongside their siblings.
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With four Legions throwing their combined might towards the Dawi-Zharr, it stands to reason that even their defenses would not be able to hold back the best of the Imperium. Stories and reports of Astartes warriors leading the charge would inspire the Auxiliary and Imperial Army to fight on like the Astartes.

Stories such as the Fall of Gimrya where High Commander Hektor of the Star Knights led the battle against the cabal of Six Sorcerer slave masters of the world. He would personally duel four of the six before laying waste to the remaining two with the might of his Legion's Titans, bringing the world of Gimrya under the Imperium.

Or the tale of David's battle with the Hammerlord of Formia VIII, a fierce foe of martial prowess that threatened the outcome of many battles by his mere presence. The duel between the two would last days as they fought across the Forge City's skylines and into it's depths, a true challenge of hunt or be hunted as David and the Hammerlord fought. The battle would end as David took the black Hammer of the Hammerlord and crushed the Dawi-Zharr's head with it, ending the conflict as the enemy had no champion to rally behind.

Rasantat of the Wardens would also gain fame, her speed in which she reached across many battlefields, her twin Bolt Pistols bringing flashes of hope to desperate battles.
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To take a closer look at the ongoing conflict in finer detail, we turn to the World of Than Vios, a world on the edge of Dawi-Zharr space and right at the border of Imperial space, but one that has held out from multiple attacks at this point. Orion Pax of the Star Knights found himself as one of the leading commanders for the siege, fighting alongside Solomon of the Shieldbearers several times.

The two Astartes heroes fought against the leader of the Dawi-Zharr of Vios, an elder of their kind, whose beard has become a stark white in contrast to his dark armor covering much of his body that was not replaced with metal, tales of Astragoth Ironhand's cruelty stretched nearly Six thousand years. Thus it was that two heroic figures of the Astartes Legions fought a battle of wits against a being far older than the Imperium and one of the first to serve their unknown God.

Victories were hard fought, while defeat was an ever present threat and sometimes a foregone conclusion in the war for Than Vios. Orion Pax and Solomon would find much to discuss in matters of both war and philosophy, Orion learning of the Shieldbearers unorthodox views of the Emperor and the Imperial Truth, while Solomon would listen to the younger Marine's stories of his Legion and methods of battle learned from his time in the Legion itself.

This was no mere social graces between the two, their forces needed to work together if they were to beat the forces of Astragoth, so they would seek to bring their forces close together in understanding. A task easier said than done, for while many of the Sheildbearers were open to the ideas, other than Orion's own Squad, many of the Star Knights scoffed at the idea. It was only with the intervention of High Commander Sonus did any progress occur in this endeavor. And not a moment too soon, for a pivotal battle would occur just a week after this event.

The confrontation and first meeting between the three commanders would finally occur during the fourth battle of Wentil-gost's Ridge, Orion and Solomon leading an attack on one of the Flametouched Spires of the cliff city, the same spire that Astragoth was using as the main supply zone for his forces in the region. Orion's Squad was chosen to lead the attack as a means to prove his methods could bear fruit as they worked with the Shieldbearers, and to the shock of several Star Knight commanders, where before the fighting would stall, Orion and his tactics carved a path through the Dawi-Zharr lines and opening the way for the rest of the forces to spread out and isolate their foes.

Fighting to the supply storage was no easy task as it became clearer and clearer that not only were Astragoth's best soldiers defending the spire, but Astragoth himself was leading them. Diverting the attack with a simple command, Orion and Solomon would hand command over to others, taking their personal squads to fight Astragoth and perhaps end the conflict altogether.

Finding the old general was not difficult, he was waiting for them in one of the slave arenas of the spire, here the legends of the Warlord did little to truly paint the picture of the being before them, where the normal Dawi-Zharr had gray stone like skin, tusked mouths and small Horns, Astragoth's skin clearly was of stone, molten orange blood dripped from cracks where his joints were. But what truly drew the eyes were his mechanical augmentations

The standoff between the three would be short lived as Astragoth let out a wordless roar as he moved with an unnatural swiftness, swinging with his ax to decapitate one of Solomon's soldiers, only to be saved by Orion's quick action.

Such would the fight between the warriors of the Imperium and this ancient being progress, despite the best efforts of the Imperials, Astragoth's speed and strength dispatched several of their brothers, but the warriors of the Imperium would not be deterred and struck many blows against the metal limbs of Astragoth or against his stone body, his molten blood leaking from each wound.

Meanwhile Astragoth would showcase abilities that went beyond simple skill with his weapon, vomiting forth torrents of magma and repairing broken metal limbs by simply ripping off new metal from the walls or floor. Clearly whatever Mutation that was pervasive in the Dawi-Zharr was in a different league inside Astragoth.

Solomon grappled with Astragoth, Power Axe struggling against the mace like fist of his foe, a swift kick into the center of Astragoth freed Solomon and distracted the elder warlord while others cut away his legs, Molten blood spilling out quickly, but did nothing to stop the mace from crushing one of the two. Solomon rushed forward intent on cutting Astragoth's head off, not releasing this played into the old Dawi's trap, his head quickly turned from looking at the freshly crushed marine and let loose a massive torrent of Molten blood, somehow pressurized and direling like a stream, the pain was immense and force knocked the old marine back.

The last thing Solomon saw before darkness took him was the shaking of the arena and Astragoth leaping away. When Solomon would awake, he found that Orion chose to save him rather than chase after Astragoth, a blow to the war effort, but victory was still had, the main supply for the Dawi-Zharr was destroyed and Astragoth was now on the backfoot, when Orion was questioned by Solomon why he had abandoned defeating Astragoth just for a old warrior like himself, Orion would simply Answer "To abandon our principles and honor just to achieve victory, would do a dishonor to those who came before us and fought the battles against the evils of the universe, I will not take such paths even if it means a easy victory or false glory"
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To the Coldiron Cage, the conflict with the Dawi-Zharr was a chance to showcase their Legion's strengths against forces who used the Warp in natural ways. Striking the sites of ritual or of importance to their foul Warp manipulations with such efficacy, entire battles shifted in the favor of the Imperium.

Varil herself was instrumental in these endeavors, her might was unchallenged and more than a match for any of the self-titled Sorcerers that sought to face her. At her side was Pragma, whose stone daggers dripped with the orange molten blood of the Dawi-Zharr, the champion of the Coldiron Legion fought alongside her Genemother to both protect her and be the blade which ended those that her Mother could not waste attention on.

No world was more apparent in the importance of these tasks than the world of Uttylla X, where Veril would find no less than six hundred separate rituals to bring about the mechanized monsters the Dawi-Zharr are known for. For the first three hundred she dealt with them quickly and without issue, the next one hundred and fifty took their toll as she fought through them with no care for her own safety, the next ninety four she found herself pushed to her limits as the beings forged in these rituals were unyielding in their fury.

It would be the final six that saw the worst of the fighting on Uttylla, the rituals performed at these six brought forth warp-touched beings of such intricate designs that seem custom built to face her in combat. In truth the only reason she had won against them was that they could not hold themselves together as she undid the bindings that tethered their creation to the rituals, so all that she needed to do was outlast the creations, while her legion killed the last of the Psykers performing the rituals.

While the battles themselves were taxing even for her, the taking of Uttylla X would be like other worlds during the campaign, very little of the Legion would die to the Dawi-Zharr. A fact that would earn a nod of approval from Varil to her Daughters, something urged on by Ahurani and silently appreciated by the Coldiron Cages.

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While a majority of the other Legions fought on the front lines, the Wardens of the Blessed heart would send their forces across the lines and not focus on one area in particular, some of their forces being sent to free the slaves of the Dawi-Zharr, the official reason to cripple their production as their industry relied heavily on Slave usage. While others fought on the front lines or held the defenses on the Imperial held worlds.

Ahurani Herself led the efforts of rescue and care for the slaves of the Dawi-Zharr, be they human or Xeno. Something that some held…issue with some, but the orders of a Primarch were absolute and Ahurani had ordered that they be saved. In truth, the way the Wardens of the Blessed Heart fought now was with more purpose, clear division in role but not in purpose, with only the self proclaimed Blood Knights keeping their distance from the wider Legion as they fought alongside the Star Knights and Coldirons.

Sonus, a High Commander of the Star Knights who served as the intermediary between his Legion and the other forces would find himself meeting often with the strange Primarch as she worked, his watchful eyes ensuring his brothers behaved around the Wardens who brought them here to heal and recover before heading back to the front.

Sonus did not know what to think about what he saw in the actions of the Wardens, tension was still clearly there…but it had lessened since he had last seen the Wardens, despite her differences to him, he could see that Ahurani truly did care for her Daughters and those she healed, much the same way he cared for the people of Heratron. Sonus would leave the camp with a deep sense of longing for better times where he could feel pride in who he served.
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The progress of the war was still slow, but Starscream could see that it was quickly picking up speed, at current predictions the Conflict would be concluded within the Year, much to his satisfaction. The Nemesis had answered a call for aid by the Fourth Temple, the Flagship of the Shieldbearers, a call which was sent out to several other forces of the Imperium, to Starscream it seemed that Sampson was considering a shattering blow to the Dawi-Zharr, a maneuver he would be remiss to ignore.

Members of the Coldirons and Wardens would also be in attendance, figures such as the Scarlet Angel, the most eyerasing of their forces however would be the combined force known as "The Coldiron Wardens'' a permanently united force between the two legions of five hundred from both Legions combined to make one Chapter sized force. It would be these forces and more that stood with the Shieldbearers and Star Knights as they prepared for this new front of the War.

Before the assembled fleet of the Imperium, was the world of Than Ulsar, what their reports said was a site of great importance to their faith. The space around the world was full of the burned black metal seen across their space, the wreckage of many other ship types scattered about alongside the black metal. The two Primarchs leading the attack would give their orders to the assembled forces

The battle that would start here shall go down in history as one of the last nails in the coffin for the Dawi-Zharr's hold over the east, but in turn also strike a critical blow to the Imperium's forces taking part as they destroyed the Empire of the Dawi-Zharr.

(To Be Continued in Flames of Destruction)

 

[SteelWriter77]

A Hunt in the Stars
(Written By @Hyvelic )​

The Crimson Gryphons, distinguished members of the Adeptus Astartes, are a legion of some of the best in the Imperium. To the galactic North where the hammer of Order and Imperial Truth are laid into the ground with precise care and overwhelming force. To finish the fight that was started in the North, the Gryphons would launch an expedition where twenty-thousand of their brothers would go on a quest to hunt down and execute the threats who are seeking to flee the approaching Imperium.

Of the threats chief amongst them was the champion of the Eldar unknown to the Imperium at large. This Eldar Lord could be one of the threats in which the Eldar has the best odds of striking back, or regrouping and surviving the approaching storm under. But, they were not alone in this task. The Eldar are not a monolith of a society where a single entity can hold up the entire flagging Eldar Empire, not anymore. Their gods are now dead, and soon their race will follow their god's fates. The tragedy that has befallen them was one of their makings, and of this tragedy stood only a few surviving pillars of what every Eldar could achieve given time.

Of these pillars stood the Eldar Lord of the Gold Claw, also known as Viac-Yresh. Of which the Gryphons just so happened to be targeting. The other lords of the Eldar would be of no consequence in regards to the hunt but weren't exactly getting a free pass if they found themselves found out by the Astartes. The hunt, of which would have some quite interesting hounds in which to suspect the location of the prey which the Gryphons hunted.

Three teams of Umbral Watch Cuter Dei would find themselves intertwined with the efforts in the galactic north, far from the Imperium's borders. Following leads and information gathered by the Umbral Watch, the Gryphons would find themselves going to planets of no note, of no worth to the Imperium. At least this was the case at first, but as things progressed their worth quickly became apparent as several worlds held both information and living Eldar to kill. The first of the noted worlds during this time would be the world of Aldea's Eye.

Aldea's Eye was known prominently amongst the Eldar as a Tidal-locked world where amongst the dark side of the planet, at all times there was a hidden space station in which they may escape, or use as a forward operating base if needed. Unexpecting an attack, the Eldar would not be ready for the sudden, but inevitable, attack from the pursuing army.

The Eldar, to put it quite frankly, were ruined by the surprise attack. Astartes managed to board the port quickly and in the process managed to breach any of the defenses before they could be armed and put into action. Leading the charge into the port was Alhirad, who sought out the commander of the defenses and response to the sudden attack. His hunt would lead him to the Eldar known as Maurayiuc Duskshard, also known to the Imperium as the Blood-Singer. For all the great and powerful resistance the Eldar could put up if given the chance, this was certainly of the weakest. The Blood-Singer would be put down like a sickly animal and the Gryphons would learn of the location of another planet that would interest them.

The port had the location of Viac-Yresh, their quandary, and with this information came a challenge. The legion would be mocked and belittled in a truly mad fashion. The Legion could not afford to lose this opportunity, no matter how much it smelled of a trap. Confident in their combat ability and their general skillsets, the twenty-thousand would find themselves over a dead, mined-out husk of a planet known as "The Woe" by the Eldar. The legion did not know why it was called such, but neither would they care even if they had known. The dead told no tales after all.

Upon arriving in orbit of the planet, the legion would begin to consolidate over the planet. The Eldar would be given additional time to prepare, but this wouldn't be as much of a boon as one would think initially. The Eldar were already quite entrenched with several major strongholds across the planet, and with more than moderate astrological defenses that had the intent to try and repel the Gryphon fleet.

The opening stages of the fighting would be a costly affair for the Eldar as the Gryphon fleet had more than enough raw power to punch through the meager defenses that they had prepared in space. After a short while the Eldar fleet would be routed and reports would come in of an Ace pilot being created. Jasham of the Star Talon Squadron would find themselves scoring multiple kills and generally prove to be the tip of the spear that broke the Eldar fleet.

With the Eldar fleet broken the Gryphons would begin to orbit what they suspected to be the main stronghold of the Eldar on the planet. It was decided that the Gryphons would go all in upon the Eldar citadel and break it open before the other strongholds. Break the strongest and clean up the rest. It would take time to be organized and planned properly, but when the time came? When the time came, the stars began to fall to the planet with fire and fury.

The combat began with fire and ash and the blood of the planet. Fire rained from the sky, hitting prepared defenses and shields with the fury of a falling star. Ash born from the scorched soil would provide cover and comfort to the attackers, and work to undermine what defenses were not being protected as deeply as the more entrenched positions. The planet's surface would begin to crack under the rage of the attacks until something gave way. The dead world began to bleed, and where its blood flowed, came lava from the core itself.

The outer defenses were mostly broken by the opening strike of the Gryphon fleet. Of course, this meant nothing in the larger scheme of things as this Citadel still stood strong despite the loss of the entire outer perimeter. Landing zones would be secured and several ships would note to Alhirad that the Eldar at the other strongholds would not begin moving to reinforce the Citadel. This was where the trap was and the Gryphons should be prepared for it.

Gryphons touched the surface of the planet, and from there the fighting began anew. Astartes died to secure landing zones for the main force, and while the initial attack was not repulsed, they did take moderate losses from the response force sent to repel them. The main force would quickly land and the Eldar would retreat entirely into the Citadel's main defenses. Still intact despite the orbital bombardment that had occurred the Gryphons saw themselves prepared to take more than a few losses cleaning them up.

Except, an unexpected factor would reveal itself to both sides. Craftworld Iyanden would reveal itself and quickly deploy its forces from seemingly nowhere. Their warriors would open up a pathway for the Gryphons to advance, at least only partially. While the majority of the defenses were inoperable now, the minority of defenses were armed by the original Eldar forces who were fighting against the interlopers and the interlopers who were using those defenses to fight the original force as well as the Gryphons.

Quickly things would devolve from there as in the fighting between the three factions the champions of both sides would find each other. Alhirad, leading the charge to break the defenses of the Citadel and exterminate both sides of the Eldar forces, found himself face to face with Viac-Yresh who came out to deal with the interrupting Iyanden armies. The two would quickly engage each other, and the rank and file fought each other preventing any interruptions to the duel.


Viac-Yresh seemed to be in a good mood as he fought, although perhaps it was an act. Alhirad would begin to speak with the Eldar, seeking any information as they fought. "So, it's all about trickery to you? To lay deception upon deception?" He asked.

Viac-Yresh would only let out a soft chortle in response before speaking himself. "No, no… I detest trickery. But if we, ourselves, are to suffer deception, our hands are no longer tied." Viac-Yresh would take the opportunity to attempt a killing blow by severing the head of the Astartes from their shoulders, only for the Power Sword of Alhirad to block the death-causing blow.

Both warriors would retreat and from there gave a moment to gauge their foe. Both sides came to the same conclusion, that the one they were fighting was of similar skill. Several more rounds of combat would ensue, with neither side winning an exchange over the other. During the seventh round of combat between the two, an interruption occurred. This interruption was heavily disputed by both sides of the conflict but ultimately proved to not be able to combat the foe that was entering the ring.

An avatar of some sort had taken the field, and as it did the tides changed. Viac-Yresh was pained as he was forced to divert attention to the very serious threat. One does not half-heartedly contest a god after all. For Alhirad, nothing quite changed except now the balance had changed, the flow of the battle would be disrupted and would need to be found before anything else happened.

It would take a round, with Alhirad and Viac-Yresh taking wounds from each other and the Avatar's strikes to adapt. From there, round after blood round was fought. Wounds would begin to accrue upon the fighters, and even the Avatar would not remain intact during this time. In a moment of perfect timing, Alhirad would swing his blade down upon Viac-Yresh. This movement was heavily complimented by the Avatar striking out and impaling Viac-Yresh upon multiple Wraithbone javelins. The impalement would prove to be too distracting for Viac-Yresh and end up with his skull being split by the power sword.

Although none else heard it except for Alhirad, Viac-Yresh would state the name of his killer. Of the one whom he attributed his death. Like a breeze on a temperate day, it washed over Alhirad. "...Vaul..?" it said.

Silence ensued as the two fighters gauged each other. The balance had once again been broken with the death of Viac-Yresh, and with his resolve steeled, Alhirad would prepare to slay a god.

Except, the Avatar would speak up before a round of combat could begin. "My respect goes to others and will be attributed to you. Leave, for out of the respect for the Khainaite's wishes our battle shall end here. I leave with you this warning, step off the path you are on. If you do not then you will act justly, but your justice will blind you and become our demise. This duty which you attribute to yourself calls for the gentle hand of a smith. Step aside, for the deaths of the many shall be my duty."

Alhirad would lower his blade after several moments, and with the duel over, the battle at large would seemingly come to a sudden and abrupt end. The forces of Viac-Yresh would be routed and the members of the Crimson Gryphon who were aware of the duel would be slaughtered by the Avatar's forces, leaving only Alhirad to know what exactly occurred.

As the Craftworld, which had fought the might of the Gryphon's fleet and seemed unscathed, disappeared so too did the Eldar. Alhirad would participate in the regrouping of the Legion's assets in orbit, returning to his brothers without the body of Viac-Yresh.

He did not speak of what had happened to his brothers, sending only a private report to his Primarch. What followed, remained a mystery for many. What would occur between the Primarch and their son has yet to be seen.

 

[SteelWriter77]

Apollyon Flamebringer: One of the known command forms of the Men of Iron, made in the mockery of Human Angels in an attempt to showcase "Superiority" these War Forms have been known to contain personal modifications by the leading Minds of the Men of Iron, scaling from minor enhancements to modifications bringing them on the level of Primarchs, this sophistication and personalized touch does keep them from being mass produced like the Lockstep or Golem Warforms- Imperial Report on the Warforms of the Men of Iron​

As the Great Crusade continues onward, so too does the war with the Men of Iron. As new fronts open up due to the Imperium's prior advances, plans are made and enacted to advance towards two worlds in particular, the Hub world of Ferric and it's accompanying world of Jem'Had.

Ferrus Manus, Primarch of the Iron Hands along with Kelbor Hal of the Mechanicum would be the nominal commanders for this advance on these worlds, reinforcements of Steel Princes under the joint command of Tannit and Hinan, as well as the forces known as the Sun Guard of the Umbral Watch, those once of the Lightbringers Legion now serving in a new way. There would also be reports of Blood Jaguar activity during these conflicts, the aloof daughters of Zyanya along with their own forces isolating and destroying Men of Iron pockets and drawing away defenders from the two worlds.

While the main point of this advance was to better support the rest of the Imperium's lines and keep the attack up on all fronts, the importance of this particular attack would reverberate across the whole of the War with the Men of Iron.
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Keeran Lorg sat upon the transport as it shook, watching the other commanders keep the big ones calm, something that when he was still a green nobody of the 13443th, made him near soil himself with fright at the prospect, now he finds it a comfort hearing the soothing words to the Ogryns, funny that.

His thoughts would be interrupted by the sudden stop as the transport landed, the sounds of explosions muffled only for a moment as the doorways opened and battle awaited him and his soldiers.

The battle was a haze, his mandatory mask doing little to mitigate the smell of burning that permeated across the wartorn wasteland, the only breaks where he could be aware of his surroundings being anything but a hellscape would be in the small meetings with the Astartes leading his forces.

She called herself Dido, he asked a few times if she knew he was going to die in this war, she didn't answer and changed the subject everytime, which was enough for Keeran. He looked to where his soldiers were preparing for their next action, then turned to the Psyker Astartes, nodding grimly in acceptance at her latest mission for them, knowing that he more then likely would never walk off this planet.

=====​

The battles for Ferric would be long and grueling, but through the actions of Ferrus Manus, Legate Caius Cassius and Dido, the Imperium would gain the upper hand and drive off the Men of Iron from the world.

But when it came time to put together the reports of the dead, Dido would ensure that each name was logged by her personally, those who gave their lives for her plan to succeed and victory made for the Imperium.

Sargent Anabel Galloway of the Gaul Stormbreakers-Died in action during the Assault on Ferric taking a plasma shot for her superior officer.

Commander Keeran Lorg of the 13443th-Died in action during the Assault on Ferric leading Men of Iron forces towards a Steel Princes trap.

Private Lurch Gumson of the Ogryan special 23rd-Died in action during the Assault on Ferric by being atomized by a Tri-Walker.

Private Maxwell Kory of the 13443th-Died in action during the Assault on Ferric by acidic rainfall.

By the end of her report, over six million names would be sent as a list of the dead for the battle of Ferric, a number once thought to be devastating, but becoming more and more common as War continues across the Imperium.
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The battles in space around these two worlds would largely not be as important as the planetside fighting, but notable events did warrant notice in the situation reports to the Primarchs command.

In the defense of the world of Morqua, Legate Barbatus Vulso's own fleet and the defense fleet stationed around the world fought off a major Men of Iron invasion fleet, Barbatus himself earning personal glory by facing an entire battalion of Lockstep soldiers by himself to safeguard the main defense platform of the world. Despite this conflict forcing the entire third Contubernium to remain stationed at Morqua to recuperate and repair their equipment damaged in the fighting.

On route to Jem'Had, Amadeus DuCaine the Lord Commander of the Iron Hands Legion would find a rogue Space Hulk on their path, a Men of Iron Force trying to take the Hulk for their own use. Amadeus DuCaine himself led the attack to claim the Space Hulk and stop the Men of Iron's operation, a task which he completed with all haste and efficacy, before resuming his path to Jem'Had.

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The attack on Jem'Had was a minor affair at first compared to the battle for Ferric, led by Shadrak Meduson of the Iron Hands and Hinan of the Steel Princes, already luck seemed to not be on the side of the Imperium as the Steel Princes forces remained in Warp Travel, keeping them from the world.

Shadrak Meduson was unbothered by this, the lack of the main forces of the Princes did alter some of his own plans, but enough had came with his initial attack to keep the enemy from taking advantage such as Tannit who led her Brothers and Sisters with a ferocity matched by the cold determination of the Iron Hands Legion under Shadrak,this along with the along with the second and fourth Contubernium of the Sun Guard arriving kept the Imperium firm in their attack. Despite this the world of Jem'Had was a constant struggle to maintain hold on, with various underground factories sending out legions of mechanical soldiers to fight with the Imperium's Armies.

The arrival of the Landship of Hadad was a boon to the besieged positions of the Imperium and Mechanicum, Hinan finally arriving despite the Warp disturbances was quick to utilize both the Landship and alongside the also recently arrived Amadeus DuCaine would set to work in beating back the forces of the Men of Iron.

A plan would be made to send a small attack force to a hidden underground facility holding the central point for the world's energy and command center for the Men of Iron, they would be among the best of the best of the assembled forces, led by Tannit of the Steel Princes and Amadeus DuCaine the plan would begin and preparations made.

The squads fought through waves upon waves of the Men of Iron, losses were assured but none died without reaping a toll on the machines, Geneseed was collected from each loss and given to those trusted to carry it, as losses mounted it would be taken from those who fell and given to who would continue, some handing it to their chosen as they stayed to fight and give the others more time.

Eventually just in the final stretch before the command center, all that was left of the squads was Tannit and Amadeus DuCaine, supplies dwindled and mission clear despite their losses, the two marched on. Geneseed from both Legions carried on their person; they would fight with a fury unmatched as more machines attempted to stop them, chasing them from the upper levels.

They reached the doors to the final chamber, where the leading mind directed the world from this underground factory, the sounds of encroaching machines filled the airless walkways they stood upon, without words Amadeus gave the Geneseed he carried to Tannit and pointed to the door, she understood his intent and began to make her way forward while he stayed behind.

As he closed the doors behind Tannit, he spoke what would be the last words he ever said to any other soul "Raise the Bloody Storm Tannit, let none of these Abominations reach their victory."
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Amadeus DuCaine turned to face the encroaching Men of Iron, his mind clear of all other distractions as he rushed forward to the hundreds of metal monsters, Thunderhammer in hand as he fought through them, holding the line against the silver tide.

As a son of Ferrus, he had long forsaken much of his original flesh throughout the Great Crusade, but even still what flesh remained burned as the toxic blade cut past his armor or as the radiation seeped into his wounds. His augmentations kept himself steady as he fought on, crushing bodies with his hammer or knocking them away with his body, his vision halved as they tore out his bionic eye with metal claws.

His armor was pelted with plasma fire, melting and burning away layers of Ceramite with each blow, but DuCaine did not avoid them, only moved so that they would strike unimportant systems first. He knew his death was certain, all that he did now was give Tannit time to complete the mission

The coiled energy from the weapon struck into Amadeus's broken armor as the toxins ravaged his insides, his time was soon now, knowing he only had a few moments before death could truly take him, he rushed forward and grasped the weapon of the leading machine, his augmentations locking in place as the life left his eye and his face froze in a determined grimace before the explosion. The Lord Commander of the Iron Hands died while crushing the Plasma weapon in his hands, creating an explosion that broke the platform holding him and the entire group of Men of Iron aloft in the complex.

Iron Hands forces would find his body still clutching the Machine's weapon, Armor melting in places from the explosion, retrieval was paramount even as other factors made it dangerous as he would be brought before the tenth Primarch, Augmentations melted away but his heart, still as flesh as the day he was born was untouched by any damage.
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Tannit knew that Amadeus would most likely be dead as she ran through the corridors, the explosion was a harsh reality to the Astartes, but she pushed forward to face the leading machine of Jem'Had.

What stood before her was what the reports of the Umbral Watch have took to calling a Apollyon Flamebringer, much like the one fought by Ferrus Manus on Thugrutis, blank face with a mockery of Angel design. It called itself Overmind 00N-89 and began the fight with little hesitation,it would mock her and her organic weakness, how even if she was to somehow win the death of this body would set in motion events to bring doom to her feeble armies.

Her response was a swift cut to one of the machine's four arms, slicing it away. She had no more patience with the Machines of this world and wanted it to stop speaking. The two would fight with a speed unmatched for things of their size and bulk, but it was clear that the battle was in the machine's favor, wounds piled on the Astartes even as she gave them back in return, the rising heat and flames of the machine

But despite every advantage, the words of Amadeus range in her ears "Raise the Bloody Storm" a War phrase from Terra used by the Legions of Alba, for some reason it stuck with her as she fought on, her legs impaled with a spear, she continued, he wounds burned by flames, she continued. Something that became increasingly annoying to the machine as it spat out it's words with more hate then something soulless should be able to utter.

"Statement: Your folly is laughable Human, even your mechanically altered can't truly kill us in any meaningful way, Zeta may be a fanatic but he speaks the truth in how worthless your kind ca-" She decapitated the machine as it continued to speak it's tainted words.

As it's body crumbled to the ground, a pulse of energy erupted from it and knocked Tannit several feet from the body. The energy would course across the planet, reacting to the remaining facilities, triggering a sequence that sent beams of energy down into the planet's core. The effects would be immediate even as Tannit sent an urgent message across all Imperial Vox waves, the Planet was breaking apart.
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The Destruction of Jem'Had would be a harsh blow to the advance of the Imperium, but thanks to quick action from the Psychic foresight of Dido and the quick action taken by Tannit in reporting the Machines plan, the loss of life of the world's destination was lessened as a majority of the Imperium's forces were off world by the point of no return, however the retreat from the world took the lives of many and the blast of the world's destruction sent chunks of planet crust into several ships, crushing them and breaking them apart.

Despite this loss, none could deny the victory held by the Imperium and Mechanicum over this section of the Men of Iron, but even with victory unforeseen discovery would bring to question what exactly are the plans of the Abominable Intelligences.

Kiros-G14 was not a particularly important figure in the Mechanicum, just a simple Tech Priest from Yorvic, far from the fronts of any of the ongoing conflicts, they did not hold any of the fanatic ideals about the Emperor and whether or not he was an Avatar of the Machine God, nor were they divergent in the standard held doctrines of Mars.

In any other circumstance they would be a forgotten footnote at best in history, but chance would see them looking after the casualty report of the two battles of the worlds, coming across a error in the reports, the amount of the reclaimed dead was less than the amount lost, bodies of Skitarii, Astartes and Imperial Army Soldiers disappeared and seemingly were wiped from the records. Investigations into known and confirmed reclaimed bodies showed that even some of them have been taken, along with those on death's door but still capable of fighting given treatment. This discovery sent shockwaves across the Imperium's lines as seemingly all fronts have had something similar happening to them in some shape or form, whatever this could mean is up for the Primarchs to discover.

 

[SteelWriter77]

"I have been at War for over seven hundred years, I have fought almost every horror imaginable, from Ork WAGHS to Eldar Incursions, I have slain thousands of men and women who would not comply to the Imperium, and I have slain thousands more of Xenos kinds, beings whose names and abilities have long since been forgotten by everyone except for me. Your kind have nearly brought low all other life in the galexy with your rebellion...show me what I should fear from you, lest you disappoint me like so many others." Words spoken by Alhirad the Bloody to the Men of Iron Command mind of Katosi​

Brotherhood is a concept known to the Legions, the bonds of their brothers and sisters was one of the few factors that connected them deeply with the mortal human citizens of the Imperium.

So when word came that the Bronze Wings and Far Seekers, chapters of the Crimson Gryphons thought lost, reestablished communication which proved they were still alive and fought against the Men of Iron on the Worlds of Katosi and Val'Marak, the Primarch Khaldeon would send the forces who only had just finished their hunt against the Golden Claw to retrieve their brothers.

Led by Alhirad and High Oathkeeper Zaufan Bihmau, thousands of the Ninth Legion marched, intent on reuniting with their brothers and joining the fight against the Men of Iron. But for many worry ate at their hearts, what had happened to two thousand of their fellow Astartes to strand them fighting against the Men of Iron.
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Arriving to the world of Katosi, the Crimson Gryphons would find themselves fighting alongside Mechanicum forces also coming to this world to fight, under the command of Sota-Nul of Mars, the two forces would join and launch a combined strike upon the northern hemisphere of the planet.

Janah Burunzi, leader of the Bronze Wings quickly made contact with the Imperium and Mechanicum forces, informing them of the situation of the world and how they came to now fight alongside it's native human population. When traversing the Warp, a strange energy signature hit their vessels and forced them to leave Warp Travel and crashed upon this world.

Since then they have been fighting against the Men of Iron with native human kingdoms, using whatever methods they could to keep the fight continuing until reinforcements could arrive, using the local metal to make hasty repairs to their own armor or if it was too far gone to be repaired, having the Human smiths make their own versions of it.

In the meeting with Alhirad and Sota-Nul, Janah Burunzi wore such armor and acted as the intermediary between the Kingdoms of Katosi and the Imperium for the campaign, for despite the vast technological difference between the Men of Iron and these native people, the leadership and the skill of the Astartes has kept them from being crushed underfoot like so many other worlds.

The four would discuss and plan for simultaneous attacks from all directions, the Men of Iron Presence, while strong, was smaller as they still needed time to fully begin production on a scale to decimate the planet.
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Alhirad ripped through the rank and file of the Machines, he and his squads having been assigned to front lines to break the defensive line the Men of Iron held. The Terminator clad warrior fought the Lockstep warriors and broke apart the Golem warforms with ease.

His battle prowess unmatched by any that fought him, the knights of the Katosi kingdoms regarded him as a living aspect of War itself, a fact he did not care to correct as it would waste time he could use to prepare for the next battle. In the times where he was not needed at the front he would spend them training, the aches of his old wounds kept him from ever truly relaxing.

Reports of the Mechanicum's lines retaking miles of Farmland had bolstered the native humans, and their training with new weapons had progressed well, some he even took under his wing to train along with his brothers. Something that Janah seemed to enjoy immensely, before the Chapter had disappeared he was a brash and outspoken braggart, and while some of that nature remained it was tempered by experience into one who spoke with Alhirad as a Brother and a respected warrior, even offering to take part of Alhirad's training as a dueling partner.

The duels between the two would be done during their off times, Alhirad finding himself enjoying the new techniques the younger Marine had learned in his time on the world gave a new experience to the old warrior, something becoming fewer and farther between in recent days as little can surprise this experienced warrior.

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The final battle for Katosi saw the combined forces assaulting the main base of the machines, with the Bronze Wings leading the assault at their own request, they had begun this conflict on the world and sought to be the ones to end it.

The battle would last three entire days as the Marines, Skittarii and Feudal Soldiers assaulted the commander center, more akin to a battle ready fortress then any sort of small term base camp like the intercepted communications between their enemies had said it was. But the spirit of man was undaunted and broke through every defense until the leading mind behind this invasion was crushed under the foot of Janah.

While the world was free, Alhirad saw it fit to ensure that the Kingdoms would never be without their guard, the Men of Iron could still stalk the shadows and as such implemented a Order of Knights, made out of those he and his brothers had trained and had proven themselves in the crucible of war against the Men of Iron. The metal fortress that was the Men of Iron main base would be theirs to use as their Order Hall and the symbol of the Bronze Wings to use as a symbol of their duty and honor, while also affirming their loyalty to the Imperium.
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While the battle for Katosi continued, the forces sent to Val'Marak and retrive the Far Seekers would find a blasted world with little Men of Iron presence. It would not be until Tali Baeid opened Vox communication and reported on the situation, explaining what had happened.

Much like the Bronze Wings, the Far Seekers had crashed here after unnatural warp turbulence forced them onto the closest world, however unlike the Bronze Wings there was no human population to rally and gain the aid of, a primitive Xeno species dwelled on this world making a third side for the conflict across the planet.

With no other side to aid them and hostile Xeno lifeforms keen on attacking them, the Far Seekers turned inward and hid away, relying on guerrilla tactics, while the Men of Iron used their destructive weapons with abandon, the Xeno's life was unprepared and unable to stop their extinction as the Men of Iron burned and ravaged them and the world's ecosystem with their weapons.

The machines knew it was a battle of attrition with the Astartes so they acted accordingly, with multiple raids a day on the positions of the Far Seekers, cutting them down piece by piece until even the primitive Xenos could threaten them if encountered. The Far Seekers had to watch as the world died around them, their Griffins dying as the air burned their lungs or by the mercy of their riders to spare them the suffering.

When it became clear that the Xenos had all died and that any remaining life was on it's way to join them, the Men of Iron did the most cruel thing they could and left, keeping their hated station in orbit to watch as the remaining Astartes died slowly to the conditions of the world.

No order was needed for the destruction of the orbital station, the many pilots of the forces struck it with the hate worthy of the metal monsters.
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High Oathkeeper Zaufan Bihmau knew from the rough state of the Far Seekers armor that they would be in dire straits, but to see the once one thousand strong chapter reduced to ninety five nearly broken Astartes was a shock to his system. Crude augments and hastily repaired armor was the norm.

The apothecaries went to work immediately as Zaufan received the lists of the dead, the record having been kept on most of the marines armors as a form of remembrance or guilt for brothers who died in duty. Tali Baeid himself would give the longest and most detailed of the lists, noting how each died and where their remains were kept, at least what could be recovered and kept.

Zaufan and Tali spoke at length during this time, duty weighing heavy on the Chapter Master who felt failure at the losses he had sustained under his command. Zaufan did his best to raise the spirits of his brother, but nothing could relieve the guilt or take away the horrors he had fought. Once the Apothecaries had done what they could to the wounded, he would begin the process of taking them off this world, walking with them to the Thunder Hawks, stopping when they all looked towards the sky.

The station of the Men of Iron was falling out of orbit, the burning wreckage illuminated the desolate landscape as ninety five eyes watched in grim silence, some of the Apothecaries almost went to urge them along before some of the more experienced brothers and Zaufan stopped them, it was something they needed to see. Once it vanished over the horizon, the ninety five moved as one and entered the transports, finally free of Val'Marak.
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With both Chapters now recovered and the Men of Iron driven away from the two worlds, the Crimson Gryphons would work alongside the forces of the Mechanicum to reinforce these worlds and systems under their control, the time spent on these worlds changed the two chapters.

Something that would never be able to shift in them, the Bronze Wings kept their altered armor and would continue to train their members in their newly developed methods of warfare and fighting. While the Far Seekers would remain isolated and refuse both new Marines or Griffins, claiming that their failure should taint any new blood.

But the main focus on the reports back to their Primarch would be on the energy that had started this whole event, it forced vessels out of the Warp and onto worlds where the Men of Iron would attack, either the Warp itself was attacking the chapters, or the Men of Iron had a new weapon at their disposal.

Prospects that needed to be considered as the Great Crusade continues.

 

[SteelWriter77]

Dravall of the Wailing Palace: Last Direct Descendent of the Dark Muses, Lord of the Outer Empire, Defiant of the New Ways, Warden of the Unknown Dark, Wielder of Kurnail's Bane, Scourge of Hemwick, Holder of the Wailing Carver, Scion of the Broken Houses​

While the nails in the coffin for the Aeldari Empire had been struck, holdouts still needed swift execution from the Imperium. Those who sought to be the final blow to the Eldar collected in the North, forces of four Astartes Legions marched forth, from the noble Crimson Gryphons led directly by their Primarch, to the stoic Iron Hands under the command of Autek Mor. While these two legion forces were under the command of famed figures, the Crimson Lords and Steel Princes forces were under joint command of those selected by their respective Primarchs to best complete the task.

Billions of Imperial Army forces moved behind the Astartes legions, marching along with them to claim the north for the Imperium, most eyerasing of these forces would be the Cascadian Fourth, known for their part in the events on Stormgard. Colonel Felsenmeer, leader of the Cascadian Fourth was on penance, ordered by the Primarch Khaledon to either earn back his honor in service or die against the foes of the Imperium.

Such were the forces sent to fight the last remnants of the Aeldari Empire, a war long fought and reaching its conclusion.
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The beginning of the push was something that set the stage for the conflict, as tensions rose between the Crimson Gryphons and the Crimson Lords, worlds the Gryphons had selected for conquest were intercepted by Crimson Lord forces who claimed that such matters must be done by true conquerors, this insult began a race to finish conquests as quickly as either side could to fully claim worlds for the Imperium.

Such tactics quickly showcased both their flaws and benefits across the frontlines, battles for the worlds of the Eldar would be conducted with a pragmatic brutality that rackled some members of the Crimson Gryphons, especially their Primarch, but to some it was worth it to claim worlds before the Crimson Lords could even consider landing on them.

For the Crimson Lords, they utilized every trick and path they could learn from the Eldar Minds to gain their advantage, causing destruction on battlefields before the conflict even started with advanced scouts. Yes the race between these two legions seemed to be in favor for the Crimson Lords at first, with the Gryphons slowly catching up as more eschewed honor to gain faster victories, but their main prize still was up for grabs.

Other then the actions of inter-legion rivalry, the Iron Hands and Steel Princes continued on their own campaigns, the smaller and more mobile force of the Steel Princes lending aid to fronts needing their mechanical calvary and might of their Tanks, while the Iron Hands force was a undaunted push towards a single direction, crushing any resistance before it.

Battles on worlds such as Barnaso or Weldnanr showcased this brutal single minded drive as their warriors pushed through enemy forces, taking extensive damage in several ways, but continuing despite the fact. In their eyes, those who fell were weak, those who survived would grow stronger for it.

Indeed despite the tension between some of the forces fighting for the Imperium, the advance against the Eldar seemed for all intents and purposes to be going smoothly.
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The world of Drakari, a stronghold of the remaining Eldar nobility that stood in the path of the Imperium. Facing them were the forces of the Iron Hands, coupled with several Hundred of the Steel Princes and a small force of the Crimson Lords. Despite being one of the largest forces in the Invasion, the Crimson Gryphons would send no marines, choosing to instead send the Cascadian Fourth under Colonel Felsenmeer with the orders to take the world.

As was common in all engagements with the Eldar, the void combat was often the most lengthy aspect to fighting them, their agile vessels peppering the mighty ships of the Imperium and costing billions of lives without taking a loss themselves, but even the most agile of foes could not dodge forever, and as more fell the Eldar ships would either charge towards their foes in mad cries of vengeance, or flee off into the void with half destroyed vessels.

Once the orbit of Drakari was the Imperium's, a large-scale bombardment would commence, targeting the largest cities and strategic positions of the Eldar; the bombing lasted for three days before the first landings would begin. Landing upon the world, the Iron Hands and Steel Princes deployed their extensive amounts of vehicles upon the newly made wastelands, intent to destroy the remaining fortresses of the Eldar.

Meanwhile the Crimson Lords stalked the dark like predators, hunting the leading figures and ripping them apart, or acting as a brutal vanguard to the advance of the Iron Hands and Steel Princes. The Cascadian Fourth would work as the clean-up, looking over the ruins and clearing any of the remaining Eldar away, an honorless task but one they performed with zeal under the new Iron gaze of their Colonel.

There would be no grand final battle for Drakari, only the grinding nature of war breaking their warriors down under the Imperium's might, once the dust settled, all that remained of Drakari's Eldar were broken bodies and ruins where cities once lay.
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The Crimson Lords and Crimson Gryphons rushed with all haste to reach the Wailing Palace, the jewel of the campaign and source of competition, with the Crimson Lords beating the Gryphons utilizing the Eldar's own Webway to their advantage. Such a tactical maneuver would have been a prime example of surprise to the Xenos scum.

However the Crimson Lords were not expecting the defenses of the Wailing Palace to be so extensive and the fleets positioned in a way that saw those who went through the Webway surrounded on all sides.

Despite this clear disadvantage, the Nineteenth Legion would not allow themselves to die without gutting the Eldar with them,the battle fought in these opening moves of the battle for the Wailing Palace would be akin to watching two predators of the seas on many worlds battle, harsh and precise strikes dealt by both sides, truly no matter the outcome the Crimson Lords would leave their marks on the Eldar, but thankfully such battle would not be conducted alone.

As the Crimson Gryphons arrived in system, their fleets rushed forward, using the distraction of the Crimson Lord fleet to strike the Eldar's fleet in their weakest point, allowing the Crimson Lords to escape their situation and join up with the rest of the Imperial fleet that made its way into the system.

Now a proper battle, the earlier attack by the Crimson Lord cut away the lines of the Eldar fleets and did not prepare them for a frontal attack by the forces of the Imperium, areas having to be abandoned to better protect valuable positions in the space battle. The chaos happening above the planet left many gaps for the Imperium to send down their forces in an attack on the Wailing Palace.

What sights befell the Soldiers and Warriors of the Imperium, was a vast city world under the thumb of a self proclaimed descendent of the Dark Muses, a torturer and Eldar of exceptional cruelty, battle across the world faced traps and horrific methods of warfare, such was the standard for facing these Eldar. But what Dravall of the Wailing Palace had that others of his kind seemed to lack, it was a twisted sense of respect for his enemies. Many times across the Campaign Khaldeon and other commanders of the Imperial forces would receive Vox communication from the lord of the world, commending them for battles won and how their methods of warfare were a true delight to see.

Companies of Crimson Lords scoured the world, attacking massive city fortresses ransacking and destroying castles that held vast facilities meant to torture and excite the senses of their hedonistic lords for their so-called Dark Muses.

Crimson Gryphons soared across the skies battling the Eldar's own air defenses or launched strikes upon the vast towers across the planet. Convoys of Steel Princes Tanks braved the frontlines to aid their Crimson Lord allies, the two Legions growing close as they battered and broke Eldar Resistance where they could.

But while the Imperium gained ground, the tactics of Dravall showcased in response to their gains proved the Eldar's own battle prowess, shock warfare performed on a grand scale tore at the moral of the common Auxiliary forces, while he turned his attention to the Steel Princes forces, targeting them and their convoys for lighting strikes which left them battered and wounded, leaving some battlegrounds without the support of the Steel Princes Tanks.
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As the battle progressed both in space and on the planet below, sensors on both sides would detect small movement around some of the small moons of the system, while many would dismiss this as nothing of importance, both Khaledon and Dravall knew such action would be foolish, ordering their sensors to keep an eye on the disturbances. They would both be proven right to do so when a message would be broadcasted to all communications in the system.

"Mon-Khigh Barbarians, you will face death this day at the hands of Biel-Tan, you and the traitors to the Throne of the Phoenix will face our blades, our vengeance will not be denied, FOR THE TRUE EMPIRE!"

A massive structure comes from the swirling vortex, larger than any Imperial Vessel save perhaps the mighty Grayskull or Tourtuga. Gleaming Silver arcs and an ornate design that was all too common with Eldar design, Khaledon knew what this was, one of the ever elusive "Craftworlds" Eldar who seemed to be part of their own faction apart from those of this failed empire.

The final battle of the Aledari Empire now had a new contender, as glimmering vessels swarmed out of the Craftworld and into the battle between the two fleets, several heading to the world below, adding to the battle in ways that all sides would later recount as a defining battle for the ages.

 

[SteelWriter77]

(Written by @Uniquelyequal )
​

To the Dawi-Zharr, Than Ulsar as a holy place: a site of great reverence and importance, it's every aspect carefully cultivated to be pleasing to their gods.

To the sights of the Shieldbearers and Star Knights tasked with taking it, it seemed more like the classical interpretation of hell.

A churning storm of exhaust and pollution filled the atmosphere, concealing the almost entirety of the surface beneath black and brown clouds, volcanic lightning flashing ominously, and a red, unnatural glow rose from the surface, speaking of the fires of unnatural industry the cruel inhabitants of this world kept stoked below.

Only two buildings were visible within the churning storm, and neither seemed particularly promising: one was the vast Ziggurat of a Space Port, rising above the outer edges of the atmosphere gleaming with cannons, several mass conveyors still attached to its gigantic docking arms.

The other was a collection of six metal Obelisks on the opposite side of the planet, gleaming and glowing atop the clouds that swirled like a vortex around them, revealing an area of the ground that had been meticulously covered in runes.

Initial bombardment proved ineffective, unnatural energies simply disassembling falling Macrocannon shells into their component parts and Lance Strikes dissipating within the atmosphere far before they could make an impact.

The effects this defense mechanism would have on a Landing Craft was deemed to be potentially exceedingly adverse, and so, braving the pollutant clouds also being deemed undesirable, the Space Port was chosen as the most prudent primary target. Within two days of achieving orbit, preliminary bombardment of the Space Port began, the Fourth Temple and the Nemesis exchanging several salvoes with the anti-ship cannons of the Space Port, managing to silence the vast majority of them within an hour of bombardment.

Then the first wave went out, Breachers of the Shieldbearers quickly securing footholds and expanding them, vastly overmatching the Dawi-Zharr in the relatively close confines of the Space Port and securing it's upper levels within less then twenty-two hours, establishing a secure perimeter before beginning to move downwards. Over the course of these twenty-two hours, the Mass Conveyors were also secured, revealing a conversion for the transportation of living creatures, specifically, judging by the chains welded into its surfaces, slaves. This observation was further compounded by the interior of the Space Port, which lacked the traditional methods of conveying masses of material and seemed instead purpose-built to channel and contain vast groups of prisoners towards the surface of the planet, with several narrow, spiraling corridors overseen by raised platforms. This unexpected internal layout also made conveying the Titans to the surface through the Space Port unworkable, forcing the plan to be adjusted into securing a Landing Zone at the base of the Tower. Still, the internal structuring of the port worked to the Shieldbearer's advantage, allowing Breachers to advance with impunity, quickly breaking through the most determined of resistance, largely hastily erected barriers and Dawi-Zharr armed with Flamers spewing a sticky, chemically infused Prometheum-derived substance. Attempts at destroying the Space Port as a viable structure were made, but easily prevented: the Dawi-Zharr tendency towards robustness and resilience now told against them, allowing the structure to remain standing even when several internal support structures were destroyed by teams of Dawi-Zharr engineers, and external damage was easily absorbed by the heavy structure.

Reaching the base of the structure, the Shieldbearers found themselves faced with a heavier tactical challenges: six vast trenches had been cut into the surface of the planet, vast, processional roads six kilometers wide paved at their bottom, terraced cities carved into their side and now bristling with the unholy artillery of their foes.

Initial forays into these suggested a complex network of tunnels and warehouses connecting these trenches with one another, allowing the Dawi-Zharr easy transfer between them. With the complexity of the tunnel network deemed too high to secure quickly and increased activity observed at the site of the Six Obelisks, the decision was made to focus all efforts onto taking a single Trenchline, dubbed Meridian One, hoping to win the day through the more effective concentration of forces and to destroy the Obelisks before turning efforts to a wide campaign of cleansing.

The first priority quickly became the creation of a Landing Zone to set down the Titans in service to the Star Knights. Advancing in lockstep once again, the Shieldbearers set about silencing the Artillery with line of sight to any landing attempt. Here, they were finally supported by forces of the Star Knights and the Wardens of the Blessed Heart, inserting via the Thunderhawk and Drop Pods that could now be guided in by forces on the ground to take the fighting directly to the artillery positions, silencing many of them before they could deal damage, Assault Troops then engaging in a rapid series of strikes, using their Jump Packs to traverse between the tiers to often devastating impact on the enemy. Here, Shahin, the Red Angel of the Wardens of the Blessed Hearts, once again distinguished herself, leading her troops in combat with ruthless effectiveness to strike deep into the lines of the Dawi-Zharr.

Soon, a steady stream of supplies arrived from the surface, Titans striking out along the processionals while the Legions began unloading armors and artillery of their own, accelerating their timeline as the Nemesis once again reported increased activity amongst the Obelisks. Something was happening on the opposite side of the planet, and none amongst the combined Forces wished to find out just what their wider purpose was.

The Division of Labor was fairly simple, decided by the specializations of the Legions at large: armor and Titans would advance along the processional at the bottom of the Trench accompanied by the Shieldbearers, while the more nimble troops of the Star Knights and Wardens would clear the levels of the terraces, soaring above enemy lines in order to disrupt their ability to mount a defense. Amongst the advancing frontlines, Blanks of the Coldiron Cages were dispersed, having proven effective at negating the more devastating effects of Dawi-Zharr artillery in whole or in part. Specialized teams of Tech Marines of the Shieldbearers roamed behind the advancing front lines, erecting barricades and collapsing tunnels in order to prevent any flanking force from doing too much damage to the rapidly advancing Imperial Forces.

This was Legion War at its most advanced, rapid, and brutal: transhuman warriors racing forwards at supernatural speeds, supported by the heights of technology that still remained to humanity to move at breakneck speed. The Dawi-Zharr put up a valiant resistance, their artillery in particular reaping a dreadful harvest from Human Auxiliaries and Legionaries alike, but they simply could not hope to stand against the tide that was rapidly overwhelming them.

Still, to their credit, they managed to organize an orderly retreat, determined rearguards of their number supported by scuttling warmachines managing to slow down the Imperial Tide at least long enough for the rest of the forces to fall back towards their first line of defence: a line of fortifications covering the entirety of the Trench Line and rising far above it, studded with Artillery and dubbed the Processional Citadel by Imperial Forces.

Here, then, nearly six hundred kilometers into the attack, it slowed significantly for the first time, as pre-sighted and prepared artillery pieces rained down fire and death upon the advancing Imperial Forces, destroying the Warlord Titan Irae Martis and wreaking havoc on the Vanguard of Shieldbearers.

For a brief moment, the attack ground to a halt, a siege seeming inevitable to take these vast defensive works.

It was then that Sampson Barcid took to the field alongside Starscream, breaching through a side corridor at the head of Terminators of both their Legion and forcing the Dawi-Zharr onto the backfoot enough for the remainder of the Legion to force a breach and resume the advance.

Still, the delay had allowed the Dawi-Zharr enough time to reinforce Meridian One, and the advance quickly turned into the grinding, attritional affair they favored. More and more hardpoints and trenches sprung up across the processional road, each point taking time to clear out, and it became increasingly clear that a stop to rest and resupply would soon become necessary, especially in the face of more of the Citadel Walls that had caused the initial delay. Equally, however, whatever was happening at the Obelisks was plainly gathering in power and potency, unnatural lightning seen arcing into the highest reaches of the atmosphere.

The vast majority of the forces reaching it was simply not feasible, yet other options still remained to the Primarchs, and one of them would now be brought to the forefront, enabling at the very least an elite Strike Team of the Legions to hopefully disrupt the ritual enough for it to be brought to an end.

To this end, several Terrax Pattern Assault Drills were brought to the Front Line and deployed under the cover of smoke, loaded to bear with the elite of the Terminators of the deployed Legions, several of the Coldiron Cages Blanks', an elite force of the Mechanicums Ordo Reductor under the Magus Valentine Reeper, as well as both Primarchs present. Risk still remained, of course: the Dawi-Zharr had a tendency to dig deep, and there was a risk of giving away the game by hitting some tunnel deep below the surface. Still, the likelihood of effective subterranean defenses was judged to be less then the already observed extremely effective aerial defense, and the presence of the Blanks was hoped to negate or at least alleviate any of the psychic defenses that might be put up. The force that set out was not the largest subterranean Assault that had ever taken place, but it was the longest-ranged one and certainly the largest one operating at such depth, with a complex system of logistics necessary for refueling and maintaining the drills over a distance they had never meant to travel.

Only the resilient physiology of the Astartes and the heavy cybernetic modification of the Mechanicum made the assault possible in the first place, and even that reached its limits, oxygen itself being rationed over the entire journey, every piece of equipment pushed to its very limit and beyond.

When the Assault Drills broke out of the ground, they were within less than a kilometer from the site of the Obelisks, emerging amongst an utterly surprised enemy.

Here, at the battleside, Astragoth Ironhand awaited, and he was not alone. With him stood a vast horned behemoth of fire and iron, a great monstrum clad in molten armor and speaking with a voice of molten lead. This being called itself Nyrax, and when it saw the forces of the Primarchs, it spoke six words the instantly fused six of the Terminators that had come alongside them with their armor, dooming them to a slow and agonizing death.

The battle that followed raged for several hours, tides of the enemy crashing against the forces of the Legions, Terminators protecting the Forces of the Magos Reductor as they applied Melta Charges to the bases of the Obelisks, dying and falling in the bitter conflict

In the center of the field, amid perfectly carved six-sided diagrams carved with rows upon rows of millimeter tall runes, each the carvings daubed with freshly spilled blood. The energies of the warp swirled around them as lightning clinging to their clashing weapons in unnatural arcs. Sword and Hammer clashed with Astragoth Ironhand's weaponized limbs and Nyrax's flaming axe, as well as the storm of debris that swirled around the strange, behemoth psyker as the Ritual site was slowly disintegrated: a hail of shredded armor and weaponry, of bone devoid of flesh and stone broken from ground shattered by mighty blows. Nyrax screamed as the first Obelisk fell, and screamed in turn as two others followed: the Shrapnel turned onto the Mechanicum Forces hard at work to destroy the remaining Obelisks, hitting the Terminators that stood in the way. Several of them died instantly, turned to a fine mist by the storm. Then, Sampson stepped into the way of the storm, shield raised high, and held up the storm long enough for the Terminators to raise their own shields, yet forced to stop covering Starscream for a moment, even as the Primarch of the Star Knights struck out to remove Astragoth's head with a lightning-quick stroke of his sword.

Six pieces of broken Obelisk slammed into the Primarch, throwing him across the Ritual Site even as the last of the Obelisks toppled. Barcid surged forwards, slamming his hammer into the chest of the behemoth xenos, and for a brief, terrifying moment, time seemed to freeze, the energies of the warp held in Equilibrium around the Obelisks suddenly quite unbalanced. The Vortex around the site roared with lightning, fire suddenly flaring up inside it as it rose and rose and rose, a pillar of electricity and flame rising out of the atmosphere in an instantly before dissipating just as quickly, leaving the forces at the Ritual Site in a cloud of dense dust.

In the fleet above, sixty six Astropaths and Navigators screamed and died, molten iron running from the empty sockets of their eyes. A further thirty-six were driven utterly, irrevocably mad, raving incoherently before, inevitably, having to be put down. A Frigate that had come to close was disassembled into its component parts, every weld cleanly dissolved, every screw neatly undone, before these parts were fired, akin to the load of a vast scattergun, into the rest of the assembled fleet, scaring armor and flaring void shields in a terrifying display, even as the Warp flashed and churned below the skin of the world, seeming to ripple with energy as the Ritual's Power wreaked Havoc.

On Than Dothrac, where the main forces of the Wardens of the Blessed Heart and the Coldiron Cages were engaged, this surge manifested itself in a sudden, apparently opportunistic invasions: Xenos, later deemed to be of the same strange species as Nyrax, formed seemingly from molten metal and destroyed machinery, streamed from rifts in the warp, screeching in a language utterly inimical to human ears. Wherever they went, machinery broke and rebelled, guns jamming and Chainswords seizing under relentless psychic onslaught: only the valiant effort of Varil's Blanks kept the effect at bay in some quarters, allowing the Legions to reconsolidate and fight a retreating battle.

And it was a retreat, for there could be no standing against this massive onslaught: even as Varil deployed power that could tear continents in half against the psychic menace, more and more just kept coming, stepping over the ranks of their fallen brethren in their eagerness to get at their foes.

It was Ahurani who convinced the rest of the forces to evacuate, arguing successfully for a reassessment of strategy in the face of shifting odds, and it was her plans that ran the evacuation, a Primarch's mind turned to the act of saving lives instead of destroying them. Again and again, Thunderhawks made the trip from surface to Orbit, loaded precisely to bear even as the defenders engaged in desperate heroics to ensure the safety of as many as possible. Even the Dawi-Zharr turned their guns, standing against the rising Xenos tide at the side of the Imperium, although despite offers none of them boarded evacuation vessels, choosing instead to fight and die where they stood.

Many heroic deeds were performed that day: Erethe of the Wardens of the Blessed Heart destroyed a vast giant seemingly made of molten clockwork and sharpened edges, her carapace nearly shattering even as she tore out the thing's heart, Miseo of the Coldiron Cages standing against the tide and driving back the Xenosfrom Erethe's fallen form until Ahurani could come and retrieve her, retreating behind a giant crack of her creation as soon as she had done so. Joshua, the Voice and Sword of the Ancients too stood against the tide, Sword and Axe rising and falling tirelessly, each stroke of the deadend powerblades nonetheless dispatching a foe, Hektor of the Star Knights next to him, rallying the rear guard against the oncoming tide and allowing hundreds of Legionaries the time to escape.

Still, though, for all the heroics, the Legions were being pushed back, shedding dead for each meter of ground lost, the tide of Xenos endless.

Fire raced across the world behind the surging foe, seeming to consume the ground in more ways than the material: when Ahurani rose alongside the last departing Stormbird, looking below into the churning inferno, she thought she saw a glimpse of the warp beyond it, rising up and grasping at the fleeing Imperials.

Then, with a roar heard, somehow, even through the Vacuum of Space, Than Dothrac was consumed, disappearing as though it had never been there, only the screams of the dead and wounded providing any evidence it had ever existed.

On Than Ulsar, Sampson raised his hammer, regarding it's molten face with some consternation, watching the spot where his seemingly fallen foe had just disappeared into a gout of flame.

 

[Bandeirante]

A snippet of a day

It was a rare day that Memnon could simply be. When the neverending twin calls of crown and spear allowed him enough of a lull to shed bronze and silk and simply enjoy the moment.

It's a moment to be dearly treasured. And that's why the Tyrant was making the best of it by taking the long, winding path back to his personal workshop in the bowels of his Citadel. The entire complex had been built under his direct supervision and every single addition, if not personally designed by him, still passed through his desk for approval. And yet, he noted with some sadness, the Great Crusade had kept him from actually seeing the renovations and expansions in the flesh, as they say. He had vid-picts of it, of course, and his correspondence with his family kept him well aware of what they thought of them. Memnon had even added them to the scale model he kept in his quarters aboard the Lady Penelope. But still, it had been years since he was able to actually go back home and explore the new additions to his main palace and residence.

He had spent the morning walking through the new underground sections. Additional storehouses and shelters, backup control and communication rooms and more living space. The last grasp of the Citadel if the surface were ever to be stormed or leveled by orbital fire. A tour of the expanded sanitation system was followed by lunch with his father. And still Memnon tried to ignore just how old and frail the old Priest had looked all through it. Aethas was already an old man by the time Dyieus Pater had emerged from the void to summon his son for the Great Crusade. But Memnon's father, the one who had found, raised and loved him without reservation, had always been a healthy and strong man. And Memnon had never spared any expenses in ensuring him and all of his surviving family had access to the best care possible.

The Primarch knew, on an intellectual level, that his father was just a man. And having never shown any interest in following his son to the stars like Astyanax did - and frankly wasn't that a relief? Old Aethes, for all that he might have looked otherwise, was a gentle, peaceful soul. The battlefield was the last place he should find himself in - Memnon knew that someday his father would die. He was doing his best to delay it as long as possible. But he had thought he had accepted the fact.

Obviously, not as much as he had hoped. And it's something that will continue to gnaw at his heart for a while yet. Of that he is sure.

Bodily shaking his head to clear his thoughts, the Primarch stopped before the tall marble archway at the end of his path. Yellow and earthy tones with vines, giggling nymphs and playful goatmen carved into the entrance pillars. It was good work, he muses silently. The particular way the artist had carved and sculpted the nymph's figures and flowery hair told the Primarch the artist must either have come from Phanagoreia or taken much influence from their style. Though the Satyrs, looking like actual Abhumans, indicated some actual knowledge of their anatomy- perhaps they had lived or visited the Orlenian Reach?

The sound of rushing water and chirping birds greets the Primarch as he steps into the new garden.

It was a new addition to the Citadel. An octagon shaped enclosure bathed by artificial light and blessed by advanced climate controls to ensure the best possible environment for the plant life. A brick path from each of the eight entrances converged in a large central fountain in the middle of the garden. Each one of them branching out into smaller paths so a visitor could explore the extensive garden in full and appreciate the mosaics interspersed with the bricks. Benches and marble statues, these, Memnon can tell, were made by different artists. Though all of them follow the classical Arkagan style, there are enough minute tells and quirks in the works of art that the Tyrant is convinced must have come from different persons. Perhaps a group of apprentices under the same master.

Memnon's leisurely stroll took him to the fountain. Dominated by a painted marble statue of the Spring goddess Khore, in her dress of leaves and flowers overturning her bottomless skin of water into the ground.

The Primarch ignored the ornately carved benches in favor of the soft grass. Falling backwards like a crumbling mountain.

The rushing water, the smell of flowers and the chirping of birds and small animals. Even the insects wriggling under and around him were a balm for the Tyrant. It spoke of older, simpler days. Before the Emperor, before the League, before even the olympics. When he was no one but Aetes' son. Who spent his days mastering everything he put his mind into and fixing roofs, working in the fields, raising walls, running numbers or a thousand other things his neighbors needed help with.

He missed those days more than anything.

It was then that his reminiscing was interrupted by the approach of footsteps. Memnon lazily propped himself to a sitting position and watched as his sister walked up to him. Dressed in old and faded work clothes and carrying an equally old but well cared for leather bag, Penelope looked ready for a day tending to the garden.

"It's been a while since I've seen you laying about like that." She said by way of greeting, stopping to stare at him. "Did you finish conquering the Galaxy already?"

"It's not like you visit enough to see me much, Pen." Memnon replied, patting a spot besides him. "Come, sit. The plants will still be there."

Penelope dropped the leather sack in the grass and plopped herself down besides the Primarch.

"So, how long are you staying this time?" Penelope asked intently. Black eyes boring into Memnon's own.

"I don't know." Memnon replied, feeling vaguely ashamed. "Not for long, I'm afraid. The Galaxy is vast and the Emperor's dreams even larger. " He paused before giving his sister a similarly disapproving look. "And it's not like you're ever around either. Last time I was home you were in Orlenia. And before that, you weren't even in the Cluster."

"I'm supposed to wait by the doorstep for you to return as if I were your sad, neglected wife?" Penelope challenged.

"You're the one complaining I'm never around." Memnon shrugged. And after a pause added "You could also come back to work. Just say the word and I will find you a position here. You did good before, I could use someone like you around."

Penelope laughed, long and loud. Memnon couldn't help but smile at that too. It would be his reaction too, had the roles been reversed.

"You signed my resignation. No take backsies. Besides, you don't need me, Memnon." Her face softened at that. "You have entire planets filled with people who worship the very ground you ask. People smarter and braver and more educated and cunning than I could ever bother to be." She leaned into his side. "But I miss you too. That's still a no to a sinecure here or following you around in your crusade."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Memnon replied quickly as he embraced her with one arm. "All that combat would ruin this masterwork." He said, patting her arm. "I would spend too much time rebuilding you again and again to do anything else."

"And I would rather not lose what little is left of my fleshy bits." Penelope agreed with mock firmness. "I'm what? A brain and some guts inside a metal body and a coating of synthskin. Anymore and I feel like the Martian priests are gonna start burning incense around me."

The joking helped a bit. But the thought still sent chills down Memnon's spine. Penelope had survived the disasters and wars and calamities that had come before the final unification of the Cluster. Only to be afflicted by a degenerative disease. As a Primarch of the Imperium, he could have easily found the necessary resources and personnel to treat his sister. But that all happened before the Imperium arrived in the Cluster. So Memnon launched himself into a desperate project to save Penelope by building her a new body. A vessel that would not fall to the ravages of sickness and disease.

It had been a close run thing. And he would hate to put her at risk by dragging her to the forefront of the Great Crusade. He hated it enough already. And one brother risking his life by his side was too, more than enough.

"Still, it would be great to have more times like this. The gods know we don't see each other half as much as we should."

"I've been here for a couple days already." Penelope replied looking up to her brother. "And you are a hard man to pin down, Memnon."

"I'm sorry, next time I will make sure to tell the Emperor of Mankind to let you set my campaign schedule." Memnon replied with mock seriousness.

"You do that. And I will make sure to mention it next time I go to the temple." Penelope nodded, playing along. "I will even bring a fat ewe and the good incense."

"You should do that regardless!" Memnon snarked. "You are rich enough to always give the gods the best."

"Forgive me, oh high priest!" Penelope wrenched herself from her brother's embrace, snickering as she fell on her back, arms raised high. "I shall commission another giant marble statue of Dyieus Pater's magnificent figure to atone for my blasphemy."

"I still can't believe you, of all people, raised such well behaved boys." Was all that Memnon replied.

"Not much raising, I'm afraid." Penelope shrugged as she made herself comfortable in the grass. "I'd wager you and yours did most of the work when you took them in your Crusade."

"I'm sorry, you know that, Pen." Memnon spoke afterwards. The good cheer in both siblings now drained away.

"I know." Penelope sighed, shifting to look at her brother. "And both me and Menelaos were so proud of them when they passed the trials. We didn't say anything because we wanted it to happen too. We knew the danger. Theoretically at least." She paused, recollecting herself. "But that doesn't really prepare you for when it actually happens. I don't hate you, Memnon. Not anymore than myself for supporting this whole endeavor. But my Aga is still dead and I barely see Ajax these days. And every time I do get to meet him, he's more of a stranger."

Memnon dropped to his sister's side. And in a rare moment, he found himself quiet. No words of comfort or reassurance for his sister. He couldn't say that Agamemnon had died bravely, that her son's sacrifice had brought any kind of meaningful triumph for the Imperium, that it had benefited the Legion in any way. Because Memnon had never lied to his sister before and he would not start now. So all that he did was lay a comforting hand on her shoulder while she stared up at the sky.

Every single of his sons that died in battle was a painful blow. It was a necessary sacrifice. Each and every one of them. Because the alternative was far worse. And for all that he disliked the idea, the truth was that he was doing far more good for his people by taking to the stars and destroying any possible threats to them before they could reach the Cluster.

Still, he grieved for his sons. The fact that Agamemnon was his nephew, that he had seen the boy grow around him, made it worse. For the grief it brought his sister, for all that both of them didn't like to bring the topic to light.

"Any more family tragedies you want to dig up while we are here?" Penelope asked, forcing some lightness into her tone. "Might as well dig up everything before we start digging up those flowers."

"There's dad…" Memnon replied after a moment. "He's not well, Pen. And I don't know what's wrong."

"Did you ask him?" Penelope asked, now propping herself up on her elbows. Giving Memnon a look he couldn't quite decipher, and found himself disliking.
"Of course I didn't!" Memnon shot back, the outrage real this time. "I don't want him to worry more than he has to."

"Because he obviously won't notice anything amiss if you aren't there to point out?" It was a rhetorical question. And before Memnon could defend himself, his sister continued. "He's old, Memnon. Old, content and tired, I bet. He stopped taking all those drugs you made him take. And he has no interest in surgeries or prosthetics or anything else. That much I know because I asked him."

"Bu-but that means-"Memnon sputtered before his mind finally accepted the facts. "He is going to die. He wants to die?!" The Bronze Primarch was half risen by this point, and his voice had risen likewise. He didn't knew exactly what he was going to do, how he was going to talk his dad out of such reckless, suicidal stupidity but-

"Yes." Penelope had jumped to her feet. Her hands were enclosed around his wrist. "And you will let him do it. Because that's what he wants."

Had anyone else said that to him, Memnon would lose his calm. And woe to the fool who dared insult him like that. But Penelope wasn't just anyone else. And just like Memnon had never lied to his sister, he was also fully confident in her own honesty.

That did not make anything alright. And the sudden terror of loss was back in full force. He still burned to run across the Citadel and reach his father. To talk to him and yes, try to convince him otherwise. But the reality of the situation was undeniable. And a part of him raged against the idea of forcing the issue.

He could see it clear enough even now. Aetes has seen enough, lived enough, loved and suffered enough. His children were all grown or dead. The world he had been born and lived in was long gone. His friends and peers were long gone too and there was little for the old priest to do besides wait for death. He wasn't like Penelope, who could fill her days with distractions and hobbies and pet projects, who delighted in the lifestyle afforded by her immeasurable privilege. No, Aetes was a simple, pious man. Who lived to serve the gods and tend to his kin and people.

But priests and gods these days had to be hidden away. His kin didn't truly need him, and the ancient village at the border of the Hethakes was long gone.

Objectively, Aetes had lived a great life. Had done excellently as a priest and a father. And if that was his wish, to let simple biology do its work rather than extending his life for no other reason than fear of death. Or to indulge his fearful son, then who was Memnon to deny him that?

He was a Primarch. The son of a god. As good as a living god himself. A divine ruler and almost peerless warlord. By rights he should….he should respect his father's decision. Because Aetes had raised him to be a good man. To love and care for others, to be mindful of his loved ones' feelings and desires, to be dutiful and all the other many things Memnon was so proud of learning and exercising.

To force his father to live on despite his wishes, would be selfish. Normal men were not meant to live forever. Immortality was the province of gods, not meant for mortals. And still Memnon could not fully convince himself, he needed to talk with his father. Not even to try and talk him out of this. But simply so they could have one last good father and son moment. Because suddenly, something inside Memnon's heart screamed at him to do it now, that this was going to be his last chance to do it and do it right.

The golden bracelet in his arm started vibrating. Memnon activated the device and Astyanax' voice, uncommonly worried and anxious rang out:

"Brother, come to the war room as quickly as you can. We have a crisis in our hands."

The Primarch came out and the worried son went into the box. He looked down at Penelope and spoke:

"Ajax' Taxiarch is in the Citadel. This might be a good chance to talk with him while you can-"

"The plants will still be here tomorrow." She finished, nodding. "Yes, yes. I know. See you around, Memnon."

Memnon gave her a quick wave and rushed away with the speed of a Primarch.​

 

[SteelWriter77]

To Bold Go
(Written by @Hyvelic )​

Space is the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Warship Sacrum Anacreon, its mission is to explore strange new words in the northern frontier to seek out new life and new civilizations to boldly conquer where no human has probably not gone before. Crewed by three-thousand Astartes belonging to the Cosmo Corsairs on the order of the Madam Primarch who is their gene-sire.

They proceed north on the orders of their lady despite many of their number wishing, and seeking, to head to the frontlines to wage a just and great war against the Men of Iron who are being laid siege to at that very moment. Yet, they listen to their orders and like good children obey their mother.

The first of many worlds to be brought into the Imperial fold would be the planet known as Thilan. The planet Thilan is a world ruled by a subjugated Queen. Queen Alecto lies tormented by the threats inhabiting the moon of the planet. The daring Astartes would launch an immediate raid upon the planet's moon, seeking to destroy the raiders holding the world back and begin the integration process to bring this poor planet and its tragic leader into the fold. The Xeno threat were heavily armored and strangely humanoid suits of armor, more human than any other species encountered to date.

The Astartes would be successful in destroying the base and exterminating most of the alien threats, however, more than a few would manage to escape and make their way into the planet's capital of Arethusa where the queen who had just been freed, was murdered in retribution by the aliens. The traumatized sister of the now slain queen would kill one of the attackers before the Astartes arrived and delivered swift and just retribution upon the perfidious Xenos.

The suited menace that saw itself plaguing the poor planet of Thilan would be found once again shortly later over what would be called the planet Harvnax. This planet, albeit unknown at the time, was their homeworld and point of origin. These aliens as stated before wore suits, however, while the aliens from earlier wore suits that seemed more primitive and not very well maintained, as expected of pirates to be frank, these suits were well put together and managed to have more sophistication than one would initially suspect a Xeno to have. Of course, this didn't stop the Cosmo Corsairs from putting their armored boots to the alien menace as the Astartes launched a lightning-quick attack which saw the decimation of a majority of the planet's defenders in the initial punch.

This would come back to annoy them as those that remained were equipped with strange and unnerving weapons that had never been seen before. Several Astartes would have their bodies compressed into a sphere or in several cases completely disintegrated with no remains, and two squads of Astartes would disappear completely with no warning or explanation, there was a third squad but they did manage to inform their overall commander of what it was that they encountered before being killed.

They informed the command that a strange humanoid-alien creature made of some surprisingly durable material had appeared before losing contact with them completely. Outside of the previous confrontation and the missing squads the mission given to the Astartes was completed. The fighting on the ground was only needed to land and place multiple beacons for the ships in orbit to unleash hellfire upon the planet. This orbital hellfire would leave the planet uninhabitable for potentially centuries but would destroy the alien civilization's resistance completely and utterly.

Something to be noted was that the ground forces would manage to gather multiple samples of the strange new technology to learn to either combat it or to use it in some capacity whether political or physical. The only issue with these plans would quickly, and abruptly, manifest themselves.

The samples taken of both types of weapons and their variants would mysteriously disappear. Despite the best attempts of the Corsairs to find where the samples went, and in doing so find who or whatever stole them from under their noses. No reason was ever found, although there had been several rumors investigated in pursuit of this goal. One rumor was of a stowaway, this stowaway matched the brief profile given by the squad encountering the metallic xeno creation. Another, more likely at that, the rumor was that of traitors and more reformist members of the mechanicum amongst the ship seeking to further their cause and idealogy. No evidence of the weapons was found in the bowels of the ship.

This investigation would continue until the Corsairs reached the planet of Gryfax. Gryfax is, or rather was, a pleasant world of tropical islands, calm seas, and pleasant people. It must be strictly stated that the fate of this world was in no way caused by Corsair's arrival despite claims otherwise. The Corsairs came in peace and with them diplomats who talked with the local, human, population. The population of the planet were accepting of their integration into the wider Imperium.

Many widely anticipated the arrival of more foreigners, imagining them to be similar to the Astartes at best, and their scouts at worse. Of course, this is where the tragedy of the situation would come to be. Despite everything going for them, the Corsairs would end up being banned from the planet after several failed attempts at courting rituals from the mortals planetside. The Astartes responded in such an insulting manner, to the planet's culture, that they were isolated from the population at large. Things deteriorated as the son of the planet's nominal ruler, one Tiberium Spok attempted to court one of the Corsairs in public.

The rejection saw that they were banned from ever returning to the planet, them or their kindred members in the legion. Despite this strange turn of events, they went ahead with the integration and beyond the banning of the Corsairs from the planet, all went well. By the end of the three compliance-bringing operations, the Corsairs found themselves becoming well-known figures in the region of space. Both famous and infamous they managed to bring glory to their legion, as well as treasures that would make the most charitable man consider becoming greedy. Of course, this was just the physical gains made rather than the emotional, metaphorical, and strategical. Gold statues made in their likeness, and that of the absent primarch, to very fine dinnerware that would be considered exotic in Imperium as a whole. Just to name a few.

The Cosmo Corsairs continue their mission given to them by their Primarch. They resist the temptation to join the fight to their east and instead focus on going forward. They seek to go forth and explore, integrate, and destroy. Using several star maps they would find several regions of space that they planned to go to next. The exploration of the North continued and the next year's report would be waited for with slightly bated breath by the mortals within the legion who were not with these dashing heroic supersoldiers.

 

[SteelWriter77]

"The Hands Of Death Could Not Defeat Me, The Shackles Of Life Could Not Hold Me. And You Will Not Live To See The End Of This Century!" Primarch Foniás at the start of the Ghoul Crusade​

To the galaxy, the Ghoul Stars are the culmination of all the dark horrors manifested in history, collected in one area of space. Thousands upon thousands of years of isolation from humanity had given rise to stories of true fear just the outer edges of this cursed space.

But in the time of the Great Crusade, all of humanity was to be reunited, thus one Legion above all others sought to conquer the Ghoul Stars, uncaring of its myriad of legends surrounding it. The Imperial Revenants under their Primarch Foniás sent out the call for conquest and colonization, billions answered from across the Imperium, undaunted by the prospects of danger and willing to fight such threats for a new life. Allies of the Imperium would also join, members of Knight Houses and Freeblades lending their strength to earn glory in battle, Dawi Clans in search for more lost technology and establishing new holds for their kin, and the ever powerful Mechanicum ever hungry for new materials and the prospect of ancient technology or STC's.

The path to the Ghoul Stars was a straight path to the assembled force, some of it already cleared by the actions of the Cosmo Corsairs in both their explorations and conflict with the Men of Iron. The so-called "Ghoul Crusade" began in earnest when the first contact with worlds on the edge of the Ghoul Stars was made, and then subsequently broken under the Revenant's heels. Any world that had human life was forcibly brought to compliance and any xenos found swiftly exterminated under tremendous firepower.

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As the Revenants and their forces entered further into the Ghoul Stars, they began to find more than just dead worlds and lost human colonies of varying acceptance into the Imperium.

One of the first major oppositions the Revenants faced was not an organized nation or group of Xenos, but spread out single entities that commanded the Shadows. Named the Umbra out of the sheer darkness out of which they seemed to thrive, unlike many other Xeno species, they were a solitary being that seemed to at first mindlessly drift in the void of space. But upon any form of contact or apparent realization of intelligent life, the spheres rammed into any Imperial or Mechanicum ship, somehow phasing through solid metal and roaming across the ship.

Once inside the Umbra began it's rampage, in these first encounters it was common to see no fewer than three to four entire ships be lost by a single Umbra, it's form unfurling and absorbing the very shadows into a physical mass that tore through any defenses or soldiers of the Imperium.

Shadowy tendrils ripped through Imperial Soldier and Astartes alike as a black mass grew throughout the ships, evolving as it absorbed the darkness around it and turned it into a flesh-like mass operated by the Umbra.

Thankfully it was found that the beings could die, due to extreme damage to their central orb body or through extensive use of Psykers to tear at the unnatural beings. Such discoveries did not lessen the damage that finding a Umbra could cause, but such was the rarity of these beings that the chances of finding them was low.
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As the battles against the very shadows raged on, forces sent to expand to the north of the Ghoul Stars fought serpentine Xenos of a particularly large Empire, known as the Domain of the Laer.

These four armed serpent creatures fought like battle itself was a dance, a highly mobile and sadistic xeno warriors met the Astartes of the thirteen legion upon the dusty plains of dead worlds or in battles of the void. In some aspects it was almost like a destined match between an unflinching army able to take any amount of damage to secure their victory and an enemy who saw war and sadistic torture as the greatest art, dealing all forms of damage they could wish on their foes.

The battle against the Domain was not a slow or fast affair, the Imperium had the advantage of sheer numbers and force applied under each strike, but the Domain held knowledge of these dark stars along with their own rapid methods of strategy keeping them from being caught in one place, while their worlds were labyrinths that kept the Astartes from making meaningful progress in short order.

Eventually a sort of border would be established as fortified worlds of Dawi and Imperium kept the Laer isolated and the Imperium able to focus on more pressing fronts in the Ghoul Stars.
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The third major threat to be found from the Ghoul Stars was one that seemed almost unnatural to dwell in such a dark place, calling themselves the Guardians of Life, they were a technologically advanced xeno race that seemed to have come from another galaxy entirely, finding themselves stuck in the Ghoul Stars.

The first meeting of the two powers was where the Primarch himself, onboard the Battlebarge Athánatos saw the aftermath of these Guardians battling a Laer fleet, the remaining Guardian vessels opened communications and began to speak.

"Hail unknown ships, we represent the Guardians of Life, we had come to this galaxy in service of our greater purpose in the preservation of life, this region holds many dangers and we would be most grateful to meet those in proper galactic civility."

The thirteenth Primarch responded to this message by ordering the destruction of the Guardian's ships. Thus began the War between the Guardians of Life and the Imperial Revenants.

The battles between these two groups would be some of the most intense of the campaign, for while the Umbra may have been the most individually powerful and the Laer held an advantage of understanding the Ghoul Stars, the Guardians were a foe against the very ideology of the dread thirteenth and both knew this fact. The legion would end up choosing the Guardians as their main target, sending massive amounts of their forces against the soldiers of the Guardians to destroy their worlds.

What remained of the Guardians was now scattered worlds isolated from each other that fought a losing battle against foes who seemed to idolized death.
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The final foe to arrive from the dark of space, would be in the form of ships the Imperium had only recently become acquainted with in the Rak'gol. The barbaric raiders and their unnatural methods of technology emerged from the void and attacked from all angles, starting with worlds only just taken by the Imperium and in the midst of being colonized, they ripped through the meager defenses and butchered worlds.

Revenant forces had to be pulled back from the major fronts to deal with these raiders, a prospect the Rak'gol seemed to eagerly desire as they threw themselves into battle against the thirteenth legion, a opinion that quickly changed as they realized what kind of foe the Revenants were.

Their screeches of jubilation in battled lessened as the battles between their kind and the Astartes became battles of attrition that the Rak'gol were not suited for, their augmented warrior tore through flesh and metal, but their foes would not die, simply taking the wounds to kill their opponents, such force was needed to kill the Astartes that the Rak'gol simply could not keep up their attack without focusing on the Astartes. In the end they would either die off completely in attacks or flee the battle in any altercation with the seemingly undying marines.

Despite this factor, the raiding would continue on the edges of Imperial held space in the Ghoul Stars, albeit in a much faster capacity to leave before the Revenants could arrive.
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Despite the destruction left in the Revenant's wake, they did not leave dead worlds as their only mark, the forces brought with them from the Knight Houses, Forge Worlds and Dawi Clans were hard at work finding suitable worlds to claim for their own. To say nothing of the billions of Colonists who went to work establishing worlds that any proper Imperium sector should have, such as Agri Worlds, Fortress Worlds and Shipyards to keep their forces supplied and ready for continued campaigns.

Of course trying to hold these worlds was a challenge in itself, as monsters from the rest of the Ghoul Stars surged and attacked at all times. Rak'gol raiders swarmed around Fortress worlds trying to cut away both flesh and metal for their twisted satisfaction. Umbra singularities being drawn to the Forgeworlds for an unknown reason, infesting the shadows and wreaking havoc wherever they dwell. The conflicts with the Laer slipping through any crack of the front lines on suicidal attacks on Imperial inferstructure. Meanwhile the Legion's continued focus on the Guardians as they broke through their space to destroy their people.

The allies of the Imperium found themselves being on the defensive at all times, Dawi warriors holding the lines on their new holds against the slithering warriors of the Laer, rune energy meeting dancing blades as the stoic lines of the Dawi held against the Laer's fury.

Skittari Maniples protected the ships of the Mecnahicum against the raiding horrors of the Rak'gol and their devotion to brutality, cold fury was met with barbaric screeching as Tech Priests led their mechanical forces against Techno Shamans heretical work.

Knight Lances protecting Agriworlds against a mass of Umbra that had come to consume them, their weapons trying desperately to blast the beasts apart before the nightfall, songs would be sung of the heroes of these battles, many sacrificing everything to destroy these monsters.

Truly this would have been a sterling example of the Imperium and it's allies triumphing over the forces of the universe imposing their dark desires on Mankind, had the Dark not come.
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Communication would cease from the crusade forces in the Ghoul Stars, Navigators of all houses claimed that a darkness descended from that region, the light of the Astronomicon and beacons not even piercing this unnatural event.

The Dark as it would be called by the Navigators was a phenomena that many feared was yet another event by the Revenant's manipulation of the Warp. But before orders could be sent out to investigate or dispel this Dark, a ripple came forth from the dark.

Psykers from across the galaxy would in a single moment see a vision, ten stars glowing brighter than ever, before collapsing into the Dark mass, bringing out a dim eleventh star. The visions faded and the Dark was gone, communication with the Ghoul Stars crusade force was reestablished, as reports explaining the situation came in.

Signs of the Warp itself, seeming to shift and contort during their campaigning had put a stop to the expansion, placing all efforts on the defenses as both established enemies and new ones crawled out of the dark to rip and attack the Imperium. The cause of this disturbance being more of the Umbra being drawn to the Primarch and a gathering of his Psyker sons, instead of the normal effects of the Psykers being the most effective, the shadow beings encircled them and through some unknown means infected the local Warp to such an extent they enveloped the whole of the Ghoul Stars.

The Primarch Foniás would not be unscathed by the event, his already pale complexion had worsened and scars marred his body in ways that would never heal. But despite this he remains as focused as ever, invigorated by purpose he makes a proclamation to the next world of humans he meets on campaign.

"I was apathetic, I cared not for you nor what you intended to do. Now? Now, I am a surging, seething, murmuring crowd of beings that are human only in name, for to the eye and ear they seem naught but savage creatures, animated by vile passions and by the lust of vengeance and of hate. Hear me. There will be no time to plan, there will be no space to think. No respite. No forgiveness. There will be only war, and your head carved from where it stands you who has earned my ire." This would be followed by his ordering of destroying the world down to the last living being, leaving it a dead husk where once life flourished.

For now the Ghoul Stars seemed to be in the midst of pacification, the forces that dwelled within holding their own against the Imperium for now, but the eye of Foniás was more clear than ever before.

 

[SteelWriter77]

Automata Rubric: One of the latest of the Men of Iron's War Forms, emulating the tactics of the Space Marines and forgoing the normal non human design structure, these mockeries come in different variations of color based off their main source of data, most common at this current stage of the War are those based off the Umbral Watch and Cosmo Corsairs, with newer versions based off the other legions they face becoming more and more frequent based off battles.​

The appearance of the Men of Iron's newest weapon and what threat it posed for the war effort was not lost on the leading forces of the Imperium and Mechanicum, the Primarch Alaric bringing together the best of his Cuter Dei and calling for the aid from his Sister, the Primarch Aurelia of the Knights Romantic with her powerful weapons. The two originally had planned to face the Hammer of Eons on their own, but reports of forces from the Forgeworld Ardus IX, coming to repay their favor to the Umbral Watch under the command of General Gri-Vi.o.s.

They would not be alone as ships belonging to the Ravagers under their Third Cohort pledged their aid to destroying the Men of Iron Weapon. Squads of Myrmidon Astartes were also within the Ravager fleet, having been sent to aid and watch the Chapter when news of Actium reached the front.

All together their combined forces, while not as large or impressive compared to other battles across the galaxy, was nonetheless the key to the war against the Men of Iron remaining in favor of the Imperium.
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Finding the Hammer of Eons was a task in of itself, it's mobile nature was in full effect as searching for the weapon was a matter of hearing rumors and reports from survivors of battles to predict where the vessel would be next.

With the winds of two Primarchs skilled in matters of War and technology, they would find where the Hammer of Eons hid, an unmarked system on the edge of the Men of Iron's territory. The shadow of the metal crescent moon shaped vessel was cast over the Imperial vessels, the star of the system shining light behind the massive weapon and creating an daunting image to the mortal bridge crews, but their revolve was held by the words of the two Primarchs, enforcing the importance of this mission.

The "Bringer of the Scarlet Dawn", a grand weapon of the Knights Romantic flagship vessel fired a beam of light, the energy cutting through ships and material caught in its path, striking into the Hammer of Eons in a surprise attack. The beam cut and burned into the super weapon, leaving a harsh scar across it's once pristine and even surface, a direct hit but not enough to break the weapon completely.

Mechanicum ships burst into action as they charged with a religious zealotry against their hated foes, firing Lances and Macro Cannon rounds towards the smaller Men of Iron vessels surrounding the Hammer as a defensive wall.

The few Umbral Watch vessels acted defensively as the Knight's Romantic waited for the Bringer of the Scarlet Dawn to recharge for another attack, attacking from a long range and from the Datascape against the unnatural vessels of the enemy. Such actions in defense however would not stop the Men of Iron from retaliating, as sensors detected a great surge of power from the Hammer of Eons.

From inside the Hammer of Eons, liquid metal spilled out of openings and collected into a sphere in the center of the crescent, solidifying and being launched by methods unknown to the Imperium, the massive sphere of metal crashing through or across vessels. Its path left deep grooves in the ship's very hulls or the broken remains of ships that could not withstand the sheer force being launched at them.

It seemed even with the damage sustained by the Steller Cannon, the Hammer of Eons would not go down easily.
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Juliann Lux, leader of the third cohort and one most favored to take the position of leader should the worst happen. Such were the things his brothers called him and what he accepted with little hesitation, for there was glory to be had. But in recent times such views have fallen out of favor for those once of the Lightbringers, the stain of the Sons of Axnios reached even the Ravagers as everyone looked for any reason to doubt their loyalty.

But it didn't matter, Juliann Lux had more pressing concerns than the opinions of the other Legions, he knew where he stood and where his loyalties lay. What matters now is the fight ahead that was trying to breach the vessel he was stationed on.

Before him was a group of Men of Iron soldiers, Locksteps led by the ever increasing in number Automata Rubric, the mockeries made of noble Astartes, this particular one bore the colors of the Eternity Guard and sent it's mechanical soldiers forward with precise commands.

The Locksteps surged forth, attacking as one against Juliann and his Power Axe. Gun arms fired while claws swiped at Juliann, but the Astartes moved with a swiftness unnatural for one of his size and bulk, bringing down his Axe on one, cleaving through the metal with ease. Before turning and crushing the head of another with his free hand.

Juliann hefted his Power Axe up just in time to deflect the bolt of plasma from the false Eternity guard, the tactic obvious once it sent it's forces to face him. He rushed forth with his Axe aiming for the plasma weapon, but the Rubric's own blade quickly caught the Axe's. The two would spend a time clashing, blade meeting blade as the two tried to get the edge over the other, one using the cold logic of a machine mind, the other using decades of experience in warfare.

It really seemed that it would all come down to the first sign of an opening for either side to gain an advantage, he would notice that the machine while absurdly agile with it's blade, favored one side over the other, so with a feint towards the other side, he forced the Rubric to commit to direction while he swiftly made an attack in the other.

He swung the slightly melted Axe into the chest of the Automata Rubric, cutting deep into it, but with nothing protecting his head, the Rubric fired a plasma round into his helmet. He could feel the burning metal of his helmet scaring his face, but his focus was on keeping the Axe's momentum going into the chest of the Rubric. The blow left a deep gash, exposing the inner mechanics and knocking the machine warrior back, Juliann threw off his Helmet, the harsh action ripping at muscle and skin that had melted into the burning metal.

Another plasma blast was narrowly avoided as Juliann used his speed to try and cut away one of the machine's legs. But as he made his way to his target, he heard the tell tale noise of cracking and breaking metal. It was only due to his own extraordinary reflexes that he avoided the crushing force of the impacting shot from the Hammer of Eons, a giant metal rod embedded itself into the vessel, and into the Rubric.

Taking a moment to listen for any other attackers, Juliann grabbed his still melting helmet and began to make his way back to the rest of the forces assigned to this level.

As he approached them, he heard cheers from those of the Knights and the Watch, in the time since his battle below deck, it seems the Primarchs themselves and the best of their forces had entered into the Hammer of Eons itself, to destroy it from the inside.
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The prospect of actually landing forces inside the Hammer of Eons was a secondary plan made by the Primarchs, in case the sheer power of the Steller Cannon was not enough to destroy the weapon. Such a contingency while thought to be unneeded was made, an act of foursight that many would come to admire in the Primarchs Alaric and Aurelia.

Knights Romantic and Umbral Watch poured from the many boarding pods launched into the Hammer of Eons, weapons raised high as they battled the mechanical monsters that acted as the protectors for the Hammer.

Aurelia led that charge deep to the inner foundries of the Hammer of Eons, to cripple its production of metal ammunition. She would fight hordes of Golems and Locksteps, all intent on stopping her march, but none able to withstand her tactics or skill in personal combat.

She would do battle with the Apollyon Flamebringer that ruled these dark forges, the duel with the false Angel would push Aurelia far more than any battle with the worm monstrosities she has recently faced. But despite that she was still a Primarch and this was no machine guided by a leading force of the Men of Iron, so she tore its wings off and cleaved its head apart.

Alaric led his Cuter Dei across the vessel, targeting vital systems and attacking the twisted Abominable Intelligences directly with their Cybermancy, the war for the Data Scape was one fought with allies, for General Gri-Vi.o.s and his personal clades of Skitarii aided the Primarch and the Cuter Dei as the physical bodies of the Men of Iron surged forth to protect their data and systems from attack.

But nothing would prepare them for the behemoth that would charge for them, crushing many and gabbing Alaric, squeezing him tightly before tossing him into the wall. Thus began a battle between Alaric of the Umbral Watch and the machine monstrosity of many limbs, tricks and multiple weapons of sixth primarch met simple brute force of the last line of defense for the super weapon.

Armor was cracked, internal mechanics broken and ammo expended to its fullest by both parties in this duel of man and machine. Alaric, while a smaller opponent to the behemoth, clearly was the more capable and intelligent fighter, dashing around and using his many weapons to their full effect. While the machine crushed everything around it in an almost mindless act of destruction.

One could be forgiven for not noticing when one of the machine's limbs shifted into an axe and went for the legs of the Primarch, but Alaric had no excuse for why he did not notice, he had let the attack happen.

Pain would surge from Alaric as nerve connections were torn apart by the weapons strike, his right leg had been severed completely, but with this opening now provided, he forced with all his might the powers of the Warp he could control and pushed the behemoth into the wall, holding it in place. A surge of power coursed through his veins and circuits as what many in the Mechanicum would call the power of the Motive Force came rushing out and struck into the machine, sparks and the harsh groan of metal twisting under pressured filled the room before the behemoth ceased all movements as smoke came from every opening on it's broken body.

His task done, Alaric let himself fall to unconsciousness, his sons quickly securing him and leaving the increasingly hostile area of the Hammer, the work from both groups having been completed.
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The retreat from the Hammer of Eons, while a great setback in terms of capturing the vessel for study, had a direct impact on the Hammer's own combat capabilities, its foundries and back up weapons were all but destroyed, for all it seemed to be a toothless tiger. But once again the Men of Iron proved that their hatred of the Organic went far beyond anything coming from the realm of sanity.

The crescent moon of the Hammer of Eons began to shudder and break off pieces of itself, pulling them into the center, pieces as small as normal fighter craft, but pulled in enough numbers and launched out to shred into anything they hit.

Quickly Aurelia ordered the Bringer of the Scarlet Dawn be fired again to stop the barrage, soon another great lance of light was fired, the beam of condensed energy hit the center of the Hammer of Eons snapping the great weapon in half.

But even then, the Hammer would not die without a last action of hate as the weapon tore itself apart for one last attack. The pieces of the machine tore themselves into one giant mass of broken metal and was sent out with the force strong enough to puncture the hulls of the Imperium's ships.

Scars of rent metal and holes into the hulls of ships would become the last of the Hammer's legacy. Silence was all that remained, as the few remains of the Hammer of Eons drifted lifelessly, clearly nothing more than scrap to be left forgotten by history. The battle was won and a threat to the Imperium was destroyed.

 

[firespier]

Plans and Paperwork​

Knight Marshall, or what was called Lord commander in several other legions, Leon Castelle did not know whether his promotion was a reward or a punishment or maybe even both. Being taken off field command and towards a staff posting was usually considered a punishment for line officers however there was no need for Lady Aurelia to promote him away if she could have just ordered it. Suppressing a sigh, he looked at the other people in the conference room. 2 Astartes and 5 Mortals were sitting in this conference room all watching him intently.
"So, why have we been assembled here? Given this somewhat diverse assembly of officers?", Astartes captain Evra Serakis, a decorated Air Wing commander, asked. Her record showed that she tended to be enormously aggressive and ferociously ensured air superiority in all her combat zones.
"All of you have been gathered here to form the core of a new unit called the General Staff or also called the Strategica."
"And for that, all of us were drawn back from our frontline postings here? When the fighting is continuing at an all-time high? What about this unit even supposed to do?", Admiral Anarxes asked in an almost insulting manner, in line with his hot-headed reputation, which belied a razor-sharp mind and gift for timing.
"I was getting to that Admiral. Lady Aurelia has charged me with heading this General Staff and its task shall be to prepare and plan for a variety of different strategic threats to Lady Aurelia's realm and the Imperium as a while."
"By variety of threats….which scenarios are being referred to exactly?", Knight Marshall Moriaty Menarches inquired. He was a fellow commander who had held the line at Dumas VI against the REDACTED in a desperate action against that horror of the old night in 6 weeks of brutal fighting that saw 9 in 10 of his subordinates dying but still holding the field.
"For reference, this is classified under Vermillion-Omega-class Classification, so you should know that none of this information will ever make it out of this room without Lady Aurelia's permissions."
Nods by all of the officer present could be seen.

"Notable scenarios are massive attacks by a xenos species at the power level of Federation that we fought in the past, Stellar phenomena that would cause massive disruptions within Lady Aurelias Domain or even Imperium-wide that might even affect warp travel, the revolt of most of a Segmentum or….the possible revolt of a Legion."
Chaos and noise consumed the room as everyone tried to speak at the same time.
"Silence! I know it is hard to believe something like that could happen, however, Lady Aurelia has ordered it not without reason apparently and the only thing we can do is carry out those orders to the best of our ability."
"How exactly do you expect to be able to get the lower ranked staff read into some of those scenarios? Given its explosive content?" Colonel Iber of the Vodrossian Stormtroopers asked. With her regiment often being used for covert and commando actions, she wasn't a stranger to skullduggery.
"Comparmentalisation. Some of the Scenarios aren't classified that highly and not out of bounds while me make sure smaller staffs that are trustworthy work on the delicate ones. In the end, the plans will be coded and won't contain the concrete threat anyway." Leon tried to calm his fellow commanders. "I imagine this will involve a further buildup of Bloodsworn forces as well as overall Imperial Army and Navy forces?" Sitting opposite him was the short woman with one bionic eye, who had spoken up.
General Sera Alcas, formerly commander of the 6th Armored Corps of the Bloodsworn. An experienced tank commander, she had participated in some of the heaviest fighting of the Great Crusade including some devasting actions against the Slaugth before ground invasions became less common.

"In case one of the listed contingency cases triggers I imagine a further call-up of forces will be necessary yes."
"And how do you expect to accomplish that? I suppose if you want a few hundred million of barely trained militia, raiding them is possible, but getting well-trained and equipped forces is nearly impossible on top of what we already have. The forge worlds and foundries are fabricating at maximum capacity already to feed to Imperial war machine fighting against the worms and the Northern Iron front."
"That is most certainly true, however in case one of the described events happens, preparations like fortifications, changes of logistics and other such matters will drastically change. And to prevent confusion and delay of time, when the chaos of the new situation takes grip. And it will allow us to decide if measures should already be taken that could prevent issues down the line."
"That seems rather alarmist. Given the precarious situation should we really start putting in resources for something so unlikely at this time? Rather than when our resources and manpower are not that spoken for and not wasting it right now?" Field Marshall Carrock of the Imperial army quietly rumbled.
Carrock hailed from the world of Blacksteel, which raised its renowned regiments of Steelborn. In some ways, he embodied the name of his homeworld perfectly, with tanned skin, large and blocky like a block of granite, and with a voice to match.
"Everything in the top right corner of the risk control matrix is a waste until it happens. Now, this is not up for debate. Let's get to it now"

 

[SteelWriter77]

(Written by @Mortis Nuntius )​

The Purge of the False Souls or more commonly the Steel Crusade was rightfully known as the most epic of the Imperium's formation, its glories and tragedies would echo down through history and be the subject of countless academic, popular and professional military histories as well as numerous religious fables and folk legends. The initial part of this vast conflict played by Shieldbearers however would be forgotten before the war even concluded.

This first joint campaign with the Mechanicum against the Abominable Intelligences was barely a shaping operation for the great blows to come, none of the worlds in the invasion pathway held real strategic significance. There were few priority targets and little in the way of enemy presence with the limited resources dedicated to the defense seemingly intended to achieve nothing more than inflicting casualties on the Imperium, field testing some new systems and buying time for more significant actions elsewhere. In this they succeeded before the first lance battery had been discharged for the Shieldbearers and Mechanicum had assembled a dramatically almost comically overpowering force for this campaign as befitting the escort armada of the Fabricator General himself.

The Ark Fabrica had a claim to being one of the most powerful ships in existence, certainly within the Imperium it was only exceeded by Port Tortug and Castle Greyskull. Not even mighty Glorianas could be honestly described as its equal. Designed, built and eternally improved upon by the greatest minds of Mars over the course of centuries it was riddled with the most potent weaponry of mankind. Its Nova Cannon could kill an entire world in a single shot, its weapon batteries fire an a large asteroid's worth of metal and its counter boarding measures included the Titan Order Legio Furantar Voidus. Alone it was an powerful force unto itself, accompanied by thousands of the deadliest warships in the Imperium as the full might of the Adeptus Mechanicum made itself felt it was the blunt metal face of a mighty warhammer crushing the Men of Iron in a singly mighty blow.

The battles waged in the void between each terrestrial conquest were of little consequence in the grand scheme of things, the Men of Iron possessed weapons capable of damaging any other fleet unit save the Ark Fabrica but not in a hundredth of the numbers necessary to matter, both sides gained valuable data but nothing that would not be learned on other battles. Still the promise of a grand challenge grew with each one sided skirmish, clearly the machines were refining heir methods and crafting their heinous plots but Kalbor Hal who had personally commanded his flagship to eradicate those who had dared attack his fleet down to the last atom was no stranger to heinous plots himself and that devious and brilliant mind never rested even for an instant.

-

The awesome wrath of the Omnissiah tore through his very soul as the world of Sigmus Five-Four-Nine Gamma before his own unworthy receptors. Gershom had known nothing but faith his entire life, first the faith in the old religion of Shavuot, then the worship of self denying God of mankind and finally the Cult Mechanicus of Holy Radscorched Mars yet it was here on this strategically unimportant world not even his fleshslave brothers deigned to crudely rename from its standardized designation that the Tech Priest found himself in the presence of the divine.

His brothers were blind and deaf for all their pride in the feeble enhancements geneseed offered them and he pitied and envied them for this. For all they saw was debris and dust and dull flashes of light and the thunderous roar of explosions and war engines. But he was blessed and cursed with the full beauty of the holy struggle of this war, the ethereal spectrum of light as infrared data beams, the lullaby of gear and tread and wheel generating locomotive force to propel the mighty God Machines forwards, the serene hymns of binary code and the feedback generated whenever the great lances of thermal energy smited another abominable machine purifying this galaxy slightly with every precise and unstoppable strike.

If his tear ducts had not been removed he would surely have wept, but the strength and certainty of steel saved his doubts and weaknesses from the eyes of his brothers though not yet from himself. Gershom prayed for the day that his mind and will were granted a measure of the Machine God's strength for they were as yet still capable of betraying them and they did so even on this holy battlefield. For how could he exalt in the glory of the Omnissiah's victory when all around him was contamination and perversion?

He could have accepted the desperate and irrelevant atheism of the other legions, they were of little consequence in the grand scheme of things and distant strangers besides. But these were his own battle-brother's they fought and died and ate and slept and prayed all about him every single day, some of them had been …significant to him before he had been inducted into the Cult Mechanicus and emancipated from ignorance, frailty and doom. He looked at them now, their piteous vocal cords straining as they sang hymns futilely into the maelstrom of the battlefield, blastwaves throwing their blasphemies back in their faces, their lives spared only by the mercy of the Omnissiah's gift of holy Ceramite. That was it, they were so close yet so far, so rage inducing ignorant and ungrateful, so inevitably doomed to the reality of their fleeting flesh. It stirred feelings beneath the steel, not the beautiful logic driven exaltation of the good servant of the machine, but the animalistic instincts of a mortal. They debased him, weakened him, dragged him down to their level and inspired a terror that he would be left behind as non functional and purposeless yet his designated function was to serve alongside them, to keep their holy instruments function and aid them in Imperium and Mechanicum's mutual cause and subject himself to this endless malfunction of the soul.


Even now as battalions of enemy drones, a new model of heavy assault unit adapted to defeat fortifications threatened to overrun this bastion held by the remains of the company he had been supporting these thoughts plagued him as his Mechadendrite limbs worked to keep the sole remaining Melta Cannon operational. His Gunservos and Sevitors were at 44% efficiency, the rest of the company 35% he himself was devoting increasing amounts of attention to the secondary function of preserving his own existence and that of the seven damaged battle brother's sprawled at his feet. Their odds of survival were decreasing rapidly, more importantly primary task failure was far more likely in the event of their destruction. He took comfort from the notion his parts would be recycled, the mechanical ones at least, he only wished they made a higher percentage of the whole. In this at least his battle brothers were not entirely alien, they would be taking solace in the certainty that an Apothecary would retrieve their geneseed, as close as they could hope to the immortality Machine God freely offered.

There were twelve hostels three point seven seconds from his position, probability indicated he would reduce four to molten slag before the others destroyed him. A microsecond was spent considering overcharging the melta, perhaps even to destruction it would increase hostile casualties significantly. He crushed the heretical thought, he was not authorized to modify this sacred device no tactical purpose could outweigh his sacred duty to preserve it. A few microseconds later the fact that it would also incinerate the injured marines and himself also registered, hardly relevant but sparing them a few seconds longer did make him feel…something unquantifiable and therefore also irrelevant. He turned his full attention to his function, the Melta would continue functioning for at least a second after he himself stopped, that was a comfort. The Omnissiah's truth was as clear and certain at the end as it was at the beginning.

The tracking lasers of the chest mounted heavy energy weapons of the twelve assault units were locked onto him, eleven, ten, nine…four-three-two one?! One second before his own predicted destruction all hostile contacts in his immediate vicinity were neutralized, it took even Gershom a second to process the data from his receptors, he was no longer the sole combat effective unit in the overrun bastion, nor was he the most augmented.

They stood there, beautiful in ceramite and chrome, each one a masterpiece of holy design and manufacturer, totally individual yet uniform in their capability beyond anything he could reference save perhaps a dreadnought yet they were so much more than that, so nimble and precise, so well crafted and calibrated, so perfectly encapsulating the promise of the Cult Mechanicus.

But it was not their combat potential or even the physical perfection they represented that truly made him exalt in the Machine God's infinite glory, it was not the thought of the destruction they would bring to the foes of the Omnissiah but of the hope they represented. He looked down at his maimed and bleeding brothers, clutching the stumps of limbs and offering feeble comforts to one another as they still waited for the hend their crude sensory organs had not told them had been prevented and he allowed his love for them to fly free, unburdened by guilt and fear for the first time in decades.

"Brothers, do not be afraid, look at the gift the Omnissiah has in store for you! Witness how you too may yet be saved!"

The new model Combat Servitors left him there basking in their glorious wake. Of course they would not hesitate for sentimentality, they were far beyond the crude and flawed likes of him but he had hope, such hope. For even a brief examination had told him they had once been the likes of him until rescued from the prison of the flesh and loyalty to a legion. Gershom could only hope that one day he too would be allowed to serve the Omnissiah as fully as they had, how he envied these battle brothers reforged to their true potential.

--

The Tri-Walker advanced tactical analysis system based and a thorough analysis of its own and the enemy's capabilities predicted with 99% certainty that a significant force of the hated organics would be sent against it, between 50 and 100 combat units designated as Astartes would be required to break its void shielded exterior probably a significantly larger quantity, 1000 would be proportionate to its sheer power. However many sent it would obliterate them. A warning data burst reported the first enemy contacts, not a thousand, it registered less than eighty, perhaps fifty? No less, forty, intense scanning and confusion followed as it revised its estimates steadily downwards until it was left with…two.

Two Astartes, a recon force? It was hardly a stealthy construct, but what could two hope to achieve against its might? Nothing.

Joshua had always taught his students to keep a level head, calculate the risk and weight them against the benefits of any course of action, prudent Astartes achieved a lifetime of victories denied to dead heroes. He would have a hard time explaining that to the next cadre of eager young novices and devotees, not when he and a bucket of blashphemous bolts were racing across an hideously open plain with nothing but the Emperor's divine protection saving them from annihilation. Jenntos Kraa had approached him the day before, reporting that he believed he had noticed a flaw in the enemy's primary battle platform's design that could be exploited by elite teams, the perfect mission for Astartes or the perfect death for Astartes if the Priest's calculations were off. Joshua was not going to send others to their deaths, not for this Emperor Forsaken rock, he had trained many of the holy warriors under his command, he knew they were destined for greater things, he would not throw their lives away. Still this opportunity had to be taken, so that left only one alternative.

A day later two maimed and burned figures would drag each other back to friendly lines, with the burning wreck of a Tri-Walker as a backdrop. Both agreed that the method could use some refinement but certainly had potential.

--

The Shieldbearers would part ways with the Mechanicum some months into the campaign, the feeble opposition of the Men of Iron had dwindled beyond any possible justification for retaining such a large force of Astartes and there were greater operations already in the final stages of preparation in other sectors. Still they could pride themselves on a job well done and minimal losses.

 

[SteelWriter77]

"I's don't really like fighting the Knife Ears, they move to fast, can't squish 'em, but tha boos man says we got ta fight them for one of tha Prim...Primark fellas...Um Tha Sons of Tha Emporor, and I's don't want ta be slacking on tha Job ya hear, Momma ain't raise no slacka." Pod, Vostroyan Third Ogryn during the battle of the Wailing Palace​

The battle of the Wailing Palace already seemed to be a daunting affair as the last vestige of the Eldar Empire fought like a cornered beast. The introduction of Biel Tan to the battle immediately shifted the entire flow as both Imperium and Empire Eldar vessels rushed to protect their open flanks from the now amassed Craftworld fleet that threatened to be the dagger to their hearts.

It was fortunate that the Craftworld Eldar did not focus on the Imperial fleets, as their silvery ships battled their dark mirrors in elaborate battles across space, the two forces' own similarities in technology creating a dance between the two rather than the slugging match between the Imperium and the Eldar.

The legion fleets of the Crimson Lords and Crimson Gryphons both had their own plans to deal with this new paradigm, but neither could agree to fully commit to the other's plan, leading to frayed tensions and a stall in the battle.
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While the battle in space continued in a state of slow decisions and flared tempers, the battles across the Wailing Palace itself took to the new foe being introduced with ease, battle lines shifting under the direct observation of Khaledon for the Imperials and under the guile of Durvall for the Empire Eldar. The Eldar of Biel Tan at first seemed to bring weapons and vehicles reminiscent of those the Empire Eldar used, albeit less vindictive in their operation, such was the expectation as in all prior reports of these Craftworld Eldar, the reality however was far different.

What Biel Tan brought to the battle in terms of soldiers was not the same ambush predators who prayed on weakness, no these Craftworld Eldar fought without fear or needed trickery, the green armored Eldar seemed wholly unlike their dark armored counterparts, fully willing to throw themselves into death for the chance to slay their foe, fighting with a savagery and grace unseen in Eldar Warriors fought thus far. This combined with the abundance of these strangely armored Eldar warriors created a deadly combination of zealotry and skill that many would be hard pressed to face.

The skies were alight with Eldar aircraft of both kinds facing the arial might of the Crimson Gryphons and Imperial Army Air Force, but tales of a small group of white and blue riders of the Eldar would plague the skies as they tore through Gryphon and air force alike with great speed. The tanks of the Steel Princes again would find themselves spread thin as they battled across the planet, facing the dark machines of war from the Empire Eldar and the high speed vehicles of Biel Tan, their resistance tested the Steel Princes while few in number would battle through all challenges to bring destruction to the foes of man.

The Crimson Lords continued their bloody rampage as best they could against their foes, but more and more they found themselves locked in battle with these Craftworld Eldar keeping them from their rightful prizes.

Despite this new challenge, the legions did not give in, fighting with all their might against their foes. But for the simple soldiers of the Imperium, the losses were immense and with more and more of the Astartes falling or leaving to more important battles, some battlegrounds needed to fully rely on themselves for their efforts.

One such battle saw the Cascadian Fourth and their leader, one Colonel Felsenmeer, lead the charge on a fortified position of the Empire Eldar, which quickly turned into a three way battle between the separate forces.

Colonel Felsenmeer would however not give in, facing all threats with a grim order to his soldiers "We have not been ordered to die yet, only the Primarch himself can give us that, so don't let any of these Knife eared Xenos make you a traitor by disobeying a Primarch." By the end of that battle only two hundred of the Cascadian Fourth remained, all their foes dead. Colonel Felsenmeer having a confirmed kill count of over seventy Eldar from both sides alone.
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Commander Pyoter of the Vostroyan third felt ill at ease at the site where his fellow Vostroyans made their camp, to be fair on them it was not anything they had done themselves, merely the fact they were on this world at all, with it's massive spiked spires and clear signs of the kinds of torture these Eldar were willing to inflict on those they brought here.

But he put those thoughts at the back of his mind, always aware of them but distant for the more immediate concerns, such as the latest reports from the front they were assigned, the Knife ears had them pinned in many areas and the Astartes could only operate in so many places. It was a disquieting thought that led some to almost curse the fact that those Iron Hands had not advanced with the rest of the Crusade forces, but not Pyoter or the Vostroyans, they knew the value in duty and ensuring your holdings were properly in your control.

But he did admit it would have been nice to have some extra forces to keep the lines secure, but he could always find something to complain about. A sharp whistle alerted him and others to their positions on the southern line, rushing to the wall and taking his place.

He hefted his Las Rifle and took aim alongside the rest of his squad, the knife ears were fast, but he doubted that mattered when there was a wall of firepower aimed at them. The sound was deafening as they unleashed a hail of fire on the positions of the Eldar, he will admit they quickly slinked behind cover, but enough of them were hit by the volley that it did not matter.

The single Primus Tank active turned it's massive gun barrel towards the broken buildings the Eldar hid behind and fired a round, the explosion more than enough to force the Eldar on the attack, firing their own weapons upon the gun line. Pyoter did not look away from his weapons sight, even when he felt the warm splash of liquid hit his sides as two of his squad mates fell to the ground. Such was their long held conviction of Vostroya, even those of the other worlds kept up with the discipline, those who could not were weeded out in the first days of this conflict against the single Eldar force, with two to contend with, Pyoter was sure the only fools left were the ones sitting high up in command.

Auto-Gun fire and Las shots peppered the buildings, and the shifting forms of the Eldar warriors either fell or retreated back, not before ensuring more of the Vostroyan would fall in the retreat.

All their guns were trained on that position for another five standard minutes before the squads dispersed and left the perimeter guards to continue their watch. Battles with the Eldar had taught the Third and other army groups a simple fact, never take your eyes off their bodies until you can confirm their death, the Knife Ears may be lanky creatures, but they could take a hit when they need to.

Pyoter helped collect the dead from this latest attack and took their weapons to be prepared for when the Tech Priests came by, the pile of machines needing their "Guided" hands had been growing larger and larger, but with so many being called to the Steel Crusade, the few that remained are spread thin, luckily the Steel Princes and Iron Hands also were apart of this whole Campaign, just a single Tech Marine of theres could fix up this whole pile then work on the few tanks not in prime condition. He saw Mikial and his Regiments assigned Ogryn Pod collecting the tags of the dead to send back to the families, grim but necessary work the younger man needed to learn how to do.

Such was the routine that his battle group had fallen into, prepare for an attack, have it happen and then clean up the dead as best you can. It was not a glorious battle, but it was important for this position was one of the few lines of defense for the main artillery line, if it fell then the Knife Ears would have full reign to rush forward with their witch weapons. Such was their lot as they who fought the Eldar, Pyoter truly felt that he had them figured out, the Craftwolrd had some different tactics but at the end of the day he had spent many years of his life fighting the Eldar, he assumed he knew all their tricks.

He would be sorely mistaken this day. What came next was far worse than any normal Eldar warrior, it was the scream that alerted him first, the scream of Jannal, a conscript from one of the penal legions, and the scream of something else entirely, something angry and not human.

Pyoter had been forced to work with Jannal for a majority of the campaign, that lady was as tough as iron and had the demeanor to match, even against some of the flesh abominations the Eldar used, she barely cracked even a fearful glance at her groups commander and guard when others were near a full blown rout. So when she was heard screaming like a scared child, there was a rush of forces, other members of her "Crew" and squads of the Vostroyan Third, Pyoter among them.

What was before them was a grisly sight, Jannal was clearly dead, decapitated and body torn apart via slashing, what stood over her broken body was an Eldar, but nothing Pyoter had ever seen before. A pale bone like armor, with long red hair behind it. It screamed in a rage as it rushed forward with a blade in hand and began to ravage the assembled forces.

Several of the Vostroyan third began to run to assigned positions, Pyoter, Pod and Mikial ran towards the tanks, their training having instructed them on the plan if such an attack by an overwhelming force was to occur, the screams of their comrades behind them made each of the three worry. Their yells were heard by the operators of the Tank and alerted them to the danger.

The Primus tank turned it's gun toward the Eldar and fired…but whatever this creature was, it was faster. It ran across the camp and on top of the Primus, cutting into it and dropping several round objects inside. Pyoter had only moments to yell for everyone to duck, the explosion cutting threw the metal like paper.

The broken tank gun pierced through Mikail, the heat from its last act of attack making the metal red hot at a glance, burnt through Mikail and leaving a harsh smell of burnt flesh across the camp, the boy did not even have a chance to scream.

However Pod would fill that void with a scream of rage, the Ogryn charging the Eldar as it had finished another of the Vostroyan third and meeting them in melee. Already the difference in skill was apparent as the female Eldar monster dodged and swiped with her own blade every attack Pod made in his miserable anger.

Despite Pod's best efforts, the Eldar tore away chunks and even Pod's weapon holding arm, the Ogryn did not stop, his cries of his version of Mikail's name was the only thing making Pyoter aware he was still alive, but clearly the Eldar was tired of the giant, kicking him away to the side.

Pod's body landed with a harsh thud, his own mass carrying him away from the Eldar's path. "If that was the best you Mon-Khigh could achieve in several thousands of years of forced evolution, you truly are a weaker race." Spoke the Eldar in a mocking calm, it's voice horse from it's prior screams of rage, but now taking on a tone indicating it was in no danger.

"Damn you Eldar, that man is more of a warrior than any of your misbegotten kind!" yelled Pyoter, despite his own nature as a Abhuman, Pod was one of his soldiers and one of his most loyal, he will not stand for any to be insulted in anyway while he drew breath

"I doubt such a brutish creature could comprehend the Paths of the Aspect, but i suppose he did fair better then that young welp who died so foolishly, he must have been the worst of you-"The Eldar did not finish her statement as Pyoter fired his last Las round into the face of the Eldar, he hoped that by some miracle that the Xeno was arrogant enough to have such ornamental armor be weak…no such luck was on his side.

The mask of the Eldar warrior was cracked from his lasbolt, but the Eldar was quick to recover and with a scream of pure rage it rushed forward with its blade, Pyoter spat out a curse in Vostroyan and closed his eyes, waiting for death. But death did not come, he opened his eyes and saw a meaty hand clenched around the Eldar.s head, in a single moment it was crushed and her body thrown into the burning wreck of the Primus tank.

He watched as the giant, now fully in the light of the still burning Primus Tank, he saw his savior was none other than Pod missing an arm and wobbling on his feet from blood loss. "You…Killed Miki…No…More Dying." spoke the Ogryn slowly

Pyoter cursed in his native Vostroyan before quickly switching back to High Gothic "You have saved me Pod." he could scarcely believe it, yet the sight was before him.

"Jus doing me job Com'anda…urg" the Ogryn fell to his knees and made several groaning noises that Pyoter did not need to be a medic to know was not a good sign. He stood up and rushed to the side of his man, trying his best to keep pressure on the Ogryn's wounds and keep the lad up. Pod groaned at the jostling "Up you get Pod, Emperor does not like slacking on the job remember."

"We gonna be alright?" Asked the Ogryan, his voice quieter than what the commander was used to. He looked around at the dead and dying, hearing the rough voices of other members of the Vostroyan third trying to keep the camp alive. "Yes my friend, we will be, a medic is going to come and make you feel better."

"Is…is Miki gone?" Asked Pod, his voice full of an innocent sadness that would fit more with a child than the giant who had only moments ago crushed the head of their enemy. "He's gone Pod, he was brave and now he can rest."

"Is not…fair, we was gonna write ta home." The Ogryn said before he fell to unconsciousness, a fact that Pyoter could not help but agree with, why did Mikial have to die so far from Vostroya and not in a way that will have songs sung about, just quick and meaningless.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dravall watched the battlefield with a cold detachment, the screams of Human and Aeldari filled the air of his own area of the battlefield, a little attempt to parse some enjoyment in his mind. He had found Wailing Carver to be a most agreeable tool in his pursuit of what his ancestors nearly perfected, the artistry of torture and excitement. His eyes locked on the green armor of the latest intruders on the battle he had been planning for the last decade, the intrusion of the Craftworld had thrown much into disarray, but he could adapt.

Looking over the battle he saw the red armor of the Astartes, gene warriors of the Mon-Khigh, how he wished to get one for his own purposes. They were a marvel to be seen in action, these Crimson Gryphons in particular have been an absolute treat. His thoughts were interrupted by the landing of a great beast, two heads that glared down at the Eldar, a Griffin of exquisite excotic nature and breeding if the Crimson Gryphons were as intense on their war beast breeding as the Eldar were.

But the true focus of Dravall's eyes was the giant in red that rode and commanded such a specimen, the Axe of his people's old faith held in one hand and with the wings of his own human culture adorning his back, he looked the part of a Phoenix Lord coming to do battle for a legendary battle.

A simple wave of Dravall's hand sent his warriors to go and fight elsewhere, this was his fight.

"You have made it…Perfect, let us begin our dance Khaldeon." he could not keep the desire from his voice as he watched his perfect foe quickly prepare for battle on top of his beast of war.

The giant Mon-Khigh Primarch wordlessly brandished his stolen Axe, snarling beast beneath him ready to pounce at his command. Such perfection, to face a being such as this would be the height of pain and ecstasy, Dravall prepared his own blades in the traditional manner of the Dark Muses.

But before the two could even begin, the sound of clanging metal was heard, as a massive hammer of Wraithbone slammed into the griffin, the Primarch leapt off his mount, eyes quickly ensuring it still lived before he took a defensive posture in front of the wounded creature. But Dravall's gaze was to what approached from the east, the massive form of Biel Tan's own Avatar came with clear intent, not stopping until it stood before the other two, a new weapon forming in it's hands.

Darvall's eyes looked over his foes, the Axe of the Bloody Handed, a Shard of the Forge God…such a meeting would be sung about for the ages to come. The Avatar of the broken god Vaul stood as still as the many statues the Craftworlders made of their "Guardian", prepared to face himself and the Primarch, Dravall knew this would be a battle for the ages just by the sheer importance of the symbols here…he would not be a footnote.

Durvall would be the first to strike,his blades like extensions of his own arms as he rushed towards his foes, the draw of a true battle with his hated Craftworld foes and the prize of the Axe of the Bloody Handed too much to bear.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Khaldeon felt his bones shake from the latest strike the giant Eldar construct slammed into his side, his axe swinging to cut into the construct's body, but always being deflected by it's Wraithbone weapon or shifting wraithbone defenses.

The battle between the three of them was taking it's toll on the warriors, cuts and dents were on all armor and across their bodies. For Khaldeon, the attacks of the Eldar scion sliced away with a sword of humming crystals and a knife which glowed with a fell light, each cut burning like fire or sending a shiver of phantom pain through Khaledon's body. While the Construct's attacks were meant to shatter bone and splinter flesh, it moved with purpose on each strike as no movement was wasted.

Despite his best efforts it seemed both were intent on focusing on Khaldeon and discussing their own peoples…disagreements.

"Is this all that an Avatar of Vaul himself can do, what a waste of power." Sneered Durvall "It shall be a mercy to rid Biel Tan of you, they will thank me when I rip out our shard."

"Biel Tan has lasted before they have found myself, they will last if I should fall, unlike you and your Dark Muses Drukari, they have all faded." Spoke the Avatar in a dull rumbling voice.

"And your ways can survive? Don't make me laugh Avatar, the Craftworlds will not withstand the coming storm."

Khaldeon felt…Anger at this dismissal, even Durvall who had claimed his messages to have been preparing this battle for a Primarch, had placed him as a secondary concern compared to the Eldar's own nonsensical history, well he would not have it.

"BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP AND FOCUS ON OUR FIGHT!" he shouted with a fury and intensity unfamiliar to himself as he struck with his axe directly into the chest of the Avatar, cutting through the Wraithbone defenses and skin…drawing blood from a deep gash.

The "Blood" of the construct flowed onto the Axe's blade and dripped towards the ground, the gray liquid landing onto the ground. For a moment all was still as both Durvall and the Avatar looked at the Primarch, then the Avatar spoke for the first time in this battle at Khaldeon.

"...You wield his Axe well Primarch, survive this and you may be worthy of something greater than what you have already...Face Eternity" The voice was a deep rumble from the giant construct, but Khaldeon could tell that it spoke with an inherent wisdom and power.

Yellow energy seemed to collect around the Avatar and pushed the Primarch back, the sounds of forging hammers and alien singing was all around Khaldeon, he tried to reach the Avatar and stop whatever this attack was, while the Scion ran…then all was silent.

When Khaldeon opened his eyes, the Avatar and the Eldar scion were gone, the skies having darkened and his vox communication having gone dark, he heafted his axe and checked on Rafiq and Sadiq, who lay unconscious nearby. His noble friend had sustained some damage but nothing threatening, he looked around and saw that the fight still went on not too far away. With no hesitation he rushed forth, to battle more foes of the Imperium, the words of the Avatar ringing in his head.

"...Worthy."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Communications from the main battleground would go dark as the battle across the rest of the planet continued, with the majority of the enemy forces focused on that site and the percentage of Imperial forces still across in other warzones, the battle slowly began to turn due to the sheer mass and numbers of the Imperium.

Steel Princes Tank groups converged together and acted as a ramming charge towards fortified lines, breaking them at cost of their own durability and numbers. Crimson Lords strike forces took advantage over the apparent blackout of communications and brought terror to the Eldar lines; it would not be uncommon for Imperial soldiers to find Eldar warriors in deep combat against Crimson Lords. The so called "Aspect Warriors" often being the main focus for the Crimson Lords despite their difficulty in facing, the two forces clashed several times with the blood hungry Crimson Lords able to dispatch some in battle, but never able to retrieve their bodies.

Khaldeon would eventually reestablish communications proclaiming to all who could hear of his victory over the Avatar and Scion, the news spread across all forces and much to the nature of the xeno Eldar, they began to retreat back to their advantage in space, leaving the planet for the Imperium.

Despite the victory on the planet itself, the battle in space continued as it had, only when Khaldeon arrived from the planet would a shift in tactics begin, the Imperium broke the Empire fleet with precise and brutal strikes to what remained of the Wailing Palace's defense fleet, those that survived the onslaught began to flee into the webway.

With one force now taken care of, Khaldeon looked out into space at his foes who remained, focusing on the massive silver vessel of the Craftworld Eldar. With narrowed eyes he gave a single order "Forward, I wish to meet the Eldar head on." his intent clear to the entire bridge crew, his Astartes sons the first to react and swiftly begin preparations for ramming speed.

The Glorious Gryphon with a speed unheard of went forth as the speartip to an attack on the Eldar's own center of command, the rest of the fleet acting as the protection for this attack. Something that would be needed as the Eldar vessels realized the intent of the Glorious Gryphon and rushed to defend their Craftworld.

The Battlebarge nearly embedded itself into the silvery metal of the Craftworld, it's guns firing at all possible targets to induce the right amount of damage to the massive vessel, the closeness of the two vessels was a unheard of tactic to be employed by the normally conventional Primarch, but it seem to work quite well…for a time.

Before the rest of the fleets could converge to directly attack the Eldar Craftworld, a shimmer was seen across the vessel, space itself seeming to mystify and open. The last communication Khaldeon sent out to his legion before the vox line was cut "Fight on my sons, Victory Evermore for the Imperium."

And then both the Battlebarge and the Craftworld were gone.
(To Be continued in Misc: Visions of War Eternal)

 

[SteelWriter77]

(Written by @Uniquelyequal )​

It had been judged prudent to conceal their approach, and so the Negators did not arrive on Caros Major in a Nihil Pattern Gunship or in one of the modified Valkyries that had been put at their disposal.

Instead, the eight members of Vidi Squad arrived half-submerged within the grain of one of the dozens of bulk transports supplying the Hive World each and every day. They slipped out of it without being seen, the absorbent material of their Carapace Armor seeming to swallow the light that hit it, only the carefully inlaid wards laid in silver across the surface. Vidi-1 consulted her compass, guiding them onwards in an unsteady pattern, moving forward and backwards in a long, circuitous route, each step taken without hesitation and yet absolutely at random, each possibility created on the spot by the Cognitator perching on Vidi-1's back to bring them closer to their target.

They had chosen Las Carbines for this mission: the exact capabilities of their target had not been determined, and they had all seen what a Telekine could do to a solid projectile. Twice, they had to bypass roving patrols of Enforcers, moving through the streets of the Hive to enforce the curfew that had been arranged at the behest of their Mistress. There were several potential reasons for the behavior and the abilities that had been observed: telepathy was one of them, divination another: either way, it would not do to get into a shootout with what might well be unaware and innocent servants of the Imperium, or alternatively the mind-locked thralls of a telepath. They felt the wards within their armor heat up as they dissipated psychic energy, a tell-tale sight that they were getting closer to their target. Slowly, steadily, Vidi Squad advanced, Carbines sweeping over the derelict building before them, communicating by hand signs in the rare cases their well-drilled coordination left necessity for such.

It was Vidi-6 who spotted the target: he had been one of the recruits provided from the Rogue Trader Contacts of the Cosmo Corsair's Primarch, a lanky, void-born man with a knack for spotting trouble before anyone else that his trainers had taken care to hone to a fine edge. The target was female, no older than twenty-four and still clad in the rags of what had once been a richly embroidered dress, splatters of blood and gore now adorning it in strange patterns that seemed almost deliberate. Several people surrounded her, dressed in the bodygloves and work gear their briefing had told them was common among the underclasses of Caros Major, although they quickly spotted that something wasn't right: each of them shared a pale, sickly skin tone, accompanied by an exceedingly dazed expression, and they seemed to be oriented around the seated woman almost like an honor guard, vacant expression aimed outwards towards the approaches.

No commands were necessary. Everyone in Vidi Squad knew what was required of them without them.

The Grenade launched from Vidi-5s underbarrel launcher ripped through the thralls surrounding the psyker, leaving them stunned just enough to not be able to evade the withering and well-coordinated barrage of Las Fire that cut them down within seconds, even as Vidi-1 took aim at the Psyker herself. The woman hissed as Las Fire cut through her dress, revealing a row of needle-pointed teeth and pointing fingers that seemed to have turned to a long, sharp claw. Vigil-3 suddenly went rigid, the wards on her armor glowing bright red even as she seemed to struggle against unseen forces, her Carbine wavering away from her target and towards the other Negators.

Then the charge within her armor went off, sending her to the ground in a burst of electricity, and the Psyker screeched, causing those of her thralls that still remained alive to stagger away with bleeding ears and the Negator's Carapace Armor's sound dampeners to cut in violently, drowning out all sound for a brief moment. Vidi-1 readjusted her aim and fired of another burst of three shots, even as the woman seemed to turn to mist, disappearing and reappearing in the midsts of Vidi Squad, claws raking across Vidi-5s armor and leaving deep rends even as her teeth ripped into his neck, blood spurting forth in a great arc as she ripped through carapace and the armored body glove beneath as though it was made of tissue paper. She turned, arms raised to strike at her next victim.

Vidi 6 preempted her, the blade of his knife cutting her hand off at the wrist. She froze, for a brief moment, incomprehension visible on her face, and that was more than. Vidi 6 drove his knife deep into her heart, mere seconds before Vidi 1 and Vidi 8's shots vaporized her head.

For a brief moment, there was silence, as the survivors of Vidi Squad scanned their surroundings for further threats. Then Vidi 1 lowered her weapon and straightened her back.

"Good work, Vidi Squad. Collect the bodies and prepare for exfiltration. The Primarch will expect us back on the frontline very soon."

 

[Bark]

BLOOD​

The Welkin.

They, who have surpassed even the ranks of the First Company. Each, masters of warfare who have served with distinction and led glories on battlefields for centuries. Clad not in Terminator armor like others in their position, but in the regalia of their fellow Legionnaires.

They who have given up their name to take on the title of mountains of Azul, the achievements of those Welkin before carried on by the same identity they carry. Undying. A legacy to be beared.

Twelve in number, a hexagram of mounted and power lance wielding Astartes, their faces unknown.

One would expect them to be a silent force of death, solemn guardians without name or face, but that is not the Gryphon.

For they are the storm.

Shout with excitement. Scream for the death of the enemy. Banter with your brothers. Bemoan your losses. Whisper sweet wishes to your mount. Grieve for the dead. Bay for the Legion's and Imperium's victory evermore.

To be human was to have emotion, to be superhuman, was not to throw those away.

They held the most love, and so were the most fierce.

They were never chosen by Khaldeon for he cared naught for bodyguards, but they were accepted nonetheless. Sons protective of their sire, and let in, for what father would deny such wills?

That is the Welkin.

 

[Mortis Nuntius]

Endings and Beginnings​

The giant doors loom ahead, a dull, rusted metal. A low, groaning creak sounds out as they begin to open, as if they were dying, as if the metal itself was in pain. This did not last for long, as suddenly, the doors sparked, and a green flame began to burn them away into nothing. The green light was a sharp contrast to the dull, lifeless red of the bloodied ice and the unnaturally dark corridor, providing enough light for fragmented bone, Human and Skaven both, to be seen within. A haunted wail fills the air as both stench and steam pours out of the chamber. It was a scent that all Astartes know well, and one that the people of Stormgard have come to learn very intimately, it was putrid rot of bodies left sunscouched and cooked, it was of meat and decay and of things long, long past their time.

The chamber itself was well lit, the laboratory of a mad Psyker, of a man who has renounced all oaths to both the Imperium and Humanity as a whole, an individual so repulsive in nature that even the dreaded Revenants reject him. Malfarius glares at the gathering outside his chambers, grasping a glowing skull. Five figures garbed in Power Armor lie still like statues, as gaps in the Astartes armor shows rotted flesh, the lifeless forms of Imperial Revenants stand watching, waiting. A small horde of his undead experiments stand before him, their bodies shields to soak up damage. The Psyker begins to speak, perhaps in his maddened state convinced that grandstanding is the best use of his time.

"I never expected you to make it this far. The fact that you did shows that my skills are lacking indeed. Yet I can't stop now, I can't. I'm so close to finishing. I don't expect you to understand truth be told, deluded by the Emperor's lies and false promises, I know better, I have seen past him and past life, I have seen the power that lies in death, the possibility of existence beyond it. Your corpses will be enough to finish my work. Then I will be done here, then the Primarch will understand. Surely he will understand. I have nothing more to say to you. Die for me."
The sockets of the glowing skull erupt in green flames, a series of runes carved into the bone channel psychic energy. The dead lunge forth.
The first has its head crushed in the power claw of the advancing automata as it strode into the mass of corpses. Heavy bolter unfurling from its back and tracking targets. Weapons and taloned hands clawed at its dented and worn chassis, but it paid little mind swinging its remaining arm in wide arcs. The Astartes leaping into action in its wake to either support or move in the flanks to attack the Necromancer directly.

The five Steel Princes take to either flank of the machine, two of the techmarines to the left and Bodashtart with the third and the other battlebrother on the right. Chainswords roaring, the two battlebrothers rip into the closest undead while their techmarine unleashes a barrage of fire from his storm bolter. Explosions rock the middle ranks of the horde as stray or over-penetrating bolter rounds explode mid-flight, sending metal and bone shards in a wave of shrapnel that the undead take no heed of.

On the left, cones of fire issue forth from one of the techmarine's twin flamers, borne in hand and upon their mechanical third limb. The other of the pair swings their power-axe with dearly measured force, each blow precisely aimed and made to cleave the target in twain - barely enough to keep the undead at bay.

Bodashtart bats away a swinging claw with one arm, and shouts, "Scouts, now!"

A loud crack split the chamber, as a stalker bolt descended from a shadowed archway near the ceiling, slamming into the head of one of the undead marines stepping in the way of the shot to block for the necromancer. The marine's head rapidly decided to become a wet diaspora across the room, and the lump of unmotivated ceramite drops to the floor. Four more bolts follow, blowing limbs off and skulls apart in the mass of zombies, though the mass of jostling undead flesh seems to be difficult to target accurately.

When one falls there is another to take its place. The four other undead Astartes spring to life, moving in front of their dark master. Two raise bolters, firing down the hall, uncaring of friend or foe as the reanimated soldiers try and return some form of returning fire to the scout. The two others return to standing still, chainswords letting out a dull buzz as they await any opponents. The undead horde itself is a fraction of its previously fearsome statues as undead Humans and Skaven do everything in their meager power to stop the advancing party. Malfarius himself curses, dropping the runed skull which levitates in the air, waiting to be grasped once more. With one hand on his staff and the other deep in the entrails of a corpse, he shoots out a wave of sickening energy, the living slow, as if walking knee deep through honey, the dead speed up, if only a little. The combat automaton of the Umbral Watch lies completely unaffected, as steel and circuits care not for the hexes of flesh and bone.

Behind the machine were beings of flesh and blood, albeit two of them were now something far from human, the Scoutmarines are hanging back from the fighting, picking targets of opportunity, aiming for joints and extremities with their bolters. Behind them the two mortals huddle together, shivering and screaming as the wave of necrotic energy hits them, the girl's attuned senses catch fire as the malevolence and antilife tear at her soul, her pain reverberates into her brother.

"Why did we bring fraking juves with us?" Leraje demands aloud and activates his comm, "Sir, something is headfragging the Cits,"

Registering distress to its primary command unit, the Automata acted. The Umbral Watch had crafted their Automata well; though they would never approach true sapience, the pre-recorded combat algorithms flashed through the cogitator within the adamantium giant. Its heavy bolter tracked to the Necromancer and fired off a salvo which the fallen Astartes stopped just as contemptuously as before. However he was not its true target. A smattering of bolts hit the floating skull and though they did not shatter it the skull was flung away and into the dark of the tower as the Necromancer screamed in rage.

Malfarius lets out a furious scream as the foci is launched aside. The runes on the already dwindling undead dim a bit, their boost of speed lowered now that the relic has been ripped from his control. Both hands grasp his staff as he violently slams it into the ground, cracking the floor beneath him, bolts of sickening Psychic power are launched outwards once again, the force behind such a movement causes his statue-esc guards to stumble. Moving though what little of undead remain soars death, an ill omen for whoever has the misfortune to be struck by the Necromancer's wrath.

The Cybernetica appraised the coming psychic attack and its likelihood of incapacitating or killing its charge and followed its programming to the letter. Lifting an undead in front of it as a shield it stepped into the path of the bolt of concentrated malevolence. As before the writhing corpse was ignored yet the metal behemoth was not. Sparks cascaded from the automata and there were audible pops from within its frame as circuits overloaded and its heavy bolter fired wildly in an arc in front of it hitting any of their foes only by chance as it expended its munitions. After twitching and smoking for a moment the machine grew still and stood in silence.

"Kappa!" Val howled, sprinting forwards heedless of danger half mad from the assault on his mind.

Moura runs after him, managing all of two steps before Markopriss bodily tackled her to the floor, "Stay down."

Two more bolts crack out, dropping more of the undead Astartes. Clearly the Jaguar had decided to focus her attention on the foes that can shoot back.

Bodashtart cuts one more of the undead down, and jerks back before one of the psychic bolts could hit him. It swerves through the open air into the other battlebrother, knocking him to the ground with a gaping wound in his armor. Bodashtart bares his teeth behind his helmet, and yells,

"Wise ones, we must bring him down now!"

The techmarines nod their assent, and take position. The flamer-bearing one steps back to cover his comrade while they rearm themself with a plasma gun, and Bodashtart clears a pocket for the techmarine on the right to let loose with their storm bolter.

Once more the triumphant bark of bolters is heard as two more of Malfarius' puppets drop like sacks of rocks, bursts of rotten gore rushing out of their wounds. The Psyker lets out a raged scream, and with the gesture of his hand, sends the last two of his pawns rushing forth, chainswords revving and ready. Their movements unnaturally precise as they lunge towards the Steel Princes, boots caked in blood as they crush the corpses beneath their feet. The duo sprint towards their targets, one rushing to the Techmarine with the Plasma gun as the other rushes towards Bodashtart and the Techmarine with the storm bolter. One is cooked as ceremite melts under the intense fury of a holy flamer, though not before leaving a potentially fatal wound on the Techmarine with the plasma gun. The other rushes for a kill, before ultimately being stopped by the Overwatch of Bodashtart.

At the death of his last two pawns, Malfarius lets out a furious cry, "Fine then, I'll JUST DO IT MYSELF!" Before making a gesture with his staff, his eyes start to glow a sickly green, burning through the lenses of his helmet. He slams his staff into the corpse of a twice dead Revenant, before making a tugging motion with his other hand. "I NEED YOUR SOULS. GIVE THEM TO ME."

This declaration is backdropped by a hum, rising in intensity, as Malfarius' armor begins to crackle with bursts of static. Moments later, he bursts into flames as the sound's source is revealed: the Jaguar scout falling from the ceiling, volkite sparking on target as she falls. Malfarius is driven to the floor under the impact of a marine in scout armor dropping from the high gothic ceiling, driving both legs into his shoulders as she lands to absorb the impact.

"You talk too much."

Blood squelches from the wounds inflicted by the Blood Jaguar, Malfarius cries out in an agonizing pain as Ceremite melts into flesh. The armored boots of his cousin feel like feathers in comparison, despite her jump almost cratering the sections of his battered armor.

The red flames of Volkite sparked green briefly, as the weight digs further into the Psyker's burning frame. Those sparks grow as the noxious green overtakes the oranges and reds, the flames grow and grow in a frenzied ferocity as they lash out in a maddened fury. "YOU… I'LL… I'LL BURN YOU. I'LL BURN YOU ALL. SERVE AS KINDLING TO MY FIRE, LET ME BE REBORN FROM THE ASHES YOU LEAVE BEHIND!"

Malfarius' ceremite burns away, flakes of the armor flowing outwards before they spark into flame. His body melts away as it feeds the growing fire. Runes on corpses and walls glow green before energy is sapped from them too. More fuel, more power for a desperate, dying, maddened man. The flame itself holds a peculiar scent, as flesh and metal burns away the senses of those in the room are assailed with the stench of death, not of rot or sickness, but of the last pained cries of life, of finality, of the end.

The Inferno that was Malfarius begins to rage, threatening to destroy not only the Blood Jaguar who brought him to this state but everyone else in the chambers if action was not taken soon.

"I AM PERSISTENCE. THROW YOURSELVES UNTO MY FLAMES SO THAT I MAY BURN FOREVER, SO THAT FATHER WILL FORGIVE ME FOR ALL I HAVE DONE."

`Markopriss was cast away from Moura, an invisible screaming claw driving him into the roof of the chamber smashing bones and armor and ferrocrete alike, the young Psyker freed from beneath him reaching out through the inferno. Not for the monster, not for her mentor but for her brother. He flows around her, she grasps and pulls and sucks and bits and pieces of him flow back towards her, snaking around her form, pooling at her feet, dripping from bloodied hands trying to fade away, to abandon her for whatever comes next.

"NO!" The defiant roar springs forth from within the skull of every living thing in the chamber, a battle cry of grief and fury and defiance as the young girl rips her brother free from death and throws him towards the only safety to be found.


---

The flames died with their master, leaving the stunned survivors scattered across the room in varying physical condition; Leraje was crouched protectively over the battered, burned and broken Markopriss; the Steel Princes gathered around their fallen, the motors of their armor whirring as they bent down to bear the fallen battle-brother and tech-priest upon their backs.

In the center sat Moura and the automata known as Kappa, metal manipulators and fingers intertwined.

​

 

[SteelWriter77]

The Hive City, a grand edifice of what the Imperium can create...and often a place where the darkest of cruelty can be done without anyone ever knowing.​

To many, the Imperium of Man is the greatest undertaking of humanity, a grand edifice that will propel humanity to greater heights. However not everyone shares this enlightened view and works to cause it's undoing in the shadows, either through their own malicious schemes or with compacts with the Xenos menace. Such is the threat that the Emperor's Grand Inquisition was formed to fight these threats alongside Astartes warriors of the Umbral Watch.

However the Inquisition would find its first challenge as numerous worlds across the various Segmentums all began to have problems or issues being noticed while under observation. Worrying movements of political parties, actions of blatant corruption by the higher society, clear forgries on the Imperial Tithe reports. All of these and more across worlds that only a scant decade ago were models of Imperial Rule, a sign of clear influence of other factors and that the Imperium needed quick action to be taken.

The call was sent out to the closest forces that could be trusted to handle these events, from the patrolling Eternity Guard in Solar, to the Umbral Watch of Ultima and to any of the free roaming forces of the Lightbringer stock. This event would be recounted in history as the First Great Purge of the Inquisition, a mass culling of leadership and unruly population across many worlds.
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As the leading figure for this new set of missions, Rolo expected his tour of Segmentum Solar to be relatively uneventful, stopping the odd rebellion or xeno's plot. But when word came from the office of the Regent and Grand Inquisitor Malcador, Rolo found himself thrust into a madhouse of politics and treachery.

Segemtum Solar, said to be one of the most secure realms of the Imperium, was facing an unprecedented event of rebellion and corruption. Thus the Eternity Guard was called to lend their aid however they could, bringing the justice of the Emperor to traitors or opportunists who sought to destroy the good work of the Imperium. Canodus Tenwould be the latest world his forces would be sent to, a hive world of moderate population for it's type with only forty hives upon it's surface. But strife was ripe across the world as roving bands of bandits plagued the lands outside the Hives and corrupt officials ruled over anarchy laden sections of several hives.

The Eternity Guard would enter this battle with the same stoic nature as was the common view of their gene-father, breaking down any enemy fortification and building their own in it's place. Rolo led groups of advanced scouts as they tore through the first lines of the enemy, weakening them for the main attack by the rest of his brothers.

Kimaris, his elder by a decade who has proven himself in combat many times, with enough augmentations to be mistaken as a son of Ferrus or Alaric. Fought like an unstoppable force of motion, tearing apart the remaining forces of the first line and leading the main charge.

The twins, Amdusias and Eligar, brought into the Legion together and trained to be the exact opposites in terms of combat. Where Eligar was the marksman, Amdusias fought directly in melee, this tactic aided them immensely in the hectic times of Stormgard, but now they fought forces with trained brothers as the majority, not with potential scouts.

He and his Brothers fought these Hive Gangers and scum brought forth by a so called "Prophet" ranting and raving about "Those born of Flesh and Darkness would bring a age of glory" a madman that Rolo enjoyed cutting down in his makeshift church made out of the broken remains of a factorum.

Such was a common mission for the Eternity Guard, fighting across a world and then leaving for the next one, cleaning up the wave of madness that seemed to grip hold of mortal humanity that fought against unity. Rolo did not attempt to understand mortal minds, but he did not enjoy when they turned against the Imperium, they were a relentless foe in a crazed state of mind that no amount of reasoning can dissuade.

Because why else would they turn against the Imperium.
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In the close borders of Segmentum Ultima and Segmentum Solar, the world of Rallas IV was abuzz with activity as the tenth chapter of the Umbral Watch along with returning Cuter Dei forces quickly were drawn into acting as judges against this wave of rebellion and corruption.

Captain Therrus Mourne of the Luminaries had been given ample forces and materials by his Primarch to help secure Rallas IV and its surrounding worlds before the Primarch left for the War with the abominable Intelligences, but such was the scale of where they were needed that the captain nearly found himself looking to communicate with his father for more aid…but he would shake away such feelings, leaving Rallas in the capable hands of his Primarch's adoptive father and planetary governor.

Leading a large portion of the tenth directly on an attack against the rebellious forces and criminal elements festering near their homeworld, this bold action was without a plan and merely a means to clear the way for the chapter forces to gain some room to think of a proper response, Therrus's charge as it would become known was an unprecedented success as they would tear through hired xeno's forces, pirate fleets or traitor supply ships. Therrus would personally take on fifteen different forces trying to aid those who wished to rebel or destroy the Imperium, and by the end of his charge

Colonial Marshals marched alongside the Adeptus Arbites as they dispensed justice in the wake of the Umbral Watch. Setting up their institutions as best they can to hold order, in most cases that would be the end, but other worlds still held traitors waiting to strike in these weakened times, such it was that the Colonial Marshals and the Arbites on several worlds would fall under siege of the rebellious masses, the metal of the two law-keeping forces would be tested on those days, and while many fell, no mob of traitors or scum could break the keepers of the Lex.

Of the Cuter Dei, they would find themselves being joined up with other members of their specific order that were assigned to work with Lord Malcador, spread out across the most hostile of these battles or worlds needing direct intervention and investigation. Many Cuter Dei would be seen with promise as they quickly and quietly investigated and executed planetary leaders or rebellious influences across many worlds.

One such Cuter Dei was Aphael Blackhand, who led his squad as best he could in these days, his new augments fitting quite well in this unexpected stress testing. Most notable would be his work on the world of Oldard Two, where his skills brought to justice the entire planetary ruling class and slayed their hired Xeno Mercenaries leader in personal combat. To his squad and other Cuter Dei it was like watching someone who knew the enemies movements before they even made them, this combined with his personal modifications to his new augmented replacements for his lost organic parts, made the name of Blackhand known to the wider legion.
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Even the Hellenic League was not spared from the Purges as reports of corrupt governors allowed seditious elements of both the league and the Imperium to fester and grow under their own influence. Something the Primarch lord could not abide as he personally left his capital world to deal with these problems in the matter befitting traitors, executing as the Tyrant of the Hellenic League should to traitors and conspirators.

With a cold fury and mighty hammer, Memnon marched through the worlds of Andia and Helios IX, with eyes finely honed by genetics and decades of crafting nearly perfect works of art he would go over each city and town of these worlds and crush the "Imperfections" of the league with all the force of a craftsman finding a flaw in his work.

Champions of the legion would also perform actions worthy of new art to be made in remembrance of the Bronze Shields service as protectors of the League. The heroic Heracleides Karousis in his mighty armor protected the capital itself from a mob led astray by a "Prophet" of the true Gods, a feeble grasp of power that the sacred band fought off with ease.

While Danilo Exvarde was the cold specter of war, the Legion Master led a ruthless campaign that saw the enemy crushed with no quarter, no matter the world or the exact nature of his enemy, be they simple gangs or organized revolts. In his own words "They had revoked their right to our protection and mercy the moment they turned their backs on us, I cast a simple judgment upon their disgusting forms, death was the only just punishment fitting."

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Sandoris Quintin rushed past guards and other members of the Administratum, a series of reports nearly falling out of his grasp as he rushed by. The halls of the Hive spire were always busy even at this late hour, but he had to see the chancellor about this matter. As he reached the doors to the chancellor's office, he walked past the guards, neither making eye contact with the other, they had their duties and he had his own, no time for pleasantries.

What was before him was the chancellor, Kaldarin Malgar, sitting at his desk and writing down some orders for the new water purification system to be implemented at Hive Neldwua. The smell of the room was foul, as if a deep mold had set in and began to rot some of the chancellor's food stocks, but no such rot or mold was here, it was simply ow the room had been smelling as of late, the chancellor had not brought it up so most assumed it was something he had done somehow, none were brave enough to comment on it.

Putting aside such thoughts so as to not insult the chancellor and give reason for rightful imprisonment, Sandoris cleared his throat, alerting the noble to his presence.

"Ah Sandoris I was just about to get Jullian to call you, what timing." Said the older man pleasantly, despite the smell of his office, the man was warm and inviting and had treated Sandoris well in his five years working as an Administratum aid. But this was not the time for normal conversation.

"Chancellor Kaldarin, while I apologize for interrupting what is clearly important work, I come bearing grave news." He spoke solemnly and clearly. "...I have been investigating the shipping records for over the past months and have found a clear discrepancy, supplies we should have been sending to the war efforts have been coming up short, not enough to be noticed but enough that it could arm several regiments worth of Imperial Army. Not only Lasguns, but ammunition for Auto-guns and Bolt Rifles have been coming up shorter and shorter…I took this information and looked into the Arbites reports of the Ganger activity in the same timeframe, sir someone is arming them with our military grade weapons."

Clearly flustered, the chancellor stood up and walked to a massive window overlooking the Hivecity below "This…my boy how could such a oversight happen, have you checked with the foramen for the factorums or if the workers have ganger connections they could have slipped some of the materials too?"

"..Sir such things would explain those events, but i found something far worse, shipments meant for the PDF and Arbites forces have been going missing in such numbers that the reports had to be hidden or misfiled as never arriving, but those ships had arrived and are being kept in the dockyards. To do this one would have to have connections of the highest order for our world or…be a member of the higher society themselves." The way it was phrased was obvious to the both of them, other than the Planetary governor, no one had higher clearance for the hives then their chancellors.

"...It is truly a shame you are so perceptive my lad, I did quite enjoy your company." Said the chancellor in a cold tone. "Why tell me about this event and not go to the communications and send out the theory to the sector command, the recent upheaval has certainly brought attention to any misappropriated weapons and ammunition."

"I had to ensure it was true, and don't even think that killing me will stop this. I've ensured that others will know about this event even if I was to die or disappear. You've lost Kaldarin, surrender quietly and I can try to find out who had forced you to do this with the Inquisition."

"No, I think not." said the chancellor who without moving an inch from his window made a horrid noise from his throat, the smell became overpowering as something moved above them quickly and within an instant Sandoris felt like his arms and legs were clasped in irons.

"Wi..Witchcraft" Snarled the younger man who struggled impotently at unseen forces holding him in place.

"Of a sorts, Kaldarin was always so fascinated with such things, when our progenitor came with some 'Artifacts" of such mysticism, the fool was eager to see what he could buy…But I don't want your last moments to be boring dear lad, rather I wish to ensure my own progeny and kin feast well from your warm flesh." said the chancellor turning and walking to the frozen man, a twisted grin on his face. The movement now apparent on the ceiling as something large moved with many smaller things.

"But people will know I am missing, you can't kill me!" spat out Sandoris.

"True there will be questions…but as you can see with how Kaldarin is doing, my kind has ways of keeping things underwraps and sadly you are not important enough for our effort." the chancellor's eyes unfocused and drifted apart, as it became clear that this being did not look out from these eyes.

The last thoughts of Sandoris Quintin was a rush of fear as his frozen body lifted into the air and the horrid smell was all around him, pain shooting across his body as many things began to bite into his flesh, ripping and burrowing inside.

"Feast well my Kin, our work continues at an ample pace." Said the thing with the chancellor's voice sitting back down at his puppet's desk and reading the reports Sandoris gave him. Chuckling at the plan he and his family had created, inside the mind of chancellor Kaldarin screamed in impotent rage as his body moved by the horrid force and worked to destroy his beloved world.

The sounds of flesh and bone breaking and falling to the ground a simple white noise as the being looked over their plans for Hive Neldwua, creating a perfect system for he and his family to thrive on this world of metal hives. Necromunda…what a fun world to be given, their Progenitor had quite the taste when selecting their target.

 

[Uniquelyequal]

Crimson Guard


The stretch of ruined city they had spent the last three weeks fighting over had acquired the name Hellmaw within the first three days, when the first scouting party of the Eight Penal Division had disappeared into the jagged, dark rubble and disappeared completely, only their screams ever returning back to their waiting comrades.

What had followed was a thorough saturation bombardment conducted by the Division's attached Earthshakers, tearing apart the ruin further before Incendiary Shells spread a raging inferno through the jagged rubble, cementing the nickname it had gathered further as the flickering shadows of the broken spires looked to all the world like jagged fangs. The conflict here, all present knew, would not be mentioned in any stories or annals: it was a minor skirmish to the larger war going on, a minor footnote in the ongoing campaign to pacify Drakaris.

That did not, of course, make it any less lethal to the people stuck in the Foxholes.


They had taken cover within the broken remnants of a fallen towers, wedged within the small hollow created by several large pieces of rubble stuck together, burying themselves deep in every nook and cranny.

Every one of them had seen what that did to a comrade, and none of them were particularly keen on being on the receiving end of that.

In theory, they were all from different squads and units, but that distinguish had stopped mattering about three seconds after the Crimson Ladies had blown their whistles and forced them out of the trench and into the No Man's Land in front of the trenches, past the corpses from the waves that had gone before them and never been collected, sprinting between the burned out husks of the Hellhounds that had detonated in a desperate bid for cover that seemed mostly illusory under the hail of lethal crystals that were raining down on them.

It would have been inaccurate to say that half the attacking wave died in the first few minutes, for the Eldar were not prone to such mercies. Those they hit fell to the ground, wracked by slow-acting poison or slowly dissolving under the kiss of some lethal disease, and those that came through did so under the distinct impression that they had been let through, seen as little more than playthings by the enemy they were supposed to be fighting. They had waited on the vanguard with knives drawn and hunger in their expression, expecting another massacre like those that had occurred with the previous waves.

What they had not expected was the crude vests of six strung together Frag Grenades e canteens full of jellied Prometheum the vanguard of the assault had worn.

The resulting confusion had been enough for the second wave to come close enough to douse the ruins with a broad swath of flames from their flamers, driving the Eldar decisively back from the edges of the ruins and deeper into the ruins. What had followed was a brutal, close-range brawl, men and women driven by desperation swarming into the ruins and bringing the enemy down with bursts from their autoguns and Laslocks, or stabbing them with the standard issue knives that the Penal Division had taken a great liking to, or clubbing them to death with the butts of their weapons and the steel caps of their boots if everything else failed.

Then, they rushed forwards, rag-tag teams of soldiers hunting through the ruins for their foes. They had fought the Eldar for a long while, but it remained difficult to get used to their quixotic manner of fighting: they did not man strongpoints or hold defenses, but instead engaged in a constant game of ambush and raid, rushing forward to kill and maim only to retreat back into the cover of the ruins, circle around the groups and strike again, delighting in tormenting and demoralizing and falling on those groups of fresh recruits that broke and ran, seeking prisoners for their tormentous games.

Other Regiments might have set iron discipline or uncompromising valor against these tactics, but the Eight Penal had neither. Instead, they responded to the abject brutality inflicted upon them with their own, forged in the Penal Colonies from which they had been drawn and honed into a fine, sharp edge by their Crimson Lord Masters.

Dark Eldar pursuing their prey found themselves incinerated alongside those they had pursued, flamers striking from ambush in well-coordinated barrages. They found themselves eviscerated by mines placed beneath the bodies of the abandoned wounded or targeted by sharpshooters using them as bait. They found themselves entangled in razorwire spanned in the gaps they leapt through and gored by the horns of Beastmen charging forwards relentlessly, Frenzon and Slaught rendering them utterly unfeeling towards the additional toxins coursing through their bodies and utterly uncaring towards the distinction between friend and foe. Somewhere in between, the Earthshaker Cannons had opened up again, shelling the ruins indiscriminately. For a while longer, the pride of the Eldar warred with their desire to survive, reluctant to retreat in the face of such rabble.

When the Hellhounds arrived, though, beginning to sow a curtain of fire utterly uncaring of friend and foe, survival finally won out against pride, and the Dark Eldar began their retreat into the ruined cityscape to which Hell's Maw had been but the entry way, suddenly harried themselves by opportunists with stolen Splinter Rifles or primitive Laslocks, the height advantage of the lost territory turned on them until the pillar of smoke rising from the Promethium had engulfed them.


When it dispersed, and the sky was visible once again, pandemonium well and truly descended.

 

[SteelWriter77]

A Artistic depiction one Psyker had claimed to see in a vision during the completion of the second Jade Moon before they walked into the wilds of their homeworld, never seen again- Painting taken and placed in art gallery of Avalon​

The Jade Moon of Jin or as it was known to the rest of the Imperium the Incandescencia already was considered a marvel of the Psyker sciences by those of such study in the Imperium, complex runes and devices to better channel the Warp itself. But to the eyes of the Jade General and his Sons, it still could be made better and with exact instructions left by the Jade General, the Incandescencia was added too.

New patterns and the introduction of new engravings to the Incandescencia were planned and started the beginning steps of changing the nature of what the moon could do. Small carved jade statue satellites were placed in orbit around the Moon, their path creating a harmonic pattern that drew the ambient energy in, keeping it from flowing away due to time or just by the nature of the Warp.

Massive architecture made to support the flow of energy and reduce the risk in channeling the energy of the Warp were constructed, adding a new element to the process of the moon and creating a slight "Chime" to the souls of those who walked across its surface. As it stands, the Incandescencia is far from complete to the eyes of the Warriors and their Primarch, but slowly it's light grows in intensity and potential.

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While the latest touches on the Incandescencia were being completed, across space and over the world of Stormguard, the work on a second Jade Moon was being done. The moon however was a different process then how the Incandescencia was created, as a test for their plans of the Harmonic Architecture, the set designs were more experimental and served more as a means of testing what should be done for their first.

As the work was concluded, the assigned Channelers took their places to begin the whole process, under the tutelage of Taskmaster Zhen, the Monks and assigned Warriors of Peace began reaching out with their power towards the planet they orbited below, the hostile and tainted energy immediately lashing out and attempting to push back, unlike Jin which fought with it's energy like a grand beast struggling against being corralled, the energy infesting Stormgard was a coiling twisted force, content to let the Channelers bring it close before striking. Of the eight who began this process, only three would be unharmed, the rest would face injury and inner battle with the "Dark Chi", burns across their flesh or cuts from unseen claws that tried to stop their ritual.

Zhen himself faced the worst of the injuries, thirteen in total that were added to his already large assortment of scars from his long life of warfare. But he did not yield nor did he stop his task, serving as the main point of the channeling he would ensure that it would be completed even if the others fell to their wounds. But none did and the ritual would be completed.

Much like the Jade Moon of Jin, the effect was sudden and immediate, the very crust of the moon began to glow brightly, instead of the Jade green of Jin, instead it was a glowing White with flecks of a toxic green swirling in the air. The Channelers watched in both curiosity and confusion as the Dark Chi before them acted unlike any they have seen, colliding with the patterns of their new moon and creating what could only be described as "Storms" of Chi swirling and attempting to overtake the other force at work.

It was almost symbolic of their galaxy in a way they could not truly describe, but their task was done and the moon was completed.
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As before the forces of the wider galaxy felt the shift as yet another light shone in the Warp, far weaker than the others. The differences are even more apparent in their own different methods of feeling the shifting warp, instead of a clear and all piercing light like the Astronomicon or the light glow of the Incandescencia, what will be called the Storm lucerna, named after the faint cloudy and rumbling nature it emits, was a faint and sickly glow compared to the others.

The Navigator houses again reported on seeing a burning light in the warp before the connection was gone. Primarchs with deeper connections to the Warp felt the light shine through them, most notably being Savnok himself as he stood upon Stormgard, looking up at the gleaming moon of his world it's surface becoming coated in a faint layer of twisting clouds,

Hidden in the depths of the Warp itself, the Horned God of the Spite and Hunger looked at the light with an appraising eye, curious to see what new problems this could create, with a simple wave of power this Moon had gathered, he sent out small little whispers or pains, to ignite those with hate to the Humans.

The great broken houses of the Drukari, now wandering the empty void or in the depths of the Webway felt the glow of the new Mon-Khigh device, touching their visions with it's faint glow. They despised it and what it clearly was meant to signify to the fallen people, that the barbarians considered themselves their betters, well one would not take such an insult. Vect would be cursed in a sense as the image of the moons was burned into his mind, his plans for the future now clearer than ever, if he could not lead the Eldar Empire, then he would lead those that fester in the galaxy's wounds.

The Vast Hunger of the Dark moved as slowly as they could, to reach the bright light which called them, A second light flashed for a brief moment, different to the first. It only further cemented that there was life to be consumed, so they continued their silent flight.

On the many Craftworlds, their infinity circuits seemed to all glow at once, the Warp facing a wave of harmony that the Farseers had not seen in ages. But as they discussed what this could mean, the Avatars of Vaul spoke as one "Again the Sons of Mankind attempt to control the ever churning seas…what folly"

The Men of Iron detected the new device of the Human Imperium, updating their prediction matrixes and preparing their anti-warp counter measures for the continued war with the Imperium.

The Swirling madness of the Warp was disturbed by the wave of the new beacon, ever hungry eyes watched with curiosity as the world of their [ESCAPED PREY] bathed in [ENERGY/HARMONY/STRIFE] It was…dissatisfying to the [KRELL/ENSLAVERS], they needed a new source of sustenance soon.

The Eight delighted at the new point of focus for their wider game, some delighting in the prospect of taking away the "Prize" of their ungrateful Kin. While others despised what this third light meant for the Long War.

Eleven newly created beings felt the shift as they fled from danger, hiding away in places unseen and created by the waves the Beacon made. The three lights were not for them, but its shadows created spaces for their survival.

Five beings of ancient power would look upon this development with their own thoughts on the matter, with the eldest and most powerful deciding it was high time for he and the Young Watcher to meet.

Elias Dradmire and Malcador the Sigillite both upon Terra felt once again another beacon for Mankind was created, and both considered their plans carefully, for now there would be three places of deep observation for when the wider war would use them.

Instruments of various groups would detect this new development, some hidden in the dark of space, plotting the downfall of their enemies with a renewed vigor. Others were curious about the new paradigm that was occurring with the Humans of the Imperium and where it would lead.

 

[SteelWriter77]

Beginning Skeletal structure of the Scarlet Band-Date: One Standard Month into construction​

As the wars for the galaxy continue, one would be forgiven to not consider the needs for such a war to function, especially in regards to the glorious Astartes Legions, for what need do these warriors unparalleled need such mortal requirements. The truth of course is that there is always an extensive supply network wherever the Legions operate, from their own weapons and armor, to the many

But of course relying only on the Mechanicum and manufactorums of the wider Imperium is not enough for some legions, and thus they need to create their own methods to better ensure their Legion has the weapons it needs to conduct the Crusade.

Trono has often been seen as the "Jewel of the East", the planet and its people a reflection of Primarch Aurelia's own pursuit of an ideal society. One made of military honor and a noble perfection, in her ever growing pursuit of this goal, Aurelia had ordered her greatest architects and engineers to construct their own orbital ring around Trono.

It's purpose was simple, to better churn out ships for their fleets and to act as the main shipyard of the North-East, a lofty goal, but one the people of Trono gladly undertook for their Monarch. Her own designs were taken and only altered slightly to better account for the safety of the planet and the realistic effects of such a structure being built. In the end what surrounded Trono was massive five sections held in place by a stable gravity and massive caple networks, creating both a connected and unconnected appearance to the metal skeleton of a far larger structure.

This massive orbital ring would be called the "Scarlet Band", and while it was still only in it's first stage of operations, already new ships were being built and added to the defensive fleets of Trono, and older vessels began to be refurbished to better match the new standard of the rest of the fleets. The Scarlet Band itself however would not just be one aesthetically different Ring of Iron like the Mechanicum had, the Primarch of the Knights Romantic had a particular interest in ensuring that Trono would stand, self sufficient in all manners, from weapons production, to defenses and now in creating Agri-sections in the Scarlet Band, Trono by all accounts could survive on it's own.

While there was still much more work to be done for the Scarlet Band, the engineers and architects happily reported to their Monarch that should they remain on schedule, her desire for the greatest shipyard of the Northern Imperium would be met.
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While the scions of Trono refined and built their own mighty ring around their planet, across the Imperium and around the gray world of Medusa, the homeworld of the stoic Iron Hands was also alight with activity and construction around its orbit, not of building something new, but rebuilding what was already there.

Called the Telstarax by its people, the great Ring of Iron had long been a mystery to the minds of Medusa, Ferrus Manus included, its archaic machinery long since abandoned by those Humans of the Dark Age of technology. Ferrus had long considered attempting to repair or reuse the Telstarax a fool's errand, for none had any inclination where to start or what could be done without harming the intended function.

But with recent recovery of data from the Men of Iron servers on taken worlds, along with study done to what structures that remained after Imperial Attack and Mechanicum devastation. A rough approximation was gained for the Telstarax and what could be done to utilize it.

A small team would be selected from the still stationed Iron Hands to investigate one of the sections closest to the planetary surface, the travel from the stable gravity of Medusa to the slightly lessened one of the Telstarax did not even register to the Iron Hands as they wandered the empty structure, the purpose seeming to be one of production on a massive scale, at least for this particular section of the Ring, massive arrays of forges and factory lines crossed miles of space, had the Iron Hands not been given an additional mission, they would have spent days researching as much as they could.

But such things have been seen before in other expeditions to the Telstarax, what the Iron Hands looked for now was a simple wall on the eleventh floor of this massive ring section. Tools in hand they broke through the correct location and found the emergency operations panel, the only thing that could power this section, if only at minimum output.

While this Forge section could be described as slightly operational at this moment in time, the emergency power provided was more then enough to also power defenses installed on the Ring itself, with basic function restored and the lack of apparent danger to those who would need to run the forges and lines, the Iron Hands prepared for further orders from their Primarch.

Of course there are far more sections and potential secrets that could be awaiting discovery, all that would be needed is the orders of Ferrus Manus on what is next.

 

[SteelWriter77]

Go-Sala of the Hal'kath, Spiritual Leader and soul unready for the War to Come
(Written by the wonderful @Uniquelyequal )​

Sai'la the Thirsting, Sai'la the Blasphemous, Sai'la the Unrepentant: these and many more names the infamous pleasure-realm of Lhilitu had received within the hey-days of the Empire, when the power and the decadence of the Eldar had been at the height of it's ascend, the tipping point before the spiral of it's self-indulgent hedonism tipped over from the pleasurable to the utterly self-destructive. The Songs that had been sung about it spoke of a realm of exquisite pleasure, where every whim would be fulfilled by a legion of adoring slaves and where all served the twisted desires of the Muse Lhilitu, imbibing her concoctions whether they be the bringers of bliss or pain, both sensations blending frequently and freely. Once upon a time, the Subrealm must have been worthy of the songs sung about it: songs capable of driving those of the lesser races to madness in their depravity, should they somehow be able to comprehend them.

Now, though, as the Corsair Lady walked through the shattered and twisted ruins,, all she felt was dread: the death-screams of her ancestors, torn away by a force that was even now unraveling parts of her soul, the mocking jeers of Neverborn howling at the edge of her mind. The magnificent domes and arches of Sai'la had been shattered in the Fall, the gracefully sweep of her arches and bridges toppled down, the artful decorations of the dried out fountains eroded by entropy in its purest form.
She walked across the jagged streets, gracefully stepping across the shards of broken and twisting Wraithbone as she picked her way towards the meeting place. Statues had once rimmed this avenue, but they too had been broken, only their feets remaining upon plinths that bore exhortations to marvel at the sheer magnificence of their achievements.

The Corsair Lady had been allowed only a single guard, and picked Arqaneque, who wished to possess her in a way that he would never be able to achieve and was kept trudging along besides her through these broken ruins to the meeting place by that hope and his unawareness of just how much in vein it was, his Dark Lance sweeping up and about at every strange gust of wind and every titter of half-real laughter in his ear. In any worthy companion, such obvious displays of paranoia would have been utterly tiresome, but he at least knew how to aim and fire, and here, in this place and in one who's only task was to give his life for hers should such a need arise it was a welcome sight.

The place where they had met had once been an arena: a vast, cut open dome, pressed against the half-real skin of arcane force that kept the sub-realm separate from the roiling madness of the warp. It must have been a refuge in the fall, however briefly, for skeletons still littered its floor, the resonance of their despair within the atmosphere heady and disgusting, dreadful and alluring at once.

This place had been chosen to make a point, the Corsair Lady thought, and did that not just reek of their moralizing Cousins, those fools who had brought the very advent of the calamity they now sought to use as a rallying point and warning? She had not yet lived when the Fall had occurred, had only heard the stories of the glory days in the feverish ramblings of old fools unable to let go. The remains of the glory age that she had seen so far did not impress her terribly much, and Sai'la in all its withered glory was no exception. Bones creaked and shattered underneath her armored boots as she stepped into the arena, raising herself to all her height and gazing about herself imperiously, taking in the others that had received and followed the strange invitation she had received.

There were seven, besides herself: three who had come with bodyguards and one Mon'keigh in the middle of that species' ridiculously low life spans who had come alone and seemed no less dangerous for it, a respirator hanging around his neck and goggles hiding his eyes from her view. Of the remaining pairs only one was not Mon'keigh: instead if was one of the bottom-feeding races, one of the beings that had passed beneath the notice of their betters and survived only by grace of that fact, evident by the desperation in the thing's demeanor and the primitive chemical-propellant firearm it's bodyguard was carrying. The Mon'Keigh seemed as different from one another as that mayfly species could manage: one pair dressed in immaculate Uniforms, the other in armor that might pass for artfully decorated by the standards of their species, Friction Axes hanging from their belts and their forms grotesquely swollen by biological enhancements that could not hope to even ape the art of the lowliest of the Haemonculi. For a moment, she considered walking away, yet curiosity compelled her. Someone had gone through considerable length to bring them all together, and she was curious to see which task might require such an eclectic mix of lesser talents. If nothing else, the sheer delusion of it might be amusing, and besides she could always kill them if they turned out to waste their time.

She did not have to wait long.

The ancient systems of the arena activated with a soft whirr, and suddenly an image of pure light was cast into the midsts of the arena: a tall figure in concealing robes, face and features hidden entirely beneath them, the jutting tubes of some strange apparatus the only distinct features that could be made out. When it spoke, it spoke with a voice that echoed in her mind, male and female at once and yet neither and both, a thousand echoes and nuances combining to create a unique whole.

"[Surgehall of Ursh]", it spoke, the misshapen barbarian raising his head in recognition of its name and flinching slightly, the word "Witch" rumbling from his mouth in guttural, misshapen tones.

"[Captain Julian Zadar of the Odyssey]", it continued, and the uniformed elder somehow straightened his back more, suspicion warring in his eyes with the deep grief and pain that was delicious to her even all the way across the arena.

"[Go-Sala of the Hal'kath]", it went on, and the bottom-feeder's upper pair of eyes widened, the bioluminescent folds of its elongated face taking on the same bright shine as the speaker's robe.

"[Corsair Lady Mandernel]", it pronounced, and she felt her heart pick up a fraction of it's speed despite itself, forcing a cruel smile on her face even as she suppressed shivers running down her spine at the effortlessness of the mental intrusion.

"[John Grammaticus]", it finished, and that left only the lone Mon'keigh, his reaction somehow far more composed then any of the others, his goggles staring at the figure with intent and whirring and glowing with strange, internal light before coming to a rest.
The figure paused for a moment, the shifting light of it's robes settling somewhat, and strange symbols began to flash across them, too fast even for her eyes to make out beyond vague detail, runes that seemed reminiscent of eldar script intermingling with monkey runes and stylized images of eyes.

There was a silence, for a moment, and then she raised her hands and clapped, the mocking jeer within her voice less forced with every word she spoke. "Bravo", she told the figure, "for a grand performance worthy of the dead jester himself. Now if it would be possible to get to the point, I do have infinitely more worthwhile things than this to do today."

The figure turned towards her, and she almost shrank under the sheer weight of its undivided attention, only her pride keeping her standing tall in the face of the figure's uncompromising gaze. The tension mounted for a few moments, seeming to gain strength with each moment, and then it abated as the figure laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the arena. "[Very well, my Lady]", it spoke, raising a hand above its head and casting from it a projection of the galaxy, stars and planets circling the palm of his hand in calm serenity. "You may call me the Agogoi of the Cabal, though both these names are vast simplifications."
The figure's fist clenched, golden fire spreading through the void between the stars and seeking to engulf it all, tendrils spreading like the cells of metastasising cancer from start to star and world to world.
"[I represent a group of ancient provenance, who seek to guide and guard the galaxy against the forces that would see it destroyed.]"

The figure swept its hand across the field of bones around them, leaving little doubt as to which forces it was referring to.

"[The megalomaniac conquest of the Terran Upstart endangers this grand design. Worse, his conquest hastens the demise of the galaxy]" The figure swept its hands, and tarnish spread throughout the golden flame, worlds ripped into the abyss by vortices of unnatural light even as rot sank irrevocably into the very soul of others.

"[You have been chosen because there is common cause between us, because the so-called Imperium of Man has drawn your ire in one way or the other and you seek a way to strike at it]"

The Agogoi spread its hand, and the golden flame dispersed from the galaxy, leaving behind the serenity of the void.

"I'm going to need…" she began, and he silenced her with the move of one long, graceful finger, hidden Webway paths and ancient, dispersed supply caches flashing across the map in a display she somehow knew was visible only to her. "Alright, I'm in", she said, for the payment offered was too good to deny for deeds she had planned to commit anyways. More information flashed into her mind then, details of targets to be singled out and destroyed and the reward for each of them. She smiled, and nodded: they were all good targets, and though they were orders, they were loose enough to suggest the figure was willing to leave her considerable leeway. "Good enough for my mercenary heart", she proclaimed, allowing a wide grin to split her face at the promise of loot and bloodshed.
"I'm in too", the lone man, John Grammaticus, proclaimed, jaw clenched tightly even as he continued to stare at the figure, his fingers tracing complex patterns in the air next to his holster. The figure nodded, once, and did not comment.

"I need", Go-Sala said, its voice humming and sibilant and unused to the sounds that it was forcing its throat to produce, "assurances. Weapons with which to fight and places to conceal my places that don't eat at their soul every moment of their presence." At these words, it cast a nervous gaze at its surroundings, folds flashing a bright red in apparent alarm and fear

"[You shall have both]", the Agogoi assured, gesturing to a crate next to the pair, the glint of rifles visible within. "Then you shall have my service", Gol-Sala replied, bowing, "and the eternal gratitude of the Hal'kath"

"Not so fast", spoke Surgehall, hand lowered to the handle of his axe, face twisted into a frown, "I do not know you or your Cabal, and you show awfully little for someone asking for an awful lot. What is it that you offer, I wonder, that the warriors of Ursh should fight for you?"

The Agogoi…smiled,somehow, though none could see his face, and when he swept his hand again what was visible were suits of power armor, first in whole, then as a blueprint, components carefully labeled and displayed. The Lady Corsair frowned, for next to the crudeness of the Mon'keigh she saw the elegance of the eldar, simplified yet still unmistakable. "Materiel"; the Agogoi spoke, "Personel", it continued, and now the projection of the Power-armored suit was running, a thing she recognized as a crude approximation of a Shuriken Catapult firing it's payload at an unseen target, "Information", the figure finished, and a map of the Imperium spread once again, tiny ships floating across it in convoys. "I will not hold truck with Warp-Witches", Surgehall spoke, and the Agogoi smiled, raising his hands in a gesture of conciliation. "I am simply using the equipment of this ancient arena", it promised, "a precaution I am sure you understand."

Surghall hesitated, then nodded, once. "We will fight when we receive the promised equipment", he stated, and then fell silent, hand still not straying from the handle of the axe.

"Why us?"Julian Zadar spoke up, eyes and voice skeptical and a frown etched deeply onto his face. "There must be a thousand just like us around the galaxy, and if your aim is as wide as you claim and your goal as far reaching, all this seems oddly small."

The Agogoi looked at him, and once again, the Corsair Lady gained the distinct impression that he was smiling.

"Dear Captain", the figure said, spreading its arms wide, the projection of the galaxy beginning to whirl and collapse around it "whatever gave you the impression that this group was the only one?"

 

[SteelWriter77]

(Written by @Mortis Nuntius )​

The Imperial Army is a vast bewildering behemoth theoretically practicing organized chaos whilst in reality often embodying the rival doctrine of chaotic chaos. In fairness it could never be anything else. Operating with a semi independent industrial base, a continuous and ever escalating campaign across unimaginable distances where even factors like relativity and time are subject to distortion and driven by a constant unwavering command by the Emperor to press ever forwards with all haste and at all costs. Ad hoc arrangements and expedients by local commanders, particularly Primarchs are the order of the day, every day.

Nowhere is this more evident in the raising of an Imperial Army Regiment, there is simply nothing approaching a 'standard' template for such a formation. The same designation could refer to a hundred men, women, children snatched from a township or even sentient xenos auxiliaries as it might have a multi million strong army raised from birth only to serve. Their equipment outside a few common but far from universal types like the Malcador tank or its replacement but still vanishingly rare Primus or the infamous Lasgun was equally eclectic with swords and spears sometimes appearing alongside relics of the Dark Age of Technology that even the Mechanicus can only marvel at as divine mysteries.

All this is to say that there is no set process or common template to fall back upon were a Primarch or even two Primarchs to decide that they wished for a personal army suited particularly to their needs. No universal procedure, no proper channels and no expectation of sanity. This was perhaps for the best considering the latest two Primarchs to take a direct interest in raising tailored additions to their auxiliaries to meet their needs.

Khaldeon, Fonias and Kolasi were as different as siblings could be, even by Primarch standards the former was a warlord and a leader of men determined to see his people survive and thrive whilst maintaining their unique identity even whilst maintaining total loyalty to the Imperium. The latter…was less concerned with the survival and well being of the denizens of their homeworld. There were other differences as well, demeanor, tactics and average height.

These naturally contributed to two very different conceptions for the new Regiments. The Revenants designed an relentless iron first of power armored infantry supported by heavy armor. The Gryphons going the opposite direction, recruiting from their mortal worlds masses of cavalrymen and women mounted on Serberys Equine mounts with the traditional emphasis on speed, mobility and elan. What both forces had in common was massive material commitment and a strict criteria of recruit and a somewhat bewildering journey to their formation.

On paper the Revenants had the Emperor's full support whilst Khaldeon was on good terms with Mars and Malcador alike. However in practice so much unique war gear in a concentrated area would lead to many complications.

For a start there would be the years long feud between the Mechanicum and Adminsitratum due to the former controlling all Serberys and related wargear production which was usually dedicated to Skitari units, they had little practice in also supplying unaugmented humans and indeed little interest in doing so. The Administratum however had its own conception of a 'cavalry' unit and so insisted on sending fodder, dried hay, saddles and sugar cubes to the depots until finally being persuaded that this was inappropriate. Perhaps overcorrecting they instead supplied nuts, bolts and oil in abundance along with all the necessary spare parts for Chimeras and Jetbikes and the like. Frustrated at the continued complaints they insisted that the Gryphons instead turn to the Mechanicum since clearly those were the experts in this arena. It would take almost three years and multiple interventions of Khaldeon to resolve these squabbles, then the arguments about modified power lances started the whole process all over again.

The Revenants bypassed these issues by simply producing their own equipment, dedicating a substantial part of their industrial base to the task and making much use of Alaric of the Umbral Watch's generous supply of power armor to his siblings forces. Their limit however was in only recruiting men of a certain grim disposition from Night Worlds, feeling for some reason that a lifetime of exposure to ultraviolet rays or Vitamin D disqualified one from joining the elite Cryptguard. This of course led to the issue that there were only so many worlds shrouded in eternal darkness and not all of them would be due a tithe or be in easy reach. Suitable candidates to fight in power armor and deploy as part of an elite force in direct support of Astartes were rare enough in the Galaxy as was. The process of gathering them was a complicated one and the results were mixed. The 9th Nos Shadowland Regiment found itself stripped of men, 'volunteers' from numerous ships from the fleet that had taken onboard crewmembers from Night World's found themselves redeployed. Existing auxiliary units raised from the Revenants Homeworld were stripped of recruits and a certain laissez faire attitude to tithe rules was adopted.

The end result would be eight new regiments, three Cryptguard, five Hussars, with the latter supported by three reserve and replacement regiments due to the aforementioned equipment shortages. For all the difficulties in raising them, expectations of their battlefield performance is high. As ever there are few problems the Imperium cannot grind down through patience, overwhelming effort and a refusal to be reduced to cowardice by arguments of efficiency or cost effectiveness.

 

[SteelWriter77]

​

Upon the Litany of the Blizzard, flagship of the Primarch of the Wardens of the Blessed Heart, one of the greatest champions of the Imperium and of mankind, readied herself for meditation alone in her chambers.

Her faithful Hound resting near her, her gray fur brushing against the unarmored side of Ahurani, head leaning into a gentle pet by the Primarch. The old girl was snuggled right into Ahurani's robes and near her wings, much like she did as a small pup.

From the shadows, piercing silver eyes gazed at the two, the Cat-like Xeno's animal watching with either curiosity or judgment, she was unsure which would be better. In truth she enjoyed these moments of both solitude and peace, she loved her daughters and sister, but they did not see the same things Ahurani did, so loyal to this Imperium and it's oppressive system.

She shook her head softly, this was no time for such melancholy, not when her beloved sister had suggested some simple meditations to clear her mind and ease her "Conflicted Soul" whatever that meant, frankly she just wanted to try out the new methods her sister had developed and help her out as best she could. Closing her eyes she let her mind and soul drift out into the room itself, letting herself touch every inch of it, from the still calm of her faithful companion resting beside her body, to the edges of her frosted bed. But the calm would not last as a sensation began to overtake her.

The sensation was familiar to her, a sense of intense eager desire for base conflict , her mind quickly recalled where she had felt this before, Orkish warp energy filled her mind and pulled her forth, forcefully and with little care to what it barreled past, Ahurani closed her inner eyes as she attempted to resist the pull.

---------------------------------​

When she opened her eyes, her robes had been replaced with armor of light blue, frost coating much of it. It was a marvelous design that seemed more like a second skin than anything else, but its beauty was marred by deep cracks. Her Wings as pristine as ever, but the tips coated in some kind of gray dust, but before she could question what this all meant, she was alerted by the sounds of gunfire and screaming.

What was before her was not her chambers on the Litany, but what could only be described as her worst nightmares of War, a great sea which was filled by massive ships made of scrap metal which fired massive cannons in all directions. The skies alight with aircraft and flak falling to the waters below as if a horrid replacement of rain.

But what truly drew her eye was those who fought, not human, but Greenskins of all kinds. From the lowliest of Gretchen and Squig, to the largest of Ork. All were fighting in what seemed to be a massive free for all, tanks of various kinds shot out barrages from the massive scrap ships of the Orks, while smaller vessels rammed into larger ones in mad gambits or simple enjoyment of destruction.

Massive islands of broken metal ships were complete battlezones as hordes battled without purpose or cause, larger Orks commanding the smaller ones as they all tore each other apart, only to spring up healed within moments of "Dying".

It took only a few moments for the Orks to take notice of Ahurani, her very presence like a shining beacon to the masses, it was only through the barking noises of larger Orks that the hordes ignored her, with dawning horror she recognized several faces of the larger Orks, from Da Angry One, to Bagrash and Gabrash the Twinfists and her most recent foe in Kaptin Green Klaw, each calling their forces away from her. Expressions of disappointment on their faces before turning back to their mindless combat.

Before she could even question this, a deep rumbling from the distance gave her a sudden stop, she turned and watched as two colossal beings fought in the distance, both Orkoid shaped and ones she had seen before, the supposed "Gods" of the Greenskins and perhaps the beings least deserving of such a title for what they have allowed their followers to be.

And yet even when they had brung her here, they ignored her, a deep anger welled up in Ahurani as without her knowledge being in the Warp in such a state amplified her own power and emotion, tapping into a part of herself left by her Creator, like in all Primarchs. "WHY HAVE YOU BROUGHT ME HERE!" Her shout surprised even her as a massive wave of cold emanated from her position, freezing water and knocking away Orks.

All was silent as every Ork watched this interloper call to the twin Gods unleashed a respectable amount of power, their eternal fight stopping as both looked down at the small light that stood amongst their battle site. Without any words the two began to move, getting closer and closer, their steps shaking the metal landscapes and waves, scattering many Squig and Gretchen as they fled such danger, Orks of all kinds bellowed in their crazed joy as they rushed towards the giants, firing or swinging their weapons with wild abandon. Their ships bellowed out thick smog as they intended to ram into their gods in an attempt to gain attention.

The eyes of both of these so-called Gods blazed like massive suns, a harsh yellow that gave off heat in deep anger and a cold blue that spoke of cruel plans. Not stopping as the ships of the Orks crashed into their legs or were submerged by the waves of their footfalls, soon they both stood before the ice coated ground Ahurani had created, the green mist at their feet rushed out of the waters and across their giant forms, covering them both and crashing down before Ahurani. The mist took new shapes, ones that were much more akin to what Ahurani was used to for Orks, still far more massive than any she had ever seen, standing at least three heads taller than the Emperor.

The one with blazing Yellow eyes appeared to be the more directly imposing of the two, yellow handprints coating a bear chest while massive metal gauntlets adorned his arms and hands. Battlescars and brutish accessories of weapon parts coated the bulky frame. Symbols of Ork Clans coated a massive neck brace that was clamped around the bulging neck. He was solid and unmoving like a statue as he looked down at Ahurani.

"Youse are 'ere because you said we was weak, normally i'z would have a good laff at that, but after another round of krumping those spookie gits, I'z had a thought, you 'Ummiez like ta listen to bigger 'Ummiez and what if the smaller onez listen ta you talking bad about me, can't have that now." His voice was rough and brutish, even by the standards of a Ork, his accent was atrocious and clearly was intentional as the beast got close to her.

When the other appeared, it was clear that they were slightly slimmer than the other, but no less imposing as a they wore a full jawed mask of clear Orkish design, bright blue eyes boring into Ahurani as he scratched his neck with long gnarled fingernails, the other hand was a odd combination of flesh and metal that did not look like simple augmentation, more like a crude stabbing implement or cudgel. This one wore ragged robes similar to what Orkish "Warp-'Eads" wore, with massive metal pillars sticking out of their back that sparked violently. This one remained in the back, watching with unclear motives and constantly moving about.

"What he means is that we can't have ya speaking ill of BOTH of us without setting ya right on what powa we have." This one's voice was higher pitched, yet was filled with a scheming ill intent that was clear that the moment her back was turned, this one would attack.

"I have said nothing to my Siblings or children about you so called gods, and it has been some time, I have given it some thought… I have realized that you both should be ashamed of yourselves, for having all this power and letting those who worship you die powerless against their foes. Look at where your followers are currently and tell me that they are anything close to being an actual power in the galaxy." She spoke with conviction born of a perhaps misplaced desire to help the Ork race.

The two "Gods" looked at each other for a moment, before bursting out in laughter.

"Powerless the 'Ummie says HA, that's a good Lafe, Gork, i say'z we keep this one around, it'z like a little Grot tryin' to be da Big Boss." said the Blue Eyed Mork, he laughter causing the pillars on his back to spark more than noermal

"I tell you that your race is dying and you laugh at it, are you really just parasites that take from the Orks with no strength of your own, to turn a race with the potential to be something greater into little more than barbarians who destroy everything they touch." Her anger was clear as she felt a deep seated rage emerging from inside.

"HA ya might be right about this one Mork, this Git haz got a mouth on 'em" Laughed out the yellow eyed Gork, his laughter deep and booming, shaking his accessories. "Listen ya little winged Git, I like ya, but youze got lot'sa 'fings wrong 'bout that 'finking." Before she could respond to the massive Ork, he waved his hands and without warning the metal filled ocean faded away and she stood overlooking space.

Before her was a world seeming to fast forward in time, she watched as life evolved and came to be on the planet, then a Ork ship crashed onto it, the Ork Ecosystem overtook the world in a few decades and feral Ork tribes lived out an existence fighting each other and what remained of the wildlife, before lights came from the sky.

They were a strange unknown xeno race who came to colonize the world and found the feral Orks, first contact became violent and soon the colonists called more of their people to fight the growing masses of Orks, who in contact with such technology advanced into a true Orkish Waggh, even when the planet was bombed to near devastation, the Orks kept coming.

"Ya see that Git, no matta what, The Orks keep goin' that'z a fact of life" Barked out Gork in a tone suggesting pride.

"All you have shown me is the Orks' own abilities, nothing that you two have done, who is to say they could not survive better without you." she said rather tersely, these two were not showing her anything new or making their points beyond meaningless examples of their races inherent strengths.

"Well let me show ya then little 'Ummie, show ya what we'z give da Orks" Another wave of his hands, more aggressively this time as images came forth.

Images of Orks utilizing strange powers and fighting monstrosities while their own sizes were nearly equal to them, ritualistic actions and strange events as the Orks plowed through many enemies.

"How does that look to ya, youse still 'finking we'z weak NOW!" the last part was bellowed out like a challenge, the blazing yellow grew in intensity as they looked at Ahurani.

"If my words are enough to shake supposed gods, then how strong are you really?" Ahurani asked in both a mocking and argumentative tone, the frustration of dealing with these two who refuse to change their arguments getting to her slightly.

"...I'z fink the Git'z overstayed their welcome Mork, say ya last wordz before I crush it'z 'ead for annoying me." rumbled the larger brute in a apparently rare show of restraint, but shaking in intense anger, his eyes now more akin to the suns they were before.

"Now I quite like seeing him all mad, he iz right that youse are still 'finking wrongly about da Orks."

"Oh and what is it that I have wrong about the Orks" She asked, annoyed and tension bubbling underneath.

"Because you 'fink that da Orks are anyfing more than what they are, every Boy from the lowest Grot to the biggest Warboss knows that Orks were made fer Winnin' and Fighting, nothin' else matters to a Ork, this was da truth even before us." It said with a familiar tone of condescension and exasperation, something she was used to seeing many times in the galaxy.

As it spoke images of Orks fighting all manners of creatures flew by, things from what seemed to be all ages of the galaxy fighting in a show of how long the Orks have truly been fighting, green energy in the shape of green feet, hands and heads crashing down on masses of enemies, while Weirdboyz called forth esoteric powers that Varil would consider both dangerous and nonsensical.

"You say'z we'z don't have a plan or meanz to help our Ladz, well that'z where youse wrong ya Git. Once da one true git comes about and begins Da Aporkalypse, we'z really gonna -"

"I'z thought we was gonna call it the Armagedork" Interrupted Gork, this earned a slap from Mork with his cudgel hand " 'Fink Gork, it'z much more imposing to da rest of the galaxy ta call it the Aporkalypse, the ladz will have a right good laff over it."

Gork growled and slammed one of his metal coated hands overtop Mork's head and roared out "ARMAGEDORK END'Z IN ORK, MAKIN' IT BETTA'!"

The argument of the two grew out of proportion from there, as the green mist coated them again, blowing Ahurani back as they both grew back to their original sizes, battling each other over this meaningless argument, the sounds of Orkish screams of battle filled the empty air as they resumed their fighting now that the twin gods fought again.

Ahurani watched in silent anger, her form shifting slightly as ice grew around her, but before she could enter into another frenzy at these poor excuses of Gods, a pull was felt and she was back in her chambers, her lovely old girl sniffing at her wordily and sitting cross from her in a oddly shifting coat of fur that grew from a deep black to a slight bluish pattern was the Gyrinx

"You are far more trouble than I had thought, what ill fates have I offended in seeing my latest partner making such a error, one foolish mistake and you would have been lost to the Twin Gods." Spoke a smooth voice in her mind, somehow being recognized as the Gyrinx's own.