Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
For what it's worth, I'm pretty sure their Chapter would want their wargear used once more to slay the foes of Mankind.
Bulwark Against The Terror (Warhammer 40k Chapter Master Quest)
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Turn 2 035-040.M42 Mountains Finale
Blackout
Fed By Comments
- Location
- Who knows?
Within the hour, you've summoned every Techmarine in the Chapter and all Battle-Brothers not currently engaged in critical operations to the site of the Twilight Crows' final stand, to render unto them their last rites.
No dull-eyed servitors set foot on this soil, it is instead the Battle-Brothers of the Steel Dragons that do the work of gathering the dead for burial. First, the Techmarines strip them of their gear, and that which can be repaired is set aside for the forges. Then, the Apothecaries recover the fallen one's gene-seed, and assess it for viability. Sadly the prognosis is often grim: the corpses have lain here for over a decade, and only a handful are found worthy of keeping. According to Talamacchius the Twilight Crows had at least one surviving Apothecary, Scipio, but as to his fate he cannot attest, and you have found neither reductor vials nor his body.
Then, at last, the dead are laid to rest whilst Elysoth delivers a sermon commending their immortal souls to the Emperor. The traditions of the Salamanders are to return the fallen to the molten lifeblood of their homeworld, or failing that, burn their mortal remains on a great pyre. This is not the way of the Twilight Crows, however, and at Talamacchius' instruction the dead are laid into quickly-constructed wooden caskets, buried beneath the ground, and a stone plinth engraved with their name is placed over the grave. Furthermore, according to their custom, wherever possible each Twilight Crow is to be buried with those who killed them, so as to reassure the spirits of the dead that they have been avenged. You can tell that the strange tradition rankles your men, being forced to grant Orks a proper burial, but they do not voice such complaints. Instead they work in respectful silence, and each plinth is soon surrounded by a dozen more graves.
[Rolled 77, 36, 35]
When it comes to the recovered wargear, your first priority are the three relics Talamacchius asked you to deliver to the Raven Guard. The Dreadnought himself is propped up with a servo-crane so that he can identify the relics, regaling you with their past and significance as you go about it.
The Wicked Talons are recovered from the body of Crowfather Vivelius, the last Chapter Master of the Twilight Crows, buried in the guts of the Ork Warboss who cut him in half before succumbing to its wounds. The curved Lightning Claws are of a set dating back to the Great Crusade, when Corvus Corax commissioned the Raven's Talons as a mark of honour for prominent commanders and champions of the Raven Guard. Since then, his sons have worked to ensure that each Chapter drawn from the Nineteenth Legion's lineage is granted a pair of these superlative weapons, and in so doing carry with them a tangible connection to their origins.
The Blade of Sharrowkyn, reputed to have belonged to the legendary Raven Guard champion from the times of the Heresy and traditionally bestowed upon the Chapter Champion of the Twilight Crows, is found embedded in the dirt. Of its wielder, there is no sign other than the severed hand still clutching the sword's hilt.
However, as you find the Midnight Banner, Talamacchius falls silent, averting his eyes in shame. The Chapter's Banner lies discarded, strewn across the ground, its intricate detailing muddied with grime and dried blood. Some distance away from the relic is the corpse whose armour bears the laurel-markings of a Chapter Ancient, blackened and burnt. The marks on the ground indicate that he tried to crawl after the flag before perishing.
-All three relics recovered.
[Rolled 22, 56, 9]
The Twilight Crows did not die easily, and their armour reflects their grisly deaths. Shattered, broken, rent open, ripped to pieces, blown apart… you can barely find a single intact suit. Luckily, the modularity of power armour construction means that as long as it wasn't totally destroyed, the intact or at least salvageable pieces can be combined with the remains of others to make whole sets once more. Working in this fashion, Kor'Hadron estimates that he can put together quite a number of suits, with only a few missing pieces having to be fabricated anew. But far more excitingly, he has been able to find enough spare parts to put together several sets of Tactical Dreadnought Armour, enough to outfit several commanders or a small squad of Veterans, once the Steel Dragons have amassed more combat experience.
-x6 Tartaros-Pattern Terminator Armour (25 FC/suit to repair) (Offers better mobility than the standard Indomitus-Pattern, but is even harder and more expensive to build and maintain)
-x33 Corvus-Pattern Power Armour (10 FC/suit to repair) (Offers less protection than the standard Aquila-Pattern, but boosted sensor and stealth capabilities)
[Rolled 13, 97, 60]
In contrast to suits of Power Armour, weapons do not intrinsically require that they be damaged in order for the wielder to fall in battle, and you are able to acquire a number of fully intact examples. Although much of these are chainswords and boltguns which the Steel Dragons already possess in abundance, they shall nonetheless occupy a position of honour in your armoury. And the more advanced weaponry shall be greatly appreciated by the Battle Companies.
From the hands of a red-armoured Techmarine, Kor'Hadron pries a strange plasma weapon, bulkier than a Plasma Gun but fitted with shorter barrel. Talamacchius knows nothing of the weapon itself, having spent most of his years in slumber, but he does regale you that due to Scaturia's proximity to Ryza the Chapter's Techmarines often exchanged notes on plasma weaponry with the orange-robed Tech-Priests of that Forge World. After some examination, Kor'Hadron believes the weapon to be some form of experimental plasma "shotgun", meant for close quarters.
-Relic Plasma Shotgun Radiant Flare, combines the firepower of a Plasma Cannon with the weight and handling of a Plasma Gun, at the expense of being shorter-ranged than either.
-x7 Plasma Gun
-x3 Flamer
-x2 Meltagun
-x4 Plasma Cannon
-x2 Combi-Plasmas
-x3 Power Fists
-x10 Lightning Claws
[Rolled 22, 48, 17]
The Twilight Crows lost most of their vehicle pool during the flight from their homeworld, and what remains was brought down by Ork anti-tank weaponry. Still, only a few hulls are in such a state that they cannot be repaired with adequate spare parts, most of those being aircraft which were shot down by Ork anti-air.
-x3 Rhino Transport (25FC/Each to repair)
-x1 Razorback (25FC to repair)
-x2 Predator Destructor (50FC/Each to repair)
-x1 Thunderhawk Gunship (100FC 50FC to repair due to Kor'Hadron's Traits)
[Rolled 39, 96, 42]
Finally, near where the fighting was thickest, you find it. All but buried beneath Ork corpses is the wreck of an Achilles-Pattern Land Raider, its weapons and tracks blown apart by Ork guns and its hull blackened by tankbusta bombs. However, as the Techmarines begin to pry it open, much to their surprise its systems come online, the Machine Spirit resisting their attempts to gain access.
Only upon receiving codes given to you by Talamacchius does the machine spirit relent, and open the sealed crew compartment. Within, you finally find Scipio. The Apothecary is dead, his chest perforated by Ork bullets, but within his dead-man's grip he holds a case of reductor vials, the last genetic legacy of the Twilight Crows.
As you access the recordings of his helmet, you find that Scipio had barely completed his training when Scaturia fell, and he was left as the only surviving Apothecary in the Chapter. Despite this he took to his task with admirable dedication, gathering gene-seed from his fallen brothers on the battlefield until being mortally wounded by Ork fire. Even then, he dragged himself to the Land Raider and sealed himself inside, where he succumbed to his injuries. And though its crew had been slain, the vehicle's Machine Spirit continued to fight even as it was swarmed by Orks, eventually being disabled but never broken. By their sacrifice, the genetic legacy of the Twilight Crows lives on, perhaps one day to found a new generation of Sons of Corax. Kor'Hadron seems incensed to religious fervor by the tale, vowing that the noble Machine Spirit will be restored to function, even if he must hand-craft the replacement parts himself.
-Relic Achilles-Pattern Land Raider Scipio's Respite, with a bonus to Machine Spirit operation and crew survival. (150FC No cost to repair due to Kor'Hadron's Traits.)
-Relic Narthecium Sunset, with a bonus to gene-seed recovery and preservation on the battlefield.
-x103 Twilight Crows gene-seed recovered in total.
Scipio's casket is lowered to the ground last, at the center of the new gravesite. Wrecks and debris are cleaned away to be melted down for material, while craters and ditches are filled up. In time, new life will bloom over this valley with only the stone plinths to mark the last stand of the Twilight Crows. A peaceful resting place for fallen heroes.
It is a sombre occasion, but you cannot help but feel a surge of pride as you watch the young Astartes work, seeing the grim determination on their faces. They honour those who defended Armageddon when they were little more than children, swearing oaths to put their weapons to use once more and avenge their sacrifices. They are starting to understand what it means to be a Steel Dragon.
No dull-eyed servitors set foot on this soil, it is instead the Battle-Brothers of the Steel Dragons that do the work of gathering the dead for burial. First, the Techmarines strip them of their gear, and that which can be repaired is set aside for the forges. Then, the Apothecaries recover the fallen one's gene-seed, and assess it for viability. Sadly the prognosis is often grim: the corpses have lain here for over a decade, and only a handful are found worthy of keeping. According to Talamacchius the Twilight Crows had at least one surviving Apothecary, Scipio, but as to his fate he cannot attest, and you have found neither reductor vials nor his body.
Then, at last, the dead are laid to rest whilst Elysoth delivers a sermon commending their immortal souls to the Emperor. The traditions of the Salamanders are to return the fallen to the molten lifeblood of their homeworld, or failing that, burn their mortal remains on a great pyre. This is not the way of the Twilight Crows, however, and at Talamacchius' instruction the dead are laid into quickly-constructed wooden caskets, buried beneath the ground, and a stone plinth engraved with their name is placed over the grave. Furthermore, according to their custom, wherever possible each Twilight Crow is to be buried with those who killed them, so as to reassure the spirits of the dead that they have been avenged. You can tell that the strange tradition rankles your men, being forced to grant Orks a proper burial, but they do not voice such complaints. Instead they work in respectful silence, and each plinth is soon surrounded by a dozen more graves.
[Rolled 77, 36, 35]
When it comes to the recovered wargear, your first priority are the three relics Talamacchius asked you to deliver to the Raven Guard. The Dreadnought himself is propped up with a servo-crane so that he can identify the relics, regaling you with their past and significance as you go about it.
The Wicked Talons are recovered from the body of Crowfather Vivelius, the last Chapter Master of the Twilight Crows, buried in the guts of the Ork Warboss who cut him in half before succumbing to its wounds. The curved Lightning Claws are of a set dating back to the Great Crusade, when Corvus Corax commissioned the Raven's Talons as a mark of honour for prominent commanders and champions of the Raven Guard. Since then, his sons have worked to ensure that each Chapter drawn from the Nineteenth Legion's lineage is granted a pair of these superlative weapons, and in so doing carry with them a tangible connection to their origins.
The Blade of Sharrowkyn, reputed to have belonged to the legendary Raven Guard champion from the times of the Heresy and traditionally bestowed upon the Chapter Champion of the Twilight Crows, is found embedded in the dirt. Of its wielder, there is no sign other than the severed hand still clutching the sword's hilt.
However, as you find the Midnight Banner, Talamacchius falls silent, averting his eyes in shame. The Chapter's Banner lies discarded, strewn across the ground, its intricate detailing muddied with grime and dried blood. Some distance away from the relic is the corpse whose armour bears the laurel-markings of a Chapter Ancient, blackened and burnt. The marks on the ground indicate that he tried to crawl after the flag before perishing.
-All three relics recovered.
[Rolled 22, 56, 9]
The Twilight Crows did not die easily, and their armour reflects their grisly deaths. Shattered, broken, rent open, ripped to pieces, blown apart… you can barely find a single intact suit. Luckily, the modularity of power armour construction means that as long as it wasn't totally destroyed, the intact or at least salvageable pieces can be combined with the remains of others to make whole sets once more. Working in this fashion, Kor'Hadron estimates that he can put together quite a number of suits, with only a few missing pieces having to be fabricated anew. But far more excitingly, he has been able to find enough spare parts to put together several sets of Tactical Dreadnought Armour, enough to outfit several commanders or a small squad of Veterans, once the Steel Dragons have amassed more combat experience.
-x6 Tartaros-Pattern Terminator Armour (25 FC/suit to repair) (Offers better mobility than the standard Indomitus-Pattern, but is even harder and more expensive to build and maintain)
-x33 Corvus-Pattern Power Armour (10 FC/suit to repair) (Offers less protection than the standard Aquila-Pattern, but boosted sensor and stealth capabilities)
[Rolled 13, 97, 60]
In contrast to suits of Power Armour, weapons do not intrinsically require that they be damaged in order for the wielder to fall in battle, and you are able to acquire a number of fully intact examples. Although much of these are chainswords and boltguns which the Steel Dragons already possess in abundance, they shall nonetheless occupy a position of honour in your armoury. And the more advanced weaponry shall be greatly appreciated by the Battle Companies.
From the hands of a red-armoured Techmarine, Kor'Hadron pries a strange plasma weapon, bulkier than a Plasma Gun but fitted with shorter barrel. Talamacchius knows nothing of the weapon itself, having spent most of his years in slumber, but he does regale you that due to Scaturia's proximity to Ryza the Chapter's Techmarines often exchanged notes on plasma weaponry with the orange-robed Tech-Priests of that Forge World. After some examination, Kor'Hadron believes the weapon to be some form of experimental plasma "shotgun", meant for close quarters.
-Relic Plasma Shotgun Radiant Flare, combines the firepower of a Plasma Cannon with the weight and handling of a Plasma Gun, at the expense of being shorter-ranged than either.
-x7 Plasma Gun
-x3 Flamer
-x2 Meltagun
-x4 Plasma Cannon
-x2 Combi-Plasmas
-x3 Power Fists
-x10 Lightning Claws
[Rolled 22, 48, 17]
The Twilight Crows lost most of their vehicle pool during the flight from their homeworld, and what remains was brought down by Ork anti-tank weaponry. Still, only a few hulls are in such a state that they cannot be repaired with adequate spare parts, most of those being aircraft which were shot down by Ork anti-air.
-x3 Rhino Transport (25FC/Each to repair)
-x1 Razorback (25FC to repair)
-x2 Predator Destructor (50FC/Each to repair)
-x1 Thunderhawk Gunship (
[Rolled 39, 96, 42]
Finally, near where the fighting was thickest, you find it. All but buried beneath Ork corpses is the wreck of an Achilles-Pattern Land Raider, its weapons and tracks blown apart by Ork guns and its hull blackened by tankbusta bombs. However, as the Techmarines begin to pry it open, much to their surprise its systems come online, the Machine Spirit resisting their attempts to gain access.
Only upon receiving codes given to you by Talamacchius does the machine spirit relent, and open the sealed crew compartment. Within, you finally find Scipio. The Apothecary is dead, his chest perforated by Ork bullets, but within his dead-man's grip he holds a case of reductor vials, the last genetic legacy of the Twilight Crows.
As you access the recordings of his helmet, you find that Scipio had barely completed his training when Scaturia fell, and he was left as the only surviving Apothecary in the Chapter. Despite this he took to his task with admirable dedication, gathering gene-seed from his fallen brothers on the battlefield until being mortally wounded by Ork fire. Even then, he dragged himself to the Land Raider and sealed himself inside, where he succumbed to his injuries. And though its crew had been slain, the vehicle's Machine Spirit continued to fight even as it was swarmed by Orks, eventually being disabled but never broken. By their sacrifice, the genetic legacy of the Twilight Crows lives on, perhaps one day to found a new generation of Sons of Corax. Kor'Hadron seems incensed to religious fervor by the tale, vowing that the noble Machine Spirit will be restored to function, even if he must hand-craft the replacement parts himself.
-Relic Achilles-Pattern Land Raider Scipio's Respite, with a bonus to Machine Spirit operation and crew survival. (
-Relic Narthecium Sunset, with a bonus to gene-seed recovery and preservation on the battlefield.
-x103 Twilight Crows gene-seed recovered in total.
Scipio's casket is lowered to the ground last, at the center of the new gravesite. Wrecks and debris are cleaned away to be melted down for material, while craters and ditches are filled up. In time, new life will bloom over this valley with only the stone plinths to mark the last stand of the Twilight Crows. A peaceful resting place for fallen heroes.
It is a sombre occasion, but you cannot help but feel a surge of pride as you watch the young Astartes work, seeing the grim determination on their faces. They honour those who defended Armageddon when they were little more than children, swearing oaths to put their weapons to use once more and avenge their sacrifices. They are starting to understand what it means to be a Steel Dragon.
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- Pronouns
- Hr
Question for this does this mean the twilight crows could be revived as a chapter? Sorry if it's a stupid question and the answer is obvious
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Salute to the fallen Heroes, my Brothers
Blackout
Fed By Comments
- Location
- Who knows?
It means that the Twilight Crows could be revived some day in the distant future. But you don't have the resources or legal rights to do that, and you're honor-bound to deliver that gene-seed to the Raven Guard, for them to do whatever they will with it.
- Location
- Romania
Great find with the Tartaros Terminator armors, these are the best and rarest pattern of Terminator armor. Even one of these would be considered a great relic.
- Pronouns
- He
Corvus Pattern is still more armour than a scout really wants to be wearing. Its excellent for Assault Marines though. I'd say equip an entire battle companies assault wing with them, as well as a those new lightning claws.
We don't have many jetpack marines, being Salamanders, so having the ones we do have be equipped with standout gear seems a good choice.
- Location
- Canada
These sons of the Raven have done their father proud, and hopefully those that come from them shall be just as honorable and heroic. I hope the Raven Guard see that when we give all of this to them
Takareer
Words and feathers
- Location
- Ontario, Canada
I really appreciate how this story pays attention to the feeling, the emotional/personal aspect, of what's happening rather than just being dry numbers. Similarly, I appreciate how this serves to back up the rest of the plot, rather than being all-consuming. This story is interesting and well-written, and I'm looking forward to more!
- Location
- Canada
All these new pieces of equipment ate going to be a good boon for our future operations and open up some interesting options for us.
Blackout
Fed By Comments
- Location
- Who knows?
I don't personally subscribe to Terminator-armour being quite as rare as some of the lore tries to imply. But yes, Tartaros is the rarest and best. Just a bitch to build and maintain.
Mind you, having 103 gene-seed doesn't mean it'll result in 103 Marines. Even with the perfect candidate and facilities, implantation success rate is never 100%, and rarely even close.
Corvus-Pattern can work for Scout Sergeants, it just comes down to trade-offs and what you want them to do. It's more survivable but less stealthy than Scout Armour, so if you think you can't afford to lose your veteran Scouts or you want to use Scouts more aggressively than as pure infiltrators it makes sense to use powered armour for the sergeants. Most Chapters just use unpowered Scout Armour, but Iron Hands and their Successor Chapters often have Scout Sergeants decked out in Power Armour as they're very darwinistic in their approach to using their Scouts. And obviously Black Templars just push them to the front lines.
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Turn 2 035-040.M42 Finale
Blackout
Fed By Comments
- Location
- Who knows?
[Rolled 43, 65, 71]
The ADF's continued intransigence represents a problem. It is not merely that Raukov undermines your authority, but by refusing to so much as communicate with you he compromises the planet's defences. You cannot simply wage your own separate wars against the Orks.
This state of affairs cannot be allowed to continue.
Yet, while acting overtly and bringing Raukov to heel by force may be within your legal remit, such an action might well permanently set the ADF against you, and sour relations with many factions. A gentler hand is needed.
It is not an approach that many Chapters would consider, but diplomacy and brokering peace between warring imperial factions are old hands to you. A word can open far more doors than the sword. And so that is what you do.
Even so, with the lack of communications, a bit of firmness is needed. You cannot afford to let Raukov simply stonewall you for years on end either. So, if he refuses to come to you, you must go to him.
It does not take much, once you actually make an effort. An orbital scan from the Voidflame, followed by a Thunderhawk flight to Raukov's field headquarters. A single gunship, lest you spook them into thinking you intended to attack, but enough to let them know you were serious. You take to the pilot's seat yourself, guiding the Thunderhawk with hard-won experience, coaxing out every bit of performance from its engines as you plummet towards Armageddon's surface.
When you touch down it has been no more than ten minutes since the ADF could have seen you coming, and likely substantially less since they actually realized it. Ignoring the protestations of their air controllers, you set down in the middle of the camp, close enough to Raukov's command tent that the plasflex canvas billow in the airflow generated by the gunship's turbofans.
Your guards take positions around the gunship while you set off, your hulking figure and drake-helmed visage cutting a path through the functionaries and guardsmen in your way. Not one of them tries to actually stop you.
There is a pervading feel of grim determination about the camp. Not triumph, but the exhausted satisfaction of a hard-won campaign nearing its end. You take in every detail as you make your way across the base, from the scent of blood from the direction of the medicae tents to the wear and tear visible in the equipment and weapons of those you come across.
You duck into the command tent, tasting the hum of the void shield protecting it from bombardment on your tongue. A holographic map of Armageddon dominates the room, force dispositions and enemy concentrations marked out amidst the shimmering blue landscape. You take note of the fact that the Steel Dragons are also marked on the map in yellow, your dispositions shared as a good-faith effort for cooperation that the ADF has yet to return.
You take in and process the data in a fraction of a second, before raising your eyes to the man before you.
Lord General Vladimir Raukov was a young man when the Third War began, but the hard decades since have carved their mark on his features. Yet, there is a shrewd glint to his eyes and straightness to his back that remind you that he is still not a man to be disregarded, a legendary commander in his own right.
He is surrounded by his staff, a crowd of subordinate officers, advisors and attaches alike. Jittery logistician-scribes, hooded Mechanicus representatives, hard-faced Generals and Colonels, and more.
All eyes are on you as you come to a halt, removing your helmet with a hiss of disengaging seals.
"Lord General Raukov. We meet at last."
"Chapter Master N'Varr." He replies with what you assume to be deliberately incorrect inflection of your name. "I have been quite busy with the prosecution of Armageddon's defence, so I haven't been able to attend to your meetings yet."
Implying that you were not. But you allow the barb to wash off of you.
"That is why I am here. Issues have come to my attention, regarding communication between the Steel Dragons and the Defence Forces."
"Is that so?" He arches an eyebrow. "What is there to talk about? You Marines come and go. We defended this world with our sweat and blood while you gallivanted among the stars, and we will continue to do so long after you are gone."
You had suspected it before, but now you are certain. Raukov had hoped to be, even believed he would be granted the title of Armageddon's Planetary Governor in return for his deeds during the war.
His motivation is almost disappointing in its simplicity and selfishness.
Yet, you do not allow yourself to become frustrated.
The writings of the Primarch Vulkan teach that humanity's flaws are not to be judged, but helped rise above. You, too, are human, for is it not selfishness that tugs your heart back to Nocturne, to the lands of your forefathers in Epimethus, where you feel you truly belong?
You desire that Armageddon be defended as best as possible. He desires the same thing, but above that he places his own pride. That is the crux of the problem, but also gives you an advantage.
"Just so. We are but newcomers to this world, while you have defended it for decades. There is much we must learn from you. That is why communication is so important, and differences between us so deadly."
You take to one knee, bringing you eye-level with Raukov.
"I come to you now, as a fellow warrior and servant of the Emperor, and ask that we attempt to bridge these differences."
For in his pride, he believed that you also valued yours above all else.
[Rolled 41, 88, 25]
Raukov did not expect this, that much is clear from the look in his eyes, the microscopic shifts of his posture. He thought you would come demanding obedience and reverence, which would allow him to present you as an arrogant outsider and reinforce his position.
He looks to those around him- and sees their eyes on him. That was his mistake, not meeting you alone, where he could have deflected your humility. But here, in front of the men and women whose support he depends upon, he cannot simply turn you away, lest he compromise his image.
"I am honoured, but-"
"I did not ask for this duty."
Raukov seems taken aback by your words, but you press on.
"But duty remains unchanging. It is not what we choose, but that which we must meet nonetheless. My duty is to the defence of Armageddon. And I cannot accomplish that duty if this world's defenders are split, divided and unable to cooperate or communicate."
Communication. Cooperation. Not simple subordination.
From the look in his eyes, Raukov caught the lifeline that you had given him as well. All he has to do is seize it.
"Yes. Yes of course." He grinds out, before taking a deep breath, the mask settling back over him. "We cannot allow our defences to be divided."
And with that, you have him. The rest of it is theatre, as you go over the ADF deployments, and you brief them on your own activities. The two of you talk about channels of communication and sharing of information, things that should have been established when you first arrived. But you do not voice such opinions, maintaining the necessary appearances.
Raukov will be a problem for the years to come, but he cannot move against you without risking a loss of support among his own powerbase. As grim as it is, you can simply wait him out. In the meanwhile however, it would be wise to avoid testing your luck and trying to order the ADF around. Though you have the authority, trying to assert it may undo the inroads you've made so far.
The rest of your stay at Raukov's command you spend on familiarizing yourself with the capabilities and situation of the ADF.
The Armageddon Defence Forces consist broadly of two main combat arms. The first of these is the Hive Militia, made up of some thousand Regiments spread across the seven major hive cities as well as other strategically important installations. They are highly motivated with an abundance of experience and skill at what they do, but they are ultimately garrison units. Consisting exclusively of unmotorized infantry save for a handful of fighters for maintaining airspace control around the hives and lacking any real logistical arm, you would judge them largely incapable of conducting operations outside of the hive cities in any serious capacity. Still, to their credit within the hives they are a fearsome foe to fight. While nominally under Raukov's command, due to their local nature they tend to take their cues from the Hive Governors.
The main striking power of the ADF lies in its vaunted Steel Legions, consisting of roughly two hundred regiments of elite combined-arms forces. They have been merged and reinforced so many times over that the traditional splits of armoured, mechanized, artillery, airborne and so on have largely become meaningless, each regiment forged into a battlegroup integrating various combat arms into a seamless whole. These are crack units you would rate against the best of the Imperial Guard, and some of them might well compare to the Tempestus Scions or the infamous Kaskrin in sheer skill and esprit de corps. However, they have been run ragged by the Third War and the demands of the campaign in the Ash Wastes, exhausted and badly in need of refits, repairs and replacements. They are also Raukov's men to the last, and while by association with the Salamanders many of them would hold you in high regard, their loyalty to the man who took them through the hell of Ghazghkull's invasion outweighs such feelings by a wide margin.
Raukov has been leading the Steel Legion in a campaign of maneuver and encirclement, pushing the fast-moving mechanized Ork mobs into a corner before destroying them. His pace is relentless, pushing his troops hard to contain and cut off enemy formations. It is a testament to both his men and his own skills that he has been as successful as he has been.
His estimate of finishing the campaign by 044.M42 is realistic in your opinion, if he maintains his current pace. It is not a question of whether he will succeed, but rather how many of his men will die in the process. And on that front, your estimations are grim. The supply issues the ADF faces will escalate into a full-blown catastrophe before the end, units simply running out of fuel, ammunition, medical supplies- even food will become scarce.
They will win, by sheer stubbornness and momentul if nothing else, but casualties will be heavy. Millions will die. But he cannot give the Orks breathing room either, for as you can attest from what you have seen in the mountains and the jungles, they can multiply with astonishing speed. And with the planet's industry focused on recovery efforts, the supply situation is unlikely to improve in the immediate future.
-ADF is now communicating and cooperating in a limited manner with you, and Raukov cannot overtly obscure you without threatening his own political position. You estimate that trying to give them direct orders will likely backfire, but at least they're willing to hear you out.
-Ash Wastes campaign on schedule to finish by 044.M42, but will likely suffer heavy casualties.
[Rolled 86, 49, 8]
Fifth Company sets out to pursue the fleeing Orks to the uncharted lands beyond the Sreya Mountains, Captain Zeon dividing his forces between a mechanized task force consisting of the newly-assigned Razorbacks, and multiple airborne detachments onboard Thunderhawks. The Fire Wastes are a familiar environment to the former Salamander, dominated by craggy mountains and constant lavaflows reminiscent of Nocturne. The air is saturated with radiation to such a degree as to make vox-communication all but impossible, the air so choked with ash from endless volcanic eruptions it casts the land under a permanent dark pall.
Still, even in such conditions, life goes on. In deep valleys colonies of radiation-resistant mushrooms and lichen thrive in soil rich with volcanic ash, fed upon by strange but seemingly harmless stilt-legged arachnoid xenofauna reaching up to the size of a battle tank.
Tracking Orks is difficult work, especially in such conditions, but they make do, focusing their searches on these islands of life amidst the desolation, where the Orks could most easily reproduce. Many small mobs and tribes are put to the torch, though it is impossible to say for certain whether they got every individual greenskin and spore. However, as they press deeper into the wastes, they report even stranger incidents.
-----
[Rolled 99, 2, 68]
The Fire Wastes reminded Pyrion Zeon of home. The endless lava fields and plains of craggy volcanic stone, obscured behind shrouds of ash hanging in the air, could have been transposed from Nocturne without change.
Standing between the two Razorbacks he watched as the Tactical Marines of Squads 5-1 and 5-2 spread out to covering positions before him, alert for any signs of danger. The Codex Astartes taught that the most perilous moment in a river crossing is when your force is evenly split between the banks, and thus vulnerable to an attack. Granted the advice had been written with rivers of water in mind, but applied equally to those consisting of liquid magma. Above them the howling of the Thunderhawk Transporter's turbofans faded away as it returned to pick up the remaining two Razorbacks from the other side of the enormous lava flow behind them.
"Nothing on auspex, my lord." Sergeant Andrej of 5-1 called in as he walked back to the two Razorbacks lined side by side, holding out the handheld scanner. "This blasted radiation is playing havoc on the sensors."
"Visuals and audio only, then." The Captain noted.
"Not that the visuals are much good either." The Sergeant said, gesturing at the landscape before them. Ash hung thick in the air, reducing visibility to a few hundred meters at best.
"We'll make for higher ground once we're out of this lava field." Pyrion replied, pulling up the orbital scans on his helmet feed. Before he could say anything else however, a shadow passed over them, a momentary dimming in the sunlight filtering through the ash clouds.
"Did the Thunderhawk return already?" Andrej questioned.
"Then we would have heard engines." Pyrion replied, hefting his Combi-Melta. "Steel Dragons! Prepare for-"
He never got to finish the sentence, as something massive fell from the sky, landing amidst the Space Marine formation, sending several of them flying and knocking one of the Razorbacks to its side.
It was the size of a Land Raider, with four clawed legs and a pair of leathery wings, a whipping tail and a serpentine neck ending in a saurian head crowned with several horns. As he saw it, Pyrion felt a strange sense of deja vu settle over him even as he shouldered his Combi-Melta and let loose a deadly beam of heat that gouged a wound across the beast's scaled flank as it whipped to the side.
The younger Marines were not as quick to react to the sudden attack, still coming to their bearings as the creature let out a roar of pain and darted forward, snatching a dazed Steel Dragon in its jaws and whipping its neck back and forth.
Pyrion cursed, dropping his weapon and drawing his Thunder Hammer instead, accelerating into a charge. "With me! Bring it down!"
Andrej joined him as the others finally reacted, laying down covering fire with their boltguns, small detonations gouging out shallow craters in the beast's scaled hide. A krak missile corkscrewed out from the Missile Launcher of 5-1's heavy gunner and detonated against its chest, causing it to rock backwards and drop the Marine in its jaws. Pyrion witnessed muscles around its throat clench and tighten, a moment before a spray of flames emerged from its mouth, washing over them. Pyrion was able to weave past the worst of the fire stream but Andrej took it head on, collapsing to the ground with his armour aflame.
Pyrion couldn't afford to look after the Sergeant, however, as he focused on the creature in front of him, hefting his drake-headed hammer and delivering a devastating blow to its right foreleg. The power field was released in an explosion of force, cracking bone and tearing muscle in a spray of blood, leaving the entire limb a mangled mess. The beast recoiled with a howl, spreading its wings as if an attempt to flee, but at that moment the remaining Razorback opened fire with its Twin Lascannon, blowing a hole straight through its abdomen and clean through the other side. It collapsed to the ground with a keening wail, dead.
Pyrion waited a few moments to make sure it was dead, before turning back to his men. Brother Balthemias, who had been bitten and thrown by the creature, lay in a pool of his own blood, his ceramite armour cracked open. Andrej however was already getting up, the surface of his armour blackened but clearly alive. Sons of Vulkan did not easily succumb to flames.
"What in the Emperor's name was that thing?" He asked.
Pyrion paused, turning to look back at the battered carcass.
"I have no idea."
-----
"Dracoths." Va'Sor's words echo in the strategium, as he inserts a datacrystal into the hololith. "Gene-engineered beasts from the Dark Age of Technology, patterned after monsters of Terran mythology."
"Why would the ancients create such a beast?" Kar-Thelar asks, reading the flow of data on the screen. "What purpose could they serve? Weapons?"
"Who knows?" The Chief Librarian replies. "I was able to parse together data from local archives, suggesting that the Von Strab dynasty acquired a clutch of eggs on a House Desedna auction in the 39th Millennium. They attempted to introduce them to Armageddon as exotic hunting game for the nobility, but couldn't get a stable population to form. Or, at least so they thought."
"It would seem that instead of dying off they merely migrated to a more suitable environment." You note. "Very well. Pyrion, you have engaged these creatures in battle. Your assessment?"
"We've encountered several of them, and they have proven tough opponents, difficult to put down. Bolt rounds did not appear to have much of an effect on their scales, but concentrated heavy weapons fire proved sufficient. Their ability to fly makes them hard to deal with, but ceramite is sufficient to protect against their ability to exhale gouts of flame."
"So a Firedrake crossed with a Dactylon." Gargidemi summarizes simply.
"That… would be accurate." Pyrion begrudgingly concedes.
"I see." You say. "We shall have to make sure any forays to that area are heavily armed, but I see no further reason to worry. Perhaps they shall help keep the Ork numbers down."
"Does it not bother you that our sigil is the dragon, and we find creatures crafted in their image on our homeworld?" Drukeus speaks up. "The sheer coincidence of it is…"
"It is an omen." Elysoth declares with conviction. "It means we were meant to come here, and meant to find this."
All eyes turn to Va'Sor.
"I have read nothing of it in the bones." He speaks slowly. "But if it is an omen, it is a good one. The drake is the sigil of the Primarch, alongside the hammer and the anvil."
"This is ridiculous." Kar'Thelar complains. "Trusting a seer is one thing, but to see premonitions behind every corner is unbecoming of Astartes."
"Have you no faith, Captain?" Elysoth rounds on him with a growl.
"Enough." You interrupt. "Our main concern is the Orks. Matters of fate and omens can be left for when Snikrot is dead."
-Fire Wastes mostly cleared of Orks. Some spores or individual xenos have likely survived, however, and will require future sweeps.
-5 Fifth Company Marines wounded. Will recover by the end of turn 3, but require a total of 25 FC for cybernetics and wargear damage.
-Hostile xeno fauna reminiscent of mythological dragons found in the uncharted northeastern Fire Wastes. Possibly a good portent?
-----
[Rolled 40, 79, 38]
The Fourth and Sixth Companies rotate to take part in the cleaning up the debris fields, relieving the Seventh and Eighth. Archmagos Vahn is grateful for your assistance, but the intensity of the fighting seems lessened. Even Orks will eventually run out of air and food, trapped onboard wrecked hulks, and for the most part your men scour empty, airless wrecks for signs of life while Mechanicus teams work to remove the warp drives, to prevent the formation of Space Hulks.
It is with great satisfaction that the debris fields are declared cleared of threats and secure for processing. It will likely take decades for them to be fully removed, either towed to Voss Prime, taken apart for salvage or launched to deep space, but with the Orks purged and the warp drives removed, they should pose no more threats to Armageddon. Vahn has departed for Voss Prime, the Forge World still busy with the aftermath of the Third War, but she assures your arrangement is in effect should you desire additional aircraft.
-Debris fields cleared. One additional Major Favour with Voss Prime gained.
-----
"Nocturne is a hard world, not unlike Armageddon. Scorching deserts and volcanoes fill the landscape, populated by all manner of deadly fauna from the burrowing Serwyrms to the venomous Scorpiads and the mighty Salamanders, for which the Eighteenth were named. It was into this hellscape that Vulkan arrived, where nomadic tribes eked out meagre existences with simple iron tools. A defenceless child unannounced and unasked for, another hungry mouth for them to feed in their everyday struggle for survival. They knew nothing of his extraordinary abilities or where he came from, but took Vulkan in out of compassion and fed and raised him as one of their own. It is this kindness that the Sons of Vulkan ever seek to emulate, to pay forward the empathy to which we owe our very existence."
Elysoth has prepared the Chapter as best as he can given the limited time, teaching them how to learn more about the traditions and history of the Salamanders themselves. What's more, he has identified a pair of candidates from amongst the ranks he believes to have potential as Chaplains, Brother Patrias and Brother Isaiah. It is a fortuitous find, but the timing is rather inconvenient. With the Scout Company set to begin Aspirant Trials, your Master of Sanctity will be kept busy with handling the intake of fresh blood with little time left to train his juniors.
To that end, he has suggested simply asking the Salamanders for a favour, and sending Patrias and Isaiah to Nocturne to learn their trade under Leotrak. It would be far easier for your Progenitor Chapter to train two additional apprentices than it is for your only Chaplain to split his attentions.
While not traditional to the Sons of Vulkan, this sort of thing is apparently quite common among Successor Chapters and Progenitors. The Salamanders might call upon you for a service in return, should they find themselves in need, but honour binds them not to ask for a greater service than they gave or else owe you a favour in turn.
-Chapter educated to a basic degree, and are able to study without direct oversight.
-Two Chaplain-candidates identified, but Elysoth can't train them at the same time as he's helping with the Aspirants. He's suggested asking the Salamanders for a Minor Favour to train them in your stead, which would leave you owing one to them in turn.
The ADF's continued intransigence represents a problem. It is not merely that Raukov undermines your authority, but by refusing to so much as communicate with you he compromises the planet's defences. You cannot simply wage your own separate wars against the Orks.
This state of affairs cannot be allowed to continue.
Yet, while acting overtly and bringing Raukov to heel by force may be within your legal remit, such an action might well permanently set the ADF against you, and sour relations with many factions. A gentler hand is needed.
It is not an approach that many Chapters would consider, but diplomacy and brokering peace between warring imperial factions are old hands to you. A word can open far more doors than the sword. And so that is what you do.
Even so, with the lack of communications, a bit of firmness is needed. You cannot afford to let Raukov simply stonewall you for years on end either. So, if he refuses to come to you, you must go to him.
It does not take much, once you actually make an effort. An orbital scan from the Voidflame, followed by a Thunderhawk flight to Raukov's field headquarters. A single gunship, lest you spook them into thinking you intended to attack, but enough to let them know you were serious. You take to the pilot's seat yourself, guiding the Thunderhawk with hard-won experience, coaxing out every bit of performance from its engines as you plummet towards Armageddon's surface.
When you touch down it has been no more than ten minutes since the ADF could have seen you coming, and likely substantially less since they actually realized it. Ignoring the protestations of their air controllers, you set down in the middle of the camp, close enough to Raukov's command tent that the plasflex canvas billow in the airflow generated by the gunship's turbofans.
Your guards take positions around the gunship while you set off, your hulking figure and drake-helmed visage cutting a path through the functionaries and guardsmen in your way. Not one of them tries to actually stop you.
There is a pervading feel of grim determination about the camp. Not triumph, but the exhausted satisfaction of a hard-won campaign nearing its end. You take in every detail as you make your way across the base, from the scent of blood from the direction of the medicae tents to the wear and tear visible in the equipment and weapons of those you come across.
You duck into the command tent, tasting the hum of the void shield protecting it from bombardment on your tongue. A holographic map of Armageddon dominates the room, force dispositions and enemy concentrations marked out amidst the shimmering blue landscape. You take note of the fact that the Steel Dragons are also marked on the map in yellow, your dispositions shared as a good-faith effort for cooperation that the ADF has yet to return.
You take in and process the data in a fraction of a second, before raising your eyes to the man before you.
Lord General Vladimir Raukov was a young man when the Third War began, but the hard decades since have carved their mark on his features. Yet, there is a shrewd glint to his eyes and straightness to his back that remind you that he is still not a man to be disregarded, a legendary commander in his own right.
He is surrounded by his staff, a crowd of subordinate officers, advisors and attaches alike. Jittery logistician-scribes, hooded Mechanicus representatives, hard-faced Generals and Colonels, and more.
All eyes are on you as you come to a halt, removing your helmet with a hiss of disengaging seals.
"Lord General Raukov. We meet at last."
"Chapter Master N'Varr." He replies with what you assume to be deliberately incorrect inflection of your name. "I have been quite busy with the prosecution of Armageddon's defence, so I haven't been able to attend to your meetings yet."
Implying that you were not. But you allow the barb to wash off of you.
"That is why I am here. Issues have come to my attention, regarding communication between the Steel Dragons and the Defence Forces."
"Is that so?" He arches an eyebrow. "What is there to talk about? You Marines come and go. We defended this world with our sweat and blood while you gallivanted among the stars, and we will continue to do so long after you are gone."
You had suspected it before, but now you are certain. Raukov had hoped to be, even believed he would be granted the title of Armageddon's Planetary Governor in return for his deeds during the war.
His motivation is almost disappointing in its simplicity and selfishness.
Yet, you do not allow yourself to become frustrated.
The writings of the Primarch Vulkan teach that humanity's flaws are not to be judged, but helped rise above. You, too, are human, for is it not selfishness that tugs your heart back to Nocturne, to the lands of your forefathers in Epimethus, where you feel you truly belong?
You desire that Armageddon be defended as best as possible. He desires the same thing, but above that he places his own pride. That is the crux of the problem, but also gives you an advantage.
"Just so. We are but newcomers to this world, while you have defended it for decades. There is much we must learn from you. That is why communication is so important, and differences between us so deadly."
You take to one knee, bringing you eye-level with Raukov.
"I come to you now, as a fellow warrior and servant of the Emperor, and ask that we attempt to bridge these differences."
For in his pride, he believed that you also valued yours above all else.
[Rolled 41, 88, 25]
Raukov did not expect this, that much is clear from the look in his eyes, the microscopic shifts of his posture. He thought you would come demanding obedience and reverence, which would allow him to present you as an arrogant outsider and reinforce his position.
He looks to those around him- and sees their eyes on him. That was his mistake, not meeting you alone, where he could have deflected your humility. But here, in front of the men and women whose support he depends upon, he cannot simply turn you away, lest he compromise his image.
"I am honoured, but-"
"I did not ask for this duty."
Raukov seems taken aback by your words, but you press on.
"But duty remains unchanging. It is not what we choose, but that which we must meet nonetheless. My duty is to the defence of Armageddon. And I cannot accomplish that duty if this world's defenders are split, divided and unable to cooperate or communicate."
Communication. Cooperation. Not simple subordination.
From the look in his eyes, Raukov caught the lifeline that you had given him as well. All he has to do is seize it.
"Yes. Yes of course." He grinds out, before taking a deep breath, the mask settling back over him. "We cannot allow our defences to be divided."
And with that, you have him. The rest of it is theatre, as you go over the ADF deployments, and you brief them on your own activities. The two of you talk about channels of communication and sharing of information, things that should have been established when you first arrived. But you do not voice such opinions, maintaining the necessary appearances.
Raukov will be a problem for the years to come, but he cannot move against you without risking a loss of support among his own powerbase. As grim as it is, you can simply wait him out. In the meanwhile however, it would be wise to avoid testing your luck and trying to order the ADF around. Though you have the authority, trying to assert it may undo the inroads you've made so far.
The rest of your stay at Raukov's command you spend on familiarizing yourself with the capabilities and situation of the ADF.
The Armageddon Defence Forces consist broadly of two main combat arms. The first of these is the Hive Militia, made up of some thousand Regiments spread across the seven major hive cities as well as other strategically important installations. They are highly motivated with an abundance of experience and skill at what they do, but they are ultimately garrison units. Consisting exclusively of unmotorized infantry save for a handful of fighters for maintaining airspace control around the hives and lacking any real logistical arm, you would judge them largely incapable of conducting operations outside of the hive cities in any serious capacity. Still, to their credit within the hives they are a fearsome foe to fight. While nominally under Raukov's command, due to their local nature they tend to take their cues from the Hive Governors.
The main striking power of the ADF lies in its vaunted Steel Legions, consisting of roughly two hundred regiments of elite combined-arms forces. They have been merged and reinforced so many times over that the traditional splits of armoured, mechanized, artillery, airborne and so on have largely become meaningless, each regiment forged into a battlegroup integrating various combat arms into a seamless whole. These are crack units you would rate against the best of the Imperial Guard, and some of them might well compare to the Tempestus Scions or the infamous Kaskrin in sheer skill and esprit de corps. However, they have been run ragged by the Third War and the demands of the campaign in the Ash Wastes, exhausted and badly in need of refits, repairs and replacements. They are also Raukov's men to the last, and while by association with the Salamanders many of them would hold you in high regard, their loyalty to the man who took them through the hell of Ghazghkull's invasion outweighs such feelings by a wide margin.
Raukov has been leading the Steel Legion in a campaign of maneuver and encirclement, pushing the fast-moving mechanized Ork mobs into a corner before destroying them. His pace is relentless, pushing his troops hard to contain and cut off enemy formations. It is a testament to both his men and his own skills that he has been as successful as he has been.
His estimate of finishing the campaign by 044.M42 is realistic in your opinion, if he maintains his current pace. It is not a question of whether he will succeed, but rather how many of his men will die in the process. And on that front, your estimations are grim. The supply issues the ADF faces will escalate into a full-blown catastrophe before the end, units simply running out of fuel, ammunition, medical supplies- even food will become scarce.
They will win, by sheer stubbornness and momentul if nothing else, but casualties will be heavy. Millions will die. But he cannot give the Orks breathing room either, for as you can attest from what you have seen in the mountains and the jungles, they can multiply with astonishing speed. And with the planet's industry focused on recovery efforts, the supply situation is unlikely to improve in the immediate future.
-ADF is now communicating and cooperating in a limited manner with you, and Raukov cannot overtly obscure you without threatening his own political position. You estimate that trying to give them direct orders will likely backfire, but at least they're willing to hear you out.
-Ash Wastes campaign on schedule to finish by 044.M42, but will likely suffer heavy casualties.
[Rolled 86, 49, 8]
Fifth Company sets out to pursue the fleeing Orks to the uncharted lands beyond the Sreya Mountains, Captain Zeon dividing his forces between a mechanized task force consisting of the newly-assigned Razorbacks, and multiple airborne detachments onboard Thunderhawks. The Fire Wastes are a familiar environment to the former Salamander, dominated by craggy mountains and constant lavaflows reminiscent of Nocturne. The air is saturated with radiation to such a degree as to make vox-communication all but impossible, the air so choked with ash from endless volcanic eruptions it casts the land under a permanent dark pall.
Still, even in such conditions, life goes on. In deep valleys colonies of radiation-resistant mushrooms and lichen thrive in soil rich with volcanic ash, fed upon by strange but seemingly harmless stilt-legged arachnoid xenofauna reaching up to the size of a battle tank.
Tracking Orks is difficult work, especially in such conditions, but they make do, focusing their searches on these islands of life amidst the desolation, where the Orks could most easily reproduce. Many small mobs and tribes are put to the torch, though it is impossible to say for certain whether they got every individual greenskin and spore. However, as they press deeper into the wastes, they report even stranger incidents.
-----
[Rolled 99, 2, 68]
The Fire Wastes reminded Pyrion Zeon of home. The endless lava fields and plains of craggy volcanic stone, obscured behind shrouds of ash hanging in the air, could have been transposed from Nocturne without change.
Standing between the two Razorbacks he watched as the Tactical Marines of Squads 5-1 and 5-2 spread out to covering positions before him, alert for any signs of danger. The Codex Astartes taught that the most perilous moment in a river crossing is when your force is evenly split between the banks, and thus vulnerable to an attack. Granted the advice had been written with rivers of water in mind, but applied equally to those consisting of liquid magma. Above them the howling of the Thunderhawk Transporter's turbofans faded away as it returned to pick up the remaining two Razorbacks from the other side of the enormous lava flow behind them.
"Nothing on auspex, my lord." Sergeant Andrej of 5-1 called in as he walked back to the two Razorbacks lined side by side, holding out the handheld scanner. "This blasted radiation is playing havoc on the sensors."
"Visuals and audio only, then." The Captain noted.
"Not that the visuals are much good either." The Sergeant said, gesturing at the landscape before them. Ash hung thick in the air, reducing visibility to a few hundred meters at best.
"We'll make for higher ground once we're out of this lava field." Pyrion replied, pulling up the orbital scans on his helmet feed. Before he could say anything else however, a shadow passed over them, a momentary dimming in the sunlight filtering through the ash clouds.
"Did the Thunderhawk return already?" Andrej questioned.
"Then we would have heard engines." Pyrion replied, hefting his Combi-Melta. "Steel Dragons! Prepare for-"
He never got to finish the sentence, as something massive fell from the sky, landing amidst the Space Marine formation, sending several of them flying and knocking one of the Razorbacks to its side.
It was the size of a Land Raider, with four clawed legs and a pair of leathery wings, a whipping tail and a serpentine neck ending in a saurian head crowned with several horns. As he saw it, Pyrion felt a strange sense of deja vu settle over him even as he shouldered his Combi-Melta and let loose a deadly beam of heat that gouged a wound across the beast's scaled flank as it whipped to the side.
The younger Marines were not as quick to react to the sudden attack, still coming to their bearings as the creature let out a roar of pain and darted forward, snatching a dazed Steel Dragon in its jaws and whipping its neck back and forth.
Pyrion cursed, dropping his weapon and drawing his Thunder Hammer instead, accelerating into a charge. "With me! Bring it down!"
Andrej joined him as the others finally reacted, laying down covering fire with their boltguns, small detonations gouging out shallow craters in the beast's scaled hide. A krak missile corkscrewed out from the Missile Launcher of 5-1's heavy gunner and detonated against its chest, causing it to rock backwards and drop the Marine in its jaws. Pyrion witnessed muscles around its throat clench and tighten, a moment before a spray of flames emerged from its mouth, washing over them. Pyrion was able to weave past the worst of the fire stream but Andrej took it head on, collapsing to the ground with his armour aflame.
Pyrion couldn't afford to look after the Sergeant, however, as he focused on the creature in front of him, hefting his drake-headed hammer and delivering a devastating blow to its right foreleg. The power field was released in an explosion of force, cracking bone and tearing muscle in a spray of blood, leaving the entire limb a mangled mess. The beast recoiled with a howl, spreading its wings as if an attempt to flee, but at that moment the remaining Razorback opened fire with its Twin Lascannon, blowing a hole straight through its abdomen and clean through the other side. It collapsed to the ground with a keening wail, dead.
Pyrion waited a few moments to make sure it was dead, before turning back to his men. Brother Balthemias, who had been bitten and thrown by the creature, lay in a pool of his own blood, his ceramite armour cracked open. Andrej however was already getting up, the surface of his armour blackened but clearly alive. Sons of Vulkan did not easily succumb to flames.
"What in the Emperor's name was that thing?" He asked.
Pyrion paused, turning to look back at the battered carcass.
"I have no idea."
-----
"Dracoths." Va'Sor's words echo in the strategium, as he inserts a datacrystal into the hololith. "Gene-engineered beasts from the Dark Age of Technology, patterned after monsters of Terran mythology."
"Why would the ancients create such a beast?" Kar-Thelar asks, reading the flow of data on the screen. "What purpose could they serve? Weapons?"
"Who knows?" The Chief Librarian replies. "I was able to parse together data from local archives, suggesting that the Von Strab dynasty acquired a clutch of eggs on a House Desedna auction in the 39th Millennium. They attempted to introduce them to Armageddon as exotic hunting game for the nobility, but couldn't get a stable population to form. Or, at least so they thought."
"It would seem that instead of dying off they merely migrated to a more suitable environment." You note. "Very well. Pyrion, you have engaged these creatures in battle. Your assessment?"
"We've encountered several of them, and they have proven tough opponents, difficult to put down. Bolt rounds did not appear to have much of an effect on their scales, but concentrated heavy weapons fire proved sufficient. Their ability to fly makes them hard to deal with, but ceramite is sufficient to protect against their ability to exhale gouts of flame."
"So a Firedrake crossed with a Dactylon." Gargidemi summarizes simply.
"That… would be accurate." Pyrion begrudgingly concedes.
"I see." You say. "We shall have to make sure any forays to that area are heavily armed, but I see no further reason to worry. Perhaps they shall help keep the Ork numbers down."
"Does it not bother you that our sigil is the dragon, and we find creatures crafted in their image on our homeworld?" Drukeus speaks up. "The sheer coincidence of it is…"
"It is an omen." Elysoth declares with conviction. "It means we were meant to come here, and meant to find this."
All eyes turn to Va'Sor.
"I have read nothing of it in the bones." He speaks slowly. "But if it is an omen, it is a good one. The drake is the sigil of the Primarch, alongside the hammer and the anvil."
"This is ridiculous." Kar'Thelar complains. "Trusting a seer is one thing, but to see premonitions behind every corner is unbecoming of Astartes."
"Have you no faith, Captain?" Elysoth rounds on him with a growl.
"Enough." You interrupt. "Our main concern is the Orks. Matters of fate and omens can be left for when Snikrot is dead."
-Fire Wastes mostly cleared of Orks. Some spores or individual xenos have likely survived, however, and will require future sweeps.
-5 Fifth Company Marines wounded. Will recover by the end of turn 3, but require a total of 25 FC for cybernetics and wargear damage.
-Hostile xeno fauna reminiscent of mythological dragons found in the uncharted northeastern Fire Wastes. Possibly a good portent?
-----
[Rolled 40, 79, 38]
The Fourth and Sixth Companies rotate to take part in the cleaning up the debris fields, relieving the Seventh and Eighth. Archmagos Vahn is grateful for your assistance, but the intensity of the fighting seems lessened. Even Orks will eventually run out of air and food, trapped onboard wrecked hulks, and for the most part your men scour empty, airless wrecks for signs of life while Mechanicus teams work to remove the warp drives, to prevent the formation of Space Hulks.
It is with great satisfaction that the debris fields are declared cleared of threats and secure for processing. It will likely take decades for them to be fully removed, either towed to Voss Prime, taken apart for salvage or launched to deep space, but with the Orks purged and the warp drives removed, they should pose no more threats to Armageddon. Vahn has departed for Voss Prime, the Forge World still busy with the aftermath of the Third War, but she assures your arrangement is in effect should you desire additional aircraft.
-Debris fields cleared. One additional Major Favour with Voss Prime gained.
-----
"Nocturne is a hard world, not unlike Armageddon. Scorching deserts and volcanoes fill the landscape, populated by all manner of deadly fauna from the burrowing Serwyrms to the venomous Scorpiads and the mighty Salamanders, for which the Eighteenth were named. It was into this hellscape that Vulkan arrived, where nomadic tribes eked out meagre existences with simple iron tools. A defenceless child unannounced and unasked for, another hungry mouth for them to feed in their everyday struggle for survival. They knew nothing of his extraordinary abilities or where he came from, but took Vulkan in out of compassion and fed and raised him as one of their own. It is this kindness that the Sons of Vulkan ever seek to emulate, to pay forward the empathy to which we owe our very existence."
Elysoth has prepared the Chapter as best as he can given the limited time, teaching them how to learn more about the traditions and history of the Salamanders themselves. What's more, he has identified a pair of candidates from amongst the ranks he believes to have potential as Chaplains, Brother Patrias and Brother Isaiah. It is a fortuitous find, but the timing is rather inconvenient. With the Scout Company set to begin Aspirant Trials, your Master of Sanctity will be kept busy with handling the intake of fresh blood with little time left to train his juniors.
To that end, he has suggested simply asking the Salamanders for a favour, and sending Patrias and Isaiah to Nocturne to learn their trade under Leotrak. It would be far easier for your Progenitor Chapter to train two additional apprentices than it is for your only Chaplain to split his attentions.
While not traditional to the Sons of Vulkan, this sort of thing is apparently quite common among Successor Chapters and Progenitors. The Salamanders might call upon you for a service in return, should they find themselves in need, but honour binds them not to ask for a greater service than they gave or else owe you a favour in turn.
-Chapter educated to a basic degree, and are able to study without direct oversight.
-Two Chaplain-candidates identified, but Elysoth can't train them at the same time as he's helping with the Aspirants. He's suggested asking the Salamanders for a Minor Favour to train them in your stead, which would leave you owing one to them in turn.
Since Space Marine Chapters don't really use money (you do have some Thrones you use to pay for insignificant services and serf salaries, but nothing on the scale Chapters usually operate at) the primary currency you use when dealing with the rest of the Imperium is favours.
Minor Favour: A small service or aid to another faction, something that won't really inconvenience them substantially. For you, that might mean something like a squad-level deployment, miscellaneous action or around 100 FC worth of equipment.
Major Favour: Roughly equivalent to five Minor Favours, this is something more substantial and requiring them to go out of their way for it. Company-level deployment, extended squad-level deployment, loaning out a specialist, a minor relic, or 500 FC.
Honorbound Favour: Five Major Favours, or twenty-five Minors. This is big, drop everything nonessential, commit crimes, piss off people kind of big. Substantial portion of the Chapter being deployed, large and permanent commitments, major relics, that sort of thing.
Keep in mind that the above are just general guidelines, subject to context like the resources, situation and relationships of the faction you're dealing with.
Minor Favour: A small service or aid to another faction, something that won't really inconvenience them substantially. For you, that might mean something like a squad-level deployment, miscellaneous action or around 100 FC worth of equipment.
Major Favour: Roughly equivalent to five Minor Favours, this is something more substantial and requiring them to go out of their way for it. Company-level deployment, extended squad-level deployment, loaning out a specialist, a minor relic, or 500 FC.
Honorbound Favour: Five Major Favours, or twenty-five Minors. This is big, drop everything nonessential, commit crimes, piss off people kind of big. Substantial portion of the Chapter being deployed, large and permanent commitments, major relics, that sort of thing.
Keep in mind that the above are just general guidelines, subject to context like the resources, situation and relationships of the faction you're dealing with.
x1 Castraferrum-Pattern Dreadnought Chassis
x8 Land Speeders
x1 Razorback
x1 Grav-Cannon
x8 Land Speeders
x1 Razorback
x1 Grav-Cannon
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Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Sentence fragment here.
Blackout
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Argh, thank you, fixed now.
Ooh, dragons.
Good update! Glad we made some progress with the ADF.
Good update! Glad we made some progress with the ADF.
Noroboro
Consistency is key and I’m consistently tired :)
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Defense is mispelled
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Great chapter, very interesting to see that there are dragon like creatures on Armageddon but I really like the imagery, I just hope that no Orks decide to get the bright idea to ride one into battle as a mount. As for Raukov and the Steel Legions, let's keep on being friendly with them and try to supply them with what they need and assist them, I don't want millions of troops to die due to logistics.
Blackout
Fed By Comments
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I use a three-dice system to reduce swinginess and introduce more granularity. I roll three dice, either against a set DC or just interpret the results. 96-100 is critical success and 01-05 is a critical fail. Those might mean succeeding or failing harder, or introducing new favorable or unfavorable elements. They may cancel each other out, or combine.
For an example, this turn you rolled both a crit success and a crit fail in the Fire Wastes. So you found something cool and potentially interesting (crit success) but it's dangerous and a couple of Marines were wounded (crit fail).
Thank you, fixed.
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