The Age of Strife has ended, and the battered remnants of humanity have been united by the Emperor of Mankind to start a war that promises to see humanity return to ascendancy in the stars.
Solar Auxilia Officer Quest. A 30k Early Great Crusade quest.
- Thread starter Mayto
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- Sci-Fi
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- Ongoing
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Cohort Creation
- Location
- Netherlands
Welcome to Solar Auxilia Quest.
You are no Legionnes Astartes, No Primarch, no great leader, you are an officer of a Cohort of elite human footsoldiers that is nevertheless destined to play a secondary role to the Space Marine Legions.
You will command no great battlefronts, and you are destined to follow orders and try to make your way through the Great Crusade with as many of your people as possible, for the promises of gaining a world for your Regiment once it is finally disbanded. your story starts at the very beginning of the Great Crusade, having joined at the very start of the greatest military undertaking in human history.
This is not the Imperium at its height, this is the Imperium at is weakest in a galaxy still teeming with untold horrors and foes that are more than capable of resisting if not crushing it.
The Solar System, birthplace of humanity, and the place where its hopes and dreams died. For millenia it suffered.
Terra, the birthworld of humanity, lies ravaged by Nuclear Holocaust and Eugenical Gene Wars, its surface pitted with craters and its nation-states reduced to fractured realms under the thumbs of priest-kings, vivisector covens, alchemical gene-sorcerers, and techno-barbarians.
Luna, Terra's natural satellite, has been controlled by the Selenar Gene-Cults for millenia, its matriarchs selectively producing a planetary population and labour force that is enthralled to their whims.
Mars, the second great world of the Solar system, fell to psyker-covens and nuclear war as these new rulers established control, a green paradis returned to a red hell. Then the worshippers of the Machine God emerged from the depths and destroyed their Psychic overlords in a thousand year war.
Venus, once a garden, now finds itself fiefdom of the War Witches, its billions little but fodder for feuding cabals, fresh parts for armies of Litho-Golems and Osseo-Titans.
On the cobalt-saturated surface of Mercury, Scavenger Clans and mutant tribes fight for survival and control of ruined crawler-citties , even as the world shakes as ancient antimatter refineries tear apart in white blasts of annihilation. Humanity endures in the warrens beneath its surface, underground cities where the rule of law still exists, and who provide the system's precious antimatter supply.
Jupiter, once home of the greatest shipyards in human history, is now home to the Jovian Void Clans, shipbuilders whose ancient art is all that allows them to resist invasion, even as their holdings shrink each generation in the face of pirates and alien invasion.
The False Moon's yoke has established footholds throughout the outer planets, the humans under their yoke bred into mewling stunted things to bear their larvae. Even as this happens, other Xenos continued to attack the Solar System,
The Saturnyne Ordos are the only civilization within the Solar System to endure Old Night without suffering a complete collapse. But this survival came at a cost, and the soldiers who'd found the Ordo only endured through ruthless psyker-culls and merciless rationing of resources. Saturn is beset however, with the Khrave forming a cancerous incursion around the moon of Enceladus that has resisted every attempt to destroy it.
Uranus is a shadow of its former glory as the great fuel station of human expansion, reduced to scattered outposts of civilization in a void teeming with mutant pirate fleets, including what rumours claim to be remnant Artificial Intelligence constructs that endured after the Age of Strife, their minds rendered incapable of self-replication.
Within the depths of Neptune's moons, genetic engineering meant to ensure survival has turned the inhabitants of these worlds into horrific mutants utterly devoid of their humanity, their ability to adapt to any environment forced to change them to live in polluted warp-tainted caverns and habitats. These creatures ferociously defend their environments, using scavenged warships from the Dark Age of Technology to launch attacks on humans in their endless hunger for flesh.
And beyond the light of Sol, the False Moon of Sedna stirs, spewing forth swarms of horror, its full awakening promising the end of all things.
But this status quo has been shattered, and the deeds of one man are on everyones lips, the one who promises to put an end to this madness.
A new warlord has united Terra and Mars, a Golden being of incomparable Psychic Might, leading twenty legions of transhuman warriors. Luna has been conquered by the Luna Wolves Space Marines, and its gene looms put to work producing Astartes. Mars has bent the knee to this leader, recognizing him as the avatar of their god, while the Saturnyne Ordos has sworn itself to his service. Vast armies are mustering and setting out from Terra across the Solar System to liberate it.
The Void Hoplites of the Saturnyne Ordos have already proven themselves as an excellent highly-adaptable template of void-capable soldiery, one which the Emperor is already seeking to expand. Across the solar system, the call is going out for men and women to enlist in the Solar Auxilia and take up the banner of Unity, to prepare for the greatest military undertaking in human history.
The pay is good and the perks are extensive. All who serve a tour of duty for twenty five years will be given noble titles, land, and wealth, with the option of gaining whole worlds dangling above the heads of some.
The Age of Strife is over, and your story begins here.
The Cohort you will join was raised among the following people sworn to the Emperor:
The disparate tribes and people of Terra that endured the horrors of Old Night still bear the brutal scars. The people have endured much, possessing a strong resilience towards radiation and pollution. Terra is a world of feral tribes, decrepit Hive Cities and ravaged nation states on the periphery.
[][ORIGIN] Terran Tribe:
Parts of terra destroyed early on in the Age of Strife eventually became home to hardy tribes that livee hand to mouth with an eclectic mixture of primitive tribes with scatterings of high technology. These are peoples ruled and controlled through violence. Many of these tribes were quick to swear loyalty to the Lord of Lightning, although the degree of reverence towards him veers on the deific among some.
Examples include the Texii gun tribes of the Merician continent, the Albian and Highland tribes of Old - Europa, the Mapuktche of Hybrasil, and the myriad peoples of the Gobi chem-wastes.
Your Cohort is recruited from one of Terra's tribes, with the promise of your tribe resettling to a new world if your Cohort wins one.
[][ORIGIN] Terran Nation:
Some bastions of sanity and civilization endured upon Terra, be they decrepit hives, or remote cities of brick and concrete. These nations carefully guarded the remnants of the cultural legacy of mankind, fielding haphazard armies equipped with what industry and archeotech that humanity had managed to preserve.
Examples include:
The Anzak hives, Nordafrik communes, the Merician city states, Belux dome cities, the Dragon Nations of the pan pacific and more.
Your Cohort is a retrained army from one of Terra's nation states, bulked out with a mixture of gutter trash, idealists, patriots, and ambitious fools.
[][ORIGIN] Terran Techno-Clan:
The Techno-Clans of Terra are groups that managed to hold onto the secrets of technology, many of them coming from ancient corporate cartels. Within hidden citadels these groups survived the Age of Strife, trading advanced technology for influence. With the proclamation of unity, these Techno-Clans no longer needed the large masses of serfs and menials to support them, due to the reintroduction of a global currency and the Adeptus Arbites.
Examples include the Terrawatt, Rii-thyon, and Yendainam clans,
Your Cohort is made up of the former menials and serfs of a Techno-Clan that were no longer needed to support a clan.
[][ORIGIN] Jovian Void Clan:
The people of Jupiter endured much during the Age of Strife, the Void Clans forming tight bonds in the face of adversity. The people of the Jovian Void Clans adapted to a space-based existence, maintaining a fleet and the limited trade lanes of the Solar System. Spread out among familial clan-ships holding small communities, to massive multi-clan fortresses.
Your Cohort was recruited from several consanguineous Void Clans, primarily made up of young men and women with little prospects.
[][ORIGIN] Saturnyne Ordos:
The Saturnyne Ordos are the only civilization within the Solar System to endure Old Night without suffering a complete collapse. But this survival came at a cost, and the soldiers who'd found the Ordo endured through ruthless psyker-culls and merciless rationing of resources. Saturnyne society is strict, Saturnian space patrolled at all times and protected without mercy for any xenos or mutants that attempt to intrude.
Your Cohort is an existing Void Hoplite Cohort that has been rebranded as Solar Auxilia.
Cohort Specialization and equipment:
Although your Cohort has all the equipment of one of the Early Solar Auxilia regiments, yours is slightly focused upon a specific purpose, a purpose for which you'll be a Sub-Tercio officer. As the Great Crusade progresses, the equipment and weapons of the Solar Auxilia will change.
Void war:
Your Cohort specialises in naval boarding operations and operates a dedicated voidship instead of being moved around as needed. You primarily deploy in the void, fighting boarding actions, seizing enemy orbitals, and opening the way for other Auxilia to attack planets. This Cohort has been reinforced by a core of elite Saturnyne Veletaris.
You start commanding a Sub-Tercio of:
4 Solar Auxilia Lasrifle Sections
1 Veletaris Volkite Section
(Can only be taken by Saturnyne or Jovian Cohorts)
Planetary Landing Cohort:
Your Cohort has the numbers to engage in planetary landings and either advance behind the Astartes to take the ground they secured, or to give their mobile strike forces existing fortifications to attack from. They are not expected to launch attacks beyond securing landing sites.
You start commanding a Sub-Tercio of:
3 Solar Auxilia Lasrifle Sections
2 Solar Auxilia Veteran Lasrifle Sections
1 Solar Auxilia Rapier Section
Siege:
This Cohort has been equipped for laying siege to alien fortifications and breaking them down. Their purpose is to surround the enemy and lay down supporting fire on an enemy fortreess, grinding them away from a comfortable distance.
You start commanding a Sub-Tercio of:
4 Solar Auxilia Lasrifle Sections.
1 Solar Auxilia Flamer Section.
1 Solar Auxilia Rapier Section.
Chemical Warfare:
Your Cohort is authorised to deploy Phosphex and Chemical weaponry. Your Cohort is deployed when an enemy is to be destroyed so utterly that the destruction of the world on which you fight is not just accepted, but expected.
You start commanding a Sub-Tercio of:
3 Solar Auxilia Lasrifle Sections
1 Solar Auxilia Destroyer Support Section.
(Can only be taken with a Terran Cohort due to generational adaptations to Phosphex and Chemical weaponry.)
Marine Support:
It has been learned that several of the Space Marine Legions are unstable and prone to uncontrollable rages. Your Cohort has the unenviable task of clearing out foes the Astartes ignored for the sake of easier kills, and aiding the field police of the Consuls Opsequiari in maintaining order and discipline over their brothers. This is known to involve lethal force
You start commanding a Sub-Tercio of:
3 Solar Auxilia Lasrifle Sections
2 Ogryn Charonite Sections
The Solar Reclamation:
The fighting within the Solar System is a war fought on multiple fronts, as the Legionnes Astartes are sent out in all directions as fast as new ships can be built, or old ships refurbished, while the Jovian and Saturnyne fleets fight a brutal omni-directional campaign to secure their own holdings. The Khrave infestation on Enceladus is little more than pools of bubbling Phosphex, while the Orkoid incursions around Pluto burn in the void, their corpses picked over by the Fifth Saturnyne Hoplite Fleet, even as The Warborn and Sentinels of the Void fight to restore the Solar System's trade networks.
Your cohort's first battle although not permanently bonding you to a Legion, would permanently change the Cohort's outlook and identity.
(Not every legion is involved in the battle for the Solar System, or was the type to cooperate with regular human troops.)
[] [LEGION] March on the False Moon:
At the edge of the Solar system lies the False Moon, the hive of an alien invasion that has been consuming the solar system for nigh-on three thousand years. The worst inhumanity the Xenos can muster waits upon the moon, ready to bring all the horrors of Old Night to bear. Psi-Constructs, thrall hosts, flesh golems, looted xeno-archeotech from the depths of their lair, void wraiths. You are assigned to follow in the footsteps of the First Legion on the long march to Sedna, clearing out the Kuiper Belt of Xenos nests in anticipation of an Emperor-led assault on Sedna after the Solar System has been reclaimed for humanity.
You are assigned to an expeditionary fleet of the First Legion of the Space Marines.
[] [LEGION] The Antarctic Campaign:
The Antarctic is a hub of Anti-Imperial sentiment that lasted long after the official proclamation of Terran Unity. The Heralds of the Imperium Legion is leading the clearance of the last remaining rebel hive cities of their tyrants, the low numbers of this Legion meaning they are aiding their human allies as leaders, advisors, and support formations. The Emperor would have Terra secured before the push on the Nemesis Moon.
You are assigned to an expeditionary fleet of the Third Legion of the Space Marines.
[] [LEGION] Liberation of Venus:
The Fourth Legion of the Space Marines, the Iron Fourth, is waging a brutal conflict against the War Witches of Venus and their Litho-Golems and Osseo-Titans. Your Cohort is assigned to aid them in destroying the Litho-Golems and free the billions of humans kept under a psychic yoke.
You are assigned to an expeditionary fleet of the Fourth Legion of the Space Marines.
[] [LEGION] Battle in the Lightless Dark:
In the darkness of the Oort Cloud, where there is no light beyond that which ships bring with them. Into the lightless dark you ventured alongside the Fifth Legion Star Hunters to find the hidden outposts of humanity who believed themselves the last humans in existence, outposts of alien empires with designs on the Solar System, Orkoid encroachment, and extensions of the False Moon's yoke.
You are assigned to an expeditionary fleet of the Fifth Legion of the Space Marines.
[] [LEGION] The Purgation of the Neptunian Deeps: When the false moon Sedna threatened the Solar System, the depths of Neptunes moons became a refuge to many fleeing the predation of the invaders. In that time, the people of the Solar System fled into the Neptunian deeps in order to survive. Now, the moons of Neptune are inhabited by swarms of mutants devoid of any humanity and enthralled by a caste of psykers. The Emperor has decreed that they must be destroyed and the ships they dwell in prepared for the attack on Sedna.
You are assigned to an Expeditionary Fleet of the Revenant Legion, the Ninth Legion of the Legionnes Astartes
[] [LEGION] The Jovian Liberation:
Pirates of human, mutant, and Xenos stock have long infested Jovian space, keeping many of the Jovian Void Clans under a yoke, a mass of anarchic violent space surrounds a scarce few islands of civilization where the Jovian shipwrights barter their secrets for survival. The fighting here promises to be brutal, thousands of small habitats and ships needing to be defeated. The Astartes of the Warborn Legion are to lead the efforts to secure this area of the Solar System, supported by the still-nascent Sentinels of the Void of the Seventh Legion.
You are assigned to an expeditionary fleet of the Thirteenth Legion of the Space Marines, assisted by a contingent of Seventh Legion.
[] [LEGION] The Emperor's Wolves:
The conquerors of Luna and the Selenar Gene Cults, the Sixteenth Legion of the Astartes has been fighting suppression campaigns in the depths of the Lunar Orbital Plates against Selenar remnants that refuse to surrender, and securing the Terran-Lunar Lagrange points and the vast orbital cities located there. The 'Luna Wolves' As their nickname has come to be known, are the iron fist hidden beneath the silk glove of Imperial Diplomacy, taking on those who refuse to join the Imperium.
You are assigned to an expeditionary fleet of the Sixteenth Legion of the Space Marines.
[] [LEGION] Liberation of Lysithea:
One of the moons of Jupiter is occupied by a hitherto unknown species of fungal xenos parasites that is unaligned with the False Moon. They are marked for extermination for their piracy and infection of nearby human polities into incubators for their spores. The Nineteenth Legion of the Space Marines, The Pale Nomads, has been deployed in force to destroy them, and they have requested Auxilia to hold the moon's many docks to stop the Xenos from breaking out as they fight their way into the moon's core and burn the alien fungal warrens.
You are assigned to an expeditionary fleet of the Nineteenth Legion of the Space Marines.
Your Cohort will be called the
[][NAME] Write in a name for your Cohort.
Hello everyone, Mayto is back! I am here to run a very narratively focused quest about being a Solar Auxilia Legate Marshal, trying to survive the Great Crusade and make it through alive. This Specialisation choice is purely so people can make a decision about what kind of fighting they'd like to do.
There is no rush to decide what sort of story you want. After this is chosen, you will be given a name, and go through your first battle.
Plan-voting. Please include a bit of backstory for your Cohort and what your intentions are.
You are no Legionnes Astartes, No Primarch, no great leader, you are an officer of a Cohort of elite human footsoldiers that is nevertheless destined to play a secondary role to the Space Marine Legions.
You will command no great battlefronts, and you are destined to follow orders and try to make your way through the Great Crusade with as many of your people as possible, for the promises of gaining a world for your Regiment once it is finally disbanded. your story starts at the very beginning of the Great Crusade, having joined at the very start of the greatest military undertaking in human history.
This is not the Imperium at its height, this is the Imperium at is weakest in a galaxy still teeming with untold horrors and foes that are more than capable of resisting if not crushing it.
The Solar System, birthplace of humanity, and the place where its hopes and dreams died. For millenia it suffered.
Terra, the birthworld of humanity, lies ravaged by Nuclear Holocaust and Eugenical Gene Wars, its surface pitted with craters and its nation-states reduced to fractured realms under the thumbs of priest-kings, vivisector covens, alchemical gene-sorcerers, and techno-barbarians.
Luna, Terra's natural satellite, has been controlled by the Selenar Gene-Cults for millenia, its matriarchs selectively producing a planetary population and labour force that is enthralled to their whims.
Mars, the second great world of the Solar system, fell to psyker-covens and nuclear war as these new rulers established control, a green paradis returned to a red hell. Then the worshippers of the Machine God emerged from the depths and destroyed their Psychic overlords in a thousand year war.
Venus, once a garden, now finds itself fiefdom of the War Witches, its billions little but fodder for feuding cabals, fresh parts for armies of Litho-Golems and Osseo-Titans.
On the cobalt-saturated surface of Mercury, Scavenger Clans and mutant tribes fight for survival and control of ruined crawler-citties , even as the world shakes as ancient antimatter refineries tear apart in white blasts of annihilation. Humanity endures in the warrens beneath its surface, underground cities where the rule of law still exists, and who provide the system's precious antimatter supply.
Jupiter, once home of the greatest shipyards in human history, is now home to the Jovian Void Clans, shipbuilders whose ancient art is all that allows them to resist invasion, even as their holdings shrink each generation in the face of pirates and alien invasion.
The False Moon's yoke has established footholds throughout the outer planets, the humans under their yoke bred into mewling stunted things to bear their larvae. Even as this happens, other Xenos continued to attack the Solar System,
The Saturnyne Ordos are the only civilization within the Solar System to endure Old Night without suffering a complete collapse. But this survival came at a cost, and the soldiers who'd found the Ordo only endured through ruthless psyker-culls and merciless rationing of resources. Saturn is beset however, with the Khrave forming a cancerous incursion around the moon of Enceladus that has resisted every attempt to destroy it.
Uranus is a shadow of its former glory as the great fuel station of human expansion, reduced to scattered outposts of civilization in a void teeming with mutant pirate fleets, including what rumours claim to be remnant Artificial Intelligence constructs that endured after the Age of Strife, their minds rendered incapable of self-replication.
Within the depths of Neptune's moons, genetic engineering meant to ensure survival has turned the inhabitants of these worlds into horrific mutants utterly devoid of their humanity, their ability to adapt to any environment forced to change them to live in polluted warp-tainted caverns and habitats. These creatures ferociously defend their environments, using scavenged warships from the Dark Age of Technology to launch attacks on humans in their endless hunger for flesh.
And beyond the light of Sol, the False Moon of Sedna stirs, spewing forth swarms of horror, its full awakening promising the end of all things.
But this status quo has been shattered, and the deeds of one man are on everyones lips, the one who promises to put an end to this madness.
A new warlord has united Terra and Mars, a Golden being of incomparable Psychic Might, leading twenty legions of transhuman warriors. Luna has been conquered by the Luna Wolves Space Marines, and its gene looms put to work producing Astartes. Mars has bent the knee to this leader, recognizing him as the avatar of their god, while the Saturnyne Ordos has sworn itself to his service. Vast armies are mustering and setting out from Terra across the Solar System to liberate it.
The Void Hoplites of the Saturnyne Ordos have already proven themselves as an excellent highly-adaptable template of void-capable soldiery, one which the Emperor is already seeking to expand. Across the solar system, the call is going out for men and women to enlist in the Solar Auxilia and take up the banner of Unity, to prepare for the greatest military undertaking in human history.
The pay is good and the perks are extensive. All who serve a tour of duty for twenty five years will be given noble titles, land, and wealth, with the option of gaining whole worlds dangling above the heads of some.
The Age of Strife is over, and your story begins here.
The Cohort you will join was raised among the following people sworn to the Emperor:
The disparate tribes and people of Terra that endured the horrors of Old Night still bear the brutal scars. The people have endured much, possessing a strong resilience towards radiation and pollution. Terra is a world of feral tribes, decrepit Hive Cities and ravaged nation states on the periphery.
[][ORIGIN] Terran Tribe:
Parts of terra destroyed early on in the Age of Strife eventually became home to hardy tribes that livee hand to mouth with an eclectic mixture of primitive tribes with scatterings of high technology. These are peoples ruled and controlled through violence. Many of these tribes were quick to swear loyalty to the Lord of Lightning, although the degree of reverence towards him veers on the deific among some.
Examples include the Texii gun tribes of the Merician continent, the Albian and Highland tribes of Old - Europa, the Mapuktche of Hybrasil, and the myriad peoples of the Gobi chem-wastes.
Your Cohort is recruited from one of Terra's tribes, with the promise of your tribe resettling to a new world if your Cohort wins one.
[][ORIGIN] Terran Nation:
Some bastions of sanity and civilization endured upon Terra, be they decrepit hives, or remote cities of brick and concrete. These nations carefully guarded the remnants of the cultural legacy of mankind, fielding haphazard armies equipped with what industry and archeotech that humanity had managed to preserve.
Examples include:
The Anzak hives, Nordafrik communes, the Merician city states, Belux dome cities, the Dragon Nations of the pan pacific and more.
Your Cohort is a retrained army from one of Terra's nation states, bulked out with a mixture of gutter trash, idealists, patriots, and ambitious fools.
[][ORIGIN] Terran Techno-Clan:
The Techno-Clans of Terra are groups that managed to hold onto the secrets of technology, many of them coming from ancient corporate cartels. Within hidden citadels these groups survived the Age of Strife, trading advanced technology for influence. With the proclamation of unity, these Techno-Clans no longer needed the large masses of serfs and menials to support them, due to the reintroduction of a global currency and the Adeptus Arbites.
Examples include the Terrawatt, Rii-thyon, and Yendainam clans,
Your Cohort is made up of the former menials and serfs of a Techno-Clan that were no longer needed to support a clan.
[][ORIGIN] Jovian Void Clan:
The people of Jupiter endured much during the Age of Strife, the Void Clans forming tight bonds in the face of adversity. The people of the Jovian Void Clans adapted to a space-based existence, maintaining a fleet and the limited trade lanes of the Solar System. Spread out among familial clan-ships holding small communities, to massive multi-clan fortresses.
Your Cohort was recruited from several consanguineous Void Clans, primarily made up of young men and women with little prospects.
[][ORIGIN] Saturnyne Ordos:
The Saturnyne Ordos are the only civilization within the Solar System to endure Old Night without suffering a complete collapse. But this survival came at a cost, and the soldiers who'd found the Ordo endured through ruthless psyker-culls and merciless rationing of resources. Saturnyne society is strict, Saturnian space patrolled at all times and protected without mercy for any xenos or mutants that attempt to intrude.
Your Cohort is an existing Void Hoplite Cohort that has been rebranded as Solar Auxilia.
Cohort Specialization and equipment:
Although your Cohort has all the equipment of one of the Early Solar Auxilia regiments, yours is slightly focused upon a specific purpose, a purpose for which you'll be a Sub-Tercio officer. As the Great Crusade progresses, the equipment and weapons of the Solar Auxilia will change.
Void war:
Your Cohort specialises in naval boarding operations and operates a dedicated voidship instead of being moved around as needed. You primarily deploy in the void, fighting boarding actions, seizing enemy orbitals, and opening the way for other Auxilia to attack planets. This Cohort has been reinforced by a core of elite Saturnyne Veletaris.
You start commanding a Sub-Tercio of:
4 Solar Auxilia Lasrifle Sections
1 Veletaris Volkite Section
(Can only be taken by Saturnyne or Jovian Cohorts)
Planetary Landing Cohort:
Your Cohort has the numbers to engage in planetary landings and either advance behind the Astartes to take the ground they secured, or to give their mobile strike forces existing fortifications to attack from. They are not expected to launch attacks beyond securing landing sites.
You start commanding a Sub-Tercio of:
3 Solar Auxilia Lasrifle Sections
2 Solar Auxilia Veteran Lasrifle Sections
1 Solar Auxilia Rapier Section
Siege:
This Cohort has been equipped for laying siege to alien fortifications and breaking them down. Their purpose is to surround the enemy and lay down supporting fire on an enemy fortreess, grinding them away from a comfortable distance.
You start commanding a Sub-Tercio of:
4 Solar Auxilia Lasrifle Sections.
1 Solar Auxilia Flamer Section.
1 Solar Auxilia Rapier Section.
Chemical Warfare:
Your Cohort is authorised to deploy Phosphex and Chemical weaponry. Your Cohort is deployed when an enemy is to be destroyed so utterly that the destruction of the world on which you fight is not just accepted, but expected.
You start commanding a Sub-Tercio of:
3 Solar Auxilia Lasrifle Sections
1 Solar Auxilia Destroyer Support Section.
(Can only be taken with a Terran Cohort due to generational adaptations to Phosphex and Chemical weaponry.)
Marine Support:
It has been learned that several of the Space Marine Legions are unstable and prone to uncontrollable rages. Your Cohort has the unenviable task of clearing out foes the Astartes ignored for the sake of easier kills, and aiding the field police of the Consuls Opsequiari in maintaining order and discipline over their brothers. This is known to involve lethal force
You start commanding a Sub-Tercio of:
3 Solar Auxilia Lasrifle Sections
2 Ogryn Charonite Sections
The Solar Reclamation:
The fighting within the Solar System is a war fought on multiple fronts, as the Legionnes Astartes are sent out in all directions as fast as new ships can be built, or old ships refurbished, while the Jovian and Saturnyne fleets fight a brutal omni-directional campaign to secure their own holdings. The Khrave infestation on Enceladus is little more than pools of bubbling Phosphex, while the Orkoid incursions around Pluto burn in the void, their corpses picked over by the Fifth Saturnyne Hoplite Fleet, even as The Warborn and Sentinels of the Void fight to restore the Solar System's trade networks.
Your cohort's first battle although not permanently bonding you to a Legion, would permanently change the Cohort's outlook and identity.
(Not every legion is involved in the battle for the Solar System, or was the type to cooperate with regular human troops.)
[] [LEGION] March on the False Moon:
At the edge of the Solar system lies the False Moon, the hive of an alien invasion that has been consuming the solar system for nigh-on three thousand years. The worst inhumanity the Xenos can muster waits upon the moon, ready to bring all the horrors of Old Night to bear. Psi-Constructs, thrall hosts, flesh golems, looted xeno-archeotech from the depths of their lair, void wraiths. You are assigned to follow in the footsteps of the First Legion on the long march to Sedna, clearing out the Kuiper Belt of Xenos nests in anticipation of an Emperor-led assault on Sedna after the Solar System has been reclaimed for humanity.
You are assigned to an expeditionary fleet of the First Legion of the Space Marines.
[] [LEGION] The Antarctic Campaign:
The Antarctic is a hub of Anti-Imperial sentiment that lasted long after the official proclamation of Terran Unity. The Heralds of the Imperium Legion is leading the clearance of the last remaining rebel hive cities of their tyrants, the low numbers of this Legion meaning they are aiding their human allies as leaders, advisors, and support formations. The Emperor would have Terra secured before the push on the Nemesis Moon.
You are assigned to an expeditionary fleet of the Third Legion of the Space Marines.
[] [LEGION] Liberation of Venus:
The Fourth Legion of the Space Marines, the Iron Fourth, is waging a brutal conflict against the War Witches of Venus and their Litho-Golems and Osseo-Titans. Your Cohort is assigned to aid them in destroying the Litho-Golems and free the billions of humans kept under a psychic yoke.
You are assigned to an expeditionary fleet of the Fourth Legion of the Space Marines.
[] [LEGION] Battle in the Lightless Dark:
In the darkness of the Oort Cloud, where there is no light beyond that which ships bring with them. Into the lightless dark you ventured alongside the Fifth Legion Star Hunters to find the hidden outposts of humanity who believed themselves the last humans in existence, outposts of alien empires with designs on the Solar System, Orkoid encroachment, and extensions of the False Moon's yoke.
You are assigned to an expeditionary fleet of the Fifth Legion of the Space Marines.
[] [LEGION] The Purgation of the Neptunian Deeps: When the false moon Sedna threatened the Solar System, the depths of Neptunes moons became a refuge to many fleeing the predation of the invaders. In that time, the people of the Solar System fled into the Neptunian deeps in order to survive. Now, the moons of Neptune are inhabited by swarms of mutants devoid of any humanity and enthralled by a caste of psykers. The Emperor has decreed that they must be destroyed and the ships they dwell in prepared for the attack on Sedna.
You are assigned to an Expeditionary Fleet of the Revenant Legion, the Ninth Legion of the Legionnes Astartes
[] [LEGION] The Jovian Liberation:
Pirates of human, mutant, and Xenos stock have long infested Jovian space, keeping many of the Jovian Void Clans under a yoke, a mass of anarchic violent space surrounds a scarce few islands of civilization where the Jovian shipwrights barter their secrets for survival. The fighting here promises to be brutal, thousands of small habitats and ships needing to be defeated. The Astartes of the Warborn Legion are to lead the efforts to secure this area of the Solar System, supported by the still-nascent Sentinels of the Void of the Seventh Legion.
You are assigned to an expeditionary fleet of the Thirteenth Legion of the Space Marines, assisted by a contingent of Seventh Legion.
[] [LEGION] The Emperor's Wolves:
The conquerors of Luna and the Selenar Gene Cults, the Sixteenth Legion of the Astartes has been fighting suppression campaigns in the depths of the Lunar Orbital Plates against Selenar remnants that refuse to surrender, and securing the Terran-Lunar Lagrange points and the vast orbital cities located there. The 'Luna Wolves' As their nickname has come to be known, are the iron fist hidden beneath the silk glove of Imperial Diplomacy, taking on those who refuse to join the Imperium.
You are assigned to an expeditionary fleet of the Sixteenth Legion of the Space Marines.
[] [LEGION] Liberation of Lysithea:
One of the moons of Jupiter is occupied by a hitherto unknown species of fungal xenos parasites that is unaligned with the False Moon. They are marked for extermination for their piracy and infection of nearby human polities into incubators for their spores. The Nineteenth Legion of the Space Marines, The Pale Nomads, has been deployed in force to destroy them, and they have requested Auxilia to hold the moon's many docks to stop the Xenos from breaking out as they fight their way into the moon's core and burn the alien fungal warrens.
You are assigned to an expeditionary fleet of the Nineteenth Legion of the Space Marines.
Your Cohort will be called the
[][NAME] Write in a name for your Cohort.
Hello everyone, Mayto is back! I am here to run a very narratively focused quest about being a Solar Auxilia Legate Marshal, trying to survive the Great Crusade and make it through alive. This Specialisation choice is purely so people can make a decision about what kind of fighting they'd like to do.
There is no rush to decide what sort of story you want. After this is chosen, you will be given a name, and go through your first battle.
Plan-voting. Please include a bit of backstory for your Cohort and what your intentions are.
Last edited:
Character Creation
- Location
- Netherlands
Franc and the Age of Strife.
The nation of Franc suffered heavily during the Age of Strife, reduced to a single Hive city and a great hinterland of small villages and smaller city states that functioned as extensions of Pars, but it still is a proud nation that possesses a large arsenal of Dark Age war machines, and unique for the region, domestic production of low yield fission and fusion ordnances.
Franc as a nation did not descend back into the feudalism of warlordry and managed to maintain a mostly-functional parliamentary legislature. The nobles and highborn of surrounding states made inroads into Franc politics, resulting in a consistent back and forth as aristocratic and republican forces regularly clashed for control over the state.
When the armies of the Emperor swept north from Gyptus across the mediterranean salt flats, they made their way up the Balkx, absorbing the techno-clans of the mountains and absorbing the Anatoli peoples into his army. Blocked by the Caucasian wastes, and not yet willing to tackle Ursh, the Emperor cut through Europa, conquering the Jermani wastes on the way to the Nordyc where he destroyed the Maulland Sen Confederacy.
This long and unexplained detour allowed the Franc to prepare for the war, fortifying the old borders with intricate trench networks, bunkers, fortresses, expanding the army through mass-mobilization, hiring mercenaries, and preparing stockpiles of low-yield battlefield atomics to counter the Thunder Warriors.
During the great battles of the Emperor's conquest of Franc, its ancient regiments threw themselves against the Thunder Warriors with all the technological prowess it could muster, breaking out its stockpiles of weapons of mass destruction in a brutal ten year war that saw the borderlands between Franc and the Jermanic wastes turned into a blasted irradiated hell. The Emperor's advance on Franc was delayed until a second army, fresh off the conquest of the Nordafrik Enclaves, crossed the salt flat and attacked Franc on a second front.
The most potent weapons fielded by Franc during the war were its large nuclear and chemical arsenal, which it used with brutal efficiency against the invaders. Although it is not discussed in polite company, the Franc army was able to kill a number of the Adeptus Custodes and their accompanying Thunder Warrior Legion and mortal soldiery by ambushing the Custodes with shoulder-mounted atomic rockets, hitting the Thunder Warriors with Phosphex shells, and deploying nerve gas against the mortal troops, followed by a bayonet charge from grenadiers in rad suits.
The conflict took nearly a decade, with Franc finally being forced to the negotiating table and offering its formal surrender. Its resistance and the fact the war took place early in the Unification Wars, gave it the opportunity to negotiate a favourable surrender to the Imperium. The Emperor had need of their armies and atomic stockpiles for the invasion of Albia and the push on the Mid-Atlantik hives, and was content to take them intact. It was, however, required to join the other nations of Europe in giving a large tithe of noble youth to the Legionnes Astartes.
Your name is
[] [NAME] Write in a name.
[][SEX] Male
[][SEX] Female
What motivates your military service?
(choose one)
[] [UPBRINGING] From the gutter:
You lived in the depths of Pars Hive, so deep that you actually touched the bare ground of Terra once. The only reason your father did not smother you was because your mother killed him and sold his body to the bio-merchants. Regularly unemployed, she had to sell herself in order to provide for you. You killed your first man when you were eleven. After a life of petty crime, you were finally arrested after killing your mother's pimp. Faced with a penal sentence or military service, you chose the army.
Dirty fighter.
You fight with the speed, skill, and ruthlessness of a hive ganger. It is clear to observers you have not had a day of formal combat schooling in your life before joining.
Equipment.
Instead of a graceful blade expected of Solar Auxilia officers, you have a relic power dagger you took from your mother's pimp, and being unable to afford a service pistol, you instead use a rifle like your fellow soldiers.
Your low social ranking means there are few expectations for you, but fewer opportunities for a leg up at the start. You are in the great crusade for money and power.
[] [UPBRINGING] Ambitious Nouveau Rich:
Your family is rich. Incredibly for commoners. A non-aristocratic family that managed to corner the arms market through the creation of reliable but unornamented weaponry for the Gendarmerie. Your family has little true political power and lacks legitimacy and prestige due to being nouveau riche, and therefore seeks land and titles. Your family instead has been training its scions and putting them into the army in the hopes they will be granted land and titles upon foreign worlds, and finally make the family official aristocracy.
Unfortunately for you, there was only one regiment available which didn't have someone of your family as part of it.
Mercantile ambitions:
You are in semi-reliable contact with your family regarding trade opportunities on newly compliant worlds, and you share their interest in attaining a position of nobility on a newly conquered world. If you earn the right to field retainers and lifeward, you can leverage your family's wealth to equip them.
Equipment:
You start with a Saturnyne Volkite pistol that is worth more than the average village in Franc, a very ostentatious and blatant show of wealth, and a duelling sword you trained to use as part of a 'patrician' education.
[] [UPBRINGING] Child of the Republican Legislature:
Your family was nominally part of the political opposition and had been one of the political parties voting in favor of joining the Imperium when the offer was laid before the legislature. As the war wound down and it became clear that Franc could make the Imperium bleed, your family's party won the election on a pro-peace platform. They opened negotiations with the Emperor and carved out additional rights, liberties, and exceptions from Imperial Law for the people of Franc, maintaining its own technological base, limited Arbites involvement, and a light tithe to the Administratum, in exchange for handing over Dark Age weapons stockpiles and joining the war for Unity by aiding the assault on Albia.
However, due to still being seen by some as being the ones to give away Franc's liberty, you were blackballed from more prestigious military positions by the Old Guard of the Franc military.
Republican Idealist:
While the journey there will be long and hard, and a great deal of toil and pain will be required to get there, you genuinely believe the Emperor when he claims that one day, the Imperium's rulers will be elected in free and fair elections, and the time of indentured labour and serfdom will be abolished. You have grand plans for the world that you are certain you'll earn.
Political connections:
Your family are involved in Terran politics and should be willing to aid your advancement through the military.
Duelling training:
A fine power sword and a parrying dagger are the weapons you have been trained to use to settle matters of honour, although the dagger is replaced with a laspistol when going into a fight.
[] [UPBRINGING] Highborn:
Your ancestors are nobles from a lineage that has fallen in steep decline following a failed coup against the Republic in the years before Unity. With little hopes of advancement within your own nation, you decided to join the military. However, your lineage still haunts you, and the only regiment that was open to you, was a low-status Chemical Warfare Cohort. With no better option, it is what you picked.
Lifeward.
As a noble, you're allowed a personal retainer to accompany you on the battlefield. It is also the only one your house can afford.
Murderous rivalries.
A rival noble family has a scion as a part of the regiment, one who will stop at nothing short of blatantly breaking the Lex Imperialis, to see your ambitions stopped.
Equipment:
You have a fine duelling sword and an ornamented laspistol as your weapons of choice.
The Space Marines: To say the Space Marines are an influential force on Terra is an understatement, nearly everywhere on the homeworld the recruiters of the Marines are a feared or anticipated sight, taking the youth of the world and elevating them to the finest warriors of the Emperor.
The People of Old Europa have a unique connection with the Adeptus Astartes. Your ancestors nearly all resisted the Emperor, and as punishment, its nobles and politicians had to surrender their healthy male children to the Astartes of the Third Legion. Over time, this has become a ritual, with the firstborn of each noble family being sent to this Legion.
Although this does not mean the lower-ranking members of society are ignored as sources of recruits. Instead the recruiters of the Imperial Biotechnica Division regularly search out potential aspirants, however due to the terms of Franc's surrender to the Imperium, they have to offer a payment before taking the children, although take them they will.
This is an optional choice:
[] [ASTARTES] Kin among the Astartes:
Your brother was taken by the Space Marines for induction and successfully passed his trials to become a Space Marine. Although due to the hypno-indoctrination involved with Astartes creation, it is unlikely that he would ever recognize you were you to meet again. Your bloodline has been marked by the Legions as compatible with marine recruitment.
Pros: Your bloodline is tracked for marine recruitment.
Cons: Your bloodline is tracked for marine recruitment.
History of the 7th Verdyn Chemical Engineers Cohort of the Solar Auxilia:
Terra as a whole is preparing countless regiments for interstellar war, each of the states sworn to Unity instructed by Imperial Decree to provide its soldiers for the leap into the void, either by supplying their own regiments, specifically armoured regiments, or offering troops for retraining by Saturnyne Ordos instructors along the new Solar-Pattern.
Franc has always maintained a large standing army through the Age of Strife and as part of accepting the Emperor's Unity, these troops had to be given up for the Great Crusade. Millions of soldiers from a myriad of regiments either setting out with their traditional equipment, or going through retraining programmes. And all of them are required for the struggle to come.
The regiment that you joined was the 7th Verdyn Chemical Engineers, a regiment of Frankian combat engineers based in the bastion they are named after, whose experience with using rad suits and hazardous environment gear ensured that when the nascent Imperial Administratum took a census of Franc's armies, they were chosen for retraining into Auxilia.
Originating from a border region of Franc, the Bastion of Verdyn was, going by the scant remaining historical records, constructed before Old Night as part of the Iron War. The bastion was thereafter used primarily to stop Techno-Barbarians incursions.
The proudest relic of the Verdynis a brazier holding a fire lit from an eternal flame that predates all existing records, sourced from a pre-First Atomic War shrine, supposedly relocated on the eve of the global thermonuclear exchange that marked the beginning of the Age of Strife. It was guarded by a hereditary line of warriors whom had kept up their charge through the turbulent history of their state, serving kings, presidents, emperors, and warlords.
During the fighting, Geno-Mercenaries from the Atlantik Hives went renegade and endangered the shrine, their bodies twisting and reshaping themselves as they screamed in a language that defied understanding. As part of their duty of protecting the shrine, its guards opened fire upon their Geno-Mercenary allies.
This act drew the attention of a group of Custodians participating in the battle, their steel semi-powered armour and unadorned Auramite helmets glinting in the sun. The Shrine negotiated a surrender to the Custodes in exchange for aid in keeping their charge safe, which was granted, and one of the Custodes joined the protection detail.
In recognition of their defence of humanity's cultural heritage, after the war the shrine was outfitted with Void Shields, an emergency Stasis field, and its defenders rejuvenated and geno-augmented. It is customary among many Franc soldiers that, before they set out, they take their oath of duty in this shrine, promising to uphold the military strength and valour of their people.
Although this story is a point of great pride among the Verdynites, that is little comfort for those given the very much 'dishonourable' role of deploying chemical and radiological weaponry. While the leaders of the Auxilia regiment are undeniably skilled at their craft, having learned it in the Wars of Unity, the bulk of the officer corps consists of those who can not find a better assignment. Many of them are young, descended from families out of favor with the Imperium. Meanwhile the rank and file, although strictly trained and well drilled, are still predominantly lower ranking members of society, with a great many recruited from Franc's prisons.
How did you become an officer of the 7th Verdyn?
(choose one)
[] [OFFICER] You were Groomed for Command:
You were chosen to become an officer due to your excellent entrance exam scores. You learned at one of the ancient military academies of Franc and passed with flying colours.
The average members of the rank and file think you're a bit of a fop.
[] [OFFICER] Rose from the common soldiery:
You were just a regular trooper patrolling the Atlantic waste, when you were suddenly attacked by an anti-imperial scavenger tribe. You rallied the rest of your patrol and led them out of the ambush. This feat got you taken out of the line and re-assigned to officer training.
The 'real' officers look down on you.
It is time for Character Creation!
Plan voting, with a two hour moratorium on plans.
The nation of Franc suffered heavily during the Age of Strife, reduced to a single Hive city and a great hinterland of small villages and smaller city states that functioned as extensions of Pars, but it still is a proud nation that possesses a large arsenal of Dark Age war machines, and unique for the region, domestic production of low yield fission and fusion ordnances.
Franc as a nation did not descend back into the feudalism of warlordry and managed to maintain a mostly-functional parliamentary legislature. The nobles and highborn of surrounding states made inroads into Franc politics, resulting in a consistent back and forth as aristocratic and republican forces regularly clashed for control over the state.
When the armies of the Emperor swept north from Gyptus across the mediterranean salt flats, they made their way up the Balkx, absorbing the techno-clans of the mountains and absorbing the Anatoli peoples into his army. Blocked by the Caucasian wastes, and not yet willing to tackle Ursh, the Emperor cut through Europa, conquering the Jermani wastes on the way to the Nordyc where he destroyed the Maulland Sen Confederacy.
This long and unexplained detour allowed the Franc to prepare for the war, fortifying the old borders with intricate trench networks, bunkers, fortresses, expanding the army through mass-mobilization, hiring mercenaries, and preparing stockpiles of low-yield battlefield atomics to counter the Thunder Warriors.
During the great battles of the Emperor's conquest of Franc, its ancient regiments threw themselves against the Thunder Warriors with all the technological prowess it could muster, breaking out its stockpiles of weapons of mass destruction in a brutal ten year war that saw the borderlands between Franc and the Jermanic wastes turned into a blasted irradiated hell. The Emperor's advance on Franc was delayed until a second army, fresh off the conquest of the Nordafrik Enclaves, crossed the salt flat and attacked Franc on a second front.
The most potent weapons fielded by Franc during the war were its large nuclear and chemical arsenal, which it used with brutal efficiency against the invaders. Although it is not discussed in polite company, the Franc army was able to kill a number of the Adeptus Custodes and their accompanying Thunder Warrior Legion and mortal soldiery by ambushing the Custodes with shoulder-mounted atomic rockets, hitting the Thunder Warriors with Phosphex shells, and deploying nerve gas against the mortal troops, followed by a bayonet charge from grenadiers in rad suits.
The conflict took nearly a decade, with Franc finally being forced to the negotiating table and offering its formal surrender. Its resistance and the fact the war took place early in the Unification Wars, gave it the opportunity to negotiate a favourable surrender to the Imperium. The Emperor had need of their armies and atomic stockpiles for the invasion of Albia and the push on the Mid-Atlantik hives, and was content to take them intact. It was, however, required to join the other nations of Europe in giving a large tithe of noble youth to the Legionnes Astartes.
Your name is
[] [NAME] Write in a name.
[][SEX] Male
[][SEX] Female
What motivates your military service?
(choose one)
[] [UPBRINGING] From the gutter:
You lived in the depths of Pars Hive, so deep that you actually touched the bare ground of Terra once. The only reason your father did not smother you was because your mother killed him and sold his body to the bio-merchants. Regularly unemployed, she had to sell herself in order to provide for you. You killed your first man when you were eleven. After a life of petty crime, you were finally arrested after killing your mother's pimp. Faced with a penal sentence or military service, you chose the army.
Dirty fighter.
You fight with the speed, skill, and ruthlessness of a hive ganger. It is clear to observers you have not had a day of formal combat schooling in your life before joining.
Equipment.
Instead of a graceful blade expected of Solar Auxilia officers, you have a relic power dagger you took from your mother's pimp, and being unable to afford a service pistol, you instead use a rifle like your fellow soldiers.
Your low social ranking means there are few expectations for you, but fewer opportunities for a leg up at the start. You are in the great crusade for money and power.
[] [UPBRINGING] Ambitious Nouveau Rich:
Your family is rich. Incredibly for commoners. A non-aristocratic family that managed to corner the arms market through the creation of reliable but unornamented weaponry for the Gendarmerie. Your family has little true political power and lacks legitimacy and prestige due to being nouveau riche, and therefore seeks land and titles. Your family instead has been training its scions and putting them into the army in the hopes they will be granted land and titles upon foreign worlds, and finally make the family official aristocracy.
Unfortunately for you, there was only one regiment available which didn't have someone of your family as part of it.
Mercantile ambitions:
You are in semi-reliable contact with your family regarding trade opportunities on newly compliant worlds, and you share their interest in attaining a position of nobility on a newly conquered world. If you earn the right to field retainers and lifeward, you can leverage your family's wealth to equip them.
Equipment:
You start with a Saturnyne Volkite pistol that is worth more than the average village in Franc, a very ostentatious and blatant show of wealth, and a duelling sword you trained to use as part of a 'patrician' education.
[] [UPBRINGING] Child of the Republican Legislature:
Your family was nominally part of the political opposition and had been one of the political parties voting in favor of joining the Imperium when the offer was laid before the legislature. As the war wound down and it became clear that Franc could make the Imperium bleed, your family's party won the election on a pro-peace platform. They opened negotiations with the Emperor and carved out additional rights, liberties, and exceptions from Imperial Law for the people of Franc, maintaining its own technological base, limited Arbites involvement, and a light tithe to the Administratum, in exchange for handing over Dark Age weapons stockpiles and joining the war for Unity by aiding the assault on Albia.
However, due to still being seen by some as being the ones to give away Franc's liberty, you were blackballed from more prestigious military positions by the Old Guard of the Franc military.
Republican Idealist:
While the journey there will be long and hard, and a great deal of toil and pain will be required to get there, you genuinely believe the Emperor when he claims that one day, the Imperium's rulers will be elected in free and fair elections, and the time of indentured labour and serfdom will be abolished. You have grand plans for the world that you are certain you'll earn.
Political connections:
Your family are involved in Terran politics and should be willing to aid your advancement through the military.
Duelling training:
A fine power sword and a parrying dagger are the weapons you have been trained to use to settle matters of honour, although the dagger is replaced with a laspistol when going into a fight.
[] [UPBRINGING] Highborn:
Your ancestors are nobles from a lineage that has fallen in steep decline following a failed coup against the Republic in the years before Unity. With little hopes of advancement within your own nation, you decided to join the military. However, your lineage still haunts you, and the only regiment that was open to you, was a low-status Chemical Warfare Cohort. With no better option, it is what you picked.
Lifeward.
As a noble, you're allowed a personal retainer to accompany you on the battlefield. It is also the only one your house can afford.
Murderous rivalries.
A rival noble family has a scion as a part of the regiment, one who will stop at nothing short of blatantly breaking the Lex Imperialis, to see your ambitions stopped.
Equipment:
You have a fine duelling sword and an ornamented laspistol as your weapons of choice.
The Space Marines: To say the Space Marines are an influential force on Terra is an understatement, nearly everywhere on the homeworld the recruiters of the Marines are a feared or anticipated sight, taking the youth of the world and elevating them to the finest warriors of the Emperor.
The People of Old Europa have a unique connection with the Adeptus Astartes. Your ancestors nearly all resisted the Emperor, and as punishment, its nobles and politicians had to surrender their healthy male children to the Astartes of the Third Legion. Over time, this has become a ritual, with the firstborn of each noble family being sent to this Legion.
Although this does not mean the lower-ranking members of society are ignored as sources of recruits. Instead the recruiters of the Imperial Biotechnica Division regularly search out potential aspirants, however due to the terms of Franc's surrender to the Imperium, they have to offer a payment before taking the children, although take them they will.
This is an optional choice:
[] [ASTARTES] Kin among the Astartes:
Your brother was taken by the Space Marines for induction and successfully passed his trials to become a Space Marine. Although due to the hypno-indoctrination involved with Astartes creation, it is unlikely that he would ever recognize you were you to meet again. Your bloodline has been marked by the Legions as compatible with marine recruitment.
Pros: Your bloodline is tracked for marine recruitment.
Cons: Your bloodline is tracked for marine recruitment.
History of the 7th Verdyn Chemical Engineers Cohort of the Solar Auxilia:
Terra as a whole is preparing countless regiments for interstellar war, each of the states sworn to Unity instructed by Imperial Decree to provide its soldiers for the leap into the void, either by supplying their own regiments, specifically armoured regiments, or offering troops for retraining by Saturnyne Ordos instructors along the new Solar-Pattern.
Franc has always maintained a large standing army through the Age of Strife and as part of accepting the Emperor's Unity, these troops had to be given up for the Great Crusade. Millions of soldiers from a myriad of regiments either setting out with their traditional equipment, or going through retraining programmes. And all of them are required for the struggle to come.
The regiment that you joined was the 7th Verdyn Chemical Engineers, a regiment of Frankian combat engineers based in the bastion they are named after, whose experience with using rad suits and hazardous environment gear ensured that when the nascent Imperial Administratum took a census of Franc's armies, they were chosen for retraining into Auxilia.
Originating from a border region of Franc, the Bastion of Verdyn was, going by the scant remaining historical records, constructed before Old Night as part of the Iron War. The bastion was thereafter used primarily to stop Techno-Barbarians incursions.
The proudest relic of the Verdynis a brazier holding a fire lit from an eternal flame that predates all existing records, sourced from a pre-First Atomic War shrine, supposedly relocated on the eve of the global thermonuclear exchange that marked the beginning of the Age of Strife. It was guarded by a hereditary line of warriors whom had kept up their charge through the turbulent history of their state, serving kings, presidents, emperors, and warlords.
During the fighting, Geno-Mercenaries from the Atlantik Hives went renegade and endangered the shrine, their bodies twisting and reshaping themselves as they screamed in a language that defied understanding. As part of their duty of protecting the shrine, its guards opened fire upon their Geno-Mercenary allies.
This act drew the attention of a group of Custodians participating in the battle, their steel semi-powered armour and unadorned Auramite helmets glinting in the sun. The Shrine negotiated a surrender to the Custodes in exchange for aid in keeping their charge safe, which was granted, and one of the Custodes joined the protection detail.
In recognition of their defence of humanity's cultural heritage, after the war the shrine was outfitted with Void Shields, an emergency Stasis field, and its defenders rejuvenated and geno-augmented. It is customary among many Franc soldiers that, before they set out, they take their oath of duty in this shrine, promising to uphold the military strength and valour of their people.
Although this story is a point of great pride among the Verdynites, that is little comfort for those given the very much 'dishonourable' role of deploying chemical and radiological weaponry. While the leaders of the Auxilia regiment are undeniably skilled at their craft, having learned it in the Wars of Unity, the bulk of the officer corps consists of those who can not find a better assignment. Many of them are young, descended from families out of favor with the Imperium. Meanwhile the rank and file, although strictly trained and well drilled, are still predominantly lower ranking members of society, with a great many recruited from Franc's prisons.
How did you become an officer of the 7th Verdyn?
(choose one)
[] [OFFICER] You were Groomed for Command:
You were chosen to become an officer due to your excellent entrance exam scores. You learned at one of the ancient military academies of Franc and passed with flying colours.
The average members of the rank and file think you're a bit of a fop.
[] [OFFICER] Rose from the common soldiery:
You were just a regular trooper patrolling the Atlantic waste, when you were suddenly attacked by an anti-imperial scavenger tribe. You rallied the rest of your patrol and led them out of the ambush. This feat got you taken out of the line and re-assigned to officer training.
The 'real' officers look down on you.
It is time for Character Creation!
Plan voting, with a two hour moratorium on plans.
Purgation of Neptune, part 1
- Location
- Netherlands
You're ready.
You've trained your entire life to be the finest fighter of your family, you've attended the finest military academy of Franc, and you're commanding some damn fine troops. You feel the restraint harness of the shuttle shudder as it approaches the dock. It is an ancient habitat orbiting Neptune's moon of Triton, designated for capture and re-use by the Imperium.
An ancient relic reclaimed by humanity? A fitting first mission for one of your calibre.
"Soldiers of the Franks! Defenders of the Imperium." The voice of Tercio Lieutenant Richelle resounds in your helmet, her soft but hard-edged tones briefly distracting you. "Our ancestors endured Old Night, so that we could be here today. We shall spread enlightenment and reason to mankind as our ancestors did to the savages of Jermani in millenia past. Ready yourselves, children of the republic! Vive L'Empereur!"
The shuttle lands. You immediately get to your feet and get into position to charge down the ramp.
You thank the void seal of your armour as the sight before you reached you. The ancient space station's halls are caked with filth and grime, nearly completely concealing the white panelling beneath. Your armour warns you of the toxins in the air and the ambient radiation. Your suit can process the tainted air, but you'll stick to internal recycling for as long as possible.
The hangar bay's deck is littered with corpses that bear the tell-tale wounds of bolter impacts. A bloody trail starting around a boarding pod, but of the Astartes there is no sign. Confusion clouds your thoughts for but a moment. You were supposed to be received by a squad of fifteen Astartes who'd inserted onto the habitat via a boarding pod, aid them in fortifying the bay, then let the Astartes go on their way into the interior while you held their artery of escape or reinforcement open.
You blink-click to vox the Astartes squad you are supposedly meant to cooperate with. Close=ranged, you do not require the aid of your Vox operator. "Sergeant Khorban, where are your marines?" You vox.
A gruff voice devoid of mirth suddenly broke into the comm with a squeal of static. You can hear bolters, the grind of chainswords, and horrific screaming that you can't be sure aren't Astartes battle cries. "We're not babysitters, mortal. Wait there as we do the real work." A bark of laughter and then the vox dies down.
You inwardly curse the uncouth animals and get about securing the hangar. "Second section, stay in reserve on the left. First and third, target the main access corridor. Rapier section, set up facing the entry."
A Rapier followed by a crew of engineers and a dozen servitors rolls down the lander, accompanied by cargo palettes holding their ammunition and a single levitating stasis casket containing far deadlier payloads. Void-Sergeant Philip signals that the weapon is ready.
As the Auxilia move into position and make ready to sweep the hangar, the deck suddenly starts to shake. Distant roars and screaming fills the air. Distant lights are visible at the other end of the hangar, from the main access corridor.
"Merde!" A trooper shouts as an arm like a support pillar erupts from a deck plate and coils around his feet. The formation wavers for a moment as the massive mutant forces itself up through the deck, smashing the trooper against the ground with a sickening smack.
The troopers around the beast react on instinct, opening fire on the mutant, tearing large chunks from the beast, even as it reaches out for another human.
You take aim with your Volkite and pull the trigger. A beam of concentrated heat impacts its head and quickly burns through, flash-combusting the liquid in its upper torso in an explosion of red steam.
But the distraction nearly spells doom for the section, as more mutants swarm up through the entrance the lead creature made. You whistle a command and your sections form a double line, the first crouching and the second standing behind. Fifty-nine lasrifles charge at the exact same time. A volley of las beams scythes through the mass of attackers, rupturing flesh, searing off chitin, and turning limbs to meat stumps. The attack stumbles for but a moment before the next of the attackers reaches you.
You've never seen such a mass of twisted tainted flesh before, not even in the ruins of Antwer or the Uxemburg charnel pits. Your training kicks in and you perish the thought.
"Elan!" You shout the ancient command. Immediately, each able-bodied soldier mounts their bayonets, forming a wall of steel. You blow your helmet's integrated whistle. The section charges forward, monomolecular spikes thrusting through tainted flesh and firing their weapons just before pulling back.
"Vive L'Empereur!" You fire your volkite pistol as your Sub-Tercio echoes the war cry. The beam turns a mutant into an expanding red mist. With the flat of your power blade you stop a blow from a boarding axe, the disruptor field sparking partially against the axe. You slide your blade upwards, cutting through the metal haft. You kick the mutant back, feel your pistol chime to signal its recharge, and fire it at close range.
The melee is brutal, but the second and third sections, led by Void Sergeants Amelié and Jeanne, have repositioned and are now firing into the melee, concentrating fire on the hole in the floor, unleashing a crossfire into the mass that breaks the charge. The wave breaks and the last mutant is shot as it peeks its head out over the lip.
"Fortify. Secure for advance." You repeat the objective, whistling the commands while making hand gestures and moving behind the line, keeping your soldiers moving. Just as the École spéciale militaire de Imperialis taught you. You can hear your Void Sergeants conveying your commands to the other sections.
You frown at one of the sergeants under Void Sergeant Jeanne's usage of Imperial Gothic in giving commands to his troops instead of Française. The gutter-snipe Jeanne should be teacher her men better. You make a note to report the sergean to the Academie Franç and have him caned once for each word as the Code Militaire dictates.
(Choose at least one punishment.)
[] Have the man shot on the spot
[] Have him flogged as well for good measure.
[] Withhold his wine ration for three days. One for each word.
[] Downgrade his rations to nutrient paste for three days. One for each word.
[] give him the dignity to choose between nutrient paste or no Wine, he knows what he did wrong.
Five minutes later, the full layout of the hangar becomes clear. The hangar is accessible through a main access corridor down which the Astartes disappeared. The first and second sections have the hallway under crossfire, while the Rapier is loaded with frag shells, even as the Phosphex pod is set down and kept at the ready.
You glance to the far left, taking in the possible threat to your defence, The starboard wall is torn in a dozen places, patched up with sheet metal, dodgy welds, and glued with blobs of hardened mucus. Your combat engineers believe they can secure the side passages, but can make no guarantees.
"Raise the Argent Heart" You command your Vox officer. He nods, adjusting the bulky equipment attached to his void armour, he makes a hand signal to confirm the signal is coming through. "Hangar Beta-Twenty is secure. Requesting reinforcements to secure the beachhead."
There is an audible click as the return signal is received. The Vox Officer's helmet betrays no emotion as he ensures your message is transmitted. "Acknowledged. Be advised. Sub-Cohort Gamma, Tercio Delta, has secured all sub-tercio objectives, and is the target of the primary landing. Reinforcements will arrive with the next available shuttle."
You nod in approval. The attack is proceeding well if the primary landing is already happening. Although a part of you is disappointed that you were unable to secure the honour of securing a landing space for the main assault.
"This is Squad Tertius. We require reinforcements. The mutant overseers have brought up heavy weapons and aberrant beasts. I am down three marines. Transmitting my coordinates."
Your helmet's heads up display shows a hololith of the station. The marines are far ahead of your positions, down labyrinthine passageways and forced into what looks like a dead end. Your orders are to hold the landing zone, but if the marines perish, it will look very badly on your record, and you will be the next target. Cogs turn as you calculate how fast you can get to the marines, and if you should just let them all get eaten or not.
If you are to aid the marines, then you'll need to leave before the reinforcements arrive. You glance at the starboard wall which is still being closed off further. The work looks solid. But you can't be completely sure it won't be breached. The surest path would be to send a section in and hold it at the point the side tunnels originate from.
You make a split-second decision.
7th Verdyn Chemical engineers Cohort
Sub-Cohort Quintus
Tercio Primaris
Sub-Tercio Delta.
-First Lasrifle Section. You are in command of this Section.
-Second Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Amélie Beaufort
-Third Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Jeanne
-First Rapier Destroyer section. Led by Sergeant Philip "Pip" Bernadotte
*Equipped with a quad mortar that can fire either frag shells or Destroyer Weaponry. Will use Frag Shells unless ordered to use Destroyer Weaponry. Uses the Destroyer Weapons trait.*
Orders:Your orders are to hold the Hangar so it can be used as a landing site for troops moving into the habitat. Launching a pre-emptive attack on the mutants attacking the marines falls within those orders.
Engagements:
[]Main Access:
You are defending a long hallway and numerous vents and other passages from the riled mutant population inhabiting the habitat. The firing lanes are good, but enough mutants can pass through that a single Section might not be able to hold the enemy at range alone.
-Write in which Sections you will deploy.
[]Starboard wall:
The starboard wall is littered with holes and passages, but these all originate from a central corridor. If you do not guard it, you will have to hope and trust in the barricades and barriers put up by your troops to keep the mutants out.
-Write in IF you will deploy troops and if so, how many.
[]The Depths:
The Revenant Legion squads at the heart of the station have called for assistance, mentioning mutants with relic weapons capable of killing Astartes. A force sent to assist will not be able to aid in holding the main access corridor.
-Write in IF you will deploy sections if so, how many.
Plan Voting.
Make a single plan how you will use your available sections, where you will deploy them, and how. You have a split-second decision to make in-character, so keep that in mind when writing out your plans.
Two Hours moratorium.
You've trained your entire life to be the finest fighter of your family, you've attended the finest military academy of Franc, and you're commanding some damn fine troops. You feel the restraint harness of the shuttle shudder as it approaches the dock. It is an ancient habitat orbiting Neptune's moon of Triton, designated for capture and re-use by the Imperium.
An ancient relic reclaimed by humanity? A fitting first mission for one of your calibre.
"Soldiers of the Franks! Defenders of the Imperium." The voice of Tercio Lieutenant Richelle resounds in your helmet, her soft but hard-edged tones briefly distracting you. "Our ancestors endured Old Night, so that we could be here today. We shall spread enlightenment and reason to mankind as our ancestors did to the savages of Jermani in millenia past. Ready yourselves, children of the republic! Vive L'Empereur!"
The shuttle lands. You immediately get to your feet and get into position to charge down the ramp.
You thank the void seal of your armour as the sight before you reached you. The ancient space station's halls are caked with filth and grime, nearly completely concealing the white panelling beneath. Your armour warns you of the toxins in the air and the ambient radiation. Your suit can process the tainted air, but you'll stick to internal recycling for as long as possible.
The hangar bay's deck is littered with corpses that bear the tell-tale wounds of bolter impacts. A bloody trail starting around a boarding pod, but of the Astartes there is no sign. Confusion clouds your thoughts for but a moment. You were supposed to be received by a squad of fifteen Astartes who'd inserted onto the habitat via a boarding pod, aid them in fortifying the bay, then let the Astartes go on their way into the interior while you held their artery of escape or reinforcement open.
You blink-click to vox the Astartes squad you are supposedly meant to cooperate with. Close=ranged, you do not require the aid of your Vox operator. "Sergeant Khorban, where are your marines?" You vox.
A gruff voice devoid of mirth suddenly broke into the comm with a squeal of static. You can hear bolters, the grind of chainswords, and horrific screaming that you can't be sure aren't Astartes battle cries. "We're not babysitters, mortal. Wait there as we do the real work." A bark of laughter and then the vox dies down.
You inwardly curse the uncouth animals and get about securing the hangar. "Second section, stay in reserve on the left. First and third, target the main access corridor. Rapier section, set up facing the entry."
A Rapier followed by a crew of engineers and a dozen servitors rolls down the lander, accompanied by cargo palettes holding their ammunition and a single levitating stasis casket containing far deadlier payloads. Void-Sergeant Philip signals that the weapon is ready.
As the Auxilia move into position and make ready to sweep the hangar, the deck suddenly starts to shake. Distant roars and screaming fills the air. Distant lights are visible at the other end of the hangar, from the main access corridor.
"Merde!" A trooper shouts as an arm like a support pillar erupts from a deck plate and coils around his feet. The formation wavers for a moment as the massive mutant forces itself up through the deck, smashing the trooper against the ground with a sickening smack.
The troopers around the beast react on instinct, opening fire on the mutant, tearing large chunks from the beast, even as it reaches out for another human.
You take aim with your Volkite and pull the trigger. A beam of concentrated heat impacts its head and quickly burns through, flash-combusting the liquid in its upper torso in an explosion of red steam.
But the distraction nearly spells doom for the section, as more mutants swarm up through the entrance the lead creature made. You whistle a command and your sections form a double line, the first crouching and the second standing behind. Fifty-nine lasrifles charge at the exact same time. A volley of las beams scythes through the mass of attackers, rupturing flesh, searing off chitin, and turning limbs to meat stumps. The attack stumbles for but a moment before the next of the attackers reaches you.
You've never seen such a mass of twisted tainted flesh before, not even in the ruins of Antwer or the Uxemburg charnel pits. Your training kicks in and you perish the thought.
"Elan!" You shout the ancient command. Immediately, each able-bodied soldier mounts their bayonets, forming a wall of steel. You blow your helmet's integrated whistle. The section charges forward, monomolecular spikes thrusting through tainted flesh and firing their weapons just before pulling back.
"Vive L'Empereur!" You fire your volkite pistol as your Sub-Tercio echoes the war cry. The beam turns a mutant into an expanding red mist. With the flat of your power blade you stop a blow from a boarding axe, the disruptor field sparking partially against the axe. You slide your blade upwards, cutting through the metal haft. You kick the mutant back, feel your pistol chime to signal its recharge, and fire it at close range.
The melee is brutal, but the second and third sections, led by Void Sergeants Amelié and Jeanne, have repositioned and are now firing into the melee, concentrating fire on the hole in the floor, unleashing a crossfire into the mass that breaks the charge. The wave breaks and the last mutant is shot as it peeks its head out over the lip.
"Fortify. Secure for advance." You repeat the objective, whistling the commands while making hand gestures and moving behind the line, keeping your soldiers moving. Just as the École spéciale militaire de Imperialis taught you. You can hear your Void Sergeants conveying your commands to the other sections.
You frown at one of the sergeants under Void Sergeant Jeanne's usage of Imperial Gothic in giving commands to his troops instead of Française. The gutter-snipe Jeanne should be teacher her men better. You make a note to report the sergean to the Academie Franç and have him caned once for each word as the Code Militaire dictates.
(Choose at least one punishment.)
[] Have the man shot on the spot
[] Have him flogged as well for good measure.
[] Withhold his wine ration for three days. One for each word.
[] Downgrade his rations to nutrient paste for three days. One for each word.
[] give him the dignity to choose between nutrient paste or no Wine, he knows what he did wrong.
Five minutes later, the full layout of the hangar becomes clear. The hangar is accessible through a main access corridor down which the Astartes disappeared. The first and second sections have the hallway under crossfire, while the Rapier is loaded with frag shells, even as the Phosphex pod is set down and kept at the ready.
You glance to the far left, taking in the possible threat to your defence, The starboard wall is torn in a dozen places, patched up with sheet metal, dodgy welds, and glued with blobs of hardened mucus. Your combat engineers believe they can secure the side passages, but can make no guarantees.
"Raise the Argent Heart" You command your Vox officer. He nods, adjusting the bulky equipment attached to his void armour, he makes a hand signal to confirm the signal is coming through. "Hangar Beta-Twenty is secure. Requesting reinforcements to secure the beachhead."
There is an audible click as the return signal is received. The Vox Officer's helmet betrays no emotion as he ensures your message is transmitted. "Acknowledged. Be advised. Sub-Cohort Gamma, Tercio Delta, has secured all sub-tercio objectives, and is the target of the primary landing. Reinforcements will arrive with the next available shuttle."
You nod in approval. The attack is proceeding well if the primary landing is already happening. Although a part of you is disappointed that you were unable to secure the honour of securing a landing space for the main assault.
"This is Squad Tertius. We require reinforcements. The mutant overseers have brought up heavy weapons and aberrant beasts. I am down three marines. Transmitting my coordinates."
Your helmet's heads up display shows a hololith of the station. The marines are far ahead of your positions, down labyrinthine passageways and forced into what looks like a dead end. Your orders are to hold the landing zone, but if the marines perish, it will look very badly on your record, and you will be the next target. Cogs turn as you calculate how fast you can get to the marines, and if you should just let them all get eaten or not.
If you are to aid the marines, then you'll need to leave before the reinforcements arrive. You glance at the starboard wall which is still being closed off further. The work looks solid. But you can't be completely sure it won't be breached. The surest path would be to send a section in and hold it at the point the side tunnels originate from.
You make a split-second decision.
7th Verdyn Chemical engineers Cohort
Sub-Cohort Quintus
Tercio Primaris
Sub-Tercio Delta.
-First Lasrifle Section. You are in command of this Section.
-Second Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Amélie Beaufort
-Third Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Jeanne
-First Rapier Destroyer section. Led by Sergeant Philip "Pip" Bernadotte
*Equipped with a quad mortar that can fire either frag shells or Destroyer Weaponry. Will use Frag Shells unless ordered to use Destroyer Weaponry. Uses the Destroyer Weapons trait.*
Orders:Your orders are to hold the Hangar so it can be used as a landing site for troops moving into the habitat. Launching a pre-emptive attack on the mutants attacking the marines falls within those orders.
Engagements:
[]Main Access:
You are defending a long hallway and numerous vents and other passages from the riled mutant population inhabiting the habitat. The firing lanes are good, but enough mutants can pass through that a single Section might not be able to hold the enemy at range alone.
-Write in which Sections you will deploy.
[]Starboard wall:
The starboard wall is littered with holes and passages, but these all originate from a central corridor. If you do not guard it, you will have to hope and trust in the barricades and barriers put up by your troops to keep the mutants out.
-Write in IF you will deploy troops and if so, how many.
[]The Depths:
The Revenant Legion squads at the heart of the station have called for assistance, mentioning mutants with relic weapons capable of killing Astartes. A force sent to assist will not be able to aid in holding the main access corridor.
-Write in IF you will deploy sections if so, how many.
Plan Voting.
Make a single plan how you will use your available sections, where you will deploy them, and how. You have a split-second decision to make in-character, so keep that in mind when writing out your plans.
Two Hours moratorium.
Last edited:
The Purgation of Neptune, part 2
- Location
- Netherlands
You descend into the depths of the station, clutching your sword and pistol to your side, keeping up a stern pace and projecting the appropriate amount of heroic resolve as is expected of an officer. Shoulder-mounted lights are switched to maximum intensity, bathing the hallway before you in light, and supplementing your helmet's augmented vision modes.
At your side, Vox-Trooper Primevére Cartier holds up a hand as the heavier equipment on her back picks up a distorted signal, she works her craft and ensures you receive a clearer message from Void-Sergeant Philip.
"Mutant masses charging up the central passage. We are laying down suppressing fi- Take cover!" The sound of autogun fire and the zzap-crack of las weaponry was transmitted over the vox. You hear the thump-thump of the quad-mortar on the rapier sending out a steady stream of frag rounds into the tunnel. "Be advised. Mutants are bringing firearms to bear."
You grit your teeth and continue on. You are closer to the Astartes than the docks. A true noble stays the course once committed. The words of your mentors, instructor, tutors, and etiquette-savants resound in your head.
You turn to Jean Claude, the former family servant turned Vexilla bearer. The man's backpack has the symbol of the first section embedded onto the back, a large steel banner with a Gothic '1' engraved into a metal scroll set into a circular seal. "We continue. Our path is set for us, and we will not dawdle!"
The sound of bolter fire in the distance echoes from down the hallway, interspersed by a mechanical hiss and a sound akin to a lasgun but slightly different, that you do not recognize.
After several minutes, the sound of frag explosions dies down behind you as the advance continues. The Solar Auxilia behind you move through the dark carefully, Lasrifles sweeping the hallways and clearing each entrance with consummate skill. There are few mutants in your path, and those few that skulk within range are immediately shot the instant they appear. You smile at the efficiency of your troops.
The hololith on the helmet's display shows you are approaching a large open space. You see the markers of the Ninth Legion pop into life. You raise your sword and begin to break into a jog, urging your soldiers to follow you, not slowing down when you begin to hear the screaming and guttural roars of the mutants and the Astartes they are fighting. Chainswords revving, bolters blasting.
As you enter the room the first thing you notice is just how damn many corpses there are. The floor is covered with blood, enough blood that it is flowing like the gutters of Pars. The Astartes have left carnage in their path. A waterfall of blood is pouring down the gangway into the room below.
A swarm of mutants are crawling along the walls of the central chamber, lowering themselves, or leaping down as they rush towards a raised dais in what looks to have once been an audience chamber where presentations might have been given. The remaining Astartes are being assaulted by a tide of mutants. They are punching through their targets, ripping them apart, fighting against venomous jaws, jagged pincers, acidic spit, tentacles, and more eldritch attack methods.
"Merde!" You yell as you see the ones leading the mutants.
Three massive humanoid forms sealed in suits of thick hammered plates, forms crackling with electricity, and large glowing devices sticking out of their flesh. They are as tall as the Astartes, but with none of the grace. Fleshy mass is bulging out from the gaps between their plates, and you can see the meat squirming. Your stomach turns. They are firing into the melee with a myriad of bulky guns unlike any you have seen before, some arcing with lightning, others glowing with orange and blue lights.
They haven't spotted you yet and you take the chance.
"Gun them down!" You command, raising your Volkite Serpenta and firing it at the largest mutant. Two sections of Solar Auxiliar form up, forming a double line and opening fire, lasbeams scything through the mutant chaff that tries to divert towards the firing line. Dozens of mutants perish, taking shots meant for their masters. The mutants for a moment are hidden by a cloud of blood steam and exploding organs.
Sparks. Cracking in the air. Screaming. One of the Astartes on the dais below lets out a scream.
Your armour registers ozone. A chill runs down your spine.
Shields.
Two bolts of yellow energy shoot through the smoke, each hitting an Auxiliary, and the one behind them, scorching holes in the wall twenty metres behind the line. There isn't even a scream before their suits crumple to the floor, liquid pouring out of all the mouth grills.
A vehicle-grade gravity cannon charges up.
Eight members of the Third Section are instantly crushed into a ball the size of your fist.
A bolt of lightning shoots out, scything through four men of First Section and another seven from Third Section, turning them into burnt husks. Void Sergeant Jeane nearly drops her lasrifle in shock. The sergeant you'd reprimanded just exploded next to her and covered her in burnt meaty gore. She turns to face the mutant and shoots, her lasbolt scoring the plate around its heat and burning a neat hole.
"Keep firing! Their shields are buckling!" You yell, as the barrier around one of the mutant cracks and it is riddled with lasgun blasts, stumbling back but refusing to die, its armour glowing from the impact. You fire your Volkite Serpenta into its chest, setting the lead mutant alight from the inside out.
The armour crumbles, the occupant reduced to a scorched husk.
Then it stands up and takes aim at you, cold lifeless helmet lenses staring at you.
"Abomination!" You scream.
A grey shape slams into the armour, picking it up and swinging it into a mutant whose shields popped. The Revenant Legion have leapt up to the mutant leaders and are laying into them. Eight Space marines swarm over the mutant leaders, chainblades tearing through flesh and fists grabbing onto armoured plates and ripping them free.
You've never seen anything move as fast as the Space Marines. Their speed and power is magnificent. They tear into the leading mutants, even as your Auxiliaries shift their fire to the rest of the chaff. It is a magnificent sight to see the Astartes in all their glory.
And deeply horrifying. Nothing so big has any right to move so fluidly and so fast.
Sergeant Khorban rips the head from the last of the mutant leaders and holds it up in triumph. The mutants wail and attempt to run, their determination, finally broken. Your Auxiliaries continue to fire, gunning them down as they run.
When the fighting ends, the Revenant Legion wastes no time. They immediately begin to crack open the skulls of the largest mutants and reach for the seals of their helmets. Each of them is a giant of ceramite and muscle, a demigod of war created to conquer the galaxy.
And they are beautiful. Their features angelic and their hair almost as long and blonde as yours. Which makes what happens next all the more revolting. The transhuman supersoldiers eagerly cannibalize the fallen foe without caring in the slightest about your presence.
As your sections look on in horror, dumbstruck by the sight, Sergeant Khorban looks up at you, his mouth wet with brain matter.
"This one knew of an atmospherics station one level down. Consolidate your forces and follow me. We will flood the inner habitation levels with your destroyer weaponry."
"Our orders are to guard the hangar." You say hesitantly.
He stares you down, eating another chunk of brain. There is a feral hunger in his eyes as he licks his lips."Irrelevant. Other landing sites have been chosen already for the primary assault." He eats another chunk, his eyes fading over for a moment. "I have the access codes for a concealed hangar near Atmospherics. It is guarded by wretches we can deal with easily."
Your Vox-Trooper chimes in. "Second Section and the Rapier Section report that the hangar is clear. They are requesting orders."
Following the Marines would be risky, but it might be just what you need to start your career. You imagine the praise and accolades that could result from successfully leading a small force and breaking the enemy defense. You wouldn't lead anyone intentionally to their deaths like a techno-barbarian warlord, just into a dangerous situation.
The right and the duty of an officer!
Your troops are staring at you, awaiting your next orders. Even in full void armour, it is clear that many of them are still shocked by what happened, and although none are letting it show, they'd clearly prefer to return to the hangar. Disobeying a command from a Space Marine Sergeant, while perfectly legal, could be reported for review
What wil you do?
[] Attack the Atmospherics
You will work with the Marines and attack the Atmospherics, bypassing defenses and flooding much of the station's interior with Destroyer Weaponry.
A reputation as someone ready to sacrifice his troops starts to develop among the men.
A reputation as someone able to get results starts to develop among the brass.
Forces:
-First and Third consolidated Lasrifle Section. You are in command of this Section
-Second Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Amélie Beaufort
-First Rapier Destroyer section. Led by Sergeant Philip "Pip" Bernadotte.
*No Destroyer weaponry will be used in the engagement, instead it will be used to destroy the station.*
-one Legionnes Astartes squad.
(Two wounds remaining)
You are attacking.
[] Return to the Hangar:
You will return to the hangar and concentrate all your forces around the entrance to resist another assault until command pulls you out or gives you new orders.
Your soldiers will appreciate the concern.
Your decision will be reviewed by the brass.
Forces:
-First and Third consolidated Lasrifle Section. You are in command of this Section alongside Void Sergeant Jeanne.
-Second Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Amélie Beaufort
-First Rapier Destroyer section. Led by Sergeant Philip "Pip" Bernadotte.
You are defending.
(You have taken losses and will be working with reduced troops until reinforced, at which point all sections will be restored to their full strength.)
(The following options have only one engagement area each, and you will not need to distribute troops.)
The wider campaign.
Day 1 of the Neptunian Purgation campaign.
The fight continued as our Imperium unleashed its reserves upon the habitant. Two hundred Astartes were deployed at the northern pole dockyards, with ten thousand of the Verdyn Chemical Engineers in support. Meanwhile another force was being prepared for a landing at the Equatorial docking cradle, intended to provide a coup de grace and push to the heart of the station.
All forces were deployed to the most succesful landing sites in order to widen the breach, thereby taking pressure off the rest of the station.
Sub-Tercio Delta, Tercio Primaris, Sub-Cohort Quintus, reported the first engagement with the Gene-Patriarchs without a complete loss of Auxiliaries.
-7th Verdyn Chemical Engineers Cohort Regimental Diary
The other outer habitats of Neptune came under a righterous assault as the Imperium tightened its fist. Five million terran Solar Auxilia spearheaded by a half a million Saturnyne veterans and ten thousand Astartes attacking every outlying habitat and ship at the same time to stop the enemy from consolidating a defense.
It was in these early engagements that Imperial forces first encountered definitive proof of the existence of the Neptunian Gene-Patriarchs, finally uncovering the tech-caste by which the Neptunian reaver fleets kept their technology operational.
The Gene-Patriarchs are a caste of Neptunians descended from pre-Age of Strife scientists and their descendants who endured the degeneration of the other Neptunians through a strict program of eugenics and genetic engineering, eventually becoming a ruling caste through maintaining both intelligence and much of their technology.
They ruled over thronging billions of sub-sapient mutants, selectively breeding them for a variety of purposes such as weapons, beasts of burden, and livestock, and were kept in check by a caste of Thrallmasters that had enough intelligence to allow for hypno-conditioning the knowledge needed to command their lesser kin.
-Bestiary of the Solar Reclamation, submitted to the Imperial Court, 789M30.
Surprise update.
A 5 hour Moratorium so the voting opens at the usual time for my quests and I'll be available for questions and the like. Please refrain from posting even empty responses to keep discussion lively. Thank you very much.
At your side, Vox-Trooper Primevére Cartier holds up a hand as the heavier equipment on her back picks up a distorted signal, she works her craft and ensures you receive a clearer message from Void-Sergeant Philip.
"Mutant masses charging up the central passage. We are laying down suppressing fi- Take cover!" The sound of autogun fire and the zzap-crack of las weaponry was transmitted over the vox. You hear the thump-thump of the quad-mortar on the rapier sending out a steady stream of frag rounds into the tunnel. "Be advised. Mutants are bringing firearms to bear."
You grit your teeth and continue on. You are closer to the Astartes than the docks. A true noble stays the course once committed. The words of your mentors, instructor, tutors, and etiquette-savants resound in your head.
You turn to Jean Claude, the former family servant turned Vexilla bearer. The man's backpack has the symbol of the first section embedded onto the back, a large steel banner with a Gothic '1' engraved into a metal scroll set into a circular seal. "We continue. Our path is set for us, and we will not dawdle!"
The sound of bolter fire in the distance echoes from down the hallway, interspersed by a mechanical hiss and a sound akin to a lasgun but slightly different, that you do not recognize.
After several minutes, the sound of frag explosions dies down behind you as the advance continues. The Solar Auxilia behind you move through the dark carefully, Lasrifles sweeping the hallways and clearing each entrance with consummate skill. There are few mutants in your path, and those few that skulk within range are immediately shot the instant they appear. You smile at the efficiency of your troops.
The hololith on the helmet's display shows you are approaching a large open space. You see the markers of the Ninth Legion pop into life. You raise your sword and begin to break into a jog, urging your soldiers to follow you, not slowing down when you begin to hear the screaming and guttural roars of the mutants and the Astartes they are fighting. Chainswords revving, bolters blasting.
As you enter the room the first thing you notice is just how damn many corpses there are. The floor is covered with blood, enough blood that it is flowing like the gutters of Pars. The Astartes have left carnage in their path. A waterfall of blood is pouring down the gangway into the room below.
A swarm of mutants are crawling along the walls of the central chamber, lowering themselves, or leaping down as they rush towards a raised dais in what looks to have once been an audience chamber where presentations might have been given. The remaining Astartes are being assaulted by a tide of mutants. They are punching through their targets, ripping them apart, fighting against venomous jaws, jagged pincers, acidic spit, tentacles, and more eldritch attack methods.
"Merde!" You yell as you see the ones leading the mutants.
Three massive humanoid forms sealed in suits of thick hammered plates, forms crackling with electricity, and large glowing devices sticking out of their flesh. They are as tall as the Astartes, but with none of the grace. Fleshy mass is bulging out from the gaps between their plates, and you can see the meat squirming. Your stomach turns. They are firing into the melee with a myriad of bulky guns unlike any you have seen before, some arcing with lightning, others glowing with orange and blue lights.
They haven't spotted you yet and you take the chance.
"Gun them down!" You command, raising your Volkite Serpenta and firing it at the largest mutant. Two sections of Solar Auxiliar form up, forming a double line and opening fire, lasbeams scything through the mutant chaff that tries to divert towards the firing line. Dozens of mutants perish, taking shots meant for their masters. The mutants for a moment are hidden by a cloud of blood steam and exploding organs.
Sparks. Cracking in the air. Screaming. One of the Astartes on the dais below lets out a scream.
Your armour registers ozone. A chill runs down your spine.
Shields.
Two bolts of yellow energy shoot through the smoke, each hitting an Auxiliary, and the one behind them, scorching holes in the wall twenty metres behind the line. There isn't even a scream before their suits crumple to the floor, liquid pouring out of all the mouth grills.
A vehicle-grade gravity cannon charges up.
Eight members of the Third Section are instantly crushed into a ball the size of your fist.
A bolt of lightning shoots out, scything through four men of First Section and another seven from Third Section, turning them into burnt husks. Void Sergeant Jeane nearly drops her lasrifle in shock. The sergeant you'd reprimanded just exploded next to her and covered her in burnt meaty gore. She turns to face the mutant and shoots, her lasbolt scoring the plate around its heat and burning a neat hole.
"Keep firing! Their shields are buckling!" You yell, as the barrier around one of the mutant cracks and it is riddled with lasgun blasts, stumbling back but refusing to die, its armour glowing from the impact. You fire your Volkite Serpenta into its chest, setting the lead mutant alight from the inside out.
The armour crumbles, the occupant reduced to a scorched husk.
Then it stands up and takes aim at you, cold lifeless helmet lenses staring at you.
"Abomination!" You scream.
A grey shape slams into the armour, picking it up and swinging it into a mutant whose shields popped. The Revenant Legion have leapt up to the mutant leaders and are laying into them. Eight Space marines swarm over the mutant leaders, chainblades tearing through flesh and fists grabbing onto armoured plates and ripping them free.
You've never seen anything move as fast as the Space Marines. Their speed and power is magnificent. They tear into the leading mutants, even as your Auxiliaries shift their fire to the rest of the chaff. It is a magnificent sight to see the Astartes in all their glory.
And deeply horrifying. Nothing so big has any right to move so fluidly and so fast.
Sergeant Khorban rips the head from the last of the mutant leaders and holds it up in triumph. The mutants wail and attempt to run, their determination, finally broken. Your Auxiliaries continue to fire, gunning them down as they run.
When the fighting ends, the Revenant Legion wastes no time. They immediately begin to crack open the skulls of the largest mutants and reach for the seals of their helmets. Each of them is a giant of ceramite and muscle, a demigod of war created to conquer the galaxy.
And they are beautiful. Their features angelic and their hair almost as long and blonde as yours. Which makes what happens next all the more revolting. The transhuman supersoldiers eagerly cannibalize the fallen foe without caring in the slightest about your presence.
As your sections look on in horror, dumbstruck by the sight, Sergeant Khorban looks up at you, his mouth wet with brain matter.
"This one knew of an atmospherics station one level down. Consolidate your forces and follow me. We will flood the inner habitation levels with your destroyer weaponry."
"Our orders are to guard the hangar." You say hesitantly.
He stares you down, eating another chunk of brain. There is a feral hunger in his eyes as he licks his lips."Irrelevant. Other landing sites have been chosen already for the primary assault." He eats another chunk, his eyes fading over for a moment. "I have the access codes for a concealed hangar near Atmospherics. It is guarded by wretches we can deal with easily."
Your Vox-Trooper chimes in. "Second Section and the Rapier Section report that the hangar is clear. They are requesting orders."
Following the Marines would be risky, but it might be just what you need to start your career. You imagine the praise and accolades that could result from successfully leading a small force and breaking the enemy defense. You wouldn't lead anyone intentionally to their deaths like a techno-barbarian warlord, just into a dangerous situation.
The right and the duty of an officer!
Your troops are staring at you, awaiting your next orders. Even in full void armour, it is clear that many of them are still shocked by what happened, and although none are letting it show, they'd clearly prefer to return to the hangar. Disobeying a command from a Space Marine Sergeant, while perfectly legal, could be reported for review
What wil you do?
[] Attack the Atmospherics
You will work with the Marines and attack the Atmospherics, bypassing defenses and flooding much of the station's interior with Destroyer Weaponry.
A reputation as someone ready to sacrifice his troops starts to develop among the men.
A reputation as someone able to get results starts to develop among the brass.
Forces:
-First and Third consolidated Lasrifle Section. You are in command of this Section
-Second Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Amélie Beaufort
-First Rapier Destroyer section. Led by Sergeant Philip "Pip" Bernadotte.
*No Destroyer weaponry will be used in the engagement, instead it will be used to destroy the station.*
-one Legionnes Astartes squad.
(Two wounds remaining)
You are attacking.
[] Return to the Hangar:
You will return to the hangar and concentrate all your forces around the entrance to resist another assault until command pulls you out or gives you new orders.
Your soldiers will appreciate the concern.
Your decision will be reviewed by the brass.
Forces:
-First and Third consolidated Lasrifle Section. You are in command of this Section alongside Void Sergeant Jeanne.
-Second Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Amélie Beaufort
-First Rapier Destroyer section. Led by Sergeant Philip "Pip" Bernadotte.
You are defending.
(You have taken losses and will be working with reduced troops until reinforced, at which point all sections will be restored to their full strength.)
(The following options have only one engagement area each, and you will not need to distribute troops.)
The wider campaign.
Day 1 of the Neptunian Purgation campaign.
The fight continued as our Imperium unleashed its reserves upon the habitant. Two hundred Astartes were deployed at the northern pole dockyards, with ten thousand of the Verdyn Chemical Engineers in support. Meanwhile another force was being prepared for a landing at the Equatorial docking cradle, intended to provide a coup de grace and push to the heart of the station.
All forces were deployed to the most succesful landing sites in order to widen the breach, thereby taking pressure off the rest of the station.
Sub-Tercio Delta, Tercio Primaris, Sub-Cohort Quintus, reported the first engagement with the Gene-Patriarchs without a complete loss of Auxiliaries.
-7th Verdyn Chemical Engineers Cohort Regimental Diary
The other outer habitats of Neptune came under a righterous assault as the Imperium tightened its fist. Five million terran Solar Auxilia spearheaded by a half a million Saturnyne veterans and ten thousand Astartes attacking every outlying habitat and ship at the same time to stop the enemy from consolidating a defense.
It was in these early engagements that Imperial forces first encountered definitive proof of the existence of the Neptunian Gene-Patriarchs, finally uncovering the tech-caste by which the Neptunian reaver fleets kept their technology operational.
The Gene-Patriarchs are a caste of Neptunians descended from pre-Age of Strife scientists and their descendants who endured the degeneration of the other Neptunians through a strict program of eugenics and genetic engineering, eventually becoming a ruling caste through maintaining both intelligence and much of their technology.
They ruled over thronging billions of sub-sapient mutants, selectively breeding them for a variety of purposes such as weapons, beasts of burden, and livestock, and were kept in check by a caste of Thrallmasters that had enough intelligence to allow for hypno-conditioning the knowledge needed to command their lesser kin.
-Bestiary of the Solar Reclamation, submitted to the Imperial Court, 789M30.
INTO THE DEPTHS:
Astartes Legion Squad: A squad of Adeptus Astartes with bolters and chainswords, ready and eager to kill.
Shooting: 3+ to hit
Armour save: 4+
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 2
Wounds: 3
Traits: Guardian: If General Melee ensues, roll for Support Sections as normal. When a Support Section is to take a wound, instead roll again for this unit and have it take the place of the support section. This effect can happen once per Guardian per fight
Mutant Gene-Patriarchs:
The gene-patriarchs of the Neptunian Deeps, leaders of their sub-sapient kin and wielder of the best tech-salvage of Neptune.
Shooting: 3+ to hit
Armour save: 4+
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 2
Wounds: 2
Trait: Relic Weapons.
No armour saves are made by your enemy
Mutant Taskmasters:
Those few mutants clever enough to use a gun and listen to the Gene-Patriarchs
Shooting: 5+ to hit
Armour save: none
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 1
Trait: Light Weaponry:
Can not damage Heavy Armour.
Mutant Swarm:
Armour save: none
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 1
Trait: Light Weaponry:
Can not damage Heavy Armour.
Chaff: All ranged damage will strike chaff units before any other.
Into the depths.
One unit of Mutant Gene-Patriarchs:
Three Mutant melee swarms:
Heavy Weapons Mutants rolls 1d6 = 1
Section 1 roll 1d6 = 3 Miss.
Section 3 rolled 1d6 = 5 Hit
Astartes Rolled 1d6 = 6 Hit
Two mutant melee swarms are killed
Astartes tie up the mutants in melee
Mutants rolled 2d6 + Combat = 5 + 6 + 1 = 12
Astartes rolled 2d6 + Combat = 3 + 6 + 2 = 11
Astartes lose 1 wound, down to 1 out of 3
Shooting round
Mutant Heavy weapons Rolled 1d6 = 6
No armour save against relic weapons.
Section one shoots again. Rolled 1d6 = 1
Section three shoots again. Rolled 1d6 = 1
Section three is destroyed.
Mutants rolled 2d6 + Combat = 4 + 1 + 1 = 6
Astartes rolled 2d6 + Combat = 3 + 6 + 2 = 11
The third mutant melee swarm is killed.
Mutant Heavy weapons Rolled 1d6 = 2 miss
Section one Rolled 1d6 = 6 hit
Astartes Rolled 1d6 = 1 miss
Mutant Patriarch armour save
Rolled 4: saved.
Mutant Patriarch rolled 2d6 + Combat = 5 + 4 + 2 = 11
Astartes rolled 2d6 + Combat = 5 + 5 + 2 = 12
Patriarch has 1 wound remaining at start of fight and takes one.
The Astartes win
Main Access Corridor Defense:
One unit of Mutant Taskmasters.
One Mutant swarm
Rapier rolls 1d6 = 5.
Mutant swarm is killed.
Mutant Taskmasters rolled 1d6 = 1
Rapier rolls 1d6 = 6.
Mutant Taskmasters killed.
Side passage:
There was no attack upon the side passage and Second Section regrouped with the Rapier Section.
Astartes Legion Squad: A squad of Adeptus Astartes with bolters and chainswords, ready and eager to kill.
Shooting: 3+ to hit
Armour save: 4+
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 2
Wounds: 3
Traits: Guardian: If General Melee ensues, roll for Support Sections as normal. When a Support Section is to take a wound, instead roll again for this unit and have it take the place of the support section. This effect can happen once per Guardian per fight
Mutant Gene-Patriarchs:
The gene-patriarchs of the Neptunian Deeps, leaders of their sub-sapient kin and wielder of the best tech-salvage of Neptune.
Shooting: 3+ to hit
Armour save: 4+
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 2
Wounds: 2
Trait: Relic Weapons.
No armour saves are made by your enemy
Mutant Taskmasters:
Those few mutants clever enough to use a gun and listen to the Gene-Patriarchs
Shooting: 5+ to hit
Armour save: none
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 1
Trait: Light Weaponry:
Can not damage Heavy Armour.
Mutant Swarm:
Armour save: none
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 1
Trait: Light Weaponry:
Can not damage Heavy Armour.
Chaff: All ranged damage will strike chaff units before any other.
Into the depths.
One unit of Mutant Gene-Patriarchs:
Three Mutant melee swarms:
Heavy Weapons Mutants rolls 1d6 = 1
Section 1 roll 1d6 = 3 Miss.
Section 3 rolled 1d6 = 5 Hit
Astartes Rolled 1d6 = 6 Hit
Two mutant melee swarms are killed
Astartes tie up the mutants in melee
Mutants rolled 2d6 + Combat = 5 + 6 + 1 = 12
Astartes rolled 2d6 + Combat = 3 + 6 + 2 = 11
Astartes lose 1 wound, down to 1 out of 3
Shooting round
Mutant Heavy weapons Rolled 1d6 = 6
No armour save against relic weapons.
Section one shoots again. Rolled 1d6 = 1
Section three shoots again. Rolled 1d6 = 1
Section three is destroyed.
Mutants rolled 2d6 + Combat = 4 + 1 + 1 = 6
Astartes rolled 2d6 + Combat = 3 + 6 + 2 = 11
The third mutant melee swarm is killed.
Mutant Heavy weapons Rolled 1d6 = 2 miss
Section one Rolled 1d6 = 6 hit
Astartes Rolled 1d6 = 1 miss
Mutant Patriarch armour save
Rolled 4: saved.
Mutant Patriarch rolled 2d6 + Combat = 5 + 4 + 2 = 11
Astartes rolled 2d6 + Combat = 5 + 5 + 2 = 12
Patriarch has 1 wound remaining at start of fight and takes one.
The Astartes win
Main Access Corridor Defense:
One unit of Mutant Taskmasters.
One Mutant swarm
Rapier rolls 1d6 = 5.
Mutant swarm is killed.
Mutant Taskmasters rolled 1d6 = 1
Rapier rolls 1d6 = 6.
Mutant Taskmasters killed.
Side passage:
There was no attack upon the side passage and Second Section regrouped with the Rapier Section.
Surprise update.
A 5 hour Moratorium so the voting opens at the usual time for my quests and I'll be available for questions and the like. Please refrain from posting even empty responses to keep discussion lively. Thank you very much.
Last edited:
The Purgation of Neptune, Part 3
- Location
- Netherlands
You take a piece of white cloth from your belt and offer it to the Astartes. "There's some brain left on your lips." You state matter of factly.
Khorban examines the piece of white cloth you offer him. He follows your motions and wipes his mouth with it, cleaning off the brain remnants. He then eats the handkerchief and puts his helmet back on.
There is a brief chuckle, before you quickly get everybody focused on the task at hand, trying not to feel either too amused or embarrassed about what you just did.
"Pip" stands next to you, his eyes fixed on Sergeant Khorban as the Astartes outlines his plan. The air is tense and thick with anticipation as Khorban speaks of using the Void-Sergeant's Destroyer Munitions. 'Pip' grimaces at the thought, but you can almost sense a mischievous grin beneath his mask. "Pumping the contents of Phosphex Shells through an Atmospherics station? That's quite intense, boss." The man is from the same social circles as you, although without your aspirations. You like his attitude, but not in the presence of the Astartes.
"Yes or No, Void-Sergeant?" You say in your most commanding tone. You can feel the judging eyes of the Astartes peering down at you.
Pip rubbed his chin, his brow furrowed in concentration. After a moment, he nods. "We'll put the shells on timed fuses and drop them down the vents. Simple enough. Like tossing firecrackers"
The soft drone of your vox system breaks the quiet, and Void-Sergeant Amélie Beaufort's voice reverberates in your helmet, bouncing off the icy steel. "Forces are set," she announces, a trace of eagerness lacing her words. "It's time to show these renegades some true Age of Strife weaponry." Born to Franc diplomats who negotiated our nation's surrender during the Unification Wars, Amélie was shunned from climbing the military ladder and left with no other option had to join your regiment. You trust in her dedication to the task at hand. Her ambition is a reflection of yours, a thirst for advancement that teeters on the brink of rashness.
Void Sergeant Jeanne makes her way towards you. Despite her diligent efforts, stubborn traces of dried blood remain lodged in her armour's nooks and crannies. "I am confident we can achieve this," she asserts with assurance. "The consolidated First and Third Section stands ready." Her helmet hides her face, but you believe that she'd be skeptical but trusting. "No wounded, but only because those enemy weapons don't leave anyone alive." Born in the gutter, Jeanne cares for her troops, perhaps too much to have serious hopes of advancing through the ranks. Although you are certainly trusting in her valour.
Khorban grumbles, "Be prepared for more of them. We're dealing with type-4 Mutant Techno-Warlords." There was no attempt to comfort Jeanne or offer reassurance; just blunt realism.
"Fall in. We'll burn out this den and be back aboard the Argent Heart by supper.
Despite the small forces of mutants attempting to block your path, each more twisted and mutated than the last, you press on, pushing through the narrow corridors of the ancient Neptunian orbital habitat. The dimly lit halls are lined with faded metal walls, occasionally interrupted by sparking wires and remnants of old technology peeking through the cracks. Moving in a wide formation to accommodate the cramped space, you make your way steadily forward.
You approach the Atmospherics Station. You would not have been able to recognize it from any of the other doors, were it not for Khorban leading you there. You hear massive air-cyclers, the sound of large fans, and chemical processes whose working is beyond your ken.
You are quickly impressed by the sheer scale of the installation. The chamber stretches far and wide, with towering machines whirring and humming in a symphony of regulated chaos. The air is cool and crisp, filtered through techno-arcane systems that must cycle the oxygen for a sizeable part of the continent-sized orbital habitat.
Your eyes scan the vast expanse, taking in the intricate network of pipes and tanks that make up the heart of this crucial facility. The soft glow of control panels illuminates the chamber, casting shadows that dance across the metallic walls.
Your eyes dart to the sound of metal screeching and ripping. Doors burst open along the walls, vent covers pop off with a clang, and panels crash to the floor as a horde of mutants flood into the room from every single angle. Behind them come the taskmasters, those more humanoid mutants that wear something that might almost be called a uniform, as they drive their sub-sapient kin out before them.
The Gene-Patriarchs lumber into view, these ones carrying what look to be Volkite weapons. The baleful eyes of their helmets glaring menacingly at you.
"Widen formation! Firing line. Fire at will!" Your command echoes through the battlefield, repeated with blasts of your helmet's integrated whistle. On your knees behind the cover, you examine the battlefield and give commands, even as with every calculated pop-up, you unleash a volkite potshot upon the grotesque mutants. The din of battle surrounds you, the screams of both allies and enemies blending together into a chaotic symphony. But you remain focused, determined to lead your soldiers to victory.
This is the moment where you will shine.
The crackle of the vox line breaks through your focus, Amélie's voice determined yet cool. "Flanking right to form a killzone." she reports, having drawn her sword and leading her men to the right, taking cover behind barrels and heavy machinery as they advance.
You work in tandem with the move. "Philip, covering fire!" 'Pip' takes control of his Rapier's weapons system, his assertive command going out over the Vox. "Rapier, engage targets! Fire at will!" His order reverberates through the radio frequency as a symphony of destruction begins to play out in the formation ahead.
You grit your teeth, feeling the weight of command pressing down upon you. The battle rages on, each shot fired, each order given bringing you closer to victory or defeat. Adrenaline courses through your veins as you lead your unit with precision and determination. The mutants may be numerous, but they are no match for the disciplined firepower of your forces.
As the mutants continue their relentless charge, You make your next order. "Jeane, take Third Section left behind those vats. Lay down fire upon the taskmasters. They're firing freely right now!" Without hesitation, her troops move swiftly.
The storm of lasbolts, frag shells, and bolters slams into and through the mutants, the sheer mass of firepower obliterating much of the mutant horde and throwing up such a spray of blood and gorey mist, that when the Volkites are fired in retaliation, your troops have already spread out and repositioned and when three soldiers are struck, they take none of their comrades with them.
Within the cramped chamber, it is difficult to find adequate cover and your fellow soldiers make use of whatever objects or structures they can find to shield themselves from enemy fire.
"Elan!" Amélie shouts the ancient war cry over the Vox, as the Taskmasters push forward, each of these mutants bulked out and lupine, firing heavy combat shotguns with bayonets at the end. Their speed caught you by surprise, and quickly, The right flank devolves into a brutal close range firefight that sees the Second Section driven back even as bolt shells rip into the taskmasters.
Your troops, now pressed into the very confines of the Atmospherics Station, can barely move without triggering a hail of metal and fire from the Gene-Patriarchs' Volkite weapons and the shotguns of their Taskmaster subordinates. The station's control panels, once soft and comforting in their glow, now cast an ominous and flickering shadow-dance across the walls. Second Section pulls back to a corner of the room, making a stand behind reinforced atmospheric pipes.
The Astartes, however, remain firm and resolute, their bolters crackling and firing at will as they slowly work their way towards the remaining Patriarchs. The fire of the Taskmasters does not even scratch their armour, and their bolters blast apart the fodder protecting the Gene-Patriarchs.
"Focus on the leaders!" your voice echoes.
In response, your section sends out a withering volley of concentrated lasbolts as the Rapier unleashes a hail of frag shells towards the Patriarchs, their protective barriers lighting up from the lasbolts, and then bursting in a symphony of resounding blasts upon the impact of the grenade shrapnel.
Three Volkite beams shoot out, each sweeping through the First and Third consolidated, turning scores of men to ash. You immediately pull Jean your vox-trooper and Jeanne down to where Primevere is already in cover, as three sustained Volkite beams wash over the First and third consolidated.
The heated Volkite beams are such a bright orange they turn white in their cores. They sweep through the ranks of soldiers, their bodies burning into dust, leaving behind only blackened fragments of armor.
The Astartes rush forward, opening fire on fully automatic, bolt rounds ripping through and blowing apart the Gene-Patriarchs.
The remnants of your forces are holed up inside the control station for Atmospherics, the scarce dozen of soldiers of the Three sections that survived the fighting.
A tense silence reigns as everyone clutches their weapons, the Astartes guarding the doors while the surviving Auxilia help Philip and his Rapier crew prepare the ordnance. Focus upon their task superceding any anger towards you.
You ignore the occasional caustic glare you receive. War is costly.
As Sergeant Khorban adjusts the controls on the large Cogitator station. You can see a complex network of tubes and abstract squares representing the atmospheric cyclers and the rest of the ventilation system, and you realize he is redirecting them for optimal dispersion.
You nod in approval at the ingenuity. "You're changing the direction of these air currents." You say, more as a statement than a question.
"For maximum effect." Khorban responds through his helmet.
He points to a large valve on the wall, immediately one of his Astartes starts opening it. The valve begins to suck in air. "This station was designed to disperse aerosolized chemicals for control, now it will be used to unleash destruction across the station. Observe"
You flinch and squeak out an undignified noise as the legionnaire slams the shell's base on the floor to activate the impact fuse, then pushes it into the sucking vents. There is a grating mechanical noise from the marine that you need a few moments to recognize for laughter. The marine then shoves it into the vents,
Khorban looks up at your mortar crew and their servitor assistants. "Impact fuses first. I am closing the grills on the vents our payloads are heading, so the impacts will set off the shells"
The Rapier's crew are hesitant at first but then with greater purpose, get to work, following the Marines in preparing their phosphex shells to be inserted. They work like an artillery crew, with the valve as their breach.
The Habitat, which would one day be known as Neptune Orbital 12, trembled as ventilation vents exploded open, each of them unleashing a torrent of The Fire of Old Night. In a matter of minutes, the insatiable Phosphex fires would rage through the station, each of the motion-attracted masses of white flame raging through the hallways, dozens of separate infernos each raging out from where they had been unleashed, consuming whatever they touched.
For the Imperial Strategos leading the assault, the first indication something had changed was the abrupt halt of enemy reinforcements from within the habitat's core. It was clear that -something- had happened.
It was a status report from a Sub-Tercio commander, backed by the word of an Astartes Squad Leader, that explained what had happened. The three-month long campaign would be reduced to a week-long mopup, and the survivors of the expedition were each commended for their actions. From the lowest surviving trooper to their Ensign, all received promotions and were put in a new sub Tercio for the next assault upon [REDACTED]
-The Purgation of Neptune: Submitted to the Imperial Court. 793M30
Apothecary running at full capacity.
Induction vat throughput.l: 89% failure rate
Intake pens capacity: 121% safe capacity. Cull in progress.
Additional prison barges requested.
Expected casualty rate of the first year of Neptunian Compliance.
1253 Marines.
Expected recruitment for the first year of Neptunian Compliance.
11 Dreadnoughts.
1373 Marines.
189278 failed implantations.
-Chapter intake report: Neptunian Orbital Twelve.
The Marines were right about the hidden hangar and led you and the surviving members of the Sub-Tercio there. It was a simple matter of using the access codes the sergeant had provided you with. (His fingers were too big for the keypad.) and taking cover inside. Primevére voxed in your situation, much to the loud congratulations and excitement from the commanders on the other end. Dropships were quickly dispatched to fortify your position and prepare to shuttle you back to the Argent Heart.
A second shuttle in the markings of the First Legion arrived alongside the one for you, servitors emerging alongside a group of menials and armed voidmen, they would proceed to gather up the guns used by the Gene-Patriarchs, sealing them in stasis caskets for transfer to their masters, the weapons destined for soldiers far above you.
As the ramp of the single Arvus Lighter that now carries what remains of your Sub-Tercio heads through the void, you can't help but consider the looks from your soldiers. Many of them are angry, although most just look Tired. Jeanne and Amélie sit next to each other, sipping their wine rations as they grumble about the losses they took. 'Pip' Meanwhile fusses over his Rapier, loudly lamenting the damage the chassis has taken.
You ignore them for now. You won, and if even half of what you have overheard is true, delivered a brutal blow to the enemy. You are certain that this will be the beginning of your rise up the ranks of the Solar Auxilia. A victory of this scale is something that will mark you out for greatness.
The losses were regrettable but necessary.
In the end, there was little room for celebration, and the campaign against Neptune's many moons was set to continue. Your Legate Marshal congratulated each of you, shook your hands, before apologising about being needed in the war room for additional planning. Commendations would wait until the end of the campaign.
From the remnants of other formations, and reserves spread throughout the fleet, the strategic savants of the Saturnyne Ordos were already aiding the Verdyn Chemical Engineers in reconstituting themselves for a massed combined deployment. Your excellent service and loyalty had marked you out, and you were put in command of an enlarged Sub-Tercio as part of this massive deployment.
You were deployed to:
[]Triton, the den:
The moon of Triton is a blasted expanse of cryovolcanoes and a seemingly endless expanse of ice. Deep within its heart, in the infamous slaughter-tunnels, lie vast breeding dens where the Gene-Patriarchs are preparing an army to fight back against the Revenant Legion. Additionally, the Gene-Patriarchs have begun to implant their armies with integrated cybernetic weapons to render them more effective in ranged combat.
The world is a two-fronted engagement. Mutants in pressure suits and with firearms upon the blasted surface, and great swarms of them in the great tunnels and underground networks that sprawl beneath the surface of the world, filled with gene labs and other esoteric techno-arcane machinery used by the Gene-Patriarchs.
The amount of Mutants Swarms are expected to be double or even triple what you experienced before, and there will be more formations of Gene-Patriarchs. However, the Astartes will deploy in force and you will be expected to merely provide mopup operations.
Gene-Matriarch presence suspected.
Your mission: Hold the Triton Nexus, a spaceport that serves as the entrance to a grand underground network of tunnels while the Astartes continue their underground offensive, all the while fighting an offensive campaign on the surface against enemy reinforcements.
Expected enemies: Regular deployments of 5+ Mutant Swarms.
[]Nereid, the fallen paradise:
The moon of Nereid is a monument to hubris. Surrounded by an atmospheric shell, an artificial core, and surrounded by satellites that illuminated the world until the surface was akin to a tropical beach paradise, keeping an ocean of liquid water at an optimal temperature. Nereid was a resort, a moon-sized beach resort where one could sunbathe and swim during the Dark Age of Technology.
Although the exotic outside of the world has remained the same, something stews within its depths. Generations of humans live and die as extensions of the cybernetic constructs that Nereid's central controlling computer uses to stay in operation, a remnant of the Men of Iron that is to be expunged.
Still equipped with frightening levels of technology, the only reason the Nereid AI has not expanded is the utter absence of materials to build a spacecraft.
Your mission: Hold the spaceport while the Revenant Legion purge the moon of cybernetic constructs.
Expected enemies: Low numbers of high quality units.
[]Proteus, the living moon:
Once just another world, Proteus has grown to twice its original size, becoming a swollen orb of cancerous void-resistant biomass, with only half the original surface of Proteus sticking out of this mass like the pus tip of a great boil. Proteus is occupied by a xenos invasion force that has tormented the Solar System for nearly a millennium.
The mass of Proteus is its own massive organism, which absorbs energy from the electromagnetic spectrum to grow and swell, forming a hard outer layer inside of which a mass of energy-rich liquid coagulates. Upon reaching critical mass, it will burst and send out a spread of seeds.
Due to the danger of destroying the mass causing a dispersion event, a slower operation has been organized. The world is to be burned, inch by inch, to ensure that the mass is unable to spread.
The official designation of the xenos species is the Cymoeba, and whether they are an extension of Proteus, a thrall-species, or are in fact the controllers of this beast, is still unknown. They are a plasmic race, each akin to a giant cell, housed in protective cybernetic layers that come in humanoid light and arachnoid heavy variants. Where the Cymoeba ends and the cybernetics begin is still unknown, as is the capacity for independent thought of each Cymoeba.
Pre-Old Night records mention a history of conflict with this species, including a surrender treaty forced upon their state. For their perfidious use of humanity's weakness during Old Night, the Emperor of Mankind has signed a writ of extermination against the Cymoeba.
Your mission: Hold the Imperial Fortress established upon Proteus so the Revenant Legion can use it as a base from which to launch their purgation operations.
Expected enemies: Xenos military of equivalent makeup to the Solar Auxilia
Sub-Tercio Delta:
First Lasrifle Section has been upgraded to a Veteran Lasrifle Section:
Second Lasrifle Section has been replenished
Third Lasrifle Section has been replenished
First Rapier Destroyer Support Section is still fully operational.
Sub-Tercio Delta is to be expanded. It will be supplemented with the following sections.
(You have 5 reinforcement points)
(Only add the Section's name to your plans. Votes with the full length description will not be counted to avoid cluttering.)
-Solar Auxilia Lasrifle Section:
A force of void-armoured well-trained well-drilled troops equipped with the finest lasrifles that the early Imperium can source.
Shooting 4+
Armour save: 5+
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 0
Wounds: 1
Trait:
Light weaponry: Can not damage Heavy armour.
Defender: Automatically moves into Engagment Melee to match enemy melee units
Costs: 1
Max: 2
-Solar Auxilia Flamer Section:
The purifying effects of fire have long proven themselves against the Psyker and the Alien, and the Saturnyne Ordos have developed flamethrowers able to either use promethium or hydrazine based gels depending on if an engagement is expected to take place in vacuum.
Shooting 5+
Shots: 3
Armour save: 5+
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 - 2
Wounds: 1
Trait:
Fire-Purgation: When General Melee ensues, the Flamer Section makes a full shooting attack.
Costs: 2
Max 1
-Solar Auxilia Rapier Support Section:
Modified cargo-palettes equipped with heavy weapons are the inspiration of these weapons systems, their design so durable and reliable that the Astartes have begun to use them.
Shooting 3+
Armour save: None
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 - 3
Wounds: 1
Trait:
Fire Support: When Attacking: If the enemy has no Fire Support in the engagement, the attacker shoots fist.
Costs: 2
Max: 1
-Veletaris Volkite Support Section: Elite Solar Auxilia in heavy Void Armour, equipped with the best weapons baseline humanity can expect to wield.
Shooting 3+
Armour save: 4+
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 0
Wounds: 1
Trait:
Light Weaponry: Can not damage Heavy armour.
Deflagrate: If an enemy unit is killed by this unit, immediately apply another wound to an enemy unit during shooting resolution, one more if a unit of Chaff is killed.
Costs: 2
Max: 1
-Veletaris Storm-Axe Support Section: Elite Solar Auxilia in heavy Void Armour, equipped with storm axes to cut through obstacles both object and person.
Armour save: 4+
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 1
Wounds: 2
Trait:
Guardian: If General Melee ensues, roll for Support Sections as normal. When a Support Section is to take a wound, instead roll again for the Storm-axe Section and have it take the place of the support section. It can both take wounds for the Support Section, or attack for them. This effect can happen once per Guardian.
Melee combatant: Will immediately enter engagement Melee if possible.
Power Weaponry: Can damage Heavy armour in Melee
Costs: 2
Max: 1
-Veletaris Rotor-Cannon Support Section: Elite Solar Auxilia in heavy Void Armour, equipped with rotary autocannons for laying down suppressing fire upon the enemy.
Shooting 3+
Shots: 2
Armour save: 4+
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 -3
Wounds: 1
Light Weaponry: Can not damage Heavy armour.
Corpsegrinder: Double damage when hitting chaff.
Costs: 2
Max: 1
Solar Auxilia Charonite Ogryn Section:
Imported to the Solar System from gene-patterns imported from a trader from Pavonis, the Saturnyne Ordos have grown specially gene-bulked abhumans implanted with cybernetics that keep them quiescent, but also ready to be sent into a murderous kill-frenzy at the flip of a switch.
Armour save: 4+
Combat effectiveness 2d6 + 3
Wounds: 3
Trait:
Meat Shield: Before General Melee can start, this unit must be destroyed. All excess melee wounds are concentrated upon this unit.
It will not die: After being removed, and after the conclusion of the current melee round, roll a d6, on a 4 or up, the Charonite revives with one wound.
Melee combatant: Will immediately enter engagement Melee if possible.
Costs: 3
Max: 1
The war grinds on, and you are quickly sent back into the grinder.
Vote for sections and for deployment are SEPARATE.
3 hours Moratorium.
Khorban examines the piece of white cloth you offer him. He follows your motions and wipes his mouth with it, cleaning off the brain remnants. He then eats the handkerchief and puts his helmet back on.
There is a brief chuckle, before you quickly get everybody focused on the task at hand, trying not to feel either too amused or embarrassed about what you just did.
"Pip" stands next to you, his eyes fixed on Sergeant Khorban as the Astartes outlines his plan. The air is tense and thick with anticipation as Khorban speaks of using the Void-Sergeant's Destroyer Munitions. 'Pip' grimaces at the thought, but you can almost sense a mischievous grin beneath his mask. "Pumping the contents of Phosphex Shells through an Atmospherics station? That's quite intense, boss." The man is from the same social circles as you, although without your aspirations. You like his attitude, but not in the presence of the Astartes.
"Yes or No, Void-Sergeant?" You say in your most commanding tone. You can feel the judging eyes of the Astartes peering down at you.
Pip rubbed his chin, his brow furrowed in concentration. After a moment, he nods. "We'll put the shells on timed fuses and drop them down the vents. Simple enough. Like tossing firecrackers"
The soft drone of your vox system breaks the quiet, and Void-Sergeant Amélie Beaufort's voice reverberates in your helmet, bouncing off the icy steel. "Forces are set," she announces, a trace of eagerness lacing her words. "It's time to show these renegades some true Age of Strife weaponry." Born to Franc diplomats who negotiated our nation's surrender during the Unification Wars, Amélie was shunned from climbing the military ladder and left with no other option had to join your regiment. You trust in her dedication to the task at hand. Her ambition is a reflection of yours, a thirst for advancement that teeters on the brink of rashness.
Void Sergeant Jeanne makes her way towards you. Despite her diligent efforts, stubborn traces of dried blood remain lodged in her armour's nooks and crannies. "I am confident we can achieve this," she asserts with assurance. "The consolidated First and Third Section stands ready." Her helmet hides her face, but you believe that she'd be skeptical but trusting. "No wounded, but only because those enemy weapons don't leave anyone alive." Born in the gutter, Jeanne cares for her troops, perhaps too much to have serious hopes of advancing through the ranks. Although you are certainly trusting in her valour.
Khorban grumbles, "Be prepared for more of them. We're dealing with type-4 Mutant Techno-Warlords." There was no attempt to comfort Jeanne or offer reassurance; just blunt realism.
"Fall in. We'll burn out this den and be back aboard the Argent Heart by supper.
Despite the small forces of mutants attempting to block your path, each more twisted and mutated than the last, you press on, pushing through the narrow corridors of the ancient Neptunian orbital habitat. The dimly lit halls are lined with faded metal walls, occasionally interrupted by sparking wires and remnants of old technology peeking through the cracks. Moving in a wide formation to accommodate the cramped space, you make your way steadily forward.
You approach the Atmospherics Station. You would not have been able to recognize it from any of the other doors, were it not for Khorban leading you there. You hear massive air-cyclers, the sound of large fans, and chemical processes whose working is beyond your ken.
You are quickly impressed by the sheer scale of the installation. The chamber stretches far and wide, with towering machines whirring and humming in a symphony of regulated chaos. The air is cool and crisp, filtered through techno-arcane systems that must cycle the oxygen for a sizeable part of the continent-sized orbital habitat.
Your eyes scan the vast expanse, taking in the intricate network of pipes and tanks that make up the heart of this crucial facility. The soft glow of control panels illuminates the chamber, casting shadows that dance across the metallic walls.
Your eyes dart to the sound of metal screeching and ripping. Doors burst open along the walls, vent covers pop off with a clang, and panels crash to the floor as a horde of mutants flood into the room from every single angle. Behind them come the taskmasters, those more humanoid mutants that wear something that might almost be called a uniform, as they drive their sub-sapient kin out before them.
The Gene-Patriarchs lumber into view, these ones carrying what look to be Volkite weapons. The baleful eyes of their helmets glaring menacingly at you.
"Widen formation! Firing line. Fire at will!" Your command echoes through the battlefield, repeated with blasts of your helmet's integrated whistle. On your knees behind the cover, you examine the battlefield and give commands, even as with every calculated pop-up, you unleash a volkite potshot upon the grotesque mutants. The din of battle surrounds you, the screams of both allies and enemies blending together into a chaotic symphony. But you remain focused, determined to lead your soldiers to victory.
This is the moment where you will shine.
The crackle of the vox line breaks through your focus, Amélie's voice determined yet cool. "Flanking right to form a killzone." she reports, having drawn her sword and leading her men to the right, taking cover behind barrels and heavy machinery as they advance.
You work in tandem with the move. "Philip, covering fire!" 'Pip' takes control of his Rapier's weapons system, his assertive command going out over the Vox. "Rapier, engage targets! Fire at will!" His order reverberates through the radio frequency as a symphony of destruction begins to play out in the formation ahead.
You grit your teeth, feeling the weight of command pressing down upon you. The battle rages on, each shot fired, each order given bringing you closer to victory or defeat. Adrenaline courses through your veins as you lead your unit with precision and determination. The mutants may be numerous, but they are no match for the disciplined firepower of your forces.
As the mutants continue their relentless charge, You make your next order. "Jeane, take Third Section left behind those vats. Lay down fire upon the taskmasters. They're firing freely right now!" Without hesitation, her troops move swiftly.
The storm of lasbolts, frag shells, and bolters slams into and through the mutants, the sheer mass of firepower obliterating much of the mutant horde and throwing up such a spray of blood and gorey mist, that when the Volkites are fired in retaliation, your troops have already spread out and repositioned and when three soldiers are struck, they take none of their comrades with them.
Within the cramped chamber, it is difficult to find adequate cover and your fellow soldiers make use of whatever objects or structures they can find to shield themselves from enemy fire.
"Elan!" Amélie shouts the ancient war cry over the Vox, as the Taskmasters push forward, each of these mutants bulked out and lupine, firing heavy combat shotguns with bayonets at the end. Their speed caught you by surprise, and quickly, The right flank devolves into a brutal close range firefight that sees the Second Section driven back even as bolt shells rip into the taskmasters.
Your troops, now pressed into the very confines of the Atmospherics Station, can barely move without triggering a hail of metal and fire from the Gene-Patriarchs' Volkite weapons and the shotguns of their Taskmaster subordinates. The station's control panels, once soft and comforting in their glow, now cast an ominous and flickering shadow-dance across the walls. Second Section pulls back to a corner of the room, making a stand behind reinforced atmospheric pipes.
The Astartes, however, remain firm and resolute, their bolters crackling and firing at will as they slowly work their way towards the remaining Patriarchs. The fire of the Taskmasters does not even scratch their armour, and their bolters blast apart the fodder protecting the Gene-Patriarchs.
"Focus on the leaders!" your voice echoes.
In response, your section sends out a withering volley of concentrated lasbolts as the Rapier unleashes a hail of frag shells towards the Patriarchs, their protective barriers lighting up from the lasbolts, and then bursting in a symphony of resounding blasts upon the impact of the grenade shrapnel.
Three Volkite beams shoot out, each sweeping through the First and Third consolidated, turning scores of men to ash. You immediately pull Jean your vox-trooper and Jeanne down to where Primevere is already in cover, as three sustained Volkite beams wash over the First and third consolidated.
The heated Volkite beams are such a bright orange they turn white in their cores. They sweep through the ranks of soldiers, their bodies burning into dust, leaving behind only blackened fragments of armor.
The Astartes rush forward, opening fire on fully automatic, bolt rounds ripping through and blowing apart the Gene-Patriarchs.
The remnants of your forces are holed up inside the control station for Atmospherics, the scarce dozen of soldiers of the Three sections that survived the fighting.
A tense silence reigns as everyone clutches their weapons, the Astartes guarding the doors while the surviving Auxilia help Philip and his Rapier crew prepare the ordnance. Focus upon their task superceding any anger towards you.
You ignore the occasional caustic glare you receive. War is costly.
As Sergeant Khorban adjusts the controls on the large Cogitator station. You can see a complex network of tubes and abstract squares representing the atmospheric cyclers and the rest of the ventilation system, and you realize he is redirecting them for optimal dispersion.
You nod in approval at the ingenuity. "You're changing the direction of these air currents." You say, more as a statement than a question.
"For maximum effect." Khorban responds through his helmet.
He points to a large valve on the wall, immediately one of his Astartes starts opening it. The valve begins to suck in air. "This station was designed to disperse aerosolized chemicals for control, now it will be used to unleash destruction across the station. Observe"
You flinch and squeak out an undignified noise as the legionnaire slams the shell's base on the floor to activate the impact fuse, then pushes it into the sucking vents. There is a grating mechanical noise from the marine that you need a few moments to recognize for laughter. The marine then shoves it into the vents,
Khorban looks up at your mortar crew and their servitor assistants. "Impact fuses first. I am closing the grills on the vents our payloads are heading, so the impacts will set off the shells"
The Rapier's crew are hesitant at first but then with greater purpose, get to work, following the Marines in preparing their phosphex shells to be inserted. They work like an artillery crew, with the valve as their breach.
The Habitat, which would one day be known as Neptune Orbital 12, trembled as ventilation vents exploded open, each of them unleashing a torrent of The Fire of Old Night. In a matter of minutes, the insatiable Phosphex fires would rage through the station, each of the motion-attracted masses of white flame raging through the hallways, dozens of separate infernos each raging out from where they had been unleashed, consuming whatever they touched.
For the Imperial Strategos leading the assault, the first indication something had changed was the abrupt halt of enemy reinforcements from within the habitat's core. It was clear that -something- had happened.
It was a status report from a Sub-Tercio commander, backed by the word of an Astartes Squad Leader, that explained what had happened. The three-month long campaign would be reduced to a week-long mopup, and the survivors of the expedition were each commended for their actions. From the lowest surviving trooper to their Ensign, all received promotions and were put in a new sub Tercio for the next assault upon [REDACTED]
-The Purgation of Neptune: Submitted to the Imperial Court. 793M30
Apothecary running at full capacity.
Induction vat throughput.l: 89% failure rate
Intake pens capacity: 121% safe capacity. Cull in progress.
Additional prison barges requested.
Expected casualty rate of the first year of Neptunian Compliance.
1253 Marines.
Expected recruitment for the first year of Neptunian Compliance.
11 Dreadnoughts.
1373 Marines.
189278 failed implantations.
-Chapter intake report: Neptunian Orbital Twelve.
The Marines were right about the hidden hangar and led you and the surviving members of the Sub-Tercio there. It was a simple matter of using the access codes the sergeant had provided you with. (His fingers were too big for the keypad.) and taking cover inside. Primevére voxed in your situation, much to the loud congratulations and excitement from the commanders on the other end. Dropships were quickly dispatched to fortify your position and prepare to shuttle you back to the Argent Heart.
A second shuttle in the markings of the First Legion arrived alongside the one for you, servitors emerging alongside a group of menials and armed voidmen, they would proceed to gather up the guns used by the Gene-Patriarchs, sealing them in stasis caskets for transfer to their masters, the weapons destined for soldiers far above you.
As the ramp of the single Arvus Lighter that now carries what remains of your Sub-Tercio heads through the void, you can't help but consider the looks from your soldiers. Many of them are angry, although most just look Tired. Jeanne and Amélie sit next to each other, sipping their wine rations as they grumble about the losses they took. 'Pip' Meanwhile fusses over his Rapier, loudly lamenting the damage the chassis has taken.
You ignore them for now. You won, and if even half of what you have overheard is true, delivered a brutal blow to the enemy. You are certain that this will be the beginning of your rise up the ranks of the Solar Auxilia. A victory of this scale is something that will mark you out for greatness.
The losses were regrettable but necessary.
In the end, there was little room for celebration, and the campaign against Neptune's many moons was set to continue. Your Legate Marshal congratulated each of you, shook your hands, before apologising about being needed in the war room for additional planning. Commendations would wait until the end of the campaign.
From the remnants of other formations, and reserves spread throughout the fleet, the strategic savants of the Saturnyne Ordos were already aiding the Verdyn Chemical Engineers in reconstituting themselves for a massed combined deployment. Your excellent service and loyalty had marked you out, and you were put in command of an enlarged Sub-Tercio as part of this massive deployment.
You were deployed to:
[]Triton, the den:
The moon of Triton is a blasted expanse of cryovolcanoes and a seemingly endless expanse of ice. Deep within its heart, in the infamous slaughter-tunnels, lie vast breeding dens where the Gene-Patriarchs are preparing an army to fight back against the Revenant Legion. Additionally, the Gene-Patriarchs have begun to implant their armies with integrated cybernetic weapons to render them more effective in ranged combat.
The world is a two-fronted engagement. Mutants in pressure suits and with firearms upon the blasted surface, and great swarms of them in the great tunnels and underground networks that sprawl beneath the surface of the world, filled with gene labs and other esoteric techno-arcane machinery used by the Gene-Patriarchs.
The amount of Mutants Swarms are expected to be double or even triple what you experienced before, and there will be more formations of Gene-Patriarchs. However, the Astartes will deploy in force and you will be expected to merely provide mopup operations.
Gene-Matriarch presence suspected.
Your mission: Hold the Triton Nexus, a spaceport that serves as the entrance to a grand underground network of tunnels while the Astartes continue their underground offensive, all the while fighting an offensive campaign on the surface against enemy reinforcements.
Expected enemies: Regular deployments of 5+ Mutant Swarms.
[]Nereid, the fallen paradise:
The moon of Nereid is a monument to hubris. Surrounded by an atmospheric shell, an artificial core, and surrounded by satellites that illuminated the world until the surface was akin to a tropical beach paradise, keeping an ocean of liquid water at an optimal temperature. Nereid was a resort, a moon-sized beach resort where one could sunbathe and swim during the Dark Age of Technology.
Although the exotic outside of the world has remained the same, something stews within its depths. Generations of humans live and die as extensions of the cybernetic constructs that Nereid's central controlling computer uses to stay in operation, a remnant of the Men of Iron that is to be expunged.
Still equipped with frightening levels of technology, the only reason the Nereid AI has not expanded is the utter absence of materials to build a spacecraft.
Your mission: Hold the spaceport while the Revenant Legion purge the moon of cybernetic constructs.
Expected enemies: Low numbers of high quality units.
[]Proteus, the living moon:
Once just another world, Proteus has grown to twice its original size, becoming a swollen orb of cancerous void-resistant biomass, with only half the original surface of Proteus sticking out of this mass like the pus tip of a great boil. Proteus is occupied by a xenos invasion force that has tormented the Solar System for nearly a millennium.
The mass of Proteus is its own massive organism, which absorbs energy from the electromagnetic spectrum to grow and swell, forming a hard outer layer inside of which a mass of energy-rich liquid coagulates. Upon reaching critical mass, it will burst and send out a spread of seeds.
Due to the danger of destroying the mass causing a dispersion event, a slower operation has been organized. The world is to be burned, inch by inch, to ensure that the mass is unable to spread.
The official designation of the xenos species is the Cymoeba, and whether they are an extension of Proteus, a thrall-species, or are in fact the controllers of this beast, is still unknown. They are a plasmic race, each akin to a giant cell, housed in protective cybernetic layers that come in humanoid light and arachnoid heavy variants. Where the Cymoeba ends and the cybernetics begin is still unknown, as is the capacity for independent thought of each Cymoeba.
Pre-Old Night records mention a history of conflict with this species, including a surrender treaty forced upon their state. For their perfidious use of humanity's weakness during Old Night, the Emperor of Mankind has signed a writ of extermination against the Cymoeba.
Your mission: Hold the Imperial Fortress established upon Proteus so the Revenant Legion can use it as a base from which to launch their purgation operations.
Expected enemies: Xenos military of equivalent makeup to the Solar Auxilia
Sub-Tercio Delta:
First Lasrifle Section has been upgraded to a Veteran Lasrifle Section:
Second Lasrifle Section has been replenished
Third Lasrifle Section has been replenished
First Rapier Destroyer Support Section is still fully operational.
Sub-Tercio Delta is to be expanded. It will be supplemented with the following sections.
(You have 5 reinforcement points)
(Only add the Section's name to your plans. Votes with the full length description will not be counted to avoid cluttering.)
-Solar Auxilia Lasrifle Section:
A force of void-armoured well-trained well-drilled troops equipped with the finest lasrifles that the early Imperium can source.
Shooting 4+
Armour save: 5+
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 0
Wounds: 1
Trait:
Light weaponry: Can not damage Heavy armour.
Defender: Automatically moves into Engagment Melee to match enemy melee units
Costs: 1
Max: 2
-Solar Auxilia Flamer Section:
The purifying effects of fire have long proven themselves against the Psyker and the Alien, and the Saturnyne Ordos have developed flamethrowers able to either use promethium or hydrazine based gels depending on if an engagement is expected to take place in vacuum.
Shooting 5+
Shots: 3
Armour save: 5+
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 - 2
Wounds: 1
Trait:
Fire-Purgation: When General Melee ensues, the Flamer Section makes a full shooting attack.
Costs: 2
Max 1
-Solar Auxilia Rapier Support Section:
Modified cargo-palettes equipped with heavy weapons are the inspiration of these weapons systems, their design so durable and reliable that the Astartes have begun to use them.
Shooting 3+
Armour save: None
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 - 3
Wounds: 1
Trait:
Fire Support: When Attacking: If the enemy has no Fire Support in the engagement, the attacker shoots fist.
Costs: 2
Max: 1
-Veletaris Volkite Support Section: Elite Solar Auxilia in heavy Void Armour, equipped with the best weapons baseline humanity can expect to wield.
Shooting 3+
Armour save: 4+
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 0
Wounds: 1
Trait:
Light Weaponry: Can not damage Heavy armour.
Deflagrate: If an enemy unit is killed by this unit, immediately apply another wound to an enemy unit during shooting resolution, one more if a unit of Chaff is killed.
Costs: 2
Max: 1
-Veletaris Storm-Axe Support Section: Elite Solar Auxilia in heavy Void Armour, equipped with storm axes to cut through obstacles both object and person.
Armour save: 4+
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 1
Wounds: 2
Trait:
Guardian: If General Melee ensues, roll for Support Sections as normal. When a Support Section is to take a wound, instead roll again for the Storm-axe Section and have it take the place of the support section. It can both take wounds for the Support Section, or attack for them. This effect can happen once per Guardian.
Melee combatant: Will immediately enter engagement Melee if possible.
Power Weaponry: Can damage Heavy armour in Melee
Costs: 2
Max: 1
-Veletaris Rotor-Cannon Support Section: Elite Solar Auxilia in heavy Void Armour, equipped with rotary autocannons for laying down suppressing fire upon the enemy.
Shooting 3+
Shots: 2
Armour save: 4+
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 -3
Wounds: 1
Light Weaponry: Can not damage Heavy armour.
Corpsegrinder: Double damage when hitting chaff.
Costs: 2
Max: 1
Solar Auxilia Charonite Ogryn Section:
Imported to the Solar System from gene-patterns imported from a trader from Pavonis, the Saturnyne Ordos have grown specially gene-bulked abhumans implanted with cybernetics that keep them quiescent, but also ready to be sent into a murderous kill-frenzy at the flip of a switch.
Armour save: 4+
Combat effectiveness 2d6 + 3
Wounds: 3
Trait:
Meat Shield: Before General Melee can start, this unit must be destroyed. All excess melee wounds are concentrated upon this unit.
It will not die: After being removed, and after the conclusion of the current melee round, roll a d6, on a 4 or up, the Charonite revives with one wound.
Melee combatant: Will immediately enter engagement Melee if possible.
Costs: 3
Max: 1
Combat
Consolidated first and third Sections
Second Section
Rapier Destroyer Supporters Sections
Astartes legionnaire Squad
One Gene-Patriarch
first Mutant Taskmasters unit
second Mutant Taskmasters unit
three Mutant Swarms.
-Consolidated first and third Section: rolled 4+
Hit
-Second Section: rolled 3
Miss
-Rapier Destroyer Support Section: rolled 4
Hit
-Astartes legionnaire Squad: rolled 5
Hit
Not enough hits for instant win.
Mutants return fire
-Gene Patriarch rolled 2
Miss
-Taskmasters rolled 4
Miss
-Taskmaster rolled 1
Miss
All three Mutant swarms are destroyed.
-Consolidated first and third Section Rolled 1
Miss
-Second Section rolled 2
Miss
-Rapier Destroyer Support section rolled 2
Miss :
-Astartes legionnaire Squad rolled 6
Hit
-One Gene-Patriarch rolled 2
Miss
-first Mutant Taskmasters unit rolled 6
Hit
-second Mutant Taskmasters unit rolled 2
Miss
Second Section rolls for armour save: rolled 4
Armour save failes.
Second Section is made combat ineffective.
Mutant Taskmasters unit is destroyed.
-Consolidated first and third Section Rolled 1
Miss
-Rapier Destroyer Supporters Section rolled 1
Miss
-Astartes legionnaire Squad rolled 5
Hit
-One Gene-Patriarch rolled 1
Miss
-first Mutant Taskmasters unit rolled 3
Miss
The Mutant taskmasters are destroyed.
-Consolidated first and third Section Rolled 1
Miss
-Rapier Destroyer Support Section rolled 6
Hit
-Astartes legionnaire Squad rolled 5
Hit
-One Gene-Patriarch Rolled 4
Hit
Consolidated first and third Section is rendered combat ineffective.
Gene Patriarch is destroyed
Consolidated first and third Sections
Second Section
Rapier Destroyer Supporters Sections
Astartes legionnaire Squad
One Gene-Patriarch
first Mutant Taskmasters unit
second Mutant Taskmasters unit
three Mutant Swarms.
-Consolidated first and third Section: rolled 4+
Hit
-Second Section: rolled 3
Miss
-Rapier Destroyer Support Section: rolled 4
Hit
-Astartes legionnaire Squad: rolled 5
Hit
Not enough hits for instant win.
Mutants return fire
-Gene Patriarch rolled 2
Miss
-Taskmasters rolled 4
Miss
-Taskmaster rolled 1
Miss
All three Mutant swarms are destroyed.
-Consolidated first and third Section Rolled 1
Miss
-Second Section rolled 2
Miss
-Rapier Destroyer Support section rolled 2
Miss :
-Astartes legionnaire Squad rolled 6
Hit
-One Gene-Patriarch rolled 2
Miss
-first Mutant Taskmasters unit rolled 6
Hit
-second Mutant Taskmasters unit rolled 2
Miss
Second Section rolls for armour save: rolled 4
Armour save failes.
Second Section is made combat ineffective.
Mutant Taskmasters unit is destroyed.
-Consolidated first and third Section Rolled 1
Miss
-Rapier Destroyer Supporters Section rolled 1
Miss
-Astartes legionnaire Squad rolled 5
Hit
-One Gene-Patriarch rolled 1
Miss
-first Mutant Taskmasters unit rolled 3
Miss
The Mutant taskmasters are destroyed.
-Consolidated first and third Section Rolled 1
Miss
-Rapier Destroyer Support Section rolled 6
Hit
-Astartes legionnaire Squad rolled 5
Hit
-One Gene-Patriarch Rolled 4
Hit
Consolidated first and third Section is rendered combat ineffective.
Gene Patriarch is destroyed
The war grinds on, and you are quickly sent back into the grinder.
Vote for sections and for deployment are SEPARATE.
3 hours Moratorium.
Last edited:
The Purgation of Neptune, Part 4
- Location
- Netherlands
The evening before their deployment to Proteus, the Cohort gathered in their finest dress uniforms. The soft clinking of silverware and hushed conversations created a peaceful ambiance as they settled into their seats.
You have been anticipating this moment. It's your first chance to wine and dine with the upper class that you aspire to join. Your long blonde hair has been carefully washed by one of the Cohort's professional barbers and repaired from being flattened under your helmet.
Appearances are important, especially for those aspiring to high society. A skilled aesthetech of the Alpyne Tech-Clans had subtly prepared you for high society. Nothing major, just preparations to give you a timeless appearance. An emphasized slightly androgynous build, safeguarded against the onset of aging and stress by a few injections, a tightening of the cheeks, and your jawline being made just a slightly bit more fierce.
You know that its a common jest among the men and women that you're the prettiest officer in the Sub-Section, and it does get a chuckle out of you. Personally, you'd be happy to assert a bit more of a masculine appearance, but have learned to appreciate it's beauty, and the way it helps pave the way for high society.
The faint scent of lilacs lingers around you, applied alongside corrective makeup. The same smell that came from the little herbal garden around the small country estate of your family.
Fiercely ambitious, your parents did not indulge in frivolous luxury, instead putting their wealth into investments of metal and flesh alike. The smell is a reminder of home and brings comfort in this unfamiliar and uncertain environment.
Your family's wealth is notable, but utterly lacking in power and prestige. No ancient pedigree, no maker's mark of a Tech-Clan, Labour Guild, or Corpclave.
That is why you are here.
If not for the damn Martians, your family would be providing arms to the Expeditionary Fleets. But your family can not compete with Martian lasguns, and so you instead arm the troops that remain. Good reliable weaponry for militia, second line formations, enforcers, private security, and lesser Arbites precincts.
You allow yourself to indulge in the luxury and extravagance of the officer's dining hall. The Argent Heart's grand dining hall is a sea of navy blue and white, accentuated with gold accents and buttons to match any visible cybernetics. The menu for the evening is opulent, fitting for the status of the Cohort's officers. Veal, truffles, fillet mignon, caviar, foie gras escargot - each dish is more exquisite than the last.
To accommodate the officers' preferences, polished wooden tables have been brought aboard the Jovian troop transport, causing great expense and complaints from the Voidborn. Servants move elegantly between tables, laying out fine china and silverware. You suppress a smile at the memory of the overly critical Tech-Shaman from Mars grumbling about an all-human catering and kitchen staff.
"A moment if you would, Sub-Lieutenant."
You stop dead in your tracks as you hear the voice of Legate Marshal Mardon Lentierre from behind you. It overpowers the pride you feel at being addressed by your new rank for the first time.
Legate Marshal Mardon is a surprisingly small man, although he does well to hide it. The Frank is sealed inside a suit of life support armour that has been richly decorated. An oxygen mask covers his face, and a nasogastric tube goes down his nose, both connected to a backpack which contains his life support and the fusion reactor which powers it.
You've read the stories about the old Marshal, both the official memoirs and the accounts of his soldiers, a company commander in the Second Frontier army that defeated the first Imperial invasion of Franc over a century ago, where he personally led a bayonet charge to kill a wounded Custodes.
Although this was before the Custodes wore their new Auramite armour, and had still worn armour without powered enhancements, which the Legate Marshal has aggressively reminded people of. Emphasising that the Custodes was more burnt meat and molten armour than posthuman warrior when the charge happened and that the Custodes was still able to kill most of his men.
You gawk for a moment and then nod eagerly. A moment with the Legate Marshal? It would advance your ambitions greatly.
The heavy gauntlet of his life support-armour is put on your shoulder and he quickly ushers you away from the mess hall and towards his private dining suite. Your mind races as you consider what you want to ask first.
"I have read your dossier after your successful mission, as I was impressed by your actions and wanted to learn more about you and something caught my eye. You're a child of the Sallas family right? The autogun makers? If so do tell me. Why does your family specialise in those? Las is where the real money is made after all."
It was blatantly evident to you. Your family background had caught his attention and now he was assessing your worth.
The sales pitch for Sallas Arms Autoguns had been drilled into your brain, almost like a hypno-conditioning. "A garrison doesn't need a lasgun. A reliable Sallas autogun will do the job. It won't jam, it has just the right weight, and can withstand even harsh environmental conditions."
A smug smirk appears on his thin lips. "I'm well acquainted with their marketing strategy, Sub-Lieutenant. They plastered it all over the self defense vid-networks." He adjusts the tube in his nose before continuing. "But I must ask, why does your family not produce any Las-weapons?"
You frown in annoyance. "Franc is a nation of Autogun factories. Only the Ef-En Tech-Clan produces las-weapons but they primarily supply the state for Imperial Tithe payments. And I hardly consider them proper Franks." You add another issue to the mix. "And with the War Council's mandate for power-pack infantry weapons for the Imperial army and Solar Auxilia, it has severely restricted our arms industry. Sallas is forced to rely on equipping the police forces of other states and provincial militias to turn a profit."
There is no mention of the fact that although the sales of autoguns are as good as they've ever been. Sallas Arms are being typecast as low status manufacturer, which is reducing possible contracts.
A nod of approval. He continues. "Do you know why it is almost impossible for Franc to break into the business of selling firearms to the Imperial Army?"
A deep frown creases your brow. Your words drip with bitterness and resentment as you discuss the state of the solar intra-system commerce. "Not to mention, Mars has an iron grip on lasguns for the Imperial Army, and Saturn is undisputed as the source of Lasrifles for the Solar Auxilia." You shake your head. "I know some Franc merchants have made a profit selling artificer-made high-grade energy weapons and exotic techno-arcana." A field that has always been out of reach for your family, despite their wealth and influence.
He interlocks his fingers, creating a steeple. "The techno-clan crafting techniques may always have a market, but they are too slow for competition. Franc lacks the necessary crafting expertise and knowledge of obscure technology to be a major competitor with the Martians and Saturnynes. Our domestic production of lasrifles relies heavily on old machinery and foundries that we cannot replicate." He studies your reaction, giving you a chance to respond.
"There will always be a demand in our domestic market," you mumble, chewing on your lower lip. "But it limits our industry's growth potential."
"You are well-informed. I presume this is because your family business holds significant importance to you?"
"Absolutely, sir."
He acknowledges your statement with a nod. "I've thoroughly researched your family's business. Your family controls each step in the production chain of autoguns and the machines used to make them. You have no outdated foundries or ancestral obligations to hold you back. From mining the ore to creating the Autoguns, your family handles every aspect of the process and have the knowledge and expertise needed to replicate it. That is quite rare."
You give a reluctant nod in agreement. "Unfortunately, it also means we lack the prestige and the credit. Our Autoguns may be top-notch, but no first line army unit wants to purchase them. We don't have any prestigious Maker's Mark from Mars or from an ancient pre-Old Night foundry adorning our works."
The old Marshal's eyes twinkled as he poured himself a glass of red wine. He leaned back and talked to himself out loud, "What if Franc became a player in the offworld arms market … beyond the Solar System? what If it became the first to arrive at new worlds to provide manufacturing infrastructure without all the red tape the Martians bring with them."
Your smile widened as you understood the implications. You quickly hid your excitement and nodded, pretending to just be humouring the musings of an old man.
"But as you know, the license for offworld arms trading is hard to acquire, and there's currently little demand for anything other than top of the line equipment," the Marshal continued.
You couldn't agree more. Your family had been trying to obtain that coveted license for years, but without proof of an active contract, it was nearly impossible.
The Marshal went on, "All the las-weapon sellers are content with supplying only the Imperium. The Martians are bastards and will only produce for you, if you give them land and let them do what they wish. And nobody is selling wholesale weapons-manufacturing infrastructure. But once the wars begin, there will be many worlds requiring equipment. Uniforms, Helmets, arms, and munitions. And who will sell to these planetary militias and colonial efforts? None will, I'd say. It is a tragedy waiting to happen."
You took another sip of wine, the red liquid flavoured with the sweet sweet taste of insider knowledge. "Quite tragic, sir."
The Marshal smiles. "Although, speaking of equipment. My retinue will require new pistols at some point. Quite a sizeable amount in fact. Although I unfortunetly have not found a proper source yet."
"Please continue musing, sir."
The Marshal nodded. "You had Veletaris assigned to your sub-tercio. Their leader is the scion of the Chjandelmak family." He leans forward and gives a grin that makes it very clear what he wants next. "Take very good care of them."
You blink at the implication, wondering for a moment why the Marshal wanted this person dead. The Chjandelmak were low nobility, were they not? One of the previous crop of nobles that were overthrown by the last revolution. But to kill someone as they served in the Imperial Military almost felt off. And it would need to be done discreetly.
You do not show a hint of emotion as you signal a waiter and have him bring you the veal cutlet in truffle sauce and a glass of wine. Rank has its advantages.
Legate Marshal Mardon Lentierre, leader of your Cohort, has made it known that he requires someone in the Regiment killed, in a way that does not incriminate him.
If the Veletaris Section is destroyed on Proteus in a way that does not arouse suspicion, then your family will be richly rewarded. This means not sending him on his own against a by far superior foe.
The turn after the battles on Proteus are over, you will be given the opportunity to make use of the knowledge you acquired.
You feel the heavy dropship shake as it carries your Tercio to the surface of Proteus. Sergeant Philip "Pip" leans over and mutters to you, "That Proteus fella is a real ugly bastard, ain't it?" Some of the other non-commissioned officers and lower-ranked officers around you chuckle at his remark, but quickly fall silent when Lieutenant Albert Nellyat, commander of Tercio Primaris, takes the stage.
You can't help but eye his uniform and rank insignia, silently pondering what you will look like in the same position someday.
"Attention, soldiers," Albert barks, his expression stern. The Lieutenant has donned his Void-Armour and is followed closely by a burly lifeward whose head constantly moves from side to side as he scans the room, possibly a Nervejack implant for speed. "You will be in the second line of our attack on Proteus. Our mission is to eliminate the Xenoform mass! Proteus is a Class-A Xenos infestation, capable of spreading to other worlds if it absorbs enough energy or if it isn't destroyed properly." He presses a few buttons on his left gauntlet, bringing up a hololith in the helmet of each soldier in the dropship.
He adjusts the Hololith's display to show the size of the moon and the massive, foreign flesh that has engulfed part of it. "Proteus feeds off on electromagnetic energy and cannot be killed with energy weapons alone and breaking it apart with kinetics risks contaminating the Solar System. Therefore, we will resort to a traditional method - chemical sprayers and flamethrowers."
"We will land, and immediately engage the mass. The Cymoeba are an unknown threat, but are liable to become agitated once we begin the assault. When we do, it will be our task to engage their ground forces as the Mechanicum and the Revenant Legion begin clearing away our enemy. Destroyer Sections are authorised to deploy Phosphex. Rad bombardment has already commenced, and we will be fighting in a rad-zone. Keep an eye on your counteragents and exposure. Rad-treatments are a bitch."
The Lieutenant slams a fist on his chest and shouts. "Vive L'Empereur!" A shout echoed by the soldiers.
The landing on Proteus was uncontested, and the Seventh Cohort was able to file out and begin the march on the Cymoeba immediately upon landing. Fifty-thousand soldiers deploy onto the surface within an hour, their landing ships to be used as bases while deployed within the vacuum, while more troops are preparing to land on command once the battle has begun.
The newly reconstituted Sub-Tercio Delta is arrayed out half a kilometre from the edge of Proteus's mass. You look out at the front lines with your enhanced magnification settings on your helmet. There is a chain of vacuum-rated heavy servitors ,and Solar Auxilia, and Revenant Legion formations, all of them equipped with chemical sprayers and flamethrowers, preparing to burn through the mass.
Your Sub-Tercio is in the back, ready to move into the fighting once it begins. The non-existent air is tense as the Imperium digs in, sets up its weapons, and prepares for the fighting.
Void-Sergeant Jeanne is rousing her squad by talking about the rewards for this fight. Void-Sergeant Amélie meanwhile is patrolling her section, examining their positions and scolding the slightest failure she can take note of, of which there are few. "Pip" is preparing his servitors, stasis-chest with Phosphex shells, and ensuring that his Rapier is ready to fire.
You glance at the new sections and their leaders. You know their names, but not who they are. And personally, you'd rather not learn their personalities on the eve of such a major battle. Perhaps afterwards, if they prove lucky enough to be worth emotionally investing into.
The Veletaris Sergeant, Anniet Chjandelmak, fidgets slightly as he adjusts the grip on his Storm-Axe. His Veletaris are practising team drills, fighting in pairs against superior foes.
You just sit there and lean over the stone you're using for cover. Down the hill, the attack is about to start. You whistle a command and your troops immediately move into position, ready to fire down in support of the front ranks.
Across Proteus, tens of thousands of Solar Auxilia in the front ranks, from eight Cohorts, all begin to march forward. The newer Terran Cohorts moving in tight formations, whereas the single Saturnyne Cohort that is assisting you, will be moving in small squads under heavy rapier support. Across a front stretching fifty kilometres, the attack begins.
As the first flamers begin to burn away the surface layer of Proteus, the mass begins to shiver.
Where the mass has burnt and cracked, a thick transparent liquid that defies the near-vacuum flows forward, marble-sized creatures swimming through it. The liquid moves with uncanny purpose, slithering up the legs of those Solar Auxilia and servitors close enough to be engulfed. You can see the flamers being dropped as the men are brought down by creatures adhering to the suits and burning through as they dissolve, allowing the liquid inside.
"Fuck me!" Jeanne yells. "What is that stuff!?"
You mute the vox to shut off the sounds of good soldiers melting into a sludge that flows through the fluid in red patches, even as their suits are dutifully disassembled by swarms of the creatures working in cooperation.
"Inflammation." Amélie growls. "Fluid. Those things must be the antibodies."
"Then we should be able to see the white blood cells as well." You mumble, flicking your Volkite Serpenta off the safety. Your Sub-Tercio is tense, glaring at the sight of the frontline pulling back and hitting the mass of Proteus with their flamers, trying to burn away the fluid, even as gouts of caustic chemicals are sent splashing across the meat of Proteus.
Scaled sections of the hills slough off, detaching and sliding open to reveal arrayed legions of Cymoeba infantry. They advance through the fluid, unbothered by the antibodies advancing to the edge of the fluid and moving no further. The macro-cells flow up their forms, bringing with them biomass and machinery that begins to augment their ranks.
Emerging from hydraulic elevators of equal parts meat and steel that open like the winking of a great eye, are the enemy war-walkers. The creatures, each the size of a tank, open fire with cybernetic bio-lasers. Great fleshy maws on the tanks open up, sucking down the liquified Solar Auxilia and drinking deep, glowy nodules on their bodies glowing brighter as they do.
"Open fire!" You command. The Lasrifles of your Sub-Tercio join the rest of the Sub-Cohort as they pour lasbolts into the enemy assault, even as Sub-Cohort Tertius near the front engages the aliens in close quarters firefights. There is an advantage to being the second line
Within a minute, the horizon is alight with streaks of lasfire, pillars of white, and the distant flashes of actinic light as rad-munitions are deployed on the great beast. Your armour begins injecting you with pre-emptive counter-agents to ward off the radiation. A chill runs down your spine as you see the amount of Phosphex being deployed across the surface of Proteus is producing enough smoke to turn the sky white. Spheres of purple emerge intermittently as Vortex munitions detonate.
The first Astartes drop-pods and landing crafts begin to descend onto the battlefield, spilling out Revenant Legion Destroyer squads who immediately begin unloading rad-missiles and firing chem-throwers into the enemy. The Solar Auxilia retreat stalls for a moment, and the tide begins to turn.
Then the order goes out across the vox-net. "Advance."
You crouch back down behind the grey corpse of the Revenant space marine, scooting over so the Apothecary cutting into it can perform his work. After he finishes, he slams down the corpse of the Solar Auxiliary that had covered the Revenant before and re-secures it into the barricade with a spray of armour cement. Your Sub-Tercio has taken negligible losses so far, as the front lines are still taking the brunt of the beating.
You feel the body behind you shudder as Cymoeba small arms fire digs into it. Your Volkite chimes and you unplug it from the Marine's backpack. Glancing up out of cover, you examine the battlefield unfolding at the edge of Proteus's mass. In the sky, you see an Imperial Frigate burn its engines as hard as it can, trying to break free of a tentacle that seeks to draw it onto a massive maw.
On the left flank, you see Ogryn-sized walkers that are lashing out with tentacles fitted with buzzing blades and drills. They snatch up the dead and dying, throwing them into a mouth like a mixture of a snake and a grinder. Veletaris with storm-axes are fighting back, working in teams of two, hacking at the tendrils and legs of the foe, while a Support Section with Volkites are providing covering fire.
On the right flank, the Revenant Legion has taken a crater and is holding it from a heavy Cymoeba assault. They are in the process of firing Phosphex upon the enemy, although the Cymoeba are retaliating with their own chemical launchers from some kind of tank-sized Scorpid construct.
In the centre, you can see that the line is starting to buckle. Lieutenant Albert and Sub-Tercios Alpha and Beta are holding off a much larger force of Cymoeba, half of them have bodies suited for melee combat.
The Lieutenant is going to be killed any moment now, and when it happens, the line is liable to buckle. By the time you get there, he is certain to be dead.
But the Cymoeba will be bloodied, and a successful assault might throw them off the hill and allow for a drop pod assault on your position to aid in throwing the enemy back.
Or you could dig in, and prepare to hold the breach from the enemy assault, forming a place allied forces can retreat to, hold the line, and call down support.
You glance to each flank, then make your decision.
Your current command:
-First Lasrifle Section. You are in command of this Section.
-Second Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Amélie Beaufort
-Third Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Jeanne
-Fourth Lasrifle Section.
-First Rapier Destroyer Support Section. Led by Sergeant Philip "Pip" Bernadotte.
-First Auxilia Flamer Section.
-First Veletaris Storm-Axe Section. Led by Anniet Chjandelmak.
Engagement areas:
[]Left Flank:
A Section of Veletaris with storm axes and one with volkites are engaging enemy combat walkers and being pushed back.
At least two units of enemy walkers, and two Cymoeba units.
You are defending.
-Write in if and what you will deploy.
[]Center:
Lieutenant Albert and sub-sections Alpha and Beta are being overrun by the Cymoeba. You will not be able to save them in time.
-Write in which Sections you will deploy.
-Write in if you will:
Attack to take the Cymoeba by surprise, requesting reinforcements as you do so.
Dig in and let them come to you, while requesting reinforcements.
[]Right Flank: Thee large forces of Cymoeba and a supporting construct are attempting to breach a crater held by a squad of the Revenant Legion.
You are defending.
This Engagement is Hostile. You will need to roll for attrition.
-Write in if and what you will deploy.
Plan voting
Because this is a hard decision, and I am going to bed, voting will start in 11 hours so I can be there as it begins.
Discussing plans and posting plan ideas is allowed. Its just voting that has to wait.
You have been anticipating this moment. It's your first chance to wine and dine with the upper class that you aspire to join. Your long blonde hair has been carefully washed by one of the Cohort's professional barbers and repaired from being flattened under your helmet.
Appearances are important, especially for those aspiring to high society. A skilled aesthetech of the Alpyne Tech-Clans had subtly prepared you for high society. Nothing major, just preparations to give you a timeless appearance. An emphasized slightly androgynous build, safeguarded against the onset of aging and stress by a few injections, a tightening of the cheeks, and your jawline being made just a slightly bit more fierce.
You know that its a common jest among the men and women that you're the prettiest officer in the Sub-Section, and it does get a chuckle out of you. Personally, you'd be happy to assert a bit more of a masculine appearance, but have learned to appreciate it's beauty, and the way it helps pave the way for high society.
The faint scent of lilacs lingers around you, applied alongside corrective makeup. The same smell that came from the little herbal garden around the small country estate of your family.
Fiercely ambitious, your parents did not indulge in frivolous luxury, instead putting their wealth into investments of metal and flesh alike. The smell is a reminder of home and brings comfort in this unfamiliar and uncertain environment.
Your family's wealth is notable, but utterly lacking in power and prestige. No ancient pedigree, no maker's mark of a Tech-Clan, Labour Guild, or Corpclave.
That is why you are here.
If not for the damn Martians, your family would be providing arms to the Expeditionary Fleets. But your family can not compete with Martian lasguns, and so you instead arm the troops that remain. Good reliable weaponry for militia, second line formations, enforcers, private security, and lesser Arbites precincts.
You allow yourself to indulge in the luxury and extravagance of the officer's dining hall. The Argent Heart's grand dining hall is a sea of navy blue and white, accentuated with gold accents and buttons to match any visible cybernetics. The menu for the evening is opulent, fitting for the status of the Cohort's officers. Veal, truffles, fillet mignon, caviar, foie gras escargot - each dish is more exquisite than the last.
To accommodate the officers' preferences, polished wooden tables have been brought aboard the Jovian troop transport, causing great expense and complaints from the Voidborn. Servants move elegantly between tables, laying out fine china and silverware. You suppress a smile at the memory of the overly critical Tech-Shaman from Mars grumbling about an all-human catering and kitchen staff.
"A moment if you would, Sub-Lieutenant."
You stop dead in your tracks as you hear the voice of Legate Marshal Mardon Lentierre from behind you. It overpowers the pride you feel at being addressed by your new rank for the first time.
Legate Marshal Mardon is a surprisingly small man, although he does well to hide it. The Frank is sealed inside a suit of life support armour that has been richly decorated. An oxygen mask covers his face, and a nasogastric tube goes down his nose, both connected to a backpack which contains his life support and the fusion reactor which powers it.
You've read the stories about the old Marshal, both the official memoirs and the accounts of his soldiers, a company commander in the Second Frontier army that defeated the first Imperial invasion of Franc over a century ago, where he personally led a bayonet charge to kill a wounded Custodes.
Although this was before the Custodes wore their new Auramite armour, and had still worn armour without powered enhancements, which the Legate Marshal has aggressively reminded people of. Emphasising that the Custodes was more burnt meat and molten armour than posthuman warrior when the charge happened and that the Custodes was still able to kill most of his men.
You gawk for a moment and then nod eagerly. A moment with the Legate Marshal? It would advance your ambitions greatly.
The heavy gauntlet of his life support-armour is put on your shoulder and he quickly ushers you away from the mess hall and towards his private dining suite. Your mind races as you consider what you want to ask first.
"I have read your dossier after your successful mission, as I was impressed by your actions and wanted to learn more about you and something caught my eye. You're a child of the Sallas family right? The autogun makers? If so do tell me. Why does your family specialise in those? Las is where the real money is made after all."
It was blatantly evident to you. Your family background had caught his attention and now he was assessing your worth.
The sales pitch for Sallas Arms Autoguns had been drilled into your brain, almost like a hypno-conditioning. "A garrison doesn't need a lasgun. A reliable Sallas autogun will do the job. It won't jam, it has just the right weight, and can withstand even harsh environmental conditions."
A smug smirk appears on his thin lips. "I'm well acquainted with their marketing strategy, Sub-Lieutenant. They plastered it all over the self defense vid-networks." He adjusts the tube in his nose before continuing. "But I must ask, why does your family not produce any Las-weapons?"
You frown in annoyance. "Franc is a nation of Autogun factories. Only the Ef-En Tech-Clan produces las-weapons but they primarily supply the state for Imperial Tithe payments. And I hardly consider them proper Franks." You add another issue to the mix. "And with the War Council's mandate for power-pack infantry weapons for the Imperial army and Solar Auxilia, it has severely restricted our arms industry. Sallas is forced to rely on equipping the police forces of other states and provincial militias to turn a profit."
There is no mention of the fact that although the sales of autoguns are as good as they've ever been. Sallas Arms are being typecast as low status manufacturer, which is reducing possible contracts.
A nod of approval. He continues. "Do you know why it is almost impossible for Franc to break into the business of selling firearms to the Imperial Army?"
A deep frown creases your brow. Your words drip with bitterness and resentment as you discuss the state of the solar intra-system commerce. "Not to mention, Mars has an iron grip on lasguns for the Imperial Army, and Saturn is undisputed as the source of Lasrifles for the Solar Auxilia." You shake your head. "I know some Franc merchants have made a profit selling artificer-made high-grade energy weapons and exotic techno-arcana." A field that has always been out of reach for your family, despite their wealth and influence.
He interlocks his fingers, creating a steeple. "The techno-clan crafting techniques may always have a market, but they are too slow for competition. Franc lacks the necessary crafting expertise and knowledge of obscure technology to be a major competitor with the Martians and Saturnynes. Our domestic production of lasrifles relies heavily on old machinery and foundries that we cannot replicate." He studies your reaction, giving you a chance to respond.
"There will always be a demand in our domestic market," you mumble, chewing on your lower lip. "But it limits our industry's growth potential."
"You are well-informed. I presume this is because your family business holds significant importance to you?"
"Absolutely, sir."
He acknowledges your statement with a nod. "I've thoroughly researched your family's business. Your family controls each step in the production chain of autoguns and the machines used to make them. You have no outdated foundries or ancestral obligations to hold you back. From mining the ore to creating the Autoguns, your family handles every aspect of the process and have the knowledge and expertise needed to replicate it. That is quite rare."
You give a reluctant nod in agreement. "Unfortunately, it also means we lack the prestige and the credit. Our Autoguns may be top-notch, but no first line army unit wants to purchase them. We don't have any prestigious Maker's Mark from Mars or from an ancient pre-Old Night foundry adorning our works."
The old Marshal's eyes twinkled as he poured himself a glass of red wine. He leaned back and talked to himself out loud, "What if Franc became a player in the offworld arms market … beyond the Solar System? what If it became the first to arrive at new worlds to provide manufacturing infrastructure without all the red tape the Martians bring with them."
Your smile widened as you understood the implications. You quickly hid your excitement and nodded, pretending to just be humouring the musings of an old man.
"But as you know, the license for offworld arms trading is hard to acquire, and there's currently little demand for anything other than top of the line equipment," the Marshal continued.
You couldn't agree more. Your family had been trying to obtain that coveted license for years, but without proof of an active contract, it was nearly impossible.
The Marshal went on, "All the las-weapon sellers are content with supplying only the Imperium. The Martians are bastards and will only produce for you, if you give them land and let them do what they wish. And nobody is selling wholesale weapons-manufacturing infrastructure. But once the wars begin, there will be many worlds requiring equipment. Uniforms, Helmets, arms, and munitions. And who will sell to these planetary militias and colonial efforts? None will, I'd say. It is a tragedy waiting to happen."
You took another sip of wine, the red liquid flavoured with the sweet sweet taste of insider knowledge. "Quite tragic, sir."
The Marshal smiles. "Although, speaking of equipment. My retinue will require new pistols at some point. Quite a sizeable amount in fact. Although I unfortunetly have not found a proper source yet."
"Please continue musing, sir."
The Marshal nodded. "You had Veletaris assigned to your sub-tercio. Their leader is the scion of the Chjandelmak family." He leans forward and gives a grin that makes it very clear what he wants next. "Take very good care of them."
You blink at the implication, wondering for a moment why the Marshal wanted this person dead. The Chjandelmak were low nobility, were they not? One of the previous crop of nobles that were overthrown by the last revolution. But to kill someone as they served in the Imperial Military almost felt off. And it would need to be done discreetly.
You do not show a hint of emotion as you signal a waiter and have him bring you the veal cutlet in truffle sauce and a glass of wine. Rank has its advantages.
Legate Marshal Mardon Lentierre, leader of your Cohort, has made it known that he requires someone in the Regiment killed, in a way that does not incriminate him.
If the Veletaris Section is destroyed on Proteus in a way that does not arouse suspicion, then your family will be richly rewarded. This means not sending him on his own against a by far superior foe.
The turn after the battles on Proteus are over, you will be given the opportunity to make use of the knowledge you acquired.
You feel the heavy dropship shake as it carries your Tercio to the surface of Proteus. Sergeant Philip "Pip" leans over and mutters to you, "That Proteus fella is a real ugly bastard, ain't it?" Some of the other non-commissioned officers and lower-ranked officers around you chuckle at his remark, but quickly fall silent when Lieutenant Albert Nellyat, commander of Tercio Primaris, takes the stage.
You can't help but eye his uniform and rank insignia, silently pondering what you will look like in the same position someday.
"Attention, soldiers," Albert barks, his expression stern. The Lieutenant has donned his Void-Armour and is followed closely by a burly lifeward whose head constantly moves from side to side as he scans the room, possibly a Nervejack implant for speed. "You will be in the second line of our attack on Proteus. Our mission is to eliminate the Xenoform mass! Proteus is a Class-A Xenos infestation, capable of spreading to other worlds if it absorbs enough energy or if it isn't destroyed properly." He presses a few buttons on his left gauntlet, bringing up a hololith in the helmet of each soldier in the dropship.
He adjusts the Hololith's display to show the size of the moon and the massive, foreign flesh that has engulfed part of it. "Proteus feeds off on electromagnetic energy and cannot be killed with energy weapons alone and breaking it apart with kinetics risks contaminating the Solar System. Therefore, we will resort to a traditional method - chemical sprayers and flamethrowers."
"We will land, and immediately engage the mass. The Cymoeba are an unknown threat, but are liable to become agitated once we begin the assault. When we do, it will be our task to engage their ground forces as the Mechanicum and the Revenant Legion begin clearing away our enemy. Destroyer Sections are authorised to deploy Phosphex. Rad bombardment has already commenced, and we will be fighting in a rad-zone. Keep an eye on your counteragents and exposure. Rad-treatments are a bitch."
The Lieutenant slams a fist on his chest and shouts. "Vive L'Empereur!" A shout echoed by the soldiers.
The landing on Proteus was uncontested, and the Seventh Cohort was able to file out and begin the march on the Cymoeba immediately upon landing. Fifty-thousand soldiers deploy onto the surface within an hour, their landing ships to be used as bases while deployed within the vacuum, while more troops are preparing to land on command once the battle has begun.
The newly reconstituted Sub-Tercio Delta is arrayed out half a kilometre from the edge of Proteus's mass. You look out at the front lines with your enhanced magnification settings on your helmet. There is a chain of vacuum-rated heavy servitors ,and Solar Auxilia, and Revenant Legion formations, all of them equipped with chemical sprayers and flamethrowers, preparing to burn through the mass.
Your Sub-Tercio is in the back, ready to move into the fighting once it begins. The non-existent air is tense as the Imperium digs in, sets up its weapons, and prepares for the fighting.
Void-Sergeant Jeanne is rousing her squad by talking about the rewards for this fight. Void-Sergeant Amélie meanwhile is patrolling her section, examining their positions and scolding the slightest failure she can take note of, of which there are few. "Pip" is preparing his servitors, stasis-chest with Phosphex shells, and ensuring that his Rapier is ready to fire.
You glance at the new sections and their leaders. You know their names, but not who they are. And personally, you'd rather not learn their personalities on the eve of such a major battle. Perhaps afterwards, if they prove lucky enough to be worth emotionally investing into.
The Veletaris Sergeant, Anniet Chjandelmak, fidgets slightly as he adjusts the grip on his Storm-Axe. His Veletaris are practising team drills, fighting in pairs against superior foes.
You just sit there and lean over the stone you're using for cover. Down the hill, the attack is about to start. You whistle a command and your troops immediately move into position, ready to fire down in support of the front ranks.
Across Proteus, tens of thousands of Solar Auxilia in the front ranks, from eight Cohorts, all begin to march forward. The newer Terran Cohorts moving in tight formations, whereas the single Saturnyne Cohort that is assisting you, will be moving in small squads under heavy rapier support. Across a front stretching fifty kilometres, the attack begins.
As the first flamers begin to burn away the surface layer of Proteus, the mass begins to shiver.
Where the mass has burnt and cracked, a thick transparent liquid that defies the near-vacuum flows forward, marble-sized creatures swimming through it. The liquid moves with uncanny purpose, slithering up the legs of those Solar Auxilia and servitors close enough to be engulfed. You can see the flamers being dropped as the men are brought down by creatures adhering to the suits and burning through as they dissolve, allowing the liquid inside.
"Fuck me!" Jeanne yells. "What is that stuff!?"
You mute the vox to shut off the sounds of good soldiers melting into a sludge that flows through the fluid in red patches, even as their suits are dutifully disassembled by swarms of the creatures working in cooperation.
"Inflammation." Amélie growls. "Fluid. Those things must be the antibodies."
"Then we should be able to see the white blood cells as well." You mumble, flicking your Volkite Serpenta off the safety. Your Sub-Tercio is tense, glaring at the sight of the frontline pulling back and hitting the mass of Proteus with their flamers, trying to burn away the fluid, even as gouts of caustic chemicals are sent splashing across the meat of Proteus.
Scaled sections of the hills slough off, detaching and sliding open to reveal arrayed legions of Cymoeba infantry. They advance through the fluid, unbothered by the antibodies advancing to the edge of the fluid and moving no further. The macro-cells flow up their forms, bringing with them biomass and machinery that begins to augment their ranks.
Emerging from hydraulic elevators of equal parts meat and steel that open like the winking of a great eye, are the enemy war-walkers. The creatures, each the size of a tank, open fire with cybernetic bio-lasers. Great fleshy maws on the tanks open up, sucking down the liquified Solar Auxilia and drinking deep, glowy nodules on their bodies glowing brighter as they do.
"Open fire!" You command. The Lasrifles of your Sub-Tercio join the rest of the Sub-Cohort as they pour lasbolts into the enemy assault, even as Sub-Cohort Tertius near the front engages the aliens in close quarters firefights. There is an advantage to being the second line
Within a minute, the horizon is alight with streaks of lasfire, pillars of white, and the distant flashes of actinic light as rad-munitions are deployed on the great beast. Your armour begins injecting you with pre-emptive counter-agents to ward off the radiation. A chill runs down your spine as you see the amount of Phosphex being deployed across the surface of Proteus is producing enough smoke to turn the sky white. Spheres of purple emerge intermittently as Vortex munitions detonate.
The first Astartes drop-pods and landing crafts begin to descend onto the battlefield, spilling out Revenant Legion Destroyer squads who immediately begin unloading rad-missiles and firing chem-throwers into the enemy. The Solar Auxilia retreat stalls for a moment, and the tide begins to turn.
Then the order goes out across the vox-net. "Advance."
You crouch back down behind the grey corpse of the Revenant space marine, scooting over so the Apothecary cutting into it can perform his work. After he finishes, he slams down the corpse of the Solar Auxiliary that had covered the Revenant before and re-secures it into the barricade with a spray of armour cement. Your Sub-Tercio has taken negligible losses so far, as the front lines are still taking the brunt of the beating.
You feel the body behind you shudder as Cymoeba small arms fire digs into it. Your Volkite chimes and you unplug it from the Marine's backpack. Glancing up out of cover, you examine the battlefield unfolding at the edge of Proteus's mass. In the sky, you see an Imperial Frigate burn its engines as hard as it can, trying to break free of a tentacle that seeks to draw it onto a massive maw.
On the left flank, you see Ogryn-sized walkers that are lashing out with tentacles fitted with buzzing blades and drills. They snatch up the dead and dying, throwing them into a mouth like a mixture of a snake and a grinder. Veletaris with storm-axes are fighting back, working in teams of two, hacking at the tendrils and legs of the foe, while a Support Section with Volkites are providing covering fire.
On the right flank, the Revenant Legion has taken a crater and is holding it from a heavy Cymoeba assault. They are in the process of firing Phosphex upon the enemy, although the Cymoeba are retaliating with their own chemical launchers from some kind of tank-sized Scorpid construct.
In the centre, you can see that the line is starting to buckle. Lieutenant Albert and Sub-Tercios Alpha and Beta are holding off a much larger force of Cymoeba, half of them have bodies suited for melee combat.
The Lieutenant is going to be killed any moment now, and when it happens, the line is liable to buckle. By the time you get there, he is certain to be dead.
But the Cymoeba will be bloodied, and a successful assault might throw them off the hill and allow for a drop pod assault on your position to aid in throwing the enemy back.
Or you could dig in, and prepare to hold the breach from the enemy assault, forming a place allied forces can retreat to, hold the line, and call down support.
You glance to each flank, then make your decision.
Your current command:
-First Lasrifle Section. You are in command of this Section.
-Second Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Amélie Beaufort
-Third Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Jeanne
-Fourth Lasrifle Section.
-First Rapier Destroyer Support Section. Led by Sergeant Philip "Pip" Bernadotte.
-First Auxilia Flamer Section.
-First Veletaris Storm-Axe Section. Led by Anniet Chjandelmak.
Engagement areas:
[]Left Flank:
A Section of Veletaris with storm axes and one with volkites are engaging enemy combat walkers and being pushed back.
At least two units of enemy walkers, and two Cymoeba units.
You are defending.
-Write in if and what you will deploy.
[]Center:
Lieutenant Albert and sub-sections Alpha and Beta are being overrun by the Cymoeba. You will not be able to save them in time.
-Write in which Sections you will deploy.
-Write in if you will:
Attack to take the Cymoeba by surprise, requesting reinforcements as you do so.
Dig in and let them come to you, while requesting reinforcements.
[]Right Flank: Thee large forces of Cymoeba and a supporting construct are attempting to breach a crater held by a squad of the Revenant Legion.
You are defending.
This Engagement is Hostile. You will need to roll for attrition.
-Write in if and what you will deploy.
Plan voting
Because this is a hard decision, and I am going to bed, voting will start in 11 hours so I can be there as it begins.
Discussing plans and posting plan ideas is allowed. Its just voting that has to wait.
Last edited:
The Purgation of Neptune, Part 5
- Location
- Netherlands
"Primevére!" You command the vox trooper. The Vox-Trooper ducks as bolts of enemy las-fire flash overhead. "Jeane and her flamer section are to go up the left flank, stop those constructs! Tell Void-Sergeants Anniet and…" You quickly bring up the section's leader in your HUD. "Richelle to go up the right flank, aid the Revenant Legion!" You put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Keep calling out orders, you're keeping us alive."
"Apothecary. Conta-" You turn to face the Revenant, only for him to be out of sight. You catch him sprinting to a nearby corpse with his Narthecium at the ready. You are about to call out.
When a corpse hits the ground ten meters from your position.
Then another.
A fat-bellied troop transport passing has been speared by a great spike launched from the surface of Proteus, its ruptured hull trailing the corpses of good soldiers. You push the Vox-Trooper out of the way, narrowly saving her from being crushed.
You refocus on the lieutenant and his man holding the center, You can see the weapons fire aimed at his location intensifying and getting closer to his command squad. You see the Tercio's standard waver, the golden Raptor and twin lightning bolt nearly falling before an unseen Trooper steadies it. The sight mollifies you. That is -your- future Vexilla.
"We'll have to do it ourselves then. Jean, with me!" You command your trusty Vexillary bearer, the emblem on his back gleaming in the light of weapons discharge. "Amélie, Philip, Follow us up the center! We will not lose the raptor!" Amélie and Philip both vox an acknowledgement, and their Sections prepare to attack.
In the distance, one of the Mountains of Proteus bulges and turns spherical, smoothing out the surface like an inflating balloon. A sheath of skin retracts, revealing a great white sphere.
You blink at the sudden reveal.
An eye the size of a mountain blinks back.
It takes every drop of willpower you have not to piss yourself on the spot as you see what you're facing.
It is a hundred metres to run down the hill and up towards the crater that Lieutenant Albert is holding.
If you are too slow, the enemy will take the lip and pour fire into you as you charge.
You are stuck in an airless rock orbiting Neptune.
The sky is white with phosphex.
The amount of anti-radiation counter treatments being pumped into your blood is turning it toxic.
Vortex munitions detonate every thirty seconds.
Massive spikes and gouts of bio-acid are launched by Proteus at ships in orbit.
You grab a handful of regolith and squeeze it tightly, feeling it between the gloves of your void armour. You refuse to die here today.
You mount the lip of the corpse barricade and wave your sword high. "Death to the Old Night!" Then you throw yourself over and charge. You will not wait for death to come to you.
You don't care. If you are going to die, then you're going to die charging.
The charge happens in a blur of adrenaline and maddened rage. Frag and phosphex shells fly overhead, landing somewhere in the rear of the Cymoeba. Your Section follows closely behind you, screaming incoherent war cries as they fit bayonets and throw up a cloud of dust as they charge up the hill.
You hear screaming from the right flank, the sound of flesh burning as Phosphex consumes men alive. On the left flank, you catch glimpses of Volkite beams slamming into harvesting constructs.
No lasfire comes your way as you reach the lip of the crater. The Cymoeba are caught utterly by surprise and are scattered in the face of Philip's bombardment. As you vault the lip, you see the scattered bodies of Lieutenant Albert and his Tercio. Each of the aliens is at least a head shorter than you, looking like sickly blue rotten eggs sealed inside cybernetic skins, their limbs composed of segmented tendrils that harden to form the limbs needed to carry the weapons they are using.
You snarl as you see a Cymoeba about to put a filthy tendril upon the Banner, and put a Volkite blast through its torso. It explodes.
You expect to be torn apart by an onslaught of lasfire from the Cymoeba. But the first volley comes from behind you. First-Section mantles the crater's lip in near-choreographed precision, opening fire on the still disorganised Cymoeba, advancing from cover to cover, using rocks and dead bodies wherever possible. They had not been expecting your assault, and they fell before you in waves.
You scream and keep firing your Volkite Serpenta, directing your soldiers to the best of your abilities, making frantic but moderated hand-signals, whistling commands, and shouting into the Vox, pushing for the northern lip of the crater. The Cymoeba make satisfying popping noises in close combat, bursting apart once the las-beams bring their internal fluids to a boil.
You pull Primevere closer to you and connect with her heavier vox set. "Lieutenant Albert is dead. Tercio Beta wiped out completely. We are holding their command post." There is static, and you receive a garbled response. "Vox-Trooper, clear up that static."
Jean Claude, ever reliable, reaches the Vexilla and grabs it before it can fall. He raises it high and waves it in the air. "The Raptor still flies! We will never fall!" He shouts over the Vox, firing his lasrifle with one hand. You join him, pushing the Cymoeba vanguard out of the crater.
"Herrand!" You hear Amélie yelling and pivot to face her. While your Section cleared out the crater, hers had manned the lip to open fire into the Imperial defenses that were lost moments before. "They are coming!"
Rushing over, you stare down and curse as you see the next force of the Xenos preparing to charge the crater. Over a hundred of the Cymoeba infantry forms, at least half of them equipped with scything limbs and buzzing blades. But less than what have already died fighting over the hill. You stare at the massive eye looking at you. Further in the distance, you can see massive walkers heading your way.
"Élan!" You shout, and the First Section joins the Second at the parapet, firing down into the advancing Cymoeba Vanguard. Grenades are thrown through the vacuum, flying through the low gravity and landing amongst the vanguard, tearing them apart in showers of blue liquid and metallic components.
A wall of lasfire returns your onslaught, scything through your troops and second section, men drop, clutching puncture wounds in their suit, too large for the self-repair functions to save them. You see two turn their pistols on themselves as they see the gaps are too large for any of their patches to mend.
"Death to the Alien!" Amélie shouts. "Death to the Old Night!". As her men fall around her. She narrowly avoids a las bolt through the skull, even as the man next to him has his head turned to a burnt stump.
"For striking Mankind in its weakness. Extinction!" You quote the Writ of Extinction signed by the Emperor, the reason you are fighting on this cursed forsaken moon. First Section alone will have to hold. But for how long?
Primevére takes a lasbolt to her torso and falls on her back. Your eye shoots to your squad monitor. It did not register a breach. You grab her by a shoulderpad and drag her into cover. The fighting begins to quiet down for a moment, and a peek out of cover confirms that the Cymoeba assault has pulled back. "Status report."
Jeanne answers over the Vox. She is almost growling, her voice intermixed with the gutter slang and insults of the lower levels of Pars. "Section combat-ineffective. Fifty percent casualties, remainder wounded. Left flank holds. Can not relocate. Continued enemy assaults."
"This is Sergeant Khorban." A familiar gruff voice mouths over the vox. "We did not ask for assistance. Your flanking force was consumed by a Phosphex cloud. " He pauses. "The intervention is recognized."
You curse loudly with your Vox receiver turned off. Phosphex clouds are liable to turn upon those who unleash them, by whatever arcane mechanism motivates their movement. "Please confirm. Veletaris and rifle section are dead?"
"Confirmed." Khorban says. "We are holding this flank. Can you hold your position?"
You peek over the parapet.
The horizon is filled with tentacles. At least two-dozen tendrils long enough to rip ships from orbit are lashing out, pulling apart ships. The ground begins to shake, the mass of Proteus in the distance seemingly preparing to detach from the moon.
Their main army of the Cymoeba is a hellish swarm of myriad bodily configurations, each seemingly more twisted and debased than the last, their sizes ranging from the small constructs you have fought, to beings the size of hab-blocks. They emerge from gaping openings in the world's surface.
"They were just cells." You mutter. "We have been fighting cells. I think those are the true Cymoeba coming for us."
Amélie gets into cover next to you, looking out into the death coming your way. She curses a string of gutter franc that makes Jeanne's prior outburst seem well-mannered. Her helmet cocks up as you stare at her in surprise. "Too bad about the suits. If we could take them off, we could die…" She trails off, her combat high slightly abating.
"I don't feel like dying tired. You?" You grin behind your faceplate. Perhaps you would not be executed if you retreated from this position. But you doubt that you could escape from what is coming your way.
Suddenly Philip throws himself into cover next to you. "Evening!" He laughs. Your head shoots around to look at his Rapier and the Servitors and troopers attending it. He's followed you all the way here. "Shitty place to die, if you ask me. But there's worse people to die with."
"Shut up, Pip." You laugh.
"Come on!" You shout, as a Cymoeba rushes ahead of the horde, easily as tall as a Space Marine, with three legs and four serrated claws. You fire your volkite into it, but the shot just disperses upon impacting its energy shield.
Just then a drop pod slams into the ground behind you, throwing up a shower of regolith. But instead of the Revenant Legion, Legionaries in black armour step out, all of them carrying mismatched weapons that share no unity of design. Their shapes are smooth and curved, instead of the boxy Imperial designs, the paint is white, purple and blue energies glow through vents or from power cells. Parts of the weapon appear to have had new sections forcibly integrated into them, which are connected to the armour of the Space Marines.
One of them takes aim at the Cymoeba and fires. A bolt of purple energy impacting it and… A feeling like ice water across the back of your head flows through you.
Why are you staring at empty air? What did the Marine just shoot? You find yourself increasingly confused as the new arrivals push towards the lip, pushing and shoving your troops aside as they open fire into the Cymoeba army.
Your armour's radiation monitoring equipment begins screaming, the gravity-accommodating pressure tubes and inflatable pads in your suit go haywire, each of them acting out of accord with the other as they adjust for different levels of gravity and toxicity.
Your chronometer rewinds an hour, jumps forward a decade, then backwards a century. Your suit registers breaches around your right hand. You look at your hand, horrified to see that your nails have grown so long they've grown through the seam from the inside. Your suit's systems crash, rebooting, all the symbols turned to incoherent gibberish, before turning into a language you have never seen before. You see a symbol flashing in the center.
Your eyes strain and you feel a nosebleed running over your upper lip as holes within the Cymoeba formation start to expand. You slap yourself in the side of the head, trying to focus.
What a weird way to march an army. You think. When one of the marines is suddenly flattened so completely he looks like a drawing made on the ground. The two-dimensional figure squirms a bit, then stops moving. You chuckle like an idiot and collapse.
The last thing you see before passing out is Sergeant Khorban barrelling one of the Marines in black aside and picking you up. You throw up blood in your helmet and close your eyes.
First Veteran Lasrifle Section. You are in command of this Section.
Second Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Amélie Beaufort. Leader status unknown.
Third Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Jeanne. Leader status unknown.
Fourth Lasrifle Section.
First Auxilia Flamer Section. Leader status unknown.
First Rapier Destroyer Support Section. Led by Sergeant Philip "Pip" Bernadotte. Leader status unknown.
First Veletaris Storm-Axe Section. Led by Anniet Chjandelmak. Leader KIA
The Battle of Proteus was an unexpected catastrophic failure for the Solar Reclamation, when it was revealed that Imperial analysts had grossly underestimated the enemy's capacities. Half the ships sent in the assault were destroyed by Proteus, and four of the Cohorts deployed on the surface were destroyed after the heavy Cymoeba forces made contact, making brutal use of the Solar Auxilia's shortage of heavy armoured vehicles at the time.
The three Franc Chemical Engineer Cohorts earned renown for fighting a holding action to cover the retreat to the dropships, setting Phosphex fires behind them to cover the retreat, fighting alongside the Revenant Legion while emergency deployments of First Legion Destroyers with Chrono-Obliteration weaponry blunted the enemy advance. Their efforts allowed for the successful withdrawal from Proteus of just under half the deployed forces.
A ground war on Proteus was deemed impossible, and Exterminatus was declared.
With the Emperor occupied with the final battle against the War Witches of Venus, he authorized deploying weapons from the heart of His deepest vaults. The First Legon fought into the heart of the corrupt moon, losing a thousand marines before deploying a weapon that wiped the very information that made up Proteus from the quantum foam of reality, unmaking the xenoform completely.
-The Purgation of Neptune: Submitted to the Imperial Court. 793M30
[Spoiler
]Suit HUD translation.
Memory cache wiped.
Restarting Operating System.
No backup found.
Warning: Blood toxicity exceeding safe limits
[/spoiler]
Welcome to the life of a human soldier in the Solar Reclamation.
"Apothecary. Conta-" You turn to face the Revenant, only for him to be out of sight. You catch him sprinting to a nearby corpse with his Narthecium at the ready. You are about to call out.
When a corpse hits the ground ten meters from your position.
Then another.
A fat-bellied troop transport passing has been speared by a great spike launched from the surface of Proteus, its ruptured hull trailing the corpses of good soldiers. You push the Vox-Trooper out of the way, narrowly saving her from being crushed.
You refocus on the lieutenant and his man holding the center, You can see the weapons fire aimed at his location intensifying and getting closer to his command squad. You see the Tercio's standard waver, the golden Raptor and twin lightning bolt nearly falling before an unseen Trooper steadies it. The sight mollifies you. That is -your- future Vexilla.
"We'll have to do it ourselves then. Jean, with me!" You command your trusty Vexillary bearer, the emblem on his back gleaming in the light of weapons discharge. "Amélie, Philip, Follow us up the center! We will not lose the raptor!" Amélie and Philip both vox an acknowledgement, and their Sections prepare to attack.
In the distance, one of the Mountains of Proteus bulges and turns spherical, smoothing out the surface like an inflating balloon. A sheath of skin retracts, revealing a great white sphere.
You blink at the sudden reveal.
An eye the size of a mountain blinks back.
It takes every drop of willpower you have not to piss yourself on the spot as you see what you're facing.
It is a hundred metres to run down the hill and up towards the crater that Lieutenant Albert is holding.
If you are too slow, the enemy will take the lip and pour fire into you as you charge.
You are stuck in an airless rock orbiting Neptune.
The sky is white with phosphex.
The amount of anti-radiation counter treatments being pumped into your blood is turning it toxic.
Vortex munitions detonate every thirty seconds.
Massive spikes and gouts of bio-acid are launched by Proteus at ships in orbit.
You grab a handful of regolith and squeeze it tightly, feeling it between the gloves of your void armour. You refuse to die here today.
You mount the lip of the corpse barricade and wave your sword high. "Death to the Old Night!" Then you throw yourself over and charge. You will not wait for death to come to you.
You don't care. If you are going to die, then you're going to die charging.
The charge happens in a blur of adrenaline and maddened rage. Frag and phosphex shells fly overhead, landing somewhere in the rear of the Cymoeba. Your Section follows closely behind you, screaming incoherent war cries as they fit bayonets and throw up a cloud of dust as they charge up the hill.
You hear screaming from the right flank, the sound of flesh burning as Phosphex consumes men alive. On the left flank, you catch glimpses of Volkite beams slamming into harvesting constructs.
No lasfire comes your way as you reach the lip of the crater. The Cymoeba are caught utterly by surprise and are scattered in the face of Philip's bombardment. As you vault the lip, you see the scattered bodies of Lieutenant Albert and his Tercio. Each of the aliens is at least a head shorter than you, looking like sickly blue rotten eggs sealed inside cybernetic skins, their limbs composed of segmented tendrils that harden to form the limbs needed to carry the weapons they are using.
You snarl as you see a Cymoeba about to put a filthy tendril upon the Banner, and put a Volkite blast through its torso. It explodes.
You expect to be torn apart by an onslaught of lasfire from the Cymoeba. But the first volley comes from behind you. First-Section mantles the crater's lip in near-choreographed precision, opening fire on the still disorganised Cymoeba, advancing from cover to cover, using rocks and dead bodies wherever possible. They had not been expecting your assault, and they fell before you in waves.
You scream and keep firing your Volkite Serpenta, directing your soldiers to the best of your abilities, making frantic but moderated hand-signals, whistling commands, and shouting into the Vox, pushing for the northern lip of the crater. The Cymoeba make satisfying popping noises in close combat, bursting apart once the las-beams bring their internal fluids to a boil.
You pull Primevere closer to you and connect with her heavier vox set. "Lieutenant Albert is dead. Tercio Beta wiped out completely. We are holding their command post." There is static, and you receive a garbled response. "Vox-Trooper, clear up that static."
Jean Claude, ever reliable, reaches the Vexilla and grabs it before it can fall. He raises it high and waves it in the air. "The Raptor still flies! We will never fall!" He shouts over the Vox, firing his lasrifle with one hand. You join him, pushing the Cymoeba vanguard out of the crater.
"Herrand!" You hear Amélie yelling and pivot to face her. While your Section cleared out the crater, hers had manned the lip to open fire into the Imperial defenses that were lost moments before. "They are coming!"
Rushing over, you stare down and curse as you see the next force of the Xenos preparing to charge the crater. Over a hundred of the Cymoeba infantry forms, at least half of them equipped with scything limbs and buzzing blades. But less than what have already died fighting over the hill. You stare at the massive eye looking at you. Further in the distance, you can see massive walkers heading your way.
"Élan!" You shout, and the First Section joins the Second at the parapet, firing down into the advancing Cymoeba Vanguard. Grenades are thrown through the vacuum, flying through the low gravity and landing amongst the vanguard, tearing them apart in showers of blue liquid and metallic components.
A wall of lasfire returns your onslaught, scything through your troops and second section, men drop, clutching puncture wounds in their suit, too large for the self-repair functions to save them. You see two turn their pistols on themselves as they see the gaps are too large for any of their patches to mend.
"Death to the Alien!" Amélie shouts. "Death to the Old Night!". As her men fall around her. She narrowly avoids a las bolt through the skull, even as the man next to him has his head turned to a burnt stump.
"For striking Mankind in its weakness. Extinction!" You quote the Writ of Extinction signed by the Emperor, the reason you are fighting on this cursed forsaken moon. First Section alone will have to hold. But for how long?
Primevére takes a lasbolt to her torso and falls on her back. Your eye shoots to your squad monitor. It did not register a breach. You grab her by a shoulderpad and drag her into cover. The fighting begins to quiet down for a moment, and a peek out of cover confirms that the Cymoeba assault has pulled back. "Status report."
Jeanne answers over the Vox. She is almost growling, her voice intermixed with the gutter slang and insults of the lower levels of Pars. "Section combat-ineffective. Fifty percent casualties, remainder wounded. Left flank holds. Can not relocate. Continued enemy assaults."
"This is Sergeant Khorban." A familiar gruff voice mouths over the vox. "We did not ask for assistance. Your flanking force was consumed by a Phosphex cloud. " He pauses. "The intervention is recognized."
You curse loudly with your Vox receiver turned off. Phosphex clouds are liable to turn upon those who unleash them, by whatever arcane mechanism motivates their movement. "Please confirm. Veletaris and rifle section are dead?"
"Confirmed." Khorban says. "We are holding this flank. Can you hold your position?"
You peek over the parapet.
The horizon is filled with tentacles. At least two-dozen tendrils long enough to rip ships from orbit are lashing out, pulling apart ships. The ground begins to shake, the mass of Proteus in the distance seemingly preparing to detach from the moon.
Their main army of the Cymoeba is a hellish swarm of myriad bodily configurations, each seemingly more twisted and debased than the last, their sizes ranging from the small constructs you have fought, to beings the size of hab-blocks. They emerge from gaping openings in the world's surface.
"They were just cells." You mutter. "We have been fighting cells. I think those are the true Cymoeba coming for us."
Amélie gets into cover next to you, looking out into the death coming your way. She curses a string of gutter franc that makes Jeanne's prior outburst seem well-mannered. Her helmet cocks up as you stare at her in surprise. "Too bad about the suits. If we could take them off, we could die…" She trails off, her combat high slightly abating.
"I don't feel like dying tired. You?" You grin behind your faceplate. Perhaps you would not be executed if you retreated from this position. But you doubt that you could escape from what is coming your way.
Suddenly Philip throws himself into cover next to you. "Evening!" He laughs. Your head shoots around to look at his Rapier and the Servitors and troopers attending it. He's followed you all the way here. "Shitty place to die, if you ask me. But there's worse people to die with."
"Shut up, Pip." You laugh.
"Come on!" You shout, as a Cymoeba rushes ahead of the horde, easily as tall as a Space Marine, with three legs and four serrated claws. You fire your volkite into it, but the shot just disperses upon impacting its energy shield.
Just then a drop pod slams into the ground behind you, throwing up a shower of regolith. But instead of the Revenant Legion, Legionaries in black armour step out, all of them carrying mismatched weapons that share no unity of design. Their shapes are smooth and curved, instead of the boxy Imperial designs, the paint is white, purple and blue energies glow through vents or from power cells. Parts of the weapon appear to have had new sections forcibly integrated into them, which are connected to the armour of the Space Marines.
One of them takes aim at the Cymoeba and fires. A bolt of purple energy impacting it and… A feeling like ice water across the back of your head flows through you.
Why are you staring at empty air? What did the Marine just shoot? You find yourself increasingly confused as the new arrivals push towards the lip, pushing and shoving your troops aside as they open fire into the Cymoeba army.
Your armour's radiation monitoring equipment begins screaming, the gravity-accommodating pressure tubes and inflatable pads in your suit go haywire, each of them acting out of accord with the other as they adjust for different levels of gravity and toxicity.
Your chronometer rewinds an hour, jumps forward a decade, then backwards a century. Your suit registers breaches around your right hand. You look at your hand, horrified to see that your nails have grown so long they've grown through the seam from the inside. Your suit's systems crash, rebooting, all the symbols turned to incoherent gibberish, before turning into a language you have never seen before. You see a symbol flashing in the center.
خطأ
خطأ
خطأ
خطأ
خطأ
تم مسح ذاكرة التخزين المؤقت.
إعادة تشغيل نظام التشغيل.
لم يتم العثور على نسخة احتياطية.
تحذير: كمية الدم المسموم تتجاوز الحدود الآمنة
إعادة تشغيل نظام التشغيل.
لم يتم العثور على نسخة احتياطية.
تحذير: كمية الدم المسموم تتجاوز الحدود الآمنة
Your eyes strain and you feel a nosebleed running over your upper lip as holes within the Cymoeba formation start to expand. You slap yourself in the side of the head, trying to focus.
What a weird way to march an army. You think. When one of the marines is suddenly flattened so completely he looks like a drawing made on the ground. The two-dimensional figure squirms a bit, then stops moving. You chuckle like an idiot and collapse.
The last thing you see before passing out is Sergeant Khorban barrelling one of the Marines in black aside and picking you up. You throw up blood in your helmet and close your eyes.
First Veteran Lasrifle Section. You are in command of this Section.
First Auxilia Flamer Section. Leader status unknown.
First Rapier Destroyer Support Section. Led by Sergeant Philip "Pip" Bernadotte. Leader status unknown.
The Battle of Proteus was an unexpected catastrophic failure for the Solar Reclamation, when it was revealed that Imperial analysts had grossly underestimated the enemy's capacities. Half the ships sent in the assault were destroyed by Proteus, and four of the Cohorts deployed on the surface were destroyed after the heavy Cymoeba forces made contact, making brutal use of the Solar Auxilia's shortage of heavy armoured vehicles at the time.
The three Franc Chemical Engineer Cohorts earned renown for fighting a holding action to cover the retreat to the dropships, setting Phosphex fires behind them to cover the retreat, fighting alongside the Revenant Legion while emergency deployments of First Legion Destroyers with Chrono-Obliteration weaponry blunted the enemy advance. Their efforts allowed for the successful withdrawal from Proteus of just under half the deployed forces.
A ground war on Proteus was deemed impossible, and Exterminatus was declared.
With the Emperor occupied with the final battle against the War Witches of Venus, he authorized deploying weapons from the heart of His deepest vaults. The First Legon fought into the heart of the corrupt moon, losing a thousand marines before deploying a weapon that wiped the very information that made up Proteus from the quantum foam of reality, unmaking the xenoform completely.
-The Purgation of Neptune: Submitted to the Imperial Court. 793M30
Engagement Rolling:
Cymoeba Harvester
Armour save: 4+
Combat effectiveness 2d6 + 3
Wounds: 2
Trait:
The Xenos! It will not die: After being removed, and after the conclusion of the current melee round, roll a d6,
on a 3 or up, the unit revives with one wound.
On a 4 or up, the unit revives with two wounds.
Large: Can be shot by troops even if tied up in melee.
Cymoeba Killer Cell:
Shooting 5+
Armour save: 5+
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 0
Wounds: 1
Trait:
Light weaponry: Can not damage Heavy armour.
Cymoeba Shredder Cell:
Armour save: 6+
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 1
Wounds: 1
Trait:
Chaff: All ranged damage will strike chaff units before any other.
Cymoeba Support Construct:
Shooting 3+
Armour save: None
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 0
Wounds: 1
Trait:
Fire Support: When Attacking: If the enemy has no Fire Support in the engagement, the attacker shoots fist.
Astartes Legion Destroyer Squad: A squad of Adeptus Astartes with bolters and chainswords, ready and eager to kill.
Shooting: 3+ to hit
Armour save: 4+
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 2
Wounds: 3
Destroyer weaponry: By deploying this unit to an engagement, it immediately becomes Hostile and every turn you need to do an attrition test or lose a Section of infantry.
Units without an armour save make no tests and are immediately removed.
Armour saves can not be made against this unit.
Astartes Destroyer: This unit rerolls attrition rolls if it is to the be one to take damage.
Left Flank
-First Auxilia Flamer Section. 1 Wound
-Third Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Jeanne. 1 Wound
-Solar Auxilia Storm-Axe section. 2 Wounds
-Solar Auxilia Veletaris Support Section. 1 Wound
-Cymoeba Harvester 1
-Cymoeba Harvester 2
-Cymoeba Harvester 3
Turn 1:
Shooting:
-First Auxilia Flamer Section rolled 5, 5, 4. Two hits.
-Third Lasrifle Section rolled 1 Miss
-Solar Auxilia Veletaris Support Section rolled 3 Hit
Cymoeba receive three hits,
Cymoeba Harvester 3 rolled 1 on Armour Save. Failed
Cymoeba Harvester 3 rolled 2 on Armour Save. Failed
Cymoeba Harvester 3 is destroyed.
Cymoeba Harvester 2 rolled 3 on Armous Save. Failed.
Cymoeba Harvester takes one wound.
The Xenos! It will not die!. Rolled 1. The Harvester stays dead.
Melee
-Solar Auxilia Storm-Axe section Rolled 2d6 + 1 =7
-Third Lasrifle Section joins the melee Rolled 2d6 + 0 = 8
-Cymoeba Harvester 1 Rolled 2d6 + 3 = 11
-Cymoeba Harvester 2 Rolled 2d6 + 3 = 6
8 VS 11 = Cymoeba Harvester 1 inflicts one wound on Third Lasrifle Section
7 VS 6 = Solar Auxilia Storm-Axe section inflicts one wound on Cybmoeba Harvester 2.
Third Lasrifle section is destroyed.
Cymoeba harvester 2 is destroyed.
The Xenos! It will not die!: Rolled 3
Cymoeba Harvester 2 revives with one wound.
Remaining units:
-First Auxilia Flamer Section. 1 Wound
-Solar Auxilia Storm-Axe section. 2 Wounds
-Solar Auxilia Veletaris Support Section. 1 Wound
-Cymoeba Harvester 1. 2 wounds.
-Cymoeba Harvester 2. 1 wound.
Turn 1 ends.
Turn 2
Shooting
Cymoeba Harvester is Large and can be shot in melee.
-First Auxilia Flamer Section. Rolled 3,5,6 = 2 hits
-Solar Auxilia Veletaris Support Section. Rolled 6 = 1 hit
Cymoeba Harvester 2 Armour saves. Rolled 3, = 1 Fail
Cymoeba Harvester 2 is destroyed.
Cymoeba Harvester 2 Deflagrates. Cymoeba Harvester 1 takes a wound.
Cymoeba Harvester 1 Armour Save. Rolled 1, 6 = 1 Fail 1 Success
Cymoeba Harvester 1 takes 1 wound and is destroyed.
Rolling The Xenos! It will not die! Rolled 2. Failed
The 7th Verdyn win the Left Flank.
Right Flank:
-First Veletaris Storm-Axe Section. Led by Anniet Chjandelmak.
-Fourth Lasrifle Section
-Revenant Legion Legionaries
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 1
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 2
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 3
Turn 1:
Shooting:
Cymoeba Fire Support ensures they shoot first.
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 1 rolled 1 Miss
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 2 rolled 2 Miss
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 3 rolled 5 Hit
-Cymoeba Support Construct rolled 6 Hit
-Fourth Lasrifle Section Rolled 4 Hit
-Revenant Legion Destroyer Squad Rolled 1 Miss
Fourth Lasrifle Armour Save. Rolled 5. Saved
Fourth Lasrifle Armour Save. Rolled 4. Failed
Cymoeba Killer Cell Armour save. Rolled 2. Failed
Fourth Lasrifle Section is destroyed.
Cymoeba Killer cell 3 is destroyed.
The Revenant Legion deployed Hostile Weaponry. Rolling for attrition.
Imperial Attrition rolled 1. First Veletaris Storm Section is only remaining section. It is destroyed by Phosphex
Cymoeba Hostile Environment rolled 4. No attrition
Melee
-Revenant Legion Destroyer Squad rolled 2d6 + 2 = 11
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 1 rolled 2d6 + 0 = 9
11 vs 9 = Cymoeba Killer Cell 2 is destroyed.
Turn ends.
Turn 2
Melee continues.
Rolling for attrition
Imperial attrition roll = 8 No damage
Cymoeba attrition roll = 3 Failed
Cymoeba Killer cell 1 is destroyed by Hostile Weaponry
-Revenant Legion Destroyer Squad rolled 2d6 + 2 = 14
-Cymoeba Support construct rolled 2d6 + 0 = 8
14 vs 8 = Cymoeba Support Construct is destroyed.
Revenant Legion wins the Right Flank
Center:
Attack to take the Cymoeba by surprise, requesting reinforcements as you do so.
-First Veteran Lasrifle Section. You are in command of this Section.
-Second Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Amélie Beaufort
-First Rapier Destroyer Support Section. Led by Sergeant Philip "Pip" Bernadotte.
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 1
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 2
-Cymoeba Shredder Cell 1
-Cymoeba Shredder Cell 2
-Cymoeba Shredder Cell 3
Turn 1
Shooting
-First Veteran Lasrifle Section. Rolled 6, 5 = 2 hits
-Second Lasrifle Section. Rolled 5 = 1 hit.
-First Rapier Destroyer Support Section. Rolled 2 = miss
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 1 Rolled 2 = miss
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 2 Rolled 6 = hit
Cymoeba Shredder Cell Chaff
Cymoeba Shredder Cell Armour Saves. Rolled 3, 4, 4 = 3 Failed saves.
No successful armour saves
All Cymoeba Shredder Cells are destroyed.
Second Lasrifle Section rolls armour save. Rolled 5 = Successful save.
Neither side moves to engage in melee.
Phosphex deployed. Area has turned hostile.
Imperial Attrition roll = 8 No damage.
Cymoeba Attrition roll = 10 No damage.
Turn 2
Shooting
-First Veteran Lasrifle Section. Rolled 5, 4 = 2 hits
-Second Lasrifle Section. Rolled 1 = miss
-First Rapier Destroyer Support Section. Rolled 1 = miss
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 1 Rolled 6 = hit
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 2 Rolled 6 = hit
Cymoeba Killer Cell 1 Armour save. Rolled 1. = Failed
Cymoeba Killer Cell 1 is destroyed.
Cymoeba Killer Cell 2 Armour save. Rolled 4. = Failed
Cymoeba Killer Cell 2 is destroyed.
Second Lasrifle Section armour save. Rolled 1 = Failed
Second Lasrifle Section is destroyed.
First Veteran Lasrifle Section armour save. Rolled 1 = Failed
First Veteran Lasrifle Section takes 1 wound. Down to 1 wound.
Phosphex deployed. Area has turned hostile.
Imperial Attrition roll = 5 No damage.
The 7th Verdyn win the center.
Cymoeba Harvester
Armour save: 4+
Combat effectiveness 2d6 + 3
Wounds: 2
Trait:
The Xenos! It will not die: After being removed, and after the conclusion of the current melee round, roll a d6,
on a 3 or up, the unit revives with one wound.
On a 4 or up, the unit revives with two wounds.
Large: Can be shot by troops even if tied up in melee.
Cymoeba Killer Cell:
Shooting 5+
Armour save: 5+
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 0
Wounds: 1
Trait:
Light weaponry: Can not damage Heavy armour.
Cymoeba Shredder Cell:
Armour save: 6+
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 1
Wounds: 1
Trait:
Chaff: All ranged damage will strike chaff units before any other.
Cymoeba Support Construct:
Shooting 3+
Armour save: None
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 0
Wounds: 1
Trait:
Fire Support: When Attacking: If the enemy has no Fire Support in the engagement, the attacker shoots fist.
Astartes Legion Destroyer Squad: A squad of Adeptus Astartes with bolters and chainswords, ready and eager to kill.
Shooting: 3+ to hit
Armour save: 4+
Combat effectiveness: 2d6 + 2
Wounds: 3
Destroyer weaponry: By deploying this unit to an engagement, it immediately becomes Hostile and every turn you need to do an attrition test or lose a Section of infantry.
Units without an armour save make no tests and are immediately removed.
Armour saves can not be made against this unit.
Astartes Destroyer: This unit rerolls attrition rolls if it is to the be one to take damage.
Left Flank
-First Auxilia Flamer Section. 1 Wound
-Third Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Jeanne. 1 Wound
-Solar Auxilia Storm-Axe section. 2 Wounds
-Solar Auxilia Veletaris Support Section. 1 Wound
-Cymoeba Harvester 1
-Cymoeba Harvester 2
-Cymoeba Harvester 3
Turn 1:
Shooting:
-First Auxilia Flamer Section rolled 5, 5, 4. Two hits.
-Third Lasrifle Section rolled 1 Miss
-Solar Auxilia Veletaris Support Section rolled 3 Hit
Cymoeba receive three hits,
Cymoeba Harvester 3 rolled 1 on Armour Save. Failed
Cymoeba Harvester 3 rolled 2 on Armour Save. Failed
Cymoeba Harvester 3 is destroyed.
Cymoeba Harvester 2 rolled 3 on Armous Save. Failed.
Cymoeba Harvester takes one wound.
The Xenos! It will not die!. Rolled 1. The Harvester stays dead.
Melee
-Solar Auxilia Storm-Axe section Rolled 2d6 + 1 =7
-Third Lasrifle Section joins the melee Rolled 2d6 + 0 = 8
-Cymoeba Harvester 1 Rolled 2d6 + 3 = 11
-Cymoeba Harvester 2 Rolled 2d6 + 3 = 6
8 VS 11 = Cymoeba Harvester 1 inflicts one wound on Third Lasrifle Section
7 VS 6 = Solar Auxilia Storm-Axe section inflicts one wound on Cybmoeba Harvester 2.
Third Lasrifle section is destroyed.
Cymoeba harvester 2 is destroyed.
The Xenos! It will not die!: Rolled 3
Cymoeba Harvester 2 revives with one wound.
Remaining units:
-First Auxilia Flamer Section. 1 Wound
-Solar Auxilia Storm-Axe section. 2 Wounds
-Solar Auxilia Veletaris Support Section. 1 Wound
-Cymoeba Harvester 1. 2 wounds.
-Cymoeba Harvester 2. 1 wound.
Turn 1 ends.
Turn 2
Shooting
Cymoeba Harvester is Large and can be shot in melee.
-First Auxilia Flamer Section. Rolled 3,5,6 = 2 hits
-Solar Auxilia Veletaris Support Section. Rolled 6 = 1 hit
Cymoeba Harvester 2 Armour saves. Rolled 3, = 1 Fail
Cymoeba Harvester 2 is destroyed.
Cymoeba Harvester 2 Deflagrates. Cymoeba Harvester 1 takes a wound.
Cymoeba Harvester 1 Armour Save. Rolled 1, 6 = 1 Fail 1 Success
Cymoeba Harvester 1 takes 1 wound and is destroyed.
Rolling The Xenos! It will not die! Rolled 2. Failed
The 7th Verdyn win the Left Flank.
Right Flank:
-First Veletaris Storm-Axe Section. Led by Anniet Chjandelmak.
-Fourth Lasrifle Section
-Revenant Legion Legionaries
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 1
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 2
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 3
Turn 1:
Shooting:
Cymoeba Fire Support ensures they shoot first.
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 1 rolled 1 Miss
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 2 rolled 2 Miss
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 3 rolled 5 Hit
-Cymoeba Support Construct rolled 6 Hit
-Fourth Lasrifle Section Rolled 4 Hit
-Revenant Legion Destroyer Squad Rolled 1 Miss
Fourth Lasrifle Armour Save. Rolled 5. Saved
Fourth Lasrifle Armour Save. Rolled 4. Failed
Cymoeba Killer Cell Armour save. Rolled 2. Failed
Fourth Lasrifle Section is destroyed.
Cymoeba Killer cell 3 is destroyed.
The Revenant Legion deployed Hostile Weaponry. Rolling for attrition.
Imperial Attrition rolled 1. First Veletaris Storm Section is only remaining section. It is destroyed by Phosphex
Cymoeba Hostile Environment rolled 4. No attrition
Melee
-Revenant Legion Destroyer Squad rolled 2d6 + 2 = 11
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 1 rolled 2d6 + 0 = 9
11 vs 9 = Cymoeba Killer Cell 2 is destroyed.
Turn ends.
Turn 2
Melee continues.
Rolling for attrition
Imperial attrition roll = 8 No damage
Cymoeba attrition roll = 3 Failed
Cymoeba Killer cell 1 is destroyed by Hostile Weaponry
-Revenant Legion Destroyer Squad rolled 2d6 + 2 = 14
-Cymoeba Support construct rolled 2d6 + 0 = 8
14 vs 8 = Cymoeba Support Construct is destroyed.
Revenant Legion wins the Right Flank
Center:
Attack to take the Cymoeba by surprise, requesting reinforcements as you do so.
-First Veteran Lasrifle Section. You are in command of this Section.
-Second Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Amélie Beaufort
-First Rapier Destroyer Support Section. Led by Sergeant Philip "Pip" Bernadotte.
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 1
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 2
-Cymoeba Shredder Cell 1
-Cymoeba Shredder Cell 2
-Cymoeba Shredder Cell 3
Turn 1
Shooting
-First Veteran Lasrifle Section. Rolled 6, 5 = 2 hits
-Second Lasrifle Section. Rolled 5 = 1 hit.
-First Rapier Destroyer Support Section. Rolled 2 = miss
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 1 Rolled 2 = miss
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 2 Rolled 6 = hit
Cymoeba Shredder Cell Chaff
Cymoeba Shredder Cell Armour Saves. Rolled 3, 4, 4 = 3 Failed saves.
No successful armour saves
All Cymoeba Shredder Cells are destroyed.
Second Lasrifle Section rolls armour save. Rolled 5 = Successful save.
Neither side moves to engage in melee.
Phosphex deployed. Area has turned hostile.
Imperial Attrition roll = 8 No damage.
Cymoeba Attrition roll = 10 No damage.
Turn 2
Shooting
-First Veteran Lasrifle Section. Rolled 5, 4 = 2 hits
-Second Lasrifle Section. Rolled 1 = miss
-First Rapier Destroyer Support Section. Rolled 1 = miss
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 1 Rolled 6 = hit
-Cymoeba Killer Cell 2 Rolled 6 = hit
Cymoeba Killer Cell 1 Armour save. Rolled 1. = Failed
Cymoeba Killer Cell 1 is destroyed.
Cymoeba Killer Cell 2 Armour save. Rolled 4. = Failed
Cymoeba Killer Cell 2 is destroyed.
Second Lasrifle Section armour save. Rolled 1 = Failed
Second Lasrifle Section is destroyed.
First Veteran Lasrifle Section armour save. Rolled 1 = Failed
First Veteran Lasrifle Section takes 1 wound. Down to 1 wound.
Phosphex deployed. Area has turned hostile.
Imperial Attrition roll = 5 No damage.
The 7th Verdyn win the center.
[Spoiler
]Suit HUD translation.
Memory cache wiped.
Restarting Operating System.
No backup found.
Warning: Blood toxicity exceeding safe limits
[/spoiler]
Welcome to the life of a human soldier in the Solar Reclamation.
Last edited:
Act 1: Recovering from Proteus.
- Location
- Netherlands
You pull Primevere closer to you and connect with her heavier vox set. "Lieutenant Albert is dead. Tercio Beta wiped out completely. We are holding their command post." There is static, and you receive a garbled response. "Vox-Trooper, clear up that static."
Jean Claude, ever reliable, reaches the Vexilla and grabs it before it can fall. He raises it high and waves it in the air. "The Raptor still flies! We will never fall!" He shouts over the Vox, firing his lasrifle into the air with one hand.
"Herrand!" You hear Amélie yelling and pivot to face her. While your Section cleared out the crater, hers had manned the lip to open fire on the empty slopes. "They are coming!"
Rushing over, you stare down and curse as you…
something massing in the valley.
A mass of darkness is approaching, blotting out the cloud of white phosphex vapour. In the distance there are great clouds of regolith and dust being thrown up.
"Élan!" You shout, and the First Section joins the Second at the parapet, firing into the fog. Grenades are thrown through the vacuum, blowing apart in spouts of blu- no! Red blood. No! Dust! Dust and machine parts.
Machines?
Men collapse clutching invisible wounds, some of them burning and smouldering. You see two turn their pistols on themselves.
Why are they…
"Death to the Alien!" Amélie shouts. "Death to the Old Night!". As her men fall around her. The skull of the man next to her explodes.
"For striking Mankind in its weakness. Extinction!" You quote the Writ of Extinction signed by the Emperor… for a reason you can not quite grasp.
Primevére stumbles and falls. Your eye shoots to your squad monitor. Nothing happened. You grab her by a shoulderpad and drag her into cover. The fighting begins to quiet down for a moment, and a peek out of cover… confirms that the wall of shadow approaching you is getting closer.
"Status report." Jeanne answers over the Vox. She is almost growling, her voice intermixed with the gutter slang and insults of the lower levels of Pars. You can not grasp her voice. It is too muffled.
"This is Sergeant Khorban." A stunningly loud and clear voice resounds over the vox, clearing away the mental fog, for a moment, you see shaped like blue orbs wrapped in metal. "We did not ask for assistance. Your flanking force was consumed by a Phosphex cloud." He pauses. "The intervention is recognized."
You say nothing as you ponder what happened. Phosphex clouds are liable to turn upon those who unleash them, by whatever arcane mechanism motivates their movement.
"Please confirm. Veletaris and rifle section are dead?"
"Confirmed." Khorban says, his voice once again breaking through the fog, parting it and revealing a great tendril emerging from the ground in the distance. "We are holding this flank. Can you hold your position?"
You peek over the parapet.
The world is falling apart. Great masses of black and grey moving just out of sight, fading in and out of existence. You try to remember what you are fighting. Psykers? Xenos?
You say something, but can not hear the words.
Amélie gets into cover next to you, looking out into the death coming your way. She curses a string of gutter franc that makes Jeanne's prior outburst seem well-mannered. Her helmet cocks up as you stare at her in surprise. "Too bad about the suits. If we could take them off, we could die…" She trails off, her combat high slightly abating.
"I don't feel like dying tired. You?" You grin behind your faceplate. Perhaps you would not be executed if you retreated from this position.
Retreat from what?
Suddenly Philip throws himself into cover next to you. "Evening!" He laughs. Your head shoots around to look at his Rapier and the Servitors and troopers attending it. He's followed you all the way here. "Shitty place to die, if you ask me. But there's worse people to die with."
You mumble something.
"Come on!" You shout, as the wall of darkness approaches.
You wake up with a startle and lunge forward, something wrapped around your forehead is stopping you.
People around you are speaking in hushed whispers.
A figure in black robes walks around you. The human's eyes are covered by a blindfold. His forehead is tattooed with the symbol of the Astra Telepathica. The Emperor's Psykers.
You are in a room filled with noisome machines and foul vapours. You see figures in black armour holding lances standing near a doorway.
The Psyker puts a hand on your forehead and everything goes black.
You open your eyes in a dull, colourless Medicae ward, lying under a thin blanket. The constant sound of pistons pumping and blood filtration machines humming fills the room. Your eyelids feel heavy, and your head is pounding with a headache. Through narrowed eyeslits you see an empty bed across from you, slowly turning to the side, you see more beds packed together, but only a handful have figures lying in them.
You hear… the grinding of tracks. Servitor tracks perhaps? And the noise of something on a tray clanking. There is something in your left arm, and a line leading to a bag containing… blood perhaps?
Grey walls. No decorations. The engines sound wrong. Too clean. None of the occasional chugging of any troopship you've been aboard.
You try to get up, when a firm hand on your shoulder stops you. "Don't move."
A hulking form in a grey robe is sitting by your bedside. You are too tired to be shocked, and just quirk up an eyebrow as you realise it is Sergeant Khorban.
Your mouth feels dry. "Where…"
"The Grey Daughter, Gloriana-Class flagship of the Revenant Legion, alongside the rest of your Cohort." Khorban says with a rumbling voice.
"The figures in black. The Psykers." You try to climb out of your bed. The Astartes keeps you down with a single outstretched finger held against your chest."
"You were in close proximity to the First Legion after they deployed Chrono-Obliteration weapons. Your mind-wipe had to be more thorough than that of the rest of your cohort."
"Mind… wipe?" A spark of panic in your breast. "Was I not allowed to see those weapons?"
"The weapons weren't the problem." He taps a finger against his temple and grins, fangs visible. "Your visual memories of seeing the Cymoeba and Proteus were curdling to poison." He makes a snipping gesture with his fingers. "The Astra Telepathica removed the memories."
You frown. "I did not think we'd warrant such special attention."
He shrugs. "The Mind-Witches needed training in this, and you were available."
Considering the revelation, you lean back into your bed. "What is going to happen now?"
"You spent two weeks in a coma waiting for your turn to get a memory wipe. We are orbiting Mars to receive repairs after Proteus ate the front of the ship. And now we get to throw you out." He chuckles darkly. "Now tell me what you think of the new limb."
Your heart skips a beat and you rip away your blanket, the Astartes no longer stopping you.
You see:
[] A genewrought limb:
A thin line of scar tissue on just past your right elbow hints at the fact that your forearm has been replaced by a cloned one. The hand feels incredibly strong, in fact, the whole right side of your body feels stronger. You doubt you'd ever drop a sword while holding it in this.
Your right arm, the bones of your shoulder, and the muscles across your right shoulder and chest have been replaced by an Apothecary. You have an impeccable grip and your limb does not tremble.
[] A cybernetic forearm covered with cloned skin and flesh.
A nobleman's replacement limb of synth-skin and artificial bone and subtle cybernetics. You feel a twitching in your hand, and by presenting your palm, you see the barrel of a blast charger jutting out. There is also a cogitator screen on the back of your forearm, and a series of plugs.
Contains a one-shot Blast Charger pistol that can be reloaded through replacing the power cells located in your wrist. Also functions as a cogitator screen with Vox, Bio-monitor, and data storage options. All inferior to your void armour and presumably important to the previous owner.
[] A brutal cybernetic replacement:
Your forearm up to past the elbow has been replaced with a well-crafted but unadorned metal prosthetic. The limb is currently tied into a support cradle, and you can see a partially extended chainblade. You'll need to adjust your void armour to use this.
You have an extendable wrist-mounted chainblade.
You struggle to find the words. "You sat here waiting for me to see this? Why!?"
"I thought it'd be funny." Khorban says.
A burst of forced shocked laughter erupts from your lips at the thought of Khorban wanting to make a joke.
"So… What will happen after this. Another joint deployment? Will we be seeing each other again?" You ask.
To your surprise, Khorban actually seems slightly taken aback. "Perhaps." He searches for the right word. "The Ninth Legion will return to Neptune and continue the purgation. You will be returning to Terra for retraining. Our cooperation has been an exception from the norm. After Neptune, we will remain in reserve to be deployed to the worst war fronts. If that means we meet again? Then so be it."
You can see that, no matter how much he is hiding it, Khorban does like you.
He growls to remove any trace of a grin from his face. "Now follow me. I'll put you on a shuttle before one of our newly ascended brothers decides they fancy you."
The look on his face is a stoic mask hiding the sharp fangs you saw before. Sputtering garbled words emerge from your lips as you try to ascertain the level of innuendo and wordplay that the marine is using. "Bu-Wh, uhhh...Fancy? But, you! Wha-How!?"
He just stares at you, tilting his head to the side at your reaction. "Several of your troops did not survive medical treatment, and we do not waste flesh aboard this ship. Their memories live on in us." He adds with a grin. "And you look very tender."
Oh. You realise, to your growing horror, that he was literal. You are also:
(This is a humorous choice meant in good faith, and will in all likelihood not come up all that much. It is just fun. Do not make me remove it.)
[] Just a little bit disappointed:
Those robes have to be hiding something, right?
Herrand leans towards favouring men.
[] Just confused:
You're from Franc.
Herrand has no preference in partner, so long as they're human.
[] Very relieved:
You might be the only one in your family that doesn't sell to both sides in the conflict. Herrand leans towards preferring female partners.
[] Uncaring :
You only see a purpose to physical affection for reasons political and persuasive
Herrand has no desire for physical intimacy beyond political or economic reasons.
Sitting in the shuttle ferrying you to an officer's cabin aboard a freshly constructed troop-ship heading for Terra, you hold a data-slate as you read up on what your Cohort has been doing since you fell into your coma. The casualty estimates are grim. Thirty-five percent losses, two-thirds of the NCO's, many high ranking officers. The battle was a debacle, and the regiment needs large-scale reorganisation.
A message arrives on your slate. It is from the Legate Marshal.
He wishes you the best, and remarks on your excellent performance. He notes that for your actions, he has agreed to arm his personal retinue and private staff with Autopistols from your family. When you meet again on Terra, he wishes to discuss your promotion to commanding a Tercio, in light of the heavy losses and the retraining.
Your heart leaps at the news, and you quickly bring up the messaging system on your slate, trying to record a vid-message for your parents, when a message from them arrives.
It is the typically brusque but still caring message you have often received from your parents, encouragement, with them hiding their feelings over official correspondence with talks of pride, motivation, and awe.
The subject of Sallas Arms quickly comes up. You nod in approval at what they have been doing.
They discuss the contract with the Marshal, and how they have put their techno-savants to work in establishing an 'Autogun Package' to sell to colony worlds for starting up production using pre-supplied tools and local ores.
You assume your mother came up with that idea, she's always been more prone to selling knowledge and industry over your father's preference for firearms.
Sallar Arms has acquired a lucrative mine on Mercury, staffing it with well-trained Franc artisans and local labour. An orbiting Manufactorum will begin sending out its first packages of autoguns to the mobile mining settlements on the surface. There was a delay when the Martian Forge-Temple that they purchased equipment from suffered a rebellion. But thanks to the delayed shipment, they received an additional shipment of servitors as compensation.
Your family received word through back-channels that your brother has survived his ascension, and is now a member of the Third Legion. But also that in accordance with Legion protocols, they have taken a new name and will not contact their family. A marble statue of your brother now decorates your family home.
You flip the slate lengthwise and prepare to start typing out a reply. When you pause. What do you focus on?
[] Play down your narrow survival, focus on the good news:
Herrand hardens himself towards loss. He does not indulge in emotions.
[] For a moment, pour out your heart to your parents:
Herrand allows a moment of private weakness, away from sight.
[] Focus on a strictly professional message:
Herrand's ambition grows as he mentions he will not stop at the arms contract.
While you were recovering. Your Cohort was deployed to Terra for retraining and reorganisation. They have been deployed to
(These are narrative choices and do not involve stats)
[] CentMerica:
As one of the first groups to side with the Emperor, the Mahya tribes have been granted, by a Sigillite Decree, the right and duty to restore their old cultural legacy. The jungles around their territory was hit by mutagenic warheads in millenia past, turning the wildlife hostile and virulent.
The Cohort trains in jungle warfare and preparations to fight on worlds with a hostile biosphere.
[] Gyptus:
The Sigilite has decreed that the Great Pyramid of Gyptus is to be rebuilt. While at the same time, the deserts of Northafrik are to be used for training in the operation of sealed armoured vehicles. The Cohort joins twenty million other Imperial soldiers in equal parts reconstruction labour and desert warfare training.
The Cohort trains in desert warfare and operations on airless worlds within the frost-line of star systems.
[] The Canad Wastes:
The great white north of Canad is one of the last areas of Terra not under Imperial control due to both its remoteness and the excessive amounts of mutants and hostile techno-tribes. The Verdyn Chemical Engineers were tasked with subduing the tribes with minimal loss of life, so as to integrate their labour and technology.
The Cohort trains in arctic warfare and operations on airless worlds beyond the frost-line of star systems.
[] Atlantik Dome Cities:
To partake in a suppression campaign against anti-Imperial tribes in the area, and waging a hearts and mind operation among the villages and tribes of the area by clearing away mutants and remaining mechanical threats.
The Cohort trains in pacifying local dispersed populations and bringing them into the Imperial fold. Using the proverbial velvet glove.
Cohort equipment will include Imperial crowd-control equipment: Water cannons, Web-launchers, Tear Gas, Rubber bullets, low-power adapters for Lasrifles, and Heavy Bolters.
[] Pan-Pacific-Empire remnants:
To partake in a suppression campaign against a handful holdouts against Imperial Rule that have survived the fall of the Pan Pacific Empire, destroying rogue machines, suppressing local rebellion, and enforcing the Imperial Truth.
The Cohort trains in crushing resistance, targeting intellectuals and leaders, taking hostages, and preparing for the arrival of actual reconstruction forces.
[] The retribution of Ursh:
Several Ursh cities have recently rebelled against Imperial rule. After their leaders were executed by the Custodes, the rebellions fell apart, but so did civil rule and administration. The Cohort is to use this as an opportunity to learn occupation duties.
The Cohort trains in reconstructing cities and handling non-compliant civilians.
Cohort equipment will include Imperial crowd-control equipment: Water cannons, Web-launchers, Tear Gas, Rubber bullets, low-power adapters for Lasrifles, and Heavy Bolters.
[] The liberation of the Arctic:
The Arctic Hive of Gorglund has recently been freed from a hidden cabal of Psykers that mentally controlled the population from the shadows. The Cohort is to aid in reconstruction and use this experience to learn how to bring Compliance to newly liberated populations.
The Cohort trains in reconstructing cities following liberation from Psychic(or Xenos) domination.
Cohort equipment will include Imperial crowd-control equipment: Water cannons, Web-launchers, Tear Gas, Rubber bullets, low-power adapters for Lasrifles, and Heavy Bolters.
As part of the reorganisation of your Cohort, it also received new vehicles. For planetary warfare, it is being retrained to deploy as:
(These are narrative choices and do not involve stats. All forms of equipment will be part of your Cohort, these are just how the bulk of your Cohort's infantry will deploy.)
[] A completely Aerospace capable drop-army:
When deploying planetside, the Cohort primarily operates in a supporting role. Each infantry section has its own Arvus Lighter to allow them to be deployed from orbit and to strategic locations on battlefields. Along with this comes a new air arm for the Cohort, fighter coverage and plenty of air strikes.
[] A completely Mechanized ground force:
When deploying planetside, the Cohort does so in the new Dracosan transports. Each infantry section has its own vehicle and trains to operate as Mechanized infantry alongside it. The vehicles are either deployed in whole Tercio's from large transports, or by individual shuttles.
The prologue is over and Act 1 has begun, and now the journey to true officer status within the Solar Auxilia is underway. Part of that means that combat will become more focused on tactical and strategic decisions and the like, with less of a focus on the nitty gritty of combat.
The current rolling system will last so long as you are on the Sub-Tercio/Tercio command levels. Once you become the commander of a Sub-Cohort, the combat will become increasingly abstract and instead be more about narrative choice and navigating your way through the Crusade.
4 hour Moratorium for voting. Plan voting, except for the orientation vote.
Jean Claude, ever reliable, reaches the Vexilla and grabs it before it can fall. He raises it high and waves it in the air. "The Raptor still flies! We will never fall!" He shouts over the Vox, firing his lasrifle into the air with one hand.
"Herrand!" You hear Amélie yelling and pivot to face her. While your Section cleared out the crater, hers had manned the lip to open fire on the empty slopes. "They are coming!"
Rushing over, you stare down and curse as you…
something massing in the valley.
A mass of darkness is approaching, blotting out the cloud of white phosphex vapour. In the distance there are great clouds of regolith and dust being thrown up.
"Élan!" You shout, and the First Section joins the Second at the parapet, firing into the fog. Grenades are thrown through the vacuum, blowing apart in spouts of blu- no! Red blood. No! Dust! Dust and machine parts.
Machines?
Men collapse clutching invisible wounds, some of them burning and smouldering. You see two turn their pistols on themselves.
Why are they…
"Death to the Alien!" Amélie shouts. "Death to the Old Night!". As her men fall around her. The skull of the man next to her explodes.
"For striking Mankind in its weakness. Extinction!" You quote the Writ of Extinction signed by the Emperor… for a reason you can not quite grasp.
Primevére stumbles and falls. Your eye shoots to your squad monitor. Nothing happened. You grab her by a shoulderpad and drag her into cover. The fighting begins to quiet down for a moment, and a peek out of cover… confirms that the wall of shadow approaching you is getting closer.
"Status report." Jeanne answers over the Vox. She is almost growling, her voice intermixed with the gutter slang and insults of the lower levels of Pars. You can not grasp her voice. It is too muffled.
"This is Sergeant Khorban." A stunningly loud and clear voice resounds over the vox, clearing away the mental fog, for a moment, you see shaped like blue orbs wrapped in metal. "We did not ask for assistance. Your flanking force was consumed by a Phosphex cloud." He pauses. "The intervention is recognized."
You say nothing as you ponder what happened. Phosphex clouds are liable to turn upon those who unleash them, by whatever arcane mechanism motivates their movement.
"Please confirm. Veletaris and rifle section are dead?"
"Confirmed." Khorban says, his voice once again breaking through the fog, parting it and revealing a great tendril emerging from the ground in the distance. "We are holding this flank. Can you hold your position?"
You peek over the parapet.
The world is falling apart. Great masses of black and grey moving just out of sight, fading in and out of existence. You try to remember what you are fighting. Psykers? Xenos?
You say something, but can not hear the words.
Amélie gets into cover next to you, looking out into the death coming your way. She curses a string of gutter franc that makes Jeanne's prior outburst seem well-mannered. Her helmet cocks up as you stare at her in surprise. "Too bad about the suits. If we could take them off, we could die…" She trails off, her combat high slightly abating.
"I don't feel like dying tired. You?" You grin behind your faceplate. Perhaps you would not be executed if you retreated from this position.
Retreat from what?
Suddenly Philip throws himself into cover next to you. "Evening!" He laughs. Your head shoots around to look at his Rapier and the Servitors and troopers attending it. He's followed you all the way here. "Shitty place to die, if you ask me. But there's worse people to die with."
You mumble something.
"Come on!" You shout, as the wall of darkness approaches.
You wake up with a startle and lunge forward, something wrapped around your forehead is stopping you.
People around you are speaking in hushed whispers.
A figure in black robes walks around you. The human's eyes are covered by a blindfold. His forehead is tattooed with the symbol of the Astra Telepathica. The Emperor's Psykers.
You are in a room filled with noisome machines and foul vapours. You see figures in black armour holding lances standing near a doorway.
The Psyker puts a hand on your forehead and everything goes black.
You open your eyes in a dull, colourless Medicae ward, lying under a thin blanket. The constant sound of pistons pumping and blood filtration machines humming fills the room. Your eyelids feel heavy, and your head is pounding with a headache. Through narrowed eyeslits you see an empty bed across from you, slowly turning to the side, you see more beds packed together, but only a handful have figures lying in them.
You hear… the grinding of tracks. Servitor tracks perhaps? And the noise of something on a tray clanking. There is something in your left arm, and a line leading to a bag containing… blood perhaps?
Grey walls. No decorations. The engines sound wrong. Too clean. None of the occasional chugging of any troopship you've been aboard.
You try to get up, when a firm hand on your shoulder stops you. "Don't move."
A hulking form in a grey robe is sitting by your bedside. You are too tired to be shocked, and just quirk up an eyebrow as you realise it is Sergeant Khorban.
Your mouth feels dry. "Where…"
"The Grey Daughter, Gloriana-Class flagship of the Revenant Legion, alongside the rest of your Cohort." Khorban says with a rumbling voice.
"The figures in black. The Psykers." You try to climb out of your bed. The Astartes keeps you down with a single outstretched finger held against your chest."
"You were in close proximity to the First Legion after they deployed Chrono-Obliteration weapons. Your mind-wipe had to be more thorough than that of the rest of your cohort."
"Mind… wipe?" A spark of panic in your breast. "Was I not allowed to see those weapons?"
"The weapons weren't the problem." He taps a finger against his temple and grins, fangs visible. "Your visual memories of seeing the Cymoeba and Proteus were curdling to poison." He makes a snipping gesture with his fingers. "The Astra Telepathica removed the memories."
You frown. "I did not think we'd warrant such special attention."
He shrugs. "The Mind-Witches needed training in this, and you were available."
Considering the revelation, you lean back into your bed. "What is going to happen now?"
"You spent two weeks in a coma waiting for your turn to get a memory wipe. We are orbiting Mars to receive repairs after Proteus ate the front of the ship. And now we get to throw you out." He chuckles darkly. "Now tell me what you think of the new limb."
Your heart skips a beat and you rip away your blanket, the Astartes no longer stopping you.
You see:
[] A genewrought limb:
A thin line of scar tissue on just past your right elbow hints at the fact that your forearm has been replaced by a cloned one. The hand feels incredibly strong, in fact, the whole right side of your body feels stronger. You doubt you'd ever drop a sword while holding it in this.
Your right arm, the bones of your shoulder, and the muscles across your right shoulder and chest have been replaced by an Apothecary. You have an impeccable grip and your limb does not tremble.
[] A cybernetic forearm covered with cloned skin and flesh.
A nobleman's replacement limb of synth-skin and artificial bone and subtle cybernetics. You feel a twitching in your hand, and by presenting your palm, you see the barrel of a blast charger jutting out. There is also a cogitator screen on the back of your forearm, and a series of plugs.
Contains a one-shot Blast Charger pistol that can be reloaded through replacing the power cells located in your wrist. Also functions as a cogitator screen with Vox, Bio-monitor, and data storage options. All inferior to your void armour and presumably important to the previous owner.
[] A brutal cybernetic replacement:
Your forearm up to past the elbow has been replaced with a well-crafted but unadorned metal prosthetic. The limb is currently tied into a support cradle, and you can see a partially extended chainblade. You'll need to adjust your void armour to use this.
You have an extendable wrist-mounted chainblade.
You struggle to find the words. "You sat here waiting for me to see this? Why!?"
"I thought it'd be funny." Khorban says.
A burst of forced shocked laughter erupts from your lips at the thought of Khorban wanting to make a joke.
"So… What will happen after this. Another joint deployment? Will we be seeing each other again?" You ask.
To your surprise, Khorban actually seems slightly taken aback. "Perhaps." He searches for the right word. "The Ninth Legion will return to Neptune and continue the purgation. You will be returning to Terra for retraining. Our cooperation has been an exception from the norm. After Neptune, we will remain in reserve to be deployed to the worst war fronts. If that means we meet again? Then so be it."
You can see that, no matter how much he is hiding it, Khorban does like you.
He growls to remove any trace of a grin from his face. "Now follow me. I'll put you on a shuttle before one of our newly ascended brothers decides they fancy you."
The look on his face is a stoic mask hiding the sharp fangs you saw before. Sputtering garbled words emerge from your lips as you try to ascertain the level of innuendo and wordplay that the marine is using. "Bu-Wh, uhhh...Fancy? But, you! Wha-How!?"
He just stares at you, tilting his head to the side at your reaction. "Several of your troops did not survive medical treatment, and we do not waste flesh aboard this ship. Their memories live on in us." He adds with a grin. "And you look very tender."
Oh. You realise, to your growing horror, that he was literal. You are also:
(This is a humorous choice meant in good faith, and will in all likelihood not come up all that much. It is just fun. Do not make me remove it.)
[] Just a little bit disappointed:
Those robes have to be hiding something, right?
Herrand leans towards favouring men.
[] Just confused:
You're from Franc.
Herrand has no preference in partner, so long as they're human.
[] Very relieved:
You might be the only one in your family that doesn't sell to both sides in the conflict. Herrand leans towards preferring female partners.
[] Uncaring :
You only see a purpose to physical affection for reasons political and persuasive
Herrand has no desire for physical intimacy beyond political or economic reasons.
Sitting in the shuttle ferrying you to an officer's cabin aboard a freshly constructed troop-ship heading for Terra, you hold a data-slate as you read up on what your Cohort has been doing since you fell into your coma. The casualty estimates are grim. Thirty-five percent losses, two-thirds of the NCO's, many high ranking officers. The battle was a debacle, and the regiment needs large-scale reorganisation.
A message arrives on your slate. It is from the Legate Marshal.
He wishes you the best, and remarks on your excellent performance. He notes that for your actions, he has agreed to arm his personal retinue and private staff with Autopistols from your family. When you meet again on Terra, he wishes to discuss your promotion to commanding a Tercio, in light of the heavy losses and the retraining.
Your heart leaps at the news, and you quickly bring up the messaging system on your slate, trying to record a vid-message for your parents, when a message from them arrives.
It is the typically brusque but still caring message you have often received from your parents, encouragement, with them hiding their feelings over official correspondence with talks of pride, motivation, and awe.
The subject of Sallas Arms quickly comes up. You nod in approval at what they have been doing.
They discuss the contract with the Marshal, and how they have put their techno-savants to work in establishing an 'Autogun Package' to sell to colony worlds for starting up production using pre-supplied tools and local ores.
You assume your mother came up with that idea, she's always been more prone to selling knowledge and industry over your father's preference for firearms.
Sallar Arms has acquired a lucrative mine on Mercury, staffing it with well-trained Franc artisans and local labour. An orbiting Manufactorum will begin sending out its first packages of autoguns to the mobile mining settlements on the surface. There was a delay when the Martian Forge-Temple that they purchased equipment from suffered a rebellion. But thanks to the delayed shipment, they received an additional shipment of servitors as compensation.
Your family received word through back-channels that your brother has survived his ascension, and is now a member of the Third Legion. But also that in accordance with Legion protocols, they have taken a new name and will not contact their family. A marble statue of your brother now decorates your family home.
You flip the slate lengthwise and prepare to start typing out a reply. When you pause. What do you focus on?
[] Play down your narrow survival, focus on the good news:
Herrand hardens himself towards loss. He does not indulge in emotions.
[] For a moment, pour out your heart to your parents:
Herrand allows a moment of private weakness, away from sight.
[] Focus on a strictly professional message:
Herrand's ambition grows as he mentions he will not stop at the arms contract.
While you were recovering. Your Cohort was deployed to Terra for retraining and reorganisation. They have been deployed to
(These are narrative choices and do not involve stats)
[] CentMerica:
As one of the first groups to side with the Emperor, the Mahya tribes have been granted, by a Sigillite Decree, the right and duty to restore their old cultural legacy. The jungles around their territory was hit by mutagenic warheads in millenia past, turning the wildlife hostile and virulent.
The Cohort trains in jungle warfare and preparations to fight on worlds with a hostile biosphere.
[] Gyptus:
The Sigilite has decreed that the Great Pyramid of Gyptus is to be rebuilt. While at the same time, the deserts of Northafrik are to be used for training in the operation of sealed armoured vehicles. The Cohort joins twenty million other Imperial soldiers in equal parts reconstruction labour and desert warfare training.
The Cohort trains in desert warfare and operations on airless worlds within the frost-line of star systems.
[] The Canad Wastes:
The great white north of Canad is one of the last areas of Terra not under Imperial control due to both its remoteness and the excessive amounts of mutants and hostile techno-tribes. The Verdyn Chemical Engineers were tasked with subduing the tribes with minimal loss of life, so as to integrate their labour and technology.
The Cohort trains in arctic warfare and operations on airless worlds beyond the frost-line of star systems.
[] Atlantik Dome Cities:
To partake in a suppression campaign against anti-Imperial tribes in the area, and waging a hearts and mind operation among the villages and tribes of the area by clearing away mutants and remaining mechanical threats.
The Cohort trains in pacifying local dispersed populations and bringing them into the Imperial fold. Using the proverbial velvet glove.
Cohort equipment will include Imperial crowd-control equipment: Water cannons, Web-launchers, Tear Gas, Rubber bullets, low-power adapters for Lasrifles, and Heavy Bolters.
[] Pan-Pacific-Empire remnants:
To partake in a suppression campaign against a handful holdouts against Imperial Rule that have survived the fall of the Pan Pacific Empire, destroying rogue machines, suppressing local rebellion, and enforcing the Imperial Truth.
The Cohort trains in crushing resistance, targeting intellectuals and leaders, taking hostages, and preparing for the arrival of actual reconstruction forces.
[] The retribution of Ursh:
Several Ursh cities have recently rebelled against Imperial rule. After their leaders were executed by the Custodes, the rebellions fell apart, but so did civil rule and administration. The Cohort is to use this as an opportunity to learn occupation duties.
The Cohort trains in reconstructing cities and handling non-compliant civilians.
Cohort equipment will include Imperial crowd-control equipment: Water cannons, Web-launchers, Tear Gas, Rubber bullets, low-power adapters for Lasrifles, and Heavy Bolters.
[] The liberation of the Arctic:
The Arctic Hive of Gorglund has recently been freed from a hidden cabal of Psykers that mentally controlled the population from the shadows. The Cohort is to aid in reconstruction and use this experience to learn how to bring Compliance to newly liberated populations.
The Cohort trains in reconstructing cities following liberation from Psychic(or Xenos) domination.
Cohort equipment will include Imperial crowd-control equipment: Water cannons, Web-launchers, Tear Gas, Rubber bullets, low-power adapters for Lasrifles, and Heavy Bolters.
As part of the reorganisation of your Cohort, it also received new vehicles. For planetary warfare, it is being retrained to deploy as:
(These are narrative choices and do not involve stats. All forms of equipment will be part of your Cohort, these are just how the bulk of your Cohort's infantry will deploy.)
[] A completely Aerospace capable drop-army:
When deploying planetside, the Cohort primarily operates in a supporting role. Each infantry section has its own Arvus Lighter to allow them to be deployed from orbit and to strategic locations on battlefields. Along with this comes a new air arm for the Cohort, fighter coverage and plenty of air strikes.
[] A completely Mechanized ground force:
When deploying planetside, the Cohort does so in the new Dracosan transports. Each infantry section has its own vehicle and trains to operate as Mechanized infantry alongside it. The vehicles are either deployed in whole Tercio's from large transports, or by individual shuttles.
The prologue is over and Act 1 has begun, and now the journey to true officer status within the Solar Auxilia is underway. Part of that means that combat will become more focused on tactical and strategic decisions and the like, with less of a focus on the nitty gritty of combat.
The current rolling system will last so long as you are on the Sub-Tercio/Tercio command levels. Once you become the commander of a Sub-Cohort, the combat will become increasingly abstract and instead be more about narrative choice and navigating your way through the Crusade.
4 hour Moratorium for voting. Plan voting, except for the orientation vote.
Personal memoir and historical account.
- Location
- Netherlands
The New Terra:
When I was a young man, I grew up in a city I was told was the last bastion of civilization.* The last republican government on the continent which was ruled through a democratic mandate.**
The Imperium's conquest of Terra was a slow process, with the conquest of Eurasia, Ind, and Afrik taking the better part of two centuries. Even the allegiances of warlords from Patagon, Hayt, and Merica allowing the Imperium to operate from their territory, did not speed up this war. Especially once the size of the Imperium spurred emergency consolidations and alliances between Techno-Barbarian warlords who quickly grew their realms and forces to face the Emperor.
In the year 665M30, My nation was the last major Europan one to surrender, our terms negotiated under the threat of denying the Emperor that which he hoped to gain from our conquest. I personally slew a wounded Custodes with my bayonet. Although as I keep telling those whom ask me to regale it, the Custodes was mortally wounded, and I do not see pride in the act.
I have since fought in the conquests of Albion, the Thulean Basin, and the decades long grinding wars to bring Ursh and the Pan-Pacific Empire to heel. I have fought generals one day, only to shake hands with them the next after their people accepted Unity and devoted their weapons to the Emperor's service.
In the end, Terra found itself turned into a three-way conflict between the Pan-Pacific Empire, Ursh, and the Imperium. I lost a son in the thirty year war to break the Eeyowa Citadel in the Pearl Bastion. Fought running battles in the ruins of Kyot against the pseudo-Astartes. I saw the flesh-citadels of Basilio Fo fall. I fought battles whose names may not be repeated by Imperial Decree, and of which I am glad, for it means the nightmares are my own.
Now, Terra's nations, except for a few enclaves of opposition, are united under the Emperor. The Astronomicon Project continues apace, the largest labour project in three millenia. The genetic stabilisation programs are bearing fruit. Public works are restoring Terra's industry and power. And the replenishment of Terra's biosphere is underway.
Millions of soldiers, led by the veterans of the final bloody days of the Unification Wars, are training across Terra, preparing for the ships that will take them to the stars to be constructed. The Rejuvenation Treatments pioneered by the Emperor are an enticing offer for service in the crusade, and I know many regiments of Unification have taken the offer. Soldiers with decades of experience ready and eager to take the war to the stars.
I have lived a long life, and I worry that my children will not know peace.
*(Barring the Balt city-states, the Alpyn League, or the Anatoli, but I digress.)
**(When the aristocrats weren't in control after their incessant coups.)
-Personal memoir of Legate Marshal Mardon Lentierre, compiled 790M30
The Solar Reclamation.
To describe the reclamation of the Solar System as a rushed and haphazard affair, would be a gross understatement of the endeavour.
The Imperium, before the Treaty of Olympus, was perpetually bottle-necked by its access to space-capable vessels. The few orbital transports that were available, could scarcely go beyond Luna, and were too cumbersome or fragile to be used for military deployments. Terra's starship graveyards had long ago been stripped bare, and the Orbital Plates and Habitats relied on chemical shuttles and mass-accelerators to transport cargo pods.
Terra's fleet for taking Luna would need to be constructed anew.
During the Age of Strife, a class of 'Rogue Trader' had emerged aboard Dark Age era merchant ships which retained their capacity for interstellar travel. It was from these traders that the Imperium would acquire the skilled shipbuilding crews they needed to produce the first Imperial warships, and the Navigators he would need.
Our Emperor spoke to each trader that visited, and borrowed, bartered, appealed to, and threatened them into supporting his endeavours, bringing several into his inner circle as naval advisors.
So it was that the Armada Imperialis began. A haphazard collection of newly constructed void-craft, Dark Age trade ships, converted Jovian merchantmen, and even Xenos craft from the fleets of the Rogue Traders. With the pacification of Luna in 702, the hundreds of Astartes became thousands. When the Martians recognizing the Emperor as their "Omnissiah" in 749, the fleet was sharpened to a speartip, and the full-scale reclamation of the Solar System could begin.
For the last fifty years, the Imperium has been waging the War of Solar Reclamation. A short conflict compared to the three hundred years of the Unification Wars, the Ursh-Europan wars of M28 or the Khrave wars of M27
It has not been an easy war. Sol was rife with Xenos Pirates, pirate lords, rampant machines, and other horrors from Old Night. Even with the allegiance of the Saturnyne Ordos, and the still-independent Jovian Clans, we are beset from all sides.
For each two moons reclaimed, one would fall during a counter-attack. For each raiding fleet driven out of the system, the precursors of another would make its foray into the Solar System. Even now, Venus's War Witches control half their planet, and Xenos outposts dot the moons of Neptune and Jupiter.
It was only in the later years of the 770's, that slow gains began to accumulate exponentially, and our enemies were driven to their most hardened bastions, each shielded by the science of the Ancients, for even the Xenos covet the knowledge of the Golden Age.
The Solar System is ours, but it remains to be seen if we have the power to keep it. For as human might is restored, so too do the ancient foes stir. The Traders speak of the Orks mustering near Betelgeuse, the Fra'al close in on Delta Pavonis, and the Rykogene's first scout ships have been spotted in Proxima Centauri.
-Speech given to the Pars Military Academy by Legate Marshal Mardon Lentierre, 790M30
When I was a young man, I grew up in a city I was told was the last bastion of civilization.* The last republican government on the continent which was ruled through a democratic mandate.**
The Imperium's conquest of Terra was a slow process, with the conquest of Eurasia, Ind, and Afrik taking the better part of two centuries. Even the allegiances of warlords from Patagon, Hayt, and Merica allowing the Imperium to operate from their territory, did not speed up this war. Especially once the size of the Imperium spurred emergency consolidations and alliances between Techno-Barbarian warlords who quickly grew their realms and forces to face the Emperor.
In the year 665M30, My nation was the last major Europan one to surrender, our terms negotiated under the threat of denying the Emperor that which he hoped to gain from our conquest. I personally slew a wounded Custodes with my bayonet. Although as I keep telling those whom ask me to regale it, the Custodes was mortally wounded, and I do not see pride in the act.
I have since fought in the conquests of Albion, the Thulean Basin, and the decades long grinding wars to bring Ursh and the Pan-Pacific Empire to heel. I have fought generals one day, only to shake hands with them the next after their people accepted Unity and devoted their weapons to the Emperor's service.
In the end, Terra found itself turned into a three-way conflict between the Pan-Pacific Empire, Ursh, and the Imperium. I lost a son in the thirty year war to break the Eeyowa Citadel in the Pearl Bastion. Fought running battles in the ruins of Kyot against the pseudo-Astartes. I saw the flesh-citadels of Basilio Fo fall. I fought battles whose names may not be repeated by Imperial Decree, and of which I am glad, for it means the nightmares are my own.
Now, Terra's nations, except for a few enclaves of opposition, are united under the Emperor. The Astronomicon Project continues apace, the largest labour project in three millenia. The genetic stabilisation programs are bearing fruit. Public works are restoring Terra's industry and power. And the replenishment of Terra's biosphere is underway.
Millions of soldiers, led by the veterans of the final bloody days of the Unification Wars, are training across Terra, preparing for the ships that will take them to the stars to be constructed. The Rejuvenation Treatments pioneered by the Emperor are an enticing offer for service in the crusade, and I know many regiments of Unification have taken the offer. Soldiers with decades of experience ready and eager to take the war to the stars.
I have lived a long life, and I worry that my children will not know peace.
*(Barring the Balt city-states, the Alpyn League, or the Anatoli, but I digress.)
**(When the aristocrats weren't in control after their incessant coups.)
-Personal memoir of Legate Marshal Mardon Lentierre, compiled 790M30
The Solar Reclamation.
To describe the reclamation of the Solar System as a rushed and haphazard affair, would be a gross understatement of the endeavour.
The Imperium, before the Treaty of Olympus, was perpetually bottle-necked by its access to space-capable vessels. The few orbital transports that were available, could scarcely go beyond Luna, and were too cumbersome or fragile to be used for military deployments. Terra's starship graveyards had long ago been stripped bare, and the Orbital Plates and Habitats relied on chemical shuttles and mass-accelerators to transport cargo pods.
Terra's fleet for taking Luna would need to be constructed anew.
During the Age of Strife, a class of 'Rogue Trader' had emerged aboard Dark Age era merchant ships which retained their capacity for interstellar travel. It was from these traders that the Imperium would acquire the skilled shipbuilding crews they needed to produce the first Imperial warships, and the Navigators he would need.
Our Emperor spoke to each trader that visited, and borrowed, bartered, appealed to, and threatened them into supporting his endeavours, bringing several into his inner circle as naval advisors.
So it was that the Armada Imperialis began. A haphazard collection of newly constructed void-craft, Dark Age trade ships, converted Jovian merchantmen, and even Xenos craft from the fleets of the Rogue Traders. With the pacification of Luna in 702, the hundreds of Astartes became thousands. When the Martians recognizing the Emperor as their "Omnissiah" in 749, the fleet was sharpened to a speartip, and the full-scale reclamation of the Solar System could begin.
For the last fifty years, the Imperium has been waging the War of Solar Reclamation. A short conflict compared to the three hundred years of the Unification Wars, the Ursh-Europan wars of M28 or the Khrave wars of M27
It has not been an easy war. Sol was rife with Xenos Pirates, pirate lords, rampant machines, and other horrors from Old Night. Even with the allegiance of the Saturnyne Ordos, and the still-independent Jovian Clans, we are beset from all sides.
For each two moons reclaimed, one would fall during a counter-attack. For each raiding fleet driven out of the system, the precursors of another would make its foray into the Solar System. Even now, Venus's War Witches control half their planet, and Xenos outposts dot the moons of Neptune and Jupiter.
It was only in the later years of the 770's, that slow gains began to accumulate exponentially, and our enemies were driven to their most hardened bastions, each shielded by the science of the Ancients, for even the Xenos covet the knowledge of the Golden Age.
The Solar System is ours, but it remains to be seen if we have the power to keep it. For as human might is restored, so too do the ancient foes stir. The Traders speak of the Orks mustering near Betelgeuse, the Fra'al close in on Delta Pavonis, and the Rykogene's first scout ships have been spotted in Proxima Centauri.
-Speech given to the Pars Military Academy by Legate Marshal Mardon Lentierre, 790M30
Terran Preparations: Part 1
- Location
- Netherlands
"It's a pleasure to see you, Sub-Lieutenant," Philip "Pip" Bernadotte greets you with his trademark grin as you board the transport shuttle. Seeing the newly promoted Void-Sergeant waiting for you is a pleasant surprise. If there weren't other passengers around, you would have embraced him in a short, manly hug. But for now, a simple nod will have to suffice.
You and Philip found seats on the transport shuttle among a group of Imperial Army officers heading to the Gyptus deployment. Among them, you two are the only ones fluent in Franc, so you naturally switch back to your native language.
"How is life on the surface? Enjoying the sand, I take it? It is about as course as you."
"Exhausting and strenuous." He laughs. "In addition to our regular training, we're also assisting with demolishing some of Gyptus's abandoned cities for repurposing."
"Reclamation work?" you say, your voice laced with a hint of disdain. It's not the type of task you aspire to do, even if you won't be doing any physical labor. It might affect how your regiment is perceived, and you are starting to enjoy your comrades.
"All in the name of a noble pursuit," Pip retorts, his attention drawn to an intriguing spectacle outside the shuttle's viewport. The spacecraft was leisurely traversing an authorized orbital path, offering a rare chance to admire the plethora of ships suspended in space. "See that Orbital Plate over yonder?"
Your gaze trails his pointed finger, landing on an oddly tinted Orbital Plate, distinct from the other two within your line of sight. "The mustard-hued one?" you inquire.
Pip grins mischievously, savoring the moment. "That's no Orbital Plate."
A pause hangs in the air as he lets his words sink in.
"That beauty," he continues, still grinning and pointing towards the object in question, "is none other than Imperator Somnium - our Emperor's pride and joy. Flagship of the Imperium, the ship he will use to reclaim the galaxy."
His revelation takes a moment to fully comprehend. Your jaw slackens noticeably. "Gods of Old Earth... That ship is..." If it could be mistaken for an Orbital Plate, its length must span at least fifty kilometers at the very least. "And here I thought Bucephalus was already colossal."
"That was His personal yacht compared to this. This is going to be a warship, a real worldbreaker. I found some interesting information about it," Philip says.
"You? Reading something other than smutty romance?" You quirk an eyebrow for comedic emphasis.
Philip acts as if he has been hit by a thrown dagger, feigning offence. "Sir, you underestimate me. I have a fascination for military technology and tactics. Plus, they told us where the materials and artifacts we are reclaiming will be used. It definitely motivated the soldiers. I've never seen them so eager to scavenge rebar from concrete or strip copper from roofs."
"So you're a professional salvager now?" His kind expression hints that he may have actually done those things, but he won't divulge any further information. You change the subject. "To contribute to a ship like that…" You allow yourself to dream for a moment, until Philip interrupts with a laugh.
"Sorry to burst your bubble, Sir. But half of the metalworkers, reclaimers, and salvagers on Terra are contributing to that project." He chuckles. "Two Hive Cities have already been dismantled for materials, and that gilding? All that gold is from the treasuries of warlords he forces to submit."
Your initial excitement fades. "They're breaking down hives?" You say, closer to an affirmation than a question.
Pip nods gravely. "A dozen of them, aye. And all the ruins left by the Unification Wars on top of that. Every last scrap of Archeotech and Dark Age alloy we can find."
"Mines emptied of rare metal, cities broken down for scraps of archeotech alloys." You attempt to process this overwhelming information - how the Solar Reclamation isn't merely another conflict but humanity's last shot at re-establishing its dominance over the galaxy.
"True... But what a sight she is," Pip murmurs. "Whatever happens, we will not go quietly into the Old Night.
The initial thrill of beholding the colossal Imperator Somnium begins to ebb, supplanted by a hollow sensation. The reality is that it is likely the final grand warship that Terra will ever craft. Mars and Jupiter will take that task going forward, and the last using the might and knowledge of the Golden Age.
You both allow the moment to sink in, looking out the window as the Shuttle continues to descend. Then you find yourself unable to resist asking the next question. "So, what kind of weapons does it have?
He grins. "Do you know what a Nova Cannon is?"
You think deeply, dredging up a memory from a primer on naval warfare terminology. "A spinal cannon, right? A ship of the line is built around one of those."
"According to the 'official' estimate." He actually makes air quotes, confusing those looking at the two Franks having a conversation in their own tongue. "The Imperator has seven barrels. And twenty Exterminatus-capable Torpedo tubes."
You blink. "What the hell does the Emperor expect to face if he needs that kind of firepower?"
"I assume the things he made the Custodes to guard him from."
Your half-erased memories of Proteus briefly throb in the back of your mind. You wonder for a moment just what in the name of Terra's dead gods The Emperor expects to face out in the void.
Gyptus Training Fields.
A field of prefabricated structures and large tents stretches an area large enough for a city, a city raised up from nothing, all evenly distributed in a grid pattern, with different coloured roofs or flags above the buildings inside each of the squares.
Landing at one of the pads inside the city, you step off the shuttle and head towards a waiting all-terrain groundcar whose operator is waving you over. To your delight, it is your Vox-Operator Primevére, whom pulls the door open for you and ushers you inside. Before you can get inside, you note that the thin layer of protective grey paint smells very fresh.
"A pleasure to see you, Primevére. How has Gyptus been treating you?" You ask, noting that her ordinarily pale skin is covered with a solar-protective spray, that hasn't saved her from appearing sunburnt.
"It is hot, dry, and full of foreigners, sir.." She says with a chuckle.
"Now, now, we're supposed to have moved past bickering with the other peoples of Terra." You say, puffing up your chest as you extol the virtues of Unity, while grinning. You open the window of the Groundcar.
"Does that include Jermani, Sir?"
"Absolutely not." You are slammed into the back of your seat as she races across the central road towards your Cohort's encampment. You clutch a safety handhold and look out the window as the car races past, tightening your seatbelt just in case. The woman drives like a broken Servitor, but she's making progress.
You look out the window. Primevére is right about there being a lot of foreigners in the training camp. You can see every skin colour and set of features recognized as human-normal represented as the Groundcar races past.
There are the flags of former Pan-Pacific regiments, the varying symbols of the many tribal armies joined to the Imperium, the star-banners of the Merican Armour, the dragon-banners of the Han Hives, the crosses of the Cantine Heavies, The black of the Marian Deep, the white of the Terrawat Mountaineers, and others that you fail to recognize.
Large posters with drawings of the Gothic alphabet and pictographic representations of common words are predominant at each street crossing. Hanging next to them are warning posters about the punishments for failing to speak the common tongue.
A simple warning re-occurs as you pass.
You are expected to be fluent in Gothic by the end of your training deployment! Failure will result in disciplinary action.
"They're making Gothic mandatory?"
"Afraid so." Philip says. He has taken out a small square datapad and is playing a game on it involving what looks like falling square blocks. You're very sure his datapad is not supposed to have a game installed on it. "We are all supposed to understand Gothic."
Just thinking of the announcement of that ruling is making you grin. "Can't have been a popular announcement."
"You can say that again. Most of my technical crews are under-hive scum and boys from the countryside. The extra lessons are really cutting in on training time."
Letting out a snort of disapproval, you turn to Philip. "Speaking of technical crews. Did you manage to evacuate your Rapier?"
Philip frowns. "No." He curses under his breath. "I only just had it calibrated the right way. I hope I can get one of the new Laser Rapiers. I bet operating one of those is amazing."
The Groundcar stops outside the grid set aside for the 7th Verdyn, allowing Primevére to take out her documentation and provide it to the guards at the checkpoint. You can smell something akin to fresh bread in the distance. Is it already time for the weekly communal bread-baking? You wonder which Tercio will have made the best bread this time around.
But first. To speak with the Marshal.
Pierre Mardon awaited you in the residence set aside for him in the compound. A prefabricated structure, with an interior like a country estate. The furniture is made of high quality lumber, inlaid with tiny amounts of silver. Just enough to enhance the aesthetic without overpowering the lacquered wood.
Standing in the room are his four lifewards. Each wearing their Chasseur armour. Cuirasses of golden plate connected to silk-thin archeotech clothes that appeared like cloth, but were as strong as power armour, and enhanced the strength of the wearer. The men quietly observe you, tense with restrained energy from their augmented physiologies. You occasionally wonder if they are Pseudo-Warriors, soldiers augmented using techniques developed from dissected Thunder Warriors during the Wars of Unification. You believe the Marshal has the right connections with the Tech-Clans to acquire some.
Not that any of them will ever tell you. These warriors had their vocal cords removed long ago.
"We're in a real mess, and no doubt about that." Mardon says, matter of factly. "Officer corps gutted. Heavy losses. And now deployed here on Terra for retraining and reorganisation. What a damn mess. It will take at least a year for us to be ready to deploy again. There aren't enough officers, and all the good candidates have already been picked."
"Terrible mess, sir." You nod, taking a wafer with Foie Gras from the plate on the delicate table and enjoying the taste, before sipping your fine wine. You can get used to this mentorship for the fine wine alone.
The Marshal shakes his head. "Solutions. Enough lamenting what happened. We need to discuss solutions." He leans forward, close enough that you can see the liquid flowing through the transparent tube in his nose. You consider the words of the Marshal as he continues. "As an officer, you will be sending brave men and women to their deaths. You have done so already, and done so without hesitation to accomplish your goals." There is no distaste or judgement in his voice, but neither do you register any approval.
He slides a data pad over to you. You raise an eyebrow as you see that it is documentation for your promotion to Lieutenant. Recommended by the late Lieutenant Albrecht for your actions aboard the Neptunian habitat. It has already been signed. The Cohort has taken heavy losses indeed if you are rising this quickly. "I have lost several officers I had been grooming for positions of leadership, Herrand Sallas."
His eyes bore into you.
"Battlefield losses mean you will be promoted to the rank of Lieutenant and placed in command of Tercio Primaris of Sub-Cohort Quintus. If you want to rise beyond that rank, I want to hear good things from Commander Richelle. I consider him to be an excellent judge of character. If he holds you back, then I will stop assisting you. Prove yourself worthy of my eye."
You frown at the bluntness. You nod respectfully.
He continues. "Next, you should start planning a retinue, Sallas. Show me you have a good judge of character."
"A Retinue, sir? Only Sub-Cohort commanders are supposed to gain personal retinues according to-" He cuts you off with a wave of his hand. He pauses for a moment as his armour injects something into his spine with an audible click. "You will not get a retinue officially, not yet. But you should make preparations for any event."
You nod. The Solar Auxilia, like most of Terra's armed forces, although professional in the lower ranks, become progressively more feudal and personalised as one rises through the ranks. You will absolutely need to develop a household staff, have personal guards, and attain high standards.
He types something into his datapad. "You have two months leave. Make the most of it. Make political moves. I will be watching you, and expecting a report describing just what you are planning."
You frown. The marshal just gave you Homework.
Your personal room within the Compound assigned to the 7th Verdyn Chemical Engineers is furnished with well-built metal and plastek furniture, colourful red drapes, and contains all the amenities that you might need. A table, a desk, personal desk cogitator, and a personal bathroom and shower.
The people that the Marshal has instructed you to form the core of a future retinue out of surround you. Amélie leans into the back of the guest chair, twiddling her thumbs, Philipe is examining the cogitator, while Jeanne is sitting on the side of the bed, bouncing to test the mattress, with great approval.
Jeanne blows a raspberry as you finish explaining to her just what you have been told by the Legate Marshal. "Moving up into the big leagues, are we?" Jeanne says with a coprophagic grin.
"I am. And if you commit yourself to me, I can make you a very wealthy woman. I intend nothing less than to become the leader of this Cohort one day and be given a planet of my own to rule."
Her gaze shoots towards you, eyes narrowing as she considers your words. Her look is a hungry look, but not one of hunger for sustenance. It is a hunger for power, for influence, for the ability to decide one's own fate. Amélie looks somewhat incredulous at your statement, but there is no confusion or anger at the statement, in fact, she seems very respectful.
"Sounds good. It sounds like a good chance for making it through my service alive so I can actually cash in on those rewards." She pauses. "I might know some people possibly worth bringing into this. Back alley scum that we can get into uniform and assigned to us."
"Wealth and power will be mine to grant." You say with absolute seriousness. You then turn to Amélie Beaufort. "Your family has been blackballed by the military. Your career is dead because of your name. Join me, and I'll drag you with me to the top, and we'll eventually tip the old guard out of their seats."
The daughter of a political dynasty looks at you, crossing her arms as she no doubt considers her options. After a long while, she nods. "Fair enough. I'll be your eyes and ears in political circles. My family still has connections."
You finally turn to Philip Bernadotte, trying to think of something to say, when you realize you don't know him. At all. "What do you want, Pip?"
He shrugs. "I think we just really get along, sir. I'll be with you in this."
A nod of affirmation and a grin.
You are Lieutenant Herrand Sallas of the 7th Verdyn Chemical Engineers Cohort.
You are in command of Tercio Primaris. Tercio Primaris is a part of Sub-Cohort Quintus, led by Commander Belgois Richelle. Sub-Cohort Quintus is part of the 7th Verdyn Chemical engineers Cohort, led by Legate Marshal Mardon Lentierre:
Your future retinue will consist of:
First officer: Amélie Beaufort:
Senior non-commissioned officer: Jeanne Denise
Heavy weapons specialist: Philip "Pip" Bernadotte.
Vexilla bearer Jean Claude.
Vox-Trooper Primevére Cartier:
16 Solar Auxilia veterans of Neptune and the Proteus incident.
You have found yourself under the mentorship of the Legate Marshal of your Cohort, who considers you to be a potential candidate to one day be a Marshal in your own right. His eyes are upon you, and he will judge just how you use your time.
How will you use your medical leave?
Choose 2 actions from among your connections.
Sallas connections:
You are a rising star in your family, but not the greatest of them. Your family's assets are being heavily invested right now, and you will not be able to ask for everything you want. But at the same time, you are in a good position to continue to aid your family's rise to power. You will leverage your new status as an officer and a veteran by:
[] Attend board meetings alongside your father:
Your father constantly works to keep Sallas Arms operational. Meet with the rich and powerful individuals of the Franc economy, talk about the prospective interstellar expansion, try to leverage their political support for promotions through hard economic promises.
Increase the financial status of the Sallas Family.
[] Attend the grand ball of Albia:
Your mother's ambition knows no bounds, and she seeks to rise as high as she possibly can. Attend a formal gala held in Albia for the Urban Classes of Europe, Nordafrik, and Arabia, as they send out their sons to war. Proudly show your scars, mention your accomplishments, and ensure that your name is one known far and wide.
Increase the social status of the Sallas Family.
Retinue Connections:
Your unofficial retinue gives you an opportunity to make connections to rise through the ranks, and prepare for getting the world that you are certain to earn by the end of your military service.
[] People from the gutter:
Jeanne still knows powerful individuals in the grey market. As Terra's rules and laws tighten, there are bound to be a lot of people who need a new paycheck. These are desperate men and women with firepower, and a desire for power and control over their lives. Work with Jeanne to find her former criminal partners and get them jobs within the Sallas Family. They will do honest work as security, and dishonest work against rivals.
Increase the security of the Sallas Family.
When you acquire a Retinue, you will have a loyal core of fighters.
[] The political scion:
Pars's republic is a strong government that had endured millenia of hardship and attempted coups and power grabs. Have Amélie introduce you to the power-brokers of the Franc republic, specifically the newly elected Bloc Imperial that have been elected on a platform of emancipation and expansion of the electorate. They could lobby for your promotions, provided you prove tough enough to survive the wars.
Increase the political clout of the Sallas Family.
Expanding the Retinue:
(Choose one addition to your retinue)
[] An artificer:
Philip "Pip" Bernadotte has friends in curious places, specifically, an artificer from the Ef-En Tech Clan looking for something more exciting than remaining on Terra. Only, he knows that he will not be allowed to leave if he asks, and has no personal funds to just leave.
Pip has a plan to break him out. When pressed he claims it will involve a party, an escape car, a shuttle ticket to Nordafrik, and a gang war that 'Was going to happen anyways.'
The Ef-En Tech Clan will not be happy one of their scions left.
You acquire an artificer that keeps your weapons and armour working optimally.
[] A biological Lifeguardian :
Work through your family to acquire a Lifeward from the Alpyne Tech Clan. They will be a butler and manservant genetically engineered to be loyal to you, augmented with hidden weapons, poison-detecting equipment, and a trained medicae.
Creations like these have a long history in the courts of Europe, and more than one assassination attempt has been foiled by one of these Lifeguardians and their integrated weaponry.
The Sallas Family increases cooperation with the Alpyne Tech Clan.
You acquire a cybernetic servant of unimpeachable loyalty.
[] A mechanical Lifeguardian:
Work through your family to acquire a Lifeward from the Alpyne Tech Clan. You will choose an android with hidden weapons, poison-detecting equipment, and medicae abilities. It will have capabilities beyond a servitor, but without the ability to self-modify or improve.
While not breaking the law on Silica Animus due to an inability to 'think', these creations are rare and expensive because the Tech-Clans that can make them refuse to share the knowledge, and are unable to adapt their production techniques to mass-manufacture.
The Sallas Family increases cooperation with the Alpyne Tech Clan.
You acquire a cybernetic servant of unimpeachable loyalty.
[] Personal chef:
You ensure that you have a personal chef to make meals for you of the most impeccable quality. (And are thoroughly checked for poison)
The Legate Marshal is likely to approve of this display of priorities.
Welcome to the politics of being an officer in a neo-feudal militar. Good luck!
Four hour Moratorium on voting. Plan voting
You and Philip found seats on the transport shuttle among a group of Imperial Army officers heading to the Gyptus deployment. Among them, you two are the only ones fluent in Franc, so you naturally switch back to your native language.
"How is life on the surface? Enjoying the sand, I take it? It is about as course as you."
"Exhausting and strenuous." He laughs. "In addition to our regular training, we're also assisting with demolishing some of Gyptus's abandoned cities for repurposing."
"Reclamation work?" you say, your voice laced with a hint of disdain. It's not the type of task you aspire to do, even if you won't be doing any physical labor. It might affect how your regiment is perceived, and you are starting to enjoy your comrades.
"All in the name of a noble pursuit," Pip retorts, his attention drawn to an intriguing spectacle outside the shuttle's viewport. The spacecraft was leisurely traversing an authorized orbital path, offering a rare chance to admire the plethora of ships suspended in space. "See that Orbital Plate over yonder?"
Your gaze trails his pointed finger, landing on an oddly tinted Orbital Plate, distinct from the other two within your line of sight. "The mustard-hued one?" you inquire.
Pip grins mischievously, savoring the moment. "That's no Orbital Plate."
A pause hangs in the air as he lets his words sink in.
"That beauty," he continues, still grinning and pointing towards the object in question, "is none other than Imperator Somnium - our Emperor's pride and joy. Flagship of the Imperium, the ship he will use to reclaim the galaxy."
His revelation takes a moment to fully comprehend. Your jaw slackens noticeably. "Gods of Old Earth... That ship is..." If it could be mistaken for an Orbital Plate, its length must span at least fifty kilometers at the very least. "And here I thought Bucephalus was already colossal."
"That was His personal yacht compared to this. This is going to be a warship, a real worldbreaker. I found some interesting information about it," Philip says.
"You? Reading something other than smutty romance?" You quirk an eyebrow for comedic emphasis.
Philip acts as if he has been hit by a thrown dagger, feigning offence. "Sir, you underestimate me. I have a fascination for military technology and tactics. Plus, they told us where the materials and artifacts we are reclaiming will be used. It definitely motivated the soldiers. I've never seen them so eager to scavenge rebar from concrete or strip copper from roofs."
"So you're a professional salvager now?" His kind expression hints that he may have actually done those things, but he won't divulge any further information. You change the subject. "To contribute to a ship like that…" You allow yourself to dream for a moment, until Philip interrupts with a laugh.
"Sorry to burst your bubble, Sir. But half of the metalworkers, reclaimers, and salvagers on Terra are contributing to that project." He chuckles. "Two Hive Cities have already been dismantled for materials, and that gilding? All that gold is from the treasuries of warlords he forces to submit."
Your initial excitement fades. "They're breaking down hives?" You say, closer to an affirmation than a question.
Pip nods gravely. "A dozen of them, aye. And all the ruins left by the Unification Wars on top of that. Every last scrap of Archeotech and Dark Age alloy we can find."
"Mines emptied of rare metal, cities broken down for scraps of archeotech alloys." You attempt to process this overwhelming information - how the Solar Reclamation isn't merely another conflict but humanity's last shot at re-establishing its dominance over the galaxy.
"True... But what a sight she is," Pip murmurs. "Whatever happens, we will not go quietly into the Old Night.
The initial thrill of beholding the colossal Imperator Somnium begins to ebb, supplanted by a hollow sensation. The reality is that it is likely the final grand warship that Terra will ever craft. Mars and Jupiter will take that task going forward, and the last using the might and knowledge of the Golden Age.
You both allow the moment to sink in, looking out the window as the Shuttle continues to descend. Then you find yourself unable to resist asking the next question. "So, what kind of weapons does it have?
He grins. "Do you know what a Nova Cannon is?"
You think deeply, dredging up a memory from a primer on naval warfare terminology. "A spinal cannon, right? A ship of the line is built around one of those."
"According to the 'official' estimate." He actually makes air quotes, confusing those looking at the two Franks having a conversation in their own tongue. "The Imperator has seven barrels. And twenty Exterminatus-capable Torpedo tubes."
You blink. "What the hell does the Emperor expect to face if he needs that kind of firepower?"
"I assume the things he made the Custodes to guard him from."
Your half-erased memories of Proteus briefly throb in the back of your mind. You wonder for a moment just what in the name of Terra's dead gods The Emperor expects to face out in the void.
Gyptus Training Fields.
A field of prefabricated structures and large tents stretches an area large enough for a city, a city raised up from nothing, all evenly distributed in a grid pattern, with different coloured roofs or flags above the buildings inside each of the squares.
Landing at one of the pads inside the city, you step off the shuttle and head towards a waiting all-terrain groundcar whose operator is waving you over. To your delight, it is your Vox-Operator Primevére, whom pulls the door open for you and ushers you inside. Before you can get inside, you note that the thin layer of protective grey paint smells very fresh.
"A pleasure to see you, Primevére. How has Gyptus been treating you?" You ask, noting that her ordinarily pale skin is covered with a solar-protective spray, that hasn't saved her from appearing sunburnt.
"It is hot, dry, and full of foreigners, sir.." She says with a chuckle.
"Now, now, we're supposed to have moved past bickering with the other peoples of Terra." You say, puffing up your chest as you extol the virtues of Unity, while grinning. You open the window of the Groundcar.
"Does that include Jermani, Sir?"
"Absolutely not." You are slammed into the back of your seat as she races across the central road towards your Cohort's encampment. You clutch a safety handhold and look out the window as the car races past, tightening your seatbelt just in case. The woman drives like a broken Servitor, but she's making progress.
You look out the window. Primevére is right about there being a lot of foreigners in the training camp. You can see every skin colour and set of features recognized as human-normal represented as the Groundcar races past.
There are the flags of former Pan-Pacific regiments, the varying symbols of the many tribal armies joined to the Imperium, the star-banners of the Merican Armour, the dragon-banners of the Han Hives, the crosses of the Cantine Heavies, The black of the Marian Deep, the white of the Terrawat Mountaineers, and others that you fail to recognize.
Large posters with drawings of the Gothic alphabet and pictographic representations of common words are predominant at each street crossing. Hanging next to them are warning posters about the punishments for failing to speak the common tongue.
A simple warning re-occurs as you pass.
You are expected to be fluent in Gothic by the end of your training deployment! Failure will result in disciplinary action.
"They're making Gothic mandatory?"
"Afraid so." Philip says. He has taken out a small square datapad and is playing a game on it involving what looks like falling square blocks. You're very sure his datapad is not supposed to have a game installed on it. "We are all supposed to understand Gothic."
Just thinking of the announcement of that ruling is making you grin. "Can't have been a popular announcement."
"You can say that again. Most of my technical crews are under-hive scum and boys from the countryside. The extra lessons are really cutting in on training time."
Letting out a snort of disapproval, you turn to Philip. "Speaking of technical crews. Did you manage to evacuate your Rapier?"
Philip frowns. "No." He curses under his breath. "I only just had it calibrated the right way. I hope I can get one of the new Laser Rapiers. I bet operating one of those is amazing."
The Groundcar stops outside the grid set aside for the 7th Verdyn, allowing Primevére to take out her documentation and provide it to the guards at the checkpoint. You can smell something akin to fresh bread in the distance. Is it already time for the weekly communal bread-baking? You wonder which Tercio will have made the best bread this time around.
But first. To speak with the Marshal.
Pierre Mardon awaited you in the residence set aside for him in the compound. A prefabricated structure, with an interior like a country estate. The furniture is made of high quality lumber, inlaid with tiny amounts of silver. Just enough to enhance the aesthetic without overpowering the lacquered wood.
Standing in the room are his four lifewards. Each wearing their Chasseur armour. Cuirasses of golden plate connected to silk-thin archeotech clothes that appeared like cloth, but were as strong as power armour, and enhanced the strength of the wearer. The men quietly observe you, tense with restrained energy from their augmented physiologies. You occasionally wonder if they are Pseudo-Warriors, soldiers augmented using techniques developed from dissected Thunder Warriors during the Wars of Unification. You believe the Marshal has the right connections with the Tech-Clans to acquire some.
Not that any of them will ever tell you. These warriors had their vocal cords removed long ago.
"We're in a real mess, and no doubt about that." Mardon says, matter of factly. "Officer corps gutted. Heavy losses. And now deployed here on Terra for retraining and reorganisation. What a damn mess. It will take at least a year for us to be ready to deploy again. There aren't enough officers, and all the good candidates have already been picked."
"Terrible mess, sir." You nod, taking a wafer with Foie Gras from the plate on the delicate table and enjoying the taste, before sipping your fine wine. You can get used to this mentorship for the fine wine alone.
The Marshal shakes his head. "Solutions. Enough lamenting what happened. We need to discuss solutions." He leans forward, close enough that you can see the liquid flowing through the transparent tube in his nose. You consider the words of the Marshal as he continues. "As an officer, you will be sending brave men and women to their deaths. You have done so already, and done so without hesitation to accomplish your goals." There is no distaste or judgement in his voice, but neither do you register any approval.
He slides a data pad over to you. You raise an eyebrow as you see that it is documentation for your promotion to Lieutenant. Recommended by the late Lieutenant Albrecht for your actions aboard the Neptunian habitat. It has already been signed. The Cohort has taken heavy losses indeed if you are rising this quickly. "I have lost several officers I had been grooming for positions of leadership, Herrand Sallas."
His eyes bore into you.
"Battlefield losses mean you will be promoted to the rank of Lieutenant and placed in command of Tercio Primaris of Sub-Cohort Quintus. If you want to rise beyond that rank, I want to hear good things from Commander Richelle. I consider him to be an excellent judge of character. If he holds you back, then I will stop assisting you. Prove yourself worthy of my eye."
You frown at the bluntness. You nod respectfully.
He continues. "Next, you should start planning a retinue, Sallas. Show me you have a good judge of character."
"A Retinue, sir? Only Sub-Cohort commanders are supposed to gain personal retinues according to-" He cuts you off with a wave of his hand. He pauses for a moment as his armour injects something into his spine with an audible click. "You will not get a retinue officially, not yet. But you should make preparations for any event."
You nod. The Solar Auxilia, like most of Terra's armed forces, although professional in the lower ranks, become progressively more feudal and personalised as one rises through the ranks. You will absolutely need to develop a household staff, have personal guards, and attain high standards.
He types something into his datapad. "You have two months leave. Make the most of it. Make political moves. I will be watching you, and expecting a report describing just what you are planning."
You frown. The marshal just gave you Homework.
Your personal room within the Compound assigned to the 7th Verdyn Chemical Engineers is furnished with well-built metal and plastek furniture, colourful red drapes, and contains all the amenities that you might need. A table, a desk, personal desk cogitator, and a personal bathroom and shower.
The people that the Marshal has instructed you to form the core of a future retinue out of surround you. Amélie leans into the back of the guest chair, twiddling her thumbs, Philipe is examining the cogitator, while Jeanne is sitting on the side of the bed, bouncing to test the mattress, with great approval.
Jeanne blows a raspberry as you finish explaining to her just what you have been told by the Legate Marshal. "Moving up into the big leagues, are we?" Jeanne says with a coprophagic grin.
"I am. And if you commit yourself to me, I can make you a very wealthy woman. I intend nothing less than to become the leader of this Cohort one day and be given a planet of my own to rule."
Her gaze shoots towards you, eyes narrowing as she considers your words. Her look is a hungry look, but not one of hunger for sustenance. It is a hunger for power, for influence, for the ability to decide one's own fate. Amélie looks somewhat incredulous at your statement, but there is no confusion or anger at the statement, in fact, she seems very respectful.
"Sounds good. It sounds like a good chance for making it through my service alive so I can actually cash in on those rewards." She pauses. "I might know some people possibly worth bringing into this. Back alley scum that we can get into uniform and assigned to us."
"Wealth and power will be mine to grant." You say with absolute seriousness. You then turn to Amélie Beaufort. "Your family has been blackballed by the military. Your career is dead because of your name. Join me, and I'll drag you with me to the top, and we'll eventually tip the old guard out of their seats."
The daughter of a political dynasty looks at you, crossing her arms as she no doubt considers her options. After a long while, she nods. "Fair enough. I'll be your eyes and ears in political circles. My family still has connections."
You finally turn to Philip Bernadotte, trying to think of something to say, when you realize you don't know him. At all. "What do you want, Pip?"
He shrugs. "I think we just really get along, sir. I'll be with you in this."
A nod of affirmation and a grin.
You are Lieutenant Herrand Sallas of the 7th Verdyn Chemical Engineers Cohort.
You are in command of Tercio Primaris. Tercio Primaris is a part of Sub-Cohort Quintus, led by Commander Belgois Richelle. Sub-Cohort Quintus is part of the 7th Verdyn Chemical engineers Cohort, led by Legate Marshal Mardon Lentierre:
Your future retinue will consist of:
First officer: Amélie Beaufort:
Senior non-commissioned officer: Jeanne Denise
Heavy weapons specialist: Philip "Pip" Bernadotte.
Vexilla bearer Jean Claude.
Vox-Trooper Primevére Cartier:
16 Solar Auxilia veterans of Neptune and the Proteus incident.
You have found yourself under the mentorship of the Legate Marshal of your Cohort, who considers you to be a potential candidate to one day be a Marshal in your own right. His eyes are upon you, and he will judge just how you use your time.
How will you use your medical leave?
Choose 2 actions from among your connections.
Sallas connections:
You are a rising star in your family, but not the greatest of them. Your family's assets are being heavily invested right now, and you will not be able to ask for everything you want. But at the same time, you are in a good position to continue to aid your family's rise to power. You will leverage your new status as an officer and a veteran by:
[] Attend board meetings alongside your father:
Your father constantly works to keep Sallas Arms operational. Meet with the rich and powerful individuals of the Franc economy, talk about the prospective interstellar expansion, try to leverage their political support for promotions through hard economic promises.
Increase the financial status of the Sallas Family.
[] Attend the grand ball of Albia:
Your mother's ambition knows no bounds, and she seeks to rise as high as she possibly can. Attend a formal gala held in Albia for the Urban Classes of Europe, Nordafrik, and Arabia, as they send out their sons to war. Proudly show your scars, mention your accomplishments, and ensure that your name is one known far and wide.
Increase the social status of the Sallas Family.
Retinue Connections:
Your unofficial retinue gives you an opportunity to make connections to rise through the ranks, and prepare for getting the world that you are certain to earn by the end of your military service.
[] People from the gutter:
Jeanne still knows powerful individuals in the grey market. As Terra's rules and laws tighten, there are bound to be a lot of people who need a new paycheck. These are desperate men and women with firepower, and a desire for power and control over their lives. Work with Jeanne to find her former criminal partners and get them jobs within the Sallas Family. They will do honest work as security, and dishonest work against rivals.
Increase the security of the Sallas Family.
When you acquire a Retinue, you will have a loyal core of fighters.
[] The political scion:
Pars's republic is a strong government that had endured millenia of hardship and attempted coups and power grabs. Have Amélie introduce you to the power-brokers of the Franc republic, specifically the newly elected Bloc Imperial that have been elected on a platform of emancipation and expansion of the electorate. They could lobby for your promotions, provided you prove tough enough to survive the wars.
Increase the political clout of the Sallas Family.
Expanding the Retinue:
(Choose one addition to your retinue)
[] An artificer:
Philip "Pip" Bernadotte has friends in curious places, specifically, an artificer from the Ef-En Tech Clan looking for something more exciting than remaining on Terra. Only, he knows that he will not be allowed to leave if he asks, and has no personal funds to just leave.
Pip has a plan to break him out. When pressed he claims it will involve a party, an escape car, a shuttle ticket to Nordafrik, and a gang war that 'Was going to happen anyways.'
The Ef-En Tech Clan will not be happy one of their scions left.
You acquire an artificer that keeps your weapons and armour working optimally.
[] A biological Lifeguardian :
Work through your family to acquire a Lifeward from the Alpyne Tech Clan. They will be a butler and manservant genetically engineered to be loyal to you, augmented with hidden weapons, poison-detecting equipment, and a trained medicae.
Creations like these have a long history in the courts of Europe, and more than one assassination attempt has been foiled by one of these Lifeguardians and their integrated weaponry.
The Sallas Family increases cooperation with the Alpyne Tech Clan.
You acquire a cybernetic servant of unimpeachable loyalty.
[] A mechanical Lifeguardian:
Work through your family to acquire a Lifeward from the Alpyne Tech Clan. You will choose an android with hidden weapons, poison-detecting equipment, and medicae abilities. It will have capabilities beyond a servitor, but without the ability to self-modify or improve.
While not breaking the law on Silica Animus due to an inability to 'think', these creations are rare and expensive because the Tech-Clans that can make them refuse to share the knowledge, and are unable to adapt their production techniques to mass-manufacture.
The Sallas Family increases cooperation with the Alpyne Tech Clan.
You acquire a cybernetic servant of unimpeachable loyalty.
[] Personal chef:
You ensure that you have a personal chef to make meals for you of the most impeccable quality. (And are thoroughly checked for poison)
The Legate Marshal is likely to approve of this display of priorities.
Welcome to the politics of being an officer in a neo-feudal militar. Good luck!
Four hour Moratorium on voting. Plan voting
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