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The Sleptis Campaign - WH40k GSRP

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Lament of the Follower
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    • They are coming. The gnawing soul hunger demands no less of them. The Drukhari, the Dark Eldar, the Primals, or whatever name the fearful prey creatures that huddle far from the shadows between stars might call them, are coming.

    Elygon the Reaver, Blood Champion of Khorne, 8 times 8 damned and Lord of the Heretics of Devastation, the storm of blood, fire, and bronze that has descended upon Slepsis knows this. He hasn't taken Aeldari skulls before. They were the preferred prey of those who followed a more degenerate power. But the Blood God was not particular on where the blood flowed from. And they were coming.

    Strongholds had been raised out in his western territory. Bastions of black iron and bronze that burnt with inner fury. Walls defended by cadres of his many creatures, clutching their weapons tightly within shaking hands and claw. The Eldar would not hesitate to take advantage of any weakness in their defenses, any flaws to exploit. And they were coming.

    Great wards were risen, dark and twisting sigils that defied any mortal gaze's ability to comprehend. A defense against the witchery of the foe, bending and dominating the currents of the warp to serve its servants against the Xenos. The blood gullies were drenched with the life of the sacrificed as pacts and magicks were formed, favors bartered for in exchange for the power to thwart the oncoming Eldar Onslaught and match inhuman speed and technology with the powers granted to those whom the Dark Gods loved most. Elygon made these pacts gladly for he would not allow himself to be humiliated by chance and mortal frailty. For the Dark Eldar were coming.

    Until many days later, as the silence continued to drift across the border that once teemed with life, it became clear that they were not. And as impatience settled into the defenders, with feuds old and new breaking lose among the ranks of the lost and damned, other powers took an interest. For why would the despair, the malaise, the dull drudgery of the waiting for inevitable death not belong to Nurgle? Why would the longing, the hunger, the itching need for a satisfying lull in an unrepressed ache not belong to Slaanesh? And as the Warp waxed and waned, as schemes and plots were concocted, ambitions left wanting and in a battlefield drenched in the reek of sorcery, why would this place not belong to Tzeentch?

    Within the insane depths of the Warps currents, beyond the grasp of space and time's frail limitations, Khorne, the Blood God of Rage and War, and Carnage unleashed unspeakable fury at this theft, this slight, this insult to his being.

    On the war-torn world of Garadon XIII, the victorious undead plague hordes of the Death Guard were set upon by the berserkers of the World Eaters, their skulls claimed for Khorne as restitution for the slight to his power. The Six Salacious Sensorium of the Prince's Eye were annihilated under cloven hoof and ax, daemonettes screeching with affronted anger ripped apart by the Lord of Skull's Champions. The Infinite Repository, where it is said that the beginning and end of all things is both recorded and yet to be written was set ablaze by the heat of the Eightfold God's sheer fury at the impotence of his followers upon Sleptis.

    And as all this occurred and had yet to occur, Elygon the Reaver, Champion of Khorne, felt the favor of his god, the strength that until now had left him unassailable by his rivals, lessened upon him as the very warp itself seemed to roar out at him in unsuppressed and utterly maddening rage.

    Thanks to @Dovahsith for the Report!​
     
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    • The Dark Impulses Laid Bare
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    • Khryruse was rather pleased with himself. The effort to bring about the ritual, the great work that so many resources had been devoted to was substantial. Sacrifices were required, the correct symbology and thaumaturgical constructs prepared all within a Warband who's patron god despised such cowardly souls that lowered themselves to the usage of sorcery. Not to mention how all of this was to be undertaken without the knowledge of those who would take any opportunity to thwart his plan, whether enemies of the Dark Powers or those within their own ranks taking the opportunity where it presented itself to remove a rival.

    His leering at a set of acolytes clad in what could only be loosely described as "clothing", the eye-watering garish silks falling from their bodies, was interrupted by the sound of his name being called to him. Schooling his features, he turned to face the one who dared to steal his glory. That bitch sorceress Pola, vile temptress that she was, would turn him inside out with barely an effort should he show his anger at being overshadowed within his own cult! But Chaos was patient, cunning, and above all else, ruthless. His time would come and when it did, oh how he would savor her expression of horror. Offering a submissive greeting to the highest-ranking member of the Warband not bound to the blood god, Khyruse took the opportunity to join her in observing the ritual. Though there was some glory in partaking in such things, it tended to leave one weakened and vulnerable. Besides, if something were to go wrong, he would not wish to be locked in a battle for domination over the tempestuous powers of the warp as everything caught fire around him. It was then the darkness of the night lit up and everything became pain.

    The Guardsmen unleashed a volley of las-fire into the crowd of cultists, shredding the teeming mass of bodies into cauterized chunks of steaming flesh as entire energy packs were emptied. Missing was impossible in such conditions and mercy just as non-existent.

    "Any sign of Sompter?" Sergeant Halyses voxed over her microbead, eyes scanning the ritual site as she planted another round into the forehead of a charging fanatic.

    It was supposed to be a routine patrol in a quiet part of the frontline. Nothing but abandoned territory for miles on end. And yet something had interfered. Within the span of a heartbeat, two of her men were bloody chunks, the other vanishing into the night, dragged away screaming by something, some kind of beast. They had tried to follow the trail left and yet, it felt like they were being led to somewhere, someplace. Sumpter's cries had always seemed just out of sight, just around the next obstacle until suddenly the squad found themselves before being forced to approach the border between the Heretics and the loyal Guard.

    Deciding that they needed reinforcements the force would call for the garrison along the border with the tau to reposition to the north. Forces of Chaos had crossed the border in secret, for it must have been a beast of chaos to take their comrade, so the Guard should quickly strike to at least delay their machinations. The discontent forces of the East saw this as an opportunity to strike against the enemies of the God-Emperor and quickly followed the request without confirmation of orders.

    As the Guard's forces met on the border, Halyses felt some kind of… pulse. While looking over the border, something great and terrible filled them, a rage unlike any other. These scum, these traitors who deserved only death for everything they had done on the planet were allowed to tread unpunished. Why had they been permitted life for so long? If only the Hammer of the Emperor had been unleashed upon this scum, these wretches rather than left unused and squandered. To standby as a world of the Imperium was tainted by the minions of Chaos stunk of rank cowardness.

    The spike dug deeper as the glare of the ritual's light grew ever brighter for those performing the dark rights elsewhere.

    'No, these heretics would find only blood. Their blood spilled upon the holy ground of the Imperium and the Emperor's domain. Blood. Blood of Martyrs, Blood of Heroes, BLOOD.' By the time Halyses realized she was shouting that word, a cry joined by her squad, and by so many others of her unit miles away, she was beyond caring for anything beyond the next kill of the enemy in front of her. Those enemies would be the bands of cultists hiding along the border, preparing to stand against an invasion from the Imperials on the planet.

    The bands would do their job, or rather try to, but they were limited heavily by the sheer… impromptu approach the Imperial forces had taken. The approach in question was a headlong charge with reckless abandon into the territory of Chaos. Reinforcements from Heltomer would arrive and stop the mad bloodlust infused rush, but by then things were spiraling out of control for those targeted.

    Across the eastern territories claimed by the Imperium, a nightmare began. Ripping into the dreams of screaming psykers, blood ran in the streets. In Velsin, suspected Xenos sympathizers were torn apart by roaring mobs clutching Aquilas's reddened in the blood of their victims. The madness spread as even the garrison joined in the butchery, marching eastwards and falling upon the unaware Tau settlement of Kaleier. Though the skeleton garrison of Fire-Warriors put up a brave fight against the treacherous assault by the Gue'la, by morning their heads were paraded upon spikes to the jeers of the human population. Entreatments and commands by the staff of the Warmaster, now far to the west attending other matters, were responded to only by accusations of cowardness and treason against the Golden Throne.

    Soon reports began to filter into Imperial High Command that these mutinous units had not ceased their violation of the truce, spreading outwards in all directions and coming to blows even with Imperial Units not touched by the virulent madness, as though they were gripped by some shared psychosis and all those not gripped by the need to butcher were their enemy. But among the carnage, watching with disappointment sat a single figure.

    "Mon-keigh" the Klaivex mused dejectedly to himself "their delusions of importance were only matched by their capacity to disappoint."

    Watching the fleeing survivors of the tainted ones touched by She-Who-Thirsts, the frightening creatures led by the blood-drenched but otherwise no worse for wear noble-woman who had overseen the ritual. Grihzareah considered taking her head, it would be simple enough. Emerge from the shadows, a clean-cut to the neck before thought could enter their primitive brain and vanish, trophy taken.

    But it wasn't the one he wanted. He wanted to enjoy the disgust and unfamiliar feelings she, the former Commissar of the now insane rebels, would feel in this situation. But she wasn't here, after everything he had done to prepare the scene. Finding the ritual site, leading the meandering bleating troopers to try and disrupt it just before it could be completed and finally, basking in the aftermath. To take her life here and now as her men inflicted such carnage...it would be quite an ironic and entertaining notion.

    But no. He had come here for entertainment and instead found only tedious boredom and the irritation that came from forced interaction with those arrogant enough to claim to be peers. Still, he thought, watching the now berserk corpse worshipping primitives the object of his fascination was a member of hurling themselves down the hillside after the retreating cultists, bellowing rage as they went, it wasn't a complete loss of a night.
    Thanks to @Dovahsith for the report!​
     
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    • What is victory if not a pedestal to fall from?

    Leonidas is content, but something uncomfortable lingers in the back of his mind. The operation went off without a hitch and he discovered a new source of fish sticks, anyone should be satisfied by one good news let along two. But what is this uneasy feeling? It's not the same sadness he felt when the casualty counts are confirmed or the shameful cowardliness he let go in sermons. It's not the anger he directed at himself for failing to keep the walking mushrooms far from the grounders. No. This feels like something worse, something like a gathering of a great storm that you didn't notice. And that storm is gaining speed and demolishing everything it touched.

    "Sir!" Segreant Miller rushed in the room without warning with his hand on the holstered autopistol. "The eastern front… They are rebelling!"

    The half carved wooden skywhale fell from Leondias' hand.
     
    Many Happenings on a Burning World
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    • This was formalities. This was one last wrap-up. Everyone was supposed to be shaking hands, dotting their i's, crossing their t's, and going on their merry way. Reinforcements from Forge World Yttrium were already en route.

    How had this meeting taken six hours of her life away?

    The representative from the Adeptus Mechanicus waved her mechadendrite through the air in a series of sacred motions. Two vents installed near the small of her back effused incense that smelled of motor oil, and her voice sounded like a ship's PA system, "We have issued a final review of your report on the mineral wealth of this planet. We have found an additional fault." De Banzi had heard this phrase dozens of times today. Like a particularly obstinate Cogitator, this woman insisted on raising every minor issue one at a time in no particular order. The Warmaster thanked the Emperor for her poker face, "Our final review has revealed that the world is lacking in good-quality uranium. We request rights to five percent more nickel in recompense."

    "Yes, of course," was this part of some ingenious strategy to break her, De Banzi wondered, or was the Techpriest simply this dense?

    "Your enthusiasm for mineral extraction is commendable, Warmaster." The Techpriest issued a sound not unlike a stalling engine, "We now turn to the subject of archeotech. Magos Aphelion Five Five Five Six Two Five One expressed reasonable interest in your reports. You will find this is a good sign. He has asked me to relay his thanks through the medium of holy chanting. Please wait. I am retrieving the audio file."

    De Banzi choked back a scream.

    They didn't know how long they'd been trapped here. There was a window, or so they'd initially thought, but once they'd seen Sleptis's sun cross from horizon to horizon faster than any of them could scream. Another day, the midday sun had burned overhead until exhaustion forced them all to sleep. The first day, they'd been punished for not meeting their quotas. The second, for indolence.

    Their jailor was a Dark Eldar who laughed as he shot them whenever he felt the urge and called himself the God-Emperor. Some were starting to believe him. Not a soul stirred when the sounds of thunderous war cries and gunfire overtook the camp. Only a few did when a hole was blown clean through the wall and Greenskins started pouring through. They had seen this sort of trick before.

    They were hauled out of their cells, and they said nothing. It took a long time for them to make a sound: an Ork was standing before them, explaining that 'dey werez now Commanda Deffstalka's Digganobz, when they seemed to realize what had just happened. This band of mad Greenskins had busted them all out of Dark Eldar slave camps, and he was offering each and every one of them a gun.

    It didn't take long for the Deffstalka to realize he'd found the most fearless and bloodthirsty Digganobs an Ork ever did see!

    It was a cold night in the city of Wolfachinwei, and Elrasya walked silently through its streets. Drukhari eyes tracked her motion from the windows. Wytches followed her from the rooftops. Her peace with these pirates was fragile at the best of times, but only a madman would put their faith in Drukhari mercy with a treasure in their hand. She moved through and out the city with her guards, hands on their weapons until they were certain not a single soul still followed them.

    She was deep in the wind-swept wildlands before she offered the venerable Bright Lance more than a cursory inspection. All these years, and it was hardly even damaged. She hefted the weapon up and brought it back to life. For the first time in millenia power thrummed through its ancient circuits.


    Warrior Shas'la T'au Kovash propped his pulse rifle against a tree, pulled his helmet free from his head, and took a long swig from his canteen. He hated these anti-insurgency ops. All across the front, the Pioneers were striking back at the mad gue'la, and here he was, running patrols in a waterlogged, bug-infested swamp because Commander Longbow had "pull" with the Ethereals as the gue'vesa militiamen serving alongside him so inelegantly put it.

    The reports coming down from above reported daring raids on the gue'la officers almost every week. Their armies were growing sluggish. Not like it mattered much stuck all the way out here. Kovash would have volunteered for a transfer if only he could, but his Strike Team was days' travel by foot away from the nearest city, and no one was wasting a Devilfish on one would-be hero.

    Despite the muck, life settled into a boring routine that was only broken once:

    It had been nearly a week since Kovash had made peace with his posting when these strange tracked vehicles came barreling right down the valley-- from the south? For a moment, it seemed as though the 'sane' gue'la had at last broken their pact, but then Shas'la saw the bloodstained infantry perched atop these tanks' hulls.

    What, had they taken the time to skin every wild Grox in the County?

    The firefight that broke out was as quick as it was indecisive. The forces of Chaos had already found what they had been sent here to seek-- a lead pointing to the location of yet another lost foundry, to supply their war effort. Though some cultists leaped from their transports, spoiling for a fight, and were cut to shreds by a hasty wall of well-aimed pulse rifles, the vehicles thundered on and took their information with them.


    If there was any faction that devoted more of its attention to plumbing this world for every treasure it had to offer, it was the forces of Chaos. Their love of personal power was boundless. Every artifact was a sign of their god's favor, a symbol of their status and devotion.

    One hunted for relics out of rage. As the days passed and the Dark Eldar refused to give battle, Lord Elygon quit his post and slaughtered his way through the occupied city of Clifract. None of his officers dared interrupt him; there is no soul in that city that met his gaze and lived. After weeks of violence and death, he found it, an advanced vehicle, while in slight disrepair, was from the Great Crusade Era, locked in an ancient hanger bay and buried under the city that grew atop it. Over thousands of years, hearing through aching sensors a city it could never experience, its machine spirits had grown lonely, and they had grown angry. And yet, of all the relics uncovered by the Heretics these three months, his prize was the most meager.

    The techno-sorcerer Dredger Rathmor would uncover a cache of data half a continent away. In the city of Dunsin, in a workshop that had in ages past played host to a mad Techpriest not unlike himself, lay the remnants of three research projects half-completed, which he undertook to finalize. The first was a simple modification to an old vehicle pattern. The procedure made the machine spirit wild, but he could force it to heel. The second, an ancient defensive matrix. From it, he would fashion a new suit of armor for his personal use. And lastly, he found remnants of this Techpriest's plan to spy on the whole of Sleptis from his little workshop. Though such a feat was beyond his means, for now, he was able to refine the process into a battlefield-level intelligence system.

    Reyna Pola and her companions simply wanted a vacation and found Zirarag to be an especially appealing destination. From it, she brought back a pretty haul, some art, some slaves. The Mastercrafted Boltpistol was a particularly pleasing accessory, and she would silently agree with the omen that she ought to be getting out more. The sport was fine, too. With glee, she began to disassemble the crew of survivors hiding in the grasslands southeast of the city. Over the course of many long weeks, their cries for rescue grew ever more desperate. But who could? Then, the commanders of the Mu'gulath Sect began to receive letters. Contained in every single one was a picture of a corpse, sometimes done up in makeup or scarred to match the recipient, and handwritten note reading, "I think this one looks like you!" A rancid act of spite, but what does spite matter on a world drowning in blood?

    The fiery preacher Khryruse would undertake his own quest. That sorceress could fiddle her life away, but he would bring glory to the God of Blood. As he issued sermons to the town of Birtondalbo, he found his blessing. One of the local weaklings fell prostrate on the ground, declaring that a sprawling factory lay, buried and asleep, under the city. It had been little more than a curiosity before the war. A quirk of geography let it slip past the orbital scans, but now the servants of Khorne could again put those old assembly lines to use. In thanks, Khryuse ripped the supplicant's head from his body and claimed this foundry for his god.

    Thanks to @Another Amoeba for the report!​
     
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    • Thousands of Tons, of Armor and Guns
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    • Outside Tuterheim

    Col. Hernández Bierkorte smiled gleefully as his Baneblades main cannon blasted yet another Ork Barricade from his path. This would be it. His offensive would smash through the Ork lines and allow the Main force to secure and consolidate the reclaimed territory. By the Emperor did he love the shake in his bones as the venerable war machine smote ruin across any Greenskin foolish enough to confront him. His escorts had barely fired a shell between them as all the Xeno sent their way were scattered ramshackle buggies and looted Chimera. He'd be in Haudenwalt within the hour at this rate.
    ++++
    Gab'Smasha scratched idly at his jaw as the yoof gave his report.

    "That big umie tank is moving up the road like youze said it would Boss. We'ze gunna ride out and krump'em roight?"

    Gab'Smasha sent the lesser Ork flying with a backhand before replying. "You sodding git the plan is the sodding same. We hit the humie's supplies and make off their gubbins and burn the rest. I want youze and yer boyz to go with those mudfeet and get ready for the second group of tanks."

    He'd rather be fighting those pansy eldar up North. They had some fast and flash vehicles they did, but the big boss wanted the Humies smashed good and proper so he'd smash some humies.

    Jumping on a Trukk and firing some shots to get everyone's attention he started his brief-fin as the Boss called it.

    "All right ya gitz herez the plan! We gonna go burn that humie base at Tater Ham.."

    "Tuterheim Boss!"

    Another gunshot cracks the air and a dull thud can be heard. Before Gab'Smasha continues on.

    "Tuterheim! This lot just left and circle back to krump'em while they stuck fightin' in the city of Hold'n'Wait…"

    "Haudenwalt Boss!" an unlucky boy said before a quick headshot sent him to Gork and Mork.

    "Haudenwalt.", Gab'Smash magnanimously agreed before continuing, "We got some Tanks and Trukks wit busta boys to hit em while they stuck in the city and can't bring all dey heavy armor to bear. Den we'ze gonna come up behind em and hit em when they ain't lookin while the other are hitting em while they are!"

    "WAAAAAGGGGHHHH!"

    "The Humies split into three groups to hit us, so we'ze gonna split to hit dem harder!", he pointed at some Nobs to the side. "Youze gonna take some copters and sneaky boys and smash the second tank group coming up by the river. Have the mudfeet and snake bitaz go first cause dey won't see em comin."

    "The Humies tink dey are clever. Dey tink can encircle us, but dey forget we'ze the fastest boys on this rock! Now Mount up and let's WAAAAGGGGHH!"

    ++++

    Bierkorte sat listening to incoming reports as his force pushed towards Haudenwalt. He turned as his Vox specialist tapped his shoulder before turning his headset to internal comms.

    "Sir Ork Raiders are hitting the Tutenheim base! They're targeting our fuel and munitions."

    Col. Bierkorte grimaced and considered the situation. Haudenwalt was in front of him and Section Weiß had already left Tutenheim. He could order Captain Mengel to return and drive the raiders off and meet him in Haudenwalt. It'd interfere with the Pincer attack to take the riverside city, but the Orks were barely putting up a fight. Nodding to himself he relayed his orders.

    "Inform Captain Mengel to break a detachment of his section off to assist in driving the raiders off then rejoin us. We will push on and secure Haudenwalt. Have our rearguard on alert for a possible Ork attack."
    +++

    On the River outside of Tutenheim

    Captain Mengel cursed as an Ork Copter decided to kamikaze itself into a tank as it came down, and more Orks emerged from the undergrowth having swum the river. He held some satisfaction as his hellhound squadron formed up and turned the river bank and the river itself into a scalding wall of steam and burning Promethium. Stopping the Ork infantry trying to flank him in their tracks. He felt his Vox Sergeant tug on his pants leg and switched over to his channel.

    "Sir! Ork raiders are hitting the supplies at Tutenheim. The Colonel wants us to reinforce the defenses and then make the best speed to link up with him at Haudenwalt."

    "Damn Orks. we'll make the best speed there and then roll up behind the Colonel to push through and on to Imelrech. Where's Section Blau?"

    "En route to Kiploch to aid Colonel Leonidas."

    "Damn! Relay my orders and let's show these greenskins some Imperial hospitality eh?"

    +++
    Haudenwalt

    As his tanks and soldiers pushed into the city Bierkorte found his mind drifting to the enemy at his rear. Mengel's Section should be driving them off, but that gave them nowhere to go but straight at him. He needed to clear this city and set up defenses for the inevitable Ork retaliation. Crush them between Mengel and himself. Regroup and push on to Imelrech. He took note on the cam feeds as it appeared to be raining grots? He rotated an external camera to get a view of the great tower at the center of the bridge that connected the city. It seemed enterprising greenskins were hurling themselves off of it onto his formation, most without parachutes? A few grot corpses exploded. Ah, that was their game. Well, he could adapt.

    "Gunner take aim at the central tower and suppress Ork infantry assailing us from it."

    "Sir!"

    As the barrel of the Mega Battle Cannon turned and fired. The gunner's aim was true as a single shell obliterated the structure raining rubble and gretchin corpses onto the surroundings.

    +++

    Tutenheim

    Gab'Smasha whooped with joy as his boys let loose with more rokkits into the humies weapon emplacements. Moving faster than they could track and raining explosive ordinance upon them.

    A group of Storm boyz had to get close enough to use dey rokkit-packs and jump up the perimeter wall. He shook his head at their coordinated of all things launch. Stupid gits always marchin and drillin like dey was humies. Then the screams and explosions started as they had found something valuable to blow up like fuel or ammo.Unwilling to let himself be shown up by a bunch a fools who thought salutin was orky. He spied some wrecks angled just right. Grinning and gunning his engine he brought his bike to speed and jumped the wall laughing. He landed on one of the red robed mek boys the humies kept around and thanked him for softening his landing by reaching down with his power klaw to take his head clean off. The gate leading into the depot finally buckled under the busta boys barrages and some trukks wasted no time in blitzing their way into the compound. Boys jumped out and began rushing to and fro for a good fight.

    "Oi you'ze lot grab anything ya can and burn the rest! Specially any tanks. We'ze gotta be moving out to hit the other humies while they stuck in Hold'n'Wait and those boys from up north hit em!"

    "You mean take the burning tanks Boss?"
    "Loot then burn ya git! Loot then burn!"

    +++

    Haudenwalt

    Colonel Bierkorte studied the map of the city. The Infantry elements were cleaning up any stragglers but an Ork mob was en route out of Imelrech to attack him here and Tutenheim's supplies had been hit. Mengel was moving to be the hammer to his anvil to crush the Warband responsible for that. Yet it wouldn't matter they would have to wait for more supplies before they could resume the advance. At least Colonel Leonidas''s attack had gone as near perfect as possible and would be mounting up to assist him as soon as sufficient defenses were made to keep Senefon and Kiploch secure. Section Blau was already en route. He just needed to crush the raiders and push back the counter-attack and he'd most of the Southern tip of the continent secured.

    Now if only the Eastern front with the Tau wasn't in open rebellion he could have expected reinforcements to easily resume the push now… He would just have to consolidate his gains and converse with the Warmaster.

    +++
    Outside Haudenwalt

    It was hilarious really. The humies thought he'd charge right at them while the other humies came up from behind like the fist of Gork? Well he was bigga and Smarta than them any day all day. He had a cunning plan see. They'd swiped some of those land bridge making chimeras the Guard boys brought if they couldn't get the one in Hold'n'Wait and his Mek Boys was making some so he and the boys could ride over and hit from the side while they were looking down the road. He'd had some gits go that way of course to sell the idea, but he was gonna blindside these humie gits sharpish. He noticed some of them mud feet ferals and snake bitaz coming out of the trees. One git was still smoking. Oh well they may have sodded up their part to krump those humies but they might be useful to catch some bullets now.

    +++

    HaudenWalt

    Colonel Bierkorte watched the vid screens in his Baneblade as the Enginseers played footage from guncams and servoskulls. The Orks raiders had tried to hit his rearguard with their ramshackle vehicles and looted Imperial ones, but his men had held firm and Mengels section was in sight. Soon they'd regroup and meet the on coming assault from Imelrech in force. Something wasn't right though. The Mob was reported to be several times larger than the force that attacked him. Where were the rest of the Orks?

    "Sir enemy forces sighted coming in from the Northside of the river!"

    Ah, there they were.

    +++
    A curtain of fog and smoke had descended over Haudenwalt as Ork and Guardsmen fought their way room by room street by street the fast-hitting maneuver warfare both enemy commanders preferred to engage in thrown to the side as both forces reaped a bloody toll on each other. Here a looted Leman Russ turned it's cannon on a squad desperately holding a burnt-out corner store. There a Hellhound inferno cannon turns a street into a firebreak to stem the green tide of orks. A group of Storm boyz jump in synchronized mayhem to land on top of an armored fist platoon ripping open hatches to drop stikkbombs into them. At the head of the Bridge leading into the Western side of the city, the Baneblade of Colonel Bierkotte unleashes hell on to any Xeno who thinks to try to cross. The wrecks of numerous Ork vehicles and countless bodies piled before it.

    Gab'Smasha grimaced behind his binoculars before nodding to himself.

    "I'mma have to do something bout those gits. Idly noticing a tank busta. He decked him and took his Tankbusta bombs he remounts his warbike before shooting off with a "WWWAAAAGGGGGHHH!" and a very confused ork in his wake.

    Zooming past the carnage all around as humie and Ork fought he laughed as he saw the bridge spanning the river in his sights. Braking he rose his front tire up and began to ride across the bridges arches towards his target. Rubbing his bike fondly he said, "This is it old girl but you'ze getting quite the sendoff."

    He slams the tankbustas onto his bike before hitting the big red button in the center. As the engine redlines, and the booster on the back of his bike activate he angles it to fly into humie super tank from above laughing madly all the while. As the explosion consumed the bridge he was thrown clear and into the river.

    Had he been able to witness the scene that emerged from the smoke he would have cursed. The Baneblade stood. Treads shredded weapon turrets mangled and the outer armor rent and broken, but its main cannon and front turrets still fired. However, the Bridge had not been built to withstand such punishment. And the structure groaned and trembled under the strain. As the venerable tank tried to crawl forward it found it could not as its treads had been shredded in the blast. Hatches opened as the Colonel and his crew emerged and began to run before the western side of the bridge collapsed.

    Things seemed bleak for Colonel Bierkorte and his men as Orks emerged from the fog and smoke. With only their personal weapons on them, it seemed they would die for the Emperor this day, and yet the Emperor protects!

    Cannon fire and missiles strafed the approaching Greenskins as the Gunships of Section Blau emerge to deliver salvation unto the Imperiums soldiers. The Kasrkin of Cadia grav chuted and fast roped down quickly forming a barrier of carapace and las fire to shield their Colonel as he and his crew were loaded onto awaiting transports.

    Vulture gunships bearing the markings of their comrades began to rain fire onto the works, relieving the beleaguered Guardsman and Haudenwalt was in Imperial hands by the day's end. Sadly due to the Orkish assault on the supply depot and destruction of the bridge, it would be some time before the Guard could capitalize and advance further into Green skin territory.

    Downriver an angry Gab'Smasha emerged from the river and idly wondered how he was gonna get the meks to build him a new warbike.
    Thanks to @Silverbullet for the report!​
     
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    • One by Land, Two by Sea.
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    • The peaceful mists of the Darfoling Peninsula at night wreathed the northeastern coastline of the continent in a smothering blanket of silence. The native population, those whom had survived the initial invasion by the forces of Chaos, found the silence to their liking, preferring to either huddle for company and warmth in their shelters from the whooping cultists who roamed the wilds between the ruined settlements or for those of a darker persuasion, the chance to perform their supplications to the darker powers without interruption or unwanted witnesses had allowed them to continue despite the various changes of control the planet had undertaken. Now with the arrival of the servants of the gods, the dark and foreboding fog only grew in danger, the growls of the creatures and un-things lurking within its depths just audible enough a warning to persuade all but the most foolhardy to wait for the sun's light to burn it away come daybreak.

    Perhaps this was why no-one noticed the outline of vehicles slip overhead or heard the hum of engines, anti-gravity devices smoothly letting the Devilfishes glide over the stunted trees and minor settlements as the convoy of troop carriers made their way towards their objective. For whilst it was perhaps the nature of the less enlightened to see the frontlines to the south as a means of fixed battle, the T'au had long since tamed this world cycles ago. It's sea's were no obstacle to hamper them. Such an idea, that merely a large body of water could not be overcome by the Greater Good was a laughable concept indeed. And now for believing such foolishness, the arrogance of the Gue'la would be punished, as was right and proper.

    The first demonstration came 37 minutes after the first T'au forces had begun their inland descent as the seeker missiles of a TX78 Sky Ray slammed down into the fuel tanks, communication vox tower, and primary command bridge of the Darfoling Spaceport with uncanny accuracy, the drone intelligence guiding their explosive charges through the panicking defensive gunfire and in one notable case around a 90-degree corner. Stunned survivors, dazed by the sudden devastating attack were swiftly cut down by concentrated bursts of plasma fire, teams of infiltration units revealing themselves for brief moments as bolts blue and purple energy streamed into the confused human defenders, leaving only charred and twitching corpses as the Tau attack continued its assault.

    Across the peninsula, the servants of Chaos found themselves under attack and zealously slaughtered by the infiltration units of the T'au Empire. Village by village, the Pathfinders of Shas'ui Vior'La Kais struck, again and again, wiping out detachments of the scattered and leaderless defenders before disappearing into the mists once more.

    By the time the sun rose the following morning, streaks of dirty yellow light revealed that the entire stretch of land had been liberated overnight. At Darforling the banner of the Tau'va flew proudly over the starport, once more returned to the service of the Greater Good. Meanwhile, as word trickled into the rest of the territories held by the Heretics of Devastation, a column of would-be reinforcements found themselves under the guns of the Crimson Comet himself, Shas'Vre Mugulath Shi'dax personally taking to the field.

    Luring the clumsy flailing human counter-attack to a prepared killing field within the settlement of Brasle on the southernmost edge of the peninsula, the rearmost vehicle of the assault was destroyed as it entered the town's streets by a flanking railgun shot, the Broadside taking advantage of the bulky and impractical designs of the human vehicles to reap a deadly toll and prevent escape. Meanwhile, with burst cannon, precise application of missile pods and fusion blaster, Commander Shi'dax led his cadre of Crisis Battlesuit and annihilated the cultists to a man. The aftermath of this battle effectively leaving the T'au unopposed and control of the starport undisputed, for now.

    For though this was a swift application of the Mont'ka, the perfect killing strike that bypassed the greater bulk of the fighting upon the planetary surface, it is unlikely the corrupted Gue'la will permit this provocation to stand without further challenge, and if one thing has been learned from these maddened humans, it is they will always answer with further bloodshed.

    Thanks to @Dovahsith for the Report!​
     
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    • Killspittah roared as he ripped yet another abomination in Gork and Morks sight limb from limb as the damn Pansies refused to stand and fight proppa!

    His Boyz waz tearing through the ghoulies and humie slaves they left to fight for em, and were barreling towards the cities he wanted at a good pace. Course he had to force his own grots and boys wat pissed him off to run in front so as to set off all the damn traps the knife ears left laying about. As he watched a group of gretchin be turned into little more than chunks of meat and blood as microfilament wire shredded them like squig in a blender. That's just unfair that is. One of their Raider craft flew overhead weaving through bullets with unnatural grace as a group of half-naked knife ears jumped off into his mob. One ambitious wych danced between the boys' strikes to do a somersault and land on his shoulder. Wrapping her thighs around his head she brought a barbed knife down on head only to have it bounce off of his skull with a resounding ting.

    Reaching up with his klaw faster than his bulk would bely he grabbed the wych from his shoulders and said, "Begone Thot!" before bisecting her and turning to help his boys kill the rest. He'd thank the doc later for dat sub' dermal armor he put in him. Wait he'd killed dat git. He'd thank his replacement.

    As he and his boyz finished with the ambushing wyches and the grotesqueries that wandered in, a boy rushed over yellin for his attention. He idly stomped on the mangled head of another abomination before turning to look at the yoof grunting his question,

    "Boss! We found the Pansy Boss. He's in an encampment dat way!" he shouted pointing into the jungle. Finally!

    "All right you Gits we found the head knife ear and we'ze gonna go krump him but good.

    He and his Bravo boys tore their way through more hellish jungle, through more traps, and grotesqueries as Raiders rained fire down to harass the Ork advance. Killspttah roared as he wrestled a Talos pain engine to the ground as he and his nobz began tearing it limb from limb as it lashed out with painful blows and deadly toxins. As it finally fell still KillSpittah and what remained of his boys charged into the encampment. Straight to the Knife-eared gits command tent made of skinned humies, never noticing the cages all lied empty of their occupants. Charging into the dim light Killspittah made out the silhouette of his hated foe and full body tackled him. Only to be surprised as the cardboard cut out of Rahak Zaul crumpled beneath him.

    "Wat da Zog!" was all he got out before the explosions consumed the processing camp.

    He would come to days later in the back of a trukk as his new paindoc leaned down to him.

    "Don't ya worry none Boss. I can make you'ze all better. Better than better even! Oh I can make so many improvements!"

    As an anesthesia grot readied his mallet to sedate the patient. Painboss Eyeneedlez asked rhetorically, "Whoze ready fer Surgery!"

    +++
    Rahak Zhul stopped filling out his record forms on his skin parchment to note the fireball rising where one of his processing camps was earlier.

    "Filthy brute fell for it. Now to get this chattel on the way to Commorragh."

    As the Slavemaster had directed his Forces gave ground to the Ork advance consolidating only on the Seaport and Starports to begin making off with their new slaves. The Dark City was ever hungry and the meat here so delectable.

    Thanks @Silverbullet for the Report!​
     
    It was suggested I move this to the IC thread rather than the RP channel, as it fits better here. I have edited it a bit so here you go.

    +++



    There is no victory without unity, no peace when there's conflict. In this dark time, we can only forget our differences and fight the darkness together.-Por'Vre Tau'n Ch'koras.


    +++
    Shas'Ui Vior'La Kais began reassembling his Pulse carbine, reciting mantras and catechisms of the Tau'Va, and those of the Fire Castes ancient chants they had kept since before the coming of the Aun and the unification of his people. He even murmured what prayers the Gue'Vesa in his cadre had shared as he painstakingly carved them into his weapons casing having already done so to his armor. Around him in their temporary encampment his warriors did likewise. Even the Kroot were preparing sacred warpaints, talismans of bone and leather, and trilling ancient protections against evil in their native tongue. He knew his superiors would censure him for these illogical and superstitious acts. They had not seen the Mon'Tau horrors he and his had. They did not understand that it would take more than the courage of the Fire Caste. The ingenuity of The Earth Caste, The guile of Water, The grace of Air, and the wisdom of the Aun. No it would take Faith. Not Faith in Gods or Technology, no. It would take faith in their shared Destiny. Destiny to unite this Galaxy and forge a future for the Good of all. Such as these madmen and degenerates did not possess or did not care to. Lost as they were in their desires and rage. They had looked into the abyss and laughing turned to do it's work for it.

    His second Shaper Myrloc Redbeak approached with his Kroot Hound pack surrounding him. A Gue'La Priest from those they rescued following behind him. The human walked as if to his execution. Gaunt of frame. Cheeks sunken from missed meals as he fed those of his flock who hid with him in the caves dotting the Coast. They had prayed to their Emperor for deliverance from their fallen kin. Yet it had been Kais' soldier who had found them rather than those of the Imperial Guard. Occupied as they were with the Be'gel greenskins and their own front with the Mad Ones. They had thought they would be murdered out of hand and yet they had been given rations and water. Their wounds treated and even now a transport was making it's way to take them to the refugee camps. They were as all Gue'La are suspicious to a degree just shy of paranoid madness.

    "And yet" Kais thought to himself, "How fearful would we be had we endured a fraction of the Gue'La's trials?" "Greetings Priest.", he inclined his head respectfully "I have need of your counsel and aid."

    The Priest looked at him. Hollow eyes filled with defiance. His words came out as barely a whisper, "What counsel I could give shall not save your soul xeno. Nor shall I endanger my own by aiding you."

    "At least hear me out. We have done nothing, but give aid to your flock since we found you." He tilted his head as if considering my words.

    Finally he spoke again, "Very well Tau ask your question. Know I will not turn against my Emperor or my people."

    "I am asking you to aid your people.", I removed my helmet to speak face to face. Humans appreciated such gestures. "Warriors of the Greater Good, Who are human fight these monstrous cultists all along our front."

    "What do I care that traitor slays heretic?"

    "The Gue'Vesa keep their Faith priest, and the Tau'Va respects it. It preaches placing the good of all humanity above ones own needs. Of order and discipline in a mad Galaxy riven with darkness. It's precepts are not that different from our own, no?"

    "Do not think to compare our blessed Faith with your heresy xeno now ask your request, kill me, or release me to my congregation!", came his venomous reply. His tone finally rising from a sibilant whisper to a furious hiss.

    "I ask you to bless the weapons and armor of my Gue'Vesa and the weapons I send to our warriors in Olholon and other fronts. I ask you to set aside your hatred for myself and my allies to strike at the true enemy. These followers of the Dark Gods. These profane and degenerate fools who would see us all fed to the horrors beyond reality.", My voice had risen to a shout. Drawing the attention of my cadre and agitating the Hounds. I had lost my center. Closing my eyes I repeated the mantras of Tau'Va. Taking a moment to regain my equilibrium. I opened my eyes and stared straight into the Priest's.

    His face was stone impassive and grim, but his eyes had a light in them. That infinitesimal spark the horror and deprivations had not taken from him. The steel that had allowed the Gue'La to fight for tens of thousands of Tau'Cyr against those same horrors. "Please Human, help us all in this stand against the dark.", I beseeched him. He stared into my own eyes for what seemed an eternity before closing his own. He murmured a prayer under his breath and having steeled himself opened them.

    "You will provide me with ink, parchment, and wax. You will swear an oath here and now before your soldiers and in the Emperor's sight to not use those tools I bless against his servants. Do these things and I shall aid you Tau. Though I damn myself in the act."

    I did not hesitate, "So do I Shas'Ui Vior'La Kais swear that all weapons and armor you sanctify shall be used solely to end the Followers of Chaos and their machinations!"

    "One last request Xeno." he said.

    "Ask Priest.", I reply.

    "After my flock has been delivered to safety I shall go to this besieged city. This Olholon and guide those warriors of humanity who stand against the ruinous powers. Though they serve xenos they stand against the Archtraitor's get." That spark had become a flame in his eyes now.

    "It shall be done hu-"

    "Confessor Invictus, Shas'Ui. My name is Confessor Gaius Invictus." I held out my hand and he clasped it in turn.

    +++
    The Rains had returned to Olholon. The clouds darker and more foreboding as despair crept it's way into every nook.

    Within the three weeks time the soldiers of Olholon saw the transports descend. Crates of fresh supplies being off loaded by weary soldiers, and then he emerged. Wearing modified combat armor covered in sacred treated parchment strips, purity seals, and a servo skull trailing incense he walked. His head cowled and face covered by a mask bearing a Saints face he began his oration lambasting the followers of Chaos in High Gothic. Preaching defiance and resilience as he strode the ruined streets.

    Olholon still stood.
    +++
     
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    The Blighted Field
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    • In a sick and twisted kind of way, something is refreshing about trench warfare. Your enemy is there. Your Friends are here. Behind you is safety, before you; Hell. A Simplicity that escapes most - especially those trapped within the Trench Lines. But Those who were fighting in the killing fields of Sleptis, they wished they were back in the Trenches.

    Stalking through the woods, the Kroot Blightfang led a mixed cadre of Pathfinders and Shapers into the eponymous Killing fields. Passing the last of their permanent positions, they had entered some of the most hellish fightings on Sleptis. Terrible, not due to the bloodlines -casualties here were rather low- but the sheer confusion. Firefights here in the killing fields were chaotic, random affairs where moving companies entered and tried to pass through a free-fire zone. Visibility was near zero, both sides engaged at point-blank range, and worst of all - there was a good chance you were shooting your allies. Trapped in the Deathly woods, the forces of both the Greater Good and Greater Gods fought one another - and themselves, with deathly abandon.

    One of the Pathfinders shoots his hands into the air, and the Cadre of fighters goes quiet. Less than a hundred yards away, a force three times their number of Renegades - led by the Champion Khro'gaz, did the same. A twisted dance occurred, where both Traitor and Tau enacted the same series of actions and preparations, unaware that their waltz was even occurring. The Champion thought he was ambushing Tau. The Kroot thought he was ambushing the Renegades. And both were proven wrong when, on the very flanks of their units, a single cultist and a line Fire Warrior walked right into their opponent

    For several quick seconds, they stood tall, eyes locked, totally entranced in the visage of their foe. And then, the sound of gunfire blasts through the air. Cadre and Cultists glance at the sound of battle as it rolls down the line, giving only a second of respite before engaging in the battle themselves. In half dug foxholes and from behind trees, the Soldiery of Chaos and the defenders of the Greater Good fought, only vaguely aware of each other's positions. They shoot at ghosts across the woods, Dark Magics and Grand Technologies incapable of brushing aside the dense forestry. Sometimes, a party of Kroot or Marauders would approach what they believed to be an enemy position, and violently storm it, killing all present. Sometimes they accidentally charged their positions.

    Somewhere along the line, Blightfang and Khro'gaz found each other. Around them formed the epicenter of the Battle, one clouded deep in the Forests of Sleptis. Though a thousand soldiers fought each other on both sides, victory would be decided here, in the melee between Shaper and Champion.

    Khro'gaz attacked first, his sword cutting through the air with all the might the Khornate could muster. Blightfang raised his weapon to halt this assault, the sheer power of which bent the metal staff inwards. Growling with primal fury, the Kroot grasped the Chaos warrior with his off-hand, his talons cutting into the Renegade's throat. Blood pooled out around the Sharper's hands, and laughing with the pain, the chaos soldier kicked the Kroot away. Landing on his feet, Blightfang grasped a simple rock from the ground, and with all his might, threw it at the Cultist. Easily sidestepping the projectile, Khro'gaz laughed, thinking he had one. The Split-second that he had closed his eyes was all that Blightfang needed to bound forward and slash across the bastard's chest. As his blood spilled out upon the ground, the Cultist screamed in rage, attempting to rise and strike his foe. Blightfang moves in for the kill but was halted when Renegade Gunners charged the Cadre Commander, giving time for other cultists to retrieve their wounded Commander and retreat.

    This time, the Tau had won. But the Killing fields were not yet over.
    Thanks, @Furrybacon for the Report!​
     
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    • The Anvil, Damaged but Unflinching
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    • All power demands sacrifice... and pain. The universe rewards those willing to spill their life's blood for the promise of power. - Sindri Myr, Sorcerer of the Alpha Legion


    Further to the east, new developments in the war were beginning to unfold.

    The previous strategies, utilized by the armies of Chaos were too complex, too dependent on numerous factors and the results of clever schemes. No wonder they had failed, pondered Sathugore, the Aspiring Champion who had made this section of the frontline against the alien Tau his own. Khorne wished for blood and skulls. Anything else lacked honor and none dared dispute this claim, lest they find their own heads collected by the edge of his daemon-forged blade Bloodbrand.

    No, instead they would fight and either be victorious or die, bathing the land in the blood of the enemy as the battlefield descended into a charnel pit of traps, trenches, and other fortifications. Orders were sent to the various detachments under his command and fellow champions of the powers to prepare the slaughterhouse for the battle to come. It was to the great surprise of the Heretics then, that the Tau were more than willing to seize the initiative offered to them, announcing their arrival in a hail of missiles and burning plasma slamming into the human lines.

    Leading his Fire Warriors in person, Commander Gree'vas demonstrated the purpose behind his strategy to his willing students. Roughly translated as "Operation Blacksmith", the doctrine of the Tau had shifted from their fixed defenses to one of rapid and mobile aggression. Striking at key points along with the defenses of the corrupted Gue'la, weaknesses carefully observed and analyzed by scouting teams were exploited for maximum effect, spreading havoc in areas once considered by the defenders to be unassailable. Gree'vas himself reaped a considerable tally as his battlesuits superior firepower began to vaporize the screaming hordes as they attempted to close in on his position, before boosting away to another firing position.

    Witnessing his army under threat of dissolution by the Tau's newest offensive whilst his preparations were far from complete, Sathugore donned his wargear and lead the counter-attack, straight at the heart of the Xenos. An armored spearhead, rusted red iron fused with warp touched flesh slammed home into the Tau lines with breakneck speed, the treads of the vehicles almost seeming to pull themselves towards their foe with enthusiastic vigor beyond that of any unthinking transport. There alien technology met warp-crafted machinery, Tau Hammerhead Gunships achieving kill-shots on Tanks lost to damnation before the Tau species had even evolved, only for their target to seemingly roar with defiant rage, barrelling into their slayer to end their lives in a fireball of overloaded engines. Enlarged mutant beast things, with snapping jaws for arms and claws for faces wrestled with alien battlesuits who unloaded shot after shot of boiling energy into creatures who by conventional biology should have died long after their organs were reduced to ash.

    The Tau assault suddenly assailed, hesitated in its advance, preparing to withdraw from the battlefield at this sudden resistance and bypass their enemy via another section of the line. And with the sound of finality, the transports, shielded by the sacrifice of the cultists now slaughtered by the Tau's firepower and by the aggression of the armored vanguard, unloaded their cargo. Giggling with maddened laughter, the psykers, eyes glowing and flesh bubbling with barely contained warpfire, unleashed their untamed power directly within the center of the Tau's lines. Lightning arced outwards, burning out the nerves of those caught by the bolts as they shot from Fire Warrior to Fire Warrior, their armor no defense against the power of the warp. But then somehow, something went wrong. Control over that that could not be controlled slipped and the trickle of power became a torrent. The psykers had attempted to direct a stream of energy into the enemy's ranks but instead found themselves the gateway of an ocean and it consumed them utterly.

    The detonation bloomed outwards in a dome of energy that seemed to shriek with unfiltered horror at what had been done, painting the battlefield with colors that should not exist and shredding reality itself, if for but a mere microsecond. Yet that was all that was needed. For when the dust settled, the Tau Center had ceased to exist, along with the Chaos counter assault.

    Seeing this sudden unexpected reversal and acting with calm and collected appraisal befitting his reputation as a Commander, Gree'vas mobilized his team of battlesuits to plug the hole, unleashing a hail of shot into the stunned heretic survivors before they could recover their senses from what they had just witnessed and barely survived. Yet for all his tactical and strategic prowess, for all the great and mighty power the technological marvels of his species had developed, he was unprepared for the tides and oddities of the warp. For there were other plans at work during this engagement.

    Observing the flare of warp energy from his bastion in distant Dunsin with augmented eyes, dataspiels acknowledging and recording the readings of the momentary opening of a portal into the realm of the Mad Angel, Dredger Rathmor released a prepared binary chant to his followers, activating their heretical tek-engines and broadcasting their signal in a pulse of data and sorcery.

    Engines failed as skimmers and drones simply shut down, dropping into the marshy surface of the combat zone. For some Fire Warriors, their weapons suddenly ceased to fire, their power cells drained of all energy. For others, sensors and auxiliary systems began to malfunction, stealth suits camo-fields deactivating and leaving their users revealed and to be butchered under the knives and hand axes of the foe. Not even the mighty Gree'vas was spared this newest development, his battlesuit halting mid-stride as his internal data-feeds flared and simply vanished, leaving the Commander blind. His life support systems stricken by scrap-code that seemed to multiply and adapt to his suits electronic defenses faster than they could be purged, evolving almost like a sentient viral infection, Gree'vas found himself once more trapped within his own body, the redundancy systems of his battlesuit shutting down one by one without even being able to communicate his peril. Mentally preparing himself for death, Gree'vas awaited the end.

    But it was not to be. Seeing their leader in danger, the fire warriors of his personal command squad ejected themselves from their war suits, voluntarily abandoning their combat exoskeletons to reach their Commander's side. Defending Gree'vas's life support module with improvised weaponry and the discarded crude firearms of the slain Gue'la, the Tau held the encircling cultists back. As the surviving Fire Warriors rallied to their fallen Commander's side, it seemed like perhaps the tide might be held at bay. All they need do was hold on long enough for support from outside the range of the Gue'la's weapon to arrive and relieve them and the battle would be won. For the battlefield was filled with the dead and though the Heretics assaulted with the recklessness born from sheer insanity, there were very few left alive and capable of battle.

    But then, with the tremor of power that shook the ground beneath the combatants' feet, the dead began to rise, the blood-soaked ground sucking in the carnage and expelling it as a crimson mist that rose and settled across the marsh. Though many a cultist had been slain by the Tau, rising once more, the Fire Warriors were faced with enemies they had already killed hours, days and even weeks passed. In a scene of pure irony, the only place not swarming with the dead was the crater formed by the initial detonation of the Heretic's psychic attack, the explosion leaving no bodies to be corrupted by this newest foulness.

    Rather than be swarmed by the tides of the undead, the Tau quit the field. Withdrawing into the circling dropship, the survivors hurried their leader into the awaiting Devilfish, to be returned to the command post for emergency medical treatment and life support. Leaving a loose scattering of Drones to monitor and stall the advance of the Gue'la's undead army, the Tau rearmed themselves and devised new plans for this latest unanticipated reversal. Though they had been wounded grievously, they had persevered through this trial of adversity and they held close the truth that the shared destiny Greater Good's victory was inevitable, despite what set-backs might need adapting to.

    With the retreat of the alien's attack, the remaining Heretics of Devastation directed their newly acquired horde southwards, unable to do more than retake the settlement of Hatford as the tattered remnants of the host searched for their lost commander, the champion Sathugore last witnessed, surrounded by corpses, leading his charge into the alien guns right as the shrieking psykers surrounding him dragged both them and their lord laughing madly to a realm highly resembling hell.
    Thanks to @Dovahsith for the Report!​
     
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    • Outside Eramburg

    Beastmistress Yhekaro Jalza Stood impatiently waiting on as her Mandrakes joined those of the Archon in slinking out into the brutal Greenskins' holdings. She regretted sending her forces to "aid" Zaul as he had the foresight to not be at any of the actual camps or strongholds the Greenskins assaulted. Luckily she had lost few pets to the brutes, and she would replenish her slave stocks and the grotesqueries were easily replaced. Though a few of her Beastmasters and pets would be well used in the coming attack. No Matter the bulk of the Orks were heading to the battle with the Mon'Keigh. Specifically, the human Commissar which had caught the Klaivex's attention. She was no coward, but she could not help the niggle of trepidation that came at the thought of crossing the leader of the Incubi by poaching his chosen prey. She however would see if she could perhaps add one of those Squiggoth's the Orks breed to her menagerie. Orks themselves were of little value. She caressed the head of one of her pets with taloned nails as she pondered what was taking the Mandrakes so long?

    ++++
    It did not have a name, the first Mandrake to die. It did however have a memorable end for its kin. Rare it was indeed for a Mandrake be caught by something so simple as a tripwire of all traps. Odder still was that instead of crude explosives or an alarm, no it triggered the opening of several mostly buried or concealed boxes. The contents however were rabid, enraged squigs. The Mandrake tried to retreat to the shadows but found it difficult when a squig engulfed it's head and bit down.

    Its kin were quick to avenge it yet an alarm of sorts had sounded and shredded squig corpses began exploding!

    The blasts did little more than disorientate. The noise however attracted attention.

    "Woz dis den!", Came the guttural challenge of an Ork at the head of a small mob of his kin. Several Mandrakes began retreating into the shadows, but the Orks let loose their oft-heard warcry and charged. The Mandrakes responded with Baleblasts and blade and the battle was joined.

    +++
    Hearing the explosions the Beastmistress's eyes narrowed. Nodding her head to the sole Beastmaster she had brought with her on this raid. They and her pets moved through the shadows intent on vicious murder.

    +++
    Though enthusiastic for a real fight Teefbreaka was not happy about how this here fight was going. The Shadow things were slippery and the cold the exuded made his and the boys' movements sluggish. The rest of the boys were headed for the big scrap and TeefBreaka and his had been left to watch over things. Picking himself up out of the dirt he barely noticed his missing forearm. Though he did miss the choppa in that hand. He snorted as he raised his shoota on one of them shadowed things that were busy with Legstompa. Only to feel a sudden pain in his chest. He Looked down to see perfectly manicured hands with taloned nails holding his still-beating heart. He blinked in confusion, grunted in pain, and fired anyway. Gork was with him as the round took half the Shadow things head off. Unfortunately, Legstompa's guts were already decorating the ground.

    +++
    Casting aside the beast's heart, Jalza looked disdainfully at the surviving Mandrake's. "Go clear out the rest of the filth and hope I have no further evidence of your incompetence for the Archon!"

    With angry hisses, the rune-covered monsters melted away to take their rage and hatred out on any they found.

    Beast Mistress Yhekaro Jalza brought her hand to run through her hair. Realizing with a snarl it was still covered in the Ork's blood. The slaves and chattel she received here best be worth the headache.

    +++

    Archon Ireziora of the Thousand Screams, Leader of The Serrated Tongues Kabal, sighed as his third wine glass that night was shot from his hands by yet another Gretchin sniper. That vintage had been grown from grapes made at the vineyard where the Haemoculi had converted those Mon Keigh mutants, Troths he thought, into living grapevines for their betters. The exquisite agony was unique to each individual and could be tasted in the literal fruits of their suffering. He'd have to get some truly exquisite slaves as payment to the Haemonculi for more.

    His progress was swift, meeting little real resistance. His Raven's and Hellions ruled the skies and the crude Ork vehicles he encountered died quickly. Yet these literal vermin were evading his warriors whilst their larger cousins had fallen to Mandrake blades and claws with no sound. Though victorious in his conquests. The essential mop-up was going to be a tedious affair. How utterly droll.

    +++

    Outside Stein

    Orkist Gutrippa looked at the assembled forces of the Pansy gits squattin on good Orkish land. The nerve of these pointy ears. They didn't seem to be many of them around just those humie slaves and the abominations that looked like a particularly crazy Doc got a hold of 'em. The Gitfinda his mek had installed in his binoculars marked each gits' location for later krumpin. He put the purple box his Grots had made for him back on and krept back to his boys. This attack would take cunning brutality and brutal cunning to go off without a hitch. He could not have one of them pansy Eldar run away. His axe's teef were thirsty and he'd have it oiled in blood tonight. The git's run at the first sign of a real fight though. He had to be subtle.

    +++
    Herith Mora Wych of the Serrated Tongue was bored. The Haemonculi experiments were running around terrorizing the slaves and the Kabalites kept watch. Occasionally shooting one in the limbs to slow it for a Grotesquery to catch. The screams were nice, but she longed for battle and blood. She leaned back opening her eyes to look at the stars she noticed flames?

    "WAAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!!!" was the cry of the Stormboys of the 1st Shokk Squaddrun as they fell upon the Druhkari positions. Their aerial assault followed by several Trukks at full speed crashing onto the Battlefield as Ork and Gretchin alike dismounted to engage in the melee. So surprised was the Aeldari to be on the back foot of a lightning assault the Orks of the 1st Shokk take the city of Stein. Though they quickly grow bored as they realize the Eldar weren't coming out to fight. So they did the next best thing and trapped every Webway gate they could find with everything from explosives to snares. Gutrippa sent Grots out every which way to find more Eldar as he pulled out a map, a cigar, and planned to hit his next target.

    Thanks to @Silverbullet for the Report!​
     
    Battle of Bolburg, Broken but Surviving
  • Threadmarks
    • "It started with an explosion, the fighting that is. We... we weren't expecting much, we thought we were getting saved, or at the least reinforcements would come and save us... They did in the end! I... I can't forget that but... What came after was haunts me, I keep asking... what would have happened if the Commissar didn't save us... and I shudder."

    This is a direct quote from the survivors of the downed voidship that was forced to make a crash landing onto the planet due to the ongoing hostilities in space. The series of events going down within the north-western section of the Imperium's borders on the planet. It all started within the hours after the survivors of the crashed ship sent a call for help. They were met immediately with the Commissar of the Imperial forces in the Eastern border of the Imperial presence planetside. The Commissar's message was simple, but the effect it had on local morale was soaring. "This is Commissar Bethel Bartlette to the Survivors around Zaddush. By the Throne on high and against all the Hells, I'll get poor dumb bastards out. Just hold the hell on!"

    This simple message would spark an immediate operation from the Commissariat with Commissar Bethal leading the charge. Some would say they were abandoning their post and would be the reason the Rebels took the chance to rebel when they did, but for the survivors near Zaddush, it wasn't. The Commissar could do no wrong, and in the end, they would see them put in the effort to save what would be considered lost souls normally. The reason they would be considered lost souls was due to the ork presence in Zaddush. The Orks would value such a prize, and the locals would charge and kill survivors and loot what they could, that was until the Warboss heard about the ship and send his own force to back them up. A Large force, made for destroying infantry, looting ships, and destroying armored positions would march on Zaddush's Crash site and it was there the survivors fought and died.

    That was until the Commissar arrived. She came in with countless Valkyrie wings and guardsmen to hold the line. The Orks, pushed back by the surprising arrival of the Commissar would begin to organize more as a solid fight had come to them, and they would prepare to fight, crush, and destroy the umies that stood between the Orks and their loot. Bethal wasted no time, she evacuated who she could, and saved what was salvageable. Which is where she ran into her first, immediate problem.

    The ship, and its survivors, had a large variety of armored vehicles. These vehicles were too big, powerful, and devastating to be left here or destroyed. There was no time for the Commissar to ensure their safety through ariel vehicles, as the Ork waaagh was approaching, and soon there would be no more time to save the vehicles and escape... So the Commissar tried to do both. Fighting the approaching waaagh, the forces who survived as well as the saviors of the survivors fought tooth and nail to prolong the evacuation's time. Orks in a literal tide would descend on them, and in the end... the survivors were saved and evacuated but the forces the Commissar brought with would be left behind as Orbital Fire rained down and destroyed the wreckage... and the city of Zaddush, which was caught in the crossfire.

    Though at this time, reports would claim that there were Imperial survivors from the Commissar's group that managed to escape the blasts. Not much more could be said as the Ork's cunning was revealed, and the entire North felt the pain as the fighting began again, but from the most unexpected source.

    Orks are intelligent creatures... most of the time. They have feelings, even if they are battle lust and boredom, and even have thoughts. Now, most of the time the thoughts were... violence-related, loot related, or some hybrid combination of the two. For the Ork Warboss however, there was a deeper intelligence, a darker cunning. The Warboss would send a green tide of Squigs, Feral Boyz, scrapped vehicles, explosive materials and so much more into the wreckage of the Void Ship. But, the goal was never to take the wreckage, nor to loot whatever was inside it. No, the goal was something the Imperials never thought of, for orks are creatures of whimsy and violence. The Warboss sent all those orks, squigs, and materials to the wreckage to die. But it wasn't just because he could, though that may have been a factor, he sent them there to act as a blinding eye to the true purpose of his plan.

    This plan would be upset, accidentally, by the orbital bombardment far into the north, far from Imperial Lines. In the end, however, even if the Ork's plan was derailed, they won.

    For the native Northern Imperials, things were quiet, excluding a nearby Ork Camp that seemed to enjoy launching the Gretchin at the Imperial forces sent to investigate and the city itself, to explosive results. The orks were distracted by the fighting in the north, the loot, the wreckage, the bloodbath, it doesn't matter. All that did matter was that they weren't at Bolburg. The Imperials felt satisfaction once reports came in that the Orbital Bombardment wiped out the ork threat in the north, it was a sad day for anyone left, but it was a decisive victory without a doubt. All it cost them was a City, a few guardsmen, and several minutes of shaking. Even after the shaking should have stopped, it continued to affect the Imperial Positions as Bolburg. Then, the shaking stopped.


    It stopped because all across the defensive lines thundering crashes and explosions would rock the region. Metal Drills, stolen or made it doesn't matter, would crash from the ground on the outer reaches of the fortifications killing hundreds in their path just from the shockwaves and aftermath of their arrival alone. It was at that moment the Drills unloaded their cargo. The Green Tide had come to wage Waaaagh on the unsuspecting members of the Imperial Guard. The fighting was fierce, most of the guardsmen and weapon encampments were ready for an ork attack, but due to the method of their arrival, things would change dramatically.

    Artillery would fire into crowds of orks, the Guardsmen would fire their weapons desperately at the oncoming hordes that made their way across the Imperial Lines with frightening ease. Nothing could seem to stop them, even as the tide slowed... it wouldn't stop advancing. There was a simple reason for this, Warboss Grohrbluzak was leading from the front, smashing aside everything that stood between him, and Bolburg itself. Seeing the charge, the Lord General in charge of the defense of the city and region, Clementine, would rally the soldiers to her side.

    The Warboss paused at this, not out of confusion, caution, or rational reason. No, they did this because the Warboss knew that if he waited, the fighting would intensify and the fun would continue as the Imperial Guard rallied. The Guardsmen, to their credit, managed to rally quick enough to become a threat that could stop the ork attack dead in its tracks. As the hours passed, and the hours soon turned into days, the fighting would only become worse and worse for the guardsmen. For the Ork Warboss was ready.

    As the ork predicted, the fighting would intensify and almost as if it was counting on it to do so, he stopped waiting. Charging into the fighting he would smash aside the guardsmen he faces. They turned into nothing but splatters of blood, guts, and gore under his assault. Though that was just a byproduct of his real intentions. Those could be summarized up as stomping the Humie commander flat. Soon Guardsmen scrambled out of his way as Clementine shouted orders to fight to the last man and the last round, before seeing the approaching warboss.

    Despite the difference in size, she did not hesitate to meet the Ork Warboss with a charge of her own. Letting a cruel smirk settle on his face, the Warboss shouts out his warcry, and as the two weapons held by the commanders of both armies met in a sickening shriek of metal on metal. A flash of sparks and the two disengaged from the clash, an ork attempting to interrupt the fight is impaled on the General's blade and kicked into the waiting claws of the Ork Warboss who tears them into literal shreds for daring to interrupt the duel.

    The two would circle each other as their forces fought, bled, and died against each other in a struggle of dominance. The duel would begin anew as the two clashed once again, and after what seems to be hours of fighting the two would finally end their battle. For the Orks, it was a stunning success. For Lord General Clementine was defeated by the Warboss's hands. Sadly for the orks, the finishing blow that would secure the General's hat for the Boss' Head Pole would be averted.

    The reason for this aversion was a simple one. Reinforcements from multiple sources had arrived. The Warmaster's force was what the Orks saw first, and it was what they charged towards, seeing a stronger foe than the ones they were playing with moments before. This wasn't what interrupted the sacred Hat-taking ritual the Warboss was going through at that moment, however. What interrupted them were the reinforcements from the North. Commissar Bartlette had arrived, and with them was a contingent of armored vehicles of varying sizes, all of which were saved from the Crash Site before the Bombardment occurred. At the forefront were Multiple Leman Russ Battle Tanks, crushing countless Orks beneath their treads. Behind them were Hellhounds, scouring the battlefield clean with Promethium. An equal amount of chimera carrying the now fresh Guardsmen that were brought to save the ship, but survivors from the crash as well.


    The real Jewels of the force however were in the back. the Furthest rear were Basilisks, opening fire and softening up the Ork forces even further. But what drew the eye of everyone on the battlefield were the two vehicles just ahead of the Basilisks. There were two of them in fact, and with a thunderous explosion, both Baneblades opened fire erasing a portion of the attacking force with ease. Seeing the tide of battle turn against him, the Ork Warboss is forced to abandon the Lord General and retreat with the heavily damaged force that was meant to utterly savage the Imperial Heartland.

    It was here that the fortifications around Bolburg finally rested after multiple days of straight fighting and the repairs were going underway to ensure that they could stand against yet another Ork Assault. Though, as good things happen, so must terrible things. Delayed by the fighting, scouts would finally be able to approach Bolburg and deliver their report. The Ork Camp that was being investigated held dark news for the entire Northern Campaign. The Camp itself was a moderate one, nothing too much at the time the report was made. But what was inside the camp was what mattered. Inside the Camp, the Scouts noticed two major, dangerous things. The first was a Squiggoth that was wandering around the camp, both as a defender and a predator. The beast, however, would prove to be the least worrying thing the surviving Imperials would hear about. For the scouts spotted a Mekboy, That alone might have proved worrisome, but not to the degree that the Scouts would report it as urgent. The real urgency came from what the damned ork was building.

    The Orks on Sleptis, it appeared, hungered for a stronger fight, for a bloodier battle, and sought to bring in a mechanized horror to counter the Imperial's own heavy ordinance. For the Orks were building a Stompa, and the Imperials knew it would soon reach completion.
     
  • Threadmarks

    • @Karen



    ACCESSING...

    ACCESSING...

    CONFIRMATION.

    SEQUENCE WRITTEN.

    INITIATING BROADCAST

    "WARMASTER de VANZI TO ALL IMPERIAL FORCES IN THE IMMEDIATE VICINITY OF THE SLEPTIS SYSTEM: IMPERIAL FORCES UNDER MY COMMAND ARE CURRENTLY ENGAGED WITH SIGNIFICANT XENOS FORCES. ARCHENEMY PRESENCE IS ALSO CONFIRMED TO BE ACTIVE ON THE SYSTEM AND HEAVILY INVOLVED IN THE WAR. INCREASING CORRUPTION HAVE BEEN OBSERVED SPREADING AMONG THE RANKS. TAKING HEAVY LOSSES. WARP PRESENCE IS STRONGLY SUSPECTED. IN THE NAME OF HE WHO SITS ON THE GOLDEN THRONE AND BY THE AUTHORITY INVESTED ON MY PERSON BY THE HIGH LORDS OF TERRA, ALL SECTOR RESERVES AND OTHER AVAILABLE FORCES ARE ORDERED TO MAKE HASTE AT ONCE TO THE SLEPTIS SYSTEM LEST THEY BE BRANDED AS TRAITORS TO THE GOD-EMPEROR"

    ACHERON | SIGMA | ULTRA | TYRANNIS | KHRONUS

    MESSAGE SENT

    AVE IMPERATOR​
     
    Last edited:
    To my beloved...

    ... the guns have finally stopped, though I'm sure their deafening roar will be back in a few minutes. I'm using this lull to record this message for you. I've told you about the significance of anniversaries ending in 5 or 0 for us Humans. By my calculations it's been 15 Terran years to the day since you and I first met. We'll have to celebrate when I return. I know you warned me about the Mu'gulath's reputation, and it's true that there were a lot of snide looks and comments when I first took up my command here, but it's been hell ever since we encountered the fanatics and every soldier has been fulfilling their duty to me to the letter. With the situation what it is, everyone's just glad to have someone to face these horrors alongside with, no matter their race.

    I have no desire to describe what we're faced with. Sometimes, I'm not sure if I even could, but it does convince me of two things regarding my choice to take up arms for the Greater Good; with the conditions these people are forced to live under, it was the right decision. These cultists have created a land bereft of love, safety, or even basic sanity. The second conclusion I've come to is that I've had my fill of war for now. Once Sleptis is back in our hands, I'm taking a long long leave. Maybe we could start farming again. By the way, I was wounded a bit the other day. No big deal, nothing to loose your sleep over. You should see the other guy. He thought his sword was magical or something. I'll see you soon.
     
    The Deff Fleet
  • Threadmarks


    • "Bring me Dat Dere Horizon ya Grots!"

    Guled Docks, Sleptis

    Killspittah idly chewed on a roast squig as he sat on a shipping container in Guled's Docks. He had made a cunnin' Plan worthy of Gork his self and the Pansies had the gall to be nowhere in sight. Oh they'd caught stragglers fleeing into Webway Gates and Killspittah had been pleased as could be that his Kommandos took the initiative to bomb every one they found. He supposed he should be happy. The Pansies were gone. He had a bunch of Humie Slaves and even some Diggas. He was setting up proper Factories to make the Boss's Flashy Dakka and he was even makin himself a proppa Fleet O'Warships out of the humie ones what were abandoned and scuttled. He felt robbed though. His prey had escaped and he hadn't come close to satiating the rage he felt as his scars throbbed. Orks were hard to kill, and that which didn't kill ya was gonna get Krumped. He stood up and walked over to one of the Freighters the meks was bolting guns and armor onto. He climbed up the side and threw himself onto the deck. "Waaaagh!" he roared, the meks and boys mukkin about turned to look at him. "Get these rust buckets Dakka'd up good and proppa, if the Pansie's think they can run from us they's just gonna die tired!" The Orks, grots, and slaves hurried back to their work as Killspittah walked to the lookout mast the meks erected in the center. Hauling himself up it his bionik leg hissing steam as it's pistons work to keep up with his movements he reached the apex of the tower. His new eye glared a baleful red as he looked over the horizon to where his foes were. He grinned to himself, Admiral Killspittah sounded about right. He waved to the FightaBombas as their pilot dipped their wings in salute. One lost control and rolled into the sea, but the meks would fish the plane out later, maybe the pilot too. He was gonna need a big hat!
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Zogfight
  • Threadmarks


    • "War has changed ya gits! Ya gots to be cunnin now!"

    +++
    Raider Transport above Ork held City of Loheim, Sleptis
    +++

    Ireziora of the Thousand Screams felt the beginnings of a smirk play across his features as he looked down with his perfect Drukhari eyes and watched his forces slaughter the green skinned beasts below. He then frowned as he watched the crude aircraft the Orks favoured duel with his Hellions and Ravens over the City. The Ork aircraft, Fighta Bombas? A ridiculous name! They were no real match for his forces, but there were so many of them. There had been a report of Orks congregating over a large scrap heap outside of Dotzen. He had paid it little mind. A problem for later. His smirk returned as he witnessed a Hellion leap from his skyboard to run along a Fighta Bomba's wings. The Hellion threw miniature bombs fashioned after some kind of carved orange gourd into the pilots lap before leaping clear and landing perfectly onto his skyboard. The Ork plane exploded moments after his feet touched his mount. He motioned to his pilot to take his Raider down into the fray. The Beasts were poor sport in general, but he'd teach the suffering tonight at any rate.

    +++
    The Coast of Elin, Sleptis
    +++

    Yhekaro Jalza cooed as she stroked the blood stained fur of her favored pet as it purred at her touch. It lashed it's tail sending envenomed quills from it's tail into the Orks still moving on the ground. They began to thrash and foam at the mouth as the cocktail her pets made wrought ruin on even their robust physiology. Their deaths would be slow and painful and she drank in the ambient suffering.

    "Mistress hunt?" Her pet asked. It's voice is a dissonant mix of Monkeigh female and a predatory yowl. She smiled indulgently at her manticore. "Yes dearest. Seek out the largest of their kind and bring them down. Your lesser kin shall harry the others."

    The Manticore threw it's head back in a mixture of a beast's roar and a woman's scream tore from it's throat. It disappeared into the shadows to begin it's culling of the Nobs. Beastmistress Jalza sauntered to a waiting transport to inspect the slaves they had liberated from the Orks hands. The poor Mon Keigh had hailed them as saviors and the Sybarite was so amused he was playing along. At least until the fools had been delivered to Commorragh. The Orkish aircraft may have stalled her advance, but she would reap a bounty from this nonetheless. Now she simply needed to procure a counter to the Orkish Fighta Bombas harassing her advance. Zaul took the majority of the Kabals Ravens with him, Hmmmm? A solarite companion and her flock owed her a boon, and her Razorwings flocks would do well to stretch their wings and wet their talons and beaks. The Green Skin may own the sky tonight, but it would be hers soon enough.

    +++
    Gerbacwe, Sleptis
    +++

    Orkist Gutrippa loved the feeling of his new bike. The tremors and vibration as he throttled down the road. His side car gunna barely able to hit anything as the sped past the Pansies. Not for lack of trying though. The yoof was laughing mad as he held down the shootas trigger. His 1st Shokk boys had out done themselves again! The Pansies were caught completely by surprise with Operashun Panzeekrump being a resounding success. The cities of Weital, Shopeden, Rodhens, and Gerbacwe were his or soon to be his. The Pansies apparently never expected him to be cunnin enough to hit'em where they weren't lookin da gits. They'd even found a few of them Webways the Pansie's used to go every where. He sent some boys and grots to make trouble in'em and then blew'em up when found them. It was lovely night!


    +++
    Dotzen, Sleptis
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    Rahak Zaul was sneering under his helm as he watched another Green skin plane destroyed by his Ravens. He had seen the collection of scrap and more importantly slaves in the Ork camp. Some were reportedly even those who had been held in processing camps before the Orks freed them. Zaul knew he should send his formidable air assets back to aid the Archon in clearing out the Orkisk planes, but he wanted no. He needed these spoils, and if the Kabal saw his victory overshadow the Archons own blundering so be it. Still he directed his Ravens to fan out and eliminate what aircraft they found. He wouldn't need them on overwatch for this rabble. The scattered Orks and Mon Keigh slaves adding to the literal pile of scrap and valuables mixed in barely had time to cry out as his Ravens strafed them and his Raider transports disgorged their terrible cargo upon them. As he walked from his transport, an Ork Nob was brought before him. Held by two of his warriors the beast still struggled despite missing it's legs and one arm. He noticed his Haemonculi retainer approach face stuck into a rictus grin of needle like teeth. He looked down at the Nob who was almost level with him despite his injuries. "Tell me savage where the valuables are being held and I may just kill you instead of giving you over to my compatriot here."

    The Ork looked up at him with hate filled eyes before shrugging and looking down at the ground. He whispered almost too quietly to hear.

    "Boss was right. It's a zoggin good joke it is."

    "What is a joke beast? My patience grows thin."

    The Nob gave him a full grin before chortling out the phrase, "Surprise!"

    Then Zaul's world became fire!

    +++
    Outside Dotzen, Sleptis
    +++

    Looking through his binoculars at the rising pillar of flame Deffstalka grinned around his favorite cigar. "I loves it when a plan comes together all proppa like." He turned and ran toward his boys as the waited around their Kamouflaged vehicles. "Mork's Joke has gone off lads and we'ze the Punchline so let's punch'em hard!"

    "Waaaggghhh!"

    He jumped up onto the looted Raider they had taken from their last fight and tapped the Digga at the controls. "Full Speed ahead Mizzus Roxie." The green painted women nodded and the Skimmer rose up and flung itself forward as the various looted vehicles, buggies and Trukks followed. Boys and Diggas waving their weapons as they rushed to Krump the Pansies.

    +++
    Dotzen
    +++

    Rahak Zaul came to amidst the sounds of weapons fire and screams as his forces engaged the ambushing Orks and Mon Keigh who had waited hidden among the refuse. He had been standing on a hidden explosive that had thrown him clear. He felt fire race up his leg and looked down at the ruin of his foot. He drew strength from the pain and rose to direct his forces in bloody vengeance when more Orks led by a looted Raider of all things crashed onto the battlefield. The largest of them being thrown within a few meters of Rahak. He swiftly pulled blade and shard pistol from his belt and made to fire on the Ork. Only for the Beast to recover and dive to the side. His injured foot slowing him Zaul still managed to readjust himself and draw a bead on the Ork. The Beast had drawn a Pistol and Knife of his own assuming some ridiculous pose where he clasped his hands together. The glow from the it's goggles illuminating the night. The two stood facing one another for a moment before they both fired. His shots went wide striking the beast in his shoulder and arm. His aim thrown off by the damage his weapon had taken in the blast. The Ork was luckily just as bad as shot as most of his kind and the oversized slugs whizzed past Rahak's head. The Ork however had charged as he shot and now they were in melee.

    "See Kwuu See!" The cretin bellowed as it tackled into him. He tried to drive his knife into it's face, but the beast grabbed his hand. It grabbed the pistol hand as well and then it began to squeeze. Zaul was no weakling. He did not cry out as the Kommando crushed his hands around their weapons. He only snarled in pain and rage. He snarled as the beast tossed him aside and retrieved it's overly large handcannon. He snarled as it brought the barrel to his head and pulled the trigger.

    +++
    Dotzen, Sleptis
    +++

    DeffStalka snorted as the Eldar's headless body slumped over. He felt the venom from it's shards burning in his veins. He'd need to see his Doc about that soonish. He'd seen what happened to boys who ignored the hits.

    His Digga pilot Roxie stumbled over bleeding from a cut on her head and holding an arm. "Boss we need to fall back. Eldar flyers are closing fast and we're in the open."

    Part of him wanted to stay and fight. They was winning, but he had no more flyers of his own and his boys didn't have enough shootas to bring down the Eldar flyers faster than they could kill him.

    "Grab what ya can and Mount up! We iz leavin!"

    He flexed his hand of his wounded arm as the burn got stronger.

    "And where's me Doc?"

    +++
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Thus Always to Tyrants
  • Threadmarks
    • There was a town called Olholon. Was. Any remnant of its idyllic age is long passed, long gone, long forsaken. Where once Olholon was simply a place to be born, live and die as civilians do, it was now far different. Twas now every man on the line, every soul in the fight, and every death for the cause until Olholon was saved. For the better part of a year, the Greater Good and the Greater Gods have slaughtered each other in the ruins of that town. They fought with guns. They fought with knives. They fought with rocks and their bare hands for what would be a total of two hundred and forty three days. The Dead were beyond count, the damage beyond measure, the cost beyond comprehension, but as all things would, Olholon too ended. And as expected of such a battle of Ironies - of Traitors fighting traitors and Fire Warriors in Melee and Khornates serving other gods - Victory started with retreat.

    The Tau Empire condemned superstition and the sheer notions of gods. The Tau Veterans of Olholon, in spite of their government, believed in them. As the war for Olholon dragged on, those few who, for whatever reason, seemed to be able to feel the whims and winds of chaos, to sense the malevolent gaze of the Dark Gods and have their stomach churn in warning, became more valuable than full Cadre of fresh faced fools. And as the rumors of new orders came down from on high, those blessed - or cursed - few whom seemed to sense the sick evil that infested their charge, felt that nerve began to churn like never before. The more fatalistic Fire Warriors resigned themselves to their fate once more, assuming the rumbles of central command were another push to dislodge the vile traitor A-11.

    So when the Orders opened with "prepare to withdrawal, even the most skeptical Tau grew nervous - fears only emphasized as the forward scouts began to whisper about new and even more grotesque effigies of gore, greater sacrifices of blood, and of dark voices laughing in the wind, the Army at Olholon just about deserted - by holding their posts, ironically enough. But such issues where rapidly brought back in line with but a word of Commander Helgar, and with trepidation, the Soldiery of the Greater Good began to withdraw, abandoning their hard fought ground to their accursed enemy - who rapidly took over the abandoned positions. To their rear, the withdrawing Tau Cadres found yet more reinforcements, and to their utter horror, journalists. Such was their horror that some prayed for a simple offensive like Blacksmith, not whatever scheme Gree'vas had schemed that meant sending Frakking soft-hearted Water Caste journo Liberals into a hell pit called Olholon.

    One Particularly unlucky Pathfinder decided to verbally voice his frustration by physically assaulting one of the poor Journalists, pelting the poor boy with rubble and pushing him to the ground. Just about knocked the kid out when a dark shadow cast over him, and the baying crowd subsided into awe. There standing rather annoyed in that ruined city of Olholon, was the towering battlesuit of General Gree'vas himself, shadowed by the less impressive but arguably more respected Commander Helgar Aaronius. The Pathfinder, mid punch, remarked something about how he'd suffer less if he surrendered to the Renegades, before sheepishly standing up both himself and the now thoroughly bruised camera man. Left unsure if it would he more disgraceful to kill himself before or after his dressing down by the Supreme Commander of the Tau on Sleptis and his beloved comrade in Olholon, the Pathfinder was subsequently ignored as Gree'vas boosted himself onto one of higher rubble piles. Behind him yet more fresh forces arrived- and medics for that one poor journalist- and all went silent at the snapping raised hand of the mighty battlesuited warrior. While the Infantry stood transfixed the Journalists rushed their cameras and recorders into position - and technicians set up projectors across the whole of the Battleline. Not wanting to be shown up by mere Earth and Water caste pencil pushes, Cadre Noncoms and Officers began to hurriedly rush Kroot, Gue'vesa, and Fire Caste Tau back into the line; reading for action. Across the whole city, as the Renegades celebrated their perceived Victories, as Fire Warriors -Vetran and Green - filled up the trench line kitted for Assault, as the Great Battle for the Very soul of Sleptis entered its 198th day, the mighty speakers roared to life, and broadcast the challenge to the Eightstar's warriors.

    Forces of the Dark Gods no Khorne, hear me. I General Gree'vas am ashamed to watch you all cower behind your schemes and psychic powers! You are warriors! Proud fighters of a God that praises direct combat and hates schemes and witchcraft! I give my declaration! FIGHT! STOP HIDING BEHIND YOUR PETTY MAGICS AND SCHEMES! THE TAU EMPIRE HAS BEEN MOCKED FOR BEING AGAINST THE ART OF DIRECT COMBAT, YET HERE YOU STAND WITH THE ROLES REVERSED! WE TAKE THE FIGHT TO YOU AND NOW YOU HIDE! CAST ASIDE YOUR WEAKNESSES AND FACE US, FACE ME!"​

    Inelegant and blunt. But the point came across. And as his speech echoed across the Battlefield, a challenge upon the Gods themselves, the forces of Chaos readied to respond.

    While the Tau Soldiery at Olholon had retreated, A-11 made ready, and more importantly, made home. Olholon was not far removed from Kreig by this point, short on the radiation alone. Mayhaps what remained of his heart had a nostalgic twang for Krieg, but for his next heretical dealing, he endeavored to make the Hellscape even more vile, to make the battle even more costly, and with the whole city now his canvas, he took to that - and other such magics, with reckless abandon. The Stage for Olholon's conclusion was set. And as it should, it started with Artillery - both from the Greater Good, and the Greater Gods. Chaotic Bombards blasted dirt high into the skies, and Tau Bombers carpeted the ground with plasma bombs. Both sides lamented those who died in the blasts, both for their passing, and that they would miss the last big push. Then, once the Guns of had had their fill, the grand finale of Olholon started in full.

    It was the two hundred and twelfth day when the order went down the line, passed by Fire Warrior to Shaper to Pathfinder and then to the Battlesuits, all from the Word of General Gree'vas and Commander Helgar. The Journalists readied their cameras, ready to show the might of the Tau Empire in action. The bare-faced recruits made their own peace, unsure of what was to come. And the Veterans, recognizing that this was it, the battle that mattered, the charge that counted, the score that defined every other, could hardly contain themselves. Steely eyed and firm of heart, they waited at the trench ladders, ready to end the fight for Olholon once and for all. They did not expect to live, not after the recused themselves from safety by holding this town in the first place. But they would win or die trying. All they needed was the signal of assault, for Zero hour to arrive, then they would begin.

    And with a vengeance, it began.

    The Tau Attacked first, returning to the now evermore so flattened city. It was immediately obvious to all who could see who the Veterans were and who the Reinforcements were. The "younger" Soldiers bounded forward, wasting efforts on setting up covering fire before crossing the Remnants of streets and dashing out from cover to cover. The Old Guard, led by Helgar himself, simply walked forward - heads held high, guns low but ready, melee weapons makeshift or otherwise loosened in their holsters, and a grim smile on their face, waiting to meet their destiny.

    They were not disappointed.

    A 11 himself was at the forefront of his Army, Demon blade outstretched. He too knew this to be the great showdown. And he brought everything to bare. In the mind of that Crazes Krieger, that black hearted traitor from man, Olholon had been his from the moment the battle began. And there might have been some truth in that - especially as it was further landscaped to resemble his War-Forsaken world. Unlike his peons, who bayed for blood and to press the attack when Helgar withdrew from the city, he alone saw the battle to come, greater in veneration to the dark gods then even a hundred days of flaying routed Olholon Defenders. Vindicated with the Tau Army's return and challenge, A-11 presented himself to Gree'vas and Helgar, aiming to slay the both of them, and secure victory for his Dark Gods. And to do as such, he had a despicable plan, calling forth yet more dark magics to summon, and one meant specifically to counter the T'au.

    One that might have worked - had the Veterans of Olholon not been familiar with their tricks.

    ​

    The Wave of chaotic energies blasted across the battlefields in seconds, destroying or inhibiting all Tau Technology and leaving them, theoretically, at the mercy of the Chaos Horde. True to such an affair, greener commanders halted and panicked, trying to fix their machinery, but by and large, the Tau, who had prepared for this eventuality, were able to respond and adapt quickly - and the Veterans Olho,on were exemplified this to the extreme. Without those of the Old Guard, and even with the tactics ahead of time, the Tau might have been slaughtered where they stood, but that eventuality would never be known, as the Veterans of Olholon attacked. In an instant, without hesitation, without question, and with full knowledge of what was to come, they case aside broken technology and cast themselves into the fray. By this point, they did not expect to survive Olholon, but instead accepted their fate with all the gusto and honor they could muster, in the name of Victory or death. Armed with makeshift swords and honor blades, trench clubs and hatchets, with scavenged Imperial Scatterguns and even the humble boot knife, T'au, Gue'vesa, and Kroot veterans of the cursed city Olholon engaged in bloody melee against the roving renegades. Every disadvantage was cast upon them, their enemy had greater number, greater skill, greater strength, but still the Veterans fought, their glorious stand filmed for the whole Empire to behold. Their deaths would be remembered by all who witnessed them as nothing short of honorable, and it bought time for the rest of the Tau Army to set up their countermeasures to the situation, allowing the Warmachine of the Greater Good to march ever onward. But that honor shown by the Vetrans was seen as a challenge to Chaos, who unveiled their second trick - another gas attack

    But like before, it ran headlong into the preparation and discipline of the Common Tau soldier and the sheer determination to see the finale through found in each of the Veterans. The pressure kept up, in spite of every dark magic that interdicted them. Communications failed, weapons were forced to be repaired in the field, and the great hordes of the damned fell upon them, but the Tau Advanced, unbroken, unabashed, and united as one. The Totems, the rotten effigies of chaos that kept their dark spells cast, inflicted their toll, and a bloody one it was. Olholon was not going to be won easy, and at some points, the attack threatened to stall, and Tau Commanders convened to figure out how they could try and alleviate the situation. They hadn't even established a connection when their miracle came.

    Specifically, an Air Caste Bomber Ace from amongst the massive air wing that was swooping down on the Chaotic Hordes.. Which is about as close to a Miracle you can get in the secular Greater Good.

    The Chaotic Effigies that created the dark effects suffered a direct hit from a particularly good Tau Bomber strafing run, forcing her way through the their defenses and turning the grotesque obelisk into a plasma soaked crater. Their affects still scared the battlescape, all the way until victory, but that was not all that Chaos had.

    As the Plasmabombers perforated his ritual sacrifice grounds, he was ready to reval in his final card, his masterpiece, a dark creation to further take life and spill blood and keep Olholon to its bloody status quo. A true work of art, a maze of eternal trenches, of pillboxes and killing fields and armories worthy of the likes of Vraks, though on a much smaller scale. IT was built with shovels and by the powers of the Dark gods. It was meant to extend Olholon for another year, and might have, as the Tau Vanguard was stopped cold upon contact with its gaze. But then A-11's own art began to betray him.

    No one can pinpoint when it started - only the moment they themselves noticed. The mighty Earthworks of the Kreiger's dark plan almost seemed to … betray their creator. Foxholes filled with Chaos Gunners seemed to … expand so that the just short grenade would roll into their pit. Underground emplacements simply collapsed drowning their Chaotic Occupants, then would spontaneously rebuild themselves in reverse so that the Tau could make use of them - the dead still inside of course. In one instance caught live by journalists, an Anti-Tank hardpoint lining up a shot on Gree'vas suddenly had its cover evaporate, allowing airborne support to induce a case of Critical Existence failure on the Lascannon and its very dead crew. A shout from the Chaotic line arises, "The Gods have Betrayed us!" Chaos is readying to break, and all that stopped them were the faceless and their commander, the increasingly enraged A-11. He had one hope left, to slay the mighty Commander of all T'au forces Sleptis, to break their master with his sword and kill him slowly. Somehow, he'd made the Gods- or one would supposed for the mad Krieger, the God Emperor - mad - most possibly by relying on magic of other Gods - and this was his only recourse, short of death. And thusly, the two meter man with the demon sword and trench cloaks charged the hulking 4 meters of Tau Engineering who wielded four fusion blades.

    It should have been a slaughter, but the Kreiger was no mere cultist. Inspite of the betrayal of his own trenchworks, A-11 was still able to dash in and out of melee, attacking from foxhole or trench and back out of the way of the many blades of the Gree'vas. However, it simply failed to do any damage. Caution was getting him nowhere, as he had expected, and the Traitor pressed all his efforts into one brutal attack. With a powerful slash, he brought the cursed sword down upon the Battlesuit, cutting clean through one of the Fusion blades and getting stuck in the armored knee of the Tau's Supreme Commander - in other words, not a killing blow. If A-11 felt shame at failure or the other Fusion blade sliding between his ribs first is unknown, but most assuredly, he felt both. Contemptuously, Gree'vas dropped the seemingly dead Kreiger into a nearby trench, before grabbing his the whispering blade now lodged in his armor. He held the sword aloft, so that all may see his might. A-11 had destroyed on of Gree'vas blades, and in return, he added the Kreiger's to his own collection. A fine addition, it would seem. Held in place of the destroyed blade, the Tau's possession of the Demon Sword was the final nail in the coffin for the Soldiers of the Eight-Sided Star, and they broke.

    Turning on each other in a veritable storm of violence, the once unbreakable soldier of chaos were easily swept aside by the Tau. Where once a dozen meters cost thrice that in lives and a full week of attack, defense, and counter attack, entire blocks were captured and cleared. A few Tau made the mistake of taking prisoners, a delusion that evaporated after a particularly unlucky young Tau Fire Warrior managed to single handedly capture a full platoon of suicide bombers circulated very quickly. Chaos, mauled, was forced to retreat, from Olholon and beyond. The pursuing Tau gave no respite to those who fell behind - especially the further the Tau pushed Chaos Back. Entire villages were depopulated to power the dark rituals that created the Deathly Warmachine of the Eight Sided Star, leaving once idyllic life replaced with the desecrated with mutilated bodies and abused peoples. The Tau's propaganda practically wrote itself, the Editors tasked with framing the Tau as the heroes of the story spending more time censoring the worst of the perversions of the renegades than actually making the guardians of the Greater Good the protagonists.
    ​
    The Veterans of Olholon - the true ones who had been in that cityfight from its start to its conclusion, had been few and far between by the battle's end, dwarfed by their massive reinforcements and by their own casualties. Without fail, if they were not dead, they were wounded, and if they were wounded, they were most commonly permit to leave the service and tend to their wounds, such was the toll inflicted. But those few who had the ability to keep fighting, who refused to demobilize, they became something more, the best the Tau on Sleptis, or perhaps, anywhere, had to deal with the Dark Gods of chaos. Theirs were the guns that killed Godlings, the blades that bashed champions, and the eyes that, when presented with the starring abyss, stared back unflinching.

    Meanwhile, both of the Tau Commanders, Gree'vas and Helgar Aaronius, basked in the light of victory. As far as the Camera's would know, both considered this to Olholon to be a total victory, and the dastardly krieger who caused this hell dead and left in his mess - his body forgotten as was his just deserve. But beyond the years of the Journalists, the General and Commander fought. Aaronius refused to believe in the Kriegers death - A-11's body was never located, and empowered as he was by the Gods of Chaos, he should not have been so quick to fall. But as far as the Forces of the Greater good were concerned, the Terror of Olholon was dead. Any notion to the contrary was understandable superstition at best, and cause for medical dismissal if persisted upon by anyone with less import than the Hero of Olholon.

    Unfortunately, Helgar was right - A-11 had been dragged from the field by a Chaos Champion and devotee of Khorne who went by the name of Sathugore. To what would assuredly be the utter horror of the Sleptis Sept once revealed, the Masked Monster of Olholon, the Bastard Godling of the Immaterirum, the Kreiger known as A-11 survived to reave another battlefield. And, by some manner, A-11 knew that Helgar knew he still lived. Their Battle was not over yet. It had only just begun.
    ​
    Olholon is a name that shall never be forgotten - even though it will never return to its prewar stature. To some, it shall summon hope, to others, despair, and to some, truly broken few, nostalgia. The Dead were beyond what any considered to count, and one could spend years retrieving and respecting only the Tau Bodies and barely make any progress. Regardless, all across the Tau line of battle, Victory at Olholon warmed the hearts of Fire Warriors and Battlesuits, and in the bloody hordes of the Eight Sided Star, caused anger and dismay. A preemptive few said that this meant victory. That this was the ultimate triumph, that actually destroying the rest of the Chaos Army was a purely academic matter. The dead yet to suffer would disagree, but such a feeling still perforated the Armies and the Civilians of the T'au alike. But on the other side of the wire, the desire to avenge the loss at Olholon spread faster than any rumors of an alleged betrayal by their Dark Gods, and inspired greater fanaticism in the wretched renegades.

    Such was the end of War for Olholon.
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • Madness of Daring
  • Threadmarks
    • This report brought to you by ORE:
    ORE reports, often silly but always quality



    The Madness of Daring
    ♫

    " Is life truly so cheap to be discarded without a chance of redemption through service?"
    -Air Marshal Iotapianus Leonidas, on the execution of Hernandez's and his plans for the Eastern Rebellion

    "There is no possible excuse for treason, except if you win. Then it is no longer treason. We have resolved to conquer or perish, and we will triumph for our secret weapon is faith"
    Hochinius Minalia Saigonus, mutiner leader


    "What do you mean advance? They outnumber us ten to one! I've lost a russ squadron to a human wave assault. WHERE THE HELL IS OUR AIR SUPPORT"
    -Loyalist Tank Commander

    "Repent your sins! Surrender and redeem yourself in the Emperor's service"
    -one of many Imperial propaganda leaflets dropped to limited effect


    "My blood for the throne! Your Blood for the throne!"
    -unknown mutineer before suicide detonating a melta bomb among Imperial armor


    "Remember the commander said not to strafe blindly"
    "Screw that, if they're advancing their traitors, if they're retreating their cowardly traitors and if they're garrisoning the cities they're traitor leadership. All wings, weapons clear, fire at will, no mercy"
    -Garmr Squadron Vox chatter


    "Those bastards have never been shelled like we're going to shell them"
    -Basilisk Teams at the outskirts of Zindamunda


    "You will break before we will. You can kill ten of us for every man you lose. But even then you will lose and we will win"
    -note attached to a dead imperial soldier drained of blood left in Imperial positions in the night.​
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Duel of Cults
  • Threadmarks
    • The Duel of Cults

    ​

    "None of you seem to understand. I'm not locked in here with you. You're locked in here with me!" - Rour'chach the Faceless, upon his incarceration, moments prior to the Massacre within the Cells of Crooning Torment


    Marhone, Chaos Territory

    Buchannon checked and rechecked his autogun, re-adjusting the loose straps that kept his crimson chestpiece of corroded metal and plastic to his undersuit. He didn't like this, this "guard duty". It was an insult by that pleasure driven hag Pola, sidelining the devotees of the Blood God to a scattering of garrisons far from the true battlefields of the southlands. One their warlord Elygon seemed all too willing to permit. There was a weakness infiltrating the warband. The followers of the other powers, once permitted to join their ranks to build up numbers simply diluted the eight-fold path. And now, they did not even command their own war.

    Perhaps, he thought, hand drifting over the ever sharp blade on his hip, a change of leadership was required, to set things to rights. To drown this world in the blood of enemy and false ally alike. "Yes" he thought "Khorne would be most pleased by such an offering."

    The flash of a blade interrupted his thoughts as he found himself falling to the floor, body refusing to act on his commands like a puppet with its strings cut. His last thought before the darkness drew in was simple minded wonder at how far his head had rolled from his neck.

    With a delicate flick, Grihzareah shook the traces of the Mon'Keigh's blood from his blade, the liquid hissing from contact with his weapon's powerfield. It was so very generous of the Humans to scatter their forces across their territory, stretched in an attempt to cover every possible avenue of attack. If he were seeking to capture territory on this primitive backwater, it might even have hampered his goals. As it was, with the port now beginning to fill with the cries of a garrison taken by surprise, he could consider the gift a series of snacks in bite sized chunks. Hardly filling, but it would satiate his hunger until he could devour his fill.

    Raiders emerged from the webway, silently gliding across the murky depths of the bay to disgorge their cargoe of warriors, who began their reaving of the port town, confident that they had slipped unseen and unopposed save for the pitiful dregs they now preyed upon.

    They were mistaken. Branded into the primitive wooden hulls of the fishing boats left abandoned and rotting across the beaches and rocks of the Slepsis coastline by the long slaughtered population, brands in script that defied the human eye began to burn with intensity at the intrusion. For the trap had been sprung.

    The beastmen announced themselves in typical fashion. A Drukhari warrior was taking his time toying with his chosen captive, intending to find out just how many non-lethal shots from his splinter rifle it would take to kill his target. He had managed to drive the creature insane from the pain so far, but with those corrupted by chaos that hardly seemed like much of a milestone. He died when the archaic stone axe, a weapon that seemed more at place in the hands of a feral worlder than in the hands of a creature that had travelled the stars, lodged itself into his back, sending the Eldar stunned and flung to the floor, spine snapped as the bullman stepped down hard on his skull.

    It was by no mere chance that the Eldar had been permitted their intrusion. The warlords of Chaos knew that the Xenos were cunning creatures, capable of slipping through the tightly held of defences. So instead they offered a weakness of their choosing to await the attempt to bury a dagger in their side.

    The cannons of the Scylla Light Tanks blazed out, stitching a web of las and autocannon fire into the ambushed alien raiders.The horde Corrupted vehicles roared as the daemons bound within drove their hosts forwards into the fray guns blazing out a crossfire that lit the dark in a crackling display of firepower. Tides of mutants and cultists spilled forth, crashing like a wave into the Eldar as the tide of bodies pressed onwards even as their forward ranks were shredded by the weapons of the Xenos, falling to the ground in twitching, frothing spasms of death.

    Yet this was merely the chaff, the ablative armor to shrug away the attempts to chip away at the strike forces true strength. With the laughter of thirsting gods, the Traitor Astartes took to the battlefield.

    Bolters barked, slamming subsonic explosive ammunition with uncanny accuracy even as splinter rounds scratched shallow gouges across their ceramite frames, the deadly poison and nerve inhibitors of the Eldar unable to do little but irritate the post human behemoths as they waded through the gore of ally and foe alike, their vox emitting bellows of battle joy too low pitched to come from anything human.

    Elygon the Reaver, Champion of the Khorne, let the blood flow as his god demanded, his rage let loose, his impotent frustrations at the lack of battle finally allowed to be set free and lay waste against the enemy before him. He could feel his soul sing with battle joy, his warriors calling his name as a warcry as he brought his axe down upon yet another Druhkari, another skull taken for Khorne. No tricks, no sorcery, just the bloodshed before him, as it should be.

    With a furious howl, he struck out again, removing the slender limb of another alien warrior too slow to retreat in the face of his unrelenting advance. He despised that this plan belong to another, the witch Pola and her magicks, but it granted him the battle he craved and a chance to take worthy skulls for the skull throne.

    Said witch was busy herself, attended to by her acolytes as the warp sung in her wake. She could feel the presence of the enemy leader, sadly alone, but no matter. His death would do for now. Brushing past a knot of Eldar Warriors as they slew the surviving cultists shielding her body, she let her mind brush with theirs, imparting the sensation of greatest joy within her heart, the gift of the Prince gnawing upon their souls. Stifling a giggle, she left them writhing in agony on the floor, their minds shredded by the insanity of visions clawing their way into their minds as the sea of mutants gathered in to feast upon the corpses in her wake. Now all she needed to do was steer her brute of a so-called Chaos Lord in the right direction.

    She was not candle in the dark, not a flame burning brightly within the turmoil and shadowy currents of the Immaterium. She could grasp power, she was power. She was a star, newborn and glorious to behold and her flesh could only barely contain her brilliance by the grace of the gods. Deep within her very genetics, she could feel something shift, guided into a new shape by the gentle caress of something beyond even her ability to comprehend. Drawing upon the power gathered, bargained and sacrificed for these past decades, she released a stream of pure warpfire into the ranks of the melee, the everchanging flames transforming the clash of arms into a charnel pit of writhing flesh and scattered ashes. That Elygon seemed somewhat dissatisfied at the loss of the chance to kill such meager beings was no matter. A path to the warbands foe had been created. The Enemy leader was awaiting them, klaive in hand.

    Grihzareah, Klaivex of the Incubus let his muscles relax, individually tensing them in readiness for the battle to come.It had finally arrived. The moment he had been waiting for. The entire reason he had come to this pitiful speck of dirt posing as a world. The kill he had been awaiting. Months of patiently leading the Mon'keigh by the nose, goading them, even offering his neck for their blades. All to this moment, all for this battle. All to allow them to delude themselves that they had somehow lured him into a trap. Beneath his helmet, he permitted himself the hints of a smirk as his Incibi revealed themselves at last. Emerging from the alley shadows and rooftops, they surrounded the vanguard of the Mon'keigh leadership and their bodyguards in a ring of armored warriors.

    Grihzareah savored the sensation of confusion, of bitter rage and murderous intent. He had drawn into the battlefield of his choice, cut off from their own forces by the dregs he had brought along to toy with and distract the human slaves of the warp. The harvest was bountiful this day. All that was required was the reaping. Raising his blade, he charged, his warriors following instantly at his side.

    Chaos-infused axe met powerfield, energy crackling as the Eldar commander let his opponent's strength bring the screaming blade past him, twisting aside with speed as his klaive scoured a thin cut along Elygon's armor. Astartes met Eldar in melee once more, ignoring mortal wounds even as their foes' blades passed through their power armor like knives through parchment. The elite warriors of both sides danced in a display of martial prowess that flickered and changed too quickly for the unaltered eye to understand, strikes parried or evaded, lives ended or traded within the span of heartbeats. The Astartes were lions upon the battlefield, each wound exacted against their foe was a mortal blow that shattered armor and snapped bones like twigs. Yet the Eldar were as wolves, nipping at their blind spots, content to draw out the fight and weaken them with successive strikes to joints, to servos and tendons rather than inflict a single killing strike. Dazzling displays of sorcery were unleashed, as Pola met her attackers head on, the wounds inflicted upon her closing faster than they could be created as she dragged Eldar souls to the maw of she-who-thirsts.

    The air itself grew hot and water steamed as the veil of reality drew thin from the carnage. And yet still, Elygon could not seem to take the head of his opponent. The Eldar in its insolence, seemed to be drawing their fight out! His bodyguards were dying, brought down by a thousand wounds, their beastial calls for violence turning to cries of pain and the lament of the dying. Ekurion, his champion, perhaps his only trusted companion, died as his tank was finally overwhelmed, it's hatch carved open by the blades of the xenos and an incendiary device dropped into his lap. Burning from flames that required no fuel to remain burning, Ekurion kicked away the charred corpses of his crew from the controls and rammed his command vehicle forwards into the nearest building, causing it's structure to collapse forwards upon the mass of his killers, crushing dozens of the fleeing aliens and creating a new route for the stymied horde of the damned to swarm past the chokepoints now established by the Eldar ambushers.

    He needed more strength, more power. Elygon could feel victory, could envision it. It was just out of reach, edging outside of his grasp. Calling aloud to his patron god, Elygon swore he would take the bastard's skull. He simply needed more power. That moment of weakness cost him as the Incubus seemed to flow within his guard with unnatural grace and rammed it's klaive into his throat guard, weakened by a dozen shallow cuts. Meeting his eyes for a second, Grihzareah gripped his weapon's hilt and pulled downwards, carving out a bloody wound and letting the dying Warlord fall unceremoniously to the bloodsoaked cobblestones.

    With his first sacrifice to Khaine soon to be claimed, the Klaivex looked towards the sorceress, now surrounded by his warriors, her own acolytes reduced to a handful desperately defending their mistress. It would be perhaps an even greater struggle to claim her life, one worthy of his attention, yet time had grown scarce. Even over the din of battle, he could hear the bayful howls of the rest of the Mon'keigh upon the wind, drawing close to his position. He could not claim her life and expect to withdraw without further conflict and so, he must withdraw. At his command, the Incubi drew back to the shadows, vanishing before the first mutants emerged to witness Reyna Pola scream with frustrated anger.

    Choking on his own blood, Elygon the Reaver willed himself to keep breathing, his heart to keep beating, even as the blood flowed from his broken carcass. It is unknown how he survived. Some said he made a pact with a daemon, his soul for a chance at life. Others say the Blood God took pity upon him, impressed at his defiance at death, despite his failings on the battlefield. Others say he is a shadow of what he once was, his soul bound by Pola's magics into his corpse, to serve as an undying wraith and perhaps the only unifying factor of the warband. But all can agree, that the being that emerged that day awaits the chance to take revenge for his shame at the hands of the alien champion.





    Helltomer, Chaos Territory

    Eyes burning with inner warpfire, Reyna Pola, Sorceress of Chaos, Favored Servant of the Prince of Pleasure, stewed in her anger, the wounds scattered across her body long since closed without even the trace of a scar, signs of the Dark Prince's gifts even beginning to form across her shifting flesh.

    It had been an utter debacle. The Eldar had almost slain a champion of the Dark Gods then vanished into the night, escaping from the ambush. Her ambush. Did they not appreciate the level of skill it required to arrange such a clash of arms? Did they not understand how frustrating it was to nudge a creature like Elygon to plans which were more complicated than "hit them all with an axe and take their skulls"? These Xenos had no understanding of the complexities, the sheer genius she had displayed. And worse still, upon claiming her warlords dignity (unfortunately not his life she thought privately), they had departed, ignoring her! HER!

    Instead they elected to raid elsewhere, bypassing patrols upon the western border to emerge at Haldentef. They even took advantage of her absence, forced to tolerate the hurried redeployment back to the west. The garrison of Kintaford, so very dangerously close to the frontline of the Tau, slaughtered a man, their carcasses laid out in the shape of one of their shattered and dead god's symbols. If she looked from her window, she might even see it from the fortress. Well, perhaps if she hadn't had it burnt, those responsible for allowing this humiliation to occur beneath Helltomer's walls now joining her entourage as replacements for the chaos spawn that fell to the alien killers at Marhone.

    It was pathetic really, a desperate need to lash out at their betters, a refusal to see the truth that she in her wisdom had wholeheartedly embraced. Could they not see the perfection of pleasure? Perhaps that was why she was the servant of the Dark Prince and they, merely her god's favorite food.

    This was not over, for the Eldar had made the greatest mistake of its soon to be pain filled life.

    The fool had left her alive.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Crash and Burn
  • Threadmarks


    • "Victory is achieved through mettle .Glory is achieved through metal."
    Uttica 1st Tank Company


    Ork Stronghold, Crashed Space Hulk
    +++

    Mek-Boss Grohrbluzak, Warboss of the Sleptis Kroosade grinned as the Monument to Gork and Mork he had wrought. It's grinning barrel pointing skyward towards the heavens as the Hulk shook as power was drawn into it from every power plant his boys could find or cobble together. The air brimmed with electricity Meks and Grots ran every which away the usual chaos of an Ork camp giving way to something purer. Orks moved in synchronicity attaching cables, rerouting power through breakers. Grots with tool kits climbed every surface banging plates into shape, reinforcing where and what they could for the Maggun Orkus would speak today, but he couldn't stay to watch. He had other plans. So with a huff of disappointment he decked Drignog da weirdboy for drooling on his floor before grabbing his foot and dragging him behind him. He stomped off to his personal shuttle dragging the unconscious and thus moderately less dangerous weird boy with him to take his place in the coming assault. Next time though. He'd be the one to push the button. He swore it on Gork and Mork!

    +++
    Bolberg front, Sleptis Operashun
    +++

    Pain Doc Bonesplitta guffawed as Squiggly the Squiggoth unleashed the fire breath from the flamers he had grafted into its tusks on the humie tanks in it's path. As the Stompa he rode took step after massive step to crush the human line.

    He climbed down from the head and into the innards of the Stompa to the section he'd turned into his workshop as his underlings and grots brought him boys to fix and parts to do it from the fight outside. It was testament to his skill that the shudders and vibrations barely affected the precision of his cuts and stitching's. Why he was in such a good mood he gave every patient a permanent free smile before sending them on their way.

    What a lovely day!

    +++
    Bolberg Front, Sleptis Army Group XI
    +++

    Colonel Markus Vraksman could only stare in horror as the green tide gleefully rushed headlong through all the fire his artillery could muster. The massive xeno war machine shrugging off basilisk rounds like rain. It was guarded by some kind of energy field blanketing it and those nearest it. The Warbeast at it's side in parody of a faithful hound hunting with it's master. "Get me targeting data and request priority bombardment from Eternal Vigil!" He could only hope the Dauntless cruiser's Lance Battery could scour the abomination from Sleptis.

    +++
    Orbit over Sleptis,     Eternal Vigil Dauntless Class Light Cruiser attached to Sleptis Crusade
    +++

    Lord Captain Kegarn Tchaikovsky frowned as the auspex detected power surges from the Hulk crashed onto the planet's surface. He was about to order a deep scan when he received a priority message from a Communications Lieutenant assigned to Guard liaison.

    "Sir! The Commander of the XI Army is requesting orbital fire on an Ork assault into Bolberg."

    "Lady General Clementine's Army? That's unlike her."

    "Begging my Lord Captain's pardon, but the Lady General died of her wounds. It's Colonel Vraksman's authorization."

    "Clementine is dead! I see. Bring us into close orbit and prepare for a full broadside bombardment."

    "Begging my Captain's pardon, but wouldn't a Lance strike be a sounder tactic?"

    "These beasts think they can strike us with impunity? I shall teach them the error of their ways. Now bring us in"

    "Aye aye Sir!"

    The engines of the ancient vessel flared to life as she moved swiftly into the void to bring death onto those literally and figuratively beneath her.

    +++
    Ork Stronghold, Crashed Space Hulk
    +++

    The various Ork Meks checked and rechecked their Instruments as the humie ship began to enter their range. The Gunner Mek grinned widely as his prey fell for the trap. He looked at the various dial and readouts strewn through the control center. He flipped the protective casing and prepared to press the big red button. As the Humie ships silhouette appeared in the targeting array he pressed it...nothing happened. He stared in disbelief before roaring in rage and slamming his fist down on the button. Then the control center went red and an alarm blared.

    +++
    Bolberg
    +++

    Warmaster De Vanzi and Lord Executioner Bartlette stared grimly at the map display. Live feed from orbit showing the Green skin advance into their lines. The Warmaster noted that the Eternal Vigil was moving overhead to rain death onto the xenos. Still it would be up to her and Bartlette to push the Orks back. She herself wouldn't rest until she had Grohrbluzak's head stuffed and mounted on her wall. She fiddled with Clementine's ident tags. Her other effects had been placed in storage to be sent to her kin. She had fought valiantly against the Orks yet no medicae had been able to save her from her wounds. A dreadful sorry death drowning in her own blood. Now she was lost to them gone to the Emperor's side forevermore dear Clementine. It was a shame that incompetents like Bierkorte had to be her traveling companions to the Golden Throne. She pulled from her musings as a Vox tech signaled her. She pulled the receiver to her mouth. "Attention all forces. Incoming orbital strike. Armored units button up and infantry seek cover, three minutes and counting, The Emperor Protects!"

    +++
    Eternal Vigil
    +++

    "Helm rotate us and commence bombardment at earliest opportunity."

    "Aye aye Sir!"

    Tchaikovsky smiled faintly as his crew worked in peerless efficiency to dispense the Navy's wrath onto those who drew it's ire.

    "Shells loaded preparing for the first volley."

    "Fire when ready."

    "Firing shells away reloading!"

    "Sir! Energy spikes from the surface; it's the Ork Hulk!"

    "What?"

    "It's firing!"

    "Shields up! Brace for impact!"

    +++
    Ork Stronghold, Crashed Space Hulk
    +++
    It! It was Beautiful! All the colors! Were the last thoughts of the gunner as the control room disintegrated around him. Ork, Grot, and slave on the surface of the Hulk as the Maggun Orkus roared it's rage became shadows burned into the metal of its hide. Power stations across the hulk and further abroad blew or went dead. A beam of pure Waaaggghhh! Energy screamed forth and struck the Imperial Light Cruiser severing it in twain as the pieces were claimed by the gravity well of Sleptis and drug into its embrace.

    +++
    Bolberg, Sleptis
    +++

    The sky was lit with the flames of debris and savior pods launched. They trailed fire into the night sky as in their respective Baneblades De Vaniz and Bartlette looked on with horror, grief, and rage. The Commissar could not contain herself and screamed her fury into the tank's hold. It was happening again! She felt a hand grip her shoulder and turned to vent her wrath on the interloper. Her aide held his hands up in placation and tapped his voxbead. She turned to the frequency he was gesturing and heard the Warmasters's voice. It was Cold, glacial and underscored with such hate and rage she imagined she could feel it herself.

    "Soldiers of the Imperial Guard, Warriors of Humanity we have been struck a grievous blow. One we shall return a thousand fold unto the perfidious aliens who taint this world, this Galaxy with their presence! We shall fall onto them like a razor hail storm and shred them to pieces! We shall shoot, and stab, crush, RIP AND TEAR UNTIL IT IS DONE! IN THE EMPEROR'S NAME CHARGE! DEATH!

    "DEATH!" came the cry across the vox. Deafening Bartlette slightly at the sheer volume. "...artlette do you hear me?" came over her private command line. She made sure it was secure before speaking, "Acknowledged War Master. My Orders?"

    "Meet the Green Skin head on and crush them under your treads! I'm going to find the Warboss and end him."

    "Acknowledged Good Hunting!"

    +++
    Bolberg Front, Sleptis Army Group XI
    +++

    Colonel Vraksman could only despair as he watched the flaming wreckage descend from on high. His soldiers were pouring fire down into the Orks, but the kept coming, the only volley of Macrocannon fire doing little more than shattering the shields the Stompa had activated. The Squiggoth at it's side bleeding from numerous wounds and one tusk ripped from it's maw, but the beast was only angrier. He would not be able to hold and the Orks would break into the heartlands. He prepared to order his artillery crews to cease bombardment and retreat to spare them falling into Ork hands when a runner came up to him. He read the note and reread it before turning to his Vox crew.

    "I want all batteries to prepare to walk their fire through the Ork lines in a staggered bombardment. We have armored elements about to break through and they are going to roll over these Xenos!"

    "Sir! Reports of Ork armor behind our lines!"
    "What! We knew about those. They were only wide enough for grots and smaller Orks to pop out. Easy enough for patrols to destroy."

    One of his Captains looked up from the map tables, "Tunnels! The Damn Orks built tunnels large enough for walkers!"

    +++
    Bolberg Front, Sleptis Army Group X
    +++

    As their combined might rushed into the Ork advance the Imperials were surprised as their first taste of combat wasn't with the Stompa led horde they were barreling towards, but instead a detachment of Deff Dredds and Killa kans following Ork tunnel vehicles. Both parties were surprised to find each other there, both parties rushed to kill each other with wild abandon, and though the claws of the Ork meks reaped a vicious harvest such was mankind's fury that even they were taken aback as instead of retreating human tanks would accelerate to full speed to ram the walkers. Firing all weapons at point blank. Surviving crew from disabled tanks dismounting to charge suicidality with demo charge, krak grenade, and melta charge. One Ork screaming in terror as a Guard Tank Captain used his family power sword to carve his way to him through his walker's armor roaring imperial blandishments. The Baneblades would themselves fire their megabattle cannons into the Ork tunnels before they continued their advance. The wrecks and corpses left where they lay for a company of mechanized infantry to clean up. As they gained sight of the besieged Eleventh Army Bartlette broke off to charge the Stompa as the Warmaster plowed onwards to cut a swathe into Ork territory in search of her prey.

    The Stompa ponderously turned to the approaching army it's weapons firing in full as a swarm of trukks and ramshackle buggies swarmed in advance to come to grips with their foes.

    Bartlette watched from her front camera as the swarm began to close when a mixed squadron of Leman Russ and Hell Hounds pulled in front of her formation. The smaller vehicle formed into a wedge weapons firing as fast as the could cycle. She found herself staring bemusedly at graffiti of a naked Sororitas, her modesty preserved by patches of flame, the words Infernal Angels Squadron! Stenciled under it. The Hellhounds hid amidst the Russ's heavier armor before pulling ahead to unleash a synchronized inferno of holy promethium upon the lightly armored vehicles. The Tanks and Hell Hounds dropped dozer blades and accelerated ramming full force into the flaming horde of buggies and Trukks. Tanks were overturned. Buggies flew through the air but the Bane Blades cared not rolling on through the wreckage of Ork and Guard alike. Using the sacrifice their comrades had given to ensure the path was clear. The Stompa and a few squadrons of looted tanks was before them. The Squiggoth was engaged by another detachment of Infernal Angels hell hounds who were taking joy in pouring flames into the beast's mouth as it roared.

    The Stompa was formidable it's armor pock marked and blown through in several places yet still it held. It's cannons roared and it revved it's chain blade in anticipation as it waddled forth.

    +++
    Malkingem
    +++

    Warmaster De Vanzi snarled as more Orks were shredded by her tanks. He wasn't here! The Damn Ork wasn't here, but there was no way he would miss this fight. So where was he?

    "Captain Detoi detach infantry elements to clear and fortify this territory. I'm returning to aid Army group X and clear out this rabble."

    +++
    Bolberg Front, Sleptis
    +++

    Bartlette snarled as the Stompa's chain blade began to grind into her comrades Bane Blade. Her own was pouring fire into it yet despite all their efforts it continued to cut!

    "Priority Artillery bombardment on the stompa everything we have as well Fire for Effect!"

    "Aye. Aye Ma'am!"

    The combined bombardment finally does appreciable damage to the Stompa as it finally stops moving. It's Chain blade arm having been severed from the main body. The whole gargantuan machine shudders like a living thing before armored doors open and a swarm of Cyborks descend from it.

    Bartlette's eyes widen as the bionically enhanced xenos begin charging her positions when the Vulture assault craft from the Warmasters's detachment began strafing the Cyborks. The Gunships arrival heralding the arrival of the reinforcements the Orks seemed to lose taste for the fight. They begin a staggered withdrawal from the field as the stompa itself begins backing away what armament it has remaining firing as they withdraw.

    She harried them with what forces she could, but there were so many wrecks blocking the paths and unit cohesion was lost.

    +++
    Bolberg Front, Sleptis Army Group X
    +++

    Colonel Vraksman sighs in relief as the Ork Forces begin to retreat, harried by what forces the other army groups could bring to bear and what artillery he still has shells for. He would not relish the paperwork he was going to be filling out for more munitions.

    He cast his eyes to the night sky and wondered why some stars were getting brighter?

    +++
    Stompa
    +++

    Bonesplitta sighed as put more armor plates on the Ork on his table's skull. He hadn't been able to get many humies for experimentation. Oh they had captured a few, but mostly they had charged the boys with whatever they could grab and killed or died trying. It was almost Orky it was, and it was part of what made humies so fascinating as test subjects. At Least his Cybork experiments were going well. He bolted a few rivets in and motion for the grots to defibrillate the boy. "CLEAR!" the Grot screamed as it placed the shocky pads on the metal chest and zapped the Cybork to life. The poor Gretchin hadn't grounded himself and was smoking on the floor, but he was seared just the way Bonesplitta liked so as he sat down for lunch. He watched his newest patient stand up still chained to the table but he had limited movement.

    The Cybork seemed confused. His bionic eye scanning everything around him. Clenching and unclenching his power klaws incomprehension plain in his features.

    "Where, where am I? Sweet Emperor what did you do to me?"

    Bonesplitta laughed uproariously at another successful surgery!
     
  • Threadmarks

    • Written in collaboration with @Furrybacon​

    7.153.935.M41


    Bolburg was once a quiet town devoted to tending to their crops.
    The people living there had been simple farmers and shepherds for generations beyond memory. Some few skilled men worked with the amber brought by lumberjacks from nearby villages, believed to bring luck and healing properties by local folklore.
    Humble as they were, no single stone ever made it to the growing town, the buildings were entirely made of wood and sun-dried bricks made in the southern wetlands. They lived surrounded by a veritable sea of grass on an almost even terrain for miles to see. Truly a placid and serene view for many.

    Today the fields were left unattended, broken apart in many places by shallow pits and ruined trenches. The verdant green and golden splendor turned into a view of grays and unclean browns. Following the orbital bombardment, heavy ionization of the atmosphere and the violent displacement of ozone only made matters worse.
    Hot-burning winds carried a veritable storm of ash hundreds of miles away, followed by all the chemicals and munitions vaporized in the blast. Suddenly rising to extreme temperatures and the monumental electric discharge pushed nature to unleash a heavy rain where not a single cloud has been there before.

    The rain tasted like metal.

    The wreckage of imperial artillery and the ork tunneling devices littered the ruins of the town. The burning piles of scrap helped to see that the fires spread to the wooden houses, their giant logs shattered into thousands of splinters. Despite the rain, soon the fires will consume what was left of Bolburg, leaving no proof that the place ever existed.

    The ash that felt over the place before the rain came was now a firm and crusty layer that coated almost everything and everyone in the area. Instead of washing away these things, it seemed that whatever substances carried the rain, they added to the misery already on display.

    The Warmaster took notice of all these things and her heart wept at the sight of the carnage. Everywhere her gaze went, mangled bodies unceremoniously piled in heaps met her eyes with the blank stare of the dead. However, she had not been elevated to her position by her meekness or by virtue of a weak willpower. This was war. An eternal war for the survival of Mankind and the sacred domains of the God-Emperor. Untold sacrifices were to be made every day to keep the darkness at bay.

    And it was her duty to choose those sacrifices.

    This heavy burden was hers alone to carry and its torment would have broken the will of lesser men a long time ago. Victory, as fickle as it were here, was hers to claim and it was now her duty as well to give meaning to this sacrifice. Such was the sacred and most terrible charge of a Warmaster: To give meaning to victory, to grant purpose to death.

    De Vanzi went inside her personal Centaur-class transport. The passenger section had been removed to make up space for all the needed augurs and communication equipment needed to serve her all the data required to direct large-scale operations such as this. Despite the additional armor, it was poorly protected and quite a rare choice for someone of her status. However, she remained adamant in her choice as she preferred to use other larger vehicles in a more aggressive fashion that otherwise will impede her to direct her forces. Leading from the frontline had its advantages but it prevented the use of much of her planning skills.
    Cramped as they were, her aides performed well their duties, sheltered from the rain by a thick camouflage net spread over their heads.

    "Lord Commissar Bartlette is here, my liege" reported one of the radio operators.

    "Have the security detail stand down and allow her pass" she nodded while wiping with a gloved hand some rain drops from her forehead "Instruct her to meet me here at once"

    A few hundred yards away, a Valkyrie, hovering low over the ground deposited a lone figure. Draped in red and gold, with a cape laden over her shoulders, with a sword hanging from her hip, and with a cap titled just to the right, stood the Regimental Commissar of the 501st Nocturne. Bethel Bartlette.

    A voice shouts out from the Valkyrie as it pulls away - barely louder than the engines that the Commissar plays in heed. "Hail the Hero of Zaddush!". A small smile grows on her lip, if only for a second. So long as these men could cry out about the Hero of Zaddush, they would fight to the last. A bolter through the skull of a coward saves the rest for a day, a hero for them to follow will cure cowardice for a whole campaign. But just as soon as one man's cry turned into the whole group, as the chant rose across the lips of the 501st's command staff, that smile faded. It reminded Bethel of her greatest mistake. One she would rectify. One she had to rectify, by the Throne.

    Approaching the Command Centaur, she gave a curt nod at the saluting guards and deftly ducked into the cramped vehicle. One Swift move, and her cap came off and was tucked under her left arm, whilst her right arm shot up in a crisp salute. "Top of the Morning Ma'am."

    The Warmaster deeply frowned at the arrival of the commissar and instead of returning the salute, she remained seated at her uncomfortable space inside the vehicle.

    "The lord Commissar shall address her to her Warmaster in a manner befitting my station" she growled, clutching one of her hands over a series of tactical maps "After that, I expect her to explain why I must see to the conquest of the eastern provinces…" de Vanzi's tone slowly rose from a rumbling growl to a thunderous outcry "Provinces that were left in charge of your subordinates, lord Commissar! Provinces that we should not be fighting for because I made them ours!"

    Bethel expected that response. Infact, she planned on it. She'd hoped that her less than professional reply would sap some of the Warmaster's ire and allow the Commissar to present her case. It was a long shot, but so was Zaddush, and the Emperor favored the bold. In the present case, however, it seems such luck was not to be found. "Yes Warmaster."

    A deep breath. The last respite Bethel had before the storm. The worst of her career, if all were to go well. Or poorly. "The fault for the defection of the eastern provinces is rightfully mine, Warmaster. I had thought that they were left in capable hands with the understanding that the Truce, a highly unpopular statute amongst our men, would be resolved shortly, and that I was doing a critical action to save the lives of their Comrades. It seems the message was lost on them. It is without a doubt the greatest failure of my career. I will provide no excuses, but I do have a solution, ma'am, if you will hear it."

    The Warmaster stirred in her seat, only the cramped interior of the vehicle prevented her to rise from her seat and close the distance between her and the commissar.

    "You provide no excuses?" she loudly screamed, almost bursting in fury "You provide no excuses?! Do you even believe that you have the right to show before me and expect humility will spare you these miserable failure?!"

    Enraged, the Warmaster turned her face to the aides and the vox-operators silently waiting for their liege to spare them as well her wrath.

    "Leave us alone!" she ordered them all with a dismissive gesture "It seems the master of discipline needs to be disciplined here… by my own hand!" her eyes narrowed, dangerous, measuring Barlette like a predator.

    Silence finally came after the crew and the bodyguards abandoned the vehicle, leaving the two women alone.

    "Well now, Bethel" her voice and demeanour suddenly turned calm, even friendly enough as to call the commissar by name "We are really swimming in grox shit for what I have seen" the Warmaster calmly took the recaf left by one of the aides and put it near the commissar "Please, have a drink and excuse the charade. Appearances must be maintained, in particular after this series of debacles. I am not an ordenancist, I will prefer to avoid decimation just to prove my authority is real to those fools still yapping about my decisions" for a brief moment, her stern face seemed to relax enough to show a glint of worry "Surely you understand, am I right?"

    De Vanzi turned around the tactical map she was consulting before Barlette's arrival. She pointed with a finger to some marked spots.

    "I have received reports from our explorers that the orks are building Gargants here and here" she continued to speak without allowing the commissar a chance to reply "We have confirmation, one was just a giant pile of scrap but the other sighting was the real deal. We have won here but Army Group Eleven is spent. The Medicae tells me that Clementine will not see it past today…" she paused for a second "The Warboss got to her before neither of us could intervene. Army Group XII has suffered heavy losses due to Colonel Bierkotte's incompetence… a failure I cannot simply ignore nor tolerate. Army Group Ten is barely holding to its positions and making no progress. Captain Sydney was reported as a casualty just this morning. And as for the aerial elements, we are having mild to no effect on the ork lines"

    As if she genuinely expected Barlette to memorize and analyze all the data briefly described and even more briefly showed to her, the Warmaster folded the map and took a recaf for herself before leaning back on her seat.

    "I am promoting you to Army Group command, effective immediately" she said after taking a small sip "We are attacking"

    There was much that could be said, much that could be raised in negation, much that could be declared, decrayed, or even denied. But what use were words? Time was not a commodity, and in a manner much worse than she had planned for, the wrath of the Warmaster took the wind from her sails. Besides, no excuse the Commissar could muster would absolve her of her failures, and even if one did exist, the Warmaster did not deserve to be lowered to such a level that her ears deign to hear it. Bethel could draw up in her mind any plan, but reality was not going to give accord, and much like how Zaddush needed her more, this attack required her presence. Thus, the Commissar dashed upon the rocks any thought or concept other than victory, other than attack, other than here, now.

    Once more, the Commissar stood tall, the command vehicle's slender and cramped frame being once more a hassle, but once more ignored, and Saluted the Warmaster. There was a heaviness in this salute, worse, than one that marked the rather one sided conversation. Upon her slanted arm, the weight of the death of her comrades, the defeats of the 501st, and her own sins.

    "It will be done Ma'am. We shall attack at once"

    "No" she responded "There is but one last thing to do before that"

    De Vanzi reached out to one of the nearby vox-casters and opened a channel.

    "Bring him here" she simply said.

    Within seconds, the doors of the passenger compartment opened, revealing two grim-looking kasrkin holding a man wearing the rags of what seemed to be an officer's uniform.
    The two women left the cramped interior of the transport to meet these men. Chains and shackles promptly revealed the prisoner status of the man held by the kasrkin, his face was deformed and bloodied by the beatings and all markings on his uniform ripped apart. Soaked by the rain, the prisoner was trembling and sobbing in a delirious state as weeks of malnutrition and abuse paved the way for the fever that was eating him away.

    "Bierkortte?" wondered the commissar, eyeing both the Warmaster and the prisoner in equal measure.

    "His reckless actions and uncaring advance led my men to death and defeat" said de Vanzi, looking at the prisoner with utter contempt "My soldiers, my men" she clenched her jaw "Only in death does duty end… but only victory can grant purpose to our sacrifice. This man squandered those lives" the Warmaster turned her gaze to the commissar and her eyes narrowed "I will not tolerate this from my officers"

    Both women looked at each other for a few seconds, only the sound of the rain falling upon them was the only thing heard, even the sobbing stopped. Many guardsmen passing nearby the scene seemed to suddenly forget what they were doing and froze in place, their attention focused on the scene unfolding before them.

    "Hernandez Bierkortte" intoned Bartlette as she drew her bolt-pistol "You are hereby found guilty of gross incompetence and improper conduct for a soldier of the God-Emperor" the commissar's gaze left that of the Warmaster and turned to face the prisoner, now uncontrollably sobbing "You are sentenced to death by firing squad, given the present needs due battlefield conditions this sentence is to be carried out by summary execution with immediate effect. Any last words?"

    The demoted colonel opened his mouth but no words came from it, any sound that he could have made was instantly engulfed by the thunder that came out from Bartlette's bolt-pistol. Bierkortte's head exploded in a red mist, washed away by the rains.

    "I thought so" added the commissar, frowning at the decapitated corpse.

    "Put his corpse in chains and throw him in the river near the remains of the Baneblade" ordered the Warmaster to the kasrkin "Have a priest recite the verses of Damnatio Memoriam so his soul will be forever damned, bound to the place of his greatest shame"


    The mud quickly acquired a reddish tone as the blood spread across it on a small pool near Bierkortte's corpse. While the kasrkin, elite and jaded soldiers as they were, obeyed their orders instantly the rest of the soldiers around them remained silent and seemingly frozen in their places.
    Quickly, swiftly, the Warmaster left behind her a trail of raindrops as she climbed up the hull of the Centaur transport from the mud.

    "Soldiers of the God-Emperor!" she proclaimed "Long have you suffered at the hands of the aliens! Long have we endured shame and death at their hands! You are tired, no… you are exhausted. You feel nothing but pain in your bones, cold in your soul and misery under this rain. Your hands shake with uncertainty! Your legs tremble with fatigue! This ends today!"

    De Vanzi drew her cavalry sable and activated the power field of the blade. The low humming of the energy field was replaced by a loud hissing as the raindrops evaporated en masse before touching the steel behind the invisible field. Its barely visible energy shimmered with a golden-like light under the refraction of the rain and the scarce daylight.

    "Today you have defeated the Beast! Here, in this very place it has known fear! You have driven back its hordes and stood your ground!" she continued as more and more guardsmen gathered around her "You have paid the price for all to see…" her sword pointed at the battlefield surrounding them "No other commander can ask more of you… but I am not your commander!" her voice lowered in sadness for a moment and quickly rose in abject anger "I am your Warmaster! I am the chosen of Terra to lead you into war, to carry you through the fires of destruction unto the very end. When only victory remains, our faces cold in the ground can look upon the heavens and face the God-Emperor with pride, knowing we did what was asked of us!" she pointed her sword to the horizon "The Beast flees! It leaves you behind to lick its wounds and escape your wrath! Will you allow it to survive all the crimes it has committed? Will you not avenge your brothers and sisters this Beast has murdered? Will you let it go unpunished to bring terror and suffering one more day? Will you rest today so you can die tomorrow?!"

    Now a multitude, even some of the wounded from nearby tents came to the scene, limping or helped by others. It was as if something drew them towards the voice of the Warmaster.

    "No longer we will hold the line! No longer we will wait for our enemies to come unto us at their pleasure! We will no longer dig our own miserable graves and wait for death to take us! Today we march unto them! Today we march!"

    Bartlette looked around with astonishment. There was a light in the soldier's eyes, they seemed more alive, they seemed eager, they seemed… inspired.

    "Today we will punish these beasts! Who will follow your Warmaster?"

    More than a shout or a scream, the roaring answer of the soldiers went above the skies and drowned even the storm above their heads.
     
    Last edited:
    Shadows Across Sleptis
  • Threadmarks
    • Shadows across Slepsis




    "All designated Kau'ui/Receive Tactical Update/Command Phrase:BRIGHTSWORD/Confirm and move to new objectives"
    Encrypted Short Beam Communications Burst from Shas'Vre Mu'gulath Shi'dax



    "Some might consider my meager role in the coming campaign to hints to my future glorious career in the service of the Greater Good but they are also the kind of beings who think Kroot are telling the truth about their food already being dead when they started tucking in. Truth be told, if I had any inkling about what I was about to face, I would have made a damn good attempt at faking my death and would probably be living a double life somewhere as a member of the Earth caste fixing farming drones."
    Shas'O Kai'vas Kai'in, Hero of the T'au Empire, Private Memoirs (Redacted by Order of the Ethereal Council)



    "Praise be the Omnissiah Reductor, Praise be the infinity dark tides of the Immaterial Machine. Pound the Xenos into dust. Blast them from the skies in holy fire. Directive, more ammunition for the guns. Make an example if it motivates the slaves more effectively. Nothing escapes. Nothing survives. "
    Acolyte Destructor Senioris TX9875-3



    "They won't die. Nothing kills them. They wade through our fire as easily as though they were crossing a river. They care not for the losses they take as they stride towards us upon the corpses of their dead servants. They cannot be killed!"
    Shas'La Ni'dras, Last Words recorded on unit comms as first recorded encounter of Chaos Astartes during the Battle of Slepsis, Siege of Darforling



    "Watch how their meager defences crumble Brothers. Watch how their strength fails. These alien wretches should have brought more. KILL, MAIM, BURN!!! I would feel pity at their weakness if their resistance wasn't so pathetically lacking"
    Varodius the Unrelenting at the Siege of Darforling, shortly before being vaporized by a plasma based explosive



    "Analysis: Insufficient bodies to contain the totality of Xenos Force. My Anti-Ariel measures are too complete to permit evacuation from the peninsula. Sabotage inflicted upon spaceport indicates willingness to deny capabilities for reinforcement if it denies the Chosen of the Machine-God access to the machines within. Such disregard for the higher mysteries of technology indicates the common ground of their alliance with the Corpse worshiping Imperium. It is Ignorance. Actions indicate a willingness to sacrifice lives to inflict casualties on besieging force.
    Hypothesis: Majority of Xenos were absent from defence. Therefore they intended spaceport as a distraction.
    Conclusion: The battle was completed within acceptable casualty and timeframe parameters. Any outmaneuvering by the Xenos was the result of faulty intelligence supplied by reconnaissance detachments.
    Recommendation: To begin executing the scouts for incompetence and prepare evidence implicating less useful colleagues."
    Acolyte Destructor Senioris TX9875-3, Personal Data Logs



    "If there is any benefit to the Gue'la painting themselves bright red and shouting as they charge across a green and brown environment, it is that it provides mobile target practice."
    Shas'Ui Es'kan Nar'osh



    "Mission Report, the local inhabitants are wary of us, but non-hostile. They seem pleased at the prospect of avenging themselves upon the invaders. Query Command, several of the native Gue'la have an abnormal number of appendages or visual organs. Please advise, Over."
    Shas'vre Koj'iro, Location Unknown, Attached File: OPERATION GLADIUS



    "Reported mental fatigue within Gue'vesa has increased as we reduce distance with reported frontline. Symptoms included hallucinations, mental degradation, loss of senses and in a small number of cases, violent genetic restructuring. It is recommended to have a team of Fire Warriors on standby when dealing with the Gue'la. It is possible the high levels of stress they are undergoing is forcing their genetic structures into evolutionary dead ends, perhaps mimicking one of their extinct ancestor sub-species. I hypothesize the possibility that we are witnessing the emergence of a hybrid species of the native humans and the original inhabitants of this world, the result of centuries of interbreeding between the two species activated by a mixture of biochemical and psychological factors. I request further study of this phenomenon upon the war's conclusion and this world's pacification into the Greater Good. Think what wonders we could learn from the rebirth of a long deceased species and how they too might learn from us of the Tau'va."
    Fio'vre Tou'Karr, Medical Report on Auxillary Forces attached to BRIGHTSWORD



    "Manuevor progress is acceptable. Ammunition and power stores are acceptable until we are able to arrange resupply. Minimal casualties taken, primarily within the urban environments of the captured settlements of Tretown, Thetfield and Ainie. Brightsword can be considered a successful outmaneuvering of the Gue'la's forces and a crippling blow to their logistical capabilities. Resistance continues to intensify, but has thus far been unable to prevent our advance. Upon the capture of Godlingin I intend to….BY THE AUN, WHAT IS THAT?"
    Shas'Vre Mu'gulath Shi'dax, BRIGHTSWORD Command Log​
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Sands Thirst for Blood
  • Threadmarks


    • The Sands thirst for Blood.


    +++
    Outside Zirarag, Sleptis
    +++

    Horsk the bloodied was looking through his mangnoculars they had taken from a corpse worshipper supply depot they had raided. The ignorant fools were foolish if they thought they could take a city of the chosen of Khorne without a fight. He saw the dust cloud rising from the Imperial Force. He cycled the Magnocular again as the sun beat down on him and his renegades. Their cloaks and tarps colored as the desert camouflaging them to outward observers. He saw sentinel Walkers of various patterns, a company's worth of Chimera transport and Minotaur artillery making good speed towards the City of Zirarag. How could his soldiers and the rabble they had been foisted on stop this? He then heard the Valkyrie assault craft roar overhead. Their passing shifting the sands and whipping the unsecured tarps of a group of cultists. The cloth's movement drew attention and autocannon fire shredded those foolish enough to be seen. He pressed himself into the sands. Waiting for the Rebel craft to pass. Eventually they did. He turned his Magnoculars and watched as the Garrison of Zirarag was overrun in a lightning assault by the damned Throne-lickers! He and his warband would wait until nightfall and destroy the Guard supplies of munitions and water. He would have to take prisoners as well. They needed answers as to how well equipped these Rebel Guards were.

    He stalked through streets he had walked through boldly not five scant hours before. Watching as the Guard went house by house dragging those they found into the streets before summarily executing them. They had turned the heavy flamers and lascannons of their sentinels on the shrines and barely erected temples to the Powers. His men and the cultists moved around him as shadows themselves. They were nearing the area where they had offloaded the Minotaurs shells. He hoped and prayed the charges they would set there would stall the Corpse God's Slaves until the Warband proper could deal with them. He also needed to take a prisoner or two to bleed for information.

    As he turned a corner out of the narrow alleyway he spotted their goal. A mere squad of Guardsmen standing sentry around a warehouse they had commandeered. He clicked his commbead thrice and awaited the signal that the others were in position when one of the Warp damned Cultist got into his head to walk right into the light!

    He stood easily six feet of muscle in crude mismatched armor wearing desert garb stained brown from dried blood. The Executioner's Axe held in his hands he issued his challenge. "Cowards is there not one you with the stones to face Larrin the beheader? Are you warriors or cowards?"

    It looked like the Guardsmen were about to just shoot him when a voice rang out from the building. "And here I was getting bored." A man of obvious Deathworlder descent stepped out into the light of the lampposts. He was Taller even then Larrin and wore no garment on his torso save bandoliers for numerous blades and spare laspacks. His chest and abdomen were a patchwork of scars and he idly twirled a machete in his grip. A Brontian Longknife here? He stepped within several Paces of Larrin and raised his blade.

    "Anytime you're ready Heretic!"

    "Blood for the Blood God!"

    As they charged the voices of the other Cultists rang out.

    "Skulls for the Skull Throne!"

    The Fools poured from the alley ways and rooftops swarming at the Guardsmen who were firing at will and screaming for reinforcements.All gave the dueling champions a wide berthas the two exchanged blows. The Brontian's machete drew a half-score of wounds on Larrin in as many seconds. Always dancing out of range of Larrin's heavy swings at the last moment.

    Horsk ignored them and he and his squad burst into the depot. He motioned for the men to start planting charges as he looked for an office anywhere records would be kept. He heard whimpering and smiled as he tore open a storage locker to find a Munitorum Clerk inside. He quickly grabbed the bawling coward and began tying his hands and legs with rope. Horsk hoisted his prisoner over his shoulder as walked out into the carnage of the warehouse yard. The Cultist's were taking trophies and looting the Guardsmen. Larrin and the Brontian fought still though the Knife wielder was visibly tired as Larrin's blessings were keeping him in the fight. Larrin was laughing and the Brontian appeared to be grinning around a broken nose. The Brontian made to make an overhead chop before in a bit of sleight of hand dropping the blade into his empty hand as the former grabbed the haft of Larrin's axe. The Brontian buried his blade into Larrin's abdomen up to its hilt. Larrin just smiled and headbutted the warrior. The Brontian fell back in daze. Larrin then hooked his axe head under his ankle and pulled. The Brontian was sent into a somersault before Larrin grabbed his leg and slammed him into the earth. He stepped forward to raise his axe to take the Brontian's head when he suddenly stopped. He tilted his head as if listening to a voice only he could hear before laughing and tearing the remains of his shirt to make bindings.

    "Khornes says we may find a brother in this one yes." He then lifted the bleeding unconscious man onto his shoulder. He took a step, grunted, and looked down at his stomach where the blade was still lodged. He tore it from himself and gazed in wonder as the blood flowed around his torso before solidifying into something that almost looked like armor.

    "The God of War blesses me greatly tonight."

    Horsk nodded and motioned for them to move out. They had little time to get clear and meet the Vehicles outside the city.

    Horsk cursed as the second to last personnel carrier burst into flame as he and his made a mad dash for Zarakzah. He saw the walled settlement ahead of them and saw the emplaced weapons turn to begin tracking their pursuers. The Sentinel squads broke off as the mortars from the city began falling around them. Horsk knew the relief would be short lived as they began entering the city's outer perimeter. The rest of the Imperial Force was following. Their raid had done little more than kick the wasp's nest. He looked down at the bundled Clerk weeping and moaning under the bench. He'd hopefully have answers as to what to expect.

    The siege of Zarakzah had begun.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Road Rage
  • Threadmarks

    • A Baneblade would be nice right now
    -- Frequently found spray-painted in Kiploch​

    Colonial Hernandez Biekortte was not even cold and in the ground before the fighting men and women of the Imperial Twelfth Army Group were breaking their backs yet again. To his credit, newly-minted Colonial Fall Flange was pulling out the stops. Though he was loath to see a hero of the Imperium fallen so low, he was not about to waste his turn in command. He was far more a numbers man than his predecessor, though absolutely uninspiring, more a quartermaster than a leader. Years of quiet, bureaucratic pride and well-formatted reports had endeared him to high command, if not the guardsmen he now led.

    Biekortte had been the glorious hero. He'd always led from the front and been featured in that week's propaganda wheels. He had received the medals and praise. Then, he'd lost a Baneblade. Then he died. This unit had no more need for 'heroes' such as him.

    The poor morale brought about by their previous commander's public execution was not particularly allayed when the new one began moving them around like numbers on a spreadsheet, but his plans were undeniably effective. Early in the season, the Orks launched a series of raids, intending to sow chaos in the Imperial supply chain. While the fighting men groused about losing their chocolate and recaff, Colonial Flange largely kept the Xenos away from any useful material. His reports to high command on the subject appended an unspoken throughline of "unlike my predecessor." More than once, overeager Greenskins looking to loot the Baneblade found themselves shelled with mortars and Leman Russ tanks on the heights.

    With each passing day, the supply lines became that much more secure, and the Imperial high water mark at Kiploch that much harder to dislodge. There was just one issue in all of Flange's strategic analyses. Gab'Smasha the Red was getting kind of bored. The raiding? Disappointing. The loot? Middling at best. What good was going fast when there were no frenzied chases, just a battle tank placed in a commanding field of fire upon a nearby hilltop? Boring. Blasé. Digganob-ish. Above all, not a scrap. Charging the city at the head of hundreds of looted trucks? That might be fun.

    Earlier than expected, the Orks descended upon Kiploch from the south, and Flange's defenses began to show that they were designed by a quartermaster at heart. Bunkers designed to hold for a set period of hours, interlocking firing lines to pin the enemy down, reinforcement schedules? Those only mattered so much when the enemy refused to go slower than sixty kilometers per hour. Within minutes, Orks were in the rear lines. The city was in a state of bedlam, Trukks running wild with the added benefit of Ork tanks firing indiscriminately at whatever looked like it would explode.

    With his defenses now failing to protect anything, the new Colonial made a decision. The city, its people, the soldiers trapped inside, were equally meaningless compared to preserving the operational integrity of his unit. Such was his calculus. He sounded the retreat, turned Kiploch over to the Ork looters, and took up defenses upon a shorter front.

    Rumors would filter out of that city over the next week. All electricity went out in that town. Refugees claimed the Orks had "disassembled" its largest power plant and shipped it off. Gab'smasha was working on something, a project inching towards completion. What new weapon, the soldiers wondered, would they be staring down this time?
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Plots and Trickery
  • Threadmarks
    • +++
    Welcome to the Machine!
    +++

    Magos Mordino felt an approximation of contentment as the sounds of the blessed Omnissiah's work began in earnest. The pounding of pistons, the sound of presses and of molten metal being poured into molds. Soon the foundations would be laid for his true art to begin. His audio receptors picked up screams as he turned to observe captured Tau being converted into Servitors. His dogmatic and foolish former compatriots would have blanched at using xenos of all things for this, but he was ever a visionary and never one to waste resources.


    +++
    On the Hunt.
    +++

    Vindicare CIX-IXIV crawled on his stomach through the dense foliage and undergrowth as he made his way into traitor territory. He had a Target list and full operational discretion. He was an instrument of the Emperor's will and he would not fail.


    +++
    Tanks and Trukks and Traks Oh My!
    +++

    MekAskragg grinned as he flipped the power switch of his new factory. Well it were a humie factory, but dey was all dead now so he looted it fair and square! He cackled with glee as the well trained Grots began assembling the tank exactly like those humie Lemon Russels, with his own special improvements of course. He and a paindoc had the brilliant idea to make a bunch of Grots like those humie servitors and mek'em up a bit, wire they brains together and put the schematics of the humie vehicles in their heads. Only six batches died or caught fire before they got it right. A new record! Why the Boss might even reward him for getting this here factory off the floor.


    +++
    Wut haz Science dun!
    +++

    Doktor Supreme Agtar laughed as he made his way through another of his rival Pruffessor Kooklik's Laboratory doors. The reinforced steel melting from his zapray's beam. The idiot thought he could hide from him? Worse that he could keep his discoveries from the Boss? Dat was treason dat was. As a group of boys planted bombs in front of the last door Agtar fired his zapray right into the pile. The resulting explosion launched him back and he whooped in joy as he lay on the floor. The sounds of various moans of agony and screams of rage as the Pruffessor released his experiments to give him time. Agtar snorted and waved his armored Nobs and Cyborks forward.

    "Youse tink you can steal my work? My masterpieces and give'em to that grot fondler Grohrbluzak? I'll-"

    They'd never find out what he'd do as while the dumb git had been talking Agtar had been super chargin his zapray. The resulting conflagration of light and heat left only the faintly smoking legs of his once rival. He noticed that the leg armor the git made hadn't even been scratched. Hoisting his new armor over his shoulder he set about proppa looting this lab for the Boss and his'self. Who knew what goodies the traitor had been working on.


    +++
    Nothin from Nothin leaves Nothin ya Git!
    +++

    Nob Khidud growled in rage as he and his boys found nothing at all worth anything in the rubble. The Grots had picked this place clean. He raised his shoota and blasted the nearest Grot before turning to his lads. "Roight this was a proppa bit O'Mukkin about. So we'ze gonna go find something to krump. Dis way ya stupid gits!"

    He turned and stomped off in a direction he hoped something interesting would be.

    Vukgom the Runtherder cracked his whip in displeasure. They had turned this battlefield upside down for hours and the dumb gretchin hadn't brought him a single bit of loot or scrap worth anything. He'd move on for now, after all where there's a whip there's a way!


    +++
    Lifes like a box of squig bits. You never know what you're gonna get.
    +++

    Fistkrumpa turned the chestpiece his squig had dug up over in his hands again. It had been one of those Ogryn boys, made outta tank armor it was. His now, he thought with satisfaction as he tossed some meat as a reward to his favorite squig.

    Crownrippa threw back his grog flask and drank deep. He'd found a nice pile of good scrap for the Boss's plans. He remembered watching Maggun Orkus fire into the sky and bring down that Humie ship. It had been beautiful. He'd bring every nut, bolt, and piece of metal he could pack on some grots to see that again. It had almost been enough Dakka.

    +++
    It's always the quiet ones.
    +++

    "What do you mean your Klaivex is Missing? Send out some of your number and find him at once Incubus!"

    +++
     
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