Would it be possible to simply defend the Eldar forces and our own? The idea would be to let the other two weaken each other before striking ourselves.
This is doable, though it likely will mean that the Galaxia level government is going to remember this for a long while to come. Though given the Imperium's feudal bureaucracy and left hand not knowing what the right hand does, other galaxia governments will generally not be fully cognizant of what you did when you're done with Vay-Gir or can start expanding out of it.
[x] Plan That Is A Moon
-[x] Contact the Astartes and offer a simple battlefield truce - the Greenskins are a plague that must be exterminated, and you will cooperate in doing so.
-[x] We will target the attack moons for destruction with our superior super-capitals, suitably supported by groups. The main tactic will involve the Eldar luring them to overextending towards our ships and using another mystic storm to scatter their screen and leave them comparatively open to macro-weapons fire and death by small-craft.
-[x] Suggest the Astartes go after the head of the Waagh. Perhaps it is the greater risk, but also the greater glory, and they are more suited to the boarding fight that will likely be needed.
-[x] Send the Night Lotus legion to begin scouting and sabotaging the defenses of ork-held worlds. The point is not to capture them immediately but to be able to begin capturing and holding territory immediately after the battle is won
-[x] High Magic:
--[x] Use divination to try to discern the Warboss's 'secret plan' should he have one
--[x] Conjure mystic storms around the Battle Moons to disrupt their screen-ships, leaving them open for our assault craft
--[x] Disrupt their Thunder Waagh's in explosive fashion.
I personally think we should have the Imperium as a temporary ally in a war of co belligerence agaisnt the orks. The greenskins are without a doubt the bigger threat here. Orks only care about fighting, we can sort out political differences later.
Also, we should focus on making sure any thunder WAAGHS get disrupted. I have said that orks are funny until they aren't. Let's not give them the chance to not be funny.
I second using a high magic action to disrupt their magic rather than letting them get them off. Which would also provide the bonus of a lot of explosions blowing up the Orks and their ships.
I second using a high magic action to disrupt their magic rather than letting them get them off. Which would also provide the bonus of a lot of explosions blowing up the Orks and their ships.
Note: if possible, locate Imperial attack vectors and begin planetary sabotage there. It will reduce Imperial space casualties, allowing them to reach primary Waagh-heads quicker, as well as signal to them "We got this covered, no need to burn those planets to the ground, move along pretty please"
Might think on more stuff, but real life is dense in the moment.
Note: if possible, locate Imperial attack vectors and begin planetary sabotage there. It will reduce Imperial space casualties, allowing them to reach primary Waagh-heads quicker, as well as signal to them "We got this covered, no need to burn those planets to the ground, move along pretty please"
Might think on more stuff, but real life is dense in the moment.
Hmm, I kind of want to do it underneath the Imp's noses, though. Basically prepare for a quick land-grab after the battle. But I could be convinced otherwise.
"The Ghoul Zone is the worst named place in the universe. As if there were only fucking Ghouls to worry about here."
Even in the prior iteration of reality, the Ghoul Stars were a place of evil things of other worlds who were not Chaos. Now the cracks had been opened much wider than before, far more aggressive, far wider spread, far more active and far...Stranger.
That all went over Sergeant Major Charles "Will" Wilson's head, far as he was concerned, his duty to the Emperor and Empress was making sure that these sorry dipshits didn't get caught with their pants down when the commissar came around. He wouldn't have any lollygagging on this Throne, Keep and Cog's own Aquila strongpoint, complete with Aquila pattern Minoris Macrocannon. He was damn proud of his big fucking gun even if he wasn't actually permitted access to the firing controls. Oh well, it was his gun in spirit.
"Alright troopahs! Form up and shape up!" He shouted, Astra Militarum troops standing to attention. Good men, from Provincia Cadia like him, even if like him they'd prefer facing the archenemy in the galaxies trapped in the Cadian gate rather than staring here at "the weird zone" as some had taken to calling it.
"In this here Imperial Guard what are we here to do?" He said, his moustache free to bristle with the weird air, damp feeling but somehow not humid, cold but in the way of a blowing fan rather than genuine low temperature; without wind at that. His augmetic eyes, both of them, glinted as he stared down his men and women.
"Kill anything trying to get in, or out of the Ghoul Zone not carrying Throne, Keep, and Cog's blessings!" They shouted in unison, good soldiers, they knew how to repeat their catchetisms in unison without prompting.
"And what are we gonna do that with troopahs?" He shouted, his augmetic eyes feeding his brain with sight beyond sight even without his visor up.
"We blast it with our artillery, we shoot it with our guns, then we run it through with our bayonets and e-tools, sir!" They repeated.
"Atta lads and lasses, you learned something even all the way out here in the up-north-east end of karking nowhere!" He said proudly, the Cadian equivalent of the Terran Gothic "fuck" drawing some looks from non-cadians as they stood there like statues, waiting for him to finally say "at ease" to let them relax.
"I am uncertain of how repeated insults to your soldiers' intelligence is supposed to rouse their morale." Ah, Throne, one of the cogboys. A woman by the name of Lisbet Smith, who in the Sergeant's mind reminded him too much of his daughter for him to ever see what his troopers meant when they said "damn shame she wants to get rid of flesh like that."
"A bit of light hearted teasing keeps their heads screwed on straight. That's a metaphor meanin' I'm try-"
"I am fully aware of what that metaphor means, Sergeant Major. Where do these stereotypes of the adepts of our cult being literally minded arise from?" She hissed with clear annoyance.
"Sorry about that miss."
"We face the Noctis Omega Anomalous Zone, try to avoid wasting our time Sergeant Major. I'm sure you are eager to return to the frontlines of the thirteenth black crusade at some point." She said, urging him to move aside and let her examine a console.
"That we do miss, ain't right for us to sit here thumbs up arses looking at the weird zone when our families are fighting for their lives against the despoiler and archenemy." He said with a tut, a statement of incontrovertible fact, as if he was wasting his time here.
The techpriestess sighed and muttered something beneath her breath in a voice too small for him to hear, and he had no authority to ask her to repeat it anyway.
"For once, I would so dearly love it if the reinforcements we got understood the gravitas of this guard posting. Tell me, Sergeant Major, how has your sleep been?" She looked towards him after finishing her business with the console, a mechatendrite flexing to indicate curiosity.
"Usual, can't complain. Beds here are too soft though. Give me a proper springs and coils mattress over this memory foam gak any day." He said, sniffling a bit.
"A good night's rest is a precious commodity here. I am sure your commissar has told you what happens to those who start to dream of the dark below, yes?" She said, far more serious, he could see bags under her too young eyes now as she got closer, unwavering in her stare at him.
"Something about gribbly things slipping through, I'm sure the wards we've got will hold. We know how to keep the daemons at bay." He said, making the Aquila while she muttered a curse in a dialect he didn't understand a word of.
"You're a fool. The things that crawl out of the infrareal are not the creatures of Chaos. You need entirely differe-" She paused before her noospheric connection to the systems of the Strongpoint warned her of anomalous readings as turrets began descending from ceilings and alarms started blaring, bloodcurdling screams tearing through the air. Then there was the noise.
A rumbling, a dreadful sensation you felt as much as you heard. Bone deep, radiating outwards as if the noise was coming from within and crawling to your ears as if it was coming from inside you all along. A wet, low groan that ululated and shifted in different low keys before finally something far higher in pitch tore through the sound as loud as an engine hurling a valkyrie into space.
There was Lasgun fire, frantic and panicked, scattered and ill-disciplined as the surprised guardsmen swore in the Praetorian dialect before being interrupted by the sounds of flesh and bone flowing and oozing before the sound became more...crystalline, like glass just full enough to make that musical note when one rubs their fingers along the rim.
"Omnissiah preserve us..." She muttered as the Sergeant Major brandished his chainsword and heavy laspistol on reflex.
"They're here." She said as he used his augmetics to try and pick out any inhuman silhouettes. He didn't have to wait long, as a thing crawled through the angles of a wall, made of something...what was it made of? Daemons always had the appearance of being made of something, that was literally the idea.
This was...crystal? Flesh? Machine? All of the above? Whatever it was, it had a few scraps of what used to be a praetorian uniform and too many arms, lasgun fire somehow turning cold on impact, ice crystals falling to the ground after each shot as the chandelier beast parted a jaw with too many mouthparts to let out tendrils of...distortion seep into other Praetorians dropping down to give volley fire.
No use, the distortion quivered and slid over the lasgun shots which bent and shifted in colour into blackness and then disappeared before its arms swept out at angles impercetible to the human eye, a man somehow impaled through the back and cut horizontally in half from a left hook thrown at the air.
He quailed, legs seeming to buckle as its what seemed to be some sort of gun let out pulses of unusual light that made the guardsmen engulfed simply...distort. A scream, a plea, then their bodies broke and snapped and bent faded into bizarre colours, scrambled into nothingness as their armour held up only for a little while before they wriggled and drained into nothing.
No, not nothing, for even as he was squeezing off laspistol shots and bolter rounds bracketed its vaguely pillbug like central body, something else slid through, a hunting call letting out a slither-nightmare through, all sinuous body, legs with grasping hands, organic but mechanical, fleshy but crystalline, colours shimmering as he looked upon it, another guardsman simply vomiting out blood as it seemed to reach into him with one of a hundred limbs, touching his shadow and making him babble out the first words he said to all that had met him before dropping as a dry husk.
"Sarge! What do we do!" One of the Cadians said, reasonably calm given the KUBAR situation they were in, dragging in a plasma gun despite the protests of Enginseers, at least before the Enginseers got a good look at the unwelcome guests and scrambled out of the way, a Combat Servitor simply swallowed by the distortion when it got too close to the Chandelier Beast and disappearing.
"It attacks through dimensions you cannot perceive, look for the shadow! Light is still distorted by its body even in otherspace!" The Techpriestess shouted as her Kastellan class robotic aides stepped out of their maintenance bays and thrummed to life.
He saw the shadow, a twisted and blurred thing as if light was being scrambled as it passed through...something and then realised that there was a sort of logic; however alien it was; to the movements of this bent thing, scurrying on legs that seemed to pass into each other, stretching and winding in unnatural ways as bits and pieces moved in and out of what he could see.
He understood how to fight at least.
"Grenades out! Hit that karking hellspawn on my mark!" He shouted, murmuring a prayer to try and calm his nerves as the plasma gun rang out once, the sheer energy of the miniature sun contained in the magnetic bottle striking into a mirage generated by the slithering one's movements and causing a groan that seemed to...it was hard to describe the sound, like if a noise could curl, winding in and out of earshot while it turned towards Corporal John.
"Oh come the kark on..." He grunted before the Sergeant stepped in. A Brontian Longknife who tried to duel with it simply fell apart in pieces, cut apart by blade limbs they couldn't see as they focused too much on their arms.
The Sergeant though, grabbed one of the trembling whiteshields brought in from some posh hiveworld and shoved them forwards. A cruel act, but one that gave him an idea of its angle of attack as they were pulled from the inside out.
"FOR HIM WHO SUFFERS ON TERRA AND HER WHO WATCHES OVER OUR SOULS!" He roared as he let his chainsword roar to life and strike at...something on the injured slither thing while the Kastellans fired at the original Chandelier creature.
What came out was something he probably wouldn't describe as blood per say, more a goo that writhed and wriggled with hungry malice before he shot it to get it to stop, swinging his chainsword into the thing through the guard of clawed hands jutting out at odd angles, the longer he looked at it the more he realised that his initial thought of "centipede like" was just a term of convenience for something he wasn't really all that good at putting a name to. Even "hands" was probably not the best term for the grabbing digits and limbs that seemed to glide between machine and beast.
The worst thing though, was that he swear he could make out some sort of face on it, something judging him, his past, and what he would do, all at once. But it did not have eyes. Pits, gates to something else, something that looked and judged. His heart was crumpling upon itself, squeezed by hands that slipped through his not-dense enough flak armour to touch.
"Sergeant." A voice, not in his mind, not in his ears, but felt in his body.
His chainsword stabbed into something, into those horrible pits of colour that he could not bear to look at anylonger, blood was boiling out of his nostrils, dripping in ways that defied gravity before curling into stream as the thing squeezed his guts.
"Charles Wilson. Sergeant Major Charles Wilson." It repeated as he felt his life unravelling.
He was not strong enough, he collapsed, falling out of the way of a charged plasma gun shot that sent the thing spinning, Commissar Sarah Walker with her Ogryn bodyguard rushing in and shouting something as her power sword swung and cut into the noise.
His augmetics saw the gaze of the pit. Of a terrible conflict waged over fronts he could scarcely imagine, a dark below against a colour above, but he kept on seeing the drained colours, and through them, the real eyes. The attentions of the dreadful thing.
The Minostorum priest yelling as his eviscerator cut into it!
"He-help...Throne and K-Keep...help me." He murmured.
"He can be saved, get him to medical attention immediately." The voice, that too young techpriest's voice.
"If he is treated, our percentage point chances of preventing memetohazard and a full recovery are ninety nine point nine thr-" The Techpriestess said before the Commissar cut her off.
"A decimal point too low for the ship I run here." She said, shaking, trembling voice full of paranoid fear as her skull helm turned towards him with eyes of murder.
"Are you insane? His recovery is all but guaranteed!" The Priest said before she gestured at him with the sword to shut him up.
"NO CHANCES! NOT HERE!" She shouted before squeezing off a plasma pistol shot into his head, letting him see no more, his last thoughts being a final curse against the Commissariat.
honestly, when fighting a cognitohazard causing enemy like the lovecraftian Strangers, it pays to be on the safe side.
but yeah, kark those guys. Charles was all but garunteed to live and recover, and the techpriest knows what she's doing. The death of Sergeant Major Charles Wilson is yet another pointless death, one of untold trillions enacted to keep the worst regime of the grimdark universe alive another microsecond.
[x] Plan That Is A Moon
-[x] Contact the Astartes and offer a simple battlefield truce - the Greenskins are a plague that must be exterminated, and you will cooperate in doing so.
-[x] We will target the attack moons for destruction with our superior super-capitals, suitably supported by groups. The main tactic will involve the Eldar luring them to overextending towards our ships and using another mystic storm to scatter their screen and leave them comparatively open to macro-weapons fire and death by small-craft.
-[x] Suggest the Astartes go after the head of the Waagh. Perhaps it is the greater risk, but also the greater glory, and they are more suited to the boarding fight that will likely be needed.
-[x] Send the Night Lotus legion to begin scouting and sabotaging the defenses of ork-held worlds. The point is not to capture them immediately but to be able to begin capturing and holding territory immediately after the battle is won
-[x] High Magic:
--[x] Use divination to try to discern the Warboss's 'secret plan' should he have one
--[x] Conjure mystic storms around the Battle Moons to disrupt their screen-ships, leaving them open for our assault craft
--[x] Disrupt their Thunder Waagh's in explosive fashion.
Augustus Tiberius sat upon his command throne at the bridge of his massive warship in his Tartaros pattern Tactical Dreadnought Armour, tapping armoured fingers upon the armrests to keep a rhythm going in his mind. Five service studs were placed upon his forehead for five hundred years in the Astartes, five hundred years guarding this galaxy, this forsaken backwater the province had long forgotten, but he would not abandon the cause for which his chapter was made for. He would not despair, he was proud to accomplish what he had with often relatively limited means, and hoped to one day tame this galaxy in its entirety, so that his successors would know far less grim work.
"Chapter Master, we have an alcu-vox incoming from the Celestial Fleet. Bearing a Xian's identification codes." One of the serfs said, a woman by the name of Avilia Landia who stood short in the shadow of Captain Avita Septa of the honour guard company, whose helmet clad gaze swept over to the smaller woman with curiosity.
"I am aware, but thank you for your initiative to report this to me." He replied, making an open palmed gesture of sincere appreciation that she responded to with a nod.
"Negotiate with a xenos beguiler and their pagan dupes?" Lord Admiral Earl Winchester protested, though why he was aboard his ship rather than his own continued to perplex the space marine.
"We are here to kill Orks, Grots, and Trogs. Deeper bonds have been forged over less Admiral." The Space Marine said with a hint of patronisation to his voice, as if speaking to a child. He hated speaking to the man who spent more resources on ensuring churches that of course bore his insignia to let everyone know who funded their construction were built on conquered or liberated worlds than actually building up his fleet's presence.
"And what would you and your "imperial truth" know about the dangers of heresy milord? You who ramble on about the "real history" of our Lords in Sol when you bear the works of their artifice in your body." The Admiral said, tutting as he adjusted his bicorne hat while the chapter master sighed.
"Ductor Mercia." He said, looking to one of the officers under his command, the Astartes Woman turning around and giving a quick salute and bow.
"Yes chapter master?" She asked.
"We are about to engage in battle, ensure the Admiral is at his station if you would. He is permitted usage of the teleportarium." He told her, getting a nod and affirmation from the Astartes Ductor who gently pushed the admiral out of sight.
"I thought he was never going to shut up." Avita said, getting a hoarse laugh out of Augustus.
"Were it so easy." He replied as he brought up the holographic vox communications, bristling a bit when he saw the form of what he recognised to be a Tian Long in human guise, a woman who had the face of someone much younger than she was in Terran years. Unlike some chapters though, the Viridian Stars discouraged the distractions of carnal impulses, and so he pointedly ignored what he was sure was a frame meant to be appealing to humans to put them at ease.
"+You are the commander of these Imperial Forces I presume, Chapter Master?+" She asked, her High Gothic perfectly fluent, devoid of the ridiculous accent that Imperial propaganda so often gave to the people of the Celestial Realm, no difficulty with rolling sounds of her tongue nor any flaw in her grammar.
"+You are correct, based on your sigils I would presume you are Zhu Xinyi; daughter to Qiao Yin and Shen yang, which means your brother Zhu Xiang is also with you.+" He replied, piecing it together from the personal symbol she wore on a pendant that fitted onto her armour and her general choice of appearance. He had made sure to read on the Celestial Realm, fearing invasion from the Hii-gara galaxy for many years at this point.
She seemed, not so much shocked as impressed by the fact that he could make the deduction. Perhaps assuming that most Imperials were ignorant rubes who deliberately refused to learn about anything that might be even vaguely construed as heresy. Of course, she was a diplomat, it was always possible she was putting on a show to make him feel as though he was in charge. Such are the ways of dragons, but he also knew that in their hearts, Dragons were a prideful sort of creature.
"+I would hope to see you live up to your reputation in battle, miss Zhu. I will not slow the advance of the fleets that report to my overall command for your sake if they are found wanting.+" He added, noting the way her eyes studied him. Often it was customary for xenos to cover their faces in their impromptu discussions with the Imperium, but he supposed that this face was a mask of sorts as well, hiding the ancient intellect behind it.
"+We hope to slay Defflord Muchkill as soon as possible and unravel the Waaagh, and also to turn the might of their Thunder-Waaaghs back upon them should they seek to cast such magics against us.+" She replied, curtly, plainly. She must have known that as a Space Marine he would ignore most attempts at charming him, the plain and simple facts would suffice.
"+A worthy aspiration. I will make note of this to the sanctioned psykers and wizards in our midst. We also seek to cut the head off of the green hydra, but whether your warriors can measure up to mine remains to be seen.+" He replied as he brought up a holographic projection of the known order of battle and the best estimates for how the other battlefields across the many kiloparsecs of frontage were going.
"+Already trading barbs are we?+" She teased with a smirk.
"+You have taken territory that rightfully belongs to the Imperium and slaughtered loyal subjects in your political purges. Do not put on this aspect of a bubbly schoolgirl in front of me, Dragon.+" Augustus' voice was a lot colder now, harsh and unforgiving. There would be war between the two of them at some point, he suspected. The Celestial Realm clearly desired to expand, and ultimately this galaxy could only belong to Terra, as the whole of existence must one day.
"+We have uncovered some relics of your chapter in the zones purged by the Necrons decades ago. I have them with me, if you wish for their return in exchange for our favour. Even your homeworld still has some remnants of its past left.+" She replied, the Chapter master's twin hearts for the briefest moment, skipping a beat as he inhaled sharply.
"+Make the tribute then, we can discuss finer details as we make our...trade.+" He said in a quieter voice as their fleets approached the Orkoid armadas across the voids of real space, devouring astronomical units at a time. The exchange would be done in relative secret, but the Chapter Master himself would oversee them, looking fondly at some of the timeworn artefacts of what the had once called home and had to abandon to the Necrons.
He laid a hand on a toy that seemed tiny in the fingers of his gauntlets, recognition flashing of the Custodian Action figure that had that little dent he was so furious with his sister for making when they were both much smaller; before they were both granted the calling by the chapter and inducted into the Angels of Death. He smiled a bit beneath his helm, ignoring the looks of confusion given by some of the unaugmented near him while he adjusted the Custodian to his favourite pose.
"Where did you find this?" He asked Xinyi who now also wore a helm, hiding her gaze from him but not the tone of her voice as she spoke with a degree of sympathy.
"The ruins of a museum made in your honour. You were apparently quite famous there." She said as he felt a cold shock run through his system before his transhuman physiology suppressed the outpouring of embarrassment at the idea.
"Oh by Terra, an entire Museum?" He groaned getting a laugh out of the dragon and her guards while some of the space marines with him snickered.
What sort of idolatrous idiot commissioned an entire fucking museum for him?! Damn it all that was so... cringe-inducing. How many people knew he used to be an avid collector of toys as a child? Who donated it to them? It must have been his parents...damn them, getting one last bit of embarrassment into him from beyond the grave.
"So you do have more humanity than you let on, Augustus." She said with a degree of familiarity that made him harden his glare behind his helmet.
"We are not on a given name basis, Zhu." He replied.
"Perhaps, but so long as we are speaking as allies of convenience, we should not waste words on hostility, no?" She reasoned, stepping a bit farther away from him to give him more space while he examined the recovered relics of the chapter offered to him, letting his techmarines, chaplains, librarians, and mages have a go at examining them while he retained a respectful distance from them.
"For now, yes." He said before nodding.
"You will have your truce for the time being." He finished, getting her to smile. It hadn't cost her all that much that she wasn't willing to part with. The Space marines were stretched very thin across the known universe, many are the worlds to have never known their presence, and rarely in great force when a quick strike in the right place was more than enough. But she had bargained with the right things.
And thus, for now, she and her brother would be regarded with some degree of respect.
...
Across thousands of light years the battle was joined. From small skirmishes over distant worlds to clashing hurricanes of massive armadas over teeming multitudes war was joined.
Astropaths and Lanterns sent word of the bargain across battlefronts and fleets, while the Green Wave barelled towards them like the snowflakes of an avalanche on an interstellar scale. All teeming with Orks and Grots and Trogs and other things. For the most part, the Greenskins were on the defensive, with quick insertions of troops made to secure beachheads where possible and advancing fleets engaging the scrap armadas from afar first.
The strike craft of the WAAAGH! flew out in thickets that one could fire into at random and probably hit something, but they were also made quite tough, with the Ork piloted ones in particular being designed to engage in the most orky act of ramming other craft while going really, really fast.
Trying to assign specific classes and types to the insane variety of Greenskin vehicles was a fool's errand, rather sensible people categorised them based on what roles they tended to do. "Spacey Fightas" for example, usually were as the name suggested, multirole fighters in space, going stupidly fast and blazing away with stupid amounts of firepower in just about every direction they could manage, the crew shouting loud as they raced towards anything that looked like a target.
"Spacey Fighta-Bommers" though were the big and mean strikecraft, letting loose with their torpedoes and rokkitz while raking at anything that looked even vaguely vulnerable with row after row of guns; whether they shot dakka, beams, blastaz or even ornery space adapted gremlin squigs that; when they survived the impact, started to bound towards the first chompable thing they saw while claw arms tried to score into hulls, Sabo-grots who learned how to "breathe wiffout breathin'" giggling as they ran on hulls to look for something to blow up even as anti-personnel turrets popped up and scythed them down.
It was all in good fun however, a bullrush into the first waaghable thing they saw while the big Spacey Bommers and even by speed freak standards; insanely fast "Bomma-katchaz" as they liked to call interceptors raced around, Imperial strike craft flotillas finding their numbers slowly thinning in the wake of more and more and more barbarians filling the sky; having to rely on the more advanced craft of the mechanicus and space marines to make the difference in this brutal brawl of attrition.
The Astartes and Mechanicus could go through piles of greenskin craft, but uncontested superiority in this regard was generally not in the cards. At least until the swift fleets of the Aeldarai and the Tian'Chaoren made themselves known, coordinated volleys of flak, beam, missile, and repeater opening holes in formations wherever they could.
The infernal racket of Goff Rokka metal, Snakebite drums and chants, bad moonz synths, evil sunz engines, blood axes stolen instruments, and Deffskullz industrofunk machinery filled the vox waves like an unintentional form of jamming, filling the channels at random with competing strains of all consuming noise while other greenskins blathered on about complete nonsense as they had "talk shows" about the upcoming fight, generally in the hopes of starting something as they let out long strings of insults.
"+Yer Emprah and Emprahezz are git humiez! An' yer dragon gitz iz stoopid! An' Gork 'n Mork are gonna do da dropz in yer maw fatboyz! An' we'ze gonna use yer spiritstonez ta floss panzeez!+" A channel known as "Radio Fer Gitz" broadcast loudly as one of the hosts just shouted whatever asinine, inane insult came to his mind.
"+Oh and when we'ze gonna kill ya, we'ze gonna use yer snotlings ta play kick wiff!+" The Grot co-host said, getting an affirmation out of the Ork and the Trog.
"+Den weze gonna piss on yer gubbinz and gobbldeguk an' den we'ze gonna set it on fire cuz green iz best and dat squigshit ain't gorky or morky!+" The Trog declared.
"+Dats cuz deyz got no waaagh Skullstomp. Dat makes dem gitz ya see, and we stompz gitz.+" The Ork explained.
"+Kan humiez 'n elfdarz 'n dragonz 'n fatboyz 'ave waaagh Shootalotz?+" The grot asked.
"+Dunno, dey seem too weedy fer dat.+" He shrugged.
For the most part, it was soon learned that shutting out this inane chatter was for the best, as it had nothing of value and was mostly just a long series of rants and the occasional shouting and fistfights between various hosts.
Crackling waves of empyeral force would tear through the void of space across thousands of battlefronts, stirring up the inky blackness with empyreal energies that lashed at the green Tsunami. Some ships were torn apart as they were bathed in the tempest, others faced major damage and started drifting, while others were slammed into each other as their tight formations lost cohesion.
The Waaagh! pulsed and the Weirdboys drank in deep of their collective power, elemental energies coalescing around their fleets and turning the void a menacing shade of green across thousand sof systems, even tinting the glow of the accretion disc over "Gorkamorkaland" system where Muchkill was gathered. It was a cataclysm, an apocalypse in a bottle.
Every Greenskin in a Waaagh was connected, the bigger the Waaagh was, the more power it had, the more destructive the things it could do were, the more it altered reality as the Greenskins forced their perception onto it.
Eldar, Humans, Dragons, Elder Beasts, Fae, and Ogors gathered their strength together, reaching their minds as one in an act of cooperation. The Volcanic power of the Waaagh was tremendous, but it was under immense pressure as it was being roiled like this, and as Xiang followed Vrailius Ardanesh's instructions, he could feel the tightness of this psychic gestalt.
"Will this work, honoured comrade?" An astromancer asked of the Vermillion Dragon as he sat in the carefully designed chamber with both of the Fenghuan twins.
"Do not concern yourself with whether if it can fail. Be confident in success and do not allow the vision of defeat take hold." He chastised the pupil, looking down at him as he nodded and beseeched his apology.
"Now, join with me." He added, letting himself float into the air as he conducted his seance, talismans and scrips of paper prepared with symbols floating into the air alongside the ritual gems and windstones.
He was a mighty wizard, psyker, and sorcerer yes, but the Waaagh! was the strength of a horde. It would take the work of many cooperating hands to pull this off, and he shut away the thought of what might happen if it blew back against him.
Wu Jin Compass is pointing North, Empyreal Currents are favourable.
Orks cast Gork's Breath at level 5.
Cost to manifest: 30
Attack Moons and Waaagh level taken into account
(3x3x3)+(3x2x3)+4=27+18+4=58 power dice.
58d6, 221+(5x9)=266/6=44 dispells needed to dispell, 66 for catastrophic dispel
Perils test vs ld 10: 2d6: 4, 7, 8, 1, 4.
No Perils.
Dispell Dice:
Traits allow for Dispell on 5s, Aeldari participation allows for rerolls, imperial participation allows for rerolls to be modified by 1
Waaagh! Blowback causes one damage category to all Ork fleethordes.
The amount of energy in this Waaagh was tremendous, and Xiang could feel it clench at his soul as he stared with dragon's eyes upon the viridian see in the theatre of the mind. The colours of Yin and Yang flowed in his mind as he exhaled and stretched his hands out, drawing the symbol in the air with arcs of magic, his sister completing the other half before the two locked their hands in each other's embrace.
The Waaagh! was like a green giant, roaring and cataclysmic, the bestial cry of a war so terrible that it had to be locked away for all time; a cataclysm that tore through every galaxy in the garden across the universe known to the ancients, across many horizons of observation, across so many worlds and souls.
It manifested in the sea of souls as a colossus made out countless greenskins like a desert is made out of grains of sand. The collective will to destroy, to smash, to "have fun" in a way that left only ruin for other things. A viridian titan born of the most ancient of spites, something so old and terrible that Xiang could barely grasp it even as his spirit took on the shape of a dragon in the othersea, red and brilliant, roaring in challenge as the faith of an army was invested into the spirits of those who were to do battle.
The spirit dragon was vast, but a whale is not greater than the ocean, however great it was. And the grinning giant spoke thunder into being, seeking to shout greenness into the materium and plunge the great foot of gork into the void.
But the Phoenix Soul of the Eldar were with him, his sister was with him, his friends were with him, his soldiers were with him, and even the eagle spirit of the humans were with him. Imaginary worlds thought of by the greenskins bubbled into flame in the othersea, their possibility and potential torn by the collective manifestation of their joy as the giant throw a fist of the desire to smash of a horde.
Walls and denials, chants to deny the onrushing tide its victory, to describe it as something smaller and more resistable, broke one after the other. Some of the mages involved died, the coils of the wind they had dreamed into being snapped by the meteor fist that sought to hammer at reality itself.
It was easy enough to tell his adepts to not think of defeat, to just think of winning, but looking at it made him feel like a child, and he was scared.
He trembled and gulped, feeling pain rock through his body as meteors of nullification danced through the warp, curses in a language he couldn't understand ringing in his ears and blood coming from his mouth.
He wasn't sure how he could do it, how one could condense this giant into something comprehensible, let alone defeatable, the power of so many green souls joined together to sing of the end of things.
Would he die here? Would he fail? To come so far...
"Do not worry of failure, only know it must be done. That is what you told your own followers, is it not?" Said the spirit of Vrailius, sensing his doubt, a thing comprised out of a million runes and sorcerous implements to guise it from the eye of Slaanesh as the otherseas colours churned.
"The green tide is vast, but is built on keystones, focal points of their imagination that channel their will to power. Look into it, and feel its weakness, then destroy it." The Eldar told them as he let forth swarms of runic symbols, casting crystallised definition upon the chaos of the othersea, freezing it in place and for a moment, slowing the titan as it smashed through ideas of its defeat.
Looking upon it, and seeing the three gleaming points of the core idea of thunderous destruction, Xiang understood what it was. A weapon, a monster, but a thing that had been bested before. A debate of meaning between destruction and order carried out with a dire music, shapes winding and disappearing as they were examined and their possibilities crushed; harmony against crashing waves of shouting and bellowing.
But he let his dragon soul roar as it swam through the othersea, his twin in tow while the others made their denials of Ork supremacy, bathing the green giant in the waves of calm and the swirling morass of the colours of magic, chains of certainty and definition stabbing into the thing while the Phoenix spirits of the children of Isha cast runes that said "weakness" and made it so.
And the Dragon flew into one of the holes and let drakeflame slip forth. Discord in the shouting, jeering voices that made up the giant, a brief vision of defeat, a moment of doubt, a bit of strain as the Warpbosses started to feel something flow into their heads.
"Oi datz not s'pposed ta happen!" Zogsmak shouted, peering into the othersea battle.
"Wotz ye doin' wiff me spell ya stoopid snake!" He roared as the twins wreathed his warp avatar in fire and ice, notes and essences of pain flowing into him like little needles or snotlings biting his arse.
Xiang winced at the pain of being so spiritually close to something so bright, for a fire dragon the sensation of burning was unfamiliar, but this was destruction incarnate, so much more than simple flame. His living body sweated, some of his skin peeled, he grinded his teeth with effort and at one point as he felt overwhelmed his heart stopped for a moment.
But his sister pulled him back, his eyes opening and his form darting away from a giant fist to speak fire into the colossus' eyes, getting a roar of protest out of Zogsmak.
"Returning it, barbarian. You want destruction? Witness it with your own eyes." Xiang said as he dodged out of the way of the viridian giant's fist swinging implacably towards its own face to smash the dragon annoying him, with too much power redirect at this point as the giant glowed brighter than suns in the warp with the actualisation of its might almost a reality.
"Oh zog." He managed before cutting the connection, shouting at the other weirdboyz before the backblast hit them and the casters could at last pull away.
All across the Greenskin fleet, explosions rippled out, many ships were torn apart in the sympathetic explosions. Waaagh charged devices hummed, then whined, then screamed, and then blew apart. Heads erupted in catastrophic bursts, bodies blew apart, craft tore themselves in twain with green flame.
Even one of the attack moons, guarding a ring world the orks had claimed as theirs stopped for a moment before exploding apart, a briefly lived green sun shining over the combatants on the ground and sihlouetting the warships that were fighting in its shadow. Many other ships were damaged, repair teams thrown into the fray as Mekboyz tried to keep things from falling apart any further than they did, warbosses shouting and bellowing for "Status repota!".
The Greenskins had been quite literally decimated. One in ten of their number had been destroyed or been rendered too damage to fight, the survivors having had more distance from the attack or enough warning from Zogsmak about what was coming or were just lucky. The green tide was still huge, and the Waaagh gates from the attack moons were still spitting out reinforcements while fresh ships and mobz piled out of yards and kamps, but the Thunder-Waaagh! had been dealt a severe blow, and now the Orks talked of "da red dragon" who turned back Zogsmak's spell; getting the Defflord to order "no more uvv dat megaspell mess 'less I say so!"
As for Xiang, he opened his eyes, bleeding the blood of an immortal, coughing a bit while his damaged skin was starting to heal. His fresh face returned in time, but he still felt weary, needing a moment to stand up straight and still leaning on the wall after he did so.
"Honoured comrade, you have triumphed!" The astromancers said with awe.
"G-good to know..." Xiang managed with a cough.
"I will recover, do not fear for me." He said, smiling to put the others at ease while Haoyu puffed his cheeks and stared him down.
"Warn me when you do something crazy and stupid like that! My heart was in my throat the whole time watching you!" Haoyu growled, smacking the top of Xiang's head lightly with his staff.
"Ow..." He murmured.
"You could have waited for my assistance! You reckless fool. Have you no concern for your soul?"
"It did however, work." Kexing said to her own brother, throwing him a glance.
"...I suppose, but I don't have to like it." Chaoyu admitted, pouting and looking away while Xinyi laughed.
Xiang only smirked before finding himself a chair and asking for a cup of tea, exhaling while he stretched out as if releasing years worth of tension.
...
The Green tide would not let the setback wither their spirits. They actually found it exciting and encouraging! And da gits who got zogged weren't very orky anyway. They would throw themselves into the fray now, pushing through the storms of magic as Astromancers and Diviners tried to discern Defflord Muchkill's secret plan.
Even as they took disproportionate losses at the long range phase of the fight, they just kept coming, tusked throats roaring with delight as they anticipated the violence to come. But the coalition fleets were of high spirits, they had taken a major bite out of the Greenskin forces, and their advance was disrupted by having to push past through their own wreckage. They had time to form up and set up killboxes, knowing better than to try to feint the green hordes with seeming weakness because they would always go for whichever fighting seemed heaviest, so they just gave the incoming fist the spikiest possible porcupine to impale itself on.
The Frenzy of close quarters fighting would be impossible to avoid. Ships were too fast, too durable to be kept out of knife fighting ranges where boarding, broadsides, and ramming would be as decisive as any big guns, torpedoes, or strike craft swarms. The Tian'Chaoren fleets moved in their designated harmonic patterns, putting the heavier clash oriented ships to the front to bear the brunt of the inferno to come while the lighter or more distance focused ships started to fall back towards the centre.
Imperial ships, which tended to relish in the fury of broadsides and prow rams, were more at home in the close quarters melee despite being less advanced for the most part, while the Aeldarai kept to the flanks to move around as they willed; Ogor brute ships pushing ahead to get stuck in as across countless worlds the night sky would light up with the brilliance of firepower and the deaths of voidcraft.
Despite their ramshackle appearance, the craft made by the followers of Gorkamorka were surprisingly resilient. Very often surface level damage would be just that, surface level; and the tendency for excess and waste meant that most systems were entirely redundant or could be fixed with improvised repairs on the spot as Mekboyz clambered out and started hitting scrap back into shape or the Weirdboyz channeled the Waaagh to try and pull their craft back into shape.
But the most terrifying thing about Greenskin ships at close range is the fact that they had so many guns and they all fired so quickly. With no regards for ammo expenditure and only a basic appreciation for the virtues of careful aiming. They barely even cared if they hit each other or if their friendly fire preventions systems failed. The Waaagh! was fed by violence, whether committed by them or committed against them; it hardly mattered, as long as there was fighting, it was all good.
Void battles in the dark millennium are lengthy affairs, running engagements lasting months and years being the norm, brawling endurance matches and slugging contests, little wars whenever boarding was achieved, ships relying on manufactured resupply to keep going as they traded blow after blow and crews forming trench lines and positions in the conjoining of their craft.
And boarding would bring forth barbarians like a sea, the lights turning red (because that means go fast ya git) when the boarding tubes gave the signal to their charges to start running into the holds of the Celestial ships. But they found withering fusiliades of fire pouring down their avenues of entry, tripping on their own dead, slipping on their own blood, limbs vapourised or torn away, heads obliterated, the armoured 'ard boyz getting further before being hacked down.
Killa Kans, Deff Dredz, Supa Armoured Black Orks, Trogs, and Meganobz would come up to try and push through the inferno of fire, power fields crackling to absorb incoming hits while burna boyz cackled with glee and let forth waves of flaming jelly from their burnaz, using their own dead as cover.
The breacher teams would slot into place, stabbing into the masses of greenskins, impaling them to the ground or braining them in their dozens. Heavenly Autosoldiers stepped forwards, account for hundreds of dead orks and grots as they raked their positions with alchemobaric warheads and electromagnetic cascades of particles that carved through the brutes.
The regenerating Trogs would keep going even if pulped, until burnt to a fine crisp, Deff Dreadz would walk off anti-personnel fire and scythe through those dumb enough to stay in their way, laughing while their guns fired off in all directions, often spinning themselves like maniacs to shoot everything they could while whirling around their close combat weapons.
But the Lion-Automatons that activated from seemingly inert statuary would quickly tear into them, pouncing them to the ground and ripping them apart with repeated strikes until they could pulp the Ork inside. Alarms blaring and turret strafing the endless mobs or cutting apart their formations with barrier shields to separate them from one another.
In close combat the Waaagh! was perhaps even more savage than the Khornates. The Khornates at least had the clarity to focus on killing things, the Barbarians just did whatever they felt like. Blow torches as melee weapons? Why not. Drugged up grots swinging around power wrecking balls? That's a laugh. Power klaws that could be launched by rocket sand then pulled back by cables and traktor beams? Dats proper orky.
Kommandos would try to sneak around, ambushing crew they had managed to get the drop on and looking for anything that might control the guns before being cut down in turn by automatons that responded to the silent alarms, or ambushed themselves by hidden Night Blade Order troops that shoved power weapons into their backs or decapitated them on the spot.
It was a violent mess of conflict, sometimes boarders could go through chains of ships boarding other ships, with many of the Xiuxinzhe starting on a Tian'Chaoren ship and through going from one set of boarding tubes to the next, ending up on Imperial craft full of carapace armoured voidsmen, guardsmen waiting for planetside deployment, combat servitors, and ogryn brawling with the endless waves of yowling vandals; or even ranks of the Peregrinas, Astartes, Skitarii, and Cybernetica.
Eldar teams would go from one ship to the next, each Aspect Warrior leaving piles of Greenskin dead thousands high as they moved like blurs. Howling Banshee blades cleaving through many defences like they were barely there while their screams ruptured eardrums and their feet bounced on the sea of wide bodies, shurikens cutting limbs and heads off or sawing bodies open while their striking scorpion counterparts blended in and out of visibility, monomolecular chainswords and heavy scorpion's claw power fists leaving little but viscera.
Fire Dragons could be identified by the roar of their fusion guns and flamers, annihilating heavy targets with the former and large mobs with the latter, their leaders and exarchs identifying things of importance in need of killing and tearing through them accordingly. Whole corridors full of greenskins simply reduced to vapour by fusion guns on wide mode or sheets of white hot fire that even 'eavy armour ran like candle wax in a furnace beneath the heat of.
The ogors would be met with wave after wave of greenskin eager for a chance to have a go at the fatboyz, sent flying like bowling pins as they leapt at their newly armour clad frames or crushed into bloody paste. The two savage species finding nothing but joy in acing one another even as orks and grots died in their hundreds to them, some Ogor bulls pulled down by swarms of stabbing, mean spirited grots throwing chains and ropes up to pull them down, other Ogors beaten down by huge and fast to heal Trogs until their firebellies sent them packing, moving like two legged volcanoes and sucking in the bursts of fire from burnaboyz only to return to sender.
Peregrinas singing hymnals fought to be heard over the binaric cant of the Skitarii and Cybernetica, the smell of burning generally telling the warriors of the Celestial Realm when and where these zealots could be found while bolter fire tore into wave after wave of foes, criss-crossing with Tian'Chao's electromagnetically accelerated rounds and warheads and scalding beams, the roar of chainweapons meeting the hum of electromagnetic implements while power weapons crackled to life.
Faith manifested in golden light, shielding the holy warriors from certain death or allowing blows that could have been shrugged off become mortal wounds or scouring the swarms of brutes root and branch, Skitarii letting loose wave after wave of radiation weapon blasts and Eldar dancing in and out of the fray while the Space Marines fought with all the lethality one would expect of them.
Only the Eldar could perhaps surpass them, and they could definitely match the supersoldiers of the Celestial realm, fists striking hard enough to pulp bodies, limbs moving too fast for human eyes to follow, weapons aimed with precision even robots would have struggled to manage, weapons slick with ichor and fluids, integrated shielding on their armour absorbing blow after blow while those that managed to penetrate to the ceramite and plasteel generally just bounced off harmlessly.
Even an unarmed space marine could punch the barbarians to death by the dozens, faces crumpling in like soda cans and swings either tanked through or dodged around like they were in slow motion before the temporarily unarmed space marine simply grabbed the head of the offending ork and squashed it into pulp in their fingers or ripped it out; spine and all and smashed it into other orks hard enough to explode the heads of both before the second ork could blink.
The Chaos Warriors looked like parapleigic children compared to the Space Marines; as they well should next to the likes of the Heavenly Autosoldiers, the Adeptus Astartes, or the Aspect Warriors. But even these were exceeded by the Exarchs, those who had given themselves wholly to the path of murder and forever lost themselves to the dance of Khaela Mensha Khaine; nevermind the Harlequins who were one of the very few forces in existence who could triumph against the Custodes man to man.
A krooza full of orks, grots, and trogs would often be emptied by a single troupe of harlequins or a small conclave of Exarchs. Greenskins would die without knowing what killed them by the dozens and by the hundreds. They would die defiantly, eager to fight the nightmares unleashed upon them either allowed to unlock more of their potential through either the wrath of Khaine or the laughter of Cegorach, but they died and died and died.
Those lost to the path of the Warlock; the dreaded Swordsingers; would leave awe in their wake, with only the greatest of the space marines or the dragon warriors able to keep up. Whenever an Eldar fell, it was through sheer weight of numbers to drag them down and give them nowhere to escape and then brutally beating them to death until finally fatal wounds could be struck through nearly inviolate wraithbone. It was never something the greenskins were able to do cheaply, and the movement of Maneaters and Xiuxinzhe in support would drive many of da ladz back, even counter boarding and overwhelming their ships which would explode into midnight void.
This was war, bloody and raw.
...
Whole army groups of the Imperial Guard existed for every single member of the Adeptus Astartes who existed. Millions, if not billions of guardsmen for each and every heir to the primarchs who fought for the Imperium, probably more than that. The Space marines were not the sword of the Imperium as they once were. They were not numerous enough, and the disastrous results of trying to churn them out as fast as possible's results were evident with the twin betrayals.
But it was a lot easier to get a million space marines into one spot than it was a trillion guardsmen. That was their real power, force concentration. And they would land upon the Attack Moon of the Defflord in fiery descent as one of the Megadednots erupted into flame from the constant bombardments of trio of Wudi De Bastionships on one side and a quintet "Invictus" class Imperial Leviathans on the other.
The Attack Moon's cherry red gravity whip tore into space, ripping through the hulls of battleships like tissue paper and causing the death of some Celestial supercapitals unable to avoid the roche limit zone of the deadly weapon, retaliatory bombardments from Annihilator class mega-capitals tearing bleeding wounds in the Attack Moon that the space marines targeted with prejudice.
They would land or teleport onto the world and set their librarians, battlemages, and chapter-psions to the task of geomantics and geokinesis to try and stabilise the tectonic surface of the ork construct while they cleared out everything around them not strafed by death-blossom pattern drop pods loaded with sentry turrets or legio cybernetica auxiliaries.
Land Raiders, Mastodons, Spartan Assault tanks would thunder forwards at great speeds that belied their bulk, pressing ahead of the lighter razorbacks to protect them from the wave after wave of fire thrown their way, tankbusta rokkitz glancing off their flare shields and armour while their weapons blazed hot and viciously; Sabre, Predator, Sicarian, Kratos, and Fellblade tanks letting rip in all directions with armour far surpassing the metallurgy used in the vehicles in the Imperial guard and engines that put their craft to shame.
Dreadnoughts and Warsuits would be dropped at particularly stubborn areas, alongside allied Knights and Titans of the Mechanicus as the Imperial presence was being expanded on; the Peregrinas shoring up positions alongside the Skitarii that the space marines were already moving past, Imperial Assassins making landfall and filtering into the expanses to find their targets while the Scions struck at targets of opportunity.
In these wider spaces, the greater numbers of the greenskins could tell, saturating space marines with wave after wave of intensive firepower until not even they could stand, but the space marines had the luxury of choosing when and where to fight, breaching into the interior of the planetoid with heavy charges and dropping down onto surprised barbarians with vicious fury; the Deathwatch being the first ones inside and the last ones out, black armoured xenoslayers chewing through the green tide like lawnmowers through blades of grass.
Many positions were already sabotaged by the Wang twins and the Night Lotus society, dead and burnt ork, grot, and trog carcasses strewn about their interiors, but these worlds were covered and filled by the children of the Waaagh! There was plenty more killing to do.
They were taking mounting casualties, many a brother or sister struck down by the Ork and its kin, usually in the midst of a pile of their dead, others injured to the point of needing apothecary attentions to stabilise or assess for worthiness for dreadnought entombment. But the Defflord was not so easily bested.
Gargants and Krawlaz rolled out, Megatanks, effigies of Gork and Mork, and titanic warbeasts left to rampage in the midst of the landing imperials as they were roused to the joys of the war coming to them. The deafening cries of WAAAGH! rattling over the embattled worlds of the territory as they were brought to fight in spectacular fashion.
The Eldar would follow afterwards, as would the Celestial Army and the crashing hordes of the Ogors. Mosh pits of violence slick with the detritus of battlefields. Blossoming detonations visible from the decks of the craft warring above.
This was violence, a universal language understood by every species present; Human, Eldar, Ogor, Ork, Grot, Trog, Huoren, Automaton, Sylvaneth, Faerie, Cranefolk, Dragon, Baihu, Fenghuan; it hardly mattered. They all knew what hitting things until they stopped moving entailed.
The Greenskins laughed even when taking fatal injuries, eager for the carnage, pouring out from every corner and from every hole, many having literally just been born as the campaign stretched for years. They didn't fear this violence. They loved it, they adored it, they drank of it. It was their meat, their milk, the manna of heaven itself.
Vicious fights had to be waged to let damaged or exhausted craft cycle back for field repairs with mobile shipyards and collectors, bases sprawling on the contested planets growing and contracting in the grindfest of the wars for the surface.
As the battles on the surface continued, TIan'Chao's way of war started to tell more and more as they covered the battlefield in spore killing agents and explosives to tear through densely packed mobs, their own titanic war machines racing ahead to do battle with the monstrosities and goliaths of the green tide. Gargants by the dozen would fall before a single celestial titan whose body moved with far more lifelike grace, dancing around clumsy klaw swings or the lumbering gait of titanic squigforms and then hacking away at defences, blasting away while their own defences absorbed blow after blow.
Other, Black gargants, built along the schematics of the War-Trogs, Black Orks, and Hobgrots built in a more...sensible way proved greater adversaries, the collisions of machines producing seismic shockwaves and thunderclaps that could be heard across continents as multi-kilometre tall war machines slammed into each other in brutal melees or traded the sort of firepower that would have annihilated nations of old, pre-spacefaring terra.
God Machines of the Eldar and Imperium also stomped the battlefields, the Eldar Titans moving even more nimbly than many Eldar infantry already could, their simple movements often being enough to devastate their foes and their holofields breaking their image into kaleidoscopic insanity spread across kilometres, indistinct shapes misleading the already poor marksmanship of the greenskins to strike entirely different zip codes than where their death was already waiting for them.
Bases sprawling on planets affected by the Night Lotus picked out by the clever portents of the Wu conclave would churn out resources, growing numbers of automatons waging war against the green tide while fresh soldiers arrived from elsewhere, cycles of reinforcement giving fresh energy to the tides of war while new suns would blossom one after the other on the embattled planets.
Root and branch, the Greenskins were starting to be purged. The areas of controlled territory they held was shrinking day by day. Piles of their dead were burning in great pyres, their dejected slaves were being broken out of their camps and liberated to know freedom from the awful lash of the runtherdz. And their bosses were turning up dead more and more often as the Baihu stalked amidst their number, rumours of "big cat fingz" occupying the campfire stories of many of the waaagh bound maniacs.
The cost in blood was higher than in the Khornate campaigns, but this was a bigger war against a bigger enemy, one who simply grew new soldiers on the spot in their unending waves, but the green tide was not invincible. The emerald barbarians were being broken, and though the Tian'Chaoren found no joy in the answer to how to deal with their kind without simply killing them all; they took to the proscribed duty with bitter resolve. They would not let the tides of the Waaagh! turn its gaze to their homes or to anyone else's homes for that matter, as the lush greenery of the Sylvaneth grew and choked out the fungal morass of the Waaagh ecology, they would advance shoulder to shoulder into the depths of these war torn worlds.
Meanwhile the Ogors seemed to be enjoying themselves, chomping and chowing down on the massive piles of dead and helping themselves to the remains of the greenskins, holding great feasts with cooked fungal creatures and taking simple pleasure in filling their bellies with colossal quantities of food, drinking down oceans worth of fungal beer and holding belching and farting competitions.
There was sharing amidst them, enough to go around for everyone as they shovelled mountains of food into their giant, slack jaws and crunching with teeth that could break many forms of armour. They began to cultivate the fungal ecosystem, tainting it in their unusual way to produce gnoblars and steady supplies of food instead of the usual. Where they took root, the Orks did not rise again, and the Ogors grew fast, maturing unnaturally quick as long as there was enough food to go around, many new Ogors joining the fray from the camps sprawling across many a world.
And as the Greenskins grew bigger and stronger on a diet of conflict, the more meat was thrown their way, the bigger the Ogors got, growing horizontally and vertically as long as their appetites were satiated. Already three times taller than a normal human at base, they would only get bigger from there, breeding even bigger beasts for them to tame and control, riding around where they pleased to hunt Greenskin beasts or the greenskins themselves. Many of course perished, filled with injuries even they could not withstand, but they were not one of the most feared warriors in existence for no reason, unafraid of the swarms of the green ones and eager to please their Tian'Chaoren friends even if they disturbed the Imperials and Eldar.
Certainly tactics such as grotesquely huge and fat tyrants bending over and letting rip with tornado force gas that firebellies ignited were things that even the Orks found impressive as they were swallowed by the waves of gaseous flame, at least one Trog Warboss giving a stiff salute out of a sort of respect just before the Greenskinned Troll was engulfed in waves of flatulence and flame that left nothing but ash.
The creatively named "Da Sekret Weapon" tore its way out of the Warp with the screams of daemons fleeing from the mass of Waaagh Energy it represented, looming large over the ongoing battle as one of the smaller attack moons finally died, coming apart under enormous bombardment and space marine sabotage from within.
Fleet admirals noted the emergence of the planetcraft with alarm, redirecting fire towards it in an effort to slow it down and put a stop to it as it and its escorts piledrove their way into the main thicket of the fighting, gravity whip lashing out with glee, tearing through those craft not able to get out of its way while others were simply rammed through.
But that was not why it was the sekret weapon, as the reports filtering in came a bit too late to reveal the true nature of the thing in time.
"Now, ya gitz, letz see 'ow ya like dis!" Hrekgor Fastablasta laughed from within the command core of the attack moon as he slammed the big green button to his left. Not to the right because that was the go really fast button and it was red, because red goes fast obviously. The hobgrot laughed as explosions seemed to tear through the surface of the Attack Moon. But not in the haphazard way of a dying war-planetoid.
It was, as much as anything the greenskins do; calculated and measured. Mountain ranges started to rise, pushed upwards as dirt and debris was blown clear and the giant grinning face on the "front" seemed to mime laughing in slow motion, the eyes blazing with sinister green light while impossibly, mountains taller and steeper than any natural slope tore their way from the world.
No not mountains.
Fingers, toes.
The face moved upwards, plates shifting and pushing while others folded away or retreated inside, arms tore their way free with rivers of falling crust raining upon the surface of the world as its power fields remained steady in the face of incoming firepower. Enormous thrusters firing to life to shake off the earth and soil and rock allowed to disguise the true nature of the Secret weapon as it began to uncurl out of a foetal position, head snapping into place and lights glowing in the void of space as it "stood" straight.
This was insanity.
"Father's bones..." Xiang muttered in horrified awe at the titanic thing that now sought to protect the "Orks Amung Ya" from the forces threatening it from multiple sides, another one of the Ork Attack Moons shattered by the Indomina Machina's mega-batteries and a devastating taste of its Magna-Conversion cannon that transformed huge chunks of the attack moon into energy that expanded outwards with cataclysmic violence, several Megadednots caught in the blast and disappearing before the Secret Weapon turned to the Mechanicus construct and moved at an unreasonable clip.
Something that big should not have been able to accelerate like that, especially as it quickly became the primary object of attention by everything and anyone capable of shooting at it.
Of course the Orks would make something so ridiculous, so absurd. Who else but the greenskins would look at a perfectly good battle planetoid and go "I want this one to transform into a mech"?
The thought of it made Xiang grit his teeth and shake his head. What nonsense the Orks wrought so recklessly. But his sister seemed to nod in appreciation, stroking at her chin with interest.
"What are you doing?" He asked
"Perhaps..." She thought out loud.
"Xin-Xin..." He said, the childhood nickname getting a huff out of his sister.
"It was only a thought." She said as she looked towards the command screens to observe where the fleets dispositions were, her expression hardening into a fine line.
"Have the fleets form up, direct our bombardment at the greenskin war machine's limbs while it does battle with the Mechanicus. The Eldar will be striking soon and will need our help." She ordered, her tone sharp but not harsh.
"It will take an assault from within to fell such a beast." Xiang said, looking towards his sister now.
"You are most likely correct, but let's first soften the shell before tearing for the heart no?" She explained, tapping her finger together as she put her mind towards the task.
...
Wang Zi Rui slowly moved through the shadows. Whereas his sister was pink, he was perhaps ironically, mostly green, with his hair the colour of grass and his eyes the hue of emeralds, his own armour silent as he stalked through the halls in his feline form, jawed helm baring his lengthy canines for a scant moment until he shifted back into humanoid form, rippling into something that many would have mistaken for a felinid.
Youthful features concealed by his tiger-helm, he quickly moved ahead of the other Night Lotus Warriors and slipped an extending blade into the back of an Ork nob who fell heavily to the ground after he twisted it further to bisect them, flinging a series of darts into the exposed throat another who let out a brief choking sound and then died once injected full of tyranid venom.
He had killed a great many greenskins so far, but he hadn't grown tired of it. It wasn't that the relished in it, it was that as long as he had his duty to focus on, it was next to impossible to well and truly bother him. Far from the sometimes sensitive seeming "overgrown kitten" as Xiang once described him. Some called it disassociation, but he saw it as simply filling the role he was apportioned.
Generally speaking, Elder Beasts were born in evenly numbered groups, to embody yin and yang; he was no different, born alongside his sister Chao-Xing as he was. His sibling was in his sight, not moving too far away so that their harmony could amplify the capabilities of the other.
Claws slid into place over his gauntlets, coruscating energy amplified by psycho-force devices and allowing a slice into the sides of a Black Ork consume them with a pulse of invisible energy, the brute falling over like a puppet with strings cut, simply turned off.
His helm in humanoid form bore the suggestion of fangs along the sides of his shield shaped mouthguard, the shallow V-shaped visor's red glint shimmering into invisibility while the tail on his suit's barb flexed, stabbing through a squig to silence it while he carefully advanced towards his objective.
More greenskins were felled, dying with bodies crumbling to ash to leave no trace of the Night Lotus' presence while they looked at the slave factory that the runtherdz were busily manning.
"Oi! I haz ta sit 'ere an' watch yoo gitz all day instead of fightin' wiff me ladz! Don't slakk off or I'z gonna show ya why I'z called smashface! Cuz I smash faces!" One of the Orks shouted, a big brute with an augmetic eye and 'eavy armour bound with squig leather that clanked and rattled as he moved, grabbing a swig of his Fungus beer and downing it.
A child fell over, tired, fingers worked to the bone assembling insane contraptions at the behest of a Grot mekboy who repeatedly consulted the strange wiles of a thirty...nine sided dice to determine his next set of directions.
"Zoggin' 'umie yoofs got no backbone! But 'ere ya go keelin' over on me shift! Yoo tryin' ta make me look bad in front uvv da big mek?" The Runtherd said as he approached the ashen-skinned child slave. Perhaps some sort of abhuman? It was hard to tell from the welts and lumps from repeated beatings.
"I wanna...I wanna break sir..." He managed through a swollen mouth.
"A break? A BREAK!? Grots and snotlings whine less than gits like you! Yoo see dat giant ova there? 'Es not complaining! An' 'es da stoppidest green fing I've ever dun saw!" He roared in the boy's face loud and hard enough to actually push him a bit, pointing to one of the Greenskin Giants, an echo of the drunken giants of a world that was, immortalised as a form of Orkoid, fairly dull witted and compliant, using huge hands to lift huge loads too big even for the Troll-derived Trogs. The Giant grunted in recognition of being called, managing a slow "uuhhhkay" in response.
"Please! Don't hurt my boy!" A man whimpered, crumpling to the ground to beg on hands and knees, tears welling up in his eyes and falling onto the ground.
"Oi Goktok, this git sez we shouldn't 'urt 'iz weird snotlin' thing. So why don't we 'urt 'im in front of his boy then? I finkz it'll be a laff." A lanky, cruel eyed grot said, chuckling to himself as he started up the electric "'urty stikk" and poked it into the man's crotch, all the gathered greenskins laughing as he howled with devastating pain from the jolts of energy rolling through him.
"Lookit dis git pissin' himself! If dat ain't da sorriest sight you ever dun saw!" The Runtherd laughed, pointing and doubling over with his boyz as other 'urty stikk grots joined in to see how else they could make him do the "zappy dance".
"Alright ladz! It's beatin' time! Get yer knocks in!" The big mek shouted through his loud-tube, the Ork mekaniak laughing as he pushed at buttons on his dais to start loud noises and flashing lights.
Many of the greenskins, seeing a chance to solve unresolved rivalries, immediately hit each other, brawls erupting and teeth being knocked out of mouths before the Big Mek slammed his power klawed fist on an adamantium arm rest.
"DAT MEANS HIT DA WORKERS YA STOOPID GITS!" He snarled as the greenskins stopped all at once, looking briefly embarrassed as Big 'Unz enforcers smacked them on the head before pointing at the much abused non-greenskin work force.
It took much of Zi Rui's resolve to not blow his cover much earlier, every atrocity heaped on these people made him feel a sickness in his stomach he had to force down. He couldn't get mad, he couldn't let anger override his common sense and drive him to do something stupid. So he shoved that aside, using the anger to temper his sense of duty, biting his tongue briefly while he approached his foe from behind, eyeing the Big Mek as he shouted orders with all the expected bluster and volume.
He had clambered up onto the dais, moving past the guards and advancing with utterly silent steps, even his scent was wiped away by his gear and his abilities. Even bumping into people would be quickly forgotten by most, a psychic effect that prompted most of those victims to assume one of their "matez" knocked into them and then getting the orks to slug each other.
His short blades were snapped into place over his wrists like tonfas, fingers on his gauntlets sharpening and dorsal blades emerging. A moment was taken to ascertain the position of his sister, who was busily planting explosives on a number of important looking components away from the slave labour force.
It pained him to wait longer, tearing his eyes away from the beatings inflicted on the workers, but he needed the greenskins to be finished with their barbarism and peel away once their break time was over, leaving battered and bruised peons to be briefly looked at by the paindoks to get them back in working order and berate them further for being useless.
"Though life is sacred, you have done great injustice. May justice instead, be restored in your death." He murmured in his helmet, a mantra to remind him that killing was not a pleasure to be enjoyed, but a sad duty to be undertaken, exhaling as he coiled his muscles and then pounced like any tiger would.
The Bigmek would briefly feel something on his shoulders, prompting an expression of confusion on his unhelmed face before the finger claws of Zi Rui's gauntlets jabbed into his right eye and left cheek and then pulled in separate directions to tear his head apart into a spray of gore, the tiger grabbing at the Gorget of the Big mek and pulling down as he jumped down to toss the body into the midst of the greenskins, explosions rippling off at the same time while grenades he tossed erupted in columns of flame to obscure his movements.
The Greenskins turned in their myriad mobs, looking at the detonations here and there before the baihu made his next move, form already shifting into the aspect of a great, feline beast and letting out a fierce roar to inspire supernatural panic and confusion as he leapt out of the pillars of fire he had created like a daemon beast.
"Eyy itz one of 'um catbo-" Goktok managed before the Baihu leapt on him first, crushing him to pulp beneath armoured paws and swiping to disembowel and vivisect his mob of bullies and herdsmen.
The roars of other Baihu would echo through the now chaotic facility, his sister having torn a Trog Nob to shreds with her jaws and claws and cleanly knocking a Killa Kan guard to the ground, teeth tearing the wired in grot pilot out and smashing it to gristle before roaring at the grot mobs armed with lil' shootaz to instill fear in their hearts now that their leader figure had perished.
So long as the Waaagh! is rolling, so long as they have strength in numbers, so long as the focal points of the Waaagh in their bosses remained; Greenskins could not fear. Not even in the face of a tiger beast larger than a greater knarloc. But with that network disrupted by careful assassinations, the directive to survive would overtake that to destroy.
"Boss iz dead! Let's leg it!" The 'urty stikk wielding grot shouted, pissing himself shamelessly while he tried to get his legs running as fast as possible before Chao-Xing disappeared in a brief flash and the thunderclap of air filling empty space.
The grot made it three steps before the pink tiger emerged in front of him, roaring with an armoured mouth full of saber teeth and unleashing deadly coils of death magic that simply tore the thing's threads of life until they crumbled to ash in the wind.
What had once been a productive Gargant factory was now devoid of greenskins, bodies reduced to dust and spores cleansed systematically as this element of the stealthy legion finished their cleansings.
Of course, many of the slaves were unsure if this was real, if it wasn't some sort of final cruel joke by the greenskins. The fact that many of them were beasts or abominable intelligence or xenos didn't help matters either, but Zi Rui would find the child he saw threatened earlier in the crowd, kneeling over the charred corpse of what was once his father. Burnt to the bone as a joke, jaw slack in a silent scream. Restoring the dead to life was not impossible, but this body was beaten to bloody pieces, it would be very difficult for someone of his level of skill...and there were so many others dead.
The Tiger approached, form seeming to collapse, melting away into his humanoid form when he noted that the slaves recoiled from his beast form in fear. He couldn't blame them, a pouncing beast was not something most people would have been okay with seeing in their faces.
He looked at the dead body, then towards the child, then let his helmet disappear into the same pocket realm he kept the rest of his mass within, kneeling down to the ash skinned child whose tired eyes were puffy with tears.
His green hair blowed in the stale winds of the facility, face pristine and unmarred by scar or injury, eyes gleaming like a cat's while he looked from child to corpse and back again.
They were still scared.
"He was brave, to stand up for you." He said, his tone much softer now as he knelt, uneven side-tassels of hair shifting with his head movements.
"What am I going to do now that he's go-gone?!" The boy weeped.
"What is your name?" He asked.
"Zyle...b-but...why co-couldn't it be me? He di...didn't have to do that for me...I fell...I was so tired...I'm so..." He choked. "So...sorry papa..." He managed, not even looking at what he presumed was his mother as she cast a concerned glare at him, perhaps unready to give out something as precious as a name to a stranger; sprawled over the charred corpse and letting out more heaving sobs.
"Zyle." He said before he cried even harder.
"I wa-want to die...I wanna be with him...in the Keep with Papa." He wailed.
"The best thing you can do is try to live for him. Live a full life, with stories you can share with him when you see him next." He wasn't the most confident with assuaging mortals with their fear of death. He dealt in it, healed what he could, but comfort? He was hoping that his words weren't ridiculous, threading fingers through his somewhat messy hair on the back of his head. Would seeming nervous help?
"Wh-what stories?"
"You will survive. You will live, for many years yet."
"Wh-what about the Orks?"
"Let me worry about them." He said with a smile as he let his helmet manifest over his head again, standing up to hi sfull height.
"W-who are you?"
"Wang Zi Rui." He said with a soft tone, disappearing back into invisibility shortly after, as the windows showed the sky was raining with drop pods.
...
Defflord Muchkill laughed at the reports of his vanguard getting brought down, relishing in the chance to get into a proper fight himself while he looked for someone worth killing.
Standard Assault Space Marines came apart with sweeps of his axe, Eldar Aspect warriors were broken by the waves of firepower he released in all directions, Celestial strike teams were smashed into oblivion. He was an industrialised brute, wherever he went there could be no victory against the green tide, fate itself seemed to twist against the possibility, defeats becoming triumphs, certain wins against the barbarians becoming ruinous set backs.
Using his Waaagh gates he could go between different attack moons, bolster differing fronts, inspiring them into action to krump gitz and stop bellyaching.
But it would be back where it started where he would finally found what he wanted. Back at his primary Attack moon, still besieged by the roiling swarms of ships and warriors all around it. He would hack his way through more things he didn't really care to commit to memory. Tanks, walkers, machines, everything he deemed not worth his time to pay attention to he slaughtered with ease.
An Armiger Knight sought to challenge him, but he was too swift, too strong, taking out his maul and shield in a practised motion and deflecting its first swing and then slamming the growling power maul into it's side once, then firing rocket thrusters mounted on the sides to swing it back around for a quick follow up hit as he struck home with his shield.
Another hit, fully charged this time, firing up tractor beams for an even harder impact, his guards sweeping away at other enemy machines with deadly intent until the Knight stopped moving, wrist-mounted megablastas popping off shots ahead of a wave of launched grenades from his shoulders. He was a living war machine, and he laughed as he strode through his foes.
"DIS ALL YA GITZ GOT?!" He roared as he brought down more knights, even Space Marine Dreadnoughts. He would not be stopped, trampling through his enemies like a black armoured bull, his Bullyboyz soaking up incoming hits like rain, joined power fields humming with power while they rallied their ladz for a push.
But as he cut down Tian'Chaoren walkers built like huge versions of their foot soldiers, he heard and felt the rage and heat of something violent heading his way, sniffing the air through his helm and letting out a deep, grumbly bellow of anticipation. He could make out the reports of Aeldari weapons, even the devastating dimensional distort guns of their wraith troops, his scanners reporting discharges of searing empyreal energies as the humiez started to scatter.
Until at last, he saw it, big, beautiful, a giant of fire and metal, with a singing blade whose wailing alone was enough to kill and whose blazing wrath could reduce even Black Orks to fiery ruin, Meganobz smashing into wraith blades and heavy aspect warriors and then being swept from existence by the giant's magmatic sword.
"I AM KHAELA MENSHA KHAINE." A destroyer of worlds, a devourer of daemons, an embodiment of molten wrath and murder. An Avatar of Khaine, an embodiment of all the violence, cruelty, and malice that the Aeldari kept hidden within, hoping to bury it deep in the darkest parts of their souls and only let it surface when no other choice exists.
A zogging good time in other words.
"Oi, Iz Defflord Orgus Muchkill, yooz betta not disappoint me or Iz gonna get real mad."
"YOUR RAGE? YOU THINK YOU KNOW ANGER?!" A volcano would have been quieter.
"Blah blah blah! Twiggy godz iz naff godz, ye got broken' up by da pink spikey lad god so ya finkz I'z outta be scared of you? Hah. I'z gonna put yer melty 'ead on me pole, den I'ze gonna krump all yer boyz, den I'ze gonna krump dis galaksee." He declared, boasting and roaring loudly to the heavens as he thumped his chest repeatedly.
Zhu Xiang: Xian Long, Wizard (Knows Lores of Yin, Dragons, Power, and Revelation), Psyker, Sorcerer
Zhu Chinyi: Xian Long, Wizard (Knows Lores of Yang and Harmony), Psyker, Sorcerer
Cheng Haoyu: Xian Fenghuan, Wizard (Knows Lores of Heaven, Light, Metal, and Death), Psyker, Sorcerer
Cheng Kexin: Xian Fenghuan, Wizard (Knows Lores of Beasts, Shadows, Fire, and Life), Psyker, Sorcerer
Wang Chao: Xing, Baihu, Wizard (Knows Lores of Shadow, Death), Psyker, Sorcerer
Wang Zi Rui: Xian Baihu, Wizard (Knows Lores of Light and Life), Psyker, Sorcerer
Dragra Steelbreaker: Ogor Overtyrant, Psyker
Raug Meatspicer: Ogor Great Slaughtermaster, Wizard (Knows lores of Gut Magic, Beasts, and Cold), Psyker, Sorcerer
Legions of Legend
Vermillion Dragon Guard
Azure Dragon Guard
Night Lotus
Shenyang Wu Conclave
Meat Freezer Ogors
Aeldari Coalition
Forces
One Magnitude 2 Aeldari Asuryani Fleethorde Present (Tier Maximus, The Fine few, High Quality, effective magnitude High Quality 4), One Magnitude 2 Aeldari Exodite Fleethorde Present (Tier Maximus, The Fine Few, High Quality; Effective Magnitude High Quality 4). One magnitude 1 Aeldari Corsair Fleethorde Present (Tier Maximus, The Fine Few, high quality, effective magnitude High Quality 3). Harlequin detachment present. Total Damage taken: 8%
Characters present
Grand Farseer Vrailius Ardanesh (Craftworld Eldar Great Farseer and High Magus)
Grand Autarch Rissettia K'uunlun (Craftworld Eldar Great Autarch)
Prince Soba S'jet (Craftworld Eldar Warlock Prince)
Princess Keren S'jet (Craftworld Eldar Warlock Princess)
Ancient Dranaggah Ironroot (Exodite Treekin Ancient)
King Lugh Oahtool (Exodite King)
Queen Velidia Starsong (Corsair Queen)
Greater Avatar of Khaine (Greater Avatar of Khaine)
Seleneas Shadowstep (Harlequin Grand Troupemaster)
Meldania Twice-Laugh (Harlequin Great Magician)
Legions of legend
War-Hounds of Kurnous: (Craftworlder Titan Legion and craft)
The Deck of Death (Playing card themed Solitaires)
Tempest Children (Corsair Elite Raider Fleet)
The Old Grove (Sylvaneth War-Grove)
Mage-Singers of the Sajuuk (Aeldari Witch Circle)
Imperium of Mankind
Forces
Two Magnitude 4 Imperial Crusade Fleets (tier Primus, High Quality); Space marine Detachment, Deathwatch Detachment, Peregrinas Detachment, Tempestus Scions Detachment, Ordo Xenos Detachment. One Magnitude 2 Adeptus Mechanicus Crusade fleet (Tier Extremis, High Quality); Extra Titan detachment, Extra Knight Detachment, Mechanicus aligned Astartes Detachment. 15 RP worth of Imperial Battle planetoids. Total damage taken: 27%
Characters Present
Chapter Master Augustus Tiberius (Space Marine Chapter master)
I'm still wary of Muchkill in a fistfight, so I propose the Dragon Twins go after Murderfist(the Underboss) while the Beast Twins go after Skarlot Sneakboss to cripple Kommando actions.
Meanwhile, since the Sekret Weapon is out and about and Thunder-Waagh is not an option for the Orks while Orgus is alive, so those actions can be flipped to a buffing action for our forces and a Warp Drag equivalent. Perhaps something like Harmonic Hurl? Better at pushing our ships along than disrupting the enemy, and not quite as potent as the War of the Krork equivalent, but also better at precise movement to allow Brutes to close while pulling back Rangers and damaged ships.
Man, I'm glad we decided to actually work with the Imperials on this. We're actually trading pretty evenly with the Orks despite making the TW backfire.
First, exactly how do the Dragon Twins compare to the Armiger Orgus thrashed without breaking a sweat?
Second, are the planetoid too 'stuck in' with allied forces for an allied Thunder-Waagh equivalent to be a good idea? I assume so, but the Storms of Magic are also pretty close.
Third, a fluff question, how do the Ogres like all the new tech?
Considering how much Waagh energy it probably takes to keep Da Sekret Weapon from collapsing back into roughly spherical shape under its own gravity or tearing itself apart with impossible accelerations, it would probably have very nasty consequences if we were to dispell it?
And it would be a very serious morale hit to Orks, seeing their trump card get trumped. If we time it well with Avatar krumping the Warboss, it should break the Waagh and cause a chain-rout. We would need to just withstand the damn thing for long enough to pull it off.
[X] Plan Topple The Idol
-[X] High Magic
--[X] Disrupt Waagh energy that powers Da Sekret Weapon and allows it to function
--[X] Curse the Defflord with slowness, sloppyness and exhaustion to ensure Avatar's victory at the precise moment of Da Sekret Weapon's destruction
--[X] Reinforce the shielding and armour of allied vessels, primarily Eldar and Celestial. Ships under attack by Da Sekret Weapon or Attack Moons have priority
-[X] Key Battle
--[X] Use macrocapitals to contain Orks and prevent them from direct engagement. Any vessel that is in range to be blown up in a single shot of main guns is to be shot at with said main guns. Smaller-grade weaponry is to fill the space between the fleets and cripple eny ship that tries to close the distance. When free, target DSW
--[X] Use capitals to blow up any hostiles that approach the fleet, where "approach" means "gets close enough that macrocapital fire is inefficient". When free, target DSW
--[X] Harass reinforcements with swiftest fleet elements to prevent them from interfering.
-[X] Campaign
--[X] Keep using our stealth assets to sabotage Ork worlds. When viable, use Eldar side-battlegroups tp provide assist from orbit and capture the world.
--[X] Dispatch side fleets to break Ork supply lines.
[X] Duels
-[X] Slaughtermaster and entourage vs. a Weirdboyz cabal.
-[X] Solitares vs. their most viable oponent (if tied, lean towards Tekboyz).
[X] Scenes
-[X] Deployment of Celestial magi-tech orbital bombardment.
-[X] Some War Room action.
