Crimson Fists With A Twist

[Munting]

THis is a stroy for my army. this first bit is but a sneak preview.

 

 

Read On ........... Please........You Might Even Like This......

 

 

“Muntithoras is one of the dark secrets of a pure chapter. Of the Geneseed of Dorn, a member of the heroic and decimated Crimson Fists. He once held command of the illustrious 5th company, but that is in the past now. Now he and his followers are on a penitence crusade- the reasons known only to Pedro Kantor, the chapter master himself, and an elite select of the higher command of the Crimson Fists. Although it is suffice to say for a Chapter recovering from almost annihilation, the reasons must bring great shame to the chapter for them to cast out the 50 initiates and 5 neophytes of Muntithoras’ command. Never the less this is great testimony to the chapters purity as despite the harsh and most difficult times they find themselves in, they will not allow members to fall from total and utter honour, discipline and order. However the exact breach of the strict regime of the Crimson Fists is unknown, and debatable- the Dreadnaught attached to Muntithoras’ command claimed there to be none and to this day is rumoured to be apart of his penitence crusade.” Inquisitor Thanqreas ,of the Ordo Hereticus, on the subject of the “Penitent Fists,” an almost mythical contingent of the Crimson Fists.

 

“Muntithoras,hes a hero to all. A true man of honour and a true enemy to our great enemy that is chaos. I’ve never saw a soldier, astartes or not so skill full with a bolt pistol and power fist. He really showed those bastards. A man of courage, the other Astartes stationed here on Negeme gave him a wide berth though. And speaking to the lads not one of us saw him without a helmet or headscarf on, even at the end of the war effort.”Sergeant Brickshaw of the Valhallan 122nd Hussars.

 

“Munitithoras, yeah I’ve heard of him. The commissar used to rant on about having to serve with him. One of those Crimson Fists, got quite a command too from what I’ve heard, heard hes on a crusade of some sort, not quite sure though, these Asrartes are fething secretive. I know its something to do with not following orders, and an old grudge. My commissar used to tell me grudges should be forgotten on the war ground, well he cor speak no more, I’d love to see that feth speak with a knife in his gut. What? I’m not admitting to anything. No, I mean……”Trooper Corisanas, Valhallan 122nd Hussars, executed soon afterwards, by command of the late commissar Valkswagen.

Okay, if you made it though that welcome and hello :) My names Munting and I’ve been caught up in space marine fever with the release of the new Dex, so caught up I found my self buying an army at Games Day. However I lack a digital camera, so I thought rather than share pictures of my not so quality painting, I’d share pieces of fluff. Basically I’m painting crimson fists with no logo on their arms, they are on a crusade to wipe at the shame they brought th chapter. Basically without giving too much away yet they failed to answer a distress call from an imperial planet besieged by orks. Reason? They were chasing a single Iron Warrior. Minitithoras, recruited after Rynns World, has no particular hatred for Orks. Later however you will find out the reasons for his hatred of this single lone Iron Warrior, that caused a whole world to be lost to WAGGGGGHHH *needs name*.

That above was a sneak preview of what will evetually be a whole piece of fan ficton, maybe with a few pics of a complted army if my gf will lend me a camera :)

 

FEEDBACK?

[blood_raven_240]

Read On ........... Please........You Might Even Like This......

 

 

“Muntithoras is one of the dark secrets of a pure chapter. Of the Geneseed of Dorn, a member of the heroic and decimated Crimson Fists. He once held command of the illustrious 5th company, but that is in the past now. Now he and his followers are on a penitence crusade- the reasons known only to Pedro Kantor, the chapter master himself, and an elite select of the higher command of the Crimson Fists. Although it is suffice to say for a Chapter recovering from almost annihilation, the reasons must bring great shame to the chapter for them to cast out the 50 initiates and 5 neophytes of Muntithoras’ command. Never the less this is great testimony to the chapters purity as despite the harsh and most difficult times they find themselves in, they will not allow members to fall from total and utter honour, discipline and order. However the exact breach of the strict regime of the Crimson Fists is unknown, and debatable- the Dreadnaught attached to Muntithoras’ command claimed there to be none and to this day is rumoured to be apart of his penitence crusade.” Inquisitor Thanqreas ,of the Ordo Hereticus, on the subject of the “Penitent Fists,” an almost mythical contingent of the Crimson Fists.

 

“Muntithoras,hes a hero to all. A true man of honour and a true enemy to our great enemy that is chaos. I’ve never saw a soldier, astartes or not so skill full with a bolt pistol and power fist. He really showed those bastards. A man of courage, the other Astartes stationed here on Negeme gave him a wide berth though. And speaking to the lads not one of us saw him without a helmet or headscarf on, even at the end of the war effort.”Sergeant Brickshaw of the Valhallan 122nd Hussars.

 

“Munitithoras, yeah I’ve heard of him. The commissar used to rant on about having to serve with him. One of those Crimson Fists, got quite a command too from what I’ve heard, heard hes on a crusade of some sort, not quite sure though, these Asrartes are fething secretive. I know its something to do with not following orders, and an old grudge. My commissar used to tell me grudges should be forgotten on the war ground, well he cor speak no more, I’d love to see that feth speak with a knife in his gut. What? I’m not admitting to anything. No, I mean……”Trooper Corisanas, Valhallan 122nd Hussars, executed soon afterwards, by command of the late commissar Valkswagen.

 

Okay, if you made it though that welcome and hello :) My names Munting and I’ve been caught up in space marine fever with the release of the new Dex, so caught up I found my self buying an army at Games Day. However I lack a digital camera, so I thought rather than share pictures of my not so quality painting, I’d share pieces of fluff. Basically I’m painting crimson fists with no logo on their arms, they are on a crusade to wipe at the shame they brought th chapter. Basically without giving too much away yet they failed to answer a distress call from an imperial planet besieged by orks. Reason? They were chasing a single Iron Warrior. Minitithoras, recruited after Rynns World, has no particular hatred for Orks. Later however you will find out the reasons for his hatred of this single lone Iron Warrior, that caused a whole world to be lost to WAGGGGGHHH *needs name*.

That above was a sneak preview of what will evetually be a whole piece of fan ficton, maybe with a few pics of a complted army if my gf will lend me a camera :)

 

FEEDBACK?

 

Yeah, mate, it's cool! Good to see you're back to writing killer fan-fiction for the astartes xD

 

You should be like a GW author or something! I'd send this in to GW, you might get it featured in White Dwarf =]

[Munting]

Seeing as I wasn’t getting much interest; maybe it wasn’t that good I thought I’d add a piece on the beginning of his hatred for this iron warrior.

 

“Muntithoras, Company Champion, smiled. He enjoyed this new title, revelled in it, wore it with pride. Since his ascension into initiate, a year ago what felt like a lifetime, Zagoras, his brother sergeant had put him forward for promotion into the captain’s command squad. His smile grew even further, he knew of no one who had rose in the ranks so fast in such a small space of time.

 

But this did not cause him to lose respect for the brother sergeant, far from it, he was a veteran of Rynn, and his tactical squad held the most honour marks in the whole of the company. But he was just a line commander, and this was good, for that was all Zagoras wanted to be. Muntithoras however sought promotion, expansion, a way to hone his skills to make himself truly worthy of the Geneseed of Dorn, beloved Primarch. And so it was that the 5th company was brought to Ragnoraz, a once serene Imperial world, now in the depths of heresy, traitors. Hardly worth the mobilization of a full company of the Emperor’s finest, but rumours of the treacherous scum of the traitor legions being present caused them to be here.

 

And so this was what brought the 5th’s command squad to the blasted city of a thousand blasphemies, Hagraz. Its gothic masoned streets full of defiled imperial symbols, corpses of the Emperors Administrum and blasphemous symbols that hurt Muntithoras’ eyes. And so it was this treachery that brought the squad fighting amongst the ruins of the outer slums of the town, a military undertaking given to them by the Valhallan regiments posted here.

 

Muntithoras’ bolt pistol discharged spent shell after spent shell, but with each rhythmic kick back of its casing another heretic fell. The poorly equipped scum stood no chance, auto pistols, las pistols and even black powder weaponry was the expanse of their equipment. However this left Muntithoras wondering why the guard could not take this place. Brother Captain Hazingous obviously shared his wonder, as he let the squad advance at snails pace, for an Astartes that is; they were still taking ground faster than any guard regiment could. Like the cleansing light of the Saints brother Palemon’s flamer lit the way, torching dozens of traitorous PDF.

 

And then, the reason for Astartes involvement became apparent, Palemon’s body exploded with a dozen bolter impacts, spraying his brothers in an arterial shower, even his enhanced metabolism unable to clot the wounds. Muntithoras was quickly scanning for this new threat, a flash of silver, a shower of three bullets. He was rewards with a yell of pain. Apothecary Zigorlie quickly skidded through the ruins and debris to come to Palemon’s aid, Hazingous quickly appointing the other battle brothers of the squad to give covering fire.

 

“Looks like we’ve got a fight on our hands lads!” Hazingous shouted above the din of suppressing bolter fire being pumped out from both sides of the ruins. Muntithoras waited for the traitor marines to reveal themselves, another battle brother to the right fell, hot melta burning with ease through his ceramite armour. Hazingous voxed for support from other squads, and quickly directed Zigrlie and a battle brother to guard him to return to the main company- with two of the blessed geneseed in tow. He told them to return with aid.

It was while these were gone the Traitors showed their hand, 20 traitor marines clad in the colours of the hated Iron Warriors strode towards them. Firing bolter shell after bolter shell into the command squad……………………………….Contuinued soon- fin out what happens to Muntithoras and his command.

 

“Muntithoras readied himself to receive the charge, the Iron warriors were barely 20 strides away. His bolt pistol was spent and so he threw it to one side, taking up his combat shield and drawing his blade. He pressed its activation switch and enjoyed the hum of its power within his hands. The Fist’s would make their stand, with the Emperor as their light and with Dorn as their Fist; no traitors could ever take these from them. 15 Iron warriors remained- having lost 5 of their number due to Hazingous, Muntithoras and two other battle brothers fire. One of them, Karingest held the company banner with pride; this would be a good death.

 

“And so the lap dogs of the corpse god met their end,” the largest of the Iron Warriors, donned in ancient terminator armour and armed with twin lightening claws, “To none other than Warsmith Beraru the great.”

 

Hazingous, refused to tear himself from the Warsmith’s piercing and terrible glare, “And so May the Emperor gift me his light in this dark, so I may smite the enemies of Mankind.” Before any one could react the Captain moved with amazing speed, swinging his power fist in a gigantic arc towards the Warsmith, yet with even faster reflexes- surely a dark gift from the Warp the Warsmith brought his claws around.

 

Laughing, the Bastard was laughing. Muntithoras charged in swinging his sword- none would shame the honour of their company. But he felt his feet move from under him, one of the Iron Warriors had him gripped. And he was strong, he grinned up at Muntithoras, Wardrunk- sick on the blood shed. Muntithoras kicked out, but the traitors brethren had him, holding him despite his gargantuan struggle.

 

The Warsmith was locked in combat with his captain, but Muntithoras and his battle brothers could only try in vain to help. The Iron Warriors held them back, but most painful of all was the fact they did not strike to kill, they wanted the Crimson Fists to remember this. “Once your Emperor was killed, by a Lord of Chaos,” The Warsmith said, almost casually, this fight fast becoming boring and easy for him. “Unfortanately the lapdog Dorn was not present to witness the killing strike, you however will not be so unlucky, already this one tires.”

 

“The Emperor is but a corpse, my dear Astartes, true gods are Forever,” The Warsmith ranted as he circled a panting Hazingous. “I never had the choice, but you, undeserving as it may be have the choice to join me and help the galazy burn- for your precious Imperium already burns.”

 

“Don’t become kindling for the flame,” The Warsmith slayed Hazingous with a sweep of his lightning claws gripping the valiant captains head in his hand as casually as a child holds a toy. “See this ones already gone up in smoke.”

 

He was playing with them- treating them like playthings, but Muntithoras would not allow himself to be played with, he felt the rage build up inside him. He was Astartes, he was invincible as long as his faith in the Primarch and Emperor remained, he smacked the Iron Warrior retaining him with the edge of his combat shield with such force that the shield broke into two, blood splattered pieces as scarlet as Muntithoras’ own glaives. His battle Brothers saw this as a sign and stabbed their combat knives into the nearest Iron Warriors to them, Karingest was quickly ripped to pieces by the chain swords of the vicious traitors. Muntithoras’ other battle brother was lost in a rabble of the treacherous civilians that had been gathering around their new masters.

 

“So this one still has pride.” But the Warsmiths words were lost on Muntithoras who skidded between an Iron Warriors legs disembowelling him with his sword as he did so. Now gripped in two hands, Muntithoras prepared to stain its edge with Traitors blood. “And for that he will sufferer the most.” Muntithoras lost the blade in a traitors torso, before two others stepped in his place dragging him to the floor as civilians beat against him.

 

“We’ll return him to the fools of the corpse, broken mentally and physically as a reminder to the rest of these pretenders,” The Warsmith said as his followers dragged him into a waiting Land Raider. Darkness awaited and to this day Muntithoras own screams still echo in his mind as the Warsmith scared and tortured him using all manner of dark things, even possessing him with a daemon before exorcising him. Robbing him of his own purity.

 

Feedback and ontinued tomorrow :D

[Munting]

218 views and one reply:/

thanks blood raven :)

[Keyoz Devastrius]

218 views and one reply:/

Well I believe the reason might be that the topic has almost nothing to do with this forum.

Its PAINTING, CONVERTING and ARTWORK for a reason - people come here looking mostly for pictures of models. The topic would do much better in the INDEX ASTARTES subforum.

[Munting]

woah sorry. I assumed WIP covered fluff WIP too.

[Snozz]

I like the story, but it could be moved. How about some models to go with it, then it could stay here ;).

[Munting]

Maybe ill get some pics i lack a digital camera :/

I'll see waht I can do ;)

[Alys Dwr]

don't be sorry, this is a wonderful read and i hope you supply us with a whole novels' worth.

 

Al

[Munting]

Thanks alot :)

I certainly hope to, and maybe I will get some pics ofmy army in progress- im no where near as good as some of the amazing painters on here though :P

 

Contuned with fluff on my army:

 

“Muntithoras awoke in the ruins of a chapel, he still possessed all his armour except his helmet- his head was bear. His vision swam back into focus, his own screams that filled his head confusing his vision even further, he heard voices. His well drilled Astartes training activated as he rolled into the nearest cover- a concrete altar to the Emperor, and he reached for the nearest weapon- a shard of stained glass depicting a hero of the Emperor.

 

He recognized the voices- it was Zagoras the Sergeant that had trained him, despite him self he felt his hearts fill with jubilance; wait, he was sounding an alarm- calling for a retreat. Muntithoras walked towards the edge of the chapel that overlooked a street below- squad Zagoras were taking cover. Surrounded by dozens of traitor PDF, what? These ones were armed with proper weaponry; Muntithoras spied at least five grenade launchers unleashing lethal krak grenades into the disciplined ranks of the tactical squad. Zagoras was organising his marines into cover creating lines of fire to cover each other. Muntithoras smiled at the old man’s skill in war, and without any regrets he leaped of the chapels edge to come to his aid.

 

Embedding the stain glass shard into the neck of a line officer commanding the PDF, splattering blood across the members of his squad. Muntithoras snapped the neck of one of the troopers who was blinded by the life force of his comrade. Zagoras’ squad taking heart from this new aid doubled their efforts bolter fire spraying into their attackers.

 

The attack faltered out only for a moment, at least five Ion Warriors marched through the ranks of PDF calling out blasphemies that seemed to rally the traitors. Muntithoras still in mêlée with the PDF failed to notice them as they strode towards Zagoras squad- now depleted to 6 members. Muntithoras threw the last ember of the unit he was engaged with into the other, and sprinted with all the strength his enhanced muscles could muster towards the tactical squad.

 

“Muntithoras what happened to you, your face…” Zagoras said, looking immediately alarmed, almost as if he was ready to take arms upon his brother. This was the moment that nearly cost Muntithoras his life, he saw him self reflected in the eye lenses of the Sergeant’s eye lenses, her was scarred with symbols of the ruinous powers- and then it all came flooding back to him; his torture, possession, exorcism. Zagoras slide into his dumbstruck brother pulling him out of a spurt of bolter fire. The Iron Warrior’s had joined the fray.

 

“Muntithoras we are a rear guard action, with the loss of the command squad the Apothcary has ordered a retreat from the slums,” Zagoras roared, now helmetless like Muntithoras, he threw Muntithoras his bolt pistol and drew his chainsword. Muntithoras, his ordeals forgotten in the heat of battle quickly set about sending bolter shell after bolter shell in to his hated enemy, costing one iron warrior his head, and two PDF their arms in the bolter shells explosions. Zagoras looked like a true Avatar of war, his chainsword tearing limbs off the PDF, who not once seemed to falter with their evil masters now in the fray. Zagoras was now down to less than half his numbers.

 

But did they fight valiantly, Zagoras threw a frag grenade tearing PDF apart and costing one Iron Warrior his leg; heroic or not weight of numbers were beginning to show on the tiring Crimson Fists. Crimson Fists; Heroes; Muntithoras still wore that title with pride- no chaos scum would remove it from him. His bolt pistol now spent, he broke bones with his bare fists. But even he could only watch as an Iron Warrior beheaded Zagoras, his face teeth bared in a growl of rightous fury fell to the ground. Muntithoras’ own tutor, dead, at the hands of these who were once great defenders of man like him.

 

Before he knew it only he remained, surrounded by a hundred PDF and confronted with three Iron Warriors. “Kill me,” Muntithoras said, unable to bear the shame of witnessing both his tutor and his Captains death at the hands of these bastards, “ But I’m going to take you with me to the Emperors Judgement.”

 

“No,” the Iron Warrior said, “Our master told us of you, chaos marked, we are to let you return to your lines.” He quickly turned and walked away. The PDF too seemed to walk away. Muntithoras chased after them as quick as he could, they would not rob him of his death, he needed it. He grabbed two PDF snapping their throats, before another turned and shot, the las shot hitting his throat. Not enough to kill an Astartes but enough to cause him to fall, an angel of death falling to the ground strewn with rubble of the Emperors vision, of a land of people stood before the great destroyer, the Chaos of the warp.

 

Once he had returned to his feet the traitors had already left. He removed his armour on the hands and felt his face, it was scarred beyond recognition and hurt to the touch. He had been turned into a tool of his enemy, designed to spread fear amongst the Imperial lines. And then at his feet, almost as if sent by a divine force, lay Zagoras discarded helmet.

 

Its face blank, but pure. Like the Emperor himself, this was the ultimate sight to all loyal subjects of the Emperor, the face of the Astartes, humanitys greatest defenders. And to Muntithoras the face of a Crimson fists, the helmet of a true Hero, like the one depicted in the glass shard now embedded in a traitors neck. Muntithoras knew what he must do, he picke dup the helmet. None would see his face again until he was avenged, he would seek command of the 5th and hunt down Berau the so called Warsmith, slave of Chaos."

Sorry again no pics, soon I hope! Please tell me what you think, I understand the story line is far fetched, but hey so's 8 foot supermen in ceramite armour with bolters.

[Munting]

Feedback?

 

“None would see his shame until he had cleansed himself in blood and fire.

 

 

“Muntithoras boldly walked through the desertered city streets, he was in no mans land, but still he could hear the gunfire, explosions and shouting of the conflict around him. More disturbing than the sounds of War was the fact that it did not block out the own battle within his mind, as his own screams threatened to deafen him. The inbuilt navigator in Zagoras’ helmet told him he was heading towards the Imperial line.

 

“He walked through the centre of craters and past damage caused by artillery of the Valhallan regiments, with little disregard for his own safety, he should have died with his Captain and then again with his mentor. This punishment given to him by the Warsmith was greater than any he had ever known- this said something as in barely a year of service his body was a maze of scar tissue. Scars he could wear proudly, not these that now defile his face, his own being.

 

“At the tip of what seemed like the end of a countless number of craters, he saw the first signs of the Imperial line, regimental flags of the Valhallans proudly on display atop cereamite bunkers surrounded with coordinated patrols, traps and razorwire fortifications. He was no guardsmen, but his chest still filled with pride at the sight of Imperial troops; but they would not let him in, who would? He looked like a member of a sick pagan ritual, little better than the chaos scum he was killing in what felt like another lifetime, another age, before he let his weakness shame him so. He hated him self, and if the guardsmen were to kill him he would accept this end. He was little better than the Traitors, he wore their marks and they scolded his face still.

 

“Stop right there, scum,” a voice said, heavily accented with Krieg heritage- Muntithoras was shocked, he was unaware they had been posted here. How long had he been away from his beloved Imperial forces, how long had he shamed them for? Muntithoras turned to se a Commissar, of the Imperial Creed, and a full squad of grenadiers equipped with hell guns. They looked trigger happy. “Who are you? Those are the colours of the Fists, and yet you are alone.”

 

“I am of the 5th command squad, lost in action,” Muntithoras replied, knowing there was little chance of him being believed.

 

“Impossible, they were lost in a push into the slums, over 4 months ago.” 4 months, Muntithoras had been prisinor for that long, and now he was returning to Imperials, maybe he should let himself be shot. By returning he was doing what the Warsmith wanted.

 

No; he was of the geneseed of Dorn, and he would no shirk from his duty, he thirsted for revenge- almost physically. “And I, Imperial brother, was taken prisoner.”

 

“You, you’re the company champion,” the commissar said, his shaking voice giving away his shock and amazement, “the apothecary hes been looking for you, although he expected a corpse.”

 

“I think I would have preferred he found one,” Muntithoras, walking away, knowing the commissar would not follow- he believed he saw a ghost. Maybe he has, a ghostly apparition of an honoured squad. If only it was that easy, the rear of his already battered armour exploded with a spray of hell shots, Muntithoras fell.

 

Before he blacked out he heard the commissar, “Take him to the Crimson Fists, their apothecary will know whether he tells lies. Take his helmet off let him breathe……………”

 

Apothecary Zigorlie stood over the marines body, as he had done every day for last 3 months. He certainly was an Astartes, and he certainly wore the armour of the late Company Champion Muntithoras, a brave marine, one who showed promised. But this, this was chaos spawn, his face was etched with ruinous symbols that no doubt foretold the end of mankind. Yet, he could not bring himself to deliver the final blow. It was not emotion- such a thing had no place in a marine, it was something else. It was like he was not supposed to- as if the Emperor himself would not allow him.

 

Superstition he knew, Muntithoras was one of the Emperors Chosen, but he had allowed himself to be scarred by the enemy rather than killed, what need does the Imperium have for such a marine. “Zigorlie, you were late.” Zigorlie who had been searching Muntithoras anatomy scans for sign of a fatal blow, or even a reason he had survived through such injuries- he was mutilated; this was a master torturer.

 

Despite himself the old apothecary smiled, “Brother it is you who were late, the Iron Warriors are in flight and the PDF are nigh upon their end.” Monitoring servitors beeped, Muntithoras hearts raced to an almost fatal speed. The young marine felt lost, he needed to seek down the Warsmith, and deliver redemption. “The librarians have been studying you brother, you should not be alive today yet you are, we would have all prepared a corpse.”

 

“Brother these scars, I… I wasn’t there,” Muntithoras began.

 

“I know brother, you were taken prisioner, Commissar Vanschien has filled us in,” the apothecary interrupted, “your scars, I knew you brother, you would never allow yourself to be mutilated in their name so.” The wounded marine’s anger flared at the mention of the commissar.

 

“You speak of me as if I am already dead.” And over the next warp travel he would wish he was, he was studied, watched and never left unguarded. It was almost as if he had become warp scum, yet why had no one delivered the killing strike, it would have been the greatest mercy; it was during a warp dream, worsened by the drugs they had put on him to control his distorted metabolism that the answer came to him. The Emperor himself, had saved him, he had greater cause. He must avenge his command, he must kill the Warsmith.

 

 

“You, my brother, are quite a hero,” Kantor began, the wizened Chapter Master began………………….”

 

“You survived a battle alone, a battle that claimed one of my greatest Captains,” the Chapter Master continued, “you alone, barely a year into service.”

 

“I believe I was meant to be used to strike fear into the Imperial lines master,” Muntithoras humbly replied, head bowed.

 

“Then it would have been better we found a corpse,” Kantor interrupted, “battle brother you are brave, it is so, but you have allowed your self to be used.”

 

“Then let me seek revenge.”

 

“Do not be so impetuous,” Kantor disciplined, “Luckily for you, your Apothecary spoke out for you, he says you are not tainted. Emperor, even my best librarians couldn’t find anything amiss in your mind. They said you were strong and pure.”

 

“Shocking, after the ordeals you claim to have undertook.” Librarian Ziffal added.

 

“You must be strong of faith, young Astartes,” Chaplain Eiffel continued, Muntithoras head rose a little, “I knew your mentor, he always spoke highly of you. And Zagoras was a marine rarely wrong.”

 

“I was there in his last moments sir. He died a hero.”

 

“And you too have become a Hero to your company. This is why we have given you temporary command of the 5th,” Kantor said, and then when saw Muntithoras was about to reply, “You are dismissed brother. May the Emperor guide you.”

 

The other members of the council chorused the blessing. Muntithoras hastily wrapped head scarf around his face, none would see his shame until it was washed with the blood of his enemies. His heavy footsteps echoed around the chamber, as his scarred body, his dress fatigues barely able to hide the worse of them, left the room. Into the hall of heroes; here surrounded by the names and images of some of the Chapter’s greatest heroes and moments, Muntithoras truly found peace for the first time in an age. His inner screaming stopped. But something was missing a deep piece of him, but then he felt whole as he saw the name of the newest hero.

 

Just a line officer. A Hero to men none the less. Zagoras.

 

Apothecary Zigorlie waited for him, in his Spartan room. Anxiously awaiting his brothers return. There fore he was shocked when instead of Muntithoras it was Eiffel that entered the room, the Chaplain looked humble when not wearing his death mask, fighting in the field singing the psalms, hymns and verses of the Emperor.

“Apothecary.”

 

“Chaplain,” Zigorlie bowed his head, indicating respect.

 

“I come to ask for aid,” he continued, knowing he could trust the Apothecary. Zagoras always spoke of him as a man of honour. “Muntithoras, he has been given temporary command of the 5th, I am sure he will do well. But he needs to feel accepted again, his scars shame him so. Here are two gifts from the chapel of Dorn, we found them fitting, me and the other Chaplains. I do not believe any one has congratulated Muntithoras on his survival, the Emperor must have been watching him.”

 

“Of course sir,” the white haired Apothecary replied, taking the chest presented to him.” But by the time he turned to continue his speech, the Chaplain had left, leaving him alone waiting for Muntithoras. His own feeling on the lad were changing vastly, to still be pure after such an ordeal is amazing. But to come out of it as strong as Muntithoras he truly must be blessed.

 

Muntithoras returned to his room, after offering a short prayer for Zagoras’ sacrifice. He wondered what the sergeant would think of him now, leading a full company, he would do him proud. “Hail Captain!” Muntithoras looked up to see a winking Apothecary.

 

“Brother,” Muntithoras bowed his head. He did not need jokes now; it was time to plan, the Warsmith could be in any of a thousand systems by now.

 

“Why so serious?” The apothecary grinned, “the Chaplains have sent you something and a new command quad needs to arranged for our heroic leader!”

 

“Forgive me brother, I will seek you tomorrow,” Muntithoras said, as politely as possible, indicating his door. The apothecary, looking disheartened – he was obviously making an effort to cheer Muntithoras, left the room. Leaving Muntithoras and a small ornate chest. Muntithoras picked it up, it was heavy in his arms, but it was so beautiful it stirred emotions in Muntithoras, ones not even felt in the Halls of heroes.

 

Old oaken wood, smooth and varnished with knots that looked as old as time, Muntithoras smiled or even as old as Zigorlie. It reflected light, casting shadows on the carlet headscarf of Muntithoras. Its trim gold, burnished and darkened, etched with heart lightening praise to the Emperor, Muntithoras recognised his favourite verse; “May The Emperors Light Shine In My Heart.” In the centre two fists were scribed the deepest into the old wood, Muntithoras recognised them as the fists of Dorn, the greatest relics of all their father chapter- The Imperial Fists. Muntithoras prised the lid open, its opening releasing old stale air with it. Within lay an incense burner on a chain and a pair of ceramite wings, Muntithoras was confuse how would these help him lay judgement upon the enemies of the Imperium.

 

Muntithoras cursed himself for his foolish. The wings, he recognised them, they were once worn by a Chaplian, on his power pack, so that he may truly be an angel of death, an instrument of the Emerors Will made Manifest. And the Insense? It would bring light intot he darkness of battle and with it holy cleansings scent, maybe this would help to make his heart and mind pure again.

 

[Munting]

come on over 400 views andhardly any feedback, am i that bad?

[Leonaides]

Just waiting for the next installment - its only the 3rd time I've checked this evening :lol:

But write more.... always more...

[Munting]

Thank you :lol:

 

at least i think i mean thank you- does that mean you like it?

Lol :)

 

and what sort of direction would you like to see munti fall?

 

dark and demented, determined, or light int he company of his brothers?

what sort of command squad would he have?

[Munting]

The power fizzed hummed to life, its power field intensified, casting what almost seemed like lightening across its crimson surface. It still felt fresh, new, but Muntithoras wore it with pride, once the weapon of choice to the late Hazingous it had slain many enemies of the Imperium. And such a fact could be seen on its scarred surface, Muntithoras had not allowed the artificers to repair it, it seemed fitting that it should be scared like the marine who now bared it. Assault Squad Azran readied themselves around him, he hadyet to choose a new command squad, instead preferring to spend time with each squad as so to make a more educated choice.

 

And so he set this squad a lone mission- a simple plan. To kill the head of the serpent and stop the rising on Stresis, the Agri world threatened by a foul Slaaneshi cult. And so the Crimson Fists 5th, and the Valhallan 122nd and the Cadian 414th conscripts mobilized. Muntithoras however suspect a full scale rebellion could be easily quelled with the destruction of the head of the cult, an overseer called Tzagringous and his cadre of trained traitor guardsmen. Barely 50 guardsmen at most, hardly a match for a Company Captain and an Assualt Squad.

 

Their Thunderhawk screamed towards the dome, towards a small balcony- the quarters of an overseer. Muntithoras nodded, Zagoras helmet almost making it seemed like it was the tactical marine himself, thus giving the signal. Muntithoras wings flared to life, turning his small power pack into a Jump Pack, once again he felt like the angel of death. The marines around him activated their jump packs, and they jumped. Flying through the mists of the cloud, towards the small balcony. The familiar rhythmic kick of his bolt pistol in his off hand, causing the purity seal upon it to move like the foul elder harlequins the 2nd company had told them of, the incense burner beneath it casting shadows upon its dancing surface.

 

The assault squads fire ripped through the two guardsmen patrolling the length of the balcony, they failed to raise the alarm. There was no need to be stealthy, the incision had already gone smoothly and at this moment the rabble of cultists the traitorous guards men had raised would already be set upon by two tactical squads and predator support tanks. The rebellion would not spread from this one dome.

 

Muntithoras lead the charge into the dome, through the simple glass doors that marked the entrance to the overseer’s quarters. His bolt pistol shot two guards men that noticed them, another 5 reacted and fired upon the assault squad. Two members jumped towards them and gutted them with swoops of their chainswords, which soon became covered in gore their teeth like warp vampires covered in blood. The squad were untouchable, only one marine fell to his wounds as they slashed, stabbed and shot their way through dozens of guardsmen and a few drabs of cultist militia. Muntithoras had done his fist proud, it was covered in the sizzling remains of the Slaaneshi worshipping deviants. They had fell to their own pride, indulgences and weaknesses- Muntithoras would never allow such a thing to befall him. One thing worried him, there was no sign of Tzaringous and they were running out of dome to search………..

 

Tzaringous was running out of options, beset on all sides- Astrates attacking his cultist army, guarsdsmen of at least two regiments supporting them, and from the latest intelligence a crack squad active in his own dome. Slaanesh would accommodate, he had done so far, supplying him with thousands of cultists and even 50 trained soldiers, but Tzaringous had not planned for Space Marines.

 

Hidden in his panic room, surrounded with the last 15 of his guardsmen, and about forty cultists- he knew what he had to do. Beings from the warp needed to be summoned, Slaanesh’s chosen, they would deal with the Astartes within his dome, and then victorious he would lead the remainder of his army against the guards men and remaing space marines. Silly, how the Imperium struggle so against a God that offered all the senses a euphoria of delights, all of mans desires as one.

 

Heavy footsteps sounded out side his room, he needed to be quick. Pulling the delicate, highly decorated and intricate onyx knife from within his robes, the robes that barely covered his swelled body mutated with over indulgence, Tzaringous knew wha the must do. The Children Of The Emperor- the ultimate servants of his new patron had gifted him with this weapon. Reaching for the nearest woman cultist, a beautiful woman, barely out of her teens, with flowing blonde hair and a lean body, Tzaringous began the verse. Uttering words no human vocal ability should have been able to form and maniupulate, uttering the favored six omens of Slaanesh Tzaringous embedded the blade, up to its hilt within her stomach, scarlet droplets fell to the ground. The sweet incense constantly burned in his presence intensified, as Tzaringous felt the ultimate pleasure, power built up in side him. His body guards realizing what was happening fell around him to the floor in ecstatic praise for the Dark Prince. Purple and black swirls of warp energy gathered by the door threatening to throw it open, 6 beings walked out of it.

 

And they were beautiful, so seductively they stepped, the ground trembling and distorting at their power. The door behind them flew open revealing 4 marines, one with ornate armour burning the hated incense of the emperor and with wings that manipulated the silhouette created by the warp energy, an angel of death was knocking at Tzaringous’ door.

 

The good news was, they’d found Tzaringous. A joy short lived for Afelos was crushed by an exploding hidden door. Blew out of the wall by gathering warp energies, his broken body making a pitiful end for the brave marine, a marine that deserved a better death. The screams in Muntithoras head intensified at the sadness of Afelos his death- like so many others lost to chaos he deserved a more dignified fate. Of the 6 marines that had made the jump from the thuder hawk only 4 remained, Muntithoras himself and the remainder of assault squad Azran. Before them stood six dark, disturbingly beautiful and obviously dangerous beings.

[Brother Richard]

Great creativity, good storyline... I would like to see Muntithoras become a chaplain, and with his favorite verse I see him as filled with zealous light of the emperor, though his brothers would see him as dark and brooding because of his revenge streak. Or maybe thats just the Templar in me :P when we crusade it is to the bitter end!

 

Focus more on how many viewers stop and look at your work than how many critics make a comment. You are really pumping out stuff fast..so just keep it coming by the number of viewers you can easily tell that it is being read and obviously enjoyed or they would comment!

[Munting]

thanks alot mate :P

I'd just like some encourage ment so i know im not writing this for it to be laughed at,

and thanks thats some good ideas,

I'm going to make a short story for the recruitment of each member of the new command squad starting with Azran a power sword armed veteran.

Thanks alot and please contunue the read :P

 

The most disturbing aspect of the Daemons was that they were prepared to stand before 4 fully armed Astartes with little than lion clothes on, their purple forms dazzling the marines. The claws that ended their left arms though, made them look even further away from innocence. They reached out for the nearest cultists to them, and quickly embedded black sharp fangs into them, one stopped drinking to smile at Muntithoras. Tzaringous, stood behind this, the daemons they were feeding upon part of his own cultist force. He was in control here he must be, drawing his antique stub pistol he fired at the marines, barely scratching the ceramite plates of the Angel.

 

“For Dorn!” Muntithoras shouted, the autopistol shot stirring him from his thoughts the screams in his head clearing in the heat of battle. He charged towards the Daemons before him gripping one with his power fist, they seemed to distort reality the edge of his crimson fist began to waver. His brothers were behind him though unleashing bolter shells as they charged.

 

It was chaos, the cultists now fearing their own lives to the Astartes and the beings summoned to save them ran, Tzaringous’ elite guards men shot any who strayed too close to him. But it was chaos he served and so Tzaringous took joy from his- the emotion strengthening the Daemons grip on reality. Barely twenty cultists remained in the room, but these were obviously still loyal to Tzaringopus as they took up position around him to watch the dance unfold before them. A dance that would end the Astartes attack……..

 

 

Azran was frantically voxing for support from the thunderhawk, ordering it to deploy the remaining 5 Assault Marines that were deemed unnecessary for the undertaking. Muntithoras was a righteous leader, pure of heart and soul, but he had let his emotions get the better of him and had rushed into the charge- he now struggled with two of the warp fiends, as one of them quartered one of his squad. He shot the being with his bolt pistol before slashing in it with his power sword, all the time praying for the Emperors vigilance.

 

Tzaringous smiled, one of the marines had been felled already, but his smile quickly turned to a frown as one of the marines, slashed one his precious daemons in half. Still there were only 3 of the intruders left, looking to his 20 remaining cultists he nodded, and they released a salvo of stub shots, the guns were a poor quality but he ha dno doubt the mass of firepower would take an effect on the marines. He was wrong, the moajority of the shots missed but one glanced one of his patrons daemons. Although unhurt the being turned and jumped into a pack of his cultists, killing the easiest with a casual joy, he had no control over these beings. The Emperors Children had lied, these daemons were here just to claim more soul playthings for the Dark Prince.

 

He had little time to feel wronged as she walked towards him, his guard frantically shooting their lasguns into her form, the shots merely rippled into her increasing her anger. She walked towards him slowly, catching his glare and transfixing him on the spot. Oh, what had he gotten into, the talks of seduction of a life without want where every need was granted, he had doomed them all, he had sold his soul and his planet. She forced her claw through his stomach piercings the layers of fat and muscle with ease, in desperation he clumsily and instinctively lashed out with the onyx knife- thoughts of self preservation taking over from thoughts of conquest. The shocked Daemonette looked down towards the knife, and disappeared. Only two of the marines remained.

 

Grimtang, leader of Tzaringous’ guard and his second in command, watched spellbound as his lord was cut down by his own summonings, a promotion, he smiled revealing filed sharpened teeth. Only two of the marines remained, the one with the ornate wings and cursed lantern/incense burner and the other was the killer of a daemonette. Easy picking he still commanded 14 guardsmen and some of the cultists looked to him for guidance.

 

They didn’t look for long, bolter shells exploded within them, 5 new marines had joined the fray. Muntithoras looked, seeing reinforcements, and noted down Azrans call for reinforcements in the heat of battle- he’d found the seargant for his command squad. Firing as he went he ran to finish off the late overseer's bodyguards.

[Brother Barkus]

The fact that your being viewed 400 some times means people are reading and considering this isn't the most popular section of the B and C some are reading it more than once. So your actually doing fine by Liber Comminscor standards.

[Munting]

YeahI guess, i just wish people would leave a lil note saying what they think- even if its bad.

 

Thank youf or taking the time to ocmment though.

More soon.

[Leonaides]

I'm liking the idea of a story showing some background to each member of the command squad - but maybe not all of them have to be combat situations? Have you read the Brothers of the Snake book, some bits in there showing how the squad functions within itself, rather than just how it works in battle (though this may be easier to do once you already have your command squad picked out).

[Alys Dwr]

I am loving this story. One point through, in the last installment they release a "salvo of stub shots" into the marines, then shoot lasguns at the daemonettes.

 

I can see the direction this story is taking, with Muntithoras taking squads to battle and selecting the best of each for his command squad. I'm a little worried that it may become a bit "samey" but i hope you can prove me wrong, in a good way of course <_<

 

Al

[Munting]

Ahhh, thanks for the feedback.

 

I intended it to seem like the cultists were poorly equipped with stub guns, yet Tzaringous' guard was armed better with lasguns. Sorry if that wasn't clear int he text.

 

Again thank you <_<

[Munting]

Leonides, thats an excellent idea.

I might use this idea to have the standard bearer be an inspirational figure who the company are known to look to for guidance outside of combat situations?

[Alys Dwr]

Ok, my fault, i missed that it was the guard with lasguns.

 

And thank you for taking the time to write this! ;)

 

Al

[Munting]

well there will be aun update later, the command still needs a standard, company champion and a verteran marine!

 

Keep watching ;)