The Rise of the Warmaster

[calgar101]

Its good as ever.

[Skirax]

:lol: That bad? ;)

[calgar101]

No, just nothing wrong really, was a good chapter.

[Skirax]

Hopefully the full story will be coming by the end of the weekend :D

[antique_nova]

the weekend? 0_o *whips out lash, with 9 tails! don't make me do it....again :lol:.

 

The chapter wasn't your best, i didn't get the same feel that i did for your other chapters, but this is a carrying chapter. It could use some pruning and rewording to get the feeling of the IF in the old days trying to take the iron cage with a can opener. With Perturbo smiling down below, you need to describe the fotifications a tad more and talk about a few small little fights that Perturbo sees so we get an idea how superior he thought he was then.

thanks

antique_nova

[Skirax]

Yeah, thanks, but I tend to make changes in the making, so this is a rough outline of the coming story :P

[Skirax]

The Fist and the Warrior.

 

Large battle cannons thundered across the defences, shells exploding amid the scattered the attackers, limbs flying across the field, blood flowing freely, rivers of gore and waterfalls of innards flowing through the trenches. Blood squelched underfoot as massive shod feet thundered through the killing grounds. Golden yellow armour was stained with blood as sections of armour exploded and men were blown apart as they stepped on mines. Bodies littered the fields, discarded weaponry and cast aside blades sparse compared to the mass of dead Astartes. Perturabo smiled as he watched the Imperial Fists try and traverse a mile wide field of razor wire, only to come out on the bad end of a mounted Heavy Bolter. He laughed as Land Raiders were halted in their tracks; slewing to a halt before tank traps and pausing just long enough for a stray missile to catch them in a weak spot, only for Iron Warriors to come pouring out of the trenches, engaging the survivors of the wreckage in hand to hand combat, taking a perverse pleasure in driving the cold steel of the blades into the stomach sections of the Astartes armour, repeating the action over and over as thick blood came pouring out over the crazed lunatics. As ceramite and rockrete flew through the air, he roared with mirth, the laugh reverberating through his whole body, shaking the fortress around him, making the fluttering banners with the names of champions of the Iron Warriors who had ascended to the ultimate prize – Daemonhood – quiver with the shock. The Warsmiths hefted their Heavy Bolters up and opened fire on the stragglers, the huge shells exploding inside the chests of the Imperial Fists after they had punched their way through and nestled in their chest cavity. The blood ran like rivers and the shining grey of the Warriors was untouched against the grimy, dust-caked bronze of the Fists. He could already feel the prize of Daemonhood clutching at him, and as he pulled his hand up to his face, he could see the flash bubbling and reforming as the raw power of the Warp filled the veins that stretched through his form, replacing the blood and giving me him power beyond that that the Emperor could ever have given him...

 

He studied that hand once more, now a long fingered, clawed twist of flesh and sinew. The gifts of Chaos had not came without a price, but he had welcomed those prices and used them to control the Daemon that raged within him. He sighed contentedly, a happy grin filling his face and making him seem semi-human once more, not the power driven monster that he had become. He snapped back to the present day. The memory of the Eternal Fortress made him glow with warmth. The smile turned into a cold sneer that lit up his face, and his eyes shone a malicious gold. His armour was the same colour as the great walls of the Forever Bastion that he stood on. He smiled once more at his genius and taunting mimicry of the Eternal Fortress of old. Off in the distance, he watched as thrusters flared, bringing hundreds of Imperial Fist soldiers down to the field, disgorging thousands of war tanks and servitors, advancing slowly up the field, forming into a spear formation all the while. Before them lay a labyrinthine maze of trenches, filled to the brims with Renegade Militia and disfigured servitor drones. Guns bristled, and the sound of a thousand weapons loading and clicking into 'ready' mode couldn't help but make him smile. Tonight, he thought, the Iron Warriors shall have their revenge, as he looked behind him at the thousands of gathered soldiers in their granite armour, hackles raised and eyes afire with vengeance. He threw his huge hammer over his shoulder, as though he were about to strike down a dog of the Imperium, and roared with a resounding cry that made all sounds seem to dim to almost silence, and his soldiers stopped their frantic gibbering and incessant bickering, looking at awe at the mighty silhouette against the burning sun in the burning sky. Then he brought his hammer forward, the Daemon within it screaming with glee. Then the warriors behind him roared in response, firing blindly into the air, and charging out from the Bastion to meet the advancing Imperial Fists.

 

Gregorix roared with glory-hunger as he surged with his brothers out of the fortress, his massive legs propelling him forward. Once he was beyond the gates, he and all of his brothers spread out, all coherency lost and the Iron Warriors giving over to their vengeance and blood lust that they had kept reserved for one hundred centuries. After about two minutes, the Iron Warriors were starting to regain a sense of coherency as they neared the Fist lines, and began to take up positions in squads, milling around each other, the weaker Warriors handing command over to the more powerful. The squads, each nearly forty strong, each filled with a variety of marines with a variety of weapons and abilities, fell into the trenches, quickly mounting guns at the crests, the front ranks swelling as hundreds of Power Armour clad traitors joined the quivering ranks of Renegade Guard, puddles in the trenches despite the clear sky, and several Commissars keeping them in check from routing. Gregorix launched himself into the air, landing in the trenches, feeling a crunching sensation before he had even hit the floor. He raised his right boot and saw the crushed remains of a Renegade Guardsman. He laughed, then snapped to attention as he suddenly became aware of a huge presence behind him, and he couldn’t help but wonder how his Primarch had arrived on the front lines so quick. He didn’t have much time to wonder, because a split second later, the guns of the Iron Warriors opened and the first ranks of Imperial Fists were cut down in a hail of fire.

 

The attackers advance faltered under the storm of steel, but the grim determination kept them going, and with the Terminators acting a moving shield, the many companies of Imperial Fists moved forward in relative safety. The Leman Russ’ powered forward on the flanks, and Vindicators that had taken up positions in the landing zone, surrounded by quickly erected barricades, launched shell after highly reactive shell at the defenders, their cover denied by the explosive shells. Eventually the Fists reached the trenches, and then the killing really began.

 

Perturabo was a blur as he whirled through the mass of Imperial Fists Astartes, slaughtering all who came before him, unleashing his Daemon upon those who dared stand to his onslaught. His hammer was a weapon of unimaginable death that day, his every stroke ending the life of a Fist abruptly and violently. The bolt shells bounced off of his hide, and he laughed as heavier weapons were brought to bear, knowing that, at best, they would only slow him. Suddenly a shells exploded next to him, and he crouched as low as he could, shielding his face from the blow. His ears rang, blood dripping from his disfigured nose, tiny bits of shrapnel digging their way into his thick hide, drawing blood and drenching his huge, sinewy form in dirt. His eyes ached, and it felt as though they were going to explode, for they felt far too large for his tiny eye sockets. Then it stopped, and Perturabo looked up again.

Dead or dying Fists surrounded him, many crushed by the unimaginable weight of other Astartes, some without limbs, all lying helpless below the shadow of a God of War. He picked one grizzled looking veteran whose legs had been blown off in the explosion, a gritted look of hatred and pain on his twisted face. Perturabo smiled that cold smile once more, before rising his huge hammer high and roaring a praise to Chaos before bringing the hammer crashing down...

...and being knocked aside as it was mere inches from the limp form of the Fist. He roared at the defiance of his kill, and he searched swiftly for his assailant. It did not take long for him to see who it was. Before him stood another God of War, whose armour shone like a thousand young Suns, whose face was tanned a deep brown, tough like leather, and whose form rivalled that of Perturabo’s Daemon form. Silhouetted against the deep purple sky, the figure struck deep hatred and fear into the cold heart of the Daemon-Primarch.

‘We meet once more, brother,’ spat Rogal Dorn.

 

To Be Continued...

 

 

I'm back, baby!

[calgar101]

Back with a good add too :) Curse you for having Peturabo too! Also Forgebreaker (his hammer) wasn't possessed by a daemon, it was just a gift from Horus to seal the deal.

[Skirax]

Really? *checks Lexicanum*

 

Horus made the most of the opportunity by presenting Perturabo with a hammer named Forgebreaker. It is possible that this weapon was one by which the powers of Chaos could influence and manipulate the thoughts of the wielder.

Well, there's no Daemon, but Chaos is certainly in there somewhere :devil: Can we just say that, after ten thousand years, surely somewhere along the way, that Chaos sent a Daemon in when he became a Daemon Primarch?

[calgar101]

*Shakes head* Lexi is not 100% reliable. Ah well, more please.

[Walter Payton]

*Shakes head* Lexi is not 100% reliable. Ah well, more please.

 

It is if you use it properly, and discount anything that they don't cite a source for.

 

Skirax, the story is as good as ever. Can Erebus please, oh please, die screaming! ;)

[Skirax]

As you wish :)

[Sons of Horus]

ah I'm back too skirax ;) great additions to the story :cuss so are we expecting anything new soon?

[Skirax]

Well, the continued part of this will come soon :) but then, maybe there shall be an appearance from the Night Haunter and Alpharius :)

 

Oh, by the way guys, I'll start a new thread once I've finished this whole thread and post the stories on each post, so when that comes, can people please hold off with the posts until the stories have been compiled? Cheers :D

[calgar101]

Thats a good idea. I hate Alpharius, to me he's a poorly wrttiten character and the whole he has a twin called Omegon(Spelling?) is just a cliche and i feel is stupid and pointless but Night Haunter? Muwahaha i look forwards to that.

[Skirax]

I find Alpharius quite interesting personally, but I do wish Dan Abnett had used him more often in Legion so we could have seen what he was like.

[Sons of Horus]

ooooohh finally Kurze will make an appearance ;)

[Skirax]

The Fist and the Warrior, Part 2

 

‘I am a son of the Emperor,’ he said calmly, wiping tears from his cheeks. Perturabo stopped laughing at this, and his face fell.

‘That bastard?’ roared Perturabo. At this, Dorn’s insides turned to fire. ‘He couldn’t keep half of his sons in check, and because of it, Mankind now stands on the brink of extinction!’

‘You will not speak of our father in that way!’ he roared, the fire inside burning brightly and the flames shone in his eyes. ‘I am a Son of the Master of Mankind, and you shall feel His wrath!’ At this, Dorn leapt forward,swinging his hammer at a speed that no mortal could match, let alone the Daemon Prince Perturbo himself, like it was a mere combat knife. Perturabo could not keep up with his speed, and shock and horror flew across his face at the shock of his brother’s ferocity. Dorn feinted, swung wide, and pulled every move he knew to penetrate Perturabo’s defences, and finally he landed a blow on the worn out Daemon-Primarch, his hammer impacting in his abdomen, knocking him backwards and knocking his own hammer out of his hands. Dorn walked over to him, and pointed his hammer at Perturabo’s face.

‘Do you feel it?’ asked Dorn. Perturabo just looked at him with dire hatred.

‘You have no idea of the events set in motion,’ said Perturabo, every word a wheeze. ‘Even now, all of our brothers return and a war is about to erupt and envelop the galaxy, the likes of which has never been seen before.’ Dorn studied his brother’s face, but he knew that, despite his new allegiances, Perturabo wasn’t lying. Then the Daemon Prince chuckled, never breaking eye contact with Dorn. ‘Horus is about to rise again, and the Emperor will fall forever this time.’

[antique_nova]

You meant Daemon prince towards the end of your paragraph didn't you? You need to keep stressing that he is no ordinary daemon by adding the word prince :). Abit more about the tears would be nice, why is he crying? What does wheeze mean?

 

swinging his sword at a speed that was completely impossible

 

swinging his sword at a speed that no mortal could match, let alone the daemon prince Perturbo himself.

 

Now that sounds better doesn't it? It also makes the daemon prince sound much more powerful and better than another daemon prince.

 

Also describing his defeated face once he is beaten would be nice, before he says what he says.

 

This part is only a teaser though! People tend to notice grammar and spelling mistakes and lack of flow in the connecting and less interesting paragraphs of a story more than any other area. Which is quite surprising!

 

thanks

antique_nova

[Skirax]

Look up wheeze, I definately spelt it correctly.

 

The tears shall become more obvious when the whole story is posted, and then you shall realise why I did it!

 

Editted in your ideas, thanks. Just had a bit of a hard week and the muse left me after writing a 12 page story for my English Assignment.

[Tutteman]

swinging his sword at a speed that no mortal could match, let alone the daemon prince Perturbo himself.

Hang on, so a daemon primarch is slower than a mortal human? Otherwise good :D

[calgar101]

Very good Skirax :wub: Myabe put it something like this? He swung his sword with a blinding speed?

[Skirax]

The Fist and the Warrior, Part 2

 

Perturabo was seething, standing there, his legs spread in a ready stance, his hammer hanging limp at his side, and his muscles writhing and throbbing as exhaustion caught up with him. His chest rose and fell heavily, and blood trickled slowly out of a huge gaping wound where Rogal had smashed into him. Dorn stood opposite him, another great hammer held in a ready stance across his chest, and the eagle of Terra shining on his chest. His tanned features were lined with age and stress, and small wounds where weapons had nicked his skin twisted his old, worn face. All the fighting had stopped at the sudden presence of Rogal Dorn, and marines had frozen in their poses, some with weapons raised above their heads, some with combat blades half-buried in their enemies’ chests. Dorn’s upper lip curled as he regarded the horrible thing that his once brother had become. Perturabo sneered, and put on a mock expression of shock and curiosity. ‘What’s the matter, brother?’ he asked snidely, spreading his arms wide. ‘Does daddy not approve?’ he cooed.

Roaring with rage, Dorn launched himself at his brother, raising his hammer high. He brought it crashing down, but Perturabo sidestepped it easily. Too blunt, thought Dorn. While this thought passed through his mind, Perturabo plunged a clawed hand into Dorn’s exposed abdomen. He grit his teeth, refusing to give Perturabo the pleasure of him moaning. Screwing up his face, Dorn pulled himself off of Perturabo’s hand, and when he came away, the force which he had put into getting out of the traitor’s grip backfired, and he flew backwards, landing with his back on his ground. He moaned, despite his best efforts, and rolled himself onto his front. He saw the look of the Imperial Fists, and they were all aghast; they had just seen their Primarch fall to one of the most obvious feints in all military history. This thought burnt its way through Dorn’s mind, the dishonour it brought threatening to deal him a blow worse than Perturabo ever could, and a single tear ran down his cheek and onto the grimy, dirty ground. He sighed, and then raised himself onto his feet, turning to meet his brother...

...and Perturabo’s hammer smashed into the side of his face. He was sent reeling, landing back on his front, and this time more tears flowed. Perturabo laughed, and said, ‘Has ten thousand years of inaction lent you no benefits, brother?’ he asked sarcastically. Dorn’s face soured at this, and once again he got back to his feet.

‘I am a son of the Emperor,’ he said calmly, wiping tears from his cheeks. Perturabo stopped laughing at this, and his face fell.

‘That bastard?’ roared Perturabo. At this, Dorn’s insides turned to fire. ‘He couldn’t keep half of his sons in check, and because of it, Mankind now stands on the brink of extinction!’

‘You will not speak of our father in that way!’ he roared, the fire inside burning brightly and the flames shone in his eyes. ‘I am a Son of the Master of Mankind, and you shall feel His wrath!’ At this, Dorn leapt forward, swinging his hammer at a speed that was blindingly fast, like it was a mere combat knife. Perturabo could not keep up with his speed, and shock and horror flew across his face at the shock of his brother’s ferocity. Dorn feinted, swung wide, and pulled every move he knew to penetrate Perturabo’s defences, and finally he landed a blow on the worn out Daemon-Primarch, his hammer impacting in his abdomen, knocking him backwards and knocking his own hammer out of his hands. Dorn walked over to him, and pointed his hammer at Perturabo’s face.

‘Do you feel it?’ asked Dorn. Perturabo just looked at him with dire hatred.

‘You have no idea of the events set in motion,’ said Perturabo, every word a wheeze. ‘Even now, all of our brothers return and a war is about to erupt and envelop the galaxy, the likes of which has never been seen before.’ Dorn studied his brother’s face, but he knew that, despite his new allegiances, Perturabo wasn’t lying. Then the Daemon chuckled, never breaking eye contact with Dorn. ‘Horus is about to rise again, and the Emperor will fall, forever this time.’

Dorn snarled, and then spat into his estranged brother’s eye. ‘How dare you?’

‘Fool! The Warmaster Returns! And now he gathers a warband so large that it could smash through the Luna Defences and replace it’s casualties a thousand fold,’ roared Perturabo. Dorn looked up around him; the Imperial Fists were looking around at each other and at the ground in incomprehension. Dorn knew how they were feeling; how could the Warmaster return? And yet, Perturabo had told him the truth when they were brothers, never once lying. Why should he now? Dorn looked back down at Perturabo, and saw something in his eyes that filled Dorn with hope; he saw regret. He realised that Perturabo didn’t really want this war to come, because he knew that it would end the wars that he relished in so much. That was one of the reasons that they turned from the Emperor’s Light in the Heresy; they were terrified of becoming cast aside things, unable to turn back to normal mortals; immortals, barren, outcasts, Marines would become things of a by-gone age.

Dorn snarled once more, and then punched Perturabo senseless. Blood trickled slowly out of the corner of the Daemon Prince’s mouth. The Primarch stood up, and then looked around. The Iron Warriors, cowards that they were, were already in full flight. They had not the stomach to face the Imperial Fists and their Primarch.

An anonymous Marine ran up to Dorn and bowed low. ‘Dormus, at your service, my Liege,’ said the Marine in awe.

‘To Cadia,’ said Dorn with icy features. ‘Now.’

[calgar101]

diushonour? What is this? :wub: I loved the fight of the two Primarchs. Horus killing the Emperor? grr im starting to not like where this is going...

[Skirax]

Trust me, no-one will :lol: