Monstra Sumus Posted October 15, 2009 Share Posted October 15, 2009 Each Chapter has been edited for typo's, mistakes and the like. I hope you enjoy, criticism and reviews welcome. ~ NOTE: I do NOT claim anything related to Games Workshop and all subdivisions as my own IP. Only the characters within this fictional story. It is for the pleasure of writing it ONLY and is completely non-profit. Enjoy. The Vermillion Crusades. The Scourge of Athena. Prologue. The bell tolled its slow melody out across the white wash city below it from high upon the cliffs. The city of Trojas sprawled out like a sea of white, a view of white stone and black timbers, clay tiled roofs and spiral staircases reaching like serpents up the towers that jutted up through the sea of buildings. The architecture of the city was different to that of the giant black cathedral that squatted on the cliff tops like an ugly beast staring down at its prey. The white beauty was all rounded market houses, life like statues of white marble that caressed the water that flowed from them and into wide pools at their feet. Grand mosaics were spread across important buildings and marking out great events in Trojas history. The winding roads were full of people, a storm of noise rising from the city to mesh with the tolling drone of the bell. Those of note and importance turned their gazes to the foreboding fane that waited them up the main road of Trojas. Men and women disengaged themselves from their leisure's and duties and made for the gigantic building, falling into step with each other, two men came together and instantly began to complain. “What is it this time? This is the third time this year they’ve rung that bloody bell” the first man said whilst brushing off his silken toga. The second regarded him from down his hooked nose, taller and vulture like in appearance, his olive skin gleamed with oils. “I believe they are going to call a choosing Galis, more young men to slaughter” he pursed his lips as two younger men bustled past him, fixing their toga’s with bronze brooches. “I see your sons are in a hurry to rush up there” Galis frowned and turned a black look upon the cathedral, he smoothed back his greying hair with one hand and thrust the other into the folds of his toga. “Since they arrived the younger men of our aristocracy have taken an unhealthy obsession with the choosing. My sons are jealous of the common brutes that are chosen.” He gathered the drapes and folds of his expansive clothing and threw them over his shoulder. “Well then Idrea, let us see what the Imperium wants of Athena today.” ~ The huge doors of the cathedral were open when the congregation arrived, they passed under the grand archway and into the cavernous hall beyond. Giant onyx pillars rose up into the shadowed ceiling and strange statues of giants in armour lined the thick red carpet that led to the forum area. Servants ushered the nobles into the tiled area before the speaker's podium, a massive block of stone cut from the mountains around Trojas. Awaiting the group was three figures, the first was Iterator Levititus robed in flowing white and purple, the second was a man they’d seen only several times only on stately business, the Planetary Governor of Athena had made the long journey from his manor in the mountians to be here. The third man was obviously Imperial aswell, dressed in following black robes, pale skinned with a black eagle tattooed upon his forehead. Stitched on his robes was a golden eye. “You are gathered here today to bear witness to the herald. The Imperium expects your full attention” Levititus crooned before turning away from the group and stumbling off into the depths of the cathedral. The governor stepped forward, his purple sash hung around his generous girth. He refaced the monocle over his left eye and coughed several times from under his drooping grey moustache. “The Imperium has need of you once more Athenians, there is going to be some news, news which may shock you but as your Governor I expect full co-operation from you all.“ he cast a glance at the hooded man beside him, unease written across his fat face. “As of last night Athena is at war.” He flinched at the outcry and raised voices that echoed like thunder in the vast hall. “Calm, I say calm down!” he shouted over the angry buzz that washed over him, “I have received word from the Imperial fleet that a enemy formation has entered this system and its first port of call will be Athena.” This caused more aggravation and a tall elderly man stepped forward and jabbed a finger up at the governor. “You mean more off worlders like you are coming? It's bad enough being at war with the rest of Athena and now we have your enemies to worry about, you people have brought us nothing but trouble.” He spat at the ground before the governors feet who shuffled backwards away from the speaker. He gestured over to the far end of the cathedral and moved closer to the hooded man as two burly men marched towards the group. Both were dressed in yellow fatigues with black carapace armour over the top, they wore black helmets with thick mirrored visors that hid their faces from view. One unclipped the maul hanging at his belt and brought it smashing into the elders knee causing him to buckle. The two men dragged the sobbing elder away from the gathering and into the shadows of the cathedral. “I hope there will be no more incidents like that, now, to the matters at hand” the governor pulled a scroll from within his jacket and unfurled it. “No longer is recruitment for His Highness, the Emperor of Mankind's Loyal Imperial Army restricted to those of the common class. Until this declaration the ruling houses of Athena have been given lenience in accordance to Trading Guild laws, however as War has now been declared, all men of able body and age will be conscripted for a posting within the Army.” Silence met his words and left a dark note hanging in the air, the nobles had murder in their eyes. The Governor swallowed down the slab of fear in his throat, this system was tiny and far out on the eastern fringe, yet it was teeming with resources. The people that in habited these three planets held a almost an entire sectors worth of natural resource upon these planets. The governor had to establish his dominance over these people before the Mechanicum fleet arrived to begin strip mining their precious planets. “Your compliance with the Imperial decree is admirable and to be part of the Emperors grand works everyone, even the humble, need to work together.” He couldn’t keep the tremble from his voice and a young noble stepped forward, the man was clean shaven and was obviously one of Trojas warriors. “Who’s authority is this declaration penned with? We have never seen your Emperor so his words carries no sway here.” He jutted his chin defiantly out at Governor and several of the other nobles stepped up behind him, murmuring their agreement. The portly Governor began to back away from the slowly advancing group, fumbling with the sabre at his side. “His word is the utmost authority Athenian.” The voice came from the shadows of the cathedral, it was deep and sounded like a hammer striking stone. The nobles stopped advancing and began to stare about them, the outspoken youngster pushed through to the back of the group to face the new speaker. “And who are you to speak with such certainty? We accepted compliance with your expeditionary fleet because it seemed the right thing to do. Then you come and bring your armies and your war machines to our world.” The young nobles eyes were filled with defiant pride, a spark that could turn the peaceful surface of Athena into a raging inferno of rebellion. “I am His word made manifest, boy.” The voice snarled from the dark, then the sound of metal on stone began to echo through the gloom of the hall. The Nobles threw cautious gazes around as the sound become louder and clearer, it was footsteps. The darkness shrouded the figure until he reared up like some ancient god, his massive armoured feet stomping into the stone floor, cracking the slabs beneath. The behemoth of steel and fear broke the shadows and the light from the candles threw his yellow and black armour into stark relief. The Nobles began to scramble backwards, falling over each other to get away from this armoured giant. The young, outspoken noble was struck silent as the warrior approached him, the man's head barely coming up to the gigantic breastplate the warrior sported. He stared at the black marble fist that was embossed upon this giants armour and then let his eyes travel up to the warriors face. A puddle of liquid pooled around the nobles feet as the giant leant over him and brought the hard red lenses of his helmet close to the boys face. “Do you object to that?” The Noble fell to his knees and wept openly as the fear coursed through him. The giant sneered behind his visor and stomped past him towards the Imperial Governor who paled at the sight of the Astartes. The massive warrior snatched the Imperial decree from the man's fingers and turned away, “I expect these people to be armed and fortifications set, Governor, the World Eaters cruisers just broke through our defensive line.” The Governor scurried away into the depths of the Cathedral as the Imperial Fist captain marched through the grand archway and out into the sun blazed vista around the meeting hall. He cast his gaze skyward to see the long dark bruises forming above the wisp of cloud cover, he followed the Stormbirds as they screamed through the air space above Trojas. He felt a tremor run down his spine as he saw the massive mechanicum loader bearing down its great cargo towards the city. He lifted his gauntlet and thumbed his vox bead. “Brothers, remember that today we fight not for this planet, or those we have recently brought under the yoke of the Imperium, no, today we fight to stall these barbarians. We have to give Dorn the time he needs.” He let out a long breath as he knew the outcome of the battle already. The hounds of Angron would reach the surface and scour it clean of every citizen or soldier. They would all die here. The Fist Captain had only a handful of Astartes under his command, a few heavy tanks and a Titan war machine. Even as his keen eyesight picked out likely choke points within the city he caught sight of the mighty Warlord Purgatorum being lowered down to stand like a colossus over the gates of Trojas. Impressive as it was, his brow darkened as he knew it would never be enough to stop the tide of the Red Angel. He looked out over the rolling green hills, the majestic mountain ranges, the crystal rivers and clear oceans, the perfect sky above with its soft clouds and lamented for he knew it would all come to ruin for one mans, no, one Primarchs wounded pride. He was brought out of his reverie as a sonic boom flew from the heavens and shattered every window in Trojas, he could see the dying flare of a battleship high in the heavens and the orange streaks of fire that came like arrows to the surface. The Captain closed his eyes for one moment and offered up a silent prayer to whoever would listen, he hoped he could hold them long enough. He racked the slide of his bolter and made his way down through the winding streets of the white city. The Purgatorum opened up with its inferno cannon and the battle was begun. The fight for Athena played its part in the Heresy, albeit a small one. 1 The third world in the Athena system was the theatre of a desperate battle, it had become a war zone. Violent hurricanes whipped tons of dust and ash into the air, making visibility poor. Presae was once a beautiful planet of lush forests and verdant farm lands, but over the course of ten millennia it had become a husk of ash plains and dead woodland, its inhabitants making a meagre living hauling the ash wastes for scrap to sell to the mechanicum priests that had built a massive forge complex into the northern pole of the planet. It was this reason the Tau had invaded, bringing the might of their warrior castes to Presae’s surface. Streaks of blue snapped through the air, leaving stark after marks upon the ozone before fading. The Thunderhawk roared down towards the surface, the pilot trying his best to evade the beams of anti-air fire being hurled at his craft. The hull of the assault boat glowed as flames ravaged its paint work, its thrusters snarling at the pressure forced upon them. The pilot cursed as a red rune began to flash at him and several warning beacons wailed from the cockpit. He canted a binary code to the Adept keeping the vital systems of the Thuderhawk operational. He was going to land, but not where the Astartes wanted him to land. He sent a command line back through his craft to alert the warriors he carried that they should prepare. The anti-air fire coupled with the ash storms had forced him to veer far off course, they were going to smash right into the enemy trench line. He dragged at the control stick, trying to stop it skipping out of his hands. His co-pilot was furiously working the vox, patching all available lines through to the Astartes Sergeant in the crew deck. He grit his teeth together as the ash clouds cleared momentarily and the huge earth works of the enemy line rose towards them. He prayed. The smoke and the wail of emergency systems brought his mind swimming back into consciousness. His eye sight was blurred and watery and he could taste blood in his mouth. His eyes corrected themselves soon enough but the taste of blood was still fresh and he disliked it. The pilot cast his head around to check the damage and groaned. They were nose down, the thick armour-glass shield cracked and offering a view of compacted dirt. He could hear a small fire crackling away to itself behind him and a loose cable was dancing sparks everywhere, the light illuminated his co-pilot. The poor man had been dashed off the view screen before him, the left half of his head caved in, blood oozing down the orange glare of the monitor. The pilot mashed his hand into the harness strapped across his chest and it released him. With trembling legs he hauled himself out of the command chair and back through the cockpit, he had to find the Adept. He grabbed a fallen locker and hauled it out of the way, revealing a tall figure in a red robe casually assessing the damage in the passage beyond. “Rozak! How's my ship?” he barked at the Mechanicum Adept whilst rummaging for the fire extinguisher. The gaunt featured Adept lifted his face beneath his robe and regarded the Pilot with red glass eyes, one of his mechadendrites slithered from beneath his robe and sprayed a jet of foam over the compartment fire, dousing it in seconds. Dull thuds and the scream of energy weapon fire echoed off the hull, filling the inside of the downed gunship with noise. “Salvageable, if the Astartes can prevent the Xeno’s from destroying it. The machine spirit is displeased by the way you have treated it.” His dull drone added to the growing buzz of noise. The pilot pulled a face and turned his back on the Adept, the Spirit be damned, he was more concerned whether the Thunderhawk was still flight worthy. He threw himself back into his seat and thumbed the vox rune. A hiss of static later and the line was open, albeit cut through with interference. “Dropping bay doors, my lord, may the Emperor watch over you.” ~ The giant armoured figure of Brother-Sergeant Tiberius rose to his feet, his armour plates locking into place. His breathing misted the inside of his visor as he looked around the crew bay at his Astartes scouts picking themselves up from the floor. The Thunderhawk had smashed into the ground and threw them like rag dolls against the walls. The craft was at a tilt and the assault ramp would bring them out into mid air. He had been prepared for a clean landing behind the Imperial line, but the Emperors luck had been elsewhere this day. The red and black armoured figure strode amongst his initiates, making sure each of them were combat efficient. One student had a deep gash across his forehead, the skin peeled back to reveal bone yet he clutched his shotgun and kept an eagerness in his eyes. Tiberius, once confident on his protégé's turned to the matter of his own self. Striding back over to his harness he grabbed the large baroque bolter stashed above his seat, he slung it over one of his huge shoulder pads. He turned to the next item beside his harness and unhooked it from its magnetic mounts, he hefted the massive combat shield and made sure the adamantium straps held it fast to his right forearm. He made sure his long sword was secure in the scabbard at his side and proceeded to check the seals on his armour. A voice cracked in his ear, alerting him that the pilot was lowering the assault ramps. His thick lips parted beneath his black and red helmet, baring teeth to the inside of his faceplate. He had been waiting for this moment, the chance to prove to the Chapter that his initiates had what it took to become fully fledged Astartes. The ramp slammed open and baleful light poured in with a cloud of ash, the scouts fixed breathing masks. Tiberius un-slung his bolter, clutching the Godwyn pattern gun by its thick handle and took a step off the ramp. He came crashing down on top of one of the Tau pathfinders who was investigating the downed vessel. He heard the crunch it made beneath his several tonne bodyweight and smirked, pulse fire ripping holes into the earth trenches around him. He raised his massive calibre weapon and squeezed the trigger sending two of the bolt rounds screaming through the air on tails of smoke. They punched into the nearest pathfinder and detonated within him, sending ragged chunks of flesh and torso in a wide arc. He could hear the crack of shotguns behind him and the thud of bolter fire and knew his initiates were getting stuck into the fray. He checked for another target when a streak of blue flashed past his vision, his heat sensors flashing red at him. He wheeled round to face his target, stamping craters into the ground under his feet. A pathfinder tried to lunge past him to reach the open end of the trench but he smashed his combat shield into its frail body, sending it crashing to the ground. The Tau groaned, its suits systems informing him of his broken ribs and certain system malfunctions. The blue skinned creature began to pick itself up from the ground when a shadow blotted out what light was left in the sky, the Tau raised its head. The Space Marine stood above it, staring down with its hateful eyes, the Tau had no fear of the warrior, only disappointment that the humans could not see what the Greater Good meant. The giant above him wore over thick plates of interlocking ceramite, reminiscent to the knights of old Terran lore. It bore a huge shield and a sword as long as the Tau itself, its helmet was unlike the others he’d seen before, it was flat faced with numerous breathing holes and a thin slit for a visor. It’s shoulder plates were larger and composed of several different layers, its gorget coming high up its front to offer full protection. It sacrificed speed and movement for being almost impenetrable. However, the most important thing the Tau noticed was the dark circle puffing steam above him and the massive bulk of the gun it belonged to. There was a thunderclap and the Tau’s world exploded all over the Astartes feet. Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/ Share on other sites More sharing options...
Roguemarine Posted October 21, 2009 Share Posted October 21, 2009 i think you have a great start to an amazing story, keep up the great work Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2158755 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Monstra Sumus Posted December 20, 2009 Author Share Posted December 20, 2009 2 The silence would have been unbearable if there was anyone to hear it. The darkness would have fooled the mind into thinking the eyes were blind, unable to see what terrors reside within the pitch black. There was someone in that darkness, but they couldn’t hear and they couldn’t see, all they could do was dream. All they had been doing was dreaming, constant, unaware of reality. Their reality was the dream, the ever changing, constant dream. He could hear and he could see. He stood atop the grassy knoll gazing down across his fields of wheat and the grazing grox. He could see the huge diesel harvester crawling through his land, bringing in the years crops to provide for the family. He felt on top of the world, as though he was above the law and decrees of the Governor himself. He felt unique for that moment, he felt as though he could reach out and remould the mountains in the distance with his hand. His skin tingled as he felt familiar hands snake around his waist and play under his shirt, trailing their fingertips along his stomach. He took a deep breath and knew it to be his wife; he smiled widely and turned in her arms to return the intimacy. She was beautiful; he had thanked the Emperor every day for delivering her to him, fifteen harvests past. Her ocean blue eyes set into her heart shaped face, framed by her curled golden locks; he wanted nothing more than just her. As she began to speak, her words trailed into strange manifestations, numbers began to materialize upon her soft red lips and crack and shiver into the air, jumping and surrounded in static. Confusion and repulsion coursed through his veins and he tried to pull away from her, but she gripped him tight crushing into his sides. He screamed in pain as the numbers flowed freely from her mouth, an eerie, howling wail followed each flickering code piece. Then he lost consciousness. ‘Ardakas, is he functional?’ The words thundered into his ears, ripping his soul apart and he screamed, silently. He was becoming aware. There were no numbers, no grass, no mountains. His wife had gone, swirled into smoke and forced to the back of his memory. The voice sounded like it could have been the God-Emperor himself, it was like thunder, boiling seas and cracking the earth with each word. The earth and seas that did not exist in the blackness he was encased within. ‘He is operating at seventy four percent, his primary systems are all passing minimal parameters and the rest of his functional systems shall come online once he is booted into full sentiency, the Omnissiah permitting. ‘ The second voice brought numbers flashing violently through the darkness. Lines of ones and zeroes, green and black, slashing into his consciousness like a hot knife. He screamed again. This time the numbers became angry and red and a buzzing filled his head, so loud it was almost unrecognisable as noise. It pounded his skull into mush and reformed it, he felt his body become warm and he felt shocks of electricity force their way into his vital areas. It was the most uncomfortable experience in his life. His life? He wasn’t aware he had one, yet he knew he existed before this darkness. He was aware. ‘Is he able to sense me? Hear what I say?’ The darkness glowed, light seemed to come from everywhere until he was blinded by the radiance of truth, of awareness. He came to full consciousness and began to thrash, his mind reworking itself, power and numbers forcing their way into his mind, his eyesight, his hearing. Changing everything with their horrible buzzing movements. Then it was over, he could see but it was blurred, vague shapes, some square, some circular were pressed right into his face. He could hear beeps and clicks, whirring and strange noises like hissing and gargling. He blinked and was relieved, he wasn’t aware, he was alive. ‘He is now operating at ninety-four percent and maintaining spacial awareness. Secondary systems are operating at above level grades and his primary functions have reached optimal efficiency. He is now aware.’ Flashes of anger and pain blared into his mind as he tried to focus on the voices, the whirring became louder and more hurried and then his vision began to focus. He was inside something, something small and he was floating. He was only now realising he was suspended in thick viscous liquid, clear and sticky. He tired to flounder but he could not feel his arms or legs. He moved his eyes down but was awarded a sight not of his own body. His vision crackled and fizzed like a data recording, static lines hazarded through his vision and he could make out two figures, giants of men. The first was a daemon from his ever shifting dreams, a steel golem with spiders arms coming from his back, cutting and prodding, tearing and twisting. His face was hidden by a series of flashing lenses, shutters reacting to every movement of his helmeted head. There was something wrong about him, the way his body was hidden beneath a robe of steel links, coloured red. The second was even more imposing, a black giant, encased in massive plates of rounded ceramite thicker than a man’s chest. He towered over the red one, his black armour adorned with stamps and scrolls, reels of parchment as long as a man’s arm. What drew the fear from him was the giants head, no helmet, no face, just a skull with burning red eyes that seemed to pierce his soul. Then the giant strode forward, his bulk stomping along the permacrete floor beneath him and it was then that he realised. He tried to laugh at this man who came towards him, this skull faced giant, he, who had been shut in darkness and silence for so long was in fact the giant. He towered above them, rising up to stare down, the sound of cogs and chains, pumps and pistons roaring through his mind as he became fully aware of just how much control he had over himself. He was free from the darkness and he was a god. ‘Brother Typhot. Welcome back to the brotherhood. May you serve Him, forever.’ Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2220953 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Monstra Sumus Posted January 3, 2010 Author Share Posted January 3, 2010 3 The vox link fizzed and crackled with static and laughter, screeching into every initiates ear. Two of the Initiates shared a glance, blue flashes illuminating their sombre features. Scaran, with his wounded face and Gelus, the squads only flamer, moved forward through the earth works. Their vermillion body gloves and black carapace armour were heavy with mud and gore, the scouts shotguns made short work of chewing the Tau's strange plastech armour to shreds. The battle upon the surface of Presea was quickly becoming stagnant and something needed to be done to spark a fire beneath the rear quarters of the Guard general. The 130th Athenian Rifles were being bogged down by Tau artillery fire and men were being slaughtered like fish in a barrel as the alien weapons gouged into the trench lines. The Tau had given no warning to their vicious assault, bombarding Presea's capital from orbit to eliminate the PDF stationed there. Then the cursed xeno's descended upon the vast ash plains south of the Mechanicum forge, engaged the Adeptus forces and began to blast holes all over the ragged defence lines, searching for something. Lasfire streaked overhead or pummelled into the trench tops, fusing the ground, the exchange between the Imperial forces and the Tau was a brutal one. The laughter had been chopping through their vox contact for several minutes now and it was beaded from Sergeant Tiberius. The initiates had only been with the Chapter for two decades but it was obvious to all why Tiberius was in charge of the forward scout elements, he was insane. One of the older brothers had told them one day aboard the Dominator that the Sergeant was the lone survivor from a squad that was ambushed on a routine scouting patrol of a chapter recruiting world. To this day, he hasn't spoken of what occurred to any of his brothers and the Chapter masters were satisfied with whatever explanation he had given them. Their vow of silence was not to be broken, even this far out away from the Dominator's ever watching Chaplaincy. Scaran switched his vox off and hefted his shotgun, pumping a round into the wide chamber. He swung into the next concrete foxhole that had been sunk and built into the trench wall, he saw a slight flicker in the dark and squeezed the trigger. His massive gun barked into the fox hole, the flash of muzzle flare illuminating the Pathfinder as it sprayed across the wall. The noise rang out in echoes, alerting the scouts that this fox hole ran deeper than first thought. Scaran signalled for Gelus to move up and he pressed his bulk against the side of the tunnel. Gelus squeezed past, both scouts had barely enough room to move, these tunnels were made for mortal men. Gelus hefted his promethium thrower, the nozzle dripping the thick black liquid onto the mud beneath his feet, he flicked the dial on the main body of the gun and the tip of the weapon flared into life, the igniters tip a blue glare in the pale light offered by the lumen strips along the walls. This had been the Imperials front line, a maze of trenches and gun nests. The tau had forced the Imperial guard back several hundred meters with sustained bombardment and now the xeno's were looking for something. Their scouting elements crawled through the Imperial fortifications, under sustained shelling from the new Guard lines. The Knights Vermillion would never have intervened in the war, foot slogging and trench warfare unsuited to the strike forces of the Vermillion crusade. Yet, a vox communiqué one of the cogitators had intercepted highlighted that the xeno's were blasting into the ground directly beneath the Imperial shrine set into the trench line, they were mining for something. Scaran checked his auspex unit and gestured for Gelus to continue on, they were to locate the Tau Fire-warriors and eliminate the head of this alien sortie. It had been rumoured that once this operation had been executed, they would receive their Swords, if that were truth and not spectacle, then they would become full fledged brothers of the Crusade. The tunnel before them sloped down towards the shrine room where the Guard companies preacher would bless the men before battle or offer up prayer to the Emperor. Scaran's auspex chimed into the gloom, the scouts gloved fingers punched at the rune keys and displayed several life signs detected up ahead. He grabbed Gelus curved shoulder guard and showed him the display, their faces cast in the green glow. The second scout nodded and crouched even lower into the tunnel, he eased along the mud and flak-board wall until he came upon the entrance to the shrine room. Scarans auspex indicated that four Tau were within, one guarding the door as the others milled around a hole in the earthen floor. Gelus dropped to his knees and swung his flamer into the doorway, his finger tugged on the firing trigger and the nozzle sucked at the air. Then like the breath of some great dragon, the blazing flame spewed from the flamer, dousing the room in liquid fire. He scrunched his eyes closed at the heat blast then squeezed the trigger again, sending another roiling cloud of hot death into the shrine room. The holy relics within would be cleansed of the Aliens filth by the holy flame, or so he assumed. Scaran ducked into the room and unloaded his shotgun onto the one solitary figure stumbling around the shrine. The Tau's helmet had fused into place from the heat and the creature was attempting to remove it when the gun blast tore his lightly armoured form to pieces. Gelus entered into the shrine room behind Scaran and lifted one of the burning corpses with his foot, melting plastech armour sticking to the fabric of his boot. He noted the Fire caste symbol upon the charred armour and shoved it away with a kick. He tapped his vox link, sending an affirmative in code to the Sergeant. They had secured the tunnel entrance. Scaran was knelt by the wide hole in the floor, the mud had been made smooth almost like glass by something of extreme heat. ++ I've got a lock on your position, stay there and we shall be with you in a moment, child. ++ The snarl of Tiberius voice crackled over Gelus vox unit. He signalled to Scaran everything was on the positive and took up a defensive position by the door, covering the tunnel with the bright glare from his flamer unit, the igniters blazing angrily at the nozzle, hungry for more promethium. At the other end of the tunnel, the giant Astartes thudded back into the trench, crushing the flak board planks lining the mud. He spun his combat shield round and took a blue bolt upon its scarred face, the energy flaring his heat sensors. He swung his body round the shield and squeezed the trigger on his Bolter, sending one of the rocket projectiles screaming through the air towards his attacker. The bolt struck with impossible accuracy and blew the Tau to ragged chunks, its torn corpse dripping down the trench wall. Three scouts dropped down behind him, all slamming new rounds into the chambers of their shotguns. Tiberius had created a distraction so his chosen 'sons' could root out the target entrance. His 'distraction' had been finding the position the enemies transport ship was grounded at and assault it head on. The Tau's superior marksmanship had counted for nothing when Tiberius came sprinting towards them, snarling with the Emperors name upon his lips, his shield held to the fore. His scouts had flanked the devil-fish, bringing their high calibre fire to bare upon the Tau's undefended rear. It was a massacre. The Tau had managed to send off a distress call before the last Pathfinder fell and Tiberius had seen another two transports speeding across the ash wastes through the storm, unmistakeable forms of battle suits jumping and streaking between them. He'd stirred up the hornets' nest. He came to the tunnel entrance, knowing the Tau would reach the smoking wreck of the devil-fish in moments. He tapped his gauntleted fingertip to his vox unit and sent a message direct to the Guard command. ++ You may start the charge, General. You have Tau incoming. ++ The veteran sergeant ushered his scouts into the tunnel before him, patting each one upon a curved shoulder plate. He viewed these silent killers as his children, remembering back to his own time of the Silent Vow. He took one last look around the trench, his port cullis visor an unreadable mask of iron that hid the smile beneath. Then he ducked into the tunnel, his shield tilted to compensate for the width of the fox hole. He cursed under his breath, snarling and hauling his bulk forward, barging his way down the tunnel behind his scouts, mud and rocks showering him from above as he strained the tunnel supports. Upon reaching the shrine room he was near crawling, the scouts formed a circle around the mined tunnel in the floor and he shifted his form forward, gripped the edge of the tunnel and swung his massive form down the hole. His feet crunched down onto the surface below after his plummet through the darkness, the unmistakeable sound of ceramite striking metal ringing out in the darkness. Confusion flashed through his mind before he dropped to one knee and brought his Bolter up to scan the darkness before him, his helmet automatically switching to night vision. He picked out the green outlines in the static black and grey, it appeared he was in a corridor of some sort. He stood up and swept forward, hearing his scouts rappelling down the tunnel behind him, his heavy shod feet thundering across the metal grilling beneath him. It took him several moments to register the naval insignia before him stamped upon an overhanging support beam, he was aboard a ship and more importantly, in the middle of a cross way. Tiberius jabbed his vox and growled an order to his squad. ++ Spread pattern Omega, by twos. I want these fiends found quickly and neutralised. Leave the leader alive for me. ++ He jabbed Scaran in the chest and signed that he was to follow Tiberius. The rest of them spread out and headed through the ship, their vox units on constant link to Tiberius. The veteran sergeant flicked his eyes to the bottom left corner of his visor and dragged them back to the centre, the squads vital signs superimposing themselves over his night vision. He took the right passage, Scaran following behind with his auspex unit held out in front of him. Tiberius tracked the darkness ahead of him with his huge weapon, the servo's in his heavy armour whirring and clicking with each sweep of his arm. His shield came before him, the symbol of the Knights Vermillion facing the pitch before them, the armoured fist clutching the broken sword. A small blip of static appeared in the dark of his visor and he swung his shield up. The rail round slammed into his shield, kicking a dent into its thick plating that almost pierced the other side. Scaran dived sideways into a dirt filled doorway, pressing into the frame. He slung his auspex and pumped a round down the hallway, the blast of his shotgun deafening. Tiberius followed his scouts shot with two rounds from his bolter, a double squeeze sent the rockets screaming down the hallway to explode at the far end. His night vision flared, corona's of light glared into his eyesight for a second before his sight corrected the hindrance. He could see the crumpled form of the Tau in the distance and he began to stomp towards it, Scaran pressed to his right flank, his shield held to the left. There was two confirmed kills, the shotgun blast had peppered the first Tau, the bolts had blown the second to steaming chunks. He could hear the sound of their hoof like boots upon the metal grating beyond and spotted a sharp turn in the hallway. He slung his Bolter, the gun clacking against his mail robe, his hand instead went to the grenade dispenser upon his belt. He thumbed a frag round into his palm and jabbed the detonator and hurled it towards the doorway. It bounced off the frame and into the next hallway, he heard an synthesised alien voice shriek and then the crump of the grenade exploding. He was on the move again, rounding into the hallway and sprinting forward, Scaran at his heels. His hand found his vox unit before he snatched up his bolter once more. ++ To me my children, I have found the enemy, converge on my position and follow the corpses! ++ The grenade had claimed two more Fire warriors, a third lay against the bulkhead, vomiting blood from his shattered helmet. Tiberius stamped upon his brethren and continued on down the hallway, the massive warrior oblivious to the creature. The second one however, was not. Scaran took two steps to stand in front of the Tau, his hate filled eyes staring down. The xenos raised its head, one of its three fingers hands coming up in front of it in a feeble attempt to stay the Astartes wrath. The alien could see the terrifying glint in the human-creatures eyes, the eagerness it barely held in check with the prospect of killing the Tau. Such barbarism, such racist hatred etched across its blood stained features. The thing that drew the fear from the Tau however was the mouth, the open sneer and the two long fangs that gleamed in the Tau's helmet viewer. These truly were beasts that the Imperium unleashed upon them. Scaran raised the shotgun slowly, pumping a fresh round into the firing chamber. He shoved the stock in the crook of his shoulder and raised the gun in a diagonal line from his chest to the aliens face. He grinned and allowed the creature to revel in its death before his index finger tugged the trigger. The back splash of gore from the aliens brutal death hit him, watery blue blood touching his lips. The taste of it awoke something inside, something that burned at the pit of his stomach, turning his throat to fire. That something was a hunger. He grimaced, spat onto the decking, the acid spittle fizzling away at the metal. Then he was off, sprinting down the hallway after Tiberius. Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2233598 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Monstra Sumus Posted January 8, 2010 Author Share Posted January 8, 2010 Double post is a bump, previous post edited for more fiction. Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2238803 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Monstra Sumus Posted January 14, 2010 Author Share Posted January 14, 2010 4 The Dominator was a behemoth to behold in the upper atmosphere of Lexmar Prime, its gargantuan form resplendent with gargoyles and crenulated buttresses surrounding each massive gun. Bright flashes streaked from lance batteries, stabbing out into the swarm of smaller ships that plagued the giant Imperial cruiser. Plasma bursts wracked the skies as the rebel cutters and cruisers died in the hail of punishment the Dominator directed around itself. No tear was shed from these dissidents for while they died in space, they died upon the planet's surface. The Knights Vermillion Strike Fortress had received a distress signal that was months old as they passed the outskirts of the Tau Empire on their way home to the Armacian system. The chapter had been carving a path through the stars to reach their fortress upon the planet Armacia and to induct the 'fresh' recruits into the training grounds upon Athena, this distress signal placed a temporary hold upon that homeward journey. The Imperial Governor had been slain, his staff ousted and his armies turned traitor. They slaughtered the population for some romantic notion of freedom from the Imperial yoke. This could not go unpunished, the Astartes would see to that. ~ The bolt round exploded after boring into the permacrete wall, sending shards of razor rock to shred into the fleeing guardsmen. The Astartes advanced in perfect unity, their giant armour shod feet crushing the enemy beneath with no remorse. The Space Marines had made planet fall an hour prior to this point, smashing into the complacent ranks of the rebel armies. The Red Death himself leading the charge, spearheading the assault straight towards the Governors palace. Brother Virgil kept rank with his brothers, pumping round after round into the routed guardsmen, watching men burst like over ripe fruit as the mass reactive shells detonated inside them. He was truly humbled by the instrument he carried, the righteousness of its mechanics. It spared no mercy for those who come under its gaze, cleansing them in pain and death. Virgil's suit flashed up a red warning rune and a nasal whine filled his ears, he brought his head down to search for the indicated threat and saw the imminent danger. One of the rebel guards, his pale face splashed with his own blood was grinning up at the Space Marine with defiance upon his lips. The man's body had been shorn from his legs by a bolt round, an unlucky hit for the Astartes who had fired the shot. The guard clutched something to his chest, something which made Virgil's eyes widen and break rank, diving upon the brother closest to him and forcing him down into the mass of bodies and rubble. 'Down brothers! Pray to the earth!' The Krak missile detonated almost a fraction of a second later, the Guardsman tearing out the internal wiring and overloading it, he was vaporised by the initial explosion but the Marines felt the force of the anti-armour round in such close proximity to it. Two brothers of five man squad were downed, the first having the razor tipped armour piercing shot flash through his breast plate and make a mess of his insides, the second suffered a critical overload in his power pack , the anti armour shot shredding the internals in his bulky power station, the thermal coils inside exploded outwards in a sphere of blinding white. All that was left of Brother Optis was the lower half of his torso and his legs, the remains crashing into the rubble beneath with a clang. Virgil forced himself up from the Marine beneath him, checking the read outs upon his visor, he had sustained minimal damage across 70% of his armour and one critical area upon his lower back, his body had already began to clot the wound and pump pain suppressors into his system. Then beneath the super imposed read out he noticed the colour of the Marines armour he'd saved. His throat tightened and he threw his arm down in offering to the Astarte. A taloned gauntlet snapped shut around his forearm and the Marine hauled himself up along Brother Virgil until he was towering above the Tactical Astarte. Virgil dropped to one knee, his suits servo's protesting at the sudden movement, he placed his right hand upon the pommel of his combat blade and his left hand made a fist over his hearts. 'I thank you, young Virgil. Rise and continue upon this quest.' Virgil rose unsteadily back onto his feet and nodded his head, struck silent by the figure before him. He un-slung his Godwynn bolter and rushed forward to rejoin the fight. A pair of red glass eyelets regarded the Astarte as he moved off through the carrior field before them, the Marines black and vermillion armour stained with smoke and blood, his chainmail tabard matted with gore. Chaplain Grakar turned a lip in disgust at the scene surrounding him, bringing one of his beautifully tooled greaves down to crush a traitors head beneath his boot. Two brothers had been claimed this day, this could not be forgiven. The black armoured giant clutched at a bound leather tome chained to his belt, with taloned fingers he wrenched it from his waist, the length of chain unravelling. He found the vellum page he'd marked with a velvet sash and with a thought logged his vox sign into every brother participating in this battle. His voice snarled out inside his helmet and along the vox lines, echoed by the scream of bolters and roar of chain blades. ++ Brothers! Harken to my voice! ++ He knelt beside the dead Marine, wiping gore from the artifice'd name plaque upon his breastplate. ++ Brother Optio and Brother Vernis shall forever be remembered. These mighty warriors have fallen to the enemies foul and wicked trickeries. This must, be, avenged! ++ The chaplain rose, taking a adamantine quill from his belt to dip into one of the fallen Brothers many wounds. He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer to the Almighty, then reverently penned the deads names within the tome. ++ A great sadness takes me as I see what has befallen His most beloved. Our blood has been spilt by the unworthy, My lord, if you are harken to my words, name a price for their vengeance. ++ A long static fizzed and crackled across the vox lines, gunfire, hammering blows from explosions and screams mashed into one cacophony of war. Then one word was spoken, the voice was like the dread lord himself had clawed through the warp to snarl at them. ++ Blood. ++ Grakar rose from his knee's, the word sending shivers of familiarity through his soul. The Chaplain slung the tome back to his belt and popped the clasps upon his helmet, pulling the skull motif helm from his face. His skin was grey, the veins showing indigo through his waxen complexion, a pair of crimson eyes took in the battlefield around him, the shattered buildings and broken bodies. He lifted both of his taloned gauntlets skyward, framing the giant shadow of the Dominator through the cloud banks. He opened his mouth, two ivory fangs glinting in the fires of war. ++ You heard your master, unleash your fury, stain the ground with their life and harvest their souls for the Emperor. Feed my brethren, feed! ++ Then death descended upon Lexmar Prime. A storm of blood and frenzy, the towering Astartes gorging themselves upon the traitors of mankind, slipping slowly into oblivion as they rent and gored the turncoat population of this doomed planet. Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2246785 Share on other sites More sharing options...
FireFist Posted January 14, 2010 Share Posted January 14, 2010 don't worry if you don't get comments. I'm having the same problem. of i don't know if its good or bad though. other wise good story. Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2246861 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Monstra Sumus Posted January 14, 2010 Author Share Posted January 14, 2010 I hear that, but thanks for the words. Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2246866 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Monstra Sumus Posted January 24, 2010 Author Share Posted January 24, 2010 5 Ardakas, Forge Master to the Knights Vermillion tapped his fingers impatiently upon the adamantium shell of the dreadnought sarcophagus. The progression had been slow, the predicted numbers falling short, he concluded the Omnissiah was not smiling upon him this day. He lifted his heavily augmented helm and stared into the visor panel of the mighty war machine before him, making sure all the optic sensors focused upon him. His fingers worked deftly along the data-pad he clutched in his other hand, small dendrites flickering out and engaging ports along its side. His servo-harness was on the constant move, picking, twisting, tightening and tugging at various nodes and fixtures beneath the Dreadnoughts armour plating. 'Now, tell me Typhot. What are the fundamental cores to your creation? Why have we chosen to ensnare you from the clutches of death?' He was loathe to hear the answer again but he would prevail, he would find the area of damaged tissue that was causing such a reaction and replace it with synthetics. Maybe it would stop this childish nonsense. + We were not created, We have existed since before time itself was born into this universe. + Ardakas canted a burst of binary which caused the tech-priests around him to flinch at its crude usage. This was not progress, this was failure, something had happened to Brother Typhots mental stability in the transference with the sarcophagus. At first, his prophetic dooms and words had caused the Master Chaplain no end of frustration, it was believed Typhot had suffered possession from a daemon of some sort. A scrying took place and it had made Ardakas bionics itch, to have anything of psychic presence, whether it was used to root out pysker powers or not unnerved him. Yet, he was clean from any taint and his words had become more cryptic the more the Chaplains had persisted. So it fell to Ardakas to indentify the problem and correct it, a duty he was not too keen on performing. 'No, you were created, biological and chemical reactions stimulated by physical intercourse brought your existence into being, then through evolution and the power of initiative and imagination you prospered and grew, then once again, chemistry and bio-engineering were employed to turn you into a genetically superior warrior with beyond natural abilities and skills. You are fundamentally human and have been constructed into a living weapon. That is what you are Typhot, nothing more, nothing less.' He erased the last set of runes that flashed upon his data-pad, he was getting closer, his attachments had detected some unusual brainwave energy, his beta wave frequencies were off the chart. Ardakas flicked his eyes up to stare into the sensor nodes of Typhot once more, perched upon the giant war machines front like an imp astride a giant. + Your theories are incorrect, you have imprisoned us inside this chamber and subjected us to pain and agonies your kind will never feel. We exist, We always have. + Something spiked on Ardakas' data-pad and he jabbed a finger into one of the runes, highlighting the read out and super imposing it onto his own vision. He studied the numbers and graphics his equipment was giving him and it made no sense. It was telling him that nothing was wrong, the beta waves had suddenly ceased their irregularities and the genetic structure of his brain tissue was perfectly intact, except for the damage sustained pre-insertion into the sarcophagus. In fact, it was telling him the was nothing, all brain activity had ceased, all life support systems were no longer operational. Typhot was dead. Ardakas cursed and slammed his data-pad down onto the ceramite and adamantine carapace of the Dreadnought beneath him. He checked his readings once more and it seemed that the Astartes within could not take the mental and physical strain of interment. He jabbed one of his servo-arms at a passing Priest. 'Prepare the mortuaria and alert Adept Liksa I will be needing her to fire the incinerator. Send for Master Alabaster, he should be made aware of the developments.' He patted the stationary machine beneath him, creasing his brow beneath his helm. 'Tis a shame to lose one such as you Honoured Brother Typhot, I was rather fond of you before your interment and I lament your passing was unkind upon your mind and soul. Rest at his right hand, Typhot.' He unhooked his data-pad and released his mechadendrites from the various ports along the sarcophagus. He turned to leap down from the giant war machine, already setting his minds to other more practical tasks when pain exploded into his system. A crushing force that shocked his systems more than anything ever had done clamped around his right arm, obliterating it into a mangled wreck of pulp and shattered ceramite. The crash and squealing tear of metal erupted around the mech-bay and all action ceased. Ardakas swung his head round to see his attacker and felt something he never felt before, it tasted bitter in his mouth. He felt fear. The dreadnought had risen up upon its hip mounted servo units and brought its gigantic siege claw round to pin the Forge Master in place, ruining his arm and rendering him useless and stunned. All the sensor arrays upon the sarcophagus had gone from their dull forest green to a searing, angry red. Arcs of energy played about the war machines surface, leaps and bounds of crackling fire scoured sigils and symbols into the ceramite. One tendril touched Ardakas destroyed limb and he felt a coldness wash over him, like he'd just been suspended in freezing cold water. He knew what this was. The mighty dreadnought rose up, stomping into a standing position, Ardakas dangling from its claw. The giant machine tore itself free of its bindings and restraints, the metre thick servo arms holding it down buckled and crumpled. All Ardakas was thankful for was that he had not installed the blessed Assault Cannon's rotary functions or firing controls yet, but still this was a truly devastating disaster. He screamed in code as he was dragged upwards, kicking and swiping in a futile attempt to free himself. He came face to sensor with the dreadnought and recoiled at what he saw, the sensor bank was wreathed in a wall of blue and white flame, ice began to freeze over the adamantine casing and hoarfrost speckled Ardakas own armour. + Why do you insist on calling us Typhot. That is not our name. + Ardakas released the servo-joints upon his shoulder of all power and the sheer weight of his armoured body, resplendent with its harness tore him from the remains of his ruined limb. He could feel his body trying to keep him conscious and he stared up at the war machine towering above him, halo's of blue and white energy leaping around it, touching mechanical systems and overloading them. He could feel the cold radiating from within the sarcophagus. A terrible dawning came upon the Forge Master in that moment. There was a psyker within the Knights Vermillion. Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2259575 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Monstra Sumus Posted February 6, 2010 Author Share Posted February 6, 2010 6 Scaran was hard pressed to keep up with his Brother-sergeant, his breath coming in controlled bursts from his lungs, his knee's burning with the push of adrenaline. A twisted corpse sped away behind them in the corridor, a smoking crater punched right through its chest. Scaran checked the small digit-counter on the side of his shotgun, four rounds left. His eyes flicked up to see the bulk of Tiberius dart around a corner ahead of him, suddenly he was superimposed upon the metal walls of the star ship, the bark of his bolter spitting death at whatever foe he'd encountered. The scout skidded round the corner and came to a crouch behind his masters armour, risking a quick glance around the side of the large combat shield. Streaks of blue light speared towards them, erupting in sparks and dizzying blue flame off the surface of the shield. Scaran grabbed the sling his auspex was on and dragged it round into his hand, he consulted the numbers and thermal imaging. He raised it to Tiberius who cast it a glance and then hefted his shield, sending another bolt soaring down the tunnel, he was rewarded with a crumped explosion and a synthesised scream. One less line of gunfire howled down the corridor at them. Scaran couldn't help the feral grin that flickered across his blunt features, his dark eyes, his cracked lips and hooked nose all reflecting the glare of the auspex. He could see his brother-initiates on an intercept course towards the xeno's at the end of the corridor. He couldn't determine how but they were going to turn this situation in their favour. He heard the thud and scrape of metal and lifted his face to see Tiberius torso smouldering, a hole punched clean through his combat shield and into his breastplate. His chest tightened momentarily, apprehensive that his master had come under serious harm, but Tiberius merely grunted and slammed the muzzle of his bolter into the hole and unleashed a hail of rockets at the foe. Scarans eyes were fiercely fighting to compensate for the strobe effect of the bolter flare and rail rounds. The noise was deafening and dirt rained down through cracks in the hull plating or through broken doors. He clutched his shotgun close to his chest and offered a small prayer to the Great Father. Tiberius began to take shuddering steps forward, his shield scraping sparks from the decking beneath them, streaks of fire whipping past their heads. Scaran truly felt in awe of this moment, him and his master against the odds, advancing into suppressive fire and defying the Emperors enemies. He would hold this dear to his heart for a long time to come. He consulted his auspex once more and almost laughed aloud at the readout, he slapped a gloved hand upon his Sergeants massive shoulder guard and pointed. The roar of shotgun fire erupted at the other end of the corridor, the Tau dancing like marionettes as the armour piercing slugs burst their plas-tech carapaces open. The ceiling above the xeno's sheared open under the weight of fire, there was a clang and then a vent cover crashed into the floor followed by the other scouts. Gellus brought his boot down upon the neck of a slow dying xeno, the sickening crack loud in the silence after the brutal fire fight. Tiberius left his crouched stance and held his shield at ease to his right. His booming laughter cut out of the portcullis grate on the front of his helmet, his footsteps stressing the decking beneath him, he slotted his bolter into the large steel holster bolted to his left thigh. His chainmail tabard rustled and glistened with the watery blood of the Tau, he reached the carnage at the other end of the hallway and nodded his approval. ++ Fine work, my children. Scaran, consult the auspex, you lead. ++ Scaran nodded his bloodied head and pressed a glowing rune upon the auspex, it clicked and whirred for several seconds before chiming in a series of short blips. Scaran took point, hefting his shotgun and bracing it over his forearm, the auspex displaying a screen similar to sonar, sending out short wave pulses to determine bio signs. He mentally counted each click of the auspex, scanning for shorter times between the chimes. Tiberius watched his favourite scout hang a left in the corridor and un-holstered his bolter, gesturing to the others. ++ Well children, seems we've picked up a trail. Move. ++ Scaran could smell them even as the auspex chimed his approach to the life signs. He'd taken off before his kin, leaving them in the darkness of the corridors. He was eager, perhaps too eager to end the foe before him. His finger tightened on the trigger to his shotgun and he leapt around the corner, the darkness of the hallway penetrated by the light coming from inside the command deck. He eased towards the cavernous mouth leading onto the bridge, taking up position to the left of the door, he slung the auspex and gripped the shotgun in both hands. He wanted the glory, he decided this was the chance to earn his Sword. Scaran mentally geared himself and then jumped in through the doorway, his shotgun barking off two spreads of fire. He took two Tau from their feet before they could react, a third had its helmet ripped apart, its face a bloody mess as it hit the floor. The scout threw himself into cover behind a bench of terminals, racking the slide on his shotgun and sending another hail of fire over the top, he was rewarded by the sound of bursting plas-tech. Scaran risked a glance over the terminals, sighting down the angle of the command centre to the figures clustered in the middle. Confusion burst inside his mind, he felt a bitter taste creep into his mouth and he pumped the last round home upon his shotgun. They knew he was here, it was impossible not to know, yet they did not react. Scaran eased himself forward along the terminals to one of the four sets of stairs that led down to the centre, then he bolted. His pumped his legs as fast as possible and lifted his shotgun, the roar of it ringing around the circular combat room. He discarded it the armour piercing shot peppering into two of the four cloaked figures crowded around something. One went down, bright blood spurting from its wounds. He tore the blade that hung at his side free, pressing his thumb into the activation stud, the foot long combat blade was lined in a humming glow of amber light. He leapt onto the last row of terminals and dived forward, bringing his knife down in an arc. His target whirled faster than his eyes could cope with, the cloak revealing bone white armour and flame red hair and suddenly he became the target. Unable to stop himself, Scaran was imbedded on the blue scimitar, pain erupted in his body causing him to go blind for a moment, he could feel the power field around the blade searing his insides. He crashed into the ground, the slender figure in front of him using its foot to slide him clear of its blade. Scaran coughed frothed blood onto his chin and looked up with wide eyes at the foe stood over him. Its armour was curvaceous and form fitting, small gems glittered and pulsed at various points upon its torso, the curve of its armoured breasts catching the dim light in the command centre, causing the armour to gleam pearlescent. Wraith bone, it dawned upon Scaran like a hammer blow. He tried to force himself up but the Banshee stamped her foot onto his wound, slamming him back into the metal. She possessed a strength that belied her fragile seeming form. The air filled with the sound of flutes and the drop of winter dew, his ears twitched, his mind hurt as he realised the Banshee was speaking at him. 'Mon-keigh, you know not what you meddle with. Welcome your corpse god.' Then she raised her scimitar, shirking the cloak from her shoulders and revealing her deadly beautiful form. Scaran could not accept his death at the hands of this Eldar, he would not accept it, then as if in answer to his thoughts her chest erupted in a gout of flame and blood, shards of wraith bone glittered like tears as they shattered from her form. He watched the pale flesh of her chest shear and tear under the assault of the bolter rounds. Hot, steaming blood splashed his front, splashing into his face. His kin had arrived and so had something else. The metallic taste of the blood burnt through his body, sending his system into overdrive and a red haze descended upon his vision. Clutching the humming power knife in his hand he let out a truly terrifying scream that caused the Eldar to flinch momentarily, his dark eyes shot through with gold and blood, his skin bulged at the muscles trying to break through, his carapace armour strained to contain his bulk. His mind was on fire, an inferno of noise and screaming filled his head, scratching claws and cackling energies. A pale face with daemons eyes swam in his mind's eye, blurring his vision, he witnessed the death of a god and the struggle of titans. He was there and it was killing him, an urge rose in his throat, something was telling him there was only one thing to slate the mind-daemons assaulting him, and that thing was blood. Tiberius lowered his bolter as it belched smoke from its barrel, his scouts engaged the phantoms of the Eldar, their whistling blades and vicious screeching filled the command centre, but what he was staring at was his favoured son. He witnessed what had been a mortally wounded initiate rise up from the ground, screaming and clawing at his own face, then lunge upon the nearest hooded figure, he saw his scout plunge his knife into the foe again and again, drawing gouts of blood and shreds of organs put with each rend. The two figures crashed into a huge metal crate in the centre of the command deck, the Eldars cloak heavy with its own blood, Scaran rammed his forehead into his foes, the sound of wraith bone cracking audible even over the shotgun bursts and screaming. He watched as his favoured son lifted the Eldars broken and battered head, ripping free its helmet and then with a blood curdling howl, he watched Scaran sink his teeth into the Eldars throat. Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2276073 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Monstra Sumus Posted March 1, 2010 Author Share Posted March 1, 2010 7 Virgil stared about him in revulsion, the scene before his eyes one of depravity and destruction. The youngest of the Astartes brothers, those newly inducted into the ranks of the Knights were horrified at what they witnessed. Each one of them understanding with a final clarity what they would become. Everything seemed to revolve in slow motion around Virgil, each scream or sickening crack played out longer than it had any right to be, the bright spray of blood cascading like a rain pour down to the earth beneath their feet. What Virgil witnessed was debased savagery common of the Flesh Tearers or in fact, more shockingly, the World Eaters. His gauntlet clad fingers tightened upon the stock of his bolter, the ceramite squeaking with the pressure. He gazed around the shattered flagstones of the Governors plaza, the blackened, smoke belching palace rising before him. Astartes he had held unmatchable measures of respect for were tearing the world down around him, venerated brothers of the First Company, exemplars of the Chapter, were in a frenzy of bloodlust. He watched one of the Veteran brothers, his black and silver armour thick with gore and the stains of war, swoop down upon twin jets of flame from his jump pack to punch his clenched fist through the body of a fleeing human, tearing one of his arms from the mans shoulder and then tearing the dying guards throat out with his teeth. Chain weapons and bolters were used to bludgeon and rend screaming men to death, heads were crushed between hands, flesh was torn from bodies in ravenous hunger. The Astartes were mauling the humans like savage dogs. Virgil witnessed the massive form of Veteren Brother Tios, resplendent in his baroque Terminator armour, once a magnificent sight upon the field of battle but now resembling a lapdog of Khorne. The man lifted his power blade, the blade a haze of white incandescent light, a purple smoke playing about its edge, flicks of energy cascading from two pylons upon the blades hilt. The sword came hacking down to connect with what Virgil assumed to be one of the traitors commanding officers. The man was sheared in half, the flash of white hot light from the contact left after glare upon his eyes. Tios was a man possessed, his face twisted into a snarl, his fanged mouth drenched in blood. The giant armour he wore was decked in trophies, several helmets hung from his waist, eldar, ork and even those of once Imperial origin. His gauntlets were tipped in razor talons much like Chaplain Grakars, each plate of Tios armour was studded with spike tipped bolts, his huge shoulder guards jutting out in winged pauldrons, all manner of chains and scraps of litany scrolls hanging from them. The Terminator vanguard behind the Veteran Sergeant crushed men to pulp with their massive power fists, hurricane torrents from their storm bolters annihilating men, turning them into chunks of steaming meat in blood red clouds. Virgil could feel bile rise in his throat momentarily, in all his days as an Initiate beneath Tiberius in the 10th Company, he'd never witnessed a bloodletting of this scale. His eyes watched as one of the black clad warriors of the Terminators cast aside his storm bolter, with his power fist he tore his bulky helmet from his features and let it clatter to the stone beneath him. His hand shot forward and snared a limping human, the hulking warrior lifted the screaming man, crushing his waist with his powerful grip. His teeth came down in a vicious head butt to the man's face, shearing the flesh from his cheek. The Terminator gripped the man's shoulder with his other hand, the power fist's energy field searing and bubbling the man's body, cooking him in its fierce energies. The Terminator began to take chunks of the man's face off, swallowing down the flesh and cracking his body until it was broken and limp. He cast the man aside, the body scattered like a torn rag doll across the stones, a dark smear left along the ground. A gauntlet clamped down upon Virgil's shoulder and his helmet snapped to stare at it. Each plate upon the fingers was slick with blood, but he could make out the scripted black armour beneath, litanies curling round each finger plate in tooled carvings. The fingers ended in viciously curved tips, like the talons of an eagle, the knuckled ridge was decked with sharp pyramids of adamantium. Virgil knew exactly who had hold of him and with a dread surfacing in his throat he slowly turned to face the towering form of Grakar. The Chaplains bald head was smeared with dark blood, frothy tendrils of saliva roping down his red stained chin. His eyes glowed like daemon fire, their red halo's piercing and seeming to peel away the layers of Virgil's very soul, the smile that spread across the Chaplains flesh clogged teeth did nothing to comfort Virgil. The young Astartes could no longer keep the venom from his voice, his shoulder pulling back away from the Chaplains grasp. The bronze plated grille upon Virgil's helm crackled into life as his voice spilled from the vox unit. ++ My lord! What is this barbarism?! ++ The Chaplains smile grew in intensity, becoming shark like and taking on a vicious air. He lifted his other hand and Virgil turned a lip at what he saw clutched in the Chaplains grasp. It was human, well it had been, it was missing an arm and a leg. Its face had been stripped and there was only ragged clumps of meat and blood stuck to the skull, great gouges and tears had been shredded down the man's body and tags of flesh dangled from the Chaplains deadly clawed hands. The words that came from Grakar's stained teeth smashed into Virgil with all the force of hammer blows, his mind reeling from what was said. " Why, the Emperors work, young Virgil. " Then with a sickening dawning, Virgil realised not one of the Knights before him bore the symbols of the Death Company. He despaired to think what savagery and evil his Chapter committed in the name of the Emperor of Mankind. Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2301167 Share on other sites More sharing options...
FireFist Posted March 3, 2010 Share Posted March 3, 2010 Nice I like chapter 4. EVery thing else is good. Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2302615 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Monstra Sumus Posted April 12, 2010 Author Share Posted April 12, 2010 8 The chamber was dark and so cold it caused even the super human Astartes to shiver and seek the comfort of their enclosed armour, helmets and atmosphere seals shut tight against the deep freeze. There were four of the hulking warriors assembled around the huge sarcophagus suspended by thick lengths of adamantine chain in the centre of the room. Three of them wore the black and bone of the Chaplaincy and one bore the iron rimmed skull of the Mechanicum upon his crimson armour. Panels glowed green and red with stark life upon the walls, contrasting the armour of the warriors in a rich plethora of colours. The huge vault door behind them was sealed shut, sealing to become part of the thick armoured walls. " Indrik, how long has it been since we have had this burden? " Came a voice soon full of authority and synthesised power that it caused the hairs on the back of the battle hardened Indriks neck to rise. The Interrogator took a side step and turned to face the Master Chaplain of the Knights Vermillion, crossing his black armoured arms across the chainmail tabard upon his torso. The sight of the Chaplains was something to be in awe of, the command structure of the Knights were the Templari, the warrior-priests who struggled to keep their wayward sons in check. Each bore tokens and amulets from a thousand battles and each carried a shield and Crozius into battle. Taloned gauntlets and razor sharp hatred brought swift justice to their enemies, but their deep wisdom and spiritual guidance helped to shape their battle brothers into more than monsters. The Master Chaplain, the Knight-Templar himself was an awesome sight to behold. Tactical Dreadnought armour encased his form, his head un-helmeted in the chill air of the chamber. No skin remained upon his skull, he had suffered wounds too great to save his features and what remained of his head was encased in a skull of burnished steel, angry bionics glaring red hate at everything he gazed upon, gold tipped adamantium formed the long fangs that glimmered in the low light. Indrik could see the servos and fibre bundles beneath the skull and the scraps of flesh that remained to the venerable elder. The Knight Templar was reaching his eight century, but the ministrations of the Master-smith Ardakas had seen his body near encased in the Terminator armour which made the Chaplain master a terrifying force upon the battlefield. " I'd wager the last was two thousand turns of Athena, M'lord. The records were ill kept and many have fallen into the darkness of ignorance. " Indrik was the Chapters Interrogator, tasked to seeking out the seeds of corruption and heresy within the ranks of the Knights and its vassals, it seemed he was being scrutinised for not realising something as disgusting as a psyker was present within the Chapter. He watched Master Alabaster stomp forward two steps to the front of the carved stasis-tomb suspended in the air. The Master gestured with one of his taloned power claws for the Master of the Forge to approach. " Bring this thing online, Ardakas. " The crimson armoured warrior stepped forward, his right arm replaced by a whirring bionic, the skeletal steel fingers curling into a fist as he approached the sarcophagus. He kept the anger that bubbled up inside him buried under mountains of data streams and interfaced himself once more with the control panelling upon the side of the suspended tomb. This thing had caused so many deaths, so many of his Adepts and priests were splattered corpses, so many ancient tech destroyed because of this abomination. It sickened him to think his old friend Typhot had been possessed by such a creature while he was tittering upon the brink of death. Alabaster and Indrik had used the word 'Daemon' upon storming the Forge, it had set the Tech-priests to a whole new level of fervour in shutting down the rampant Dreadnought. Two figures that had accompanied the Chaplains were now stood within the room with them, having stood as silent guardians either side of the Sarcophagus, shrouded in its shadow. They had smashed into the Dreadnought with savage fury only the Templari could muster, but with something extra. These were Sentinels. They armour was an the unpainted grey of ceramite, their helmets black as night. They were the Templari's special weapon in the war against psykers, they were pariahs. The two Space Marines stepped forward to either side of the Dreadnought tomb and Ardakas could feel the significant drop in the immediate atmosphere, like it became completely devoid of sound or feeling. It was an unpleasant feeling. He resumed his task of bringing the Sarcophagus online and began to chant the rites of incantation. A flare of sparks and a grinding filled the air of the chamber before a series of lights blinked into life on the front of the stasis-tomb. It was a tense silence, a long silence before it was broken. A static filled sigh erupted from the dreadnought and the voice was strained. ++ You keep us imprisoned within this chamber? Why do you do this act? ++ Alabaster stepped before the Sarcophagus so the thing within could see him in all his glory. The curved black pauldrons, the taloned power claws, the rolls of parchment that adorned his body and the sigils and runes of the Templari. The Sentinels nodded and the Templar stepped even closer. " We keep you imprisoned because by your very existence you are an enemy of our Creed. " There was another silence, then it spoke again. ++ You creatures are extremely ignorant. Your kind is primitive and lack lustre for the rest of the universe around you. ++ Alabaster folded his massive gauntlets across his broad chest. Indrik and the other Chaplain stepped forward to flank either side now they were comfortable the Sentinels null field had contained the things power. " You are a Daemon, you have possessed one our Honoured Brethren, you are an Abomination that needs to be scryed from existence. " The thing chuckled, the sound a burst of static that caused Ardakas to subconsciously position his Servo arms in a striking position, he resembled some quasi-mechanical scorpion. ++ We are no Daemon-fiend. Do not accuse us of possession, it is such an unclean process, no, We are using this one as a conduit. We only sought out the latent psychic powers he possesses. ++ All the Chaplains gasped in shock. How could they have missed this? Such a venerable and honoured member of the Chapter a latent psyker? Had Typhot kept it secret? Or had he not even known himself? How had this not been revealed in his scrying as an initiate? So many questions. While they were forming litanies of protection upon their lips, the thing spoke once more. ++ This is Yien-mal, correct? Athena in your tongue? ++ Alabasters ruby red eyes snapped to the vision slit upon the Sarcophagus and he stomped forward and grasped the adamantine shell in his power claws. " What do you know of our planet? Speak, creature. " The thing merely chuckled once more. ++ It is not your planet mon-keigh, it is ours, from before the Beginning. It is the resting place of something sacred, something older than all the races of the galaxy. It is home to an artefact older than time itself and as your Maker, we demand you protect it. They are coming, we can feel them approach. Darkness and Blood will soak your world, the Walking Dead approach from beyond the dark space. ++ Its voice had the air of prophecy and even Alabaster himself was rapt with attention as he listened to the thing. " Speak, what must we protect? SPEAK! " Then it whispered. ++ The Life Key. ++ Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2359517 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Hibberyjoo Posted April 13, 2010 Share Posted April 13, 2010 :D WOW! When can i get more!?!?!? One of the best pieces of fan fiction i have read! havn't spotted anything that i would change! Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2361161 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Monstra Sumus Posted April 14, 2010 Author Share Posted April 14, 2010 Whoa, seriously many many thanks there buddy! I try to write as much as I can but things are pretty busy at the moment, i'll try and get more up in the next few days though! Watch this space. :o Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2361315 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Dosjetka Posted April 14, 2010 Share Posted April 14, 2010 Yay! As I put it on Tales of Heresy, this is one awesome piece of fiction! I just love it!! :) Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2361509 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Monstra Sumus Posted April 14, 2010 Author Share Posted April 14, 2010 :) Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2361812 Share on other sites More sharing options...
The Normish Posted April 14, 2010 Share Posted April 14, 2010 Haven't read all of it yet, but I like the description of the Cathedral in the first chapter. Looks like this could turn out good. Don;t worry too much about the comments thing. I've gotten even less on y first installment to my story "Heart of Darkness" I haven't read everything, so don't chastise me if this is obvious, but... is planet Athena divided into various nation-states? Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2362040 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Monstra Sumus Posted April 14, 2010 Author Share Posted April 14, 2010 Aye, i'll be describing more of Athena in the next two Chapters because one of them will focus on a Character based on the surface. Pre-Heresy it was a very Greco-Roman esque world, think like all of the kingdoms within ancient greece all veying for power of the whole of Greece. Post-Heresy, think Jerusalem during the Crusades, the planets become a sand blasted nuclear wasteland with very little natural beauty left to it after the World Eater invasion and the constant warfare in system with other less savoury things. Culture has 'devolved' from a high class grecian society based on beauty and culture into a medieval land where the Astartes themselves are the ruling nobles with their own houses of servants and vassals to cater for their every need. The higher you gain rank in the chapter, the more lands and vassals you retain. I'll have a description about why the Astartes are considered nobles upon the planet aswell. There are also members of the desert dwelling clans who despise the Astartes rule, but as all Chapters do, they recruit the best warriors from them aswell. Very similar to the Crusades themselves, everyone on Athena believe in the Emperor, they just have different ways of doing it and this causes wars, which the Astartes thrive on. Hope that answered your question Normish! :D Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2362113 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Dosjetka Posted April 14, 2010 Share Posted April 14, 2010 Interessting...I'm gonna enjoy this, I know I am :D Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2362124 Share on other sites More sharing options...
The Normish Posted April 14, 2010 Share Posted April 14, 2010 It was more than enough... thanks. Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2362553 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Monstra Sumus Posted April 16, 2010 Author Share Posted April 16, 2010 9 Athena. The once lush and verdant world, with its continent spanning forests and its shimmering crystal oceans, was now a nuclear blasted husk of its former glory. Mountains pierce the sky like a jagged jaw line upon the world, the sky is clear and the Athenian star punishes the surface of the planet. Natural resources are scarce after the initial strip mining by the Mechanicum in the wake of the Heresy and the craters of a cataclysmic battle in the heavens still scar the endless deserts. Over the millennia a hardy population has risen from the ashes of the once proud culture and diverse linage of the previous populations of Athena. Athena used to be a thriving trading planet, with resources in abundance. The northern collectives controlled the iron and gold ore, the south controlled the spices and herbs, the west had endless droves of livestock and perishable resources while the east were the finest architects and marble holders upon the planet. Truces and trade agreements were standard procedure upon Athena, everyone had something the others wanted. Until the Imperium came. The Imperium wanted everything, even Athena's people and in return the Athenians were given the Imperial Truth. Profitless words from an interstellar despot. Rebellion and grief is what the Imperium expected, well thought out arguments and a hard trading agreement is what they received. Athena managed in maintaining its limited independence from the yoke of Imperialism, but it came at a cost. They were forced into the galaxy shattering civil war and their peoples were butchered under the hordes of the World Eaters. The survivors had the small Imperial Fist company to thank for their continued life. The brave Astartes paid dearly with their lives so the indigenous people would continue on after the war. Then the Mechanicum came with the giants in blue. The Ultramarines made planet fall in the years after the Heresy and instated new laws and policies to be followed by the shattered people. Real rebellion and disgust for the Imperium rose up in the people and the Loyalists were hated for their presence. The Mechanicum began to tear and shatter the planet's surface, sucking the oceans dry, cracking the mountains for their ore, felling forests in days. The people of Athena held a hatred for the Imperium none could match. Their lives and beautiful planet had gone from perfection to a shattered world with a fraction of the people remaining thanks to the Imperium. It was many thousands of years until the Imperium came again. The people of Athena had split into two very distinctive cultural groups. Those who tried to gleam a measure of their former glory and those who accepted their fate. All memory of the Imperials had faded to dust and time with the honoured dead and a Missionary vessel made planet fall bringing aid and defence from the giant creatures roaming the ash and sand deserts. They also brought with them, the God Emperor. Faith. Pure and un-tempered faith is what was given to the people of Athena, that faith came in the guise of silken promises and resources. The Faith brought war once more to Athena's surface. After two hundred years of the missionary expedition leaving the surface, the religion had evolved into something dangerous. The people of the land and those who dwelt along the coasts of the polluted oceans remaining on Athena followed the Imperial way of belief, holding tithe and honour the Emperor for deliverance from the eternal darkness. Those that dwelt in the deserts, those that dwelt within the vast tribes believed differently, they believed the Emperor was truly the divine God. The lived in total devotion to him, relying on the almighty power of the God Emperor to provide them with the means of life and living and they believed wholly the others on Athena should believe as they did. That they needed no outside help from the star walkers and that the Emperor would watch over them and bring them all they needed. This sparked a feud, that feud became a long standing grudge which eventually turned into a religious war that spread like fire across the surface of the planet. This continued as the galaxy was plunged into civil war once more with the devout versus the heretic in a battle of religious fanaticism. In the wake of this, the Knights Vermillion came. The Athena's do not know of the dark and treacherous origins of the Knights and nor will they ever find out, but they were grateful for the Astartes appearance. Like people do, they had forgotten about the evils the Imperium had brought upon them in the name of advancement. The newly formed Knights Vermillion found Athena a divided people and culturally diverse, much needed preparing for the backlash of the galaxies terrible wars. The people were abused and punished and the Astartes sought to avenge that, the Knights primary mantra, to uphold the citizen above the leader was put into full drive. The Astartes descended in flocks, helping to build castles and population centres, they helped train the men in the art of warfare, equipped the nation with the means to defend itself. The Astartes set up forge foundries and churned out all manner of melee weaponry and armour to outfit the encountered peoples. They brought writing and literature. they brought Imperial history and ways of purifying what little consumable resources left on the planet. The people of Athena revered the Knights for what they had done and held them as the protectors of Athena. The humble Astartes declined at first, but after the insistence of the free people the Knights accepted lordship of the people, vowing to protect their kind throughout the galaxy until the last Knight died. Then the desert dwellers came, seeking such help from these new star walkers. The opening greetings did not end well, ridiculed and held in contempt by the Astartes for their devotion filled god bothering the cries of heretic were upon every dweller lips. Casting the desert tribes back from the walls of the great castle states, the Astartes concurred in secret they would recruit new initiates from both cultures, there were great warriors bred upon this planet. They set up the Choosing. Trials and hardship which could kill even the most bold and proud of men, the reward? To become a protector, to become one of the great Warriors of the Emperor. ~ Scato took the sword blow upon his shield, the sound rung out with a clash of steel in the hall. The shock of the blow sent shivers down his arm, numbing his shoulder. His attacker rained several more blows down upon his kite shield, the steel denting and flaking under the assault. The young Athenian warrior rolled backwards away from the sword of his opponent, resting upon the balls of his feet. He flicked his head to the side in an effort to shift his dark locks which had stuck to his forehead, his skin slick with sweat. It was uncomfortable and was clinging to the chainmail dressing his body. He clutched the grip upon his long sword tightly and stroked the leather wrapping of the handle. His keen green eyes studying his adversary. Mikahil was a brute, easily a head taller than Scato and as wide as an ox at the shoulders. If the smaller youth hadn't clung to his shield he'd have had his skull split in the opening seconds of the melee. The other was coming in for another swing and Scato pushed himself into a lunge to his left. Mikahail's sword whistled a mere whisper from his cheek, cutting the air where Scato had been crouched. The taller combatant instantly reversed his stroke and came hurtling towards Scato's side, smashing into his shield arm and hearing a crunch as his wrist was pinned between the shield and his own mailed torso. Pain lanced up Scato's arm and he felt a hot throbbing fill his fingers, his shield sagged in his grip, but he would not be defeated. With a snarl of exertion filled anger he brought his sword arcing round to collide with the side of Mikahail's knee. The brute yelped as the sound of crunched mail filled the hall, quickly followed by the crash of armour. Scato stood, taking several steps back and fumbling with his shield straps. A herald called out across the assembled hall, announcing Scato of House Thracian, the winner of the melee bout. House Kanatch would receive the dishonour sash. Scato's house squire came hurrying forward but fell short with a face of shock, his eyes fixed over Scato's left shoulder. He knew what was coming and braced himself as best he could in the scant second he had. The young warrior had managed to half turn the shield to face the approaching blow but a good hand measure of the blade slapped into his shoulder, almost popping it from the joint. Once again pain flared in his already damaged arm and tears filled his eyes. Mikahil looked possessed, his eyes bulged and his teeth were smeared in frothy spit. He brought his weapon up for another blow when a figure moved as fast as lightening. Stone cracked and silence filled the hall as Mikahil was snatched bodily from the floor and left dangling all his weight by his right arm. The sword clattered onto the cracked slabs at the Astartes feet and Mikahil struggled against the iron grip. " Dishonour, aspirant. You do not strike a fellow warrior when his back is turned. You lost. " The bellow blew the hair from Mikahil's features and gave him pause in his thrashings. He tensed, trying to hold his armoured weight better and heaved in his breaths. His venom filled eyes flicked to Scato who was having the shield and chainmail prised from his wrent arm. He looked back to the giant who held him suspended from the floor, wishing for anything beyond the stars to have the same strength so he could fight back against the Knight-Protector. His voice came out in a growl. " His strike would not have finished me, I am not defeated when upon my back. The rules to your Proving are moot and ill conceived. " There was an intake of breath from the assembled nobles and one or two cried out for punishment. He had dared to speak to the Knight as if he were and equal or in fact, the Astartes better. Mikahil expected the fearsome warrior to strike him down and crush the life from his body but the warrior just stood silent, staring into Mikahil's brown eyes with his devilish red ones. The Knight spoke after a moment of silence, his long fangs framing his pink tongue, his blonde hair falling across his face as he tilted his head. " You would strike a man when his back is turned, even after being helped through the Ash deserts by this individual? After he has saved your life? " There was a weight to the Astartes words that were not lost upon Mikahil Kanatch. He gazed into those deep red eyes for a while, choosing his words carefully. Then he spoke. " In that he was my friend, in this he is my foe, whatever the cost, victory is paramount. " Whatever the Astartes had been expecting, Mikahil could not know, yet his words seemed to have abated something and he was lowered to the ground. The hulking warrior turned to the assembled crowds and placed one large gauntlet upon the pommel of the gigantic sword at his hip. " Hark! The Choosing is at an end. " The crowd gathered in, a mere handful of them totting weapons and sporting injuries. House Kanatch versus House Thracian had been the final bout of the tournament. " The road has been hard and many of your fellows have been lost to the perils of Athena. I understand this, it was the same for me. I too braved the Grim Silence, where we all endured a month in darkness and silence, where we drank the rainfall and ate what scraps of food we could find in the dark. I endured as you have. " He began to walk, his armoured might stressing the ground. He curled his hand into a fist as he circled the warrior aspirants. " You have braved the Wasting Road, cast out from the safety of your holdings, cast out from the safety of your family and friends. You were plucked from the lives you knew and strew into the unforgiving desert and mountains, left to die. Many did not return, Athena and her beasts have claimed them, they have proven themselves unworthy of becoming a Warrior of the Stars. I returned. So have you, many of you helped each other, earning comradeship and proving the worth of loyalty. " He held them all with his words, Scato's pain was briefly forgotten as he listened with rapt attention to the Knight. " You spent weeks living with each other, forging bonds unbreakable, training , eating, sleeping and praying together. You have become a brotherhood and today in this hall, you have endured the Rite of Uron. You have emulated the trials our Master endured, you have endured having your brothers, those close to you, turn and attack you. You have faced darkness and death and you have endured. For that, all of you holding a sword....all of you soaked with your own sweat....those of you with fire in your hearts, rejoice! For now....you are no longer men of Athena... " The silence was painful. The Astartes stopped dead centre once more. Knowing he held all of the assembled warriors and nobles by their entire attention. He turned to encompass the whole group, outstretching his arms wide, extending his thumbs and then crossing his hands across his chest. He formed the sign of the Aquila. " I salute you! For though our path has been long and bloody, you have proved to our Chapter that you posses unflinching courage and the honour of true warriors. Your reward has come, I welcome you brothers, as Initiates of the Knights Vermillion. The Emperor is proud of you this day. " The explosion of noise was even almost deafening for the Astartes, who couldn't help the smile that spread across his features. The joy and exhilaration that resounded in the hall was awe inspiring. He felt a warmth inside him and he let the smile linger for a moment more before crushing the feeling of elation under an iron fist of composure. There was much work to be done, all they had proven is that they were ready for the next stage of the initiation. Even more of them would die, horrible, painful and ultimately meaningless deaths. Captain Valoran of the Tenth Company made his exit from the giant cathedral whilst the civilians celebrated. He nodded to the two Astartes guarding the door, their bolters clutched to their chests. He took in a breath of the air, the taste tangy upon his tongue. His body filtered out the pollutants and chemicals in the air, causing him to hock up a glob of phlegm onto the dusty dirt path leading down the hill from the front of the Cathedral. He'd seen the records in the bank of ancient logic engines in the bowels of the Cathedral complex, this place, the city of Trojas had once been a mighty and beautiful place, framed by forest blanketed mountains and the pearlescent sea behind the Cathedral. Now, it was a ghost of its former glory. The sea was black and violent, the mountains bare and home to vicious clans of tribal's. The city of Trojas was now walled in, castles jutted out from the city line, no white buildings of beauty only an expanse of brick and mortar. An ugly city for an ugly world. The only thing that gave Valoran pause for contemplation was the valley path between the twin mountain ranges. The ancient gate of the Trojasian people had long since disappeared under tides of ash and war, but it was symbol of Imperial hope that towered above them. The mighty war engine of the Heresy times stood immobile between the mountains. The giant Warlords weapons had been silent for thousands and thousands of years. Great gouges and scars in the mountains and earth around it attested to the mighty battle that ravaged Athena in the dark ages of the Imperium. The awesome might of the Titan was marred by the ash clinging to it, the way the Athenian creeper vines had obscured most of its lower half, a forest of thorns and bramble. Rusted and inoperable, it had withstood the test of time and battle. A relic of the Imperium of man. Valoran creased his brow and tapped his index finger upon the pommel of his powers word in contemplation. If such a mighty machine was upon this forgotten backwater, then what else, perhaps dwelt upon the surface of this planet? What other artefacts of mankind would they find among the systems planets? He cast his gaze to the heavens and his enhanced vision picked out a streak of light just visible in the atmosphere. His brow creased above his blood red eyes. A second later a shockwave rippled down from the heavens and sent a sheet of dust and ash into his face. He turned away from the bright glare in the heavens above and stomped towards the two Astartes behind him. One of them was evidently communicating via voxlink inside his helmet, his bolter held easy by his side, his shoulders turned down. The other approached and the grille upon the front of his helmet flared into static light. ++ Commander, the Errant is requesting all able Astartes to return aboard. The Spear of Athena was just destroyed by an enemy fleet who have arrived in system. ++ Valoran scowled, no rest for the pious it seemed. He inwardly cursed this systems proximity to the Eastern Crusades. "Damned be Spartus. What are we expecting? " The Astartes turned in step to follow Valoran as he marched into the Cathedral once more. ++ Fleet-ward reports from Admiral Spartus indicate the main body of the fleet are Ork, the greenskins are being driven towards us by the Tau like stampeding grox. Evidently the Tau are growing tiresome of their war with the Ork. ++ Valoran snarled, causing a few of the closest nobles to shirk away in fear. Now he understood why they were being recalled ship side. The Orks would attempt to board the Imperial ships, anything to bolster their own scrap heap flotilla. The hall fell silent as he stormed through the crowd towards the Courtyard entrance, the awaiting Thunderhawk would lift them all skyward and into war. " Those of you who have been chosen, you will come with me now. Your lives upon Athena are over and you serve the Chapter now. The Stars await you. " The sun dipped below the horizon as the gunship boomed off into the atmosphere, leaving the inhabitants of Trojas gazing up into the heavens. Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2365130 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Dosjetka Posted April 16, 2010 Share Posted April 16, 2010 Wehee!! Love it Tyrax!! Just damn love it!! Can't wait for more and I think that this version is, so far, brilliant and doesn't need changes! (if you do make changes, make them good :) ) Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2365140 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Monstra Sumus Posted April 18, 2010 Author Share Posted April 18, 2010 Next Chapter finished! Whoop whoop! See two posts up for Chapter 9 in all its finished glory. ;) Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2368096 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Monstra Sumus Posted April 19, 2010 Author Share Posted April 19, 2010 10 Smoke and blood filled the air, the taste pleasing something dark and bitter in the depth of Tiberius' soul. He shook his head within the confines of his thick armoured helm, pushing his cheek against the cool ceramite inside in an effort to relieve a phantom itch. It had been four centuries since he had under gone to Trials of Choosing. Four centuries he'd had to hone his rage and hunger into a tolerable companion. He'd like to say he succeeded, yet when amongst such carnage as this, he had to wonder. His foot crunched into the chest of one of the fallen Firewarriors, splitting the plas-tech and popping its innards into a mushy pulp. He continued down the row of steps between the ancient logic engines and data banks. The battle, if one could call it that, had ended in as much time as it took one to draw a breath. Scaran, his favoured squire, had devoured and rent upon the Xenos witch, while his other sons had unleashed a shotgun storm upon the lightly armoured Banshee's who had tried to close the distance. Tiberius fixed his eyes upon Scaran and bared his fangs beneath his helm. He pointed towards the initiate and spat an order into his vox unit. ++ Gellus, Irik, restrain your brother. ++ The two scout-squires nodded and sped off down the steps towards their fellow, Irik went low, Gellus aiming high. Between them, they wrestled the screaming Scaran to the floor. The struggled to contain the bucking warrior, his rage doubling his strength and tenacity. Tiberius closed the gap between him and the struggling initiates and brought the rear end of his bolter smashing into Scaran's already bloody forehead, knocking the consciousness from him. The rage caused his body to twitch, his fingers still grasped and gripped, his mouth gnashed lazily, the monster within sought to continue the bloodshed. ++ You two keep watch on him. Heinan, Fullum, secure the immediate area, execute those still living. ++ The order left his lips as he fixed his eyes upon the mewling form of the Eldar witch. The sagging green robes were heavy and thick with bright blood, it lay propped against the huge sealed stasis contained in the centre of the command pit. Its large fluted helm was cracked, one of the visor plates had shattered and a pale grey eye glared at the Astartes. It clutched at its throat, trying feebly to stem to tide of blood washing down its torso. Tiberius leant forward and placed his bolter rifle upon the top of the container, the metal giving off a dull thunk as it connected with the dust encrusted box. He let the servo's compensate for his weight as he lowered himself down into a crouch, his chainmail tabard pooling upon the floor beneath him. He lifted his hands and grasped either side of the long wraith bone helmet, the warlock clutched at his wrists but Tiberius was insanely stronger than the dying alien and just lifted the helmet clear. Dark locks spilled down the creatures shoulders, revealing knife curved ears and ivory skin, elongated eyes and high cheekbones gave it an utterly alien appearance and its small gasping mouth was turning blue from loss. ++ Why are you here, witch? ++ His voice was soft, almost sensitive, but there was an unmistakeable bite of venom in it. Contempt. The Eldar reached up to grab at the huge gorget rimming the Astartes helmet, but Tiberius intercepted the hand, clasping it within his and leaning down. The Warlock worked its lips as if trying to say something before spitting a glob of sticky blood onto the faceplate of the Space Marines helmet. Tiberius sighed, the sound a crackle of static out of the bronze rimmed grille set into the side of his armoured face plate. He fixed his eyes onto the Eldars and applied pressure with his fingers. There was a snap and the xeno groaned lowly. ++ I will not repeat myself a second time. What are you doing here? ++ The creature sucked in a few breaths before whispering something in its dirty tongue, then it considered for a moment and grunted out a string of broken Imperial. " Idara'liel, human. You cannot be trusted with the Makers tools. You have built on top of Greatness, sullied it with your stupid fingers. It must be destroyed to allow the Maker to return and stop the Walking Dead, the Great Pestilence. " It hawked a spew of frothy blood up onto its chest and its head slumped forward. Tiberius released its wrist and grabbed its head, pushing it back and leaning closer. ++ I am not without compassion, explain your actions and I will end it quickly, Eldar. ++ The things eyes flickered, ghostly and now bloodshot. Tiberius could see a glittering jewel upon the front of its wraith bone armour flutter and dim, knowing its life would soon be spent. " Your primitive technologies stain the first splendours of this galaxy, this thing we seek.... " It grasped at the massive box behind it, its fingers clawing at one of the armoured ridges on the container. " .....it falls to your kind now, we have failed due to your machinations. You must remove your war machine creator from the Life Key, before the Great Devourer comes from the dark...the Maker has placed too much faith in your kind. Do not fail, or you will all die. Now kill me human, I do not wish to speak to you any further. Kalac'cha. " The xeno's closed its eyes and placed its fragile hand upon the forearm of Tiberius battle plate. It was a reverent touch, accepting its fate. Tiberius could respect that show of emotion from the creature, even if it was alien. He gripped the Bolter from the containers top, lifting it a fraction before considering the situation. He replaced it and then took the Eldars head in both of his hands, one each side of its jaw. ++ Find peace with your Gods, xeno. ++ With a jerk of his wrists, the Eldar died. Tiberius lowered its sagging head slowly until its chin was flush with its chest, ignoring the jagged angle of broken bone in its neck. He stood, the servo's whining once more with the motion. He gripped his Bolter and mag-locked it to the thick plating of his thigh and ran his fingers over the surface of the stasis container. There was a strange Eldar device upon the gene-lock, it resembled a data slate in an odd way, a smooth white square with a glimmering black centre. He gripped it and tore it from the container, casting it to shatter on the far wall of the ancient ships command centre. He gazed at the gene print lock and considered it for a moment, none here would posses the required genetic code to open this crate. He doubted anyone in the galaxy would. Instead, using the gifts given to him, the Knight-Sergeant proceeded to grunt and strain, upping the strength output of his armour until the servo's and fibre bundles threatened to pop and split. With a roar of exertion, he tore the top of the crate from the bottom half, a gust of ice choked air puffing outwards from the interior. He stumble backwards, but his suit recalibrated to right his position. He unlocked his gauntlets and flung the crate top away, stepping back to the container. Hoar frost coated everything from view, crystal glimmering mist poured out over the sides of the crate like smoke. The Knight-Sergeant lowered his gauntlet and wiped away the ice crystals, the sound like wind chimes as the shards collided with the ancient metal deck. He could make out a secondary container, a thick black lock box two foot wide and a foot deep. He could make out imperial letters stamped onto it but the millennia of frost obscured most of it from view. The Knight glanced around the chamber, watching his scouts dragging the pile of corpses into the corner of the room and setting up a defensible exterior from any potential threats. He turned back to the crate and realised he was holding his breath. With a steady hand he smoothed away the rest of the ice with the side of his fist, his eyes widening as he read what was revealed. Both of his hearts skipped a beat and he felt a burning lump in his throat. He turned and gripped at his gorget, smacking the vox stud. ++ Sergeant Tiberius to the Errant, requesting crimson level retrieval, requesting archaeotech recovery team, over. ++ He waited long moments, his eyes fixed upon the slouched form of the dead Eldar at his feet. A touch of prophecy hit him like a gunshot and he almost missed the return transmission. ++ Errant, to Sergeant Tiberius, request acknowledged, extraction team enroute, May He watch over you. ++ Tiberius released the held breath and was suddenly hit by a sense of cloying claustrophobia. He fumbled with the maglocks upon his helmet and tore it from his armour, letting it clatter to the floor beneath him. He leant forward, gripping the sides of the container, letting his eyes rove over the words once more. Standard Template Construct Activation Key Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/181887-vermillion-crusade/#findComment-2369481 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Recommended Posts
Archived
This topic is now archived and is closed to further replies.