Chronicles of Naaman

Grand Master Belial · July 21, 2010

I've gotten hit with the writing bug again and I've been writing in the background for a little while but I do have the first of the Chronicles more or less complete for the first round of reviews and criticism. Let me don my Tactical Dreadnought Armour and sally forth into battle.

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The young boy crept through the undergrowth, the autogun slung at his back was old and clunky, but in the thick underbrush, it was the ideal weapon. It had been days since he left the village. Not that he would be missed. He was an outcast, a product of a tribal raid. He was given the name Noson as he was no son of anyone in the village.

He took delight in not being wanted. It allowed him much more freedom than the other boys did his same age. Anything that got him away from the presence of the village was an Emperor sent blessing to the others. He had stalked behind the hunting parties that went out in search of food for the village and learned to hunt from afar. Some of the hunters had caught on that Noson was hidden around them and had let the boy make some easy kills but when the hunt became dangerous, they tried in vain to lose their young tracker.

On this day, Noson felt bored with tracking the hunting party and decided to go off and hunt alone. He slipped through the brush soundlessly until he found signs of prey worthy of his skills. Though his luck would be different; Noson came upon a depression that held a grox nest. Noson balked at the sight of the mother grox keeping vigil as her younglings tore apart a recent kill.

His heart hammered in his lungs as he took in the sheer size of the reptilian animal just within a short strike away from him. The adult grox knew something was amiss and held its head absolutely still while it sniffed the air and searched out for the reason for her discomfort. Noson slipped the autogun off his shoulder and slipped into a crouch, sighting the adult in the iron sights of his antique weapon. He would only get a single shot before all warp would break loose. If he could drop the adult he might stand a chance against the younglings.

The grox slowly turned its head until it was facing Noson hidden in the bushes. Noson eased back on the trigger until the weapon bucked in his hands. The sharp crack echoed around the dense underbrush but Noson’s aim was true and the struck the grox between the eyes. The great beast thrashed on the ground as it was struck in pain but it was what Noson needed to escape.

The younglings’ curiosity disappeared quickly as they realized what had happened and took off over each other to get at whatever had hurt their mother. Noson had dropped and turned to see the first youngling climb out of the depression and shot it through the snout as he began to run backwards to gain more distance. The youngling had crashed back into the depression and knocked over its siblings. They scrambled up the pit and tore off after the threat.

Noson reached a stream and used it to mask his trail and found another place to ambush any pursuit while he caught his breath. He just got situated when he saw two younglings sniffing for his trail. Noson tried to calm his breathing as he lined on the closest groxling.

With another sharp crack the groxling’s eye exploded as the solid slug passed through into the brain of the beast dropping it where it stood. The second grox was already moving toward the sound but Noson had a good line and fired again. The youngling staggered as the slug passed through a leg. Noson cursed as he aimed again to get a kill shot. Holding his breath, he fired another round and was rewarded with a hit in the neck but the beast was still closing on him. Noson’s lungs burned as he continued to hold his breath to steady his aim. The beast began to screech but another sharp crack ended it suddenly as a third solid round punched through the open mouth to blast the braincase from within.

Noson let out his breath and tried to breathe normally. He began searching for other predators that might hone in on the sound. Looking down, he saw that the last young grox had crashed no more than ten feet from his position. He thought about what he had just done and thought about how stupid he was but also how he managed to kill three younglings and perhaps their mother as well. Not even the hunting party could boast kills like that.

He was about to get up when he noticed movement, too late he realized that the mother had stalked him and had crept up on him from behind. He just had time to look into the gaping maw when a ball of light slammed into the huge beast’s head.

Noson took advantage of the shock the creature received and began firing round after round into the head of the mother. The stench of burnt flesh reached the boy but in his panic he didn’t recognize it. Another ball of light smacked into the large head and then it came crashing down on top of Noson. It took a moment for him to scramble out from under the weight of the lifeless head, thankful for the rocks that took the brunt of the massive weight.

Looking at the scotched remains he saw how his first shot failed to penetrate the thick skull of a full-grown grox. As he turned to leave he saw the giant standing there, a smoking pistol in his hand. Standing nearly eight feet tall and broader the Noson was tall he was terrifying but what rooted the boy firmly to the spot was the head in the shape of a skull with fiery red eyes. The black giant regarded him quietly as Noson regained his courage.

Was this another raid? Was this giant being on his way to his village? The boy thought of raising his weapon but the sight of the smoking weapon held him firm.

“What is your name boy?” The hulking black figured asked.

“Noson”

“Of which tribe?”

“I am not a part of a tribe, I am an outcast.”

“An outcast? I think not. Were you not aware of the ritual taking place in the village not far from here?”

“No. I try to stay out of the village.”

“I see. Well perhaps we should go back now. Follow me.” The giant took off at a brisk walk forcing Noson to jog behind him to keep up. He was able to glance back when he saw two more giants, this time the color of the trees in the hot season walk over to the carcasses and pick them up with relative ease.

A tree slamming him hard to the front reminded him to pay attention to where he was going and then he took off after the black giant. His trail was easy to follow by the depth of his treads and the lack of any attempt to hide.

It wasn’t long before they came upon the outskirts of the village. Noson was panting hard from the continuous jog behind the giant. Stopping to catch his breath, it wasn’t long before he noticed that something big was happening. The village was deserted save for the central building where a great crowd had gathered. Every now and then, he would hear cheers or gasps from the crowd. The black giant continued straight on towards the crowd which quickly parted before him. Noson ran up and followed the giant through the opening in the crowd.

Inside the circle stood another giant, but this one was not wearing the protective armor. Around him were the youths of the village, many of them were wounded badly and it looked as though a couple would never see the sun on the morrow. The giant stood patient in the center at his feet was an assortment of discarded weapons. Noson could not tell if it was arrogance or confidence that led the giant to eschew any weapons. The black armored giant spoke down to him, “you are supposed to be out there as well. This is a trial to see if you can draw blood from the Master. You cannot use your current weapon, but you may take mine.”

The black armored giant withdrew a combat knife from a sheath at his belt and handed it to Noson. To the boy it felt like a large sword. It was large, heavy, but well balanced and with a few practice swings it began to feel right in his hand. As he stepped into the circle he could sense the eyes of the one called the master bore into him as if trying to read him. Noson had seen that look before when the hunters had stumbled onto him far from the village and enjoying a small meal he had killed himself. It was a look that meant that the master acknowledged that Noson was more than a mere boy and to be wary of him.

There were four other boys still standing and poised to fight, two had spears while the third carried a saber. He was the son of the village leader and he had a formal training with his weapon. The other two were trying to protect him like bodyguards but it was easy to tell that they were conflicted, scared by the giant in front of them and probably trying to protect the leader’s son long enough to get a swipe with his saber.

Noson took up his hunter’s stance and began to study his prey. The master’s gaze was unfocussed but alert and more specifically alert to him. His stance was wide but he was poised to move quickly. This was going to be difficult. He needed to distract the master. His hope lay in the three scared boys opposite him.

Inverting the sword he made a feint in an attempt to strike low. The giant sprung back at an incredibly fast speed, avoiding the sweeping blade and kicking backward to strike one of the ‘bodyguards’ in the chest and back to the edge of the crowd. Noson was back up with a broken spear in his other hand as he once again took up a ready posture. The master gave a brief nod in his direction and then also took up a battle posture.

The crowd was beginning to take notice of Noson’s achievements and their chosen son’s dismal attempts to make a move or even gain a second weapon.

“Is this the best your son can do? The whelp is doing more against the sky warrior than your boy,” one called out. “Was he meant to lead or cower behind guards?” shouted another. It was having the effect that Noson expected, the boy was called into doubt and it showed on both his and his father’s faces. The father finally blurted out, “In the name of all things Imperial, DO SOMETHING!”

Leaping into action out of fear, embarrassment or both he began to swing wildly with the saber in an attempt to get the master to move. It was a quick move and one that even Noson was caught flat-footed on. The master caught the boys arm in mid swing and used his momentum to hurl him over towards Noson. He jumped out of the way of the crashing son and managed to lift the combat knife as the master had closed right behind to take him on. A blow like getting hit by a full grown grox left him dizzy and disoriented. Quickly he scrambled to his feet.

Looking up, he saw that the master had been bloodied and that only he was on his feet. The master was still standing but no longer in a fighting stance. The black armored giant was walking around and expecting the boys along with another green giant with patches of white armor. Noson bent down to retrieve the combat knife when he discovered that the blade had red on it. Scanning the ground he saw the leader’s saber discarded but otherwise free of blood.

“Well fought, young one.”

It was the master speaking to him.

“It was a fight that I couldn’t win.”

“True, but you were not expected to win. Your task was merely to draw my blood, which you have done.”

“Through a defensive act.”

“But an act nonetheless, Chaplain Sapphon has told me that you have had other victories today.”

“Chaplain?”

The black giant walked up, “that would be me.” Noson held up the combat knife to return it to Sapphon but the chaplain held his hand up, “You keep it, I think the Master would agree that you have earned it.”

“Agreed.”

Noson looked around again at the battle that had just taken place. “Will they be okay?”

Sapphon nodded, “No. Some of them have been killed outright and the rest have sustained major injuries. I have tasked the Apothecary to tend to them.”

“What happens now?”

“Well, seeing as you killed three young grox and assisted in killing their mother, I think we shall be having a feast this evening in your honor.”

“My honor?”

The master tilted his head back and let out a laugh that filled the area. “Yes, your honor. You not only walked into a trial unprepared and succeeded, but you killed enough food for whole village to eat for weeks.”

+++

That evening, an event was unfolding that struck the village with a sense of melancholy. Several parents were grieving the loss of their sons, others nurtured their wounded and yet the others struck numb. It was expected that the sky warriors would arrive sometime within this generation, but to have the one groomed to be chosen left behind for one that was nothing more than a freak anomaly and roundly shunned by the whole village was just too much for them. Some politely congratulated him, a few of the more drunken villagers offered him a good riddance while the rest held their tongue but their eyes shifted between the two boys who’s roles had switched in the course of one afternoon.

Lemak, the leader’s son, sat at the low table with his father for the first time in both of their lives. Lemak’s body appeared to be partly wrapped in burial bandages, but it was told that they also helped the body to heal. Noson continued to feel Lemak’s eyes boring into him. Sapphon bent his considerable bulk over, “do not pay too much attention to him. His pride has been wounded and will not easily recover. He would never be given the call to serve Emperor as a Dark Angel.”

“Why not? He has been groomed for this day as had many others before him. What did he not have?”

“What you have - humility. To be Astartes is to be given power to destroy not just a person but whole planets, if need be. This power must be tempered or it will consume us and the whole galaxy. We cannot allow anyone willing to be called a Dark Angel to stand that isn’t strong enough to control himself in the face of such power.”

“How do you know if I have humility?”

“Two things. First, you have rarely talked about yourself and were even surprised to be honored tonight. Secondly, there is one more with us that you have not met yet. He has been diligent in determining the mindset of all that have been brought before us these last few days. He is expecting you even now.”

“Then I shouldn’t keep him waiting any longer.”

The Master who had apparently heard everything turned towards him. “There is just one more thing and bear this out well. This will be your final trial before being accepted into the chapter. Once you leave here, you will never come back. You will have severed all ties with this place permanently. You will become a divine servant of the Emperor and a son of the Lion. Make your peace and then join Sapphon when you are ready.”

Noson looked around at all the villagers for the last time. He knew some of the faces present. He saw his mother but she had not spoken a word to him all evening. The only kind eye was from an old hunter that had taught him many of his skills. As their eyes locked, he gave a slight nod before he disappeared into the crowd.

“I am ready. This is nothing more for me here.”

Sapphon led and donned his skull shaped helmet before leading Noson away. They walked into the darkness without the benefit of a light down a path that led before a giant steel machine. A ramp rested on the ground and another giant with blue armor with his head hidden in a cloak stood silently.

“Is this the supplicant for acceptance?”

“It is. He has bled Master Hezekiah in combat and has survived an ordeal against a grox nest with little assistance. He has been recommended by peers who have vouched for him. His has given up his past life in order to serve as a Dark Angel and has chosen to stand the final trial of supplication.”

Noson blinked a few times and then realized that lightning began to play across the face of the giant under the cowl of his robe and his eyes began to glow. His mind began to feel a sense of heat as though someone was shining a bright light around in his head. His eyes became fixated on the glowing eyes of the giant in front of him. His head began to ache and what felt like blood leaked out of his nose. Noson didn’t know what was going on or even what he could do to stop it. He tried to move but couldn’t and suddenly it was over. He fell to the ground like puppet that had his strings cut.

“He has no taint. His spirit is pure.”

Noson picked himself up off the ground, his head buzzed like an angry locrus nest. His vision swam and his legs felt like rubber. He had no idea what just happened but as he looked up he could see that he was being beckoned to the ramp leading into the giant steel machine. Taking a deep breath, he stepped onto the ramp.

DAG42 · July 21, 2010

Good reading here. I like it. Will we have to wait long for the next installment?

krewl · July 21, 2010

Looking good so far, only comment I have is that I got a feeling of wanting to know a bit more about him. The background on the story feels a bit incomplete. I'd say it misses just a bit moere info on how he came to be in that village, not a lot, just a bit more flesh then "he was the product of a raid and thus shunned."

Appart from that little bit I like it very much, your writing has a bit of a nice cadance to it (Don't know it that's a correct english word, I mean the flow of your story is good, it reads easily, drawing you in, involving you. That's hard to get right in writing, as it turns many bits of fanfic into horrible reading. (And then he.. and then... and then.. and then... etc etc. )

The opening could use some work though as I stated, I feel the "In media res" (Starting in the middle of the action) is a bit overused these days. But that might just be that I read to much nowadays. Perhaps start with a bit of description of him before the hunting bit.

Oh I don't know, I know I'm not a writer and I seriously like your style, so just take it as a compliment.

Gillyfish · July 21, 2010

I really like it GMB. There are a few typos - but only a few, which, given the length is quite an achievement. I really like the writing style and the pace of the story is, as Krewl said, well done. Will you expand upon his back-story in future instalments? He's clearly the product of beat if his Mother is in the village which would explain her reaction to him.

I do have a question though - why was Sapphon in the forest? Were they looking for Noson specifically as they wanted all potential supplicants or was there some other reason for the marines to be walking in the woods?

Legio Draconis · July 21, 2010

I really liked it, more please. ^_^

Grand Master Belial · July 22, 2010

I really like it GMB. There are a few typos - but only a few, which, given the length is quite an achievement. I really like the writing style and the pace of the story is, as Krewl said, well done. Will you expand upon his back-story in future instalments? He's clearly the product of beat if his Mother is in the village which would explain her reaction to him.

I do have a question though - why was Sapphon in the forest? Were they looking for Noson specifically as they wanted all potential supplicants or was there some other reason for the marines to be walking in the woods?

I might go back further, I do hint that he was not completely shunned from the village but it would go outside of Naaman's lifetime. Oh well <_<

I'm deep into the 2nd Chronicle where Naaman as a Scout takes command to save Master Sheol from an ork ambush. (The must have been a reason that he didn't get promoted. I'm saying age and he's the closest thing to an Ironwing Commander the DA have.)

From the fluff, Sapphon was the Grand Master of Chaplains way back in 2nd Ed. Codex of Angels. I wanted to regress some of the known characters back. Sapphon is just a normal chaplain at this point and I'm trying to illustrate that he is capable of inspiring the Angels to greatness. I'm not the greatest of orators so I'll probably need help. In the background the Dark Angels have come to the planet at the prearranged time and all the children of the appropriate age were supposed to come forth for testing. Noson/Naaman did not come forth. Sapphon sets off to see what has become of this missing applicant (taking it as an insult that a child was shielded) when his presence in the village had become known. Finding him hunting alone is what got the chaplain's attention and he waited and watched until Noson got into trouble and Sapphon made his presence known.

I do use In Media Res for "Action" pieces as it is the simplest attention grab that I know how to use effectively. NOTE: I am an amateur writer, I studied civil engineering so you tend to get a more detailed story line. It's been maddening working on the second Chronicle I have as I am trying to work out ebbs and flows of Orks in battle.

Ah what the heck. I'll stop complaining and throw up the WIP of Chronicle 2

+++ EDITED TO BELOW POST TO ADD MORE +++

Grand Master Belial · July 22, 2010

A double post.

Might as well use it to say that though I got an ending point it is no means the end of the story. When I started doing this, I kind of wanted them to be a series of war stories of one notable Dark Angel.

I plan to write a few more placing Naaman as newly inducted into the 9th Reserve and getting used to Power Armour, serving in other Reserve Companies, being sent to the Deathwatch teams, achieving his Terminator Honors and his first mission in TDA (he'll hate it since he can't use his ability to go stealth) and eventually leading to him returning to the 10th as the Veteran Sergeant and training other marines (like Belial who'll take Naaman with him to Piscina).

Captain Conrad · July 22, 2010

Nice story/stories, well written any plans to finish off this section or moving on from this time?

Alastor · July 22, 2010

Very nice piece of writing GMB. Naaman is by far my favorite DA charater. It would be nice if they brought him back from the dead for our new codex. I look forward to reading some more of you story.

Grand Master Belial · July 23, 2010

Nice story/stories, well written any plans to finish off this section or moving on from this time?

I'm working on it but it'll be some time before it is finished.

I'll need to recheck part one before I consider putting it in the Librarium.

Warhorse47 · July 25, 2010

This Son of Russ salutes your tale telling my Brother. Well done!

krewl · July 28, 2010

Again some re-reading it would help with some minor glitches in your sentences, but also (Again) you have a way of writing it so that the action comes to life for your mind's eye. Keep at it.

FerociousBeast · July 28, 2010

Nice job, GMB. As krewl says, there are some punctuation and word errors, but nothing terribly serious. Very entertaining! I do get a little tired of reading that any number of marines can defeat any number of any other foe, but that's okay. You're well within the Black Library tradition at any rate.

Grand Master Belial · July 31, 2010

Added some more to the 2nd one.

FB, I'm curious as to what you mean by any number of marines can defeat any number of another foe. I do like to try to keep it realistic in an unrealistic world. I am trying to keep the scale at about 4-6 orks to a marine which should put it over what is usually found on the table top. Though with the new stuff that opinion might change. The Scouts should have had more casualties but I was trying to put the Scouts attack on a flank of the general ork advance. The fast movers moved off towards the Ravenwing flank while the Scouts faced primarily scavengers and looters, not exactly the best fighters and smaller. The cream of the fighting force is around the battlewagon and it's vanguard.

Also, I haven't linked which clans they are derived from. I want to keep out the actual clan names for now, but I've got two referenced (if somewhat vaguely). Again, this is the rough draft. I want this and another done before cleaning up and posting in the Librarium. (Not sure if it would be three separate articles or a single one - any other Librarians & Mods have an idea? One to keep it clean and concise but if I add to it later on, it might be a pain to edit. Multiples might get messy in the system. I'll may need to add links at the beginning.)

A question for the gurus of background. What would you say the difference in ages between Belial and Naaman are? The 'Eavy Metal model has Naaman with white hair and Belial with black. Which tells me Naaman is older but his penchant for stealth and blades leads him to not be a good candidate for rapid promotion whereas Belial is a bit of a rising star that has the ability to take effective command of anything. I say this as it is a stub to another story where Belial is a scout under Naaman after his rise through to the Deathwing and then back to the 10th. It is meant to establish a bond between teacher and student that will see Belial request Naaman's squads in the future. But it might be pushing the boundaries too far and I should change the characters around.

Anyhoo, enjoy the story as it stands now.

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The Land Speeder Storm raced above the treetops, the dark green armor of the speeder in sharp contrast to the dead and burnt branches they flew over. Naaman kept a firm grip on his weapons as the world whipped past him. His squad was being inserted to apply pressure on the mass of orks and hopefully getting them to split up. The orks had really made a mess of things in their short time but it was one that would not be allowed to continue.

Their Warlord calling himself Da Smasha seemed content to just wreck everything that got in their way. Now it was the Dark Angels that was standing there and they fully intend to stop the path of destruction right here. Master Sheol and his Fourth Battle Company along with a large assortment of steel vehicles planned to spearhead a mechanized assault right through his mob - provided an opening can be created by a few Scout Squads.

Sergeant Jeddah kept his head out of the vehicle and gave instructions to the young pilots to find a place to insert ahead of the greenskins. Even though orks could barely hit the broadside of a cruiser with their armaments; it was not the place for the scout speeder to find glory. That was for the Ravenwing. The scouts’ only mission was to get their cargo to their location undetected.

Jeddah apparently found what he was looking for as the speeder made a sharp turn and settled into a forested clearing with a commanding view. The scouts jumped and took up a defensive perimeter around the speeder as it lifted back up and returned to the staging area.

Naaman had failed to master the skills necessary to pilot the two-man speeder. He fared well in the second seat but it never did sit well whenever his feet left solid ground. Now that he was on the ground, his confidence came back to him and he felt once again in his element. Sergeant Jeddah signed them to advance with him and as a well practiced unit they consolidated into a moving formation into the trees.

It was not long before they found themselves upon a promontory that provided cover as well as allowing the squad to affect a harassment mission on the greenskins. Naaman would not have needed his enhanced vision to see where the orks were and it didn’t take long to notice that they were coming their way. Naaman began checking the bolter in his hands, performing the rituals to check to see if the weapon was ready for war. He then began checking the bolt pistol and finally Chaplain Sapphon’s combat blade. Though all the other scouts carried similar blades, his was the only one with a history save the Sergeant’s.

Jeddah was a full marine with enough skills and experience that it was deemed that he would be ideally suited to teach incoming neophytes the ways the Dark Angels make war. Naaman and the rest of the scouts noticed that their Sergeant missed being in the power armor of the full marines, but faithfully accepted the decision from the Inner Circle. In the years since, he has molded the 3rd Squad into a formidable squad that was fast proving that its members were ready to become full-marines themselves.

Naaman moved through the undergrowth with an agility that made surpassed most of the 10th Company. For the time being, his camo cloak was tied back to allow for ease of movement; but should the need arise, it would take an auspex to find Naaman in any sort of concealment.

Scout Rampel by contrast was easily heard with his large build and the heavy bolter that seemed to get snagged with every step. Rampel simply pressed on ripping plants out as he passed. Scouts Cervial and Hofniel rounded out the combat squad. Both carried their bolters at the ready while Hofniel kept his shotgun slung behind him. Sergeant Jeddah kept his chainsword off while he pushed on to the front until he got to the point he had spotted from the air.

The edge of the forested area ended abruptly with a drop-off that gave an unimpeded view of the approach green horde. The drop was easily manageable for the Sons of the Lion but for now they waited in ambush. Further to the Southwest, the other half of the squad would have been in position with their sniper rifles to provide cover. Jeddah planned to the snipers to pin down groups of orks while Jeddah would use his group to sow confusion amongst the greenskins and hopefully pulling the horde into several directions. Elements of the Ravenwing would also try to split the horde into charging several different directions and drawing off any light vehicles that may be leading the mob.

Naaman looked to see that the mob was stretched out wide as well as long. He knew when looking from the strike cruiser that if the dust cloud was visible from orbit. The mob had to be massive. Though seeing it up close was another matter entirely. But this was by no means Naaman’s first war. To a scout, the lower the squad number, the closer they were to becoming a full marine.

Jeddah looked out and told his scouts to get under cover. Rampel hunkered behind his heavy weapon. He knew it would be abandoned shortly so he kept saying prayers to the weapon’s spirit. Naaman suspected that it was superstition at best that kept so many Imperial citizens cooing and whispering to their weapons, but knowledge had power and the priests of Mars knew how to guard it well.

Looking through the sights of his weapon, he kept a sharp eye for the darkest and biggest orks. They tended to be either leaders or elite troops. A large knot of them would be high level leader or even the one called Da Smasha. Naaman could barely suppress a smile at such a ridiculous name, but there was nothing ridiculous about them when their blood was up. Their too great strengths are their strength and their numbers. One-on-one a marine can almost always best an ork; but with numbers on their side, orks continually test the mettle of marines all over the Imperium and everyone else across the galaxy.

There! A group of some rather nasty looking orks hung out the sides of a large ramshackle vehicle that could be classed as a battle wagon. The ork on top had one arm end in a pneumatically driven claw while the other ended in a whirling buzz saw. It didn’t follow the description of Da Smasha, but then that would be rather selfish of a scout to deny a proven master his prize and selfishness had no place in the Dark Angels.

Jeddah’s voice came over the vox, “hold your fire and let them pass on for the moment. Snipers line up on the orks on the battle wagon marked with crossed axes, the rest can pick a target up close. We wait for the Ravenwing to attack.”

The waiting game, the killer for most warriors ready for battle and it tries the patience of anyone. For the Dark Angels, patience is a skill that needed to be mastered before one can even take the field as a scout. Quite literally, for it was their scout armor the neophytes were waiting to be given. What made it agonizing is the lack of direction or things to occupy them as they waited. The scouts were left to their own devices, not knowing that they were closely watched and monitored. It not only helped the chaplains and sergeants with their training but it also saw aptitudes emerge from the neophytes that could either be cultured or needed to be quashed. Naaman often wondered what was discovered about him during those three long months of waiting.

A click in his micro-bead pulled him out of his thoughts as he looked up to see a flight of five Ravenwing Tempests fly over the mob. Missiles streaked out of the sides of the armored craft as they each began to disable the larger ork creations. Their chin-mounted Assault Cannons unleashed a hail of rounds that tore apart flesh and metal alike. Several squadrons of land speeders began darting in and out of cover mowing down anything that came into range. From another direction came the biker squadrons that mocked their ork equivalents into races. The orks began to oblige the Dark Angel’s 2nd Company by belching black smoke and charging after the black armored marines. Many of the orks in the middle could be seen turning their heads trying to decide which fight they would rather join. Jeddah decided it was time to present another option. The sniper squad began to pick off the biggest orks within range. The orks looked thoroughly bewildered and then the order was given to attack.

Naaman began firing on any ork that presented a shot. He was gratified to see that his shots were not only hitting their mark, but the mass-reactive bolts were doing horrendous damage as they punctured green flesh. Rampel continued to fire off bursts with his heavy bolter, sweeping targets near and far. Bolts were flying and Naaman noticed fire coming from other locations along the ridge indicating the presence of other Scout squads. The three pronged attack was beginning to have the desired effect, orks in vast numbers tended to be relatively predictable. Start a fight with a few and the rest will want to join in. With several fights, the orks tended to want to go to whatever battle suited them the best.

“Angels to me!” roared Sergeant Jeddah as he stood up and threw back his cloak. The nearest orks instantly began to scramble up to meet an opponent up close. The scouts kept up their rate of fire and continued to pummel all opposition that came their way. With well practiced drill, they staggered their magazine changes on their weapons so that there was never a lull in weapons fire. Cervial and Hofniel stood to the left of their Sergeant while Naaman stood abreast with Rampel on the other side. Five Scouts against thousands seemed like suicide, but they were Dark Angels. The first legion created by the Emperor and one that had even stood as his bodyguard until the finding of the Lion and the creation of the Custodians.

In all the histories that the Scouts studied, not once did the Dark Angels surrender the field. They stood to the very end. In a battle that would see the Dark Angels defeated, the Angels made the opposition pay a horrible price for their victory. Often cutting down the force to the point that it could not stand up to any counter-attack. Now the visions of those marines that stood before insurmountable foes filled his mind. He would serve them proud as he would his fellow brothers and his chapter. In the course of his reflection, he had begun to yell a war yell. His squad mates and even their Sergeant picked up on it and were also beginning to yell. Rampel punctuated it with longer bursts of the heavy weapon now held at the waist.

The greenskins showed signs of fear as they were unsure what was causing these few to stand so strong against so many. The bigger bosses were not as easily deterred and began smacking their brethren out of their way. Wielding axes of an impossibly large size, they clawed their way up the slope on the backs of living as well as dead orks. With a sputtering cough, Jeddah’s chainsword came to life as he had slung the bolter and was prepared for close-combat. As more orks got closer, each scout switched to their close-combat gear.

Years spent honing skills of combat came to the fore as the Scouts quickly measured up their opponents and then the blood-letting began in earnest. Naaman knew his greatest asset was both knowledge and speed. The fungi-born orks had numbers and strength in their favor, but Naaman let that pass. His mind was in the moment and all else meant nothing. With fluid grace, Naaman’s long blade deftly got through to continually strike whatever ork got close. The razor edge parted the thick leathery hide it touched, but it was not enough to bring the xenos creature down. Even the strength of an Astartes was not enough to simply kill an ork outright. Naaman’s skill with the blade kept him from being harmed but it wasn’t until he used his bolt pistol that he was able to quickly end a combat before engaging in another.

Jeddah was covered in viscera as the spinning teeth tore through huge chunks of flesh. Of all the scouts, the chainsword wielding sergeant seems to be making the largest kill tally. Having either lost or disposed of his pistol, he held his short blade in his other arm. One would redirect blows away while the other rained killing blows.

Hofniel still held onto his shotgun and kept pumping shot after shot in a vain effort to keep the creatures away. As proficient as all the scouts were, Hofniel preferred ranged weapons over blades. The armor casing on his weapon showed a few new nicks as he quickly flipped it up to redirect a massive axe that was intent to split him completely in half. Once the blade past, Hofniel would trigger the weapon and see the ork’s head exploded spectacularly.

From time to time the sniper scouts would assist with well placed shots to nullify an ork that managed to get around to the flank. Just when they thought they would get into battle they would suddenly keel over dead. The orks nearby seemed not to notice as they were too busy trying to get into the scrap themselves. As the dead began to pile up, the scouts gave ground to give them fresh footings. They did not even notice that missiles had begun to fly over their head to land in the mob behind them.

+++

The Ravenwing kept up their attacks as well, drawing away and then destroying as many xenos vehicles as they could. Typhoons began launching missiles in earnest until depleted. Heavy flamers and assault cannons burned and chewed through scores of greenskins. Their skilled riders able to nimbly keep their machines away from the mobs while still reaping a deadly toll.

Master Sheol had jumped out of his Damocles and joined a squad embarked on a Crusader variant Land Raider. The squad was all veterans who had survived the death of their former squad but for whatever reason, did not become a member of the Deathwing. The Veterans of the 4th Company were a grizzled lot and familiar enough with Master Sheol’s tactical acuity with vehicles. Surrounded by Razorbacks and Predators, the Crusader and several Tactical Squads in Rhinos drove into the horde. At their head a line breaker squadron of Vindicators pounded away with their short ranged high explosive rounds and their massive dozer blades. They provided a mass of steel that scattered the orks that survived the mobile hell storm. A few greenskins would try to attack the vehicles but their weapons glanced off the thick dark green armor of the Dark Angels’ vehicles.

+++

The greenskins halted their attack on the scouts as they heard the booming demolisher cannons. It didn’t take long for the bigger orks to begin to turn and move toward the armored spearhead as that seemed a more fitting fight for an ork with some stature. As the larger orks left the area, the scouts found their battle got significantly easier as just the smaller orks and gangly little gretchin kept up the attack. Hofniel’s shotgun kept blasting away turning the gretchin to a red mist while ripping large chunks of flesh from the orks.

Missiles from a passing Typhoon landed dangerously close to the scouts but it had the desired effect. The orks were leaving the scouts to go after the 4th Company. The scouts began to melt into the foliage when Naaman caught sight and crept to investigate. He came across the remains of Sergeant Jeddah. He was nearly cloven in two from a massive weapon strike to his back that crushed the scout armor as if it were made of parchment. Naaman signed a fellow scout, Cervial, forward to retrieve the body so that his Progenoid Glands could be harvested and allow another marine to be created. It wasn't until they turned the body over that Naaman noticed the savage cut across the neck that nearly decapitated their sergeant.

In a flash of thought, Naaman recalled all the training he had received on the ork and there was very little that indicated that level of cunning. He remembered how some orks had been impressed by humanity's prowess on the field of battle that they began wearing various camouflage patterns. More images implanted through the many neuro-training sessions brought up a select few images of orks that appeared to have an unnatural level of cunning. Naaman scanned the receding green tide and caught a group of them moving diagonally in comparison to the rest of the green tide. His enhanced eyesight was able to pick out details and he instantly recognized the elements of stealth the small group was employing.

Unlike the rest of the orks, these did not appear to be caught up in the battle lust and were not engaging the Dark Angels. In fact they appeared to be lying in wait for something. A quick glance showed the advancing spearhead approaching the ambush site concealed within the massive ranks of the orks. Naaman reached down and took their fallen sergeant's vox-bead headset. As expected, there were further active frequencies that Naaman's own vox was not receiving. One of them was from the Land Speeder Storm that had exfiltrated the sniper squad and was asking for a location.

"Storm 6, this is Naaman of the 3rd Scout Squad, Requesting pickup at promontory point one half klick east of initial landing zone."

"Understood Naaman, what's your status?"

"Our sergeant is with the Lion. Remaining squad is combat effective."

"Naaman, this is Hezekiah. Confirm status of Jeddah."

"Sergeant Jeddah has been slain. His throat had been cut."

"Scout, are you telling me a battle-crazed ork took a sergeant of the Dark Angels by surprise?"

Naaman stood in stunned silence. He felt like the small child he once was when he first arrived at the Rock only a few years ago. Again he used his memory to recall the last memories he had of the Sergeant, "Negative sir. Sergeant Jeddah was being assailed by several opponents. He was unable to counter all attacks."

"Understood, report back to Primary."

"Master, I would be negligent if I did not report that it is possible that the same group that struck down the sergeant will attempt to strike down Master Sheol."

"Explain"

"There are a group of orks along the line of advance that appear to be lying in wait for the Spearhead to pass. They are not attempting to engage."

It was a short time before a response came back, "Report received, report to Primary for reassignment. Storm is on route."

Naaman clicked off the link and looked to the squad, “Stand by for pick up.” There were barely noticeable changes as the Scouts realized their part was done in this battle. Naaman felt it too. Without Jeddah, the rest of the Chapter saw them as whelps and not brothers. Only when they took on the black carapace did they become brothers and their isolation from the rest of the chapter be lifted.

But not to Naaman and the rest of the squad, they were already brothers. Naaman grabbed the magnoculars and focused on the group. Several of the orks were clutching a series of contraptions, but it was one in particular that got his attention. What looked to be a crude hammer turned out to be a missile on a stick, the disgusting aspect was the missile looked to have been looted from some Imperial Guard unit. The range was too great for Rampel’s heavy bolter and none had a sniper rifle.

Naaman blew out his breath to calm the frustration when he heard the approaching speeder. The effects of the quick skirmish allowed the speeder to come in on top of the corpses and the squad loaded Jeddah’s body and piled into the troop compartment.

Naaman signaled the pilot to switch to a private frequency. “How can I serve?”

Naaman replied, “See that pocket of orks there. Drop us off there and take the Sergeant’s body back to Primary.”

“Are you not ordered to go to Primary as well?”

“Yes, we are. I’ll assume full responsibility for this, but I sense Master Sheol will need assistance from us shortly.”

The two crew exchanged glances, they were younger and less experienced than Naaman and his fellow scouts, but they also wanted to prove themselves as well. Unlike Naaman, they sought a place in the vaunted Ravenwing - the elite cadre of marines whose skill with bike or speeder was second to none. If they wanted to be accepted there, they had to make an impression and with the black speeders whipping around out there, they might have a chance. “Let’s make them proud, brother!”

Naaman and the rest of the squad piled on and Naaman took the place that was recently occupied by their Sergeant. With a jolt, they were off. The pilots circled back around to look for the best avenue of approach. The Ravenwing’s attacks were coordinated and the Scouts knew by breaking with their orders they would have to blend into the Ravenwing’s attack pattern. Now if they could only time it right…

+++

Sheol listened to the number of pings echoing off the armor of the Crusader as he readied his weapons. The auspex screen was awash in life signs but they were making progress. The Vindicators kept up a punishing barrage as they cleared a path into the heart of the ork horde. The monitors mounted on the wall of the tank showed the punishing firestorm that his Company was unleashing against the greenskins. The amount of ammunition expended would have galled many an Imperial Guard general but the effect was immediate.

The green tide had come up against solid resistance and for a moment appeared to have had its momentum broken. The harrying forces of Scouts and Ravenwing began to stretch out the Orks so that their numerical superiority was temporarily annulled. Now that the fighting was thickest in their midst, the tide had surrounded the spearhead and were attempting to overwhelm it with its numbers.

Already, several tanks were reporting jams with their sponson weapons and in one case they had a runaway heavy bolter that had gotten so hot that as soon as a shell was loaded it would fire. One of the Razorbacks had lost their turret from their lascannon barrels warping from overuse. For all their weapon malfunctions, not a single tank had been lost as of yet. The Techmarines had done their jobs well and the three that had joined the spearhead were already affecting repairs even as the spearhead advanced. It wasn’t until the shockwave reverberated around the inner hull of the Land Raider that Sheol realized that something new had been encountered.

Through the monitors, a predator sat burning and immobile as orks began to swarm over it. The orks carried a number of weapons consisting in some way of a missile on a device. Sheol looked as an ork wielded a missile at the end of a stick much like a hammer and strike the side of the left Vindicator. The ork disappeared in a spray of gore but it looked as if the Vindicator had been immobilized.

“Drop the ramp, we can go no further. Veterans, take out any orks carrying explosives.”

Sheol managed to quickly get his helmet on before the central deployment ramp parted. In a practiced motion the veterans descended and pushed out to allow their brothers to follow them out and increase a perimeter around the raider. The Master took to the field with power sword and combi-melta and set to work dispatching any ork within range. The hurricane bolters on the Crusader were red hot as they continued to fire near continuously. Splattered gore covered every vehicle in sight as a testament of the awesome fury of the Dark Angels.

The battlewagon with the War boss was within visual sight but it was too far from the Dark Angels spearhead. Cursing to himself he opened a link to Master Gideon of the Ravenwing, “Ironwing ineffective, good hunting Ravenwing.”

“Acknowledged.” Both Gideon and Sheol had fought together on numerous occasions and both knew their duties and responsibilities. It bothered Sheol that his plan had failed and that he had to turn to the elite Ravenwing to complete his mission. Gideon’s responsibilities lie outside those of a standard battlefield commander. They were a group of marines dedicated to recon and fast actions, not a protracted action against a foe as insignificant as an ork.

His anger at his failure fueled his actions against any ork that crossed his path. Most of these orks lacked any kind of weapon that could repel a power sword. A flick of a wrist would remove a massive hand down to the elbow or slice through knees with ease. Sheol didn’t kill them outright; his anger led him to make the orks suffer. Even the veterans have caught on and have left a trail of maimed orks wallowing in the churned surface of the planet. Most would live on due to their extreme resiliency but to become a fighter again would require them to visit their Doks. A smile crossed his face at the thought of these dumb greenskins version of an Apothecary and how their form of surgery must be truly barbaric - a fitting punishment for them.

An explosion behind him brought him out of his thoughts, he had progressed out beyond the perimeter of steel and with a quick glance he realized he was isolated. Where were his veterans?

+++

Naaman kept his eyes on the battle unfolding around him. The pilot of the Storm told him of the Ravenwing redeploying to follow their Master onto the field of battle. It created the opening the Scouts needed to join their brothers of the 4th Company. The four man squad quickly rearmed themselves from the onboard ammo storage and Rampel decided to help in the defense of the speeder by firing his own heavy bolter out the port side of the aircraft.

Naaman had heard of the variants of the Storm that boasted missiles and jamming equipment, but the distrust between the Sons of the Lion and some of the other chapters has led them to receive the template for only a basic version. The Dark Angels did not complain for they had the Ravenwing and a simple scout transport was all they needed. The Sons of the Lion could turn anything to their tactical advantage if needed and here they were, doing just that.

Cervial maintained a firm grip on Rampel to keep him from falling as the Speeder began to make its run over the heads of the orks. Jeddah’s chainsword rested next to him waiting for his moment of vengeance. Rampel let off a stream of shells that was augmented by a constant yell. Hofniel also took shots with his bolter out the starboard side but it just didn’t have the rate of fire as the heavy bolter.

Naaman’s keen eyesight kept him focused on Sheol and the swath he was cutting in the greenskins. Other marines around him pressed out to engage the orks but as the veterans went passed the depression the orks hidden there attacked. The veterans were being ambushed from the rear. One marine disappeared in an explosion along with an ork that Naaman thought was swinging a hammer. Naaman vowed that these cunning orks had to be eliminated and quickly.

The pilot came in on the private link, “Any ideas on where you want us to land?”

“Combat drop right on top of them, that’ll surprise them and allow you to get clear.”

“Understood”

The sea of green flashed by under them so fast that they rarely took incoming fire. The occasional shot rang off the armor plating but it seemed so far between that they were not even in combat. The pilot took a special pleasure as he raced along and with a slight serpentine motion that kept the orks already poor aim so that they could only be hit by a stray shot. But the motion also gave the pilot a chance to occasionally turn the exhaust of the speeder down on the orks. The wash of the jet engines bowled over scores of orks and perhaps scorching a few along the way. “I’ve got an idea. I’ll go vertical overhead to knock them down. That should give you a chance to take down a few more of them.”

“Understood” Naaman was maintaining focus on Sheol as the pocket raced up to them. Switching frequencies, he let the rest of the squad know that it was time. Just like Jeddah had done just a short time before.

“May the Master and the Lion forgive us.” Naaman knew it was wrong to go against orders and he hoped that little prayer would assuage his conscience long enough as the Storm quickly slowed down and the four men leapt clear just as the vehicle stood on its tail and rocketed skyward.

Naaman held himself in tight as he rolled onto his feet, blade and pistol in hand. The wash had done its job of knocking over every ork in a tight radius around the now prone marine Master. Cervial wasted no time as he cleaved through a pair of orks with the chainsword and went after others as they were getting back up. Naaman made it to Sheol’s side and saw an ork trying to crawl under the undergrowth. With a cry he leapt onto the ork with his combat blade reversed into a coup de grace that saw the blade sever the spine of the ork.

Naaman pulled the blade out in time to see a monstrously large ork attack. This one had on camouflage garments that actually seemed to match the terrain. It held a pair of massive knives in a way that almost seemed skilled. One blade looked very similar to Naaman’s own but in the ork’s hand it looked tiny. The ork fired a massive left fist at the scout. Naaman parried and tried to aim his pistol but the ork smacked it aside with the other with so much force that Naaman lost his grip on it.

The guttural laughter was deep and taunting. It was actually toying with Naaman. The scout shrugged off the rush of emotions knowing that only through being calm could he best an opponent. Cervial came from the left and charged the beast. He bore both his own close combat weapon as well as their Sergeant’s chainsword. His armor was cracked and dented from the hard landing and he took to favoring a leg. The ork took up the new threat in stride but still exuded confidence.

The ork was far quicker than expected and not only dodged the blow, but struck with a thunderous fist strike that cracked the scout’s chest armor and knocked Cervial out cold. Hofniel, stunned by the laying out of Cervial was distracted a moment too long as an ork choppa cleaved through Hofniel’s arm and lower leg like a butcher calmly preparing a cut of meat. Rampel bull rushed the ork but even his massive hulk was small compared to the ork who took to laughing at Rampel's paltry attack.

Rampel had another idea. Slamming into the immovable ork, he quickly placed a frag grenade into the satchel it carried. The explosion shredded one side of the ork and it fell backwards with a look of confusion on it's face. The ork would have lived but a pair of orks trod over it mangled body without a passing thought. Rampel threw a few more grenades before taking up Cervial's bolter that he brought from the storm and began unloading on every ork he could.

Naaman took the first explosion as a distraction that allowed him to strike the ork infiltrator a glancing cut. The ork responded with a backhanded slap that narrowly missed the Dark Angel Scout as he dove into a roll. Naaman used the momentum to come back on his feet and thrust a sword strike to another ork's throat. Naaman withdrew the blade with a fluid grace to bring the blade back to the infiltrator but it was not the close combat sword that got the ork's immediate attention, it was the second sword in the scout's offhand. A diamond-tipped blade that hummed and sizzled with energy as it began a series of fluid movements that saw the ork losing his blades to the second sword as if it were carrying nothing.

The ork began to remember who had held the sword previously and began to respond as he did before. The massive meaty hand grabbed a nearby ork and launched it at the scout. Naaman was unencumbered and dodged the flying ork and dispatched it as it passed. The infiltrator followed close behind swinging a massive fist. Naaman accepted the blow and turned outside of it allowing himself a spin that brought both blades around in a body slash with the scout sword but a thrust strike into the side of the beast with the power sword. Naaman continued to turn and withdrew the blade without any difficulty, bring it to bear on another ork closing on their position.

The ork's head erupted as a bolt punctured it from the side. Naaman thought it was Rampel who had fired the shot, but then more blossoms of blood began to erupt in other orks coming into the depression. An Assault squad of the Fourth had come in to assist the two scout's in pushing back the horde. Rampel had taken up Jeddah's chainsword from Cervial and slashed with it while launching rounds from the bolter one-handed. In such a close combat, the lack of accuracy hardly mattered. Naaman took to slicing out with both blades. The monomolecular edge of the scout sword left a series of cuts but the power sword quickly debilitated anything it came across.

Together the two scouts and a squad of assault marines held a cordon around Sheol as the Apothecary fought through to the prone master and as a unit the marines fell back to the tanks. The Ravenwing vehicles had begun to run dry of missiles, leaving the Speeders and Tornados to strafe the orks with their heavy weapons as the Tempests and Typhoons returned to reload. The Whirlwinds had resumed their bombardment with precision placement of their munitions to keep the pressure off the beleaguered spearhead.

The Techmarines had effected repairs to a number of immobile vehicles allowing them to slowly withdraw. Members of the 6th Tactical squad had taken up the task of recovering the fallen during the fighting to return their weapons and armour to the chapter.

“Get back to the tanks, scout!”

Though it was tempered by the helmet’s voxcaster, the authoritarian tone was unmistakable. Naaman glanced back to see the sergeant of the assault marines glower down at him in between bashing orks to pulp with a power fist and blasting them with his plasma pistol. Naaman withdrew from the line and made his way back to the tanks following the ad hoc honor guard that accompanied Master Sheol to the Crusader. Rampel was already ahead of him and had climbed on top of the rhino holding the rest of the squad. Once inside the phalanx of steel, Naaman began to pick his way towards Rampel when a heavy gauntlet clamped down on his shoulder.

“You are with us.”

Naaman began to turn back. Rampel gave a quick nod in between shots. Naaman quickly snapped shots between vehicles blasting apart a couple of small gangly orkoids before going up the ramp of the Crusader. The ramp quickly closed behind him and the marine that grabbed him. The hiss of the locking mechanism seemed like sealing of Naaman’s doom. He couldn’t help but feel small in the presence of not only the Master of the Fourth but also of all the eye lenses that bored into him. The only one not looking at the scout was the Apothecary busily working to remove plates of armor to check the extent of the master’s injuries.

The Crusader began to reverse its course. The marine that had grabbed him removed his helm. The service stud embedded in his skull denoted him as a Sergeant. Lowering his armored bulk on the bench inside the vehicle he stood stock still with his eyes always on the scout in their midst. Naaman gleaned from the corner of his eyes the movement of the other marines. If they were talking, it was over a short ranged micro-bead link between each other.

The sergeant’s piercing gaze never left and Naaman began to feel as small as he did when he first joined the chapter. He took to standing at attention even though the Crusader bounced and jostled around him. He didn’t know what to expect, but he stood there. He began to notice that he had not escaped unscathed. He felt the clotted blood all over himself. None appear to be serious, but as he stood there waiting, the aches of battle began to creep into his system. Naaman didn’t banish the pain but let it linger.

Master Sheol began to rouse as the apothecary administered to his grievous wounds. The master would live to fight another day, but the wound that hurt most wasn’t physical. The mere thought of failing a mission against a xenos that never espoused any level of higher intelligence was a blow that would leave a lasting impression. Sheol waved over the sergeant and to Naaman it seemed the master was asking for a status of the mission. The plain truth that came forth was like vinegar on an open wound, Sheol winced at the losses, but something else grabbed his attention – the mention of the Naaman and his fellow scouts. Sheol looked down and saw Naaman standing at attention.

“What is your name Scout?”

“Naaman, Master”

“Am I your Master?”

“As is Master Hezekiah”

“Then why did you fail to listen to your masters. I recall that no scout would be a part of the main assault. Master Hezekiah knew this better than me, so what brings a scout to violate the orders of a master and plunge into a battle unsupported and take up a Heavenfall Blade.”

Naaman was floored for the second time that day. The mention of the sacred swords sent Naaman’s mind into a vortex of memories. Looking down, he saw plainly the dark blade covered in gore. The pommel was exactly like the one that Naaman felt in his hand as he attacked the orks.

“I am still waiting for a response, scout.”

“In our phase of the battle, it was found that our blades were inadequate to the task of dispatching the larger orks quickly.”

“So you felt it necessary to take up a sword that is ONLY given by Grand Master Azrael himself.”

“Only here did I realize that I had taken up the sacred sword. In battle, I saw a way to improve my chances to remain combat effective until you could be recovered from the field.”

“Sergeant Josiah has informed me that as his squad moved up, he encountered four scouts. He verified at least that you were holding back the orks from me, but what of your fifth? Did you abandon him to protect me?”

“No, Master. He died during the initial phase of the assault. His manner of death alerted my squad to the threat of assassins amongst the orks.”

“So who led you into battle by my side?”

“I led them.”

Master Sheol looked up at the ceiling of the tank. The pings of small arms had ceased and the ride had smoothed out. They were away from the orks.

Legio Draconis · July 31, 2010

:rolleyes: :P that was amazing.

FerociousBeast · July 31, 2010

Hi GMB, as to your question, I just think it's a little unrealistic to expect 5 Scouts to be able to hold at bay a large number of Orks, including "bigger bosses", in close combat. No biggee though ;) It's a good story!

(I haven't read the second half of your second chapter yet.)

sar mikael · August 2, 2010

dude, this rocks!!! its freakin awesome. i cant believe GW did away with him in this ed when he kicks green skin ass! the fast pace of these stories makes them addictive. i like this a hell of a lot, please please please keep this going!

Darmor · August 12, 2010

Thank you very much for this stories. They are really good.

I have only 1 question:

What happened next? :D

Grand Master Belial · August 13, 2010

Ah, I've been working on that. In fact, I can post some of what I have done.

I'm trying to tie this up and work on the next one. These are supposed to be short.

and on with the WIP story...