This is the Liber Astartes, PART II

[Dark Apostle Thirst]

Thirdly, and this is the big 'un, let's not let this thread degenerate into an exchange of insults and stuff. I'd hate for it to get mod-hammered before I've even finished the second part of my tale. :)

Good man :(

 

You know, Nihm actually wandered in here recently, and realized he had absolutely no idea of what was going on, and asked if this was normal for the Liber. "Completely" was my response :o

 

So, to help all these people who are not used to our shenanigans, what exactly are we doing here?

[Heru]

So, to help all these people who are not used to our shenanigans, what exactly are we doing here?

Promoting creativity (very important for what is done in the Liber).

Cementing community bonds (good for the B+C community).

Encouraging a more positive image of the Liberites (considering the "too harsh, too critical" rap Liberites tend to get).

Having fun without causing offense or harm (to anything but typos, and the odd scribe).

 

Etc etc etc.

[Brother Cambrius]

Secondly, I'm afraid, Cambrius, that I flee from nobody, be they armed with a flail made from the toughest parts of the bleached spines of a dozen failed authors or nay.

This goes to prove that I am probably stupid, but nevertheless.

 

Stupid Ace? You?! You're just special in ways others simply cannot understand. Like colour theory. ;)

 

Thirdly, and this is the big 'un, let's not let this thread degenerate into an exchange of insults and stuff. I'd hate for it to get mod-hammered before I've even finished the second part of my tale. :D

 

I concur on this motion. Also, since I await the second part of your tale...I claim your ribs should you not deliver soon! ;) :P

 

You know, Nihm actually wandered in here recently, and realized he had absolutely no idea of what was going on, and asked if this was normal for the Liber. "Completely" was my response :D

 

For an Admin who usually lurks in the Chaos section to not understand what is going on is quite an astounding achievement. :lol:

 

Cambrius

[Chapter Master Ignis Domus]

So, to help all these people who are not used to our shenanigans, what exactly are we doing here?

Promoting creativity (very important for what is done in the Liber).

Cementing community bonds (good for the B+C community).

Encouraging a more positive image of the Liberites (considering the "too harsh, too critical" rap Liberites tend to get).

Having fun without causing offense or harm (to anything but typos, and the odd scribe).

 

Etc etc etc.

 

You forgot advertising the Liber, ensuring the minds that come up with IAs stay sated, and obscuring the true purpose of the Liber, which is not in any way links to total domination. And naturally to promote the PURINATOR CRUSADE! Furthermore, the canary is a perfectly suitable mascot for a chapter. After all, the Mighty Canaries of William Allen High School are one of the fiercest teams in existence. They're the only birds that can fly through hurricanes. And lastly, Nihm isn't a mod, he's an admin. Do you want to bring down his wrath upon us?!

[Brother Cambrius]

And lastly, Nihm isn't a mod, he's an admin. Do you want to bring down his wrath upon us?!

 

^_^ ...Excuse me a moment whilst I make an adjustment...

 

Cambrius

[Warhorse47]

Heru, you should probably keep that flail out of sight. The idea of pulling out something made of BONES around a giant Fenrisian wolf could lead to a very busy day for someone who smells like haggis..........

[Ace Debonair]

Secondly, I'm afraid, Cambrius, that I flee from nobody, be they armed with a flail made from the toughest parts of the bleached spines of a dozen failed authors or nay.

This goes to prove that I am probably stupid, but nevertheless.

Ace we are all aware of your consistent sneaking down to the laundrofactorum in the middle of the night smelling rather unpleasant. We are also aware of your sleep screaming about how "the flails and the bowling balls are going to get you". ;)

 

I never said I wasn't frightened of spine flails; just that I don't run from people armed with them.

 

I also thought this thread existed mostly to take the mickey out of ourselves. That's pretty much what my goal has been, at least.

 

For an Admin who usually lurks in the Chaos section to not understand what is going on is quite an astounding achievement.

 

Chaos and the Liber are two utterly seperate kinds of crazy. :)

 

EDIT:

Odd, half my sentence vanished.

Dark forces are indeed at work.

[Shinzaren]

I go away on one Crusade and THIS is the mess that awaits me when I return haha?! What on Terra did you guys get up to while I was gone!?

[Heru]

Heru, you should probably keep that flail out of sight. The idea of pulling out something made of BONES around a giant Fenrisian wolf could lead to a very busy day for someone who smells like haggis..........

Hmm, I do need a new Fenrisian wolf spine for a new Fenrisian wolf based spinal flail, to replace my previous one. Plus I could do with a new wolfskin dust rag for my cleaning servitors to use.

 

Space Wolves and Dark Angels sitting in a tree,

K-I-S-S-I-N-G

First comes love,

then comes marriage,

then comes an emo-puppy in a Rhino carriage!

 

That's not it!

That's not all!

The emo-puppy's drinking alcohol!

 

Sucking his paw,

peeing his robes,

doing the hokey-pokey dance!!

[Omega Striker]

http://images.dakkadakka.com/gallery/2011/4/3/205120_sm-Adeptus%20Sororitas,%20Sisters%20Of%20Battle.jpg

 

 

 

EDIT: Doh! Ninja'd by Heru!

[Forté]

Heru, you should probably keep that flail out of sight. The idea of pulling out something made of BONES around a giant Fenrisian wolf could lead to a very busy day for someone who smells like haggis..........

Hmm, I do need a new Fenrisian wolf spine for a new Fenrisian wolf based spinal flail, to replace my previous one. Plus I could do with a new wolfskin dust rag for my cleaning servitors to use.

 

Space Wolves and Dark Angels sitting in a tree,

K-I-S-S-I-N-G

First comes love,

then comes marriage,

then comes an emo-puppy in a Rhino carriage!

 

That's not it!

That's not all!

The emo-puppy's drinking alcohol!

 

Sucking his paw,

peeing his robes,

doing the hokey-pokey dance!!

Far fetched as this is...its also the funniest thing I've read all day :devil:

[Grey Mage]

But.... but..... but....

 

IT DOESNT RHYME!

 

Childrens rhymes are supposed to rhyme. *sighs*

[fivepointedstar]

this thread needs more stories, oh and more cowbell as well. :devil:

[Heru]

But.... but..... but....

 

IT DOESNT RHYME!

 

Childrens rhymes are supposed to rhyme. *sighs*

It'll rhyme once you've had some more ale. :D

[postal105]

this thread needs more stories, oh and more cowbell as well. :D

 

you asked for it so here it is

 

http://store.drumbum.com/media/more-cowbell-cow-bell.jpg

[Cpt_Reaper]

A tall, lean and very long haired Astartes entered the halls of the Liber, flanked by a pair of serfs. The Serf on his right held a tome encased in black with platinum trim while the serf on his left held a tome that was bound in pale white with gold trim. The young Astartes threw back his long hair and scanned the room, taking in the myriad colours of the various Astartes that filled the hall.

Taking a seat at one of the large tables and opening both tomes, the Astartes began to write in the tomes, ensureing the shared histories matched while adding and refining the histories unique to each. Occasionally another Liberite would stop over and offer suggestions, to which the young Astartes would either directly add or rework in his own words.

 

Several hours later the young Astartes slammed both tomes shut, worn out but content he was that much closer to completion. Letting out a sigh of relief, he procured a bright green can of potent recaf and began to gulp it down.

 

"Hail, Brother," said another Astartes from behind his back. "I am sorry, I do not know your name."

"That is probably because I do not have one," replied the young warrior, pulling a fresh can of recaf from within his robes. The Astartes standing behind him was quite puzzled at this statement. Just from looking at the young one, it was evident he was a member of the Dark Angels' brotherhood, and yet his armour matched that colour of the black and silver tome.

"Then what do I call you Brother? Surely you have a title?"

"Aye," he replied, locking his tired gaze onto the newcomer. "I am the 11th Company Dark Master of the Dark Angels Legion and holder of the histories of both the Angels of Light and the Angels of Shadow."

"Oh I know you! You started the Campaign!"

"Yeah, but I don't lead it anymore. That is to say I never did, I just presented an idea. I am in the Campaign myself, but I am no leader." He trailed off, his eyes unfocused. "I am sorry my Brother, I am needed elsewhere." And with that, the young long haired Astartes vanished, along with his serfs. The two tomes, however, stayed on the table. Suffice to say the other Astartes was quite stunned.

 

 

Look what I did when sleep deprived and full of energy drinks. Shameless self promotion and junk.

[Warhorse47]

Heru stretched, he had just finished reviewing several tomes left to him to check for accuracy and heresies. Looking about he realized he had run out of caf. Glancing at his chronometer, he saw it was now early morning so he decided he would go to the Astartes' dining hall where all could meet and talk between Chapters. Often he met Brothers from Chapters he had never heard of before, often seated next to the veterans of Founding Chapters. Long shadows stretched ahead of him as he walked down the hallway, the reflected sunlight dancing off the beautifully polished walls and floors. He stopped to enjoy the aroma of fresh caf that wafted down the hall, then stopped as he smelled an animal, he listened and realized that he could hear it's rapid approach. He stepped around the corner to see what it was and saw a giant blur of teeth and fur hurtling toward him. Finely honed instincts from decades of war caused him to grab his most dangerous weapon, his bone flail. But even his blinding speed did not allow him to bring it to bear in time. The ferocious beast slammed into him and then began licking him! Seeing the bone flail, the wolf gave a joyous howl, seized it in huge jaws and took of running at full throttle with heru hanging on for all he was worth. "York, come back here!" came a shout from behind him. Heru glanced back to see a young Space Wolf pounding down the hall after them with a broken chain in his hand. The backwards glance proved to be his undoing as York slammed on the brakes and tried to reverse direction, causing the unprepared Heru to slam all the way under the wolf, causing Heru to lose his grip on his prized flail. York now leaped clear, tail wagging and took off down another hall, leaving the warrior to slam into the wall. The Wolf reached over to offer his hand to the veteran and hauling him to his feet with a jerk. "C'mon, we've got to catch him before he causes some real damage." Heru looked at him, wondering what the other's idea of "real damage" could possibly be.

[postal105]

real damage is tearing apart some books or even causing mayhem in the halls or hurtling himself into the kitchen and destroy breakfast it can get even worse though.

[fivepointedstar]

The Red Armored Warrior strode thru the Liber with astounding motive. His master crafted double- barreled lever action Infernus pistol gleamed with polished chrome, marked with sigils of death, and doom for the enemies of the Emperor it shined in the dim overhead light sources. His clawed weapon housed in a massive gauntlet adorned with relics, and chained to his armor. As he walked by the other Astarte’s sitting in the cubicles working hard, or hardly working on their own chapters of war. His Corvus Helm radar picked up an Astarte’s rising from a seat. He headed in that direction to ascertain that post, and continue his work. In his rear mag lock was a tome bound in reddish reptile scales, and bearing the symbol of the dragon. He placed the tome upon the table, unlocks his helm and placed it neatly next to himself. From his pouch pulled a talon looking pen, and began to fiddle around with it. Shifting in the seat his power armor groaned with tiny servo motors and the warrior attempted to calm him, and prepare for a task more difficult than the prior wars he had been involved in.

 

The RAW relaxed with left palm on his chin he began to think about his chapter's history, their war campaigns, their customs, and his beliefs. It was just too much information to write down. How is he, an honorable member of his chapter master Conrad's honor guards suppose to write all this information? The work of writing this is to have the weight of his entire chapter's history upon his shoulders. He has walked many worlds, fought many foes. Got drunk in some bar that smelled like wet dogs, and old beer. But this is the one task he could not do, but was compelled to try more than his ability to finish this menial task.

Still fiddling the pen shaped like a land drake’s fang, he looked up to see various member of the Liber walking around, or nose down in books. The smell of old leather, and mahogany wood it reminded him of a fellow named Ron the burgundy from the unknown chapter he once fought side by side in the great Xenos purge years ago. Hours passed by as the RAW seemed to have entered a trance-like state head still resting on his palm. His eyes not blinking, but the Catalepsean Node began its work of allowing the warrior to remain alert, but dreaming of something far better than this task. *BASH, shocked the warrior out of his trance. His Lyman's Ear stopped him from the nausea from the cubicle being tossed over. RAW landed and half combat rolled over to see that a mass of typos, and grammatical errors from his prior "piece of art" attempt at a Liber article. They have breached the warp in attempt to bring down there "so-called" author to his resting place, or worse...

 

RAW engaged his clawed gauntlet, the claw noise sang out. His left hand upholstered his preferred weapon; he braced himself for the attack. His chant of the death dragon muttering in his lips, his inner rage holding in check by shear will. His thoughts on the moments of peace that he shared while in the cubicle shattered as this daemonic hoard of shambling errors, and typos entered. They were gibbering backward sentences, and incomplete stories, chanting out to the others. In the corner of the room a servitor screamed, and its head implodes, sending flesh spraying everywhere. Out from the warp rift entered a new horror RAW never seen before a beast known as a DP or Double Post in high gothic. And minor daemons called Texters, there little muttering, gibber jabbering about LOL, and L8TR. RAW's eyes glow red with the fire deep inside. His Assault was heralded by a sound of a bone clattering chain flail, and a whizzing of a spherical object with three holes. The fight was not only against him, but the other Liberites counter charged the daemons…

 

*Edit; This is my first short story about my unfinished IA, that I left open ended for others to join the melee. have fun. :blink:

[Ace Debonair]

-=-=-=-=Of Ale and Spelling Errors - A Saga of the Sons of Leman Russ and the Liber Astartes=-=-=-=-

 

*Part II*

 

 

-=-=The Liber=-=-

 

Jonas Stromclaw tapped his foot impatiently as the servitor droned patiently on.

 

"This slate contains data on the known renegade forces, Warbands, and traitor gatherings from D to H, numbering over a hundre-"

 

"Russ's Pyjamas," Arez groaned. "Is this one going to tell us about them all before we can leave?"

 

"I'm seriously thirsty." Forte mused. "I wonder where they keep the ale here?"

 

"I'm not sure they actually have ale here." Arez scratched his head.

 

"I'm not fussy. Water'll do. Most of the ale in these parts tastes like it anyway." Forte sighed.

 

"Will you two shut up for a minute? Russ's Battered Tankard, I can't hear myself think between you and this Servitor." Jonas growled. The ale, or rather lack thereof, was giving him a headache. The servitor droned on, unheeded.

 

"-irteen in Segmentum Tempestus, last modified in early 999.M41. This slate contains information on the number and location of Inquisitorial Representatives and their known associa-"

 

"I have never been so bored." Arez sighed. "Well, except maybe that one time on Lakton where we were in that bar with those inquisitors and it only served milk and apple juice."

 

"Dark days," agreed Forte. "Almost as bad as that time we boarded that huge space hulk and got attacked by absolutely nothing."

 

"Russ's Eyebrows, I remember that." Arez shuddered. "Five days spent shuffling around through the dust and grime, prying doors open and hoping that this time something'd actually happen. Nothing to drink, and nobody to talk to except when we were reporting in, under orders."

 

"By Fenris, that really is just like this place," Forte said, in alarm. "Watch out! We're under attack from motes of dust!"

 

The two laughed heartily. Jonas, exercising his resolve, continued listening to the servitor as it droned on about the estimated strength of Forgeworld garrisons in the Narva Sector.

 

 

-=-=Elsewhere in the Liber=-=-

 

"It did what?" Thirst, Dark Apostle and eminent member of the Liber's Heresy Department glared at the two Liberites. Cambrius gulped. Cursing to summon the Moderati had seemed like a good idea right up until the part where he had to explain what happened.

 

"It escaped. I don't know how - it fell something like seventy feet, or however tall that thing is from the outside."

 

"Closer to eighty, actually, thanks to a deal I made with - gah, that's not important." Thirst ran his hand down his face, the action of a man trying to get to grips with a catastrophe. "We've got to track this typo down - the last thing we need is it getting off-planet somehow."

 

"Off-planet?" CMID looked puzzled. "Why would it do that?"

 

"Well, if you're alone amongst an almost innumerable Legion of Space Marines, with no weapons or armour, wouldn't you want the next bus out of town?"

 

CMID nodded his agreement. "So what you're saying is we need a kill-team to track it down."

 

"Hmm." Thirst stroked his chin. "There's still typos lurking around to be dealt with. Give me a minute to see who's free and send runners to the other forums, and then we'll go track this thing down the way Horus used to do it."

 

Cambrius coughed. "How exactly did Horus do it? Just out of curiosity."

 

Thirst turned back to him, a genuinely evil grin spreading across his face. "With absurd levels of overkill."

 

 

-=-=Outside the Liber=-=-

 

"By the Ancient and Oft-Repaired Golden Sandals of the Allfather, I am so glad we're done with that." Forte laughed. He was barely visible behind the stack of data-slates the servitor had heaped upon the Wolves. Arez, barely visible behind an equally large pile of slates grunted his agreement. Serfs and Astartes alike stopped and stared at the three Wolves as they traversed the Legio's halls.

 

Jonas, his heart considerably lighter now the distant prospect of proper Fenrisian alcohol was a good step closer, decided not to comment. The other two's constant complaining had been almost as soul-defeating as the servitor's monotone chatter; but there was no pointing starting an argument over it, at least without getting recklessly drunk first.

 

 

-=-=The Tavern=-=-

 

" -ith a roar of defiance, pride and victory, Kjart Oathkin reached up and tore the helm from his mortal enemy, that his foe could look directly into the eyes of a Space Wolf with nothing left to him. A Wolf whose pack lay strewn lifelessly around him, his brothers slaughtered like cattle. With the last, failing ounces of his strength, Kjart summoned his fury, shrugged away his long years and mortal wounds, and drove his ancient, battered axe into his enemy's neck. The sorcerer fell dead, instantly slain. His enemy dead, Kjart dedicated his last breath to Russ, and the Allfather. What happened next, none can say. But when Wolf Lord Antyr and his men found the scene of the battle, they say no trace of Kjart's body could be found."

 

There was a pause as Warhorse was handed a fresh tankard, which he promptly sampled. Staring into the fire, he continued;

 

"The saga of Kjart's fall, however, has been seen in visions by Rune Priests ever since. Some even say that, in battle, when they sense the embrace of Death closing around them, they can hear Kjart's voice telling them their time is not yet at an end, urging them to fight for Fenris and Russ." Warhorse looked at his brothers, his eyes moving like searchlights as he looked from one to the next. "When Lord Antyr met his end, on the fields of Yoskir, beneath the storms, he turned his face to a presence none save he could see, and said, as clearly as I speak now; 'It is time, Kjart my old friend'. Since that day, the skjalds of what was once Antyr's company have assured their brothers time out of number that Kjart, wherever he may be, will return with Leman Russ, for the Wolftime."

 

 

There was a longer silence this time, more intense, as each Wolf looked into the flames with their own thoughts. Finally, Wolf Priest Irlin raised his tankard, a crooked smile on his face.

 

"What a way to die, eh? Like a true Son of Russ. Kjart Oathkin!" The other wolves raised their tankards in salute, as the door banged open to reveal Jonas, Forte, and Arez, who peered over their data-slates in bewilderment.

 

"Are you guys really that pleased to see us?" Arez asked, baffled.

 

 

-=-=Back in the Liber=-=-

 

 

Dark Apostle Thirst summoned all his terrible authority as a member of the Heresy Department, Moderati and devoted warrior of the Dark Gods, and prowled back and forth in front of the line of Liberites assembled before him, quckly reviewing his troops.

 

Chapter Master Ignis Domus, self-appointed Marshall of the Purinator Crusade, bearing his own vast, ornate 'Purifiers' standard and his plasma pistol. Next to him, Brother Cambrius of the Heraldry Department, carrying his mace and bolt pistol. Alongside him stood Reyner, armed with his modified flamer (set to 'standard') and two long, vicious-looking curved knives on his belt. Next was Shinzaren, bearing a large, two-handed chainsword and a jump-pack. Lastly, rounding off the list of the most hastily-assembled kill-team in Liber History (a fact that a passing scribe noted down for future reference) was Ace Debonair, carrying his codex-approved throwing chainaxe.

 

"Right then. You all know the situation." Thirst barked. "We can't spare any more marines - DeathKnight and Aquilanus have each reported seperate intrusions by the typos into the deepest dungeons of the Liber. Sigismund Himself and Ferrata have rallied the other Liberites for a vast crusade into the heart of the Liber's lowest levels, and reports are even coming in of Double Posts and Threadnomancy in the depths."

 

Thirst whirled about as he reached the end of the line, fixing the Liberites with a glare.

 

"There's much at stake here. If one of those typos gets into the data files of one of the first founding chapters, we are never going to hear the end of it. So, I want two teams. Ignis, take Shinzaren and Ace, and head towards the Blood Angels' domain. They have guards there who should be wary, so see if you can catch the enemy in a pincer movement. Reyner, Cambrius - you're both with me. We'll push down towards the Ultramarines' territory."

 

"Question, chief." Cambrius said, scratching his head. "I thought you were originally with the Word Bearers, not the Black Legion."

 

"Your point, Cambrius?" Thirst tapped his fingers on his melta irritably.

 

"Well, I was just wondering... How d'you know how Horus hunted typos?" Cambrius frowned. "I mean, didn't you join up after the Heresy, anyway?"

 

"I don't know squat about Horus' spellchecking preferences, actually. But I'm with Chaos, remember - I'm actually required by contract to feed you a certain amount of disinformation, so long as it doesn't impact the mission negatively." Thirst laughed humourlessly, "And I'm a do-it-by-the-book-or-at-least-by-the-book-of-Lorgar guy when I get serious. Anyway, from what I hear Horus took his literacy pretty seriously when he had a mind to." Thirst paused and shot Cambrius a glare. "You've sidetracked me again. Leave that for the official Derailers, blast it."

 

"Sorry, Moderati."

 

"No matter. Right then. Liberites, move out!"

 

 

-=-=The Tavern=-=-

 

Even as the Wolves dissolved in laughter at Arez' hopeful remark, an unexpected visitor crept in through the open door. It was as insubstantial as a shadow, and the dual distractions of laughter and servitors entering the room to take the slates from the returning Space Wolves served to mask it's soft, quiet movements from the finely tuned ears of the Fenrisians. It exuded no odor for them to track, and the barman was, understandably, watching the furniture in case anything expensive got broken as Arez demanded to know what exactly was so damned funny in just the right tone of voice to get a friendly, ten-a-side brawl started.

 

It crept, un-noticed, into the cellars. It cast about for a hiding place - somewhere to regroup and make plans to finally, truly make a bid for freedom. Noises from the floor above indicated that a presence was following it, so the creature escaped the only way it could under the circumstances - it practically dissolved, oozing into the nearest barrel with barely a sound.

 

The servitors tasked with loading the ale onto the Thunderhawk didn't even notice the extra weight.

 

Upstairs, the brawl got underway with the sound of an Astartes being bodily slammed through a table.

 

 

-=-=End of Part II=-=-

 

 

Still not much Wolf action, but don't worry, I'm working on something spectacular for part III to make up for it. ;)

 

Corrections, suggestions, and other nitpickery muchly appreciated. :D

[Dark Apostle Thirst]

Two parts were particularily amusing - 1)

Water'll do. Most of the ale in these parts tastes like it anyway

 

and 2)

"Are you guys really that pleased to see us?" Arez asked, baffled

 

Well done ;) :D

 

Also, you're Cambrius is pretty good with information, the character Thirst didn't get recruited until about two millenia after the HH. Very well informed, Ace Cambrius :P

[Warhorse47]

"Come back here, York!" yelled Postal as they raced after the giant wolf. Looking back at Heru, he said "If Jonas finds out I lost his pup in here, he will rip vital parts off of my hide." "Pup? That thing? If it gets any bigger you could ride it!" Postal started to say something, but suddenly caught himself. As they continued on, he asked the Liber "Where does this lead anyway?" "To the Rectories of the Inquisition, lad, Ecclesiarchy, Sisters of Battle and the Penitent Arena." rounding a corner, they found themselves about to run over York, who stood bristling in the hall, growling at a huge figure standing there. Clad in imitation black silk, festooned with more guns, knives, swords and throwing stars than could be carried by two Space marines and a grot, it looked at the three and yelled in a high pitched voice "Beware of me! I am Death, I am Pestilence, I am Chuck Norris......." Heru calmly walked over, looked him over and then pulled a small plug, releasing a rush of hot air that filled the hall. The being quickly melted down, whimpering, to disappear into a guttering ball of quivering acne before Heru dispatched it with a hard stomp. "Wha...what was that?" "Net Ninja, more annoying than anything else. Now come here ye over grown cocker spaniel, and give me that flail." Still playing "Tag, you're it" York charged into the two, this time flattening Postal as he dashed down the hall. Repaying earlier, Heru grabbed the younger Wolf and they took off again after the errant creature.

 

Rounding a turn they entered a huge chamber and Heru grabbed Postal, signalling him to be silent, as the room was packed with a contingent of the skinniest Sisters imaginable. They surrounded a Chimera which was missing its rear hatch and looked as if it recently survived an orbital bombardment. From atop the battered transport a skinny cleric was denouncing some vile reprobates who were without respect ar fear. As the Sisters yelled encouragement to the cleric, York was puppy crawling closer to them, huge tail wagging. Postal and Heru shared a quick glance and then began trying to sneak up on York, before he drew their attention.

 

This was not to be, however, as one of the Repentants heard the rattle of the flail. letting out a banshee wail of fury, she grabbed a whip and raced towards York. Thinking she was playing, York raced into the middle of the crowd, scattering Sisters in all directions, one even knocking the cleric from the Chimera. Lowering his head Postal bull charged into the mix to protect Jonas' pup. Seeing an opening the canny veteran Heru reached through to grab the flail, anchoring his feet, he spun the huge wolf free of the melee and ricocheting down a nearby hall. Postal meanwhile had fallen to his back and found the skinny cleric on his chest. Sudden recognition flared in the his eyes as they fell upon the unit marking on Postal's armor. "STROMCLAW!" he screamed. "OH hi, nice to see you again Crier Makkalotanoyz" said Postal, shrugging the Crier off his chest, he regained his footing and called to Heru "RUN" "run?" "Yeah, run!" as he grabbed Heru and they took off down the hall Heru had sent York down as the entire contingent of Sisters and the Crier pursued them. "Purify them!" "I thought we were Purgers" at the word purge, several of the skinniest Sisters did just that, adding to the confusion and chaos.

[Warhorse47]

For background, this link will help:

http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/index.p...howtopic=196758

[postal105]

yes hehehehe that is good stuff horse

[Reyner]

Woop part of the Kill Team :P Good story Ace, except now I have to rummage through my bits box to find some curved knives! (more on that when I post my LPC thread ;))