Ring around the Roses... (Updated 16/5 - Models)

[Malatox]

Hey all,

As I'm finishing up my year at College and looking forward to pastures new and greener, I know that I'll have some more spare time kicking about, and I'll probably be gaming a lot more.
This time though, I'd like to write a bit more about my battles, and sort of make them into a story for y'all. Obviously, I'm not hoping to win any awards for the writing, so you shouldn't expect Shakespeare, but hopefully it'll keep my mind sharp, my fingers nimble and provide some entertainment for everyone.

So without further ado, here goes:

*drip, drip drip*

The young guardsman, Jethro, startled awake, swollen and sore, but thankfully very much alive.

 

As he tried to open his eyes, he noticed the dim light flooding in from the walls themselves, filling the… chamber… with a sickly glow. He wasn't sure if this was a room or the belly of some gigantic beast, as the walls seemed to vibrate with a sort of dark, foreboding sentience.

 

“Ah… You've deemed us worthy of your attention at last then?”

 

The cold, muffled voice came from one of the darker corners of the room. Panicked, the young man’s eyes darted around looking for the source, but couldn't see anything through the mist and dim light.

 

“Wh… Who… Who the :cuss is ye?! Wha’ in the name of the God-Emperah’ do ye’ want?!”

 

His voice was shaking with fear and was weak and drowsy, as if he’d taken too much of his Uncle’s liquor the night before. It was the only part able to shake as his entire body was strapped to a cold surgeon’s table, filling him with even more terror as he realised more and more about his situation.

 

“Now… that’s no way to greet your Saviours, is it? I mean, we answered your pathetic planets prayers, we brought you into the warm bosom of Father Nurgle and you repay us with the type of language used by a young, ignorant grox-herder? Tsk, Tsk!”

 

The voice was growing clearer, along with a long, slow, metallic scraping, although the sources of both were still indiscriminate. If Jethro hadn't already vacated his bowels, then this moment would have been an appropriate time to do so. 

 

“You see… Father Nurgle is good. Father Nurgle is wise. He is all-loving and all-accepting. You are lucky we are freeing you from your oppression from your false corpse-god. You will grow to love him… one way or another at least.”

 

“Techniccccccally our Fasher is also a short of Corpshe, Masssster…”

 

“Shut-up! Now, where was I…”

 

The scraping was growing louder and louder… and a faint inhumane screaming could be heard through the living-walls. The room grew darker as if this was some pantomime, and Jethro was growing more and more complexed.

 

“I was there, Guardsman. I was there when the Warmaster fell… you've heard the legends haven’t you? Well, I'm afraid they are all too real, if biased in the extreme. I was there when my Legion was tricked by that bastard Typhon! That bastard who damned my brothers!

*sigh*… but with Father Nurgle’s help, I've came to be more… accepting, more caring, more loving towards all the misguided-life I come across. I now know all ends in death, but it doesn't have to… not if you’re smart enough.

And luckily for you, I'm going to gift you with this immortality… well, in a form. Aha.”

 

Whatever was conversing with the guardsman broke down into a fit of laughing, matched by a more hesitant and sharp-sounding giggling, terrifying in how innocent it sounded.

Knowing he could not withstand any more of this blasphemy, the fear gripping the young man slipped away momentarily and a righteous anger took its place.

 

“Just kill me, you Traitor! I want none of yer good-fer-nothin’ sorcery touchin’ ma soul!”

 

The scarping came to a halt, the screaming rose to a crescendo before finally giving up its torturous existence and the glow of the room dimmed to that of near pitch-darkness.

 

“YOU DARE! I’ll show you the real Traitors! I’ll show you it ALL!”

 

With a speed that would beguile any mortal mind, a true monstrosity came face to face with the guardsman: a mask of disease and torture; a face that would drive the sane insane, and the pious into damnation came into view, towering over the now re-soiled body of Jethro.

 

The giggling began again, and a new screaming took place in the charnel house of disease…

Let me know what you guys think!

 

- Malatox

[Malatox]

No interest? Like... none at all?! Haha.

Well, here's another instalment I wrote, much more akin to the style and sense of humour I'll be writing in.
Grab hold of your re-breather masks, back in we go:

“Anosher happy converteee to Fasher Noorgle, eh, Mashter?”

 

*Sigh* 

Why had the Dark Gods deemed it fit for THIS incessant, sycophantic idiot to live? Had he not served them well across thousands of worlds and across thousands of years? At least the fool made good target practice, what with his inability to die…

 

“Yes, I guess so, Lil’ Runt. The Gods shall be pleased with the offering of this new world.”

 

Cockaynine Beta had been a boring campaign, if all truth was told. Learning of the “plight” of its people, from his chained Psykers moaning about a “prayer to the God-Emperor”, he had quickly set course for their desolate, back-water planet in the hopes he might be rewarded for his servitude. In part he was, but he was seriously doubting if it was worth the whole endevour to have Lil’ Runt whine in his ear constantly about the new enlightened followers they were converting.

 

He thumbed the brass plaque on his newly found Power-Scythe. No, he told himself, it WAS worth it…

 

Lil’ Runt had been in service to him for near a century now, although to him it felt more akin to a millennia. Gifted by Father Nurgle himself, Lil’ Runt simply could not die. Whenever he was “mistakenly” evacuated out of an air-lock, or sliced or blown or crushed to smithereens by the enemy (or a less patient member of the Disciples), he would always appear soon after, with that dumb smile plastered across his face, eager to serve in anyway he could. 

 

He must look into this more, maybe there was more of a story to Lil’ Runt than met the pus-dripping eye…

 

“Mashter, are you okaaaay?”

 

He was shook from his mental train of thought, and looked down at the snivelling buffoon, the smile just waiting to appear behind his mask of concern.

 

“Of course, I am. All is “okaaaay” when you have devoted yourself to a true God like our Father.”

 

*Sigh*…

He seemed to be doing a lot of that on this campaign: sighing. It really was a boring one, much too boring for his liking, even with him being a follower in the ways of entropy. It had paid off though, with a new influx of converted and the gifting to him of a Pandemic-Staff… or Man-Reaper… or Bale-Blade… or whatever the converted call Deamon-Weapons now-a-days. He really must come up with a suitable name for it. And he must also test it out on Lil’ Runt at some point, even if it was just to vent his frustrations…

 

*buzzzz*

AND THE FLIES! Don’t get him started on the flies! At first, he thought they were pretty, damn cool! But constantly buzzing around your horned head meant your thoughts were disturbed pretty regularly. Of course, he couldn’t voice these complaints… Nurgle, no!... his flock would begin to question and complain, and he had enough of that already. Truth be told though, they had basically won the campaign for him this time, and it was satisfying seeing them drop from the skies to spread plagues amongst the unwitting citizens. 

 

“O’ Plaguenifishent one, O’ Lord of Decaaay, O’ Conshecrated of Cockayninesh, O’…”

 

“Yes, Lil’Runt! What is it this time?!”

 

Who knew immortality would come at a price like this?!

 

“Wellsh, we’re ready to beginnn again, Mashter…”

 

“Very well. But this time, do shut-up whilst I’m enlightening the Corpse-Worshipper?” 

Again, all feedback, comments and criticisms welcomed.

-Malatox

[TheDevourer]

All in all, I prefer the first post. Both good reads, but the second one is just a bit over the top for my taste. 

I personally prefer the more grimdark approach to nurgle, than the comical one, but you do bring across that interpretation of nurgle very well.

I had to grin a bit every now and then ;). Especially the Igor-like slave. 

I´d like to see more of the characters, so a thumbs up from me.

 

I really must get back to writing at some point. *sighs* and opens a word doc. :D

[Malatox]

All in all, I prefer the first post. Both good reads, but the second one is just a bit over the top for my taste.

I personally prefer the more grimdark approach to nurgle, than the comical one, but you do bring across that interpretation of nurgle very well.

I had to grin a bit every now and then . Especially the Igor-like slave.

I´d like to see more of the characters, so a thumbs up from me.

I really must get back to writing at some point. *sighs* and opens a word doc.

Hey, that's why I posted it: to get feedback on the writing and to entertain people as well as myself :).

If I was pushed to choose either of the writing styles, I would probably go with the comical one more, as I feel my strengths lie in that (assuming I have strengths in writing haha).Saying that though, I'm going to try and balance the styles more, giving it a Grim-Dark setting, but funny moments where the characters will really shine through.

I'm glad you enjoyed it somewhat, and I'm even happier you grinned at parts.

Get to it, man! It's getting into the swing of it that's the difficult part.

-Malatox

[TheDevourer]

I still have loads of work on my desktop computer . I can just never bring myself to finish any of it so they all usually end at 2 pages of word docs. I just stop once I get bored of it. Also: I think I may have a few problems formulating the story in english, as I´m more comfortable writing in german now. But, maybe, just maybe I´ll start up on one again and if I like it, I may post it in the forum somewhere .

[Malatox]

Hey all,
Sorry for the double-post, but I might as well post the story when I can.

Part three of the story, introducing some more characters, and more of the thoughts of our Disciple of Decay.
Grab your re-breather masks, we're going back in:

 

 

***

Stroking his gauntleted hand across the rusted, decaying hull, as if it were still gleaming like in the days he remembered of the Great Crusades. It calmed him to think of his past life after his “conversions”, and sent his mind day-dreaming back to befo-*sploorg*.

 

“Oh… FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT’S PESTILENT IN THE WARP! BY THE SCYTHES OF THE DEATHSHROUD, THAT IS REVOLTING!”

 

Looking down he saw his hand, half-sunk into the hull of the ship, oozing-pustules, horned-maggots and indiscriminate-filth pouring out around it. Lifting his gauntlet up towards his nose, in a fashion he thought even the quivering, pompous fools of the Emperors Children would call dainty, he took in a gust of polluted, gut-wrenching air to his nostrils. The dark, foreboding sentience occupying the ship seemed to shiver with what would seem to be laughter, at this happy accident. Swearing to the Father under his breath, he remained calm, knowing full well that he must suffer through these trials and tribulations to gain a chance at the prize he quested for.

 

Where was Lil’ Runt when you needed something to smack?! Aargh, he just knew he wouldn’t get rid of that smell for decades, and even to a Disciple of Nurgle, it wasn’t a stench you wanted hanging around you. Banging angrily along the rusted corridor, he made his way to the inner-sanctum of a Cult the Alpha Legion would be hesitant on infiltrating…

 

***

 

As he neared the lair of the Cult, he spotted one of the members meandering through an assorted collection of rare-ammo types, marvelling at each one before carefully wrapping a few selected pieces in the fatty layers of its lower, lower… lower stomach folds. Meandering as only a hulking Obliterator can, slowly and clumsily, it was no time before he was within sensor-range. Still, the creature did not respond, seemingly ignorant of his prescence. He would almost pity the creature, lost in it’s throes of insanity and cruel obsession with cold, unfeeling weapons and destruction. He would if not for the fact it was a blundering buffoon. 

 

Irzkwdeoulireuaohlhhyyilao’daoahhueoowhlbhthlbhcogowthommq'er, or as they called him, for sake of ease and the fact his skin was as tough and plentiful as a Krootox’, “Hide”, was never going to feel the true warmth in the caress of Nurgle’s love, and he had long since given up on trying to pull him away from his lifeless toys and distractions, to the true path of the Lord of Entropy. And this was a great sadness, he knew, for every life not enlightened by Nurgle, was a life wasted. Quickly quashing this startling humane feeling, he reminded himself of the half-machine’s stupidity and the irony inherent within it.

 

 Hide and his… counter-part… were tools needed to further his cause. The ends justify the means, he told himself.

 

“Hide! Put that down!”

 

The lumbering buffoon dropped the obviously brain-dead Converted, and an embarrassed, pathetic looks crossed its face, like a child who had just been caught doing something naughty. And, when he thought about it, weren’t they all just children doing something “naughty” in the eyes of Father Nurgle, before becoming enlightened to the true path to immortality... 

 

He must have Lil’ Runt record that for his Litanies. Yes, yes, that was good.

 

“Hide… Where are you going? Hide! Where is your… the other one? The other member of your “Cult”?”

 

The answer came in a low earth-shaking growl, reminiscent of a noise one would associate with a Warlord titans war-horn.

 

“Grogrourghaaarrrgh, kkkrakil…”

 

With a sweep of his massive power-claw, bristling with knives and miscellaneous weapons, as well as a face that would send primitive Warlords fleeing, unwittingly showering their feet in praise to Nurgle as they did so, it pointed towards the flowing curtain of corroded iron-links. Knowing it was not needed anymore, it stomped off, causing miniature tremors throughout the section of the ship they were in. He could tell it was barely with-holding it’s seething and volcanic anger from erupting forth upon it’s Master, and he smirked.

 

“Bumbling beast…”

 

Pulling back the curtain of iron, he was showered in a spray of warp-spawned insects, who, had it been another patronage, would have sunk their mandibles into fresh, succulent meat and spread their many virulent diseases to a new found host. The room beyond was lit more keenly than last he had stepped foot in it, and yet he still didn't see what he came for. Rounding the corner of a large crate of bio-weaponry, he came face to face with the counter-part to Hide’s blissful and ignorant existence: The Jackal. So named for the only sound it made: a cackling, screech-like laughter as it revelled in the agonizing-deaths and misfortune of others.

 

Trying not to show his shock that this behemoth could move so silently and quickly, he glared hatefully straight into its void-black eyes. How he despised this one. The dumb beast you could put up with… use to your own benefit, even… but this one? No, this one had a mind and plan of its own. It may never have spoken a word in his company, but he could tell, under those sloughing pounds of flesh lay an intellect, one that was waiting for it’s time… waiting and preparing… preparing and waiting… All the while growing closer to accomplishing it’s goal without you even knowing it had one.

 

You had to be wary around these sorts of predators. Especially within the Legions, where a lowly servant would cut you down at a moments notice, if you showed the slightest sign of weakness. Going from Warlord one minute, to maggot-food the next.

 

“How… fortunate… to run into you here. I hope you haven’t been too embroiled in your weapons-checking and maintenance to have missed out on your prayers to our Lord. I haven’t seen you take any of the Converted screaming into the engine room in a while, either, and I know you liked that… I do hope you are thriving in Nurgle’s embrace and not suffering, like I do all his children. What are you doing down here to keep you so busy?”

 

He waited for some kind of response, but all he was met with was cold, calculating loathing set in those soulless eyes. The path was blocked by the bulk of the monstrosity before him, and there was no way in seeing past it.

 

“Warp damn you! Have it your miserable way! Give me what I seek and you shall be left in your miserable silence!”

 

A small, delicate mechandrile, probably the frailest thing upon the ship, crept forth from between the cracks in the monstrosities armour, holding a small data-journal in it’s grasps that it had pulled from a hidden place. He reached out to take hold of it, licking his lip as he did so, and he swore the Jackal gave a knowing smile as it let go of the journal inch by delicious inch into his hands.

 

Whether the crazy, warp-spawned creature was truly planning something, or simply smirking at the irony of the stench emitting from his gauntlet, he did not know. But as he grew further and further away from that damnable place, he was sure he heard a sharp cackling, almost too faint to distinguish against the thriving eco-systems of the carnivorous-insects or the thrumming of the ancient engines.

 

Thank Nurgle that Lil’ Runt was waiting around the corner for him to go over charts, and that he made a sufficiently satisfying “Eeeeeeeeeek” flying from the air-lock before an even greater satisfying *squelch* as his organs imploded. Father knows what could have gone through his mind concerning Jackal and Hide if he had not had that distraction….
***

Again, as always, comments, criticism and all that jazz are welcome!
- Malatox

 

[Antarius]

Interesting read. I think I'm more for the grimdark approach myself.

 

There's definitely a comical side to Nurgle and it's one I actually think can work to make it all more horrific. It's hard to put across in writing though.

 

All in all, I think you're doing a good job, but one thing you could try (assuming you want it more dark and horrific and less "fun") is to look at the inherent humor to Nurgle this way: Nurgle and his creations find humor in a lot of things. Mostly things that mortals don't find funny, but rather grotesque, incomprehensible or downright horrible. You could try to go at it from that angle and give us a look at what the gods, daemons, mutants, heretics and so on find comical, rather than make the reader see the funny side.

If that makes sense?

[Malatox]

Interesting read. I think I'm more for the grimdark approach myself.

 

There's definitely a comical side to Nurgle and it's one I actually think can work to make it all more horrific. It's hard to put across in writing though.

 

All in all, I think you're doing a good job, but one thing you could try (assuming you want it more dark and horrific and less "fun") is to look at the inherent humor to Nurgle this way: Nurgle and his creations find humor in a lot of things. Mostly things that mortals don't find funny, but rather grotesque, incomprehensible or downright horrible. You could try to go at it from that angle and give us a look at what the gods, daemons, mutants, heretics and so on find comical, rather than make the reader see the funny side.

If that makes sense?

Thanks for replying, Antarius.

 

Re-reading what I've done, I find that I hate most of it, but saying that, that's always the same feeling I have when I write. I know I want to make it obviously humorous, with a  sort of "Discworld" feel, but I know the only people commenting are wanting it to be more grim-dark. It's difficult to get the right balance as well as churn out a product on time for people to read.

 

I'll be having my first game with my Death Guard in 6th on Sunday, so hopefully I'll have a themed battle-report to right. And I think people will find that much more enjoyable! :)

 

- Malatox

[Malatox]

Raging, Unrelenting Force meets Immovable, Obese Object.

Disciples of Decay versus Word Bearers (1500)

Disciples of Decay
Chaos Lord (Malatox)- 160
Mark of Nurgle, Veteran of the Long War, Power-Scythe (Axe), Gift of Mutation, Sigil of Corruption, Blight Grenades, Melta Bomb, Combat-Familiar (Lil’ Runt)

Terminator Squad (The Harrowers)- 218
Terminator Champion with twin Lightning-Claws and Gift of Mutation, 1 extra Terminator, Mark of Nurgle, Veterans of the Long War, 1 twin Lightning-Claw Terminator, 1 with Chain-fist and Combi-Plasma, 1 with Power-Maul and Combi-Bolter

Chaos Landraider (4th Horseman) for The Harrowers-235
Dirge-caster

Plague Marine Squad (Flamer/Close-Combat)- 203
Powerfist, 2 extra Marines, 2 Flamers

Chaos Rhino for Flamer/Close Combat Squad- 47
Havoc Launcher

Plague Marine Squad (Melta/Support)- 213
Powerfist, 2 extra Marines, 2 Meltaguns

Chaos Rhino for Melta/Support Squad - 47
Havoc Launcher

Plague Marine Squad (Plasma/Objective Campers)- 223
Powerfist, 2 extra Marines, 2 Plasma guns

Obliterator Cult (Irzkwdeoulireuaohlhhyyilao’daoahhueoowhlbhthlbhcogowthommq'er/ “Hyde”) -76
Mark of Nurgle

Obliterator Cult (The Jackal)- 76
Mark of Nurgle


Word Bearer 1500 list
Chaos Lord
Power-Maul, Plasma-Pistol, Mark of Khorne, Sigil of Corruption, Gift of Mutation, Combat Familiar, Ichor Blood

Plague Marines
10 total Marines, Power-Fist, Icon, two Plasma-Guns, Veterans of the Long War

Khorne Berserkers
12 total Marines, Icon, two Plasma-Pistols, Chain-Axe on Champion, Veterans of the Long War

Chaos Space Marine Squad 1
12 total Marines, Mark of Slaanesh, Icon of Excess, two Plasma-Guns, Veterans of the Long War

Chaos Space Marine Squad 2
12 total Marines, Mark of Khorne, Icon of Wrath, two Plasma-Guns, Veterans of the Long War

Raptors Squad
10 total Marines, two Melta-Guns, Power-Weapon, Gift of Mutation

***
Lil’ Runt came blistering into his personal chambers, and the look of fury that he was given was almost enough to send the menial back from whence he came.
“Lord! Lord! Lord!.. Lord?”
“Lil’ Runt… I was just… you know… HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT MY PERSONAL CHAMBERS?!” he boomed as he slid the personal effects case to one side.
“Yesh, Mashter… Sorry, Mashter… What weresh you doing with… No! Mashter, I have grave news!”
“Speak and be done with it then, worm…” he sighed.
“Our Converted on your bleshed planet… they’re beingsh attttacccckkkeeed!”
Attacked by whom? Insurgents? Rebels against Father Nurgle’s loving-embrace? He knew he didn’t prize the planet too much, and that he had claimed his prize, but he’d be a thrice-damned-son-of-Guillimen before he let some Corpse-Worshipping rebels ruin the influx of Converted he was receiving. And the next stage of his plan depended on devoted servants.
“Eight-sided-star-damn-it! Prepare the Squads in the vicinity and tell the Harrowers that they better clear out the 4th Horseman, as we’re going to pacify this pathetic disturbance and set an example for anyone who would follow them… and get the Chief of sinners and the Chief of sufferers also. Unfortunately, we’ll need their Cults assistance.”
***

Mission- Purge the Alien
Deployment- Vanguard Strike

Warlord traits and Chaos Boons
My Warlord- Exalted Champion
Lord: Mechanoid
Terminator Champion: Mechanoid

His Warlord- Master of Deception
Lord: Unworthy offering
Raptor Champion: Bloated

***
Trundling into the lower Hab-Block 137-G, the 4th Horseman crushing skulls and rubble alike, he looked across the strike-force he had brought: it was more than enough to pacify an entire world, but what the Warp? He was in a good mood, and the absolute destruction of rebellious mortals would bring a smile to his deformed face. The Plasma Squad had started to root out a set of ruins, accompanied by Jackal and Hyde: setting putrid, green flame to Converted and deluded slave alike. Abreast from him, the two Rhinos positioned themselves in a command point to better enjoy the slaughter about to be brought by them.
That was when the Nurgling hit the turbine…
***

Deployment
He won the roll off and deployed first.
Plague Marines deployed in Ruin near his side of the board, in the middle. Then, using his infiltration after I set up, he placed: the Khorne Berserkers and Lord behind a ruin close to No-Man’s-Land; Chaos Marine Squad 1 in the open on my side of the Table, next to No-Man’s-Land, and Chaos Marine Squad 2 in the corner of my Deployment zone in the open. Raptors were placed in reserve.

I set up quite defensively, as I didn’t know where they infiltrators were going to be placed.
Plasma Squad was placed in a ruin near centre of my centre of No-Man’s-Land border. Land-Raider, with Lord and Terminators, was placed to the left of the ruin on its side facing towards No-Man’s-Land. The two Rhinos were placed back to back, on the line of No-Man’s-Land, almost exactly opposite the enemy Plague Marine squad and close to the Chaos Marine Squad 1. The Melta-Gun Plague Marine Squad being the closer to the table-edge. The Obliterators were then placed just behind the Rhinos for cover.

***
It seemed as though the coagulated blood that was spilled on this very ground came forth in fiery vengeance, streaked with parchment of the damned and a horrible visage taken as its form. The truth of the matter was far worse.
The Word Bearers had joined his Disciples in worship of the Dark Gods…
Plasma streaked from their guns and Bolts churned the ground to a thick fog of bloody-mist and mud, hitting his blessed Squad in the ruins and striking the side of one of their only functioning Rhinos.
He was about to shout to return fire, when he noticed the Jackal had disappeared, as he so often did. He thought of the sly smirk that would be plastered across the creatures mutated face, and the soul-chilling laughter filled his mind, taunting him and filling his throat with fury.
“Damn him to the Eye and let the Emperors Children have their way with his exhaust pipes!” He screamed to the bleak, cloud-strewn, unfeeling sky.
“Reposition and return fire, you cowardly dogs! The Sons of Lorgar think they can take OUR world?! We earned every inch; make them pay for their blasphemous-folly!”
Repositioning their lines, the Disciples took their revenge for the surprise attack, and gloried in the festering wounds inflicted upon their enemies as bolts hit home.
Plasma streaked from the wounded Squad accompanied by the happy grunting of Hyde as he let loose his favourite munitions. Blades are drawn, and old Oaths of Brotherhood are remembered before being spat upon, and the whirlwind of combat ensues.
“Face me, Deamon-Lover! Scared you’ll be taught why oratory isn’t a battlefield skill?!” He screamed as he rushed headlong with The Harrowers into combat with the Blood-Red Marines, already twitching with the promise of blood…
***

First Turn
Word Bearers moved up, towards my lines, generally. They also scored first blood by the Chaos Marine Squad 2 opening fire with Plasma-Guns and Bolters into the closest Obliterator, as well as Chaos Marine Squad 1 scoring a glancing hit on the closest Rhino.

The Disciples of Decay also generally move around, and the Plasma-Squad of Plague Marines takes out 3 marines and the Champion from Chaos Marine Squad 2. The Other Obliterator fires his Plasma cannon and takes out the Plasma Gunner from Chaos Marine Squad 1. The Melta-Gun Plague Marine Squad charge into Chaos Marine Squad 1 and the Champions take each other out with Power-fists, but they win combat by 1 and they stay locked in. The Lord and Terminators also charge the Lord and Khorne Berserkers, where 4 Berserkers are killed and the Lords do no damage to each other.

***
The thrill of combat engulfs the Fallen Marines across the battle-field, as a challenge, rarely faced since the days of the Heresy, bears its ugly head. Disease is spread and vulgar and deamonic cries are heard. Bolts, Plasma, Melta-heat-waves… all are thrown through the air, in the hope they will find their mark upon old, damaged armour, and gain the bearer the favour of the Gods.
Most lose all sense, and scream hateful curses as they try to tear their enemies apart with gauntleted hands. Even the Harrowed, renowned for their silence and sinister calm, scream as chain-blades bite deep into the sockets of their armour, and lash out with their weaponry in spasms of death and pain. Lost in the orgy of pain, weaponry is abandoned and instead the warriors take their fates to the steeple of unholy combat.
Small battles of personal fury are borne throughout the deathly field, popping up where once the world knew only the peace of the daily lives of Imperial Citizens.
The distribution of agony is shared across all, with the favoured of Nurgle shambling through the newly-dead with wounds that would destroy lesser men and the Dogmatic Word-Bearers clambering to claim their glory for their many Gods.
“Diseased One! You think you can best me? ME?! The Bearer of the Word upon this world, and the Chosen of Lorgar! I shall bri-“
His oratory is cut short as Lil’ Runt is thrown towards him. It would almost have been heroic, if not for the terrified screaming that accompanied the air-born journey. Not being a match for a near Demi-God, Lil' Runt is smashed from the air before he can even finish whatever sentence he had screamed in terror; instead, a mound of rags and broken limbs was discarded to the ground before the two warlords.
“Don’t think your words can win here, fool!”
Scythe meets mace and the sparks fly. It was as if Angel and Deamon were fighting for the soul of an innocent, but the truth held no hope for the denizens of the cursed planet.
Quicker than he thought possible for such a heavy weapon, the mace bites deep into his swollen armour plating, twisting in the wound and seeking escape from the trappings of twisted metal. Smirking through the pain, he sees his chance to end the existence of this particular Deluded-Devotee.
Gleaming with the poison of a thousand worlds, the scythe performs the job it was originally designed for: the reaping of ripe crops; crops that would be thankfully taken forth to the Garden of Nurgle; crops that had been deemed wanting in the light of combat and faith.
“I am sorry that you shall not be promised the gift all other of this world have been given, but you have besmirched our presence here with your tainted words and blood  …. And I didn’t even catch your name, how rude of me.” And with a globule of tainted blood spat from his lips, the head of a Demi-God thumped to the ground at the base of his feet.
***

Second Turn
General moving around again, and the Raptors do not come in. The Word-Bearer Plague Marine Squad takes two hull-points off of the Flamer-Squads Rhino, as it is moving towards them. The Chaos Marine Squad 2 fire at the Plasma Plague-Marine Squad, but do nothing, so charge them. There is a drawn combat across the board, although it did see two Terminators being killed.

The Disciples of Decay move around where they can, and fire where they can, but nothing really happens. The lone Obliterator charges in to help the Plasma Plague-Marine Squad, and the combat ends up with the Chaos Marine Squad 2 being caught and killed after losing the combat. The Melta-Gun Plague-Marine Squad and Chaos Marine Squad 1 do nothing to each other, so another drawn combat. The Nurglite Lord beats the Word-Bearer Lord and gains Warp Frenzy, but is down to 1 wound.



I don't know how many people are actually interested in this topic, so I'll post the introduction and first two turns of the game before I finish up the story.
Please comment on, criticise or applaud anything you want to. I'd love feed-back, and it'll drive me to finish it all off.

- Malatox

[Vesper]

Hey Malatox,

It's really great fun to read. In fact, it gave me the motivation to write some fluff from my past battles too. I don't know if I'll do it in french or in english though :(.

So yeah, keep it up, it's cool !

[Sinners Red]

''It seemed as though the coagulated blood that was spilled on this very ground came forth in fiery vengeance, streaked with parchment of the damned and a horrible visage taken as its form. The truth of the matter was far worse.''

That was pretty good.

I enjoyed reading that. I also like the format that you used. Keep it up.

[Malatox]

Thanks guys, I'll keep going at it then! Although, I certainly won't be writing when I was as tired as I was last night, there were so many mistakes in that haha.
I'll have some spare time tonight, so I'll hopefully be able to finish it off then.

 

- Malatox
 

[Malatox]

-Double Post-

[Malatox]

Concluding part to the Battle-report!

***

Shrieking fills the Vox in the city, as from the skies fall the twisted forms of fallen angels; their Champion brandishing a sword of lightning and their weaponry being that of which has seen millions of unknowing deaths. No mortal mind could look upon these malformed traitors and not suffer the collapse of all they hold true in their hearts. They were the last shadow their victims would see.

They arrive to a scene of utter devestation, bodies littering the ground and once-upon-brothers at each others throats, battling for supremacy. They eagerly throw themselves to the ground after disembarking, only to be met with a rain of Plasmic death. The glee of Hyde was almost tangible in the clotted-air.

The Harrowers dispatch their crazed-foes mercilessly and coldy, feeling nought just like their bloated bodies don’t, whilst their Lord dispatched enemy after enemy, like the farmers of old in a gathering season.

With a Roar, the Champion of the berserk Marines climbs over his fallen lord and cries a hateful challenge to the Demi-God murdering his men without even the glee of battle. His cry is answered only by the scythe that falls upon his shoulder-guard, ripping into his chest-cavity before exiting his inert body with a cold, icy chill filling the air.

“Can not one of you dogs show me a worthy opponent?! You try to claim this world as your own and yet you only offer yourselves as sacrifices. Skull for the skull-throne, indeed.”

***

 

Third Turn

The Raptors come in and there is no other movement for the Word-Bearers as their units are all in combat, except the Plague-Marines. The Nurglite Lord kills the Berserker Champion and gains Icy Aura. The Chaos Marine Squad 1 kills two Plague-Marines, and the combat continues.

 

With most of what can shoot, the Raptors are whittled down to 3 marines, but the Melta-Guns are still intact. The Flamer Plague-Marine Squad charges the enemy Plague Marine Squad, and the enemy Champion kills the Flamer Squads Champion, gaining Gun-Morph. The on-going combat between the Chaos Marine Squad 1 and Plague Marines sees one more Plague Marine die.

 

***

Staggering, the few remaining Raptors throw themselves back into the air towards their intended target. With a hiss of steaming-air and molten-metal, the tracks of the 4th Horseman are blown. They may have achieved their mission for the battle, but at what cost? That question is quickly answered as they are murdered indiscriminately in a cross-fire suitable for wounding a mighty Primarch themselves.

Alone and leaderless, the berserk Marines are quickly put to the slaughter by bolter and power-weapon, not even being a worthy offering to the Dark Gods.

“Nurgle-give-me-strength! This isn’t a battle, but an anointment for our blades! Lil’ Runt puts up more of a fight than these pathetic being, unworthy of being blessed with ascendance to Marine-hood.” He jokes lightly to the silent Harrowers. Their only answer is the marching off towards other growing combats.

“Well… tough crowd…”

***

 

Fourth Turn

The Raptors move up towards the Land-Raider and immobilise it. The on-going combat between Chaos Marine Squad 1 and the Plague Marines is another draw. The Plague Marines on Plague Marines combat sees 2 enemy Plague Marines die. The Berserkers are destroyed by the two remaining Terminators and Lord

 

The Raptors are destroyed quite quickly, with most of the Disciples of Decays deployment zone shooting at them. The Lord and Terminators charge into the on-going combat with Chaos Marine Squad 1, and two enemy Marines are killed.

 

***

The battle is growing to a lull: the bodies littering the ground, and the sewers running crimson with the blood of the fallen.

Walking over to the captured enemies, he smirks to himself of his triumphs of the day.

“Mashter… did us wiiiiinn?” 

He looks down to see a broken figure cowering by his side, barely able to keep up with his long strides. If it had not been for that tell-tale voice, he could not have placed a name to this creature. Lil’ Runt was in considerable agony, he could see as the squelching sucking of an eyeball being replaced in its socket was heard. Today really had been a good day for him.

“Yes, worm. We did… no thanks to YOU! Now, all we have to do is meet our long-lost brethren, and convince them that they should join our cause. It shouldn’t be too difficult, from the sounds of it, I fought with some under the banner of our Lord Mortarian.”

“I am shory Lordsh of Agony… I shall provesh myshelf to you next timeeee.”

“You better, Lil Runt, or I shall send you to work with the Cult again, and you know Jackals fascination with your gift.”

Even mentioning that creatures name brought angry shivers to his fists. He really must do something about him.

“I shall repaaaay your kindnesh, my Lord. I shall help with the convershion of the new recuits to your Banner. It’ll be jussshhht like in the Lodges of the old Legion.”

With a smack, Lil’ Runt was scrambling for his newly fixed eye again.

“First Rule of the Lodges is we do not talk about the Lodges! Now stop your snivelling and fetch me my tools… I can bestow Nurgle’s blessing, and I can take it away. We shall see how long they fare then.”

***

 

Fifth Turn

The enemy Plague Marine whittle the Flamer Plague Marine Squad to 1 remaining member, and the Chaos Marine Squad 1 is caught and killed after losing the combat.

 

There is some general movement by the Disciples of Decay, but the only squad remaining is most definitely out of reach. The last remaining member of the Flamer Plague-Marine Squad is killed…

And the game ends there.

 

 

Word-Bearers: First Blood and 2 units destroyed, equalling 3 Victory Points.

Disciples of Decay: Slay the Warlord, Line-Breaker and 5 units destroyed, equalling 7 Victory Points.

 

Final Thoughts

All in all, it was a fun game, and I had a good laugh with my friend the whole way through. It was a good, fun and easy game to welcome me back into 6th edition after my hiatus. I’m really glad he didn’t take his originally planned list with a unit of 10 Terminators, although we WILL be having another game soon and I’m sure he’ll want to trample me into the ground.

I learned that Challenges are really quite fun with Chaos; it was always a risky business, but I enjoyed the thrill of knowing it could go either way each time. Also that Obliterators by themselves are more fragile than I thought; I may have to think about deep-striking them or placing them better. Although, I did really need the fire-power from Turn 1 and they provided it.

As always, comments, criticism and the like are more than welcome.

-Malatox

[zyl-]

I noticed that in your report the landraider wasn't mentioned once. Did it do much to make it's points back at all? I'll spare you the monobuild lecture, but do you have plans to make your army more competative if your opponent steps up? How is your army painted?

[Malatox]

I noticed that in your report the landraider wasn't mentioned once. Did it do much to make it's points back at all? I'll spare you the monobuild lecture, but do you have plans to make your army more competative if your opponent steps up? How is your army painted?

Hey Zyl,

 

The Landraider didn't play a big part in the battle, as it was very close-combat orientated. It did make a few pot-shots at the Plague-Marines, stopped the Overwatch of a few combats and wiped out the last of the Raptors though. I think it will prove more useful when I have more tanks to fire at and a further distance to travel to get to grips with the enemy, although I can see it being taken out for the inclusion of more competitive aspects or simply to change up the list a bit.

 

Mono-build? I'm guessing this either means the "Mono-God" build of my army?

 

Yeah, of course! I'm working on a few aspects to make my army more competitive, such as: Converting a Black-Mace for my winged Deamon-Prince; building and converting a bunch of Cultists to perform the role of Zombies/Cultists with Mark of Nurgle, and I'm going to build a HelFly hopefully at some point. I'm most excited about the HelFly, to be perfectly honest, as it will be challenging to convert as well as a great addition to the competitiveness of the army in general.

 

My army so far is fully painted except one Vindicator. I'll be sure to upload some pictures to this page at some point.

 

Thanks for commenting,

- Malatox

 

 

[Vesper]

Glad you enjoyed your game. I sure enjoyed reading about it.

[Malatox]

Glad you enjoyed your game. I sure enjoyed reading about it.

Thanks, man!

I'm so glad that you did, it's why I'm posting. This isn't the end of the Disciples battles and stories, there shall be more.

 

- Malatox

[Brother Dallo]

I'll echo what has been said before. I enjoyed reading your report and fluff immensely. Keep it up.

 

Be sure to upload some pictures. I'm curious to see how you modeled  Lil' Runt.

 

Dallo

[Malatox]

I'll echo what has been said before. I enjoyed reading your report and fluff immensely. Keep it up.

 

Be sure to upload some pictures. I'm curious to see how you modeled  Lil' Runt.

 

Dallo

Thanks, man. I'm glad people are enjoying it. I know I'm enjoying writing it.

 

Funny you should mention that, as he's in a WIP at the moment (as I only JUST got my hands on the codex and wrote an army list). I think I'll put most of his character into the painting of him, though I have used made a model that I see fits him (YAY Hunchback).

 

I'll hopefully get some photos of him and my full army over the course of next week.

 

- Malatox

[Malatox]

Hey all,

As I've been asked to show some pictures of my army, I thought I'd do a rush job with the camera on my phone. I aim to please after all!

Now, I'm no Golden Demon Winner, nor an expert photographer... so please take my word that these models are decent enough when on the table haha. I'm in the hobby for all the aspects, and one day, I hope to have a beautiful army, but I guess I haven't reached that stage yet.

Also, some of the models are WIP and some need touching up and repairs (Damn you hobby hiatus!).

So without further ado, I'll give you our Lord Malatox, his slave Lil' Runt and a shot of the whole 1500 point army. Get your gas-masks on, 'cause it's about to get funky in here:

http://i812.photobucket.com/albums/zz46/Roory123/Disciples%20of%20Decay/MalatoxFront.jpg
Malatox Front Shot

http://i812.photobucket.com/albums/zz46/Roory123/Disciples%20of%20Decay/MalatoxSide1.jpg
Malatox Side Shot 1

http://i812.photobucket.com/albums/zz46/Roory123/Disciples%20of%20Decay/MalatoxSide2.jpg
Malatox Side Shot 2

http://i812.photobucket.com/albums/zz46/Roory123/Disciples%20of%20Decay/LilRuntFront.jpg
Lil' Runt Front Shot (WIP)

http://i812.photobucket.com/albums/zz46/Roory123/Disciples%20of%20Decay/LilRuntSide.jpg
Lil' Runt Side Shot (WIP)

http://i812.photobucket.com/albums/zz46/Roory123/Disciples%20of%20Decay/LilRuntBack.jpg
Lil' Runt Back Shot (WIP)

http://i812.photobucket.com/albums/zz46/Roory123/Disciples%20of%20Decay/1500pointDisciplesofDecay.jpg
1500 Point Army Shot

As always, criticise, comment and enjoy.

- Malatox

[Chaeron]

Looks good mate!

[Brother Dallo]

Nice. I like the greenstuff work on Lil' Runt. Have you got any special conversion work planned for the Jackal and Hide? Are you planning on playing on the "jekyll and hyde" theme?

 

Dallo

[Malatox]

Looks good mate!

 

Thanks, man!

 

 

 

Nice. I like the greenstuff work on Lil' Runt. Have you got any special conversion work planned for the Jackal and Hide? Are you planning on playing on the "jekyll and hyde" theme?

 

Dallo

The Green-stuff is very basic, but I wanted him to look more than a random-cultist, and I knew he needed a hunch-back haha.

I've already got models for Jackal and Hyde as well, with minor green-stuff work done to their abdomens, to give them more of a Nurgle/Bloated vibe, much akin to the Plague-Marine pot-bellies.

And I'm glad someone picked up on that haha! In the Battle-report the names Malatox called them (i.e. "chief of sinners and chief of sufferers") is actually a quote from the novel, and I will be using small quotes like that when I write about them. I also think I'll be basing their characters loosely on the ideas behing Jekyll and Hyde.

 

Thanks for reading and commenting. More photos and writing to follow soon!

- Malatox

[Malatox]

Hey all, 

Sorry for the double-post (AGAIN), but as soon as I write something, I want to post it up.

Hope you enjoy, and make sure you make the appropriate flashback noises in your head:

***

In which a un-death becomes life and a servant is found…

 

The battle had been a fierce one, and although his forces had been repaired and his numbers increased, he needed the solitude of his quarters to better calm himself. Thumbing the plaque on his staff, he let his mind slip into blissful nothingness…

 

*Bang*

“Lordsh! I have pestilent news! The Naaavigatorsh have heard another cry in the Warpsh!”

 

“WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU, LIL’ RUNT?! NEVER INTRUDE MY PERSONAL CHAMBERS!”

 

And as quickly as the bastard had appeared, so too was his disappearance… save for that of the smell of fresh faeces. 

 

The thorn in his side; the ever growing source of nuisance, entertainment and mystery. He didn’t know how he would get rid of him.

 

Just like the plague-mists that envelop the Gardens of Father Nurgle, the fog of times slowly gave way to him, revealing forgotten memories and buried travesties…

 

The pits of Gollanghar were desolate and barren, save for the puddles of nuclear waste that freckled the ground. The world had once been home to a thriving society of scholars and scientists, bravely chronicling and furthering the existence of Man; but not anymore. Now it was only home to the dying and mutated; the cursed and the forsaken; the forgotten and the wretched.

 

He had made it this way, as it was the will of his Lord Nurgle…

A Lord he was indebted to and cursed by in equal measures.

 

He had made it this way, as it was all he knew how to do.

 

The walk through the hive was one he enjoyed. It gave him time to his thoughts, and gave way to further planning of his endeavours  Most of his thoughts turned to the remembering of his fallen brothers, who had long ago lost the guttering flame of life that burned so brightly yet so briefly. He would be thrice-damned if he would let those who had done this to them go unpunished, or let those remaining few cherished comrades perish under his command. He was often lost in melancholy through these lone wandering; filled to the brim with living a life too long, and remembering memories too devastating.

 

It was as he was rounding the corner to a defiled monument to the False-Emperor that he heard it; the soft crying of a damned one… the quiet prayer of the lost…

 

“Lordsh… have ye forshaken ush? I thought I was an okaaaay shervant… I thought you weresh protecting of your flocksh… I didsh covet your holysh shishterhood once, but I wash only a boy!”

and even more quietly; as if the speaker believed even the Gods would pay no heed to his voice; almost out of hearing to his Astartes augmented ear:

“but wowsh, they shure filled out their armoursh…”

 

Stifling laughter at the very thought of erotic-coveting of the Sister of Battle, he came to realise he was not alone in this once hallowed hall. The very idea that anyone could have survived the blasting from his ships broadside brought a scowl to his scarred visage. Could this be possible?

 

The creature making the pathetic mewling was trapped beneath a stricken idol to one of the “loyal” Primarchs, shielded beneath its terrible shoulders. He could make out the twisted and starved form of a disfigured man; ruined beyond recognition to even those who held him dearest, but clinging to life.

 

Frozen from sheer disbelief, he is even more shocked when he hears the creature burst out in song:

 

“Away in a thronesh-room, no place for our Lordsh. The Shons of our Fasher, laid down the Impereal Lawsh…”

 

Having fought with the Emperors Children on battlefields spanning the galaxy, he was used to cacophonies of horrible sounds… but this… THIS was torture.

 

“STOP! STOP! For all that is unholy in the pantheon of the Dark-Gods… will you please stop your incessant singing?!”

 

Taken aback, the poor wretch cries out in fear. Whether from the booming voice that answered his rhetorical prayer, or from embarrassment that he was heard, he did not know… but by the rotting-form of Mortarian, he was glad that it had stopped.

 

“Tell me, little one… have your prayers been answered by your “Lord”?”

 

No sound came from the beneath the fallen statue, but his armour air-intake registered a spike of urea in the vicinity. Waiting just enough time to let the man’s fears set in, he answers his own question.

 

“No? I had thought not… How typical. I was once like you, trapped under the unbearable weight of the Imperium; forsaken by my Masters and left to die in the dust of a world I had served. Not anymore though… now I follow a new Lord. Now I am my own man.”

 

The sound of frantic shuffling could be heard as the pathetic creature tried to position itself to better catch a glimpse of him.

 

“No, no, don’t try to get up. There is no need for civilities between us haha… I quite like our arrangement as it is.

Tell me, have you heard of other routes of Faith? Have you heard… of Father Nurgle?”

 

For the first time since he had spoken out, the dying man replies in a croaking and tremulous voice, soaked in terror.

 

“…Fasher… Noorgle…?”

 

“Yes, Father Nurgle, little one. A caring and benevolent God… One I think you’d very much like to give your thanks to, seeing your predicament. You see, your continued pathetic existence isn’t thanks to that cold, unfeeling statue you cower beneath, nor to some corpse on some throne which you have never seen. It’s thanks to my Lords benevolence… benevolence which you should want to reward with your indebted servitude.”

 

Stepping over the strewn pews and dead carcasses, he circles the trapped man, only giving away his presence by the words that fall from his mouth like honey into a pot.

Grabbing hold of the ferrocrete of the statue, he heaves with the strength of a man-made God and it tumbles over, destroying the pulpit of the long-dead priests.

 

He could see the absolute terror in the man’s eyes; a feeling he had not felt in more than ten centuries. As the man tried to crawl away, a mess of broken limbs and spilt innards, he stepped upon a broken outcrop of rock, like one of the heroes of old.

 

“You… yoush ish a shervant of the Chaaaoosss Gods… yoush are damned! Yoush ish revoltingggg!”

 

“And wouldn’t you like to be revolting also? It certainly seems better than your predicament, and you most likely are halfway there anyway, what with me being able to make out what you ate last week…”

 

“No… I meansh… yesh… Oh, Emperor, I don’t knowsh what I meansh to that!”

 

His patience was quickly growing thin. He had already taken as many Converted as he had needed, and the world would soon be left to rot in it’s juices. He really didn’t need this mewling worm’s service, nor to waste time over a pathetic soul such as this… No, he should send this man on his path.

 

Taking one wide step forward, he crushed the man’s chest beneath his boot, slowly grinding the bone into a thick paste in a mixture of his blood and droppings. Savouring the last breath of the dying like some rare wine, he turns and starts to walk out of the forsaken temple to man’s folly.

 

“If I sherves yoooou… will you shaves ush?”

 

A cold shiver ran up his bent spine, as the voice of a dead man spoke to him. Turning around he saw a face, contorted in pain and soaked in blood, begging to be taken with him. This man, this runt, had been gifted by Lord Nurgle himself. He dare not forsake a sign like this; not if he wanted to further his cause.

 

Laughing, he strode away, calling in a vox.

 

“The little runt is blessed! Cry glory to Father Nurgle! See to it that someone pick him up and bring him on board… he interests me.”

​How naive he had been!

***

As always, criticise and comment until your festering hearts are content.

- Malatox