I Am Dante.

[teblin]

I have lived far longer than I should have. My soul should have departed from my ancient body and joined the Great Angel in oblivion, but the future holds events that even the greatest psykers, my brother Mephiston among them, cannot foretell.

 

It is said that a figure in gleaming gold shall stand before the Emperor in the Imperium's darkest hour, and fight to defend the Golden Throne and the Lord of Men who sits upon it.

 

If it were not for this, I would be prepared to sacrifice myself on the field of battle as my time has lasted longer than it should have. But this approaching final fight keeps the flame burning in my spirit. I have stared death in the face a thousand times, but it seems I am not to die until my destiny has been fulfilled.

 

---

 

Across the galaxy the Blood Angels fight with all their strength, day after day, year after year. They cry their Primarch's name and dedicate each victory to him, even though he was slain ten thousand years ago. Before their battle even begins, their armour is already a stark blood red, the Blood Angels embody the resource that keeps the Imperium alive: blood. It is spilled every waking second in the galaxy, and without bloodshed the Age of Man would quickly fade into history. The Angels of Death are prepared to lay down their lives for their Primarch and Emperor on the field of battle, so long as they die in the knowledge that they have fought hard, and not been found wanting, death is never something to be feared.

 

But slowly, the Blood Angels are dying from their innate flaws, both gifts and curses, the Black Rage and the Red Thirst. While they grant a Blood Angel unmatched stamina, zeal and combat prowess, this comes at the cost of sanity and reason. The Death of the Great Angel still haunts his gene-sons to this day, and every Battle-brother that succumbs to the Rage becomes one with him, and when the Axe of the Executioner or the bullet or sword of the enemy brings this Angel's fall, both son and father are joined in death while the living fight for what's left to fight for. Unless a cure can be found for the gene-curses, the Blood Angels will one day be utterly and wholly consumed by rage.

 

It is through their flaws and suffering that the Blood Angels share a level of empathy with the common man of the Imperium that no other Chapter can hope to match. The humble man has to fight for survival, for the right to live, while the Sons of Sanguinius must fight to keep hold of their sanity. They suffer together, for their Emperor.

 

 

 

Once again, after ten thousand years of war, the Blood Angels fight again. A world which meant very little to the Blood Angels until recently, Solaris Prime, is said to contain a secret laboratory once used by Sanguinius himself, and his chief Apothecaries, to perfect the gene-seed of his sons and protect them against future corruption and mutation. The world fell to the temptations of Chaos many millenia ago when worlds burned and fell before the Arch-Traitor Horus, and is now infested with daemons and hellspawn. There can be no guarantee that the underground vaults are even accessible, let alone intact, but Dante is more than willing to try when an opportunity to save his brothers from damnation presents itself.

 

Within minutes of reaching the planets airspace, the Strike Cruisers begin to launch their Drop Pods. Like tears of blood, the pods rain from the sky to exact hateful retribution upon the foes of the Imperium, and to begin a quest that may end the cursed flaws that inhabit the soul of every Blood Angel.

 

 

As the first sons of Sanguinius make planetfall the planet's cursed inhabitants can do little but await their own demise. Captain Karlaen, Shield of Baal, steps firmly and proudly into another battle that may be his last. But Space Marines are fear incarnate, and such thoughts rarely, if ever, enter their minds. An ex-Astartes of the Death Guard, waiting in a trench, raises his arm to throw a grenade, but before it leaves his grip Captain Karlaen calmly levels his plasma pistol and fires, vaporising the Plague Marine's elbow, cutting his arm in half. The confused Plague Marine looks down to where his arm was a second before. He looks up again to see the glowing muzzle of a plasma pistol aimed squarely at his head. Before he can move, a blob of super-heated plasma reduces his head to molten waste.

 

The Drop Pod has been emptied of its occupants, and a squad of Sternguard Veterans follow Karlaen into the maelstorm. Aphael briefly glances up, the sight of dozens of drop pods heralding the arrival of his Battle-brothers. The majority of the 1st Company and all four Battle Companies had been assigned to Solaris Prime, the potential value of the planet convincing Dante it was worth the deployment of fully half of his Chapter.

 

The Sternguard load Kraken Bolts, which make short work of even the ultra-resilient Plague Marines. Great gouges are carved from their putrified flesh, limbs are blown off, but the majority aren't killed. The wounded are finished off before they can return fire, the Sternguard moving in close to deliver head shots. The Plague Marines that remained in the trench now leap out, wielding great and foul axes, swords and mauls, dripping with foul contagion and disease. Around 20 Death Guard are relentlessly stepping through the hail of fire, ignoring injuries that would make even a Space Marine fall, stomachs torn open and entrails hanging out, parts of their brains exposed through shattered skull. Karlaen's plasma pistol proves potent enough to stop a number in their tracks, but the majority crash into the Sternguard's firing position and begin a brutal melee. Empowered by Father Nurgle, the Plague Marines' disgusting weaponry bludgeons some of the Sternguard into submission, horrific infections, boils and pus, appearing in patches across their skin. Brother Arinam, a member of the Sternguard for almost 4 decades, was brought coughing and wheezing to his knees after his skin was flayed by a plague sword, unspeakably foul bacteria entering his bloodstream and dismantling him from the inside. With one final wheeze his skin turns deathly pale and he vomits blood through his white lips, his dead body lying crumpled in the dirt.

 

"TO ME, BROTHERS!" bellows Aphael over his built-in helmet vox system. A deep rumbling signals the descent of Angels, the Assault Marines scream from the sky, their jump packs glowing blue-white as they fly with unbound fury toward the foe. The Sergeant, wielding a mighty and ancient Thunder Hammer, holds it above his head and swings it into the ground with his impact. A wave of pure energy shatters the bodies of the group of Plague Marines he landed amongst, their corrupted, rusting armour disintegrating and their bare, vile flesh peeling away, as if reeling from the Hammer, the Emperor's wrath incarnate. The Sergeant lifts the Hammer's bulk, servos in his arms wheezing, and he makes a one-handed swinging arc, the Hammer smashing into a Plague Marine approaching him from behind. The Hammer's disruptive energy field knocks the heretic aside as if he were a rag doll, knocked over a nearby cliff as he tumbles to his death.

 

Behind the Sergeant, the roars of Chainswords rise above the din of battle, the scream of adamantine teeth against corrupted plate and flesh. An Assault Marine wielding a Bolt Pistol in each hand looses a volley into a Plague Champion at point blank range, each bolt's detonation knocking him back a step. The Marine empties both magazines, and after a flurry of explosions and displaced gore, most of the Champion's torso has been blown away. Before the Champion could stand up again (the injuries were horrific, but he could feel no pain), the Sergeant turned his Thunder Hammer round and gripped it with both hands at the top of the grip, the Hammer's head hovering vertically above the Champion. "Die, traitor! Your day of judgement is upon you!" The Champion managed a gurgling roar from his steaming helmet grille before the Sergeant rammed the Hammer down into his stomach, severing his body and leaving him in half. The Sergeant lifted up the remaining half of the Plague Champion, carrying him in front of himself. He marched over to the cliff a Plague Marine had recently been cast down, and lifted the Champion up, holding him by his arms. "Damnation be upon you, heretic." The Sergeant forced his armoured boot into the Champion's chest, severing it from his rotting arms. The armless torso tumbled down into the mist, leaving the Sergeant with a dismembered arm in each hand.

[Taranis]

I like it very much. :)

It feels "authentic". Go for it!

[I am Legion]

That was fantastic!!!

 

Right on brother!

[teblin]

 

As the first sons of Sanguinius make planetfall the planet's cursed inhabitants can do little but await their own demise. Captain Karlaen, Shield of Baal, steps firmly and proudly into another battle that may be his last. But Space Marines are fear incarnate, and such thoughts rarely, if ever, enter their minds. An ex-Astartes of the Death Guard, waiting in a trench, raises his arm to throw a grenade, but before it leaves his grip Captain Karlaen calmly levels his plasma pistol and fires, vaporising the Plague Marine's elbow, cutting his arm in half. The confused Plague Marine looks down to where his arm was a second before. He looks up again to see the glowing muzzle of a plasma pistol aimed squarely at his head. Before he can move, a blob of super-heated plasma reduces his head to molten waste.

 

 

The Drop Pod has been emptied of its occupants, and a squad of Sternguard Veterans follow Karlaen into the maelstorm. karlaen briefly glances up, the sight of dozens of drop pods heralding the arrival of his Battle-brothers. The majority of the 1st Company and all four Battle Companies had been assigned to Solaris Prime, the potential value of the planet convincing Dante it was worth the deployment of fully half of his Chapter.

 

The Sternguard load Kraken Bolts, which make short work of even the ultra-resilient Plague Marines. Great gouges are carved from their putrified flesh, limbs are blown off, but the majority aren't killed. The wounded are finished off before they can return fire, the Sternguard moving in close to deliver head shots. The Plague Marines that remained in the trench now leap out, wielding great and foul axes, swords and mauls, dripping with foul contagion and disease. Around 20 Death Guard are relentlessly stepping through the hail of fire, ignoring injuries that would make even a Space Marine fall, stomachs torn open and entrails hanging out, parts of their brains exposed through shattered skull. Karlaen's plasma pistol proves potent enough to stop a number in their tracks, but the majority crash into the Sternguard's firing position and begin a brutal melee. Empowered by Father Nurgle, the Plague Marines' disgusting weaponry bludgeons some of the Sternguard into submission, horrific infections, boils and pus, appearing in patches across their skin. Brother Arinam, a member of the Sternguard for almost 4 decades, was brought coughing and wheezing to his knees after his skin was flayed by a plague sword, unspeakably foul bacteria entering his bloodstream and dismantling him from the inside. With one final wheeze his skin turns deathly pale and he vomits blood through his white lips, his dead body lying crumpled in the dirt.

[Demoulius]

Awesome work brother! Please continue :)

[teblin]

"TO ME, BROTHERS!" bellows Aphael over his built-in helmet vox system. A deep rumbling signals the descent of Angels, the Assault Marines scream from the sky, their jump packs glowing blue-white as they fly with unbound fury toward the foe. The Sergeant, wielding a mighty and ancient Thunder Hammer, holds it above his head and swings it into the ground with his impact. A wave of pure energy shatters the bodies of the group of Plague Marines he landed amongst, their corrupted, rusting armour disintegrating and their bare, vile flesh peeling away, as if reeling from the Hammer, the Emperor's wrath incarnate. The Sergeant lifts the Hammer's bulk, servos in his arms wheezing, and he makes a one-handed swinging arc, the Hammer smashing into a Plague Marine approaching him from behind. The Hammer's disruptive energy field knocks the heretic aside as if he were a rag doll, knocked over a nearby cliff as he tumbles to his death.

 

Behind the Sergeant, the roars of Chainswords rise above the din of battle, the scream of adamantine teeth against corrupted plate and flesh. An Assault Marine wielding a Bolt Pistol in each hand looses a volley into a Plague Champion at point blank range, each bolt's detonation knocking him back a step. The Marine empties both magazines, and after a flurry of explosions and displaced gore, most of the Champion's torso has been blown away. Before the Champion could stand up again (the injuries were horrific, but he could feel no pain), the Sergeant turned his Thunder Hammer round and gripped it with both hands at the top of the grip, the Hammer's head hovering vertically above the Champion. "Die, traitor! Your day of judgement is upon you!" The Champion managed a gurgling roar from his steaming helmet grille before the Sergeant rammed the Hammer down into his stomach, severing his body and leaving him in half. The Sergeant lifted up the remaining half of the Plague Champion, carrying him in front of himself. He marched over to the cliff a Plague Marine had recently been cast down, and lifted the Champion up, holding him by his arms. "Damnation be upon you, heretic." The Sergeant forced his armoured boot into the Champion's chest, severing it from his rotting arms. The armless torso tumbled down into the mist, leaving the Sergeant with a dismembered arm in each hand.