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+++In Memoriam: Update+++

Marshal Rohr

By Marshal Rohr
in + WORKS IN PROGRESS +

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goosey_j Veteran

goosey_j

Posted
Posted

This thread... is epic. Some fantastic writing from both parties involved. I especially enjoyed the IF short about the two friends. Beautiful stuff. I've always wondered if Marines ever let their grief and sadness of loss overwhelm them at times. I've also wondered if they were capable of love. Not the love of a woman, but the love of a brother, or cherished friend. 

 

For me, they have to be. Otherwise they're just really unsympathetic characters.

Kol Saresk Venerable Brother

Kol Saresk

Posted
Posted

I'd suspect Kol, or Brother H.

How did that song go? "It ain't me, I ain't no fortunate son"?

 

Seriously, my guess was just a guess. The only minis I own are some CSM Tacticals and those are currently not in my immediate possession and it will be a while before anything gets added to that collection.

Vazzy Veteran

Vazzy

Posted
Posted

 

I'd suspect Kol, or Brother H.

How did that song go? "It ain't me, I ain't no fortunate son"?

 

Seriously, my guess was just a guess. The only minis I own are some CSM Tacticals and those are currently not in my immediate possession and it will be a while before anything gets added to that collection.

Just a guess. I have a few other likely suspects, so we'll have to see. 

Dragonkin Arenis Veteran

Dragonkin Arenis

Posted
Posted

Just when I thought this couldn't get any better, you tell us there's more?!?!

 

This thread is quickly turning into something incredibly awesome - Heathen's trench slogging Dragoons against Darth's rope-sliding Airborne and Marshal's trench-storming Grenadiers. Just how more awesome can this get?

Noctus Cornix Venerable Brother

Noctus Cornix

Posted
Posted

http://i421.photobucket.com/albums/pp299/spencertrimm/reaver.png

 

 

 

 

Day 26

 

 

Heaven burned. Clouds of thick smog rolled across the blood-red sky, prey to the whims of near-constant orbital barrages that blinded the surrounding world with lances of incandescent light. The great boom of Planet-Cracker Cyclone Cannons atop unstoppable God-machines of the Mars Brotherhood drowned out all else with their seismic discharge, erupting the air like the roar of thunder pregnant with rain. A veritable torrent of embers and ash fell across the sky, the very air alight with fire and the din of battle across the surface of an entire world. It was like a storm of legends, the absolute and unadulterated fury of some wrathful God, intent only to bring down his vengeance upon mankind in one cataclysmic rapture. But this was not the rage of some distant and forgotten deity. This madness was of man, each spark of light, each howl in the wind, each scream of agony as blood was spilt upon the marble cobblestone. This was all the work of Man, orchestrating its own extinction in a single moment of untamed fratricide.

Legionnaire Jerrek soaked it all in through the red wash of retinal display feed. His ancient, soot-stained MK III helm inclined upwards to gaze upon the artificial storm, letting his face-plate become awash with a fresh coat of ashen petals. He absorbed it all, each sight, each nuance, each and every detail he could down to the last ruin of broken masonry and bark of a Ferrox pattern bolter not more than two blocks away. He would remember this all, the days that Humanity took back its freedom and made Gods of themselves… When this was all over, and the Warmaster Lupercal, beloved by all, took his rightful seat as Emperor of Mankind, then he would document what he saw, so that this war was never forgotten.

“Move out.”

The familiar metallic growl of a vox- artificial voice cut through the moment of silence like a knife, stirring Jerrek’s thoughts back into the heat of the moment rather than looking to the distant future to remember the past. His eyes turned away from the cinder-choked skies, a free hand running across his face-plate to wipe away the grime only to smear the ash over his visage in a long black handprint smear. The Legionnaire’s gaze turned to look over his shoulder so he may address the source of the mechanical voice, the morose armored form of Line Sergeant Joutunn rising slowly from his perch just behind the fallen statue of some forgotten unification hero. He could hear the whine of servos, remembering the day Sergeant was nearly obliterated by a Salamander’s Glaive Battletank at the Slaughter of Istvaan V. The Apothecaries had thought the grizzled warrior for dead with such severe wounds and his battle record not earning him the honor of entombment. Yet by all the odds the old bastard somehow made it through with barely any face or body left. Even though most was obscured by the Sergeant’s dark green warplate, Jerrek know that very little flesh remained.

For a moment their gazes met, the Sergeant scanning over what remained of his tactical squad. As eyes fell upon Jerrek, the two seemed to lock eyes for a moment, no words passing between the two and little movement save the whirring focus of Sergeant Joutunn’s bionic optics. And then he turned away in silence, uninterested in engaging in the futile argument that would have no doubt ensued were it to last but a few seconds longer. The CXXVII Infantry, like many Companies of the secessionist forces had been tasked with the ‘liberation’ of the Raptari Floodgate, a vast and entangling complex of levies and dam systems deep beneath the Imperial Palace that had rerouted the outflow of underground water sources to flow out into a single monolithic waterfall. By the will of the VII Legion’s Primarch, the dam had been all but closed, the cataract to all but run dry and the tunnels to be sealed off. Yet even still, this was an opportunity that could not be overlooked. If the Raptari Floodgates could be seized, the forces of the Warmaster could breach their way through the half-flooded corridors and tunnels, allowing them access to branch into the Lumbani and Bherias sectors with little effort. With this foothold, the southern forces might spread their way out like a plague and wreak mayhem upon the Defenders. And among all others, it was the CXXVII that was chosen to lead this assault upon the vital point, where defenses would be low and a vital push cold made, for after all who better to lead the liberation forces than the Warmaster’s own Sons?

But this was wrong…. This felt all wrong. From the moment the orders had been issued, Jerrek felt a terrible unease. The intelligence directed to that the flood gates had been sealed off completely and it seemed that what little forces were already there have been thinned in an effort to defend more immediate vital points. Even if the Defender forces had thinned out, did their lords really intend for them to blast through miles upon miles of plascrete and adamantine walls? He felt the clack of krak grenades rattling against his belt pouch, each and every legionare armed to the teeth with low-intensity breach explosives, yet even still a cave was the constant threat.

Yet he held his tongue in no matter the case, uninterested in committing to a sixth argument over the subject over the last two days and was also more than happy to stay away from being threatened a second time to being executed for insubordination. He’d rather die at the hands of the defender filth with a gun in his hands rather than the Legion’s name on his tongue than die in shame and worthlessness.. The squad moved in silence through the empty mercantile districts, passing across ruined, bullet-strewn huts and trampling over rotten goods and turned-over carts. From the corner of his eye he spotted more figures, warriors adorned In blood-painted armour of white and blue, the frenzied sons of the Angron moving through the next street with chainaxes revving towards the same objective. The IV, the XVI, the XII, even the VIII had committed forces to this daring raid, eager to reap the reward for the blood spilt by their own men.

A raised fist from the Sergeant and they banked the right, ceramite boots shift and stomping through a cramped alleyway before hurling one after the other over the edge of the canal and into the river-bed. The splash of displaced water was a shallow thing as Jerrek’s feet hammered into the river-bed, the soot-stained water barely rising up to their ankles inside a canal that could fit a Spartan Transport. He landed in a half crouched position, rising up to scan his surroundings and see the canal was already full of Astartes, squads of various Legions and batalliones checking their weapons and ammunition while lighter recon and support units had remained on the cliff-faces. He took the moment to check his own weapon, raising up the Umbra Ferrox bolter and checking the box-fed magazine was firmly in place. One push, one mass movement into the Flood-gate plaza. Slaughter the defenders and let the IV Sappers do their job... Sounded like an easy enough plan.

When the order was finally given, an encrypted vox message across the officer’s channel, the assault force began to march together in unified packs, Legions and squads remaining closely knit together while shunning most contact with anyone outside their own. Such was the paranoia and distrust that had come between the Legions in this time of war that it had become difficult to know who your friend was and who was your ally… It was a sickening sight to Jerrek, a warrior who had fought alongside each of these legions before and respected them all. Why is it that brotherhood has been abandoned even among allies? Nevertheless he stifled his own questions, seeing the Floodgate systems looming up ahead.

The Raptari Floodgate, like any structure of the Imperial City, had once been a thing of beauty to behold. A monolithic construct built into the secondary walls that separated the first and second districts, the Raptari gates was a dam system designed to mimic a natural waterfall, massive outflow pipes lining along the walls to release a torrent of purified water out, running along the Haital canal and out the Rapt Fall, a waterfall that poured its contents out from the steep cliffs of the Hamalazians only to be filtered back in at the banks below. Even still, the dam itself had been littered with lion statues and gold-leaf embroidering, a testament to some ancient Sea God of a long past myth. But of course like every other structure of the city, that beauty was ruined, the statues torn down, the valves drained and sealed away and the long structured observation platforms were blistering with defense emplacements that now stood silent.

Jerrek scanned each and every divergent tunnel they passed by, prey-sight senses piercing the darkness with ease and revealing to him nothing but empty corridors. He muttered a curse under his breath as he felt this unease wash over him yet again. That same unease would remain until three second later, when a bolt round turned a nearby World Eater to a corpse upon the river bed.

“Ambush!”

XVI Legion Organization

CXXVII Line Infantry

 

The CXXVII were one of many Tactical front line Companies of the Sons of Horus, trained and tasked with various responsibilities and roles wherever needed. During the siege of Terra, the CXXVII were assigned to the Raptari zone at the more southern front. Like many of the companies assigned to the Raptari zone, the Sons of Horus Line infantry made the march to the Raptari Floodgates in efforts to breach the sealed tunnels and branch their way into the other warzones. The assault was planned using intel informing that floodgate was all but abandoned leaving this for an easy assault but the intel proved false and the emptied canal turned into a killing field for the ambushing defenders lying in wait. Over 84% of the CXXVII was butchered in the initial ambush, gunned down by defender bolters and grenades. Some managed to escape into the surrounding mercantile districts but were ruthlessly hunted down by Whitescar Outriders. Not a single member of the CXXVII Line Infantry lived to see the 30th day of the siege.

 

http://i915.photobucket.com/albums/ac352/Noctus-Cornix/WP_000074_zpse4246f81.jpg

 

http://i915.photobucket.com/albums/ac352/Noctus-Cornix/WP_000075_zps4eb08956.jpg

 

Legionnaire Jerrek was one of many young recruits initiated into the Legion of the Warmaster not long before the culling of Istvaan III, a warrior bred and trained in the fires of civil war and knowing little else than the sickening crunch of a bolter shell digging into ceramite warplate before detonating. Despite his youth, Brother Jerrek served his Legion proudly both on the killing fields of Istvaan and the battles that would ensue until the Siege of Terra itself. Liek his brethren, however, his life was squandered and a strong blooded warrior of the XVI died at the Raptari Floodgate ambush. These pict feeds depict Legionnaire Jerrek fighting in the claustrophobic divergent tunnels of the floodgate with his trusted Umbra Ferrox bolter approximately 38 seconds before he ran out of ammunition and approximately 42 seconds before he was felled by a plasma bolt to the chest.

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