Nomus Sardauk Posted September 22, 2014 Share Posted September 22, 2014 Sweet Terra... What a monster you've made Flint, I-I just, I mean, wow, just WOW. That's it, I'm calling it right now, the evidence is clear! Flint is not and never has been human, she is clearly the earthly avatar of Nyx, Greek Goddess of Night! There's no other explanation for her mind-boggling talents at modelling and writing fluff for the Night Lords! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Barabbas Sogalon Posted September 23, 2014 Share Posted September 23, 2014 Freaking gorgeous buddy! We look *damn* good in gray Thanks! Proves that the old legion isn't dead yet. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Argent aquila Posted September 23, 2014 Share Posted September 23, 2014 superb work you 2! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Slips Posted September 23, 2014 Share Posted September 23, 2014 Honestly, with a few more gorgeous mini pictures made to look like Graphic Novel Panels and a *slight* reworking of the text, y'all could totally make a GN with this stuff. Get on it so that you can : http://img2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20140822121903/middleearthshadowofmordor7723/images/9/94/Shut_up_and_take_my_money.jpg Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Flint13 Posted September 28, 2014 Author Share Posted September 28, 2014 http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/xq90/540/MBdhcp.jpg A House of the Dead and Dying [yt] [/YT] “Give me one more night. If nothing else give me that. Not for duty or honor. Not even for love. Those wishes end when eyes close for the last time. Give me one more night if nothing but for my hate. Hatred will keep me warmer than any lover. It will keep me quick… lethal… Love and duty could never hope to keep me from fading. I hate, and I am alive for a time yet. I'm coming for the one who did this, may she never rest easy. For not even in death does my hatred end.” Last Melody of a Throat-cut Siren: Part 2 (Shadowfall -21 Terran Standard) Every battle tells a story. The tale spun from the ruins of Outpost 213 is a sorry one for the House of dan Elsan. For those who know where and how to look, much can be heard from the story this battle… massacre… has to tell. The ragged remains of what once was a mighty facility of war and honor lays strewn to the winds. The damage radiates out from a single location, a repair and refit bay labeled by a golden plaque with the moniker “Wolf of Worlds.” Several inches farther down, the title is repeated in Old Korriannite, “Kraga Hadrun.” Across from the lair of the Wolf, the smoking corpse of a titanic Knight warengine lays a desiccated shell of its former glory, having never even made it from its docking cradle. It had no chance to fight back, it was murdered while slumbering. A single hole, no larger than a sewage service cover, cores straight though the knight’s armored chest, leaving a raw wound that still weeps vital oils and servo fluids. The lifeblood of a god machine pools worthlessly onto the dusty ground, staining the proud Ice and Ash of the House as it trails down. Further into the facility, there are other arming gantries. Each of these are strewn haphazardly with the detritus of a rapid launch. The knights ensconced here were armed and loosed rapidly, with no time for the proper canticles or litanies. As that of the gantries before them, each is mounted by a silver plaque, proclaiming the names of their wards proudly in the old tongue and the new. Kal Ha’dahn, Tremor Child Kara Ha’kaen, Thunder Daughter Raka’tarii, Falconer Each an inestimable worth of might against the horrors unbound among the galaxy. Each is a juggernaut of power and vengeance. http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/640x480q90/661/KkFuue.jpg And here, almost completely obscured by the work of the dusty winds of the environment, is another, smaller story, though one no less important than that of the path of vengeance walked by the god machines of proud House dan Elsan. Here, separate from all of the other wreckage and ruin, is blood. Blood can tell the story of any battle better than even the survivors themselves. Here it is scattered far across the floor from a central point, as if from impact. It is trailed in a long line towards what remains of the walls. It covers the exterior of the emergency medi-kit kept behind the gantry stairs, as well as the discarded gauze wrappings, synthi-skin containers, and even a small serrated knife tossed into the corner. It follows in fitful drips and drops from there, back farther into the facility to a small office. Less blood now. But even still, a bit remains spread across the access panel for a small personal armory locker. A few drops rest inside where a Vera pattern lasrifle used to reside. http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/640x480q90/674/rtSgsq.jpg The last bits of crimson taper off in the direction of a massive cargo container at the rear of the facility. The container lies empty, its yawning chasm of an interior bare and lifeless. A touch screen security panel adorning the outside of the container waist height bares the last shed blood in the facility. A scrolling wall of text takes up the entirety of the panel. “To the Mighty and Just Patriach of the House dan Elsan, It is with my most heartfelt congratulations that I am able to send you the final required payment to your great House. Contained herein is the agreed upon price for the final year of our vassalage unto House dan Elsan, the greatest and last of our warmachines. It is with the most humble entreaty that I ask that with this final show of servitude that my daughter be returned to me. The twenty years of her indentured servitude have been paid, as have any other debts agreed upon under the terms of our initial surrender. … please Luthar… we have taken the suffix of the low houses, struck our deeds from the records and done all that your have asked. We have been your loyal servants for the time we agreed upon. Please send her home safely." Most Humbly, ~Felicia Augustine A single flashing acknowledgement icon at the bottom of the page… “Please provide handprint for genecode sample authentication.” http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/640x480q90/908/MMhyS8.jpg Override code “AUGUSTRUNSRED” accepted along with genic sample. Greetings Lady dan August. You have 1 message(s) stored. Displaying: “Samantha, I have no time. They are already coming for me. Jerdaine has barricaded my chambers and I am attempting to upload this wirelessly before the shipment leaves. I knew Luthar would never allow us to end this farce of an agreement amiably. You haven’t responded for these last few years… I want you to know I have never forgiven myself. I can never make it right. But I can try to help you survive. If you are reading this, two things have happened. You have figured out how to open the container, that it has something just for you, my daughter. It also means that I am dead. You are the last of our line. The assassins of Luthar’s pay killed your brother last week, and they murdered Kannabelle in her bed just this morning. I am sorry you never had the chance to tell them goodbye. But you can make them pay. You were always meant to pilot the Red August. It is the proudest legacy of our House and it cries for you to use it to bring vengeance to those that have wronged us. The fools of House dan Elsan probably have never even figured how to open the container yet. But you, dear daughter, you are stronger. You are experienced in the long years of training the bastard curs of dan Elsan. You are smarter than they could ever imagine, and now you stand with the god machine you were born to walk. Take the Red August, she is –((Ga’Hadreel.))----(Error #212 -Term Not Recognized: Analyzing) Make them know our hate. Make them bleed. We are dan August. And August runs red with the blood of those who seek our downfall. I love you. Felicia … Term: “Ga’Hadreel” unknown. Searching data storage. Searching… Acquired. Literal translation “Termination of higher power.” Analyzing… Colloquial Alternative? “Ga’hadreel.” …God Ender http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/640x480q90/538/WQeCxU.jpg Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Slips Posted September 28, 2014 Share Posted September 28, 2014 :jaw: Great stuff as always Flint, you never cease to impress! Were you by any chance listening to August Burns Red while writing this? :P Also, WOO BLOODY VENGEANCE! THE HUNT IS AFOOT! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Lysimachus Posted September 28, 2014 Share Posted September 28, 2014 Very nicely written, I like how you've been able to keep this bit in the past tense with the blood trail bit telling us what's happened, very clever! You should post the stories down in the fanfic forum too! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
BassWave Posted September 28, 2014 Share Posted September 28, 2014 Oh man, now I need to know more as to why there was so much drama amongst these knight houses! On top of it all it makes me wanrt to stop my iron hands so I can focus on just working on my knight! By the way, have you drunkenly ordered the Archeron yet? I'm finding it difficult to resist while sober :p Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Midnightmare Posted September 28, 2014 Share Posted September 28, 2014 Great stuff Flint! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Barabbas Sogalon Posted September 28, 2014 Share Posted September 28, 2014 Loving it! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Fire Golem Posted September 28, 2014 Share Posted September 28, 2014 Flint, fantastic work, inspirational. May I just ask where the shoulder pad on the first model is from, the one with the ribcage coming out of it? :) Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Flint13 Posted September 28, 2014 Author Share Posted September 28, 2014 Morning folks! So glad everyone seems to like Samantha. She was a pretty far departure from what I'm used to painting. Even though she came out looking kinda like auburn Harleen Quinzel, I like her quite a bit. Here's something fun for everyone. Tiny showdown! (coming soon! ^_^ ) http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/640x480q90/911/WvSa8h.jpg http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/640x480q90/661/b14epo.jpg @ SanguiniousReborn - Wow, that's pretty strong praise. I'm very glad to hear my fluff doesn't come off as cheesy or overwrought. @ Slipstreams - That good eh? Cant complain there ^_^ I have heard of August Burns Red, but they're a little bit too heavy for me I'm afraid. I just liked the familial motto "August Runs Red" because it sounded dramatic, haha! @ Strike Captain Lysimachus - Wow, thanks! I may have to check it out. Does the fan-fiction forum allow models to accompany fluff? @ Basswave - Ah, the greatest response an aspiring writer can here. You're interested to see the rest of the story. Glad to hear! Also, I've heard I do drama well @ Midnight Runner - Thanks buddy! @ Barabbas - Then my goal is achieved. @ Fire Golem - Thanks, always glad to hear it. The rib cage shoulder pad is from one of the legion of the damned. I originally wanted that arm since it was one of the only ones I could find straight-arming a boltgun (in the grim darkness, there is no time for aiming down sights!) so I could make Sevik look really aggressive. It just happened to have a Night Lord friendly bit of ornamentation as well ^_^ Let me know if you have any other questions, I'd be happy to help. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Fire Golem Posted September 28, 2014 Share Posted September 28, 2014 Oh I see :) did you manage to get the part seperately or did you have to buy the whole LotD set? I like the use of the Infinity model too. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
lokkorex Posted September 28, 2014 Share Posted September 28, 2014 Let us see that little punk with a neat, little hole through her forehead... You have no idea how glad i am Samantha survived. Make her enemies bleed, flint. Make Kurze proud. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Dantay VI Posted September 28, 2014 Share Posted September 28, 2014 I wonder if Samantha is going on to the loyalist side as she will undoubtedly want to hunt down the Dan Elsan especially the one who shot her. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
JackDaw Posted October 11, 2014 Share Posted October 11, 2014 http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/728x90q90/540/MBdhcp.jpg Signal Cascade//the indrawn breath ~ Misery's Call, Eighth Legion Picket Cruiser~ Near-orbit, Jundrian-4 agri-world, Sepeke system The Astartes vessel hung above the burning planet like a shard of midnight and bronze pinned into the darkness. Silent and barely lit, drives cold, Misery's Call waited and watched as a world died in chemical flame. Once home to near a thousand human crew and three-score Astartes, the Call lay near-empty, a mausoleum inhabited by the few too stubborn or unlucky to leave its cold bare arterial corridors. The few hundred humans on board clustered like vermin around the meagre light and heat provided by the bridge and enginarum decks while the freezing corridors and walkways were travelled only by the dozen sons of Curze who deigned to remain aboard. Misery's Call, the ghost-ship, crypt-vessel. Home of the Eighth Legionary known as the Ban Sidhe, the Death-singer. Darkness ruled the near-frozen interior of the ship, a blackness so absolute only the sons of Curze could navigate it. Havelock Veed, once of the 63rd Company, sat in the utter blackness, the vision filters of his mark IV helm disabled and his plate reduced to the bare minimun of life support. Even so, his augmented frame would ensure that death would be a long time coming despite the biting cold of the Call's interior. Cocooned in the dark, the only sound the shallow whisper-rasp of his own breath, Veed sat and waited as he had done for the week that had passed since Jundrian-4 had been set ablaze. With the patience of the already-dead, he waited for the Ban Sidhe to begin to sing again. He wasnt sure how much time passed before the gun-shot click of the vox link in his helm shattered the silence. Sarnon Rel was the one to speak through the vox, deafeningly loud somehow despite his voice being a bare whisper. "It's begun. The song has started." A vulpine smile crept across Veed's lips. Finally. * They gathered in the deserted atrium decks of Misery's Call, those sons of Curze who still remained aboard the crypt-ship. A dozen of them, midnight clad, lightning strikes clawing their way across greaves and pauldrons, terror markings inked and scratched across helms. Five stood apart from the rest, midnight armour dulled and marred with rad-burns, heavy canisters hanging from bandoliers next to large bore bolt pistols. Out of respect, the dozen Astartes of the Eighth went bare-headed, pallid skin stretched over thin-boned faces and eyes as black as the Abyss flicking across each other like targeting recticles. Around them, bare metal struts arced into the ceiling like the ribs of a giant corpse, the deck itself stretching away into the distance. Darkness lay everywhere, broken only by the meagre illumination provided by the Astartes themselves, diodes winking on armour cuffs and collars, power cells pulsing gently in idling volkite and plasma weaponry. The hum of activated warplate was a constant undercurrent, just on the edge of hearing but overshadowed entirely by the slow mournful dirge that crept through the frozen deck. "Hnh. What's he wailing this time?" Kurnan, of course, always the first to break the silence, impatient and cradling his oversized chainblade like it was his lover. Brutal, ignorant. No poetry in his soul. "It's a funeral rite you shek-damned savage, one of Calistro's. Any proper Nostroman breeding in you, you'd know that." Rel's whisper was harsh, his face upturned and eyes closed tight as he listened intently to the mournful song. Kurnan merely growled in reply, spitting on the decking at Rel's feet. Staring intently into the far reaches of the deck, Veed could just make out a figure in Mark IV plate, barely discernable from the darkness. Just the glimpse of Skel caused Veed's chest to tighten, combat hormones begin to slip into his bloodstream in anticipation of what was to come. He asked the question they were all wondering. "Which one? Which rite is he singing?" Rel remained silent, head still tipped back as if in prayer, lips mouthing the Nostroman words that crept through the frigid air. Finally, he lowered his head, a rictus grin carved across his unlovely face. "It's an early piece of Calistro's, old Nostroman. Doesn't translate well. Closest I can manage now is pinions of white, broken in dust." Veed released a sigh of pleasure. "Aah. Perfect. I've not killed an Angel of the Ninth yet." ~Signal End//exhale Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Slips Posted October 11, 2014 Share Posted October 11, 2014 JackDaw Joined this already-amazing project? http://www.quickmeme.com/img/7f/7fa6b0be9d5614e6e8aa57089f47c718ec462a462188bb1b058a1456cfd02d12.jpg Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Kol Saresk Posted October 11, 2014 Share Posted October 11, 2014 Moar Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
lokkorex Posted October 11, 2014 Share Posted October 11, 2014 Isn't the shadows starting to feel a bit crowded with all the night lords around? Nice prose jackdaw, looking forward to read more, and to see some models! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Slips Posted October 11, 2014 Share Posted October 11, 2014 Night Lords, much like the Raven Guard, use the shadows to their advantage. If anything, the shadows are deepening, with the faint sound of blades being sharpened and a maniacal chuckle here and there. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Kol Saresk Posted October 11, 2014 Share Posted October 11, 2014 Night Lords, much like the Raven Guard, use the shadows to their advantage. If anything, the shadows are deepening, with the faint sound of blades being sharpened and a maniacal chuckle here and there.Addendum: It is a maniacal giggle. Chuckling is for the Stooges. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Nomus Sardauk Posted October 11, 2014 Share Posted October 11, 2014 http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/640x480q90/911/WvSa8h.jpg http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/640x480q90/661/b14epo.jpg @ SanguiniousReborn - Wow, that's pretty strong praise. I'm very glad to hear my fluff doesn't come off as cheesy or overwrought. "Oh don't look so shocked Jacquelyn, if anyone here's used to seeing dead people it's you..." Ha, don't be preposterous Flint! Or can I call you Nyx? Your writing is fantastic, I just wish I could write half as well and as fast as you do! Oh and by the way, here's a little mood music for you for your next painting/writing session. I think it's rather fitting, especially given the guy looks like a normal-human Kurze. https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=WzeJ-8FG1ic "Aah. Perfect. I've not killed an Angel of the Ninth yet." Jackdaw you Traitor! How could you turn on your own Legion, your own brothers like this?! JackDaw Joined this already-amazing project? http://www.quickmeme.com/img/7f/7fa6b0be9d5614e6e8aa57089f47c718ec462a462188bb1b058a1456cfd02d12.jpg You mean to tell me only now do you finally give this thread the full, undivided attention it deserves? Shame on you Slipstreams! Shame on you! Night Lords, much like the Raven Guard, use the shadows to their advantage. If anything, the shadows are deepening, with the faint sound of blades being sharpened and a maniacal chuckle here and there.Addendum: It is a maniacal giggle. Chuckling is for the Stooges. Agreed, and a eerie little girl's giggle at that. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Slips Posted October 11, 2014 Share Posted October 11, 2014 Aye, Sir! Duly Noted! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
JackDaw Posted October 13, 2014 Share Posted October 13, 2014 Thanks for all the kind words and general enthusiam chaps, much appreciated - also a bit thank you to Flint for the invite to join the fun. If my Angels of the Ninth weren't already knee-deep in their own deaths on Terra, they'd be here instead. More fluff from me will come, probably more than models - I'm only planning to do a few Night Lords, more of a kill-team than a proper army as the Ninth are my main thrust into the world of 30k. However, I will be doing the Eighth proud and producing some lovely murderers. And the Death-singer of course, the Ban-Sidhe himself, Mawhrin Skel. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Barabbas Sogalon Posted October 22, 2014 Share Posted October 22, 2014 http://imagizer.imageshack.us/a/img540/7443/MBdhcp.jpg VIII LEGION, XXVI COMPANY, "NOCTIS INFERNAE" "You see this candle, Kaltiim? A harmless little flame. A source of light and warmth in the cold and uncaring darkness, a beacon of hope for the lost. Now, drop it in a dry forest and you get a raging wildfire that spreads and consumes everything in an unstoppable inferno, fire burning flesh and smoke choking the air. The enlightening flame has become certain death, but it still lights up the night. They already fear the dark down there, it is time they fear the light." - Captain Aliksandr Saevus, prior to the Seventy-Four-Nine atrocity HE WHO IS CALLED SAEVUS Part 1 (Day 30) “There were five of us, you know.” Her head snapped up when the Captain suddenly spoke. Not a word had been said for over four hours, silence only disturbed by the crackling sound of braziers lighting up the chamber. Anna Saroyan put down the notebook and piece of charcoal before pulling the worn greatcoat tighter around her body; for some reason it was always a lingering cold in the room. Then she looked towards the source of the voice. The Captain sat cross legged on the iron floor while staring distantly into the closest fire, stripped to the waist and unmoving like a statue. Intimidating even without armour, the skin of his massive body was inhumanly pale, faint bluish veins visible beneath, and marked with ancient scar tissue that made it look like someone had carved lines into the flesh. It all stood in sharp contrast to the network of black tattoos on his chest, back and arms; swirling patterns, intricate figures, symbols of dusk and dawn, skulls and Old Albian runes from long before the Imperium. A lidless, flaming eye and single headed eagle with lightning bolts dominated his back. All Astartes were built for violence, but the unpredictability of the Captain's current state made it hazardous to be in his presence. Anna was terrified at the possibility that the first word she uttered would trigger a frenzy. She swallowed. “What do you mean, my Lord?” The Captain turned slowly. His gaunt features might have been called patrician once in the past, but now they were ruined by scars, a broken nose and unhealthy circles beneath lifeless grey eyes. The sandy hair was long and slightly braided, greying like the unkempt beard; it was strange, as all other members of the VIII Anna had encountered were dark haired. Aliksandr Saevus, the Lord of Infernal Night; a legend to some, a dark reminder of Old Earth to others. Saevus was not his real name, Anna had learned that early, instead something fellow Terrans had called him because of his savagery. The true name lay buried with a clan wiped out in the Albian War. “During Unification. There were five of us, five brothers from five legions who bled and conquered a world together. Great warriors, nothing like the weak-bloods they churn out today. The victories we achieved, the oaths we swore... It was in another age, lass, when the legions still had honour,” he said, the voice deep and commanding with a clear Albian accent. Bitterness and old anger alive beneath the surface. He was calm now, but Anna knew too well that it could change before she had the chance to blink. “I wish they were with with me, though I doubt any of them would be willing to do what is necessary,” the Captain continued. “Kopernag of the XVI, all righteous and with too much belief in his Emperor. Besides, he is long dead. Gerontius? He would never admit the truth even if it stabbed him in the gut, indoctrinated like all the VII. Old Tolvan of the IV is way too single minded to ever see the larger picture outside his little trench. He is a tool, always has been, now belonging to the Warmaster. Only my brother in the XIV would understand. Yes, Sogalon would know what injustices we who wore the Grey have endured at hands of the tyrant and his sons, and the suffering of us Albians. But there's been no life signs for three years, and when I think about it not even his hate for the tyrant would make him move against Terra, the Lion of Albia loyal to his last damned breath.” His gaze returned to the flames and when he spoke again it was with a bitter growl. “So I am alone in this. Do you know what it is like to be surrounded by blind men? To be the only one who see the truth and is willing to act? It is torture. A living nightmare. They won't see it, so I shall light up the darkness for them. All tyrants must fall. Yes. Their taint will be purged from the stars, their tyranny brought down in a wave of cleansing fire none can escape. I will bleed them white, then... they shall burn. Pyres for every Albian life lost.” Silence. The Captain often spoke of the Emperor's betrayal and how the legions had been corrupted. It was unsettling the first time Anna heard him mention what he called the truth. She had lived the first seventeen years of her life in the hives along the Northern Way on Terra, hearing about the mysterious visionary who led Mankind on a glorious crusade to conquer the stars and of the mighty legions at his command. At first she refused to believe the Captain's words, but the more he told her, the more she was filled with doubt until her belief in Imperial Truth disintegrated. Then came the war tearing the Imperium apart. She did not know what to believe in any longer, so she listened, like she had for six years. The Captain kept staring into the fire, completely unaware of the war being fought by his men. Anna picked up her notebook and looked at a drawing she had made of a dead-faced warrior just before the Company went to war, eyes mirroring the shattered soul inside. Symbols on the armour marked him as an Oathblade. Drawing was the only thing Anna had left as a means to escape the grim reality. She brushed a lock of dark blonde hair away from her face. As a child she had been scared of the dark, and now she served the ones calling themselves the Noctis Infernae with no shortage of nightmares since first walking aboard the Dusk Queen. Many had mistaken her for a Remembrancer, which was far from the truth. The first Astartes she ever saw was a gravel-voiced bastard named Krastor, who made it perfectly clear what he thought about her presence. Anna had, in a moment of drunken stupidity, snapped and told him to go to hell, being rewarded with the tip of an Albian sabre to her throat and the words We are already in hell, lass; only later did she learn that Krastor was number three in the Company. Then it was the Captain himself. Sometimes he could talk for a day about an old campaign down to the tiniest details as if the battles raged around him, always smiling when describing the effects of fire. The next day he would be lost in his own darkness, flying into a rage and feverishly cursing Emperor and Primarchs for their betrayal. Anna was not sure what to think of him; the last man of honour in the VIII, while at the same time being the savage pyromaniac his name indicated. Once she was woken in the middle of the night because the Captain wanted to show her the Memorial to Cultures Lost, a chamber filled with severed heads, each marking a victory to the 26th; not used to the stench of death, she had thrown up the moment she got back to her quarters. Yes, there were no shortage of nightmares. “Have you ever seen Albia?” the Captain asked. Anna cleared her throat. “Once, my Lord.” “It was a great nation. A hell pit really, but our hell pit. Nothing is left now, the Emperor made sure of that centuries ago when he broke us. I was there that day. We could have conquered Terra, as was our birthright, instead we were forced to serve a tyrant. Did he really think that giving us new enemies to kill and a place in his grand Imperium would make us forget how he murdered our brothers and sisters and humiliated us? No one attacks an Albian unpunished, for an Albian never forgets injustice. Despite this we burned rulers and cities in his name, then entire worlds, and not once did we fail.” The Captain laughed, the cold sound pierced by anger and pain. Anna knew what was coming and braced herself, her head starting to hurt. The growing rage made the room feel suffocating. Suddenly the Lord of Infernal Night was on his feet, pacing back and forth on the iron floor while ancient hatred twisted his pale face. “And what was our reward? Betrayal. We were left to rot among lowlives, honourless whoresons that should have been strangled the moment they came into the world. He let his sons corrupt the legions beyond recognition. I watched the old ways die, everything we stood for turned to ashes and familiar faces replaced by strangers believing the legion to be theirs. We lost our traditions, our colours, our pride, our very soul. Everything dragged through the mud until the Albian VIII were banished from memory.” He spoke through clenched teeth and was breathing as if he had been stabbed through the chest. His eyes were wide open like the symbol his men carried into battle, but completely blind to the present. “I envy the dead. The ones who have their stones on the cairn. My fellow clansmen, the Ironsides, the fallen of Unification and the ones who died before we descended on the Lightless World. They were the lucky ones, not having to see our downfall or feel the pain that has haunted us living every waking moment since...” Then he was lost, his native tongue coming to life in a grief-fuelled stream of words as it always did when his mind was at its darkest. Nothing could bring him back to the present now. Anna sighed and rubbed her eyes, trying to think on something else than the pulsing headache. It was like the pain and melancholy felt by the Captain seeped into her mind every time she was in his presence. Another sleepless night to look forward to. Seeing no point in staying, she got up and hurried over to the doors in shadows, forcing them open just enough that she could get her lithe self through; the Captain's voice could still be heard after the doors were shut. Exhaustion washed over her as she walked down the corridor, increasing the pressure inside her skull. At times she wondered if she was losing her sanity. She needed a drink, a strong one, hopefully did lieutenant Levina have a few bottles left of that high-quality amasec. Krastor had been right, they were most certainly in hell. ++++++ Thule-Psi burned, the flames like spectators to the battle fought among the ruins. Teburon Barka stopped in front of the fallen Thallax, its lightning gun and legs blown off by bolter fire. The pathetic creature clawed at the ground with the remaining arm. Barka kicked the blank faceplate to splinters and looked in contempt at the skull surrounded by tubes and wires. The ocular implants stared up at him. “You really are an ugly one,” he said and stomped on the head until it crushed under his boot. Green light burst to life and was followed by screaming. An Ultramarine came running out of the inferno with phosphex eating into his cobalt armour, all the nobility and discipline corroding away in the face of this agonizing doom. Barka fired his charger and watched the already burning legionary explode in a display of fire and molten fragments; once it would have made him laugh, but not any more. He was a dead man on the inside, his body just a shell of the proud Albian warrior that conquered Terra, now broken by past betrayals. Only the killer remained along with a scrap of honour, the latter probably dead as well had it not been for the Captain's guidance. Two more of the XIII came at him, blades drawn and bolters raised, and he fired a ray at the one to the left. The explosion lit the other on fire and knocked him to the ground; Barka put two shots from his archeo-revolver through the legionary's helmet. The defence line set up by the Ultramarines and Mechanicum units had fallen with all escape cut off by a flaming line on the opposite side of the war-torn plaza. Sappers were burning defenders out from ruined fortifications while squads carrying volkites annihilated entire formations as they advanced, and still the valiant Sons of Guilliman held the line. They were dying, by fire or by iron, they were dying. A Proteus was incapacitated by heavy weapons and one of the Sappers climbed onto its bulk to drop a phosphex bomb down the cupola before he jumped off, leaving the green fire to work its wonders. Elsewhere, incendiaries from the artillery kept hammering into the ground and thick black smoke seemed to have swallowed the night sky. Barka made his way towards the rest of 1st Oathblades, who fought Ultramarines and Army soldiers near the blazing wreck of a Malcador. He moved with a slight limp, the Apothecaries having never been able to fully heal the old injury to his left leg and not even power armour could correct it; a broken body containing a broken soul. Vexillarius Dundas held the Burning Eye high while he let out war cries and fired his charger, only pausing to stab a fallen enemy with the spike located at the bottom of the banner pole. Apart from the vexilla, he was easily identified by the topknot on the helmet and armour modified to reflect his Albian heritage. He belonged, like Barka, to the generation whose first memories were burning cities and hulking giants silhouetted against the flames. The righteous XIII called them traitors. Amusing words, just as amusing as the talk of a 'False Emperor' that seemed to imply the galaxy needed an Emperor. The Noctis Infernae were not fighting for any Warmaster, their war of fire and iron was in the name of Albia and vengeance for her sons, to purge the tyrants whether they carried the number XIII or XVI. A Word Bearer had come about a year ago to judge the Company's devotion to the cause and open their eyes the what he called the light, arrogant whoreson even dared to insult and put himself above the Captain. The Apostle claimed to be blessed by the Gods, well that didn't help him much when Barka beat his head to a pulp with a steel bar. The XVII were the worst kind, the very thing the legions had fought to destroy during Unification, and the 26th made sure to kill them at every opportunity. Bringing up the revolver again, Barka shot an Ultramarine in the throat and then through the eye. He was about to attack another one, this time using the charger, when a massive blade beheaded the legionary. Only one warrior in the 26th wielded an Albian claymore, a weapon longer than an Astartes. Kaltiim Jebra, the Captain's Equerry, did not fight the Ultramarines, he slaughtered them; severing limbs and carving through armour with every swing, blood staining the already scorched ground. His armour, the heavy plating bearing similarities to that of the old Ironsides, was unadorned save for a proud Raptora on the chest, as Jebra represented the Captain and not himself. The left gauntlet still carried scorch marks from thirteen years ago and he used it to deliver a crushing blow to an Ultramarine's head, gutting him immediately afterwards. Barka compensated for the lost kill by blasting a group of mortals to ash before limping up to join his commander. One of the Company's Sicarans rolled past, autocannons tearing apart Battle-Automatas as infantry advanced behind it. Jebra was now, for all intents and purposes, the master of the 26th; every time the Captain became lost to his dark mood it was the Equerry's duty to take charge of the Company, often in a moment's notice and without a thorough battle plan. His own private thoughts on the matter were unknown, he never showed any signs of emotion. Barka saw him rip the claymore from an Ultramarines head and turn to face a Centurion, swinging the blade low and chopping the man's legs off below the knees. After cleaving through the last legionary, Jebra put his foot on the fallen Centurion and stabbed him in the neck. All Albians had the same inborn ruthlessness and the Equerry was that trait made flesh. He was pulling the blade free when Barka reached him. “Any news from the Queen?” Jebra rested the bloody weapon on his shoulder. “No, and I don't think we will hear anything for a while.” Barka had expected such an answer. “So we are alone.” “Our oaths still stand, Oathblade. We are the executioners of the Captain's will, that does not change under any circumstance. Korrianna must be put to the torch and we shall keep killing and keep burning until we are the only ones left standing on this pile of ash,” said the Equerry, his voice like cold iron. “This is for Albia, remember that, lad. Igni Atque Ferro.” “Igni Atque Ferro.” Barka nodded and gazed at the hell around them. He most certainly remembered. 1st Oathblades were about to move when he noticed that one of the Ultramarines felled by Jebra was stirring on the ground. He bent down and dragged the legionary by the chestplate so they were face to face. Without saying anything, Barka held his revolver under the Ultramarine's chin and pulled the trigger. Jebra, Equerry to the Captain, Noctis Infernae; assault on Thule-Psi Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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