+Shadows in the Storm; The Siege of Korrianna Forge+

[ChaptermasterDemon7]

-Claps.- All of this stuff is truly, and fed me an idea for fluff for one of my lightning claw brothers in the Guardians >:). 

[Barabbas Sogalon]

http://imagizer.imageshack.us/a/img540/7443/MBdhcp.jpg

VIII LEGION, XXVI COMPANY "NOCTIS INFERNAE"

“We have seen our lands invaded by a brutal tyrant! Seen our lands put to the torch and our people slaughtered! The lands stained with our blood! But we still stand as a bulwark against the tyranny! For every drop of blood lost we have bled them by the thousands! Death might claim us all today, but we will die knowing that we Sons of Dusk made them fear the night! We die knowing that Albia will never bend her knee to tyrants! Never again shall our people live in servitude to foreign lords! Cha togar m'fhearg gun dioladh!”

- Seamus “the Iron Handed” Mak'Dugal, Clan-Captain of the Ironsides; last battle in the Albian War

HE WHO IS CALLED SAEVUS

Part 2

(Day 33)

Aliksandr. The Captain. The Lord of Infernal Night. Saevus. Those were his names. There was honour in names. Cold darkness surrounded him, the same darkness that had haunted every step of his existence. He looked down at the helmet in his hands. Blue-grey and crested with the faceplate fashioned in memory of the Ironsides, it stared up at him with empty black lenses. For several mortal lifetimes it had protected him and been the face he showed an uncaring universe. The helmet of a true Albian warlord. It was a worthless relic constantly reminding him of the suffering and long dead past. He threw it away and heard it hit the wall somewhere in the shadows. Flames were alive in the brazier in front on him, the charcoal glowing, but not even their beauty could keep the cold ghosts away. Saevus stared into the fire, never closing his eyes. The memories always appeared when he blinked, so he refused to do it. Faces and voices. Both of the living and the dead, mostly the dead, and he hated almost all of them. One he hated above all else. A man clothed in white and crimson, crossing the battlefield unarmed under a banner of peace. Lies on his lips. His thoughts always returned to Old Earth and Unification. It would have been better to die on the fields that day than being forced to serve a tyrant and the lesser men licking his boots. Humanity was weak and corrupted by its greed, lying little maggots clawing at each other in their desire for power. It was an unbreakable circle, the liberator proving to be a tyrant and then overthrown by the next self-declared saviour. Humanity should be left to burn, surrounded by its own filth. Why fight for them? The lesser men with all their cheap titles knew nothing of Old Earth or the sacrifices made in the Wars. Old Earth was the world Saevus once called his home. He had been blooded there, lost his brethren in trenches across the ruins of past greatness, and seen humanity for what it really was. It was like he could see old battles being fought in the flames, and his mouth twisted at the memories. Then he blinked in a moment of weakness. The head of the man marching in front of him exploded in a red shower. Earth should have belonged to the Sons of Dusk and to think that it had been within their grasp... it brought only pain. Another blink. He felt the kick of the auto-rifle in his hands, breathing heavily inside the gas mask. Was he the only warrior from Unification who could see the truth? The hopelessness in everything? Nineteen points of excruciating pain throughout his body. The flames turned bleak and lifeless as a darkness gripped him, scratching at the edges of his mind and making his hearts burn. Distant screams mixed with gunfire and detonations. He closed his eyes-

-and looked over the top of the trench, watching as the night burned. Red and pale green fires raged among the enemy fortifications and the sky was marked with lines from incendiaries and chemicals being delivered by cluster bombs. No man's land had been scorched black and a few embers still remained between burning wrecks and the torn corpses of countless dead. The mortal soldiers would not be missed, no one ever missed cannon fodder. Satisfied, Aliksandr returned his attention to the other legionaries in the trench. The VIII legion. Once they had been mortal and weak like the wretches dying on the battlefield, now they were the superior breed and mankind perfected. Their stormcloud grey armour had a red left shoulder pad and carried markings in the shape of lightning bolts and the legion numeral. Aliksandr looked at his bolter and enjoyed the thoughts of how much violence he could unleash in his new form. He was no longer the weak boy who failed to protect his homeland. The pain of the transformation had washed away all weakness.

“How far did the mortals get?” asked the legionary beside him. Krastor was his oath-sworn brother, the two had fought side by side since they were child soldiers sent to support the Ironsides. Both were clanless, having lost everything to the Giants with Thunder Banners.

“Sixty seven metres from the first trench.”

Krastor laughed, his voice like gravel. “Guess I won again. You have too much belief in the common man, brother.”

“Only by five metres, Namarik,” Aliksandr replied with a grin.

The ground shook as the artillery behind them opened fire. A proud city stood here thousands of years ago, but the bickering of tyrants had reduced it to twisted reminders of lost ages and with the current trench war only ashes would remain of the holdouts in the ruins. All tyrants must die. Aliksandr knew that short sentence well, as an Albian it had been hammered into his mind during his childhood in the trenches. He often thought of the irony, him now fighting for the same man who forced his people to bend their knee, but it was impossible to change the bitter reality. Albia had lost and the VIII was his home now; no one could take the legion away from him. Of course, he would never forget the past.

Something was happening out in no man's land and Aliksandr noticed a legionary, Sulai, who came running from the western trenches. The flamer carrying marine had been recruited from the prisons beneath Albia and though he was a capable fighter, he lacked the sense of honour found among the clansmen. Barbarous scum, Aliksandr liked to call those recruits.

“The IV is moving. Full frontal assault on the first trench and they are taking casualties.” Sulai also lacked the distinct Northern Albian accent.

Aliksandr looked up from the trench again. A horde of grey power armour charged across the scorched battlefield and through a hailstorm of autocannon fire, several legionaries falling dead to the ground. The IV legion was a tool and nothing more.

“Then why haven't we gotten the order? If those suicidal bastards want to get torn apart out there, then let them, but I won't stand here and watch.”

He sneered behind the helmet, feeling his blood boil as the killer awoke. The eyes of the foe as their life was extinguished, the smell of burnt flesh...

“The Centurion-”

Sulai had barely opened his mouth when Aliksandr cut him off.

“The Centurion is an incompetent lowborn cur without a single drop of Albian blood. He knows nothing of our ways.”

“He would have your head for saying that.”

Aliksandr suddenly felt the need to laugh.

“I'd like to see him try. Then we'll see whose head is rolling.”

A flashing rune inside their visor told them that the assault was seconds away. Finally. During the war in Albia, Aliksandr had been filled with dread the first time he went over the top, but now he felt only the longing to kill. He racked the bolter and turned towards Krastor, who was attaching a long bayonet to his weapon.

“Buaidh no bas,” said Aliksandr before they clasped wrists. “See you on the other side, brother. Albia Invictus.”

Krastor nodded. “Albia Invictus.”

The signal came as a sharp sound over the vox, like a whistle from ancient times. Aliksandr was among the first to leave the trench, watching two legionaries in front of him get mowed down before he began his charge. He focused only on the target, his thirst for death making him ignore the rain of hostile fire; if he was hit, he was hit, nothing he could do about it. Shrapnel was flung at his armour and he smiled at the harmless sound. The IV had broken through and their storming of the trenches turned Aliksandr's smile into a sneer, the risk of being left with picking up the pieces making his skin crawl. He realized he had passed the endpoint for the mortal assault when he no longer heard the sound of corpses under his boots, only sixty seven metres of burnt ground remained between him and the bloodshed. Sixty six, sixty five, sixty four... The tools had done a good job at drawing fire to themselves. Forty one, forty, thirty nine, thirty eight... He saw the soldiers in the first trench prepare for the incoming charge, the terror glowing behind the eye slits in their iron helmets. Thirty six, thirty five... Thunder sounded as cluster bombs detonated above. Twenty four, twenty three, twenty two, twenty one...

Aliksandr jumped into the trench, crushing a soldier as he landed before backhanding another to death. He opened fire at the packed ranks of men in both directions and watched their frail bodies get torn apart and the walls in the trench coloured red. It felt good. Other legionaries joined him, but he paid them no heed while he advanced through the grisly scene, executing all who entered his sights. The soldiers wore crude iron plating and pieces of chain-mail over faded green uniforms, all marked with runes painted in blood, and each carried a heavy auto-weapon that made more noise than damage. Apparently, the rabble belonged to a blood cult worshipping pieces of ancient machinery and Aliksandr had heard rumours of both psychic abominations and gene-breed berserkers pumped full of stimms; he wanted to see them burn. Several soldiers were killed when one of their tanks crashed front first into the trench after being struck by missiles. Pulling the pin and throwing an inferno grenade down a side trench, Aliksandr almost forgot the chaotic fighting as the occupants were engulfed by pure flame. He grinned while watching a cultist on fire with great interest. The charring, all hair just disappearing, the clothing melting into the man's flesh, his screams of agony, how he writhed and rolled on the ground in a failed attempt to survive. Death by flame was a horrible ordeal, but that made it so much more fascinating. They cleansed as well as killed. Aliksandr remembered the recent execution of the Southern Atlan secessionists and the burning of the hives; for hours he had watched the hungry flames and listened to the screams until there was only silence and black smoke left.

More of the VIII reached the trench and the ones carrying flamers began the task of burning cultists out of their hiding places in the pillboxes. Aliksandr moved through the inferno he had created and deeper into the network of defences, gunning down every mortal in his path. Krastor's voice crackled over the vox, his signal coming from the eastern end.

“Still alive?”

“Aye. You?”

“In the eastern trenches. Don't know how many weak-bloods I've gutted by now.”

“We'll compare numbers later, just keep 13th together. On my way to see an old friend.”

“You sure he lives?”

“Oh, he lives. Though, if he's dead I don't mind the extra glory.”

Krastor laughed, making the crackle even louder, then broke contact. Green light bathed the area as phosphex was unleashed in several minor trenches and the screaming rose to new heights. Aliksandr saw what he knew had to be the berserkers coming straight at him, a feeling of disgust for humanity crawling through him as he did. The creatures were taller than a normal man, but far shorter than an Astartes, and a combination of iron plates and chain-mail covered their freakishly overgrown bodies; stimm-injectors everywhere, helmets shaped like skulls and one had a chainsword where his lower right arm should have been. Wanting to spit acid, Aliksandr shot the head from the first one's shoulders and proceeded to empty the bolter at the charging chunks of tainted flesh. He grabbed his sword and dodged fast enough to avoid a chainblade aiming for the chest, striking back by drawing the sharp weapon across the berserker's exposed throat. The gurgling creature had barely fallen when another shouldered Aliksandr into the trench wall with great force. A stab in the gut only served to increase the “man's” violent rage, but rage also made people careless and it gave Aliksandr a perfect opportunity to ram a dagger through an eye slit. Then he went for the rest. He had never understood fascination some had for chainswords, anyone could wield a chainsword, but it took skill to master proper bladework. Why carve the opponent open when you could bring him down with a few precise and agonizing strikes? He had killed them with fire, now he did it with iron. He smiled. With fire and iron... it was a beautiful sound to that.

The last fell after the tendons in his knees were severed and Aliksandr finished him by stomping on the neck. He reloaded and moved, blade and bolter in hand, before others in the legion could reach him. Heavy shelling had devastated a meeting point between several trenches, leaving behind only rubble and unrecognisable body parts in a sea of dust. A soldier covered in blood and missing most of his left arm staggered out of a collapsed bunker; Aliksandr shot him in the chest as he ran past. More thunder in the sky before the ground shook and flames appeared all around. He finally found what he was looking for. Three legionaries from the IV were locked in combat with the berserkers outside a destroyed gun nest and many of their brothers lay dead in the corpse filled ditch behind them; tools indeed. One of the Astartes was literally a giant, standing taller than everyone else, who wielded a power fist and bloody chainsword with brutal efficiency, if unimaginative. He had lightning bolts on the chestplate and his helmet was one of the experimental variants with improved rebreathers. Menashe Tolvan; the eternal fatalist hailing from the warrior tribes on the eastern edge of the Dustbowl. Aliksandr raised his bolter and shot the cultist standing right in front of the giant in grey and black armour.

“You.” Tolvan turned to look at the Albian.

“Aye, me,” said Aliksandr and stabbed a berserker through the back.

The two had fought together several times the past months, but never seen eye to eye.

“Had enough slaughter today, Saevus?”

Aliksandr grinned. They liked calling him that, his brothers in battle. The righteous Shaul Kopernag of the XVI had been the first to use it after the rad-purge in the Panpacific. Was he to be labelled a savage for enacting vengeance on those who had oppressed his people in the past? The fate of tyrants had to be cruel to make up for the rivers of blood.

“I've barely started. And it looks like you're the ones being slaughtered here.”

Tolvan ripped the head off a cultist before disembowelling another with the chainsword. Brute force, like the rest of his legion.

“We are soldiers of the Emperor. Each of us is expendable in the name of Unification.”

“That might be true in the IV, but I have no intention of dying,” said Aliksandr, throwing himself at the berserkers. “One day we take to the stars, Tolvan. There you will keep breaking your backs in muddy ditches while the VIII forms the speartip that burns a path to glory.”

He punched a berserker until the skull cracked.

“You Albians and your damned talk of glory,” Tolvan growled. “Killing is all there is, killing is all there ever will be. We were bred to kill, as is our duty. Glory means nothing.”

Aliksandr laughed and kept laughing as he killed. Only a tool spoke such words.

“And that is why you will remain in the trenches, poor bastard. Soldiers are just bodies on a field, warriors are the ones who are remembered through the ages.”

Waves of phosphex burned to the north-east and Aliksandr allowed himself a moment to savour the sight after relieving a man of his head. He muttered a curse in his native tongue when an axe disrupted the view, blocking the handle and angrily shooting the berserker twice in the stomach before he impaled the creature. At least the berserkers had their hearts in the right place.

A wide grin appeared on his face. “I'll make sure to thank your broken corpses for their sacrifice when I claim the heads of tyrants!”

The final berserker died, gunned down by one of the IV, and Tolvan turned towards Aliksandr while flexing the fingers on the power fist.

“No matter what you tell yourself, you will always be an arrogant savage.”

Aliksandr was about to speak when he suddenly felt a cold pain inside his skull, and then it was as if he had been stabbed. All colour drained from his surroundings. A chilling voice started to whisper. A world. Without. A sun. It all returned to normal almost immediately. He blinked and-

-stared into the fire again. Old pain still gnawed at him. Saevus rose to his feet as the growing blackness devoured him from the inside, the ghosts of the past drowning slowly in the ancient hatred. Finally he saw nothing but flames. He hammered his scarred and tattooed fists into the closest iron wall, cursing the lack of pain. The next instant he was screaming in the Old tongue.

Aliksandr, He Who Is Called Saevus, VIII Legion

Tolvan, IV Legion

[helterskelter]

Excellent read! And cool minis! Will we see more?

[Flint13]

We look damn sexy in gray!

 

Quite a great read, buddy ^_^

[Barabbas Sogalon]

@ Helterskelter: Thanks! There will be some more Unification related in the future, I have mentioned the Albian war a lot haven't I? As for Old Tolvan, he might show up again in his "present" form.

 

@ Flint13: Thank you! That we do.

[Dantay VI]

The storiesare very enjoyable!

 

I also very much like the dulled bronze on Tolvan too. Has a nice patina to it, aged and worn, but cared for.  Is that a Tartaros power fist on him?

[Barabbas Sogalon]

Thanks!

 

I'm happy with how the bronze turned out. It's actually leadbelcher washed once with nuln oil, three times with agrax earthshade and once with seraphim sepia. The power fist comes from the mk II weapon set.

[GhostMalone]

http://i1279.photobucket.com/albums/y524/Taron_James_Beer/Mobile%20Uploads/MBdhcp-1_zpsttkn214r.jpg

 

 

 

http://i1279.photobucket.com/albums/y524/Taron_James_Beer/Mobile%20Uploads/ForgeWorldMiniatures-620x348_zpsys2lyhlh.jpg

 

 

XIIth Legion Astrates, XIVth Assault Company, Hounds of Hell

 

The true measure of an astrates is not how he lives but how he dies. It's not what they did in life but what they did before dying that proves there worth.

-frequency vox cast from Gladiator captain, Jariyah the Thrice impaled.

Guardian of the gates. XIIth Legion, XIVth company, from the ruins of istvaan iii

 

 

 

http://i1279.photobucket.com/albums/y524/Taron_James_Beer/7aa11045-24d8-42fe-b306-fed02f60142d_zps22ff142b.jpg

 

 

They say that once a man loses what he holds dear that he becomes invincible, not because he has nothing left to lose but rather because he has lost all that meant worth to him, for some people its love for others it's titles or wealth.

 

But for these last few brothers of the XIIth it was something more precious then anything you may hold to know as the truth.

 

Listen to my story, this may be their last chance.

 

The smell of scorched and charring galvanized steel filled the air and memories from a time without bloodshed and war emerged from the depths of his repressed psyche. a ganger around the age of fourteen was running through the bazzarr of one of Saturn's many factorium slums, the fear emanating from him was toxic and the crowds dispersed as his presence came hurtling through the crowds, the people were like a blur as he tore around the corners and jumped over stall tables frantically trying to loose his pursuer, fresh blood trailed from his tattered jacket and left a trail of ruby tear stains in his wake.

 

Fear of execution is what kept his footing.

 

Slowly his pace ebbed and waned till finally he felt safe, far now from the slums of the ring communities he found himself in the abandoned saturine fleet base, a labyrinth of barracks mess halls training facilities and genetic laboratory for the gene forged elite of his planet. Wondering through the isolated corridors seeking refuge to rest and hopefully outrunning his pursuers the young boy slowly progressed deeper into the labyrinthine maze.

 

++contact visible++

++genetic signature readout authenticated++

++looks like we've finally caught up to him++

 

The boy could hardly rest he endured as his body slowly gave up too fatigue, hiding in a ventilation shaft he listened for the approach of anything that might give away the position of his hunters.

But after 15mins of waiting in silence with only his shallow breaths being audible he believed he was clear.

 

He slowly released the grate hatch ensuring to gently release the hinges as to ensure minimal sound was made. He headed deeper into the facility continuing to check behind him for any signs of movement, alert to his surroundings yet unaware of his footing.

 

He turned into an adjacent corridor and he became overwhelmed with despair, standing in the middle of the hallway was a giant of a man almost twice the boys height and Thrice the girth.

 

"Boy you gave us a decent hunt but it's over now, just come with us and don't make this harder for yourself."

 

The youth trembled his fists tried to form a fist yet his body wasn't complying.

 

"Come now boy my master has use of you, he's not one to be made waiting."

 

The youth finally mustered some courage and turned to run back through the corridors and try lose his pursuer, his fear came back as he turned and saw another giant blocking his escape route.

 

"This one has potential Gaara but his fear is rancid are you sure it's worth it, couldn't we just kill him now or take him back to the fleet magistrate?"

 

The youth trembled and screamed.

 

"No I don't want to die please don't I I I didn't mean to kill that man, please don't take me back I'm as good as dead if the magistrate finds out what I've done."

 

The giant laughed

 

"So boy what do you think it is that you've done?"

 

The youth stopped trembling and straightened his composure.

 

"I took the life of an imperial official "

"So why did you do this?"

"Because he murdered my sister the last of my family."

"How do you know this?"

"Because my sister turned his proposal down and he promised it would be the last mistake she makes."

"So why shouldn't we turn you in or leave your corpse in these corridors where not even the carrion feeders will find you?"

 

The youth started to have his resolve falter as the giant started to move closer towards him. As the realization dawned that this wasn't some gene bred soldier these were the emperors chosen warriors the legion astrates.

 

"We know what happened boy we watched it transpire and we decided to see how far your resolve would carry you, this hunt has proven that you have natural ability but that fear of yours will be the death of you, now I present you with 2 choices."

 

"The first is to come with us, we are on our way to our muster world of Bodt. We have orders to meet up with the higher echelons as our father has been found. One of the emperors sons has been recovered and we wish to present ourselves to our gene sire. From here you will have an opportunity to prove your worth and see that instinct honed to a razors edge or you will die upon the sands."

 

"The second option I kill you now in cold blood and your existence to this point will be for nothing, what do you choose?"

 

"The child looked into the depths of the warriors eyes, seeing the depth of wisdom within the blacks of his dilated pupils."

 

"I don't truly have a choice do I?"

"There's always a choice child we had the choice to become warriors of the emperor or forgotten names in an ever growing empire."

 

The child composed himself and approached the astrates

 

"I choose to live and to fight"

 

The astrates removed his helm

 

"Well then I guess I'll be your teacher for the time being, my name is Jariyah"

 

 

 

 

 

http://i1279.photobucket.com/albums/y524/Taron_James_Beer/Mobile%20Uploads/2014-12-08%2008.18.28_zpspj5dpjvo.jpg

http://i1279.photobucket.com/albums/y524/Taron_James_Beer/Mobile%20Uploads/2014-12-08%2008.18.54_zpstfhxojvm.jpg http://i1279.photobucket.com/albums/y524/Taron_James_Beer/Mobile%20Uploads/2014-12-08%2008.19.20_zpsjkjd3cmo.jpg

http://i1279.photobucket.com/albums/y524/Taron_James_Beer/Mobile%20Uploads/2014-12-08%2008.19.43_zpsf7rm5l1d.jpg

 

Picture Capture; authorized redistribution approved, subject matter XIITH Legion Gladiator captain Jariyah, The Thrice Impaled, Guardian of the Gates.

[Slips]

Nice story though the names kinda made me giggle a bit :p

[GhostMalone]

Nice story though the names kinda made me giggle a bit :p

Yep been watching naruto from episode 1 up to episode 320 currently I love me some shippuden

[oldschoolsavant]

If I can currently destroy the blade of a craft knife removing pewter mold lines, you can too....... :D

[GhostMalone]

If I can currently destroy the blade of a craft knife removing pewter mold lines, you can too....... :D

I know I know :P

I'm just lazy I'll get on to it though still got more fluff to write up with my limited literary knowledge

[Flint13]

http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/800x600q90/633/J7LjS3.jpg

 

http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/800x600q90/903/kXMCDb.jpg

 

Shadows Fall on Severed Angels: Part 3

(Shadow fall +32 Local Standard)

 

 

 

 

 

"We have no sister."

~Matriarch of House Dan Elsan

 

 

 

 

Julianna dan Elsan saw her brother die.

 

The hulking form of Wolf of Worlds had burst from the cascading debris of a falling habstack like a marine predator breaching the tidal rush. Before the smaller god-machine even had a chance to readjust its ion shielding, the massive Cerastus pattern had ended its life in a violent beam of black plasma. With a rending crash of crumpling armored plate, Falconer felt to its knees, its face and chest a smoking ruin. There was no way anything biological even remained of Lohan dan Elsan, much less a possibility of life. The Cerastus roared its victory to the sky and with a savage kick to a buckled plastron, sent the smaller machine over backwards in a skidding wash of sediments.

 

http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/800x600q90/673/bRo48d.jpg

 

 

Julianna’s Knight Titan went berserk.

 

Kara Hakaen’s outraged bellow shook the earth itself as the mortis-cry of the Falconer echoed through the manifold network. With splay-clawed feet tearing the earth and pavement like a blood maddened kharnak, Thunder Daughter charged with barely a hint of suggestion from Julianna. She wouldn’t have even tried to avert the warspirit’s fury in those moments. Her voiced hardened to a flint edged razor as she barked into her vox-com unit.

 

“Harken, Tremor Child, TO ME!” She felt his own battle fury bleed into the manifold link as he accelerated towards her and the Cerastus.
 

Her right hand burned with Kara Hakaen’s need to fire everything in her possession at the towering Knight Lancer. Stubbers snapped to life, sending hundreds of medium caliber rounds rattling off the blue and black carapace. Julianna fired the battle cannon and snarled in fury as the high explosive round ricocheted harmlessly off of the Lancer’s ion shield. The sheer size of her father’s once proud Knight, now trailing bloody totems and torn banners, only phased her for a split second as she closed with it. The rage of Thunder Daughter’s need to kill washed any hesitation from her. In the screen of her onboard auspex, Harken’s tag pinged a close range acknowledgement. A second later, her younger brother’s stentorian shout crackled across the internal vox-emitters of the command module.
 

“Butcher the traitor, for the ICE and ASH!”
 

The Cerastus turned to face Thunder Daughter as she closed. It waited for her, titan killing lance held in a ready position. Her reaper blade roaring a hateful dirge, Julianna and Kara Hakaen lunged to meet the blue and black leviathan. Directly behind the towering Cerastus, she could see the powerful, hunched form of Kal Hadan, her brother’s Knight Errant, accelerating to close the gap and flank the defiled god-machine.

A savage smile tore Julianna’s lips back from her teeth as her reaper blade screamed across the surface of the Lancer’s gauntlet ion shield. She and Harken would tear a righteous vengeance from her worthless sibling, and she would take great joy in doing it.

 

http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/800x600q90/908/jvU2sB.jpg

 

They had the massive warmachine backing onto the defensive now, never giving it an opening to bring its titan killing weapon to bear. Julianna rained blows off of the Cerastus’ gauntlet shield as Harken darted in to snap his reaper blade into the vulnerable flanks of the Lancer. It was already bleeding machine oils and lubricants from half a dozen deep wounds. They had it now. Through the hail of information scrolling across Julianna’s manifold uplink, a Unit Disabled/Destroyed warning from her supporting units of Asimarr Quartidecima flashed red before disappearing into the data flow. She paid it no heed and thundered the reaper blade off of the shield once more. She could hear the howl of the ion gauntlet’s capacitors straining to keep charged even over the hammering shriek of her chainsabre.

 

A vox-link acknowledgement pinged into her consciousness. It was followed shortly thereafter by a voice that made glacial ice run the length of Julianna’s spine.

 

“Dear sister… did you follow me all this way, only to die screaming?” The words of Baronetta Jacquelyn dan Elsan were lilting, almost sing-song even through the minor vox distortion. If she were feeling the stress of her Knight Titan’s struggles, she let none of it show.
 

“You will pay for everything you have taken from us, you little bitch.” The hatred in Julianna’s snarl surprised even herself. 
 

“Julianna…” Jacquelyn’s voice turned her sister’s name into the final note of a melodic eulogy, “I’m going to enjoy killing you…”
 

Julianna heard the link die with a click. Before she could try to reestablish it, another flashing warning from her Asimarr support units scrawled past. Damn it, the Thallaxi units must be getting caught under Kara Hakaen’s feet in the fury of the combat. Two more flew past in the data stream even as she contemplated it. She slashed the datafeed into the corner of her command module with thought just as Kal Haldan brought his chainsabre arcing into the rear of Cerastus Lancer’s left leg. The towering god-machine trumpeted its indignant fury as it crashed to one knee.
 

Harken’s victorious growl reached Julianna’s ear like the first breath of air to a drowning woman. “Take your kill, Matriarch dan Elsan.”
 

The red eye lenses of the kneeling Cerastus glared into Julianna’s own eyes, its bladed maw seeming to scream in denied rage. The de facto head of House dan Elsan felt nothing but vindication, and the exultant, righteous fury of her mighty war mount as she brought the chainsabre high overhead.
 

“Die screaming… dear sister.” Julianna sneered and brought the howling chainsabre down in a decapitating arc.

 

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White hot pain flared in Julianna’s left ankle and Kara Hakaen bucked angrily. Several red warnings of breached coolant lines and damaged servos flashed through her datafeed. The injury, though minor, made the machine's weight shift. Her chainblade glanced obliquely from the upper carapace of Wolf of Worlds, and the Matriarch of House dan Elsan roared in aborted wrath. She could almost see the taunting glee in the visual receptor lenses of the defiled lancer as its head slowly rose from a condemned’s hang . Its serrated fangs no longer screamed in denied rage, but yawned wide in vindicated amusement.
The haunting sing song words were shocking in their clarity.

“Scream… dear sister.”

 

The Cerastus’ arm stabbed forward as it fired its shock lance at waist height and dead zero range. The black rod of plasma blasted through the waist gimbal of Kara Hakaen in a spray of atomized adamantine and ceramite armor plate. Psychosympathetic  pain ripped through Julianna’s groin and abdomen and she vomited a thin line of blood across her instrument panel. Thunder Daughter screamed her agony directly into her matriarch’s mind, paralyzing Julianna with the anguish of her injuries. There was nothing she could do besides flail her arms impotently as Kara Hakaen’s left leg sheared completely away from its hip mount, and sent the god-machine plummeting to the rockcreate roadway.

 

In the farthest corner of her vision, though unwitnessed and unappreciated, the single surviving support Thallaxi of Asimarr Quartadecima had linked an active vid-feed. Through the grainy pic captures, the loyal machine spirit relayed that its ammunition capacitors had drained completely, but it had tagged the only engageable assailants in the area for future elimination. A single blue-black armored Astartes and a smaller human wearing combat plate could just be made out, clamoring over debris kicked up by the rampaging war gods.

 

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“Julianna!” Harken’s appalled bellow was short lived. Kal Hadan lunged forward, reaper blade screaming, to glance from the red energy field of the gauntlet shield. Dispassionately, the Cerastus shrugged its massive shoulders, sending the sabre wide, and forcing Kal Hadan to over balance to recover. With a shriek of capacitors, the Lancer fired its titan spear into the side armor of the stumbling Tremor Child, blowing the pilot’s cabin and its occupant into molten slag. The mighty war machine completed its over wrought swing, to crash ungracefully into the earth, only meters from its sister engine.

 

With a howl of protesting servos, the Cerastus Lancer rose to its full height, forcing itself to rise. The red eyes glaring from under a bronzed brow turned again to the prone form of Kara Hakaen. Moaning softly within her pilot’s canopy, Julianna hovered on the edge of psychosympatheic shock. Her mind was barely holding together. The shrieking pain of Thunder Daughter's injuries, the mortis-cry of Kal Hadan still ringing through her synapses. Even then, she still understood the airy, almost amiable words that bled across her cabin’s vox emitters.

 

“Dear sister… I’m coming for you…”

 

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[BassWave]

Yay! More knights! You have been pumping out a lot of bright and striking color schemes lately, which is quite refreshing. I must say though, you left the scroll on the chainsword blank, and considering how much attention you usually put to details, I can only assume its because you haven't thought about what to write on it.

 

So now there's only the Castigator left, I can't wait!

[Argent aquila]

HOLY CRAP THAT WAS SUCH A VIVID READ.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Great story, great model, great thread :D

[Slips]

If only the Black Library open submissions weren't for a Deathwatch Squad in Combat Scene :( 

 

Oh well, their loss is our gain! Yay Flint!

[DimDim]

Liking the colors on the knight, and the damage to the face plate is bang on!

[Dantay VI]

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The beginning of the end or the end of the beginning?

In the flames he found old memories which until recently he remembered with fondness, now they were like ashes in his mouth.

His mind casting itself back to Fenris, to a simpler time, before this internecine war broke out between brothers and once brothers.

Fafnir Vol'kyr

Out on the ice… by the fire rested Fafnir & Keldane. They were in the midst of a hunt, looking to take down a great white-maned wolf, which had been terrorising the people of Asaheim and had even dared to attack the Aett itself.

Some said it was more than a wolf, others that it was a daemon of Hel taken of a feral aspect… One thing was for certain, it had to be taken down.

Sounds like just the task for Keldane… One of his many trials, maybe this one might actually see his thread cut… thought Fafnir

Fafnir started to flense some meat from the legbone of a grox that he had bloodily taken down earlier in the day. Keldane had asked why the need to kill the beast, but Fafnir so far hadn’t responded… Keldane was a bad star, an ill-omen. Nobody who waked the ice with him seemed to come back… As far as Fafnir was concerned the less he had to do with Keldane the better… Maybe this way his wyrd wouldn't infect Fafnir’s and they might make it through the hunt.

Let Keldane think the wolves an ignorant bunch of mjod swilling, hog feasting heathens, he will see through that illusion soon enough…

He hacked at the meat with one knife, he put strips of it on the end of the other and placed it over the fire… The flames sizzled and popped as the fat and blood fell away from the flesh and melted into the fire, adding a new aroma to the thick smoke.

“Why are you looking into the firelight Fafnir? It will destroy your night vision you know” came Keldanes sibilant voice.

Fafnir ignored him. Always questions he thought.. Why this? Why that? Why, why, why? Always followed by a statement of fact… He is like an oversized mewling child, what did I do wrong to be saddled with him? Thought Fafnir.

As Keldane opened his mouth to ask another question, Fafnir raised his hand and gestured silence. In a low rumbling voice Fafnir spoke.

“For the love of the AllFather, would you please stop with these incessant questions. Your ceaseless yapping is giving me a headache…Look at you in your midnight armour with your fancy lightning bolts and your fancy words. You think you are so much smarter than I, but I am interested to know. What you have learned from today on the ice?”

As Fafnir glared at Keldane from across the fire, Keldane sneered back.

“I have learned that you are a messy killer and a messier eater Fafnir of Fyth” replied Keldane “Look at your face, you should be named Bloodmane. Why have we stopped here, when we should be tracking this beast? Then we could At least go back to the Fang, get some real food and out of this biting cold?”

“Hmmph, so not much has penetrated that hard Nostraman head of yours then?” muttered Fafnir “Maybe a story to pass the time?”

Fafnir's shield

“A Fenrisian saga from the venerated Fafnir, I can hardly wait”

The flames crackled and after a moment or two Fafnir sighed & broke the uneasy silence.

“One spring day, a fox was prowling through the woods, looking for prey. He comes across a squirrel looking for nuts on the forest floor”

“What is it with Wolves and their stories of animals.. Don’t you have any women?” sniped Keldane with a malicious grin

“Silence whelp” growled Fafnir as he cuffed Keldane across the side of the head. “Listen & you might just learn something"

"The fox tried to catch the little squirrel, but it darted away and climbed up a tree branch and to safety.

You should leave said the squirrel a wolf is coming…

To which the fox replied. I am not afraid of the wolf little squirrel. You only have one plan to escape, and will not always succeed, but I am a fox. The most intelligent of animals and I have a thousand ways in which I can escape from the wolf”

“I always did like foxes, such cunning little creatures” said Keldane, eyes gleaming in the firelight

“Then you had better be fast, said the squirrel for here he comes…. The fox looked around and considered how best to escape the wolf, but it was too late, before he could make up his mind what to do, the wolf had caught him and made him his supper. When the wolf left, the squirrel climbed down from the tree and escaped”

“Stupid fox” sneered Keldane

“I thought you liked foxes” said Fafnir with a smirk “Maybe that will be your name, Blackfox. With your midnight armour. Besides you are much too small to be a true wolf”

“Stupid story then”

“But what does the story teach you?”

“Besides that squirrels can outclimb wolves and foxes?”

“Now you are being facetious” retorted Fafnir “Yes I know words which consist of more than 2 syllables, we aren’t all complete savages”

Keldane gave Fafnir an incredulous look as he continued.

“It teaches that sometimes 1 simple plan can be better than having a thousand elaborate plans, and often simplest is best”

“Like you, you mean? Sniffing like a dog at the outpost and thrashing in the snow with that beast like a wild canine all smeared in blood. The stupidly easy to follow drunken tracks you left behind us.That wolf thing could easily……” Keldane's voice trailed off as comprehension dawned on him.

“Easily what Keldane?" whispered Fafnir with a feral grin.

“It could track us here”.

“Exactly” replied Fafnir with a triumphant tone. “All that grubbing about at the outpost, I was checking its spoor, its fur the scents it left behind, its tracks. All things a good hunter should be able to do. Intelligence is the first thing you gather about your enemy before you strike”

“And what did you find out?” Keldane asked despite himself

“It is no ordinary beast and what we hunt here, you can never speak of outside of our great company, if we survive the night. It is a revenant. A ghost of what may come to pass. What we hunt is a wulfen, part man part beast and a lot more besides. I have learned that the wulfen is sick, it is weak and it is hungry. It must also have been truly desperate or suicidal to have directly attacked the Aett”

“If it is sick and weak, why not go out and hunt it down?” Asked Keldane

“Because it is still part man and I would see it die an honourable death, not like a trapped & cornered beast” spat Fafnir. "You forget that this wulfen was once like us and as such deserves our respect. The messy kill, makes it look like me and the animal are stricken, easy kills. He will smell the blood on the air and be attracted to it. So rather than chasing him over the ice for days on end, we lure him here and take him down. He can die with honour in battle”

“Or we die screaming” deadpanned Keldane

“Or there is that”

“Why Fafnir, was that an attempt at a joke? You know of all the Wolves I think I might actually grow to like you” smiled Keldane in a tone whih was not completely insincere.

“I bet you said that to all the others who went out on these quests and had their threads cut” said Fafnir trying not to smile despite himself.

“No, just you… So let’s see if we can break this wyrd thing of yours and try to get us both back alive eh?”

A hand rested on Fafnirs shoulder breaking his reverie.

Starkadr

“It is time to hunt Fafnir, Vykryl calls. Are you ready?”

As Starkadr walked away to join the pack, Fafnir slowly rose from his haunches. He unclipped his cloak & white maned pelt from his armour and tossed them on the fire.

Starkadrs shield design.....

“Our friendship is ashes, like this pelt of the wulfen we took down together on our first hunt, now I must take you down, like the beast you have become. You are my brother no more. I have been sent with my brothers to watch over the 13th and ensure their loyaly. But I know you are here and by the Allfather I will find you”.

With that he turned his back to the flames and stalked away to meet with Vykryl and to face his brothers....

To be continued.

I am sorry for resurrecting this thread, which hasn't seen the light of day for some time.

A long while ago, Flint adopted a wolf, and she named him Fafnir. She helped to arm & armour him, giving him his shield design and guiding how she wanted him to look (I believe the top-knot was at the top of the list).

She also told me about the siege of Korrianna and how cool it would be if a small force of Wolves joined the campign. But I am a notoriously slow painter and by the time I had gotten a few done Korianna it seemed had wound down and was destined to become another forgotten war among many.

I have already posted this story up in my WIP threads in a few of the sub-forums, but I asked Flinty if it was okay to put it here too, because this was where it all kinda started for me. I have never written any stories or fluff for my models before, so this is me dipping my toe in the waters and hoping a Hrossvalur doesn't gobble me up

I would appreciate feedback though, so let me know what you think of the story..

Most importantly thank you to Flint13 for getting me writing and painting a bit faster (glacial is better than a dead-stop).

My plan isnt to restart the Korianna siege or to take it over or anything, I am far too sporadic for that, both in painting and in attendance here on B&C. I just wanted to add a little something.