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++ March of the Legions: XX Legion ++

Hyaenidae

By Hyaenidae
in + AGE OF DARKNESS +

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Chickenleg Battle-Brother

Chickenleg

Posted
Posted

Lacking both hobby time and bits, I've managed to finish my oath just in time!

 

Legionnaire Alpharius

http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w194/darkman1111/alphalegionaire.jpg

 

http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w194/darkman1111/al1.jpghttp://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w194/darkman1111/al2.jpghttp://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w194/darkman1111/al3.jpghttp://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w194/darkman1111/al4.jpg

 

Pictured above is Solomon Duran, a terran born commander of the XXth legion.

 

Recorded as deceased over a dozen of times, reports suggest that his most trusted veteran legionnaires posed as him while Duran, clad in unadorned plate lead the company as a member of the tactical squads.

 

 

Vazzy Veteran

Vazzy

Posted
Posted

"Loyalty is such a...fluid thing. Who's to say where it lies."

 

15532813829_ff45c6ab7c_z.jpgUntitled by vazzy2012, on Flickr

 

[Confirmed footage of Astartes XX legion Headhunter Neiras during boarding of XII legion Vessel Warmonger]

 

 

15533269098_e85e486e8c_z.jpgUntitled by vazzy2012, on Flickr

 

[Neiras carries the Eldar soulstones of 3 different Farseers,recovered from IIIrd legion elements on Istvaan V,he would be lost whilst engaged against XIIIth legion warriors on Garrum]

Balthamal Venerable Brother

Balthamal

Posted
Posted

Ok after weeks of providing nothing due to: Waiting for models, waiting for paint and (most importantly) being too hungover to contribute anything, time to get my act together so here is the 1st WIP of Ruin, Champion of the XXIII Legion

 

http://i1299.photobucket.com/albums/ag78/chud395/20141115_211808_zps93f823cf.jpg

Castiel Veteran

Castiel

Posted
Posted

Here we go, as promised. Heathens said this was an allowable model, provided I produced some badass fluff to go with him, which I hope I hae delivered. I may have gotten carried away and written about a thousand words to go with him. ph34r.png But without further ado I present Captain Nesh, Commander of Ambush Cadre Sigma: (Apologies for the bad photo, my phone camera is awful sweat.gif )

http://i1246.photobucket.com/albums/gg605/Castiel25/Mobile%20Uploads/IMG_20141125_135811_zpsca3aec05.jpg

Captain Nesh of Ambush Cadre Sigma watched the first enemy vehicle swing into view through his scope, the hulls of the armoured vehicle painted in a stark green. He glanced down at the auspex in his hand, confirming the designation of the tanks from their engine heat source. A Predator, 3 Rhino APCs and a Land Raider Proteus. The Predator leading the convoy panned its turret carefully over the surrounding terrain as it approached, as the first Rhino hove into view. Using hand signals, he relayed the information and orders of attack to the rest of his force, ordering his contingent to prepare for battle.

At his command was a force of the XX Legion Astartes, the Alpha Legion. They had lain in wait, dug in and ready for the past two days for their target to arrive. Vigilator-Lieutenant Delsus and an accompanying Headhunter Kill Team armed with the new Banestrike ammunition were carefully hidden along the kill-box area, swathed in chameleoline and safe from enemy detection. 30 Tactical Marines, mounted in their own Rhino APCs waited for the attack to begin before their transports would burst from the bushes when their engines would roar to life and carry their deadly cargo to join the battle. A squad on jetbikes also awaited his command. But mightiest of all were the two Sicarian tanks lying hull down and heavily swathed in camo nets in strategic locations overlooking the fire zone. The first was the standard Sicarian patterm armed with the accelerator autocannon, a fearsome weapon that would make mincemeat of light vehicles and heavy infantry with ease. He second was Nesh's pride and joy, the mighty Sigma-Alpha Venator pattern Sicarian with the utterly destructive Neutron Beam Laser, which could turn any armoured opponent into scrap metal in an instant. The engines of these powerful machines were stilled and silent, with only the systems required for target acquisition and firing the guns active.

The order of battle was simple, but sure to be effective. As the Land Raider entered the kill-zone the Sigma-Alpha spoke. An eye-searingly bright pulse connected with the Predator leading the column, wrecking the tank as a huge hole appeared in its side, the metal and ceramite armour protecting the vehicle useless is it flashed away to nothing. The tank's crew were either vapourised instantly or cooked in their armour from the sudden flash of heat. To their enemies credit they reacted quickly, the Rhinos swiftly attempting to fan out while the Land Raider halted and sought for targets. However, the green-armoured warriors were not as quick as Alpharius' sons.

With a whine of gravitic repulsors the jetbikes swooped down, darting for the Land Raider, while the Sicarian opened up, its autocannon opening a series of craters down the side of a Rhino, before a shot pierced the armour and killed the driver. Another Rhino became bogged down in the soft dirt at the side of the road as it sought cover from the hail of incoming fire. Meanwhile the underslung heavy bolters on 2 of the jetbikes had proved ineffective against the armoured behemoth, however a well-placed shot from the bike carrying the multi-melta had succeeded in knocking out the engine of the machine, causing it to grind to a halt.

Realising that to remain in their transports would be their doom the green warriors bailed out, seeking to take cover behind the vehicles on the far side of the road. 30 Tactical marines and a squad of 5 Terminators in Tartaros pattern armour emerged from the transports. Several of the tactical marines fell as the jetbikes performed an attack run over the combat zone. At the appearance of the terminators the Sicarian switched targets, its accelerator autocannon flensing one in a storm of rounds. The gun on the Sigma-Alpha spoke again, this time striking the Land Raider. It inflicted critical damage, a fire taking hold in the damaged engine of the machine, before the fuel tanks exploded. Whickering shrapnel struck the Terminators, causing severe damage to several of the suits, but the stout armour held strong against the storm. Unnoticed by his brothers amidst the carnage one of the Terminators went down as a banestrike round found the lens of his helmet, killing him instantly.

The three Alpha Legion Rhinos burst from the bushes, skidding to a halt in a protective formation as the ramps slammed down, the marines on board quickly disembarked and took up positions, engaging their opponents in a brutal short ranged fire fight. Suddenly, the opposing marines sheltering behind their damaged and destroyed vehicles began to fall as shots from the carefully hidden Headhunters began to take their toll on the enemy lines. As their opponents reeled in confusion the XXth legion tactical squads took advantage of their inattention, swarming out from behind their cover to engage the remaining enemy in close quarters. Seeing what was happening the Terminators sought to move to help their brethren, but pounding fire from the Sicarian and jetbikes impeded their advance, and they could only watch helplessly as their outnumbered brothers were cut down.

The Alpha Legion forces quickly realigned, closing the ground on the three remaining Terminators. Weight of fire took its toll on the heavily armoured warriors, two of them falling as a hail of mass reactive bolter fire shredded their armour, but not before their own combi-bolters had claimed several Alpha Legion lives in return.

The final warrior standing was marked out as a commander of some note by the red comb on his helmet. Alone and outnumbered he fought on, his power fist claiming several more lives before he was finally disabled by multiple knife blows to weakened joints and cracks in his armour, rendering his limbs useless as he toppled to the ground with a roar of indignant rage. Once the target was gagged and bound Lieutenant Delsus broke radio silence for the first time since the operation began.

“Sigma-Alpha, this is Sigma-Beta. The target is secured.”

“Confirmed, Sigma-Beta. Prepare to fall back to point Kappa-Gamma.” Captain Nesh replied. He was satisfied with the mission progress. 34 dead enemy marines and 5 enemy vehicles destroyed and an important command asset captured for interrogation, for the loss of 11 Alpha Legion. The bodies of the fallen XXth Legion were collected, and soon there would be no evidence that might suggest the Alpha Legion had been there at all.

apologist Venerable Brother

apologist

Posted
Posted

The Tongueless War
For the simple reason that no-one was there, no-one saw the Legion arrive. No-one saw the Legion leave, because by that point, there was no-one left alive.
 

IMG_4076.JPG

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One of the many thousands of counter-Compliance actions undertaken by the Treacher-Legions during the Horus Heresy, the Mos Cumbra campaign – later to enter Inquisitiorial annals as the Tongueless War – saw the Alpha Legion attacking the isolated loyalist garrison on the dustbowl world of Mos Cumbra.

Information on the campaign, as with almost all Alpha Legion actions, is difficult to confirm as absolutely true or false. However, the following information provides the basic overview of the campaign with which supplicants for the rank of interrogator are presented before they are asked to analyse the events and provide their own conclusions.
 
Isolated since M31.969, the loyalist elements were likely completely unaware of the events unfolding in the rest of the galaxy. While the Alpha Legion's aims remain ambiguous, it seems likely that their intention was to advise the Imperial garrison that they were to be relieved, then overwhelm them as they redeployed.
Beyond acting as a stepping stone into the distant Clarion Stars, the dusty planet had little strategic value. Nevertheless, the short-lived campaign seems to have been one of dirty, scrappy and unsatisfactory action as the mercurial XXth deployed against isolated bands of warriors every bit as resourceful and adaptable as themselves.
 

IMG_4078.JPG

Arriving with a full broadcast, the Alpha Legion's attempt to contact the garrison received no acknowledgement. As their infiltrated reconnaissance forces failed to find the garrison, the expedition was gradually forced to prevaricate, broadcasting increasingly less likely scenarios to explain their delayed landing, all of which fell on a seemingly empty vox. Before the delays could become unreasonably suspicious, the Alpha Legion were obliged to deploy. With Imperial banners a-flutter at their declared landing position, the Alpha Legionaries found no-one present to meet them.

Contact was likely made on the thirteenth day. An Alpha Legion recon patrol failed to report. Four were never seen again, and the remaining member was found bound and null-hooded two days later in the Meretrician desert, dozens of miles from their last known point of contact. On recovery, the Legionary was found to be thrall-tranced, incapable of action beyond reciting a coded message. Analysis using the embedded Imperial idents – old but valid – allowed the XXth to recover a simple, stark warning: Leave. Stay Away.

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Galled into action – or perhaps simply intrigued by a foe seemingly able to see through his ruse so completely – Lieutenant Commander Lasko ordered deployment on a war footing, with simple orders to engage and destroy any forces on the planet, regardless of their provenance.
 
Radiating from the Lin Plateau, where their colleague had been recovered, the Alpha Legion gradually met pockets of increasing resistance. Cloaked by squally dust-storms, Astartes groups ranging from in size from small units to full strike forces began to harry the Alpha Legion columns over the following month; each fading into the scything dust as the Alpha Legion turned to meet them.

The assailants remained unidentified until the fortieth night of sporadic fighting. A group was finally surrounded and brought to bay around an abandoned settlement, where they were forced to hole up. Slowly but surely, the Alpha Legion company identified and closed potential escape routes as the dawn drew closer, even as they fought off rescue attempts from other groups of the mysterious ambushers. Lasko had been surprised by the enemy's willingness to combat his forces – but was more concerned by their apparent ability to do so effectively. He had anticipated that the experiences of the Isstvan campaign would give his troops the edge, but reported casualties seemed to be remarkably even, especially taking into account the Alpha Legion's frustrating ability to recover seemingly confirmed kills.
 


 IMG_4079.JPG

 
At last, the Alpha Legion showed their consummate skill in their assault on the town, seemingly dropping resistance at two projected lines of retreat, then launching their assault. The unknown force broke for freedom – not through the most obviously weakened, but through the other. This was a fatal mistake. Lasko's double bluff ensured the swift defeat and capture as the Astartes broke through a weak first line before hitting a tangle of Legion killzones, where they were swiflty bracketed and destroyed. Inexplicably identified as VI and VIII Legion troops, Lasko was baffled. The Nostroman and Fenrisian warriors had famously had an antagonistic relationship throughout the Crusade. What had alloyed the groups together so effectively – and further, why were they holding so furiously against 'Imperial' relief?

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With the dead deserts broken only by sibilant vox hisses and wordless snarls, the so-called Tongueless war proved short. Hopelessly outnumbered by the Alpha Legion, and with no support, the enemy force was ground down in isolated pockets. Records of the war are understandably patchy; being pieced together from Alpha Legion propaganda and records of the Mos Cumbrans themselves. This is particularly so for the final events of the war. They are known to have involved a parley – in some accounts, a surrender – on the part of a Captain of the VIII Legion named Hestor Raal. Records of such a figure are not found in Imperial records, though a similar name elements are known in records of the Night Lords prior to the Heresy; and it is entirely possible that the notoriously poor communications of the VIIIth simply failed to report his enrollment into the legion.

If such a meeting did occur, and Lieutenant Commander Lasko attended personally, it seems possible only on one pretext – that the Alpha Legion were offered something they could not resist: information. A delegation of XXth Legion serfs was reported to have gathered at an otherwise unremarkable point in the Whispering Galleries three days prior to the end of the war, an action interpreted by most Inquisitorial staff as an Alpha Legion deployment to answer a call from the hitherto silent VIth-VIIIth legion force. The cloak of silence resumed immediately, and the delegation were returned apparently unharmed to their initial drop-point.

This must have been a point of concern for Lasko, as the drop point would have been studiously hidden – likely double-blindly. Faint encrypted broadcast records drawn from the Legion vessel identified as Epsilon – recovered in M38 as part of the scuttled space hulk The Cell of Revulsion – indicate that a second offer of parley was made. Inquisitorial reports suggest it is possible that Lieutenant Commander Lasko, astutely attended by a large group of veteran Legionaries, met with a tattered handful of survivors. The evidence is scanty: a single vid-capture shows a group of Astartes in dust-scoured ceramite, armed Legion serfs and thralls, and Terran Invigilators. The otherwise unremarkable image was initially assumed to show an Alpha Legion cell, but a single figure, mostly obscured by a Legionary, is shown in Mos Cumbran native attire.
 


IMG_4082.JPG


Further analysis of the image reveals an identifiably Nostroman Astartes – the sclera of his eyes are black and wormed through with blue veins; the latter detail discounting photofilter lenses known to be in use by the XXth. Coupled with this image is a tantalising vox-record. Tenuously chrono-synced to the period, we hear a badly distorted voice broadcast on Astartes' battle-frequencies, apparently replying to an introduction.
'Is it so? I must conf-DISTORTED-ressing a Pr-DISTORTED-easure – even if he has suffered the humiliating diminiDISTORTED-o the rank of Lieutenant Comma-DISTORTED.' A mnemo-scan reveals a slip of black humour at this point; though the regret that becomes apparent in the speaker's voice is clear even to the non-psychic.
'DISTORTED-both know h-DISTORTED-rprised by the Throne's actions; though my Fenrisian collea-DISTORTED-in itself be sanctioned. Let my final repor-DISTORTED-ders were completed. The Clarion St-DISTORTED-ompliant.'

Whether these intriguing events are in fact related to the so-called Tongueless War is largely irrelevant in terms of when it came to an end; but it is recorded as one of the final campaigns in which the Night Lords fought as loyalists – however unknowingly. Such is the divisive effect of the Alpha Legion's modus operandi: the effects of treachery are often far-reaching; and ripples have a nasty habit of returning to disturb the initial actor...

 

 

IMG_4081.JPG

StruManChu Venerable Brother

StruManChu

Posted
Posted

Truno Stother had arrived on Isk’hendaron, as it would be known, with no more than his modified Mk IV armour and a power knife. Why a lone Astartes had been sent to a pre-compliant world with so little resource was a question asked only by those unfamiliar with the methods of the Alpha Legion. His arrival had been the almost immediate precursor to the deaths of no less than 14 of his distant cousins, their rich Astartes blood mingling with the crimson stone of the world. There were to be no witnesses, after all. He simply did what was required of him.

Luther of the First had long been suspected by the Twin Primarchs of wavering in loyalty to his distant Primarch, and this mission had been tasked to Stother by Omegon himself. He had parted with the fleet as it mustered for the journey to Chondax and confrontation with the V Legion, taking a Hermia-class Comms ship to the edge of the Caliban system with very specific orders to wait for a signal from within the Rock.

He did not have to wait long. Within a fortnight, he’d received a data packet showing a Strike Cruiser designated the ‘Obsidia Victorix’ and a single name… Aratus Numeniah. He’d been able to board the ship shortly before its departure, and had located Numeniah a matter of hours after the Obsidia Victorix had translated into the Warp. Numeniah and thirteen more of the First Legion had disembarked at Moriah Beta. These Dark Angels were skilled, blending into crowds, using and discarding displacer fields as they boarded various transport and cargo ships at ports across the Galactic North, never once needing to use their authority as the Legiones Astartes to move unquestioned through the masses of humanity.

They were undeniably good. But Stother was better. Stother was an Operative, a specialist of the Alpha Legion. He was an agent of his Primarch’s unified will, a weapon in their hands. He had trailed them unnoticed, like a shadow, for eight long months until they’d commandeered a small Freight craft on course for Rangda, deep in the Halo Stars. The fourteen Astartes had corralled the crew in the Enginarium, killing all but the Navigator in a ritualistic fashion that Stother did not recognise nor understand, learned though he was in the traditions of the First Legion. The bodies were hung by their feet above the warp drive, the blood of the ship’s entire crew spilling out from wounds and patterns that Numeniah had very carefully cut into their flesh. This was not an act that the Dark Angel had been hasty with, and for all of his training and detachment, Stother had felt increasingly uncomfortable watching this unfold from his vantage point high in the chamber, unwelcome waves of nausea washing over him.

It was not long after this that the ship had entered the warp and, despite the obvious distress of the Navigator, made a relatively calm journey to a distant, as yet unknown world. The Freighter, a snub-nosed vessel with a broad wingspan that afforded atmospheric flight, touched down on the red rocky surface of a world that might have once been mistaken for Mars. As the Legionnaires of the First gathered their wargear and left the ship, Stother slipped out of the darkness and made his way to the Navigator’s hold. He had taken no pleasure in dispatching the feeble woman, but in truth, he took no pleasure nor pride in any of his undertakings. He simply did what was required of him.

By observing each of the 14 Astartes of these last months, he had gleaned from them a list of weaknesses and shortcomings; habits and oversights that could cost them dearly in an unguarded moment. He was ready. Tiny homing beacons placed amongst the Dark Angel’s gear during the voyage to this red world gave him both their location and an advantage. Triangulating their locations, seeing the patterns of their patrols and the focus of their interest, Stother’s next series of actions formed in his mind. The closest were no more than three standard kilometres from the ship. This would need to be done quickly.

As he neared the source of the transponders a vast expanse opened up before him, revealing a crude temple-like structure at the centre. He knew that as soon as he killed the first Legionary that the rest would be aware of his presence among them. Their overlapping patrols and contingencies were a frustration. The Dark Angels had no reason whatsoever to believe that anyone in the galaxy knew they were there, yet their vigilance allowed them no ease.

Of Numeniah’s Astartes, only two had caused him any trouble. He’d killed the first three easily; lone sentries expecting no trouble who had put up a competent fight, but Stother was far beyond a competent fighter. He’d been sure to cut each of their throats. He couldn’t risk them raising the alarm, and his instructions had been clear… no witnesses. Stother had been able to plot a route down into the depression based on the remaining hidden transponders and, breaking into a run, didn't miss a single step on his way through the remaining sentries. He had been taught well.

As he reached the base of the crater, stealth and subterfuge were no longer required. The two remaining Astartes stood sentry at the temple’s only entrance, and expedience was preferable to complexity. They had seen his approach, as he knew they would, and brought their bolters to bear as broke into his final sprint. It would do them no good. Stother pulled the salvaged Volkite Charger and Shotgun from his back, and spent all the ammunition they contained.

The two Dark Angels were stubbornly unmoved by Stother's cascade of return fire, standing unmoved and seemingly unharmed as he reached close quarters. Dropping both of his guns, he pulled his power knife from a sheath at his hip and went to work. They were the best of the Dark Angels by far. The difference between Stother's death and the mission's success had been a quickly reversed knife grip allowing a sharp strike into an eye lens, and and a hard kick to the throat of the other Legionnaire. Ending the fight exactly 17 seconds after it had began, Stother had made sure that these final two guards were dead, and ventured into the temple.

He'd found Numeniah deep in a crypt, kneeling before an altar chanting something in a language that did not originate from Caliban. The crypt was small, despite the size of the temple, a few short rows of pews split by a central aisle. There was no obvious way that Numeniah would be able to use the space to his advantage in the coming fight. Stother made his presence known. Numeniah did not react well.

“What?! What have you done, bastard’s son? Where are my brothers?! Don't you kn..”

Stother had blink-clicked his helmet’s audio receptors to cancel out the frequencies of Numeniah’s voice and simply waited for him to finish his diatribe. Once he had, Stother spoke for the first time in close to a Terran year.

“I have killed your Navigator, and set in motion the inevitable overloading of your ship’s warp drive. Either you will die here by my hand, or you will be atomised when the world around you explodes.”

Numeniah had charged at him then, furious and undone. The fight was swift, and none of it was in the Dark Angel’s favour. It ended with Numeniah disarmed and suffering from no less than 26 wounds from Stother’s Power Knife, his punctured limbs and torso slowly leaching away his lifeforce as he sank to the stone floor.

And so Truno Stother, Operative of the XX Legion, waited. By his estimation, the freighter’s warp core would overload in no more than twenty minutes. Even if he’d desired it, he wouldn’t have time to repair the overload. Omegon had be completely clear… “Kill them all, Truno. Leave no witnesses.”

He simply did what was required of him.

gallery_67188_8872_12376.jpg

This was great fun, and I'm really looking forward to seeing what comes out of next month, both from myself and everyone else. Thanks to the newly-christened Hyaenidae and the other mods for running it!

StruManChu Venerable Brother

StruManChu

Posted
Posted

@Reyner - Very simply, I basically painted it as an Iron Warrior with highlights etc. and then stuck a few coats of Guilliman Blue and Waywatcher Green over the top of it, then went at the detail.

 

@lokkorex - Thanks for your kind words! I can't believe you read the whole thing!

ImpiousSmart Battle-Brother

ImpiousSmart

Posted
Posted

I won't get time before month end to get some weathering on there and fix a few things... so here's my entry:

 

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http://i44.photobucket.com/albums/f13/ImpiousSmart/d0007f97-c3e1-4dd3-99c3-030b38244905_zps3b65b522.jpg

 

Ghatafan watched the Iron Hands make their final preparations. He'd been watching them for 3 days and as many nights, setting up fire lanes, establishing redoubts and organising what precious little forces they had. Facing one of the 3 legionary forces preparing to assault their position would a hard fought affair, but against all 3 there was no hope.

 

Ghatafan knew it, and he knew his former brothers of the 10th would know it too. He'd seen enough occularis dart through the rubble to know the enemy knew fully was was about to assault them. They'd know about the World Eaters massing to strike the left flank, about Fulgrims warriors in position in the centre, and Ghatafan was sure they'd know about some of his forces positioned further back on the right too. He was extremely skilled in the aspects of concealment and stealth – any marine becoming a vigilator in the XXth legion had to be – but he had enough respect and understanding of the 10th to not underestimate them.

 

He diverted his concentration from the front line to assess his own forces. Fifty metres away he knew his Headhunters were in position, though even he couldn't trace them in the dark corners of the former hab block. Further back he could make out Murud tactical squad and the armour he'd been allowed to co-opt for this mission. All were waiting for the signal as Ghatafan had instructed – one shot from his modified Tigris pattern bolter and the unmistakable sounds of Mahrah's precision bombardment. Mahrah was somewhere near the Headhunters, though completly obscurred. The coordination between the two warriors needed no vox-link, they had worked in harmony since proving themselves during the trials as part of the same team. Mahrah would bring his strike down within seconds of Ghatafans strike, of that he was sure.

 

Ghatafan looked back in the direction of the enemy lines, but past the black clad men stationed amidst the makeshift barricades. The manufacturum. That was where his prize was, but there was no way he would have been able to get there without the most unexpected help from his brothers in the 3rd and 12th. The problem Ghatafan had to solve, however, was making sure he could get there whilst the World Eaters and Emperors Children were still engaged with fighting. There was no way he could risk them getting to the manufacturum first and destroying or claiming his prize. The ignorant fools wouldn't know what to do with such an object, by now they were beyond reason or intelligence, according to Ghatafans assessment, slaves to masters they could never possibly comprehend nor satisfy. But they would prove useful for him first if they could occupy the Iron Hands without overcoming them too readily so his legionnaries could flank round to the objective.

 

He smiled a little inside his helm. For all the scouting, for all the plans and tactical scenarios drawn up, Ghatafan always took pride in his own little truth – What you can see is not real, only that which you know.

 

It was time.

 

Ghatafan raised his bolter to his enchanced visor scopic-lens, and acquired the purple clad Champion of the 3rd in his sights. Mahrah would have the 12th legion's jetbikes locked into his orbital relay.

 

He pulled the trigger. He saw a purple head jerk back and down. A second later an explosion registered in his vision and a confirmation in his vox.

 

Things were a little more even now.

 

”Flanking strike theta-1-delta-2-6 commence. Engage only when necessary. Secure asset and proceed to extraction point”

KBA Veteran

KBA

Posted
Posted

http://s28.postimg.org/n0o4mj00d/XX1.jpg

http://s28.postimg.org/un5op5m8d/XX2.jpg

http://s28.postimg.org/4qc0cjikt/XX3.jpg

http://s28.postimg.org/ojo458vyl/XX4.jpg

http://s28.postimg.org/ah26q9qkt/XX5.jpg

 

Light’s Disk, the planet’s third, and biggest, moon shone bright in the night’s sky, illuminating the battlefield with light not of its own. Reflecting the system’s starlight into a pale radiance, as if casting some ancient cantrip, it enveloped everything from roaring tanks to the silent dead in steely mist. He looked upon the moon then, it’s haunting glow revealing his warplate from a thousand darknesses, futilely, as no one within three hundred paces would have connected brainstems to receive ocular witness. Where the rays would not go, however, were into the dwellings of his helm’s brow – recessed twin black holes eating the light, refusing to cough up any sort of reflection. His helmed head hung down; a predator unafraid, bored almost. He rose from a knelt position, the plume of his rank like feathers of a headdress from ancient Terra. Scanning the sky slowly, his head darted west.

A comet in the sky at first glance. A second glance magnified and enhanced by onboard systems a hundred fold revealed the truth: a lone Raven seemingly lost from its flight. A Moritat? Disappointment as the onboard systems did their telescopic magic more over. A messenger maybe? The XX Legion’s perfectly laid counter-measures would have silenced any sort of long-range communication. Before the thought had fully registered, his mag-locked bolt rifle was disengaged from his power plant, slung around his waist and into his hands, forearms launching towards shoulders, locking, with his finger a flurry of motion. Three shots rang through the night’s mist sounding as one.

 

Two hits. Lower thigh. The wind took the blame without much of a grimace given: a lone bolt had struck, and ruptured, the Raven’s flight pack’s fuel line. Waning downwards toward a pile of broken ruin, the comet in the sky grounded with harsh impact. Auspex in one hand, the device already feeding him a range of intel, he drew his power dagger in the other. A low haze of green light joined that of Light’s Disk, running hot off the edge of the blade. It was time to hunt.

KBA Veteran

KBA

Posted
Posted

@ KBA - I tried so hard to like that more than once, but the board won't let me sad.png

KBA, I have a feeling that the use of Tartaros shoulders on power armour marines is going to become a popular choice. Really great idea. Love the painting and background, too – very atmospheric.

Flint - Stoopid board :( lol thanks for the high praise.

Apologist - I like the results, and am glad you dig the pauldrons too. I'm thinking they'll suit the Ultramarines best. Something about them screams roman legions to me. Thanks for checking out the fluff :)

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