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++ March of the Legions: XIX Legion ++


Hyaenidae

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The rumble of distant artillery echoed across the shattered hills of Isstvan V, loud enough to drown out the screams of the damned. The world was fated to be the scene of a massacre, and now that its role had been played, Isstvan V slowly died from the hells unleashed upon it. Weapons too terrible to name had brought death in numbers that seemed impossible, in a battle that should have never been fought, starting a war destined to claim trillions. While the battle had come to a tragic end months ago, a silent war was now being waged. The victors now prowled the barren plains and remnants of once continent spanning forests hunting the traces of the vanquished. The shattered Legions, scattered to the four corners in an almost futile attempt to escape, embraced any terrain to hide themselves from their hunters.

 In this war of ambush, assault and escape, the remnants of the Raven Guard Legion found themselves constantly on the move, for any attempt to rest and regroup brought the hunters and death closer. While the goal of the survivors was to link up with their Lord, many of scattered bands were prevented through the blundering of the World Eater armored columns. The remnants of the Raven Guard fought and fled, but their numbers were few and dwindling while their pursuers seemed to be ever present. On the 98th day of their breakout and flight across the Urgall Depression, the Raven Lord and those of his sons he could save were delivered from the World Eaters wrath. Through cunning and desperate courage, a small fleet from Deliverance had managed to extract the remnants of the Raven Guard Legion from hell.

A small band of survivors had missed the extraction. They numbered just five, and they quietly watched as the rage of the World Eaters carried them through missile volleys in a vain attempt to engage the Raven Guard before they could board their ships. Though the five shadows could see their Lord without aid of the helmet’s optics, they were prevented from joining the exodus by a tide of white armored berserkers. They had fought without stop for days, killed foes with bolter and combat blade, in anger and in silence. They thought if they moved fast enough they might escape this walking nightmare. If they could feel anything, they’d feel despair, maybe even anger at their current situation. But such emotions had been burned from them over many midnight murders. Now they only had one goal, one desire: vengeance for the dead, vengeance for the living.

The Mor Deythan turned from their denied escape and faded back into darkness. 

 

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WLK

The searing ringing tore through his eardrums, stabbing his brain like hot shrapnel, as his crumpled form struggled to right itself. Finally turning over and leaning on his back, his fingers scraped and scratched at his helm’s release, desperate to end the noise. Vacuum-sealed clasps disengaged with a hiss he couldn’t hear as he threw the malfunctioning Mark IV Destroyer Pattern Astartes helm to his side. Recollecting himself and his surroundings, Veteran Sergeant Tills hung his head down in defeat.

The Eastern Valley had fell to Household Ferrand, the traitor Knights outnumbering and overwhelming the Legio Atarus God Engines. A simple vox-transmission could have warned the Ultramarine 433rd company that their flank had collapsed, but communications had been in disarray upon planet-fall. His squad had been ordered Carrier-Pigeon Protocol. Tills let out a laugh that showered his morning-lit surroundings in sardonicism, but not from the ancient Terran-borne metaphor. The mission had been a tragedy – no, comedy -- of errors that started with his Storm Eagle evading a shower of battle cannon shells on lift-off only to later bathe in the subsequent volley of heavy stubber fire that followed, the pilot careening away off intended course and right into the well-timed swipe of a Reaper Chainsword.

Bailing out on roaring jump jacks, he and his surviving destroyers were forced to act as range practice to a tirade of enemy forces. Most of his men fell to the accurately placed, arcane-powered shots of twisted Mechanicum automatons, but Tills couldn’t be certain. Bounding across the scorched battlefield, he soon found himself alone and untargeted; tracer fire and ray trails no longer zinging horizontally across his field of vision. The false wall of safety quickly crumbled around him as warning alerts sounded and red tinted symbols flashed around his HUD: his armor was breached. He momentarily felt the sting of pain from the pulped, blood gushing stump of broken ceramite and ripped flesh where his knee had once been before his Astartes body released heavy doses of adrenaline into his blood stream, racing through his arteries, along with the accelerated clotting-agent Larraman cells, to the wound site.

Landing on one leg would have been difficult, but nothing was just difficult for the Veteran Sergeant this day. The port side of his jump pack had been struck; ruptured hydraulic control and fuel line fluids joining the blood from his leg, forming a cruel cocktail of liquids which rained under his flight path’s arc. Bracing for uncontrolled impact was the last thing Tills could recall, now righted up against his ruined jump pack. He began recessing from consciousness as his well-disciplined Sus-an membrane began reacting to the extreme trauma of his wound. Quickly, he disengaged the surviving bolt pistol from its mag-lock with his right hand, his left fetching something far more sinister from his waist. The decision was upon him, and soon his enemy would be as well. Fighting in his current condition would only extend the comedy of the day, he thought, as his glance shifted from the bolt pistol to the phosphex bomb in his left hand. Consume himself and the traitors in white-green, coward-chasing flame? Now that would give him something to actually laugh at.

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++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Made it in! Woo hoo! Glory to the XIX! And yes, that is not a phosphex bomb. The phosphex from ebay didn't make it in time, so the krak grenade will have to place-hold until it arrives smile.png

go wolf_pack, post your fluff until it's toooo late biggrin.png

Erm right... looks like I'll wing it.

Ecarus was prowling in the thick underground under the moonlight. His target was near, he knew it. He just had to elude detection a little long... Nearby, a squad of Alpha legionnaires was making a combat patrol. In his mind's eye, Ecarus could see the pattern immerging their movements, betraying the location of his quarry. He picked up pace, knowing his window of opportunity was dwindling with every second passing by. with the training his legion is reknown for, he rushed through a clearing leading to a cliff undetected - He slowed down as he approached it's edge.

There it was in the ravine bellow, invisible to the human eye, his quarry. He knew it was there, the moonlight queerly reflecting on the too perfect cloaking field of the XX legion's base. More signs of unsanctioned technology used by Alpharius and his ilk. Ecarus went to work immediately. His chrono timer ticked away the seconds, only 45 seconds before he missed this great opportunity. The only warning came in the form of a shadow over his shoulder, leaving him just enough time to roll to his side. A power dagger stabbed into the hard soil next to him and before he could get back up to his feet, his opponent already surging back for a second strike.

35 seconds. " For the Emperor!" shouted the Alpha legionnaire, falling upon the prone Raven Guard. Ecarus drew his bolt pistol in one fluid motion and fired several rounds from the hip. His opponent staggered in his follow up assault, but the ammunition failed to penetrate his mark II armour. It gave the son of Corax just enough of a pause to draw his legs back and kicking his enemy's legs from under him.

30 seconds. The shots immediately alerted the nearby patrols, which began converging on his position. Ecarus knew he had only a moment before they where upon him. so much for subtlety. he rolled over to his proned opponent and drove his hands around his neck. The alpha legionnaire had recovered and was fighting to break his hold.

25 Seconds. "I... Am... Alpharius!" whispered the desperate traitor who was losing the struggle, the raven snapped his foe's neck. "I sincerely doubt that" were his parting words. He surveyed his surroundings to better appraise his situation.

20 seconds. More Alpha Legionnaires pour into the clearing sporadic bolter fire erupts around him, making him duck for the cover of a rock on the far side of the ledge.

15 seconds. Ecarus works as fast has he can on the pad of his gauntlet interface. His enemies are about to outflank him. He needs a few more seconds. Just a few more...

10 Seconds. Out of time, the first XX legionnaire comes around the the rocky formation. The centurion breaks cover and leaps off the edge into the air. Twisting in the air, he buys himself the last few precious seconds he needed. He smash the transmit switch of his gauntlet interface. Has he crashes into the ravine bed shattering his bones and rupturing his organes.

5 seconds. The Raven's flight Uncloaks from high orbit, powering it's orbital lance batteries, now targetting the illusive enemy base with the freshly uploaded data.

0 seconds. As the facility turns to scorched earth for the titanic barrage of energy, Ecarus died with a smile on his lips...

With great regret, I have failed to complete my model on time. On the plus side though, this has given me a crash course with working with greenstuff.

I would post a picture of my progress, but it's late, I'm tired, and doing this on an IPad is somewhat painful. I will put something up tomorrow.

I have mine finished, I just totally forgot to snap more than the one picture. I'll get up to the store today or tomorrow and snap all five and throw up the story. Being the second time in a row I failed to just snap all five the first time I sure hope I remember to do it the next time.

Actually, yes. I forgot Hyenas was not going to have easy access to a computer for a few days so I started up the XVIII page!

 

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