Iron Lions: Project Log!

[Lemainus]

You goddamn right.

 

>:}

[Lemainus]

  ***+++INCOMING TRANSMISSION

 

  +++++TRANSMITTED: =++REDACTED++=

 

  +++++RECEIVED: BATTLE BARGE 'PERDITION'S SPEAR'

 

 +-------ASTROPATH DUCT: LEXICANUM =++REDACTED++=

 

 {}--------REF: 92374592374||:IL 00=++REDACTED++=

 

  ++:authenticating code...

 

  ..

 

  ..

 

  ..

 

  ...Authenticated. Iron Lions Primarus LII43=++REDACTED++=194.

 

  ..

 

  ..

 

  (+++:-AUTHOR: =++REDACTED++=

            SUBJECT: <<none>>

 

  ++:/Consign yourselves to pointlessness. _-||

 

  **+| Kill everyone. |+**

 

((* Your guns. Your glory. Your armies. Your Empire.+)

 

^"|| Your god-emperor. }]

 

**+| Kill everyone. |+**

 

 

  -+[Their thralls. Their warpfire. Their vengeance. ]]}-

 

{{ Their pantheon.}}

 

**+| Kill everyone. |+**

 

 

//<; This galaxy is a rabid dog snapping at its own tail.-}}

 

{:- Shrieking as it chews. >:}

 

 --::_+Howling for justice for the violence meted out through its own jaws.++:

 

  **+| Kill everyone. |+**

 

 

 

[{-: Tzeench infests your scheming aristocracy. Infests the scheming Eldar. Infests the brain of every sentient piece of trash that ever conspired one-upsmanship. ++:>

 

 

 

<<:-|||  Nurgle sits poised forevermore in the cycle of decay perpetuated by life itself. Death and decay, change and rebirth. ||||-:>

 

 

^(-- Slaanesh drinks deep of sentient passions. As long as desire persists, pleasure persists, Slaanesh will persist. ****

 

**+| Kill everyone. |+**

 

 

 

**^-- And Khorne. Every bolter round that hits home. Every swing of your chainswords. Every purgation. Every crusade, be they Imperial or Black, puts skulls on the Skull Throne. Every brother, every enemy, every xeno, every daemon, returns to that infinite mountain of heads and lifts him higher.--}>>

 

 

:|| You are guilty.||:

 

 

<<\ They are guilty. ;--}

 

 

++ Everyone is guilty.++

 

**+| Kill everyone. |+**

 

 

 

**+: What then, is to be done? What is the answer in the Book?  :+**

 

  **+| Kill everyone. |+**

 

  **+| Kill everyone. |+**

 

%*++ Kill everyone. Your gods. Their gods. :::+}

 

  **+| Kill everyone. Even the gods. |+**

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

  

[Argent aquila]

Lovely as ever Lemainus!

[Lemainus]

  {||:**- Slaughter the Guilty. -**:||}

 

 

 

        Kill everyone!

 

 

 

 

 {|| - Useless. Stubborn. Broken. Sleeping. -}]

 

 

 

        SILENCE THE STARS!

 

 

 

 {{:-** Fling yourselves against the Vanguard of the God Apart.  Useless. Stubborn. Broken. Sleeping. Your swords, they shatter. Your bullets are repelled. Your will shall break. Your worlds will fall. **-:}}

 

 

 

 <[ No more lies. No more false gods. No more. Not yours, or theirs. Only Blessed Silence.***

 

 

 

  Been a while. Hope you like the new Fallen! I wish it came out better in photos, but the cracked, ancient, held-together-by-hate armor on the white side is really texturally interesting. I'm bummed it didn't show as crisp as I wanted it to. I think I'm going to end up finishing all of the Malal Faithful in this cohort lead by The Gilded this way - it just makes them look like they've been fighting on all possible fronts. Constantly.

 

  I kinda want to do a Daemon Lord of some kind eventually, but... all the GW stuff is clearly too 'in the wheelhouse' of the Chaos Pantheon. Right? Thoughts?

Edited August 5, 2016 by Lemainus

[Lemainus]

Question: I have an idea for a ridiculous take on a Greater Daemon of Malice, but it's about 10,000% beyond my abilities as a sculptor / kitbasher. I want to do like... a multi-mouthed cthulhu dragon on steroids. Anyone know any reputable people that do custom sculpting work? My google searches have produced few and questionable results.

 

  Thanks!

[Lemainus]

They abhorred the Truth when the Truth was brought to them.

 

 

 

**:{{I do not skulk in the face of filth.||//}--***

 

**:{{I will not falter in the fires of battle.||//}--***

 

**:{{Hide ye then, Heretics, at my coming.||//}--***

 

**:{{Fear ye then, the sound of my voice.||//}--***

 

**:{{I am undying war. I am the hammer of mine Emperor.||//}--***

 

**:{{This Betrayal will be settled on the field.||//}--***

 

**:{{You talk so loudly whence you flood our Astropaths with your messages. Your promises. ||//}--***

 

**:{{Your Heresy.||//}--***

 

**:{{Yet reports say amidst battle, there be only silence.||//}--***

 

**:{{Mine hammer will change that.||//}--***

 

**:{{I am Maalik, Lord Ancient, The Ashen Phoenix - and by the Emperor, I will make you scream.||//}--***

 

**:{{Purge the Fallen. Cleanse the Heretic.||//}--***

 

**:{{Iron Lions Never Die.||//}--***

Edited August 24, 2016 by Lemainus

[Lemainus]

Maalik, Keeper of Literally All the Guns, Wow, That's a Lot of Guns

 

[Lemainus]

 Captain Berrd screamed into the Vox, the terror plain on his face. The vision was cloudy - muddled, somehow - wrapped in the purple swathe of vorpal warp energies that hung heavy over the obliterated husk of the world that these interlopers, these Fallen, had seized for their own. Librarian Hakim frowned; the taint of the Warp was strong where he cast his ethereal sight, and something was not right. Moreso than usual. This wrongness pervaded the vision, pervaded his senses, clung to everything he felt. Captain Berrd - Hakim felt the man's name echo into truth as he watched, rapt and anticipatory, waiting for calamity to reveal something, anything, about these black and white clad cultists from he knew not where, worshippers of he knew not who.

 

 Berrd screamed and screamed into the Vox, the earth around him being painted red with the blood of his charges. The Guard would not last much longer against the silent onslaught. Death was everywhere. Hakim's eyes flickered, shining bright in the darkness of the command hall, as his Brothers, his Commanders, his Chapter - waited for him to convey what it was he saw, what he was shown. The battle raged, men were slain by the thousands. Fire. Desertion. Despair. Hopelessness. Blood. Bombs. Terror. Rage. And yet... everywhere he turned his astral presence, there was silence. Deafening, miserable, haunting silence. Berrd screaming, full of fear, crying, shrieking, bemoaning his fate, demanding reinforcements, anything - no sound escaped his mouth. The bullets and bombs did their work with nary a whisper. Tanks were torn to ribbons by those raving masked lunatics, bronze faces forever laughing without a sound. No noise escaped the sphere of perverse influence these heretics spun around themselves. Hakim knew not how. He frowned. The void itself hung around these monsters like a cloak. Murderous silence. Horrible stillness was the punchline to such furious madness. 

 

 It was then that Berrd was decimated; one of the black and whites, the horned helmet styled mouthless and barren, tore into the last line of defense with an ease and gusto that made Hakim's skin crawl. Still, silence. Entrails laid out, the mortally wounded squirmed underneath the boots of the Heretic, shouting to an Emperor that was no longer able to hear them. Blood. Mud. Death. Nothing penetrated the soundless void where these Fallen walked. Behind the wave of assault troops, the Sorcerer sauntered. Hands conjuring... something. Bodies were piled - so many bodies! - in striking silence. The Gilded - that is what he called himself - seemed to ponder a moment, cocking a hand out at an odd angle, feeling for some ungodly, unseen current undetectable to untainted souls. Finding it, it seemed, the Sorcerer waited. No words were spoken. No commands given. But the closest traitor knew. Felt the desire, perhaps? And surrendered a combat knife with... reverence? Solemnity?

 

 The Gilded forced himself into the thoughts of Hakim, letting him know without words that he cared not if he were watched. That he knew. That he could feel the presence of his still Loyal Brother, and did not mind. "Watch." Was felt, not heard, not spoken. It crawled through his skin, smearing a greasy unfinished shudder across his hands, his face. "Watch." Wriggled in his teeth like maggots. No sound. Silent. Numbing. Horrifying. "Watch."

 

 The Gilded slid the knife through the jaws of a still raggedly breathing private, blade facing outward, and gave a sharp tug, splitting the chin in twain, setting the tongue to lolling about. He grabbed, and yanked it out. Hakim *felt* the screams, knew they were there - knew they should be deafening - and still nothing. The vorpal haze grew thicker. It was... coalescing? Feeding? 

 

  Hakim let go of the Vision.

 

 "There is a nothingness in them the likes of which I do not understand." Hakim cocked his head, knowing full well the touch and taint of the Warp, having fought their ilk many times. But this was not a cult he knew. This was different. New. Old. Both? Neither? "And the Sorcerer, the one... that has been sending the encrypted messages. He is about some ritual. Let me see. Asked that I watch."

 

 The Hall grew loud with murmurs and discussion; it was good to hear *noise* again, even if it was disconcerted chittering. Sound. Life. Something. Anything.

 

  **:-/// What purpose serves this Ritual, Codicier?::::**~/ Sabrathan's metallic whirring voice boomed. He had refused to dream since being awoken to give advice on the Fallen that had joined this cadre of Chaos worshipers; his voice, rusted and ancient, usually so full of conviction and fierceness, was now... reserved. 

 

 "He... is preparing something. A place? The place? Growing. No. That isn't quite right." Hakim furrowed his brow, thinking of an alternate way to phrase his feelings, but instead removed his belt knife from the sheath and cut a clean, direct line straight down the middle of his face. His features sagged, just a little, as the sinews were split, as his lips fell bisected, and blood split from his mouth to the floor. "Setting the stage! That's a good way to put it. The Gilded is setting the stage. Ah. Yes. Quite." Hakim was pleased with this phrasing, and nodded happily before firmly digging his fingers under the flesh on either side of the cut he'd just made, and ripping his own face off. The mutilated skull opened it's jaw in silent wonder. "He's coming."

 

 Apothecaries rushed to the dias where the Long Sight was used. It was not safe to reach out, anymore. 

 

 "He's coming."

[Dosjetka]

Can't really figure out why you're not getting more comments. It might because of the small size of your pics and people are too lazy to click on them. Perhaps something to take into account for future updates?

 

Anyway, lovely work, as per usual. I love the colour scheme you've got. :tu:

[Lemainus]

I appreciate the kind words! I'm glad you have some love for my boys... and maybe you can help me with the small pictures problem?

 

When I take the photos, they're quite a bit too large for the 2MB threshold here on the B&C, so I crop and then use GIMP to shrink them to a size that suits. Not an exact science, really, but it leads to uploads in this size range. Is there something I can do to circumvent or streamline this? Disclaimer: I do not photos good. So even trivial help that any village idiot should know by default is welcome.

 

  On the horizon for the project log... Malice Combat Squad... and something conjured. Something mean. Something big. Something I needed a bunch of help to make.

[Lemainus]

Another small contingent of Sons are finished - though I'm eagerly awaiting the arrival of a pot of Tamiya Clear Red to finish the base of the commanding officer of the unit. (It's a WIP thread, after all.)

 

They started out as being Counts-As-Terminators, but I quickly found myself drawn to making them characters in their own right, and have, it seems, gone and made a few more of my Doomed Ones. The Gilded, ya'll have met, but let me introduce five more, each gifted and empowered by Malal to serve a purpose within his silent faithful:

 

 

 Sraosha is the Hearkener. He is uniquely gifted amongst Malal's servants and is attuned to the subtle fluctuations in the minds of men that find themselves at a crossroads of Faith.

Sraosha hears - feels - Space Marines when they reach out for answers - and it is he that heeds the call, bringing the Book and the Word to those that hunger for truth - for silence.

 

Damoish was shunned by his loyalist brothers when his faith was shaken in during the Horus Heresy. 

 

He is preserved eternally by Malal, that he might always remind the Doomed Ones that the universe is broken - they are anathema to it, and it to them. He is a priest of apartness.

 

Dahmafrin is gifted with the Rites of Benediction - he alone can bless a dead world freshly silenced in the name of the Renegade God.

 

Atar is armed with a melta blessed with the breath of Malice.

 

Let the galaxy burn. 

 

Mahraspand is the first among Malal's Chosen, second only to The Gilded, though they are viewed in nearly equal esteem by their renegade battle brothers.
 

Silence is everything to their warband, and as such, the Words of the Book that opened the eyes of each and every Fallen to take up the mantle of the Renegade God are never uttered aloud again...

 

...but they are inscribed upon the Artificer armor of Mahraspand. He is literally Keeper of the Word. Servitors and slaves work tirelessly to maintain the Scriptures of Silence that wreathe him, though over centuries, words are lost to cracks, holes, chips and chinks. Luckily, it is a simple religion, not easily forgotten: Kill Everyone. Silence Everything. Start Again.

 

 

 

<::| Muster your reinforcements. Beg like dogs to your Progenitors to send help. Muster your Chapter's Master. Scrape and bow to the Inquisition's Deathwatch as they come see what we've started here. It will avail you not.+++|]

 

{[=-We have arrived - and now you, like Us, are truly Doomed.}}

 

{-Kill Everyone. Silence Everything. Start Again.-}

 

*****Transmission Ended***** 

 

 

 

 

[bluntblade]

I'm usually wary of white Chaotic colour schemes, but you nailed them here.

Edited October 8, 2016 by bluntblade

[Draakur]

Really do love what you're doing here, fine work indeed - you have a way of writing that really hits home with me. Please keep it up :)

[Lemainus]

Thanks, guys!

 

@bluntblade, I was wary about white, too. But with the crackle paint, I think I've found something that really works for me! I'm pleased that you like it as well. It was a real "Aha!" moment when I did the first test mini.

 

  @Draakur, Thanks! It's my first real go at writing fluff for any of my minis, so I'm kind of finding my style as I go along. I'm glad it's working out okay.

 

 

  As hinted in the above text, the next round of dudes, I believe, will be Masters of the Chapter, perhaps the actual Chapter Master, and a Deathwatch Squad and Inquisitor come 'round to figure out who these :cusss in Black and White that keep murdering everybody are, and what they want.

 

  Wish me luck. :]

[Draakur]

Looking forward to it! :)

 

Have you ever considered putting your work together into more of a formalised, narrative driven format project? Like JackDaw's Astartes work for example?

[Lemainus]

  I think, now that I've gotten some steam going and I feel like I know the story to tell here

 

  yeah, I'd be down for that. 

 

  I'll search his stuff and read up on what he's been doing. Thanks for the tip. :]

[Lemainus]

  The purple streak crackled, furious, unstable, careening over the skyline of the city proper. Everything had fallen, save the world's capitol. A city heavily fortified, heavily guarded, heavily leaned upon for arms and munitions within the Subsector. Not a hive city - not quite. A Forge. Lieutenant Daheely narrowed his eyes, not knowing what sort of vile volley flew towards his position; through his binoculars, he could tell only that it was extremely small, as monstrous creatures went, or incredibly large, as far as artillery shells went. No fecking clue about the purple either way, though. Burn me down. He spat. The whole city proper had been abandoned by civilians and useless bureaucrat alike - he was stationed in a reinforced rockcrete bunker that ran the entire span of the main delivery road leading to one of the smaller Baneblade production foundries. It afforded him a beautiful view of the concourse below - a fatal funnel if he ever had seen one - but the skies above were stabbed jagged by the indomitably tall buildings that surrounded the square. 

 

  Mercs. Imperial Guard. Scions. Even scummers and gangbangers sidled shoulder to shoulder, armed to the teeth, setting differences and varying degrees of respect for the law aside to focus on one thing: holding the line. It was much the same throughout the rest of the city that remained intact - Tempestus Militarum veterans, like him, were deferred to by many. The broken remnants of hundreds of civil defense units, police, murderers and thieves, all reorganized into... whatever the feck this could be called. 

 

  It had only been two weeks. Two weeks since those warp-stained threats started coming through every Vox, every astropath and infolink on the planet. Two weeks, and there was nothing left on this dead Forgeworld but the ramshackle army garrisoned in the fortress that was supposed to keep the foundry safe. Billions were dead. Nobody was even sure how such a small number of Chaos Marines could - heh, it's gonna miss - Daheely smirked, seeing the trajectory of the purple streak was coming in line with one of the many skyscrapers that was ruining his view, making it hard to scout for enemy air units. But then, it jinked.

 

  "What the fresh hell...?"

 

  The purple streak twitched, almost a lazy, too-late evasive maneuver, the cocky readjustment of a pilot that flies more than walks. Daheely bellowed an alert, and the sleep deprived heroes, villains, and the thousand average rabble-rousers stuck playing soldier snapped to action. Lasguns, boltguns, frag cannons, a handful of plasma carbines, three heavy bolters, a missile launcher and,  Emperor kill me "WE TALKED ABOUT THIS, ALEK. A SHOTGUN IS NOT EFFECTIVE AT THIS RANGE, YOU UGLY GUTTERSNIPE FECKWITTED SON OF A -"

 

  "Awright, awright, Throne's Mercy Leftinnet." Alek mumbled platitudes and let the shotgun fall back against his waist, secured by a makeshift sling. He readied his lasgun instead.

 

  It was a man?

 

  "I swear, never once did a Chaos Sorcerer just feckin walk." The look of derision on Daheely's face did not belie the fact that, if he could conjure wings himself, he'd probably use them. "Shoot 'im down. Swanky arsehole."

 

  ++Some of us walk, Lieutenant. ++

 

  ++Some, though, some like me ...++

 

 ++"We teleport."++ 

 

    The Gilded stepped through the portal, his voice growing louder, clearer, harsher, in his prey's head as he came to be closer. The Hush fell with his presence, and though those that saw him screamed and cursed and fired their weapons, their compatriots heard nothing. Silence reigned. And, as if on queue, all the soldiers facing through the firing slit, eyes keen on Vau's ingress, started firing. It was too late. It took a moment for the men to realize it wasn't shock or training or focus that dulled their ears to the usual cacophony that accompanied sustained automatic fire. There was no sound. Nothing. It was in that moment, that singular second of collective confusion, that Vau willed his wings give him greater speed - furious, insane speed - and entered into a controlled dive. The crash, an implosion, really, of the hulking zealot impacting the rockcrete as fast as warpfire wings could carry him sent a shockwave through reality. 

 

  It was just a fraction of a second, but in that moment, the wall and the floor of the bastion was torn asunder; a hole, meters wide where once there was fortification, the illusion of safety. In Silence, the butchery began - and in silence, it ended, as the other Wind fell upon Daheely, the stubborn goat, and split him in twain with an executioner's axe larger and longer than one and a half men. 

 

 

Vau, Doomed One, the Wind of Change.

Vau, much like the other Doomed Ones, is a greater Daemon unto himself - empowered by Malice to enact change on the galaxy. Change. Change in an existence where everything is systemic. Everything is a cog in the machine - even Chaos. Even the Dark Gods. 
 

 

Vau, on wings of pure vorpal fire, is the Harbinger. After the Hearkener has revealed the Truth to those who would reach out, taken those who would follow, welcomed those who would fall and be reclaimed, repurposed, reborn to kill the cycle, kill the galaxy... Vau is the tip of the spear whence the battle comes. His presence marks the beginning of a war to silence a city, a planet, a star system.

 

Rashim, Doomed One, The Wings of Judgement.

Once a world has been beaten to tatters in the initial onslaught of the God Apart, the hardship and slaughter force the wheat from the chaff. Pockets of resistance form where heroes hold their lines, unaware that Malal has appointed a Doomed One as the executioner of any with the strength to resist for long.
 

One might think that being a judge and executioner a hard thing - not so for Rashim. In a galaxy where everyone, everything is guilty... his job is easy.

 

 

{|| - Useless. Stubborn. Broken. Sleeping. -}]

{//Ye the Guilty - cease your screaming.:++

 

 

 

 

 

[Lemainus]

Mahraspand is finished. 

 

 

He Brings the Word.

 

 

He Brings the Word.

 

 

He Brings the Word.

 

 

++Judgement is coming.++

 

[Vairocanum]

That is a really nice looking model, love how casually he's finishing off the marine.

[Lemainus]

Thanks! It was my first time working with Tamiya X-27, and I think it went okay. You guys weren't kidding - holy crap that stuff smells bad! haha

 

 

Keep watching this space - the narrative will continue and someone wicked this way is warping...

[Draakur]

Super nice, Mahraspand is a fave I think :) polearms can be tricky but are awesome when modelled well.

[Lemainus]

I'm a *sucker* for polearms. No joke. I'm glad you like him! I had fun making the little diorama.

[foamy248]

These are fantastic! The conversions are unique and original, and the  paint job looks great too! Loving those wood elf heads though...   

[Lemainus]

I was searching for a way to make the Fallen look... weird somehow, without using straight Chaos bits. I really dig the WE masks, it suits 'em. And the bitz are suuuuper cheap! I'm glad you like them too, and thanks for the compliment. ^_^

[Lemainus]

***+++INCOMING TRANSMISSION

 

  +++++TRANSMITTED: =++REDACTED++=

 

  +++++RECEIVED: BATTLE BARGE 'PERDITION'S SPEAR'

 

 +-------ASTROPATH DUCT: LEXICANUM =++REDACTED++=

 

 {}--------REF: 92374592374||:IL 00=++REDACTED++=

 

  ++:authenticating code...

 

  ..

 

  ..

 

  ..

 

  ...Authenticated. Iron Lions Primarus LII43=++REDACTED++=194.

 

  ..

 

  ..

 

  (+++:-AUTHOR:  =++REDACTED++=

 

            ATTN: ||**=I=**||

 

            SUBJECT: <<Prepare the Briefing Room. Intercepted Transmission Excerpt Translated.>>

 

 ++Translated/Salvaged heretical text forwarded.++

 ++Inquisitor Varian Caestus Mendacium and retinue in route.++

 ++Kill Team ID: 23919an923810-107-D: "A Murder of Crows".++

 

 

<{--  I have seen  the End of this.:;'|>

 

:*[ He *has given that  to me. =}}_

 

*-||  This planet will  crumble. this system will quake. >/

 

 `//{ I heard the screams of the billionstrong masses. They ring in my ears still. I must silence them.}]|;

 

  *****<<::-The Galaxy will burn, Brothers. How it will burn. -::>*****

 

  _+|\\_All the rules. All the suffering. All the bloated scrying of the Imperium - the War, the Hate, the Honor and Glory - it is a lie... and it is for nothing. You will never save this place. Everything burns. Lies. All lies. _=}}...

 

  <<<<<<::|I must silence them.||}}=:>>>>>>

 

  <:{|molten Brass will swallow the galaxy, in time. Blood begetting Blood, until He swings his sword, and brings about the heat-death of all there is. ]+--......

 

  *{}-But you will never see it. I'm coming to quiet the screams. Theirs. Yours. {//:>

 

 

*{- During Rites, we always finished with ,"Iron Lions Never Die."----}]

 

<:=|| But we know better. We know. \\/:>

 

<<||.... We know.//}+_

 

  *::Yes::}

 

<:_--|| Yes they do.||...*#

 

 :++\| message ended

 

++We have seen these messages before. Sent to dead worlds that not long ago weren't dead.++

++Task force assigned to Iron Lions.++

++Root out the heretic.++

++Slay the daemon.++

 

    ++Thought of the Day:++

       ++ENLIGHTENMENT IS A MYTH.++

    ++WE DO NOT NEED TO UNDERSTAND IN ORDER TO HATE.++

 

____________________________________________

 

  <[** But who be these interlopers, sent by the Inquisition to skulk about our ships, our homes, our fortresses? Whence comes a need to turn the eyes of the Ordo to us?::|>

 

 "They are Deathwatch, Sabrathan. And it be the traitor's familiar tone, their mocking transmissions. These heretics. Some among them are our own - Raime, and the others of First Company that vanished so long ago."

 

 <^|| +Many Chapters have had brothers fall, and they face no such scrutiny.++]}

 

 The briefing room doors opened, rasping a hiss as a small paramilitary faction in strange armor, carrying strange weapons, were admitted - along with an even stranger waif of a man, masked in bone white, featureless, robed in purple cotton overtop armored ballistic plates and knitted plasteel. They all moved with a singular purpose - an almost unnatural alertness and tightness of formation. The Council stared the men down - these were no mere human operators turned cadre to an Inquisitor. No. They were enhanced. Upgraded. Cybernetics, all of them. The whir of Sabrathan's cogitator's accompanied the uneasy silence as each unit regarded the other, assessing their threat potential like strange cats thrown in a single bag.

 

  

 

"We are here because we are the only mortal unit to fight the heretics that hound this subsector and live." The purple robe spoke slowly; not in a way that implied he thought he had to - rather, he was distracted by something. "We are detachment 23919an923810-107-D: A Murder of Crows."

 

 

"I am Vjka, and this is my coven."

 

 

"And how, precisely, did a Beta level psyker of small repute and a gaggle of barely superhuman soldiers defeat these... defilers?" Juris spoke first, stepping forward, voice earthy and powerful - prideful - through his helmet. 

 

 "We are different. We are an experiment. We are new. We are one. We are silence. We are single. We are bound together. We are a Murder." All the cyborgs spoke together to answer the Space Marine Chaplain's question; the answers were different, but the same - spoken at the same moment, in unsettling unison.

 

  

 

  "We are able to speak whence none else can." Vjka clarified without explaining anything. "You have seen the silence? Felt it? Observed it? You Iron Lions conduct more intelligence gathering than many other Chapters I have been assigned to. You must have seen. Not heard."

 

 "No sound anywhere where their footsteps land. Aye."

 

  Vjka cocked his head, mask catching a shadow of his robe, light illuminating the red lenses embedded within. A single blazing ruby in a black streak. "The Murder is psychically bound to me. I am the Primarus. We speak without need for sound. The Hush does not cripple our communication capabilities. And their being bound to me gives them the situational awareness beyond their mortal ken. We are not vulnerable to the tactics of these heretics."

 

 

 

  "We have been following adherents of this new cult for years, but only now have they moved en masse. Ritual suicides. Ritual killings. Sleeper cells within cults within cults. All have stirred to life, as you have reentered the sector for recruitment. These Chaos worshippers, whoever they are, hate this Chapter. Enough to organize... I know not what." Vjka gestured, and in an instant, shared his insights, his knowledge of the cult with every Space Marine in the room. "Nor does Varian, my ward. He... you will all meet him shortly."

 

  

 

 

  A pict-capture flashed through the minds of all present - a Blood Angels terminator librarian fighting for his life, accompanied by a technical officer named Baashe. Planetside. The Murder had been separated. Their CO and tech were still afield. This wasn't just a briefing on their enemy; it was a briefing for a rescue mission.