++Inspiration Friday (Chaos Icons. Until 12/18)++

[Kierdale]

Very nice work, Carrack. :tu: Very nice indeed. Makes me think the progenid organs of the Black Maw take a little something from those they're removed from...

 

 

And the deadline has been extended to the 11th of September. :)

[EesiOh]

I think the problem with this topic (personally) is that either people dont really think about the geenseed after the their chapter goes chaos (you would mostly assume it would stay the same?) but also I dont know... it feels like a topic generally hard to write about. Which by the way means I applaud the current entrants for their strength of will and fortitude. Anyway just my two cents. 

[Teetengee]

Also, for anyone whose warband isn't defined by a specific unique geneseed mutation or isn't a recently turned chapter, it is likely that they have a wide variety of geneseed sources found within them.
My Lord Escharron for instance makes a point of not caring where you came from if you will serve faithfully, even extending such an offer to xenos and other non astartes stock if the situation arrives. (although rarely will they ever achieve much trust)

[Thedarkprincesnun]

Rebirth

Darkness all around that was all that could be seen with the exception of the lumigen green lights on the floor. The gene slaves walked along tired and weak wanting so badly to die but knowing that one of their masters would return them to life. When they reached the large gate at the end of the corridor their master Alkov pressed his hand against the most decrepit symbol on the gate causing the gateway to begin to open.

 

As they crossed through the gateway they could see outside the ground a sludgy mud mixed with bile it looked like they were treading through a sea of bile Alkov often wondered how it did not sink. "Your late Alkov" said a mysterious figure his armour a dark green turned this way from Corruption part of his armour Rusted to the core liquid rot leaking from the mechatendrils on his back. "I'm s-s-sorry my lord the slaves won't pick up the pace m-m-my lord" stuttered Alkov. "Maybe I need to speak to the chief apothecary then have your slaves given some vigor" said the mysterious figure. "Come now though for we have more geneseed and it requires storing". "M-m-my lord I mean no disrespect when I say this but you are normally in the forges so what are you doing here" said Alkov clearly sure his question would get him killed. The Warp smith raised his axe as if he was about to swing it at Alkov but then he lowered it again "my reason for being here is simple the Chief Apothecary is busy beginning new recruits on their process to becoming warriors of the Blight Angels now no more questions unless you would of course like to become a servitor" said the Warp smith with a mechanical matter of fact.

 

As they proceeded to the vaults where the geneseed was kept it was alot more unclean. To Alkov it seemed like disease contagion and decay came into the room freely. As they entered the vaults it was clear to see all of the geneseed stored in the room many was of the Blight Angels original geneseed but some had been stolen back since the day they turned and others had been stolen from their Primogenator the Iron Hands and other sons of Ferrus. While most other Iron Hands successors had a depositon for bionics and augmentation even during their loyalist days the Blight Angels didn't. Unusually they instead chose to test their endurance

[Kierdale]

I think the problem with this topic (personally) is that either people dont really think about the geenseed after the their chapter goes chaos (you would mostly assume it would stay the same?) but also I dont know... it feels like a topic generally hard to write about. Which by the way means I applaud the current entrants for their strength of will and fortitude. Anyway just my two cents.

 

Indeed, it's not something most people think about, nor is it something easy to write about, which is why I chose the subject. To get people thinking about it and to challenge them. Inspire them.

 

Also, for anyone whose warband isn't defined by a specific unique geneseed mutation or isn't a recently turned chapter, it is likely that they have a wide variety of geneseed sources found within them.

Yes, I'm sure many warbands use geneseed from different sources. Hence it would be interesting to hear how they handle this, any problems it poses for the apothecaries, cases of rejection, mutation, etc.

[Warsmith Aznable]

My entry for "gene-seed."

 

I hope you like it.

 

Hidden Content

“You’re a handsome devil; what’s your name?” The apothecary muttered the phrase to himself as he knelt by a fallen enemy. The blue and yellow livery meant nothing to him, but the low wattage RFID embedded in the neck ring was picked up by the apothecary’s sensor suite and fed directly into his subconcious, the low grade AI misinterpreting the sardonic question for what must have been well over the thousandth time.

++Sergeant Raphael, 3rd Squad, 8th Company++

“Well, Raphael, let’s have a look at you, then.”

The apothecary squatted with his back straight, giving the sensors peering over his shoulder a long moment to survey the scene. Satisfied enough situational data was gathered, he leaned over the corpse and began to assess the wounds directly. As he spoke, and even as he thought, the dataslate in his off hand recorded this series of assessments, scrolling the facts across the screen.

“Looks like you took a chain blade to the face, Sergeant.

First, a high horizontal swipe, right across the eyes, left to right... right orbital fracture, no other penetration...

Second, a descending overhand, right to left, beginning at the temple, crossing the lower nose, and coming out of the lower right jaw line...

The second cut was too close in, hitting down near the hilt. Suboptimal, but it was enough to push you back and down, so:

Third, a savage thrust, removing the front teeth and penetrating through the roof of the mouth, ending the last resistance in this AO.”

The apothecary paused to look at the surrounding area. He noted the spent casings, broken chainsword teeth, blast marks, and large, black stained patches of dried blood mixed into the mud and dirt. The fallen space marine’s power armour had more area covered in bolter divets and slash marks than paint. He had fought hard for this salient in the trench lines, and apparently it had taken a great deal of killing to finally put him down. The sensors and dataslate recorded all of these observations.

“Good news, Raph’: I’m putting you in for a promotion.”

The apothecary engaged the ratchet and prise-tools on his narthecium, first removing the shoulder pads to gain clear access to the plastron, then, turning a few catches and backing out a series of bolts, pulled the chest piece clear and laid it aside. He gunned his mini chain blade a couple of times to test the action, then quickly and methodically cut through thick the pectoral muscles and ceramite plated sternum to reveal the space marine’s chest cavity.

“Nothing abnormal. Standard implants. No mutations. No serious tissue damage. Yes. Yes. Good.... what is this?”

As the apothecary delicately cut his way past the fallen enemy’s multi-lung with a scalpel attachment, a small amount of blood sprayed across his white gloved hand. Inquisitive fingers reached in and messaged each heart to confirm his suspicion.

“Still alive...”

He leaned back and re-appraised the state of the space marine’s body.

“Lower spine looks broken. Legs will be useless. Left arm is.... bionic, damaged, would require total replacement. Right arm is-”

The space marine’s right hand clenched at the apothecary’s left wrist. As if summoned to consciousness by the apothecary’s pronouncement of remaining life, however tenuous, the enemy now made a feeble attempt to rise. Spit and blood gurgled out of the exposed throat, and the head began to jerk back and forth.

The apothecary reflexively placed his free hand on the space marine’s forehead in a soothing, yet gently controlling gesture.

“Calm yourself, Sergeant Raphael. I am an apothecary.”

The space marine stopped trying to rise and ceased jerking his head back and forth. He did not, however, release the apothecary’s wrist, and the reawakened tension did not leave his damaged body.

“Let’s just reevaluate that final thrust...

Hmmm...

Frontal lobe is damaged, but the temporal lobe is intact...”

The apothecary inserted a clip into the back of the space marine’s neck. A mixture of mild sedatives and targeted electromagnetic pulses worked to ease the wounded space marine’s pain and calm his nerves.

“That should at least make you comfortable, Raphael.” The apothecary removed a short clip of modified, lower calibre bolter charges from his utility belt and fed them into his narthecium. He stopped for a moment to consider his patient.

“You fought bravely, Sergeant.” The apothecary stated this matter of factly. He was not given to sentimentalism like so many of the line warriors were, but for personal and professional reasons he held a great respect for genuine courage, wherever it may manifest. “I am not going to lie to you. The unpleasant truth is that your only hope for survival is internment in a Dreadnought sarcophagus. I would say you’ve earned it today. This is not, however, an available option.”

Automatically driven by his subconscious impulse, the first shell loaded into the modified carnifex, which then snapped out into ready position.

“I will give you a moment for reflection.”

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

The menials piled the pieces of power armour in a wire crate, tagged it and loaded it onto the recovery Rhino. The weapons were sorted by type and heaped onto already overflowing piles in plastic tubs chained into the back of the open topped vehicle. The bodies were stripped of cybernetics and other modifications, which were sealed in thick plastic bags and secured in the forward compartment. As the elongated Rhino churned its tracks in the mud before lurching forward, the apothecary casually grabbed a hand rail and stepped on the running board. His geneseed phials were full and would need to be off-loaded at the next administrative rally point.

Then, as always, it was on to the next aftermath.

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

The advisor, a space marine in dark grey armour, pale face hidden under a black hood, sat alone in his small office. Piled upon his desk were the dictated statements of squad debriefings and a small stack of holo-picter discs. One of many advisors assigned to the Temple, this advisor was one of a few liaisons to the Apothecarion. While his brothers of the Temple were verifying the deeds and judgments of the space marines of the grand company, he oversaw special cases.

“Subject FK-21-c/90723 (++Raphael, Sergeant, 3rd Squad, 8th Company++)

Three actions... verified

Terminal : Brother Atli, who spoke highly of him

Secondary : Brother Kenric, Brother Patton, Brother Hollis... all good

Supporting : Sergeant Hetyr, Corporal Leng, Brother Randolf... all good

Counter : N/A

Special Note: Apothecary.... yes...

Attached picter evidence... did that...”

The advisor shuffled a small stack of related papers into a file, folded it closed, and sealed it with wax and his signet stamp. He placed this folder in a cardboard bin with several others. At a thought, a chime outside his door sounded, and momentarily a high grade menial entered.

“That makes ten approved for implantation, Jarvis. Run these down to the Apothecarion Primus decks right away.”

“Yes m’lord.”

“And come straight back.”

“Yes m’lord.”

 

"And shoot anybody who tries to stop you."

 

"Of course, m'lord."

 

The advisor watched the menial disappear out the door with the bin full of paper work. He then gazed for a long moment on his enormous backlog without focusing on it, and heaved a sigh.

After a moment he reached for the next candidate's cover sheet.

“You’re a handsome devil; what’s your name?”

[Teetengee]

Mab and the Harvesters

Hidden Content

Vivok and Tianon stood side by side looking out over the wreckage of the battle. Vivok was covered in the sea green of the most trusted of the Tide, scarred by a thousand battles and stained with blood. Tianon beside him stood in only slightly marked plate of deepest blue, Imperial Icons only recently defiled with the blood of brothers and victims alike.

“Those scuttling mounds, what purpose to they serve,” Tianon asked as he noticed shapes hundreds of shapes picking through the wreckage, some humanoid, some not, and in a variety of sizes, but all covered in dark robes and cloaks.

Vivok answered distractedly, clearing out a jam in his gore soaked heavy bolter, “Harvesters, they collect resources of various types. Some redissolve and syphon the blood, some collect weaponry and equipment, and so on. The cloaks are to disguise their function so the gene-handlers don’t get targeted by the enemy.”

“Gene-handlers?”
“Yes the ones responsible for extracting gene-seed, hard coded with mostly functional records of every type that Mab has figured out how to safely extract, for certain parameters of safe. Dangerous beasts too, if you see one coming for you while you still wear that imperial blue you better consider a bolt in your head if you are severely injured, they are no apothecaries. If you aren’t one of the King’s chosen, they may not have been updated to recognize you as friend yet, and even if they have, if your injuries will be more expensive than a fresh implantation they will begin the extraction process. King Escharron doesn’t let them loose until he has decided to not worry about converts, and that means they aren’t terribly picky.”

“Have you ever seen an extraction.”

“Once, I was caught under some rubble, thankfully it recognized me and flagged me for medevac. But before they got to me they had already extracted a dozen progenoids in my presence. I could see its form under those cloaks because of the angle I was trapped at. The one I saw was shaped a bit like a biomechanical spider, except the stinger had a powerfield and was about a foot in diameter. It punched straight through ceramite and from the looks of it could even eat through terminator armour without too much trouble. After that it syphoned the whole chunk, flesh, metal, and bone still in a solid cylinder, up to a vat in the back. Thousands of tiny mechadendrites and claws picked all the bits off except for the progenoids and those got stored somewhere in its thorax. The rest were just dumped out in a small pile of gore in its wake. Got to admire the efficiency, even if those who weren’t quite dead yet didn’t like it so much.”

----

Agent 536
Report 2: Mab
The individual known as Mab is not just a skilled Apothecary as we once feared. She appears to be some sort of dark reflection of a Magos Biologicus. Where the Tide of Blood first acquired her is as yet unknown to me, but I have seen some of her work. I have only seen her in person (and only at a distance) once, but let me relate her to you as best as I can. She is tall and lithe, and appears to have done extensive biological modifications to her form, even going so far as to take xenos parts and graft them to her own. Unlike most magos though, she appears to primarily be flesh and blood, with much more limited, albeit still extensive, cybernetic enhancements than others of her profession. Others speak of her as some sort of savant, and I believe that great harm would be done to the Tide of Blood if she were to be eliminated.

Whenever the Tide begins to fight new enemies she has been sent several of their still living bodies to experiment on. I have not yet been able to ascertain what her plans are, however. Her entire work area is patrolled by gene-hanced beings known as Fae. They seem to be immune to most of my sensors and my only knowledge of their presence is a temporary breakdown in functioning of several of my bionics. I believe them to be some of her creations. When I know more about them I will send a further report.

Additionally, she also seems to be the head of an organization known as the Harvesters, of which in particular the human scavengers I have been able to infiltrate. It appears that the Harvesters includes all of the machines, beasts, and individuals who go through the battlefields behind the main lines and collect up and useful resources. Humans tend to be responsible for picking up the lighter equipment while various types of machinery and biological constructs collect heavier items. All of them wear cloaks and dark fabrics that disguise their silhouettes from onlookers while going about their business, but I have yet to find a reason for this necessity.

As a reminder, even though I think her elimination should be a top priority, she is one of the most heavily guarded individuals in the entire warband, and her protectors are varied and unknown in appearance, ability, and number. Any such undertaking should not be taken lightly, particularly since her personal capabilities remain unknown. I will endeavor to provide more information when I can.

In His Name
-Agent 536

So it went a bit outside of the scope of this, but I hope it gets the idea across in addition to some of the other things I was saying.

[Kierdale]

This week’s topic wasn’t the easiest, and asked you to think about what makes your marines tick. Biologically speaking. I thank those who entered for their work.

We had Teetengee with Mab and the Harvesters: non-Astartes who scavenge and salvage what they can from the battlefield, be it materiel or meat. I loved the description of one machine essentially eating a near-dead marine, spitting the unneeded gore out its rear.

Thedarkprincesnun told us of Rebirth: Alkov and his geneslaves working for the Blight Angels.

Carrack gave us a wonderful piece: Returned, gene-thralls returning recovered progenid glands to the Black Maw’s eerie storage alcoves.

It was very difficult to choose a winner this week but...

...step forth Warsmith Aznable and claim your reward!

You gave us a tale of an apothecary investigating a fallen enemy and stealing their geneseed. The apothecary’s cataloging of the enemy’s wounds and subsequent dissection was very good. I particularly liked the apothecary talking to himself as he performed his duty.

And here begins the next challenge...

Actually, no it doesn’t.

That will be given by Carrack, as I will be too busy to run IF for the next few weeks (I hope I can squeeze enough time to take part though!). I’ll be back from the 2^nd of October.

[Carrack]

Congratulations to Warsmith Aznable for yet another well deserved victory. For this week's challenge I present-

 

Tales of Chaos Glory!

 

We have all had moments on the tabletop where one model has performed in a fashion most pleasing to the Dark Gods. Wether it be a cultist champ who wins a challenge against a loyalist Astartes Character, a rhino tank shocking a unit off the table edge, a snap shot bolt round taking the last wound off that chapter master with artificer armor, or any other incident where your model did the impossible.

 

Write a brief story of what occurred that the gods showed their favor upon. Was it the final moment before his ascension? Did the deed go down in the warband's history, or was it forgotten moments later? Was the hero rewarded, or quietly eliminated as a threat to the ruler's power? Did the gods continue to bless the hero of the day, if so how, or did their fickle nature turn their attentions to another?

[Warsmith Aznable]

It was very difficult to choose a winner this week but...

...step forth Warsmith Aznable and claim your reward!

I claim that reward!

You gave us a tale of an apothecary investigating a fallen enemy and stealing their geneseed. The apothecary’s cataloging of the enemy’s wounds and subsequent dissection was very good. I particularly liked the apothecary talking to himself as he performed his duty.

This was a challenging task, because I wanted to write it as a narrative and not factually talk about what the warband does. Narrative-wise I'm not sure I got in everything I wanted to, particularly the motivation.

The 49th Grand Company does not just steal any old geneseed. They consider that they are honouring worthy enemies by adopting their geneseed into the warband. The apothecary assigned to collect enemy geneseed is also evaluating the context of that enemy's death. An ignominious or simply unremarkable death, in the apothecary's opinion, will cause that apothecary to leave the geneseed in place and move on. If he decides to collect the geneseed he collects evidence to build a case for his opinion.

The advisors, a position roughly analogous to chaplains, review all combat footage and conduct after action reviews (AAR) with the squads they are assigned to. The special advisor who oversees enemy geneseed matches those reports of an enemy's pre-death behavior with the apothecary's post-mortem evaluation. If the advisor decides that all the evidence matches then he sends his approval to the apothecarion, and the geneseed is entered into the warband's stores and the name of that enemy is remembered in various ways. If the advisor decides that any part of the case is not satisfactory then the geneseed is unceremoniously binned.

It's not traditionally grimdark, I admit. Having been in the military I cannot help but want to incorporate the drudgery, routine, and absurdity of soldiering that never makes it into war movies. Of course I want that to be interesting, too, so I covet the approval of these Chaos icons like a strung out junkie...

[Thedarkprincesnun]

Ok so I'm going to write this in story format.

The sorceror nikol stood there surrounded by Plague marines he drew upon the power of the swarm to imbue him with great strength speed and resilience. Running at the space wolves he laughed off their feeble bolt fire. As the plague Champion called out a wolf guard sergant. As the plague Champion and the wolf guard began to due the sorceror jumped over the first space marine wolf raising his fell blade and shoved it into the Grey hunters chest slaying him within seconds and then continuing to cut the wolves down.

 

All of a sudden another grey hunters pack joined the melee he continued to back down the space wolves he called upon the power of the warp again but this time it felt dangerous. As the power began to over flow him he channeled it into himself boosting him to heights unattainable previously killing the list of the wolves. Nearby he saw some wolf guard bikers cutting down a obliterator. Sensing the obliterators death in the warp he ran forward and slaughtered the wolf guard giving no quarter to them but at this point he lost control of the power he was channeling. Groaning in agony he refused to allow the pain to over cone him and issued a challenge to the wolf guard battle leader commanding the space wolves.

 

As they charged at each other Nikol jumped up and landed on the back of the battle guard leaders bike. As the battle guard leader turned around to defend himself nikol kicked him in the face causing blood to spurt from the battle leader he raised his bolt pistol to the space wolves faced and shot 5 rounds Into him blowing the battle leaders face off completely. For the sacrifice he felt the warps energy flowing through his body healing him re knitting his wounds back together. As he jumped off the bike he drew upon the energies of the warp and began to chant a necromantic spell healing those plague marines who were wounded and returning those who were dead back to life as the Blight Angels who had died were resurrected he drew upon the same necromantic energy again and this time turned his attention towards the space wolves. He began a complex ritual to return them to life binding their souls to their body and forcing them to serve him

[Teetengee]

anyone mind if I write it about a game my friends played when I was first teaching them to play rather than one of my own games?
a tzeentch sorc took out the avatar of khaine in close combat and then ascended to daemonhood, so I figured I can't really top that.

[Carrack]

anyone mind if I write it about a game my friends played when I was first teaching them to play rather than one of my own games?

a tzeentch sorc took out the avatar of khaine in close combat and then ascended to daemonhood, so I figured I can't really top that.

No problem Teetengee.

 

Also, for those who don't play very often, have had a long string of bad rolls, have drowned the memories of all recent games in 90+ proof, or any other reason, feel free to invent your own story of glory, or borrow another's. This contest is on the quality of writing, not what actually happened on the tabletop. I just find a good game (either played or witnessed) provides ample inspiration for writing, and wanted to see what the illustrious frater here created.

[EesiOh]

Cato Sicarius surveyed the battlefield, a puzzled expression upon his face. Arrayed against him were the forces of the Impure, but something didnt seem right. Even though the opposing force that was arrayed against him certainly looked sinister, it didnt seem to have what his scouts had assured him were their. Both he daemon engines he had been warned so strongly about, and the Warbands leader seemed to be missing. It troubled him, but the Ultramarine 2nd company captain had no more time for such troubles. "We March for Macragge" Sicarius yelled. "And we shall NO KNOW FEAR" His assembled strike force returned. They advanced slowly keeping to cover where possible, and making sure to stay out of range of the Archenemies weapons. Even so the hellbrute that stood so defiantly on a rock overlooking the battle managed to kill 2 battle brothers in one of his tactical squads. The twin-linked Autocannon on its arm shredding the two marines armour and flesh. Undeterred the strike force continued forwards. Cato called the order to his devastators and they took aim at the hellbrute. The beast suffered a multitude of hits but shrugged most of them off. 1 shot got through and blew its Reaper Autocannon off. The hellbrute looked confused and then, to everyone horror, regrew the arm. Deciding enough was enough Cato order his two dreadnoughts out of reserve. The ironclad and venerable dreadnuaghts landed and again aimed at the roaring hellbrute. This time the fiend vanished in a cloud of toxic miasma and flames.

 

The Ultramarines celebrated and charged up the ridge the hellbrute had been guarding. At the top they began trading fire with the traitor forces milling around. A squad of deathguard chortled wetly, as bullets sunk into their clammy and bloated flesh without leaving so much as a scratch. The tactical squad that was missing two brothers was wiped out under the combined fire of the Deathguard and a cadre of Thousand Sons. In retaliation Sicarius ordered his snipers to target the sorcerer leading the Rubricae. The first two shots hit the ground before going anywhere near the sorcerer, stopped completely by his Kine shield. He began to laugh, but stopped as a bullet hit him in the shoulder. He quickly ran to cover, but as his concentration wavered the rubricae slowed down their shooting and then stopped, The sorcerer regained his concentration but not quickly enough to stop the devastator squad from pulping them into brittle dust with two direct Frag missiles.  

 

It was at this point that Pestilentae made his presence known. Appearing from deepstrike wreathed in a cloud of plague flies, and protected by his guards, the Niterai. They proceeded to cut down the devastator squad. In retaliation the two dreadnuaghts opened fire on the group and killed all but pestilentae himself. The clouds of flies moving to absorb any incoming fire. It was at this point that Sicarius' fears were realised. With an unholy roar a Forgefiend appeared from the mists that had been cloaking the edges of the battlefield. It spewed unholy ectopasma onto the Ironclad which disintegrated into a pool of molten slag. Cato heard a nearby roar. Barrelling towards him faster than he could quite comprehend was the dread warlord of the Impure. Cato realised that the sorcerer was somehow boosting the Terminator Lord's movement speed. The sniper scouts saw the sorcerer and again levelled a volley at him. All five shots pierced the Sorceress body, making him fly backwards by a few feet from the heavy calibre rifles. Pestilentae slowed down but bellowed a challenge. The company champion who served in Cato's honour guard replied with a challenge of his own. The noble champion charged forwards, before being cut in half by the giant scythe Pesitlentae, like his master Typhus, relished wielding. As the champion fell to the ground with two wet thunks, Pestilentae's scythe, Corpse Reaper, glowed and grew larger, a crackling aura surrounding it.

 

Cato Sighed and drew his sword. He would not let the rest of his honour guard die, for surely none could match the Chaos Lord in combat. "Feel the wrath of Guilliman" Sicarius roared before charging at Pestilentae. The charge caught the terminator lord of balance and like the skilled swordsman he was Cato capitalised on the moment slashing rapidly before stabbing forwards at the traitor and landing a telling blow that would have felled an Ultramarine Terminator. Pestilantae grimaced and then began laugh. He started his own attack, a blistering combination of overhead and sideways sweeps with his scythe, even using the blunt end to try and concuss the captain. Two hits landed and cut into his flesh through the armour. Both areas became cold and numb, and Cato looked in worry at how discoloured they became after such a short time. He barely had time to register this as Pestilentae was once again on the offensive. The Lord jumped into the air and brought down his weapon with all his might, hitting nothing but air as Sicarius rolled to the side. As Sicarius was about to strike he again heard the Chaos lord laugh, in confusion he looked down and saw a line of red across his entire stomach. He could no longer feel his arms or his legs. He fell to his knees and struggled to rise. The last thing he saw was the Anthraxis Kiss, an ornate yet filthy master crafted combi bolter being pinted at his head. Then he saw no more. 

 

-Edit

I feel like this is both too long, and too short. GOD DAMMIT TZEENTCH JUST COZ I DIDN'T WRITE ABOUT YOU! 

[Beachymike123]

This is based on a campaign me and my brother played a while back, the Austik Vien Relic campaign. In the last battle we played (the campaign has been on hold since as we've both been busy with work), my traitor guard, the Nihilists, were allied with a small detachment of Siege Makers, led by Robersium the Pyromancer to face his Necrons. The following entry is based upon that battle. 

 

Robersium felt the Warp course through his veins, but this time it came only from his flanks. Arrayed before the forces of Chaos were the ancient Necrons, who seemed to be able to dampen the Warp around them. Or at least this was as it seemed to the Sorceror. Whizzing shots of lasfire headed in the machines' direction, a few scoring fatal shots but many got back up, emerald energy lighting up their chests as they stood back up. The battle for this level had only just truly begun, with the Leman Russ BattleTank, the Spoils of Victory, rumbling to Robersium's right. In his ear, the vox-channel came on.

+The Dorn Breaker reporting, my liege,+ came the crisp sound over the din of the battle. +We shall be joining you soon. ETA three minutes.+

"Acknowledged," replied the Pyromancer. "We await your inclusion and we shall show who truly owns this battlefield. Out." As Robersium looked to the Battle Tank again, he could make out Skrinen and his Chosen squad taking up position in an old tower, reduced to ruin from Gauss fire. At ground level, a squad of Nihilist veterans, known as Darmen's Reavers, began to use their superior weapons (at least in comparision to the majority of the Nihilists) to shoot the advancing Necrons. 

"We need to get moving," said Vornt, Champion of the Iron Death squad. "Scanners show Necron forces are gaining ground rapidly..." The Battle Cannon on the Spoils drowned all noise in the immediate vicinity as it fired, along with the bark of Bother Brosius's Heavy Bolter from the tower. At the same time, The Dorn Breaker trundled in from behind, it's ancient scarred hull a sight of awe to the Traitor Marines. 

"Agreed," replied the Sorceror. He clicked the comm-rune in his ear, opening up a channel to the various squad Champions on the field. "I want a clean order of battle. Target priority goes to the more elaborate looking ones or any that hold a staff or orb. If any have a robe of any description, abolutely all firepower must be directed at them. Am I understood?" A series of yeses came back, just as the Iron Dragon, General Kryten, joined Robersium. "Let us march to victory."

Barely two minutes had passed before the first Siege Maker casualties were reported. Soren and his Raptors had broken from the battle line and charged into combat with a squad of Warriors. Yelling blessings to the Blood God, he had then cleaved the Lord in two as the rest of the squad cut the survivors down as they attempted to retreat. But this victory was short lived, as the squad came under fire from the most decorated of Necrons on the field. 

+Retreating to fall back zone my liege,+ reported Soren. +Casualties at seventy percent. We have dispatched the centre most Necrons.+ Frustration came over Robersium, but he was no fool. 

"Acknowledged." To Robersium's left, mortal followers of the Blood God broke from cover, having been ordered to by Kryten, and fired a well disciplined series of shots into the nearby squad of Warriors. The ones immediately to the front went down, their metallic bodies pierced and scorched from the concentration of fire. Robersium and the Iron Death squad picked up their pace, rounding the corner of a large chapel. Immediately they opened fire upon the same Warrior squad as the Khorne worshipping mortals. Bolter rounds tore into their hides, severing limbs and spinal columns. The Sorceror drew in what power he could and released an inferno within one of them, melting the ancient being into slag. 

"CHARGE!" bellowed Vornt, the Iron Warriors under his command sprinting to engage their target. Using Warp spawned fire to pave the way, Robersium charged his Force Sword, channeling unnatural heat into the blade. He slashed the head from the Orb wielding Lord, whose body fell to the ground motionless. It appeared to just fade from existence however, and the squad it had led soon faded too. The group of Iron Warriors quickly reformed, but another surprise was soon to be theirs. 

The cybernetic Sentinel Kenial, who had been marking targets from afar as the left flank had advanced, exploded as a powerful blast hit him. His legs were blown from underneath him, while some unknown power opened the ground up beneath him and crushed him as he fell. The shooter, the most decorated and robed machine in the area, had been identified as the Overlord, and those around him were classed as his Royal Court of Crypteks. They then turned their attention to the Iron Warriors, but the Khorne Infantry squad retaliated first. Bursts from their lasguns hit home, but none scored a hit due to unseen shields. This proved fatal as the response virtually wiped the squad from existence, the Royal Court combining fire with rapidly moving Tomb Blades. 

Robersium was becoming more enraged. At least the Blood God worshippers had brought the Iron Death time, which the Sorceror immediately capitalised on. Swinging his sword in a downward arc, the blade made contact and the sheer heat from it cleaved straight through. However, the self repair mechanisms in the Overlord repaired it immediately. Knowing their time wasn't now, and as more of the Royal Court was cut down, the remainder of the machines fell back. 

Panting heavily, the Pyromancer saw that Vornt was unconscious. Taking stock of the situation, he ordered the Iron Warriors to regroup on him. He took satisfaction as he saw Brosius's Heavy Bolter sever the Overlord's head with a shell from the ancient weapon. All around the field he saw the Nihilists were slowly gaining the upperhand, but not without heavy casualties. The Spoils of Victory fired at the darting Tomb Blades, and managed to destroy them along with a volley from some vengeance fuelled Nurgle mortal followers. Reports of the Blessed Brethren's demise were confirmed, so much for being the most favoured among the Nihilists. But Robersium began to feel a chill, despite his powers. Then he realised what was about to happen. 

He turned just in time to protect himself with an outward fiery blast as the rest of the Iron Death were blown back. A C'tan Shard, clearly from the ancient Nightbringer, had entered, and was attempting to turn the tide of battle. A Canoptek Spyder was at it's side, and had a prism beneath that sucked the powers of the Warp from those around it. Knowing he was the only being able to do something, the traitorous Crusader of Guilliman charged. A swing from a massive scythe cracked into his side, buckling his armour. Another swing hefted him off his feet but he didn't break his stride. He managed to reach the beast and drove his sword into the epidermis. Concentrating his Warp based powers, he channeled his powers and saw the ancient body begin to crack. The creature let out a scream as it's body exploded, knocking Robersium back and also damaging the Spyder. 

Dragging himself up, the Sorceror saw the prism was broken, and he felt his powers reach peak levels. But he also felt drained. Activating his sword one last time, he severed the head from the ancient machine. Slumping to the ground, he heard Skrinen over the vox-channel. 

+The field is ours, brother. No Necrons are in sight. Victory is ours.+

 

And a link to the actual campaign as it stands at the moment: http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/topic/285711-the-austik-vien-relic-campaign/?hl=austik+vien+relic&do=findComment&comment=3588794

[Teetengee]

Force and Flame

Hidden Content

The battlefield grew suddenly very quiet. Once again, the sorcerer could hear the crackle of his axe. But above that, Osiri listened to the hissing and thumping coming towards him; The Avatar of Khaine. Osiri’s had been separated by only a few dozen meters from his retinue, but they would never reach him in time. Lifting his axe and roaring a challenge Osiri rushed forward, fearless in his faith in Tzeentch and channelling all his psychic might through the conduits of his weapon.

He never had seen a creature move so fast, still didn’t in fact, as the Avatar’s limbs moved so quickly that Osiri’s eyes couldn’t quite trace their movements. Thankfully, his short glances into the future still allowed some attempts to parry. Even as he took blows readying his much slower weapon, Osiri could feel the strength of Tzeentch repairing his flesh and turning him or the weapon just enough to prevent a telling shot. Sudden, his blade fell home.
 

The scream that hurtled across the battlefield would haunt the Eldar who survived that day until the end of time, even beyond death. The Avatar crumpled, collapsing in on itself as its soul was torn roughly through a deep wound in its torso out and devoured by Osiri’s greedily drinking weapon. Such power one might expect to diffuse violently, but instead it spiralled ever further inward, suffusing Osiri’s body and mind. Suddenly he snapped forward, back arching impossibly in terminator armour plates never designed to bend. His hunched form pulsed and grew, bone snapping and metal shearing as his elevated soul broke free from its mortal prison. Then Osiri rose, axe still in hand, but seemingly dwarfed by his new size. Blue and gold armour lay changed and fused across much of his body, but in many places it has separated and revealed a deep purple flesh laced with gold and ruby. Golden yellow eyes looked out of a beaked mouth which nevertheless managed to express a snarl. A clawed hand lifted to those piercing eyes and a chorus of maniacal laughter filled the air. Osiri’s long promised ascension had come.

[Carrack]

Ramming Speed

 

 

Blackness, endless, unrelenting, silent, blackness. They had stowed me in the overhead bin again, with nothing but my addled thoughts to keep me company. Tubes and catheters, bulky augmetics and implanted unnatural organs took care of my physical needs, and sustained me in this hell of sensory deprivation. But what would sustain my sanity? How long must I suffer this blackness?

 

....

 

No, that was a real voice! I could hear my masters talking! How long was I gone. I can feel the rhino moving. The rough jerking turns, and rapid accelerations were the hallmark of Black Legionary Copil's driving. Oh the thrill of not being alone, I forgive them, I'm sure they didn't mean to put me in that hell. No, we have taken fire, I hope the rhino isn't damaged. That's it! The sound of the combat doors opening, that sweet sound. Wait for it, the bin opened! Copil is pulling me down and connecting me to the soul interface. The squad has dismounted. I am now in control of the rhino. It is what I was born to do.

 

The spirit of the rhino is old. Ancient, in fact, that is always the first thing that hits me when I am connected to her. The Carrutage L'ull, that is her name, we are now one. She has been wounded while I was away in hell, her front armor weakened by a bad angled lascannon shot. Instinctively we know we must stay back behind the front lines of this urban battlefield, out of the way of the enemy, but ready to rush in to pick up our masters if needed. In the mean time, we will hunt.

 

Our auspex picks up movement in an alley, 5 humanoid life forms, prey. We rush to the intersection of the alley and the main street. There they are, 5 aspiring lackeys of the Corpse God, space marine scouts. We open fire with our combi-bolter, as they launch a missile from a shoulder mounted tube. We hit with a pair of mass reactive bolts, but the body armor of the scout holds against the lethal rounds. They hit us with a krak warhead as we turn in our tracks. Large chunks of our side armor are blown away and the empty troop compartment pings with the sound of spalling armor bouncing off the opposite side.

 

We complete the turn. It is a tight fit in the narrow alley, mere inches on either side, no room for the prey to escape. They are trapped in the dead end alley. Ramming speed. We accelerate into overdrive and crash into the wall at the end of the alley. With no where to go, the prey is pulped between the dozer blade at our front, and the solidly built wall. Blood and gore splatter over our hull. Our masters will be pleased.

 

 

Note:

 

 

I had a rhino that tank shocked a scout squad off the board. With no place to put the unit in coherency, my opponent was forced to remove the scouts. The rhino was on its last hull point too for added sweetness.

 

[EesiOh]

god dammit carrak could you submit something bad please? other people wouldn't mind winning for once 

[Warsmith Aznable]

I don't know if this is too late or not:

 

Hidden Content

Braggar stood atop the wrecked hulk of the dreadnought. He leaned his head back and howled triumphantly. In one hand he held aloft his power-axe, and from its sharp chin dripped oil and blood. In the other hand he held aloft the partial spine of the former dreadnought pilot, broken and torn. Oily, black smoke boiled out of the dreadnought's engine compartment, and white-hot embers of metal flake drifted lazy in the air around him.

 

Veod lead the remnants of his squad through the drifting haze of the battlefield, heavily armoured boots pushing up wet curls of the hard, gray clay that stuck to everything on that miserable planet. They approached with bolters at the ready, but lowered them as one when their battle-brother's image resolved clearly in their helmet feeds and the threat icons winked out.

 

"Braggar!" Veod called out to his comrade. "You are alive!"

 

"I am alive!" Braggar shook the spine at Veod. "And I did this!"

 

"Geta." Veod grunted his approval, and the three marines behind him nodded their agreement. "How?"

 

+++++++++

 

Braggar took a knee at the edge of the broken concrete bunker. Rymr knelt behind him and loosened the straps on the melta-bomb hanging from Braggar's power-pack. The blued smoke of the battlefield and the close, gray clouds above worked against their visuals, but they could plainly hear the approach of an enemy war engine.

 

"Sonnung's team will provide a distraction." Sergeant Ennilang voxed to the squad. "The rest of us will close the distance. I will challenge the beast. Krak and melta will bring it down."

 

The squad felt heavy thump of dreadnought feet rumble through the clay, and a large shadow began moved through the acrid fog.

 

"Orange and black?" Ennilang asked in the informal cant of the Grand Company. He received nine firm feelings of acknowledgment through the neural connexions of his power armour. He looked across to Sonnung's fireteam creeping through a collapsed trench fifty meters from the broken bunker and nodded. "When you are ready, Sonny."

 

+++++++++

 

"Ennilang was a practical man."

 

Inside the orbital transport heads bobbed in agreement. Though the troop transport was packed to standing room only capacity, there was a small area clear around Braggar. He stood on a bench against the far bulkhead and grasped a hand strap from the low ceiling. All eyes were upon him, and all ears were eager for the tale.

 

Braggar looked at the faces of his comrades in the low, red light of the compartment. Ennilang was dead, and so were most of his squad. He wanted to honour them, but he was still flush with the adrenaline and excitement of his kill. He felt a twinge of shame. But they were dead and he was not. It had been he who took the dreadnought.

 

"A dreadnought should not travel alone." One of the herjar-brothers near the front pointed out. When several of his brothers agreed, he pressed on. "Surely these Imperials were not so foolish?"

 

+++++++++

 

The sharp hammer-bang of bolter fire broke the oppressive silence, and Braggar began to rise from his position. Rymr's firm hand held the top his power-pack.

 

"Not yet, brother." Rymr whispered, even though they were on a secure vox net.

 

Braggar was annoyed at both Rymr and himself, but said nothing. The action icons at the corners of his helmet display were still yellow, and he did not yet feel the subconscious impulses to act from the sergeant.

 

Braggar hungered for the coming violence. The closeness of death excited him, and the enemy dreadnought was a gloriously dangerous prize.

 

The high pitched whine of an assault cannon winding up reached their audio pick-ups, and was closely followed by the scream of high powered slugs. The assault cannon fired so rapidly that individual rounds were impossible to to distinguish, and the weapon howled at Sonnung's fire team like an enraged animal.

 

"Now!" Rymr and Braggar were on their feet, quickly falling in behind Sergeant Ennilang and the two others as they sprinted the distance to the dreadnought.

 

Immediately Braggar felt the stinging scatter of Astartes shotgun rounds across his chest. The danger was not entirely unexpected, and he snapped off two rounds from his bolt pistol. The space marine scout crumpled, his carapace armour shattered and his chest a gaping wound. A heavy bolter began to bark, but it was not close enough to be a problem he could solve. His power-axe lashed out and bit deep into the shoulder of another scout who was grappling with Rymr.

 

+++++++++

 

"Rymr was a good knife man." Hardveur interjected. They had been close even though they were in different squads, and Hardveur would not have it implied in the Sangahall that his friend had needed the help to slay an aspirant. "It was the melta-bomb he carried got in his way. Merely slowed him down."

 

"That is true." Braggar agreed. The entire Second Company was present in the Sangahall, and many from the Third as well as auxiliaries. He noted, too, that there was a handful of First Company veterans lingering toward the back of the hall. But he had done what he had done, and would tell the story as he remembered it.

 

He had never spoken before so many of his battle-brothers before, though. He found it as unnerving as it was exciting. Not unlike the curious mixture of feelings when facing an almost certain death. He decided that he liked it.

 

"And what of Corporal Sunnung?" Someone in the crowd called out the question.

 

+++++++++

 

Braggar vaulted over the fallen scout, avoiding the heavy bolter rounds the dead hand still sent down range. The scout had been felled by a bolter shot from someone behind him, but Braggar was determined to keep up with Sergeant Ennilang who had already pushed through the scout's skirmish line.

 

The dreadnought was very close, but still did not seem aware of their presence. Braggar felt Sonny die a fraction of a second before the runes representing his fire team began to wink out. He broke discipline for a moment and glanced in their direction. Their cover had disintegrated under the withering fire of the assault cannon, which was now chewing through their exposed bodies. It was a worthy death, if not a glorious one, Braggar decided.

 

He heard the ping over the company vox net that acknowledged a request for assistance that he had not heard Sergeant Ennilang make, and he grimaced.

 

"Face me!" Sergeant Ennilang cocked his powerfist back, activating the crackling power field.

 

The Dreadnought spun on quickly, and a bright torrent of prometheum jetted in their direction.

 

+++++++++

 

"And how did you avoid it?" The black hooded advisor did not look up at Braggar. Almost the entire time they had been alone in his Temple office, the advisor had barely looked up from his dataslate. The advisor listened intently, silently making notes, and asking the occasional question.

 

This was as unnerving to Braggar as speaking in the Sangahall had been, but without any of the excitement.

 

"At first I thought... I had tripped." Braggar admitted. He paused for a moment to remember the feeling of the intense heat as it washed over his back. The advisor waited patiently, and Braggar continued. "Rymr pushed me down. From behind. I was distracted by Sonny's death and did not see the threat. Rymr did."

 

+++++++++

 

Braggar rolled over and scrambled to the side. He felt something hard hit his side and recognized the melta-bomb. Rymr had dropped it as the two had started to go down. Braggar snatched it up and rolled forward.

 

He felt the life instantly mashed from Rymr's body as the dreadnought stomped forward, crushed his battle brother. The assault cannon wound up again, letting loose another screaming burst.

 

Braggar was behind the dreadnought now, and knew he had but a moment to act. He ignored Sergeant Ennilang's crawling form. The fire was consuming him and there was nothing that could be done, drenched as he was in the flammable gel. Braggar could not even pause for a mercy kill if he wanted it to be his squad that took down this beast.

 

"To Waelheim!"

 

The Dreadnought torso spun on its access to face the sudden reappearance of a threat it had believed eliminated. Braggar ducked under the swinging close combat arm and clamped the meltabomb to the underside of the hull.

 

+++++++++

 

"Ennilang deserved better." The Warsmith leaned back on his throne. He did not raise his voice, but somehow it carried clearly across the throne room. "But that cannot be helped."

 

Braggar stood before the Warsmith's throne. It made him nervous to not be able to see the assembled courtiers. He knew it was an honour to address the Warsmith directly, but the stares of the mortal officials and flunkies, the delegations and petitioners, the allies and the supplicants... all of these made him uncomfortable. This was a tale of his battle brothers, and he did not know what these had done to deserve to hear it. The two terminator bodyguards flanking the steps of the dias did not do anything to make him feel more among his own kind, either. Veterans among veterans, and openly hostile to everyone, he did not feel any kindred spirit from their presence.

 

"No, my lord." Braggar felt so far away from the pride of the moment when he stood atop the dreadnought's wreckage. "It could not be helped."

 

+++++++++

 

Braggar stumbled away from the falling hulk of the dreadnought, narrowly avoiding being crushed himself. The beast still thrashed, desperate to end his life. Braggar did not think about the offal his hands and knees churned through as he struggled to regain his feet. He did not want to know which of his brothers it was. Instead he gave himself over to anger.

 

His power-axe was at hand. He had dropped it when Rymr pushed him under the flamer's deadly path, but now it was before him again and he snatched it up. The dreadnought roared a heavily modulated cry of anger and hate, and Braggar heard the assault cannon begin to wind up for the third and final time. He saw the dreadnought had managed to get him in his sights, levering itself with its close combat arm.

 

The final burst never came.

 

Braggar would never know if the beast was simply out of ammo or some stroke of luck had seen the belt break, but the final burst of deadly assault cannon fire never came. Braggar, feeling nothing but the heat of his own anger, did not waste time. He closed the distance and leapt onto the dreadnought's sarcophagus. He managed to keep his feet, even as the dreadnought shifted, its close combat arm trying in vain to throw him off.

The power-axe rose and fell. Braggar did not know how many times. He did clearly remember anything between leaping onto the sarcophagus and holding the pilot's spine in his fist and howling to the sky.

An icon in his helmet lit up and a chime sounded.

 

Reinforcements were coming on site.

 

+++++++++

 

"And that's how you make sergeant, is it?" The recently ascended aspirant asked Braggar. All of his squad were recently ascended, all of them from the same cadre of aspirants. Ennilang's squad, no, Braggar's squad had been so thoroughly reduced that instead of dispersing them amongst the company they were used to keep the squad in continuous activation.

 

"You do it your own way." Sergeant Braggar was weary of repeating the tale, but his new squad had worn down his resistance to telling it. "There are better ways to make rank than watching your betters burn."

 

Not sure I'm happy with the ending, but I'm out of time to tweak it.

[Carrack]

Glory, Glory, gore soaked Glory! I was impressed with the tales of glory related by the participants this week. Such tales will undoubtedly be carved into the stones of the Imperial Palace on Terra in the not so distant future.

We had Darkprincesnun's sorcerer fight his way through the Emperor's dogs to slay a Wolf Guard Battle Leader. EesiOh told the tale of a true champion of the gods smiting down the mighty Cato Sicarius. The mighty Iron Warrior Sorcerer Roberium truely had the favor of the gods, no matter if he cared or not for such favor, when he cut his way through a army of Necrons to, once and for all, slay a shard of C'tan. Then there was the mighty sorcerer Osiri, who gained the greatest of rewards for killing the avatar of the xenos Eldar's god. Lastly, we had the story of Braggar and his defeat of the loyalist dreadnought, at great cost, yet greatly rewarded as well. But there can be only one winner.

All the entries this week were good, I am getting a glimpse of the difficulty of judging this contest. As I mentioned, all the entries were good, but three stand out to me as being exceptional. The sheer magnitude of Beachymike123's, account was truly heroic, those are the moments of a battle that live on for ever in our memories. Teetengee's story was remarkable in its description of a lord's ascension into a prince of daemons. But in spite of the tough competition, Warsmith Aznable yet again won the competition. I found his use of flashbacks in telling his tale superbly done, which if not well done, leave the reader confused. I also found the character of Braggar very believable, not always an easy task with Chaos Astartes. Step forth Warsmith Aznable and claim another prize.

Now on to the next Inspirational Friday challenge. Deadline is Friday 25 October. Let us see if we can stop the mighty Warsmith Aznable's string of victories.

A stolen relic.

A chaos space marine is not above a little thievery, but some items may have more significance than a few boltgun magazines taken off a still cooling body of a Corpse God's lackey. Take for instance, Talos's Blood Angel power sword. The Blood Angels knew it was theirs and wanted it back.

What relic has your Warband or Legion stolen? Who did they lift it from, and what were the circumstances around this larceny. Do they know the significance of what they possess and flaunt it to their enemies, or is it merely collecting dust in some treasure chest along with more mundane booty. Has the rightful owners made attempts to retrieve it? What was the impact of its loss to its owners?

[Warsmith Aznable]

I feel that if you had not been judging the competition, Carrack, that you should have won it for your short about the Rhino.

But as that is not the case, I gladly claim this prize!

[Beachymike123]

Well done Warsmith Aznable. The way the flashbacks were played out worked well, and I think added to a warrior recounting his tale. Great work all round though, I certainly had a blast reading through them.

Now to start thinking what items my guys have for the next IF topic.

Just out of curiosity Carrack, is it just one relic or can we have multiple? Obviously not a cave's worth, but say 2 or 3?

[Carrack]

I feel that if you had not been judging the competition, Carrack, that you should have won it for your short about the Rhino.

But as that is not the case, I gladly claim this prize!

I apologize for the lack of the medal, I have been trying to figure it out for a while now and as soon as I do I will edit the post. I think we might have to wait for Kierdale's return to running IF next month. Sorry. I liked my story this week, I feel that I have a hit or miss record when it comes to writing, but I try to make up for my lack of accuracy with a greater volume of fire :) That being said, I think if I included my own entry I still would have lost to you. Thanks for the compliment.

[Carrack]

Well done Warsmith Aznable. The way the flashbacks were played out worked well, and I think added to a warrior recounting his tale. Great work all round though, I certainly had a blast reading through them.

Now to start thinking what items my guys have for the next IF topic.

Just out of curiosity Carrack, is it just one relic or can we have multiple? Obviously not a cave's worth, but say 2 or 3?

Sure thing Beachymike123, steal as much as you can carry from the deluded loyalists, erstwhile allies, or filthy xenos.

[Thedarkprincesnun]

Ok here's my entry

The Crimson Blade

"The blade it drives the bearer insane it craves blood it craves sacrifice for the blood god".

The Crimson Blade is a relic of unknown origin all it is known is that at some point during the Great Crusade the Primarch Sanguinius found this weapon. Originally it was not cursed however after the primarchs destruction at the hands of Horus it is said a blood thirsty spirit awoke within the sword.

 

With the After math of the Heresy and the breaking down of the Legions into chapters there was much discussion among the blood angels who would get the blade. After many months of discussion a agreement was reached. Every 5 years the blade would be gifted to a successor until it made its way back to the chapter for this way all sons of Sanguinius would get to receive the blades holy blessings.

 

This would continue until M:38.48 when the Blood Angels successor chapter the Wings of Sacrifice was to find their home world trapped within a warpstorm. Upon landing on the world the found their fortress monastery and the cities surrounding it under siege. As the Wings of Sacrifice prepared a staunch counter attack. Communicating with the Chapter Master back in the monastery it was decided between the 2 of them that Gabriel and his marines would go to help free the cities while the chapter master and the 3 remaining companies would attempt to push the forces of Chaos back and prevent them from taking the Crimson Blade.

 

This however proved to be their downfall as with their forces being split up the chaos forces were easily able to overwhelm them with hordes of cultists and summoned daemons. As the forces of Chaos made it to the Crimson Blades chamber the Chapter Master and his honour guard prepared to defend the blade with their last breath. This would later become a fatal mistake due to the sorceror lord Azhar Balelord had planned to sacrifice the chapter master and his body guard to unleash the power of the crimson blade.

 

At first it seemed the chapter master and his sanguinary guard held the advantage but as the battle continued on the Sorcerors foul sorcery overwhelmed the descendants of Sanguinius. As he took the Crimson Blade he used it to slay the Chapter Master followed by the few body guards he left alive.

 

Upon doing this he left the world having achieved his objectives. Since this day however the Blood Angels and their successors have hunted down this ancient relic. Rather unfortunately for the Sons of Sanguinius the relic has changed hands within the great eye so many times. No one knows for sure who wields it.