Assault on Calebra Hive

[Carrack]

of course we enjoy, are you mad?

 

Quite thoroughly. :)

 

5.2 Crown of Fire

Tasser the Hawk heaved into the gun shield of the rapier laser destroyer to get the damned left carriage wheel out of yet another pothole. By his count the left wheel had been stuck four more times than the right since his demotion to assistant gunner. After the death of Ferrigio, his previous assistant gunner, Slayer, his rapier, had been field repaired and assigned a new crewman, Kavasa. Kavasa was a tall, lean but muscular, man born and bred from the daemon world Vaska. His body was a street map of scars and clan tattoos. When they had fought for the right to shoot Slayer, Kavasa's reach and footwork confounded the burly tribesman. The Vaskan was landing three punches for every one Tasser could throw, and with his broken toes, Tasser was often left punching nothing but air, instead of the elusive, dancing Vaskan. Now, with a new collection of bruises, he was forced to push the rapier like a slave. Tasser idly recalled the words of his tribe's soothsayer, "You will end your days wearing a crown of fire." She had said, Tasser had a long way to go before he wore any crown, given his pathetic circumstances.

 

They were still on The Ground. The Ganger General had given up on bringing armor up from the underhive, and was instead dropping light walkers onto rooftops of buildings that didn't quite reach the ceiling. These light walkers, sentinels, could rapidly deploy heavy weapons to support the various Imperial positions. Tasser the Hawk was pushing Slayer to a cul de sac at the end of a long street that a squadron of sentinels were firing down with impunity, making it impossible for the Black Maw's mortal infantry to advance. As usual, they were using alleyways to conceal the rapier as it made its vulnerable journey. Once the weapon was set, it was deadly, but on the move, it was like a seal pup trapped on the ice before the Greater White Bear. Finally they reached a decent firing position in between two hab blocks occupied by Black Maw fighters. Their position was partially concealed by an overflowing refuse bin that had not been emptied since a week before the invasion. The smell was less than lovely.

 

Kasava called out in the battle cant of his clan to the infantry squads in the hab blocks to either side. There was no response. Frustrated, Tasser did the same in Low Gothic, and was told to busy himself doing something anatomically impossible while they readied for advance. Kasava then slapped Tasser in his burn and bruised face, and told him in broken low gothic to get out in front of Slayer and spot for threats. Reluctantly, he did so looking back at a gun shield marked with three Leman Russ kills and two chimeras. Battle honors undeserving of this daemon worlder who couldn't even communicate with 2/3 of Lythane the Black's strike force.

 

Heavy stubber bursts and launched grenades started firing out the left hab block into a market building's second, third, and fourth stories on the left side of the road. Scattered short stubber burst from the right hab block dissuaded any defenders from entering the street. The gun crews were professionals, "talking" their guns one after another, to keep a steady volume of fire without overheating their barrels. After a few minutes of prepatory fires, a squad of about 20 infantry rushed the front door to the market building, the first two carrying a makeshift battering ram, the rest autoguns with fixed bayonets and a couple of flamers. The battering ram did its job efficiently and the squad entered the building. Tasser could here them going to work with controlled shots and the occasional whoosh of short bursts from the flamers. Shortly after their entry, a similar squad rushed out to support the first. In the brief period they were in the open, all hell broke loose out of the far end of the street.

 

The far end of the street held a hab block on one side and a high ceilinged garage on the other. Both had heavy bolter teams cut into the second Black Maw squad from inside the buildings. Worse was the sentinels. The two legged walkers were fast, they ran to alley ways and opened fire on the squad in the open with high caliber autocanons. The squad, what was left of it, fell back to its hab block. The sentinels had moved to fast for Kasava to get a shot in before they were safely tucked away in their alleys. Tasser was sure he would have at least killed one of the mechanical flightless birds, but Kasava was not the gunner that Tasser the Hawk was.

 

There was confusion in the Black Maw cul de sac. The assaulting squad was firing more heavily up the street, and screaming for reinforcements. The fighters in the left hab block were yelling at the squad that had fallen back, while those of the right were yelling at the rapier crew to shoot the sentinels. Kasava asked Tasser which alleys the sentinels went to, to the astonishment of Tasser, this fool had lost sight of his prey. Tasser beckoned the gunner forward to point out their positions, and Kasava reluctantly came forward. Tasser grabbed Kasava's arm to point out the alleys in frustration, when his other hand found the hilt of his rabbit skinner. The knife had been the only tool he had been allowed to take with him that fretful winter night he left the safety of his tribe's camp to prove he was ready to be called a man. The blade went into Kasava's armpit and through a lung to knick the Vaskan's heart. Kasava dropped to the floor still alive, until Tasser the Hawk withdrew the blade. Kavasa's lifeblood spilt out across the garbage strewn ground. Tasser quickly manned Slayer in time for the second infantry squad to make another go at it.

 

Predictably for the squad, the results were the same. The enemy was zeroed in on the hab block door they were using, and as soon as it opened the heavy bolters on the other end of the street started barking. The Sentinels, eager to get in on the action, and safely out of range of the Black Maw grenadiers, stepped out of the alley for better shots. Tasser, with Slayer already lined up for the shot pulled the firing chain and annihilated the lead Sentinel. The other two sentinels pivoted on their axis and took aim at the new threat. Tasser was already traversing Slayer to face the second Sentinel. Before Tasser could fire a second time, the auto cannons strafed across his position. One round hit the refuse dump and exploded it in a shower of rotten food, waste paper, and more than a few feasting rodents. Another shot hit the right hab block and went through the front wall, then between two fighters to lodge in the far wall, one fighter cursed, the other praised the Weaver of Fate. Another round cut a groove through the overflow of refuse to strike the rapier's carriage, breaking its axel and dropping the laser destroyer to the ground. The last round however, found Tasser the Hawk in the top of the head, just poking out to sight Slayer. The force of the round was enough to take the top of his head off while leaving him still standing. For a moment, Tasser the Hawk stood in disbelief. Was this how he was to die? What were the words his tribe's soothsayer? "You will end your days wearing a crown of fire". She was right, cannon fire. The Hawk would hunt no more.

Edited September 2, 2015 by Carrack

[Carrack]

6.2 Prize of Thirteen House

General Mann placed himself in the middle of the loose wedge formation adopted by the Inquisitorial Storm Troopers as they hustled through the streets and parks of Thirteen House. From the middle, he could more easily direct the movements of his team. The fact that the team only looked to their sergeant for direction didn't bother General Mann. He was not one to micromanage. It was only natural, that his position be placed so that he was protected on all sides by the elite troopers, he was a general after all. The drawback to his place in the order of march, was that it put him in close proximity with Inquisitor Gorvanof's pet witch. She was mumbling some psyker mumbo jumbo and steadily thumping her staff as she walked. General Mann was sure the thumping staff would alert the enemy, but it would be impolite to mention it to the scary old crone, so in the spirit of good manners, he refrained from commanding her to move more quietly.

 

Not long into their journey, the storm trooper sergeant abruptly stopped and raised his non-firing hand. The other storm troopers stopped as well. General Mann thought it was a little soon to take a break, but did not want to overtax his men, so he pulled a boot flask filled with a nice amasec aged in a hardwood cask for seven years. It was the aging process that really brought out the flavors. He offered it to the nearest trooper who was resting on one knee with his hellgun propped across a park bench. Even during their break, these storm troopers were aiming their weapons. They really needed to relax a bit, they were making him nervous. The storm trooper gave General Mann a look of incredibility, these chaps must not get offered the good stuff very often, but nevertheless, the trooper declined. The sergeant beckoned for the witch to come forward and the two of them conferred a moment.

 

After their conference, the sergeant trotted back to the general, forgot to salute, and whispered, "General, our auspex and the psyker are detecting enemy activity in the area. I believe we can still accomplish our mission to get you to House 3, but we will have to be careful from here on out. I need you to stick with me, we will be moving by teams, and I can't afford to have you get mixed up. Also, can you please remove your hat, sir?" General Mann suggested, as he removed his double paraquim plumed, tricorner hat, "Perhaps we should return to the bastion and wait for a safer hour?" "No general, remember what Inquisitor Gorvanof told you if you didn't follow his orders." Replied the sergeant. General Mann drained his flask in one gulp. He was just brainstorming suggestions, he wouldn't have turned back anyway.

 

General Mann's team began a confusing silent ballet, where half of the unit would run forward while the other half pointed their weapons past the running half. Then the running half would stop and wait for the other half to catch up, all the while pointing their weapons further down their route. Nobody said anything during this exercise, and even the old crone moved surprisingly fast without thumping her staff. In contrast, the tapping of his dress shoes on the pavement competed with the sounds of him gasping for air after the short sprints. Perhaps he should hire a personal trainer if he was going to have to do this sort of thing more often, and definitely a masseuse.

 

After several relays of these sprints, General Mann thought his heart was going to explode. As he took another undoubtably brief rest while the other team moved, he glanced over at the sergeant. The man wasn't even sweating! Was he a mutant? Surely not considering his employer, but than again Inquisitors were rumored to do more unorthodox things than employ mutants. Just as he was about to have to do another sprint, a booming mechanical voice sounded out from somewhere to the south, +I AM KHARFUS+. The voice alone rattled windows in their frames, but it was followed by a fizzing sound that proceeded an explosion. The sergeant told him not to worry, that their path would not cross that of this Kharfus, and they made their next sprint. General Mann bravely drew his gem encrusted sword just in case. He felt better, more warlike, he was sure he cut a more dashing image.

 

Just as the forward team ended their sprint in the cover of a stairway before a dark alley, the bloodbath began. A grenade was tossed out of the alley over the stair. Forcing the team to abandon its cover, while the sergeant, his team, the witch, and to the amazement of everyone, General Mann rushed forward to support the forward team. A blast of flame whooshed out of the alley to engulf the forward storm troopers followed by a scattering of bolt pistol fire and the fizzing of a meltagun. The forward storm troopers, elite veterans with the best of equipment, were cut down by the firestorm blowing out of the alley. Before General Mann had time to gasp, a nightmare in black leapt upon the stairway. Four meters up. The nightmare was a huge monstrosity covered head to toe in black armor trimmed with bronze and adorned with spikes and cruel hooks dangling from chains, and enshrined with blasphemous iconography. Red hatred poured from the nightmare's eyes. It held an adamantine staff topped with a brass rune. Skulls and severed heads hung from the staff on a mass of chains. The other hand held a bolt pistol that casually began to track the charging storm troopers. More of the nightmare creatures, about 7 rounded out of the alley to face General Mann's team.

 

Something stopped General Mann from rushing forwards with the surviving part of his team. It must have been his duty to his mission. It certainly was not fear. He witnessed the last, brave action of his team, before he turned around and advanced in the opposite direction. The storm troopers pulled up short to fire their hellguns and remaining meltagun at close range. Their well placed shots had deadly affect on the nightmares. Nightmares of humanity's past. The meltagun struck the chaos Astartes who was carrying the flamer and cooked him from the inside out, eventually setting off the spare promethium canisters in a gout of flame that almost reached the ceiling. The hellguns penetrated the Arch-Enemy's armor with ease, that's what they were designed to do. However the chaos marines were made to resist the gravest of injuries, and only one fell to the pavement from the overcharged las rounds. The real firepower of General Mann's team came not from the advanced weaponry of the storm troopers, but from the milky white eyes of the old witch. White beams, the same color of her eyes, lanced out of the old crone to drop another two chaos marines to the street, with a still glowing white nimbus surrounding their forms. But all the firepower, both psychic and mundane, was not enough to save the general's team. The chaos marine on the stair, lowered his brutal icon and leapt into the storm troopers. The other traitor marines followed with cries of, "Blood for the Blood God!" on their lips. The elite fighting men of the Inquisition were cut down by chainswords and a few ancient power weapons. The leader of the enemy, obvious by his more ornate helm and armor, beheaded the witch with a red glowing power sword. His off hand, with a bolt pistol hanging from a chain at his wrist, caught the witch's head by her scraggily white hair and held it high. As he surveyed the carnage of his victory, he announced, "Skulls for the Skull Throne!" And rammed the head sideways onto a spike protruding from his giant backpack.

 

General Mann thought he had run the fastest he ever had when his team was sprinting from cover to cover. The desire to keep up with the professionals, and not to dishonor himself by lagging behind had fueled his sprints. He quickly outpaced his previous record running back the way he came. It was his sense of duty to the mission that fueled him this time. Maybe a little bit of self preservation too, but he was vital to the mission, so that was certainly acceptable. The enemy was close behind him. They were laughing heartily as they pursued him. Obviously they were trying to unnerve him. General Mann started sobbing as he ran. Intuitively, he must have known that sobbing was the antithesis of laughter, so his sobs must have been his instinctive method of countering their unnerving laughter. It didn't work. Not the sobbing or the running. He was certain he could have outpaced his pursuers if they hadn't cheated and cut him off.

 

What cut General Mann off was a thing so horrible a cowardly man would have voided his bowels and bladder at its sight. The thing was part beast and part machine. It stood more than twice the size of his giant pursuers. The lines where ropes of beastly musculature ended and heavy armor began were blurred. In the middle of the main armored section, a tortured face leered out from inside a mouth of jagged teeth. One monstrous arm ended in a double barreled weapon shimmering with heat. The other arm ended in a claw that could tear open tanks. General Mann only lost control of his bladder. The beast-machine boomed +I AM KHARFUS+ The general's vision started to constrict into an ever narrowing cone, and his moistened legs started to wobble. A giant hand grabbed General Mann by the collar and lifted him off his feet, turning him to face his capturer from inches away. It was the enemy leader, from his vantage point he could see the lifeless milky eyes of the witch staring back at him. They were nothing compared to the red eye lenses of the chaos marine holding him. The enemy said, "Well, well, it looks like we have ourselves a prize."

 

5.3 Correspondence from The Ground Up

To: Lord Governor Valencias-Calebra, Lord of the Undying Light, His Most Holy Ruler of All Candelbright, etc.. etc...

 

From: Brigadier General Handlery, Both Your, and Him-on-Terra's Loyal Servant.

 

Subject: The situation on The Ground is dire.

 

In Brief: The Arch-Enemy is slowly turning the tide of battle against us. We are slipping our hold on The Ground, and with it, any chance to break out of our hive's envelopment on our own.

 

Detail 1: If the heretics succeed in taking The Ground, they will have effectively cut off the underhive. I am all to aware of what your council thinks of the underhive, but let me remind you that our best estimates at an underhive census (Adept Cabayero's report) is that they make roughly 1/4 of our overall population. In addition, not just my own opinion on the potential of the underhivers, which you are well aware, but the esteemed Ministorum Conscriptor General Maggia, has drawn on the underhive exclusively for the last 6 major foundings, as well as 4 of the 6 off year foundings. I know these foundings are, in part, social engineering to rid our hive of undesirables, but they also conscript from the underhive for the warlike qualities the underhivers possess.

 

Detail 2: I am not naive, I know the major shortcoming of the underhivers is loyalty. If they are cut off from the rest of the hive, I fear their allegiance will shift to their captors, and their souls will be damned. I then fear for the fate of Calebra Hive if 1 in 4 of our subjects is in the camp of the Arch-Enemy.

 

Detail 3: All of my efforts to counter the enemy with the Emperor's superior engines of war have been repulsed. I will be forced to engage the enemy with overwhelming numbers of infantry. I don't know if I have the numbers, we are in the dark on the number of the enemy's traitor regiments.

 

Query 1: I need to fully mobilize the underhive to drive out the heretics. To accomplish this I need preachers to stir up the passions and loyalty of the underhivers, I need non commissioned officers to train them, and I need commissars to instill discipline, as many and as soon as you see fit. I must reinforce my positions as rapidly as possible. Many of my men, myself included, have not rested since the invasion began.

 

Query 2: What is the status of the forces from your lesser hives? Are they capable of breaking through our envelopment by the Arch-Enemy? Can they at least provide a distraction for us to consolidate and fortify our positions?

 

Query 3: How long before our world will be relieved? How long must we hold out?

 

 

Respectfully,

Brigadier General Handlery

 

 

Reply: Handlery old boy, I will do what I can. I can not reveal the details of what that might be at the moment, but I must ask that you have faith in the Emperor and myself. Hold the line! Rest assured that Deliverance is at hand.

Edited September 5, 2015 by Carrack

[Carrack]

 

4.3 The Serpent and the Raven

 

The snake sprouting from Cancon's belly was trying to communicate with him again. He could tell, because it was shifting colors again. Back home, their were small lizards that communicated to each other by changing the color of their scales, this constrictor must be doing the same. There was no doubt that the snake had a mind of its own, and that mind wanted things. Thus far he had only learned two messages from the snake. The first was that it got hungry, this was preceded by a quick shift to crimson scales, followed by biting and squeezing. The squeezing wasn't the full force of the constrictor, just pressure that went along naturally with biting. The biting hurt. Cancon had a black and blue bicep to show for it. He now carried a sack of rats at his hip, incase he saw the crimson color again. The snake knew it couldn't outright eat Cancon, so the biting never progressed further than a few bruises. What concerned Cancon beyond the painful attacks, was the the snake was behaving like a snake. It wasn't. It was a manifestation of the Gods favor upon the cult magos. Same as his superhuman reflexes. Reflexes equalled to his Black Legion Masters.

 

The second message he had translated from the snake was death. When the snake turned black, it struck to kill. A quick, locking bite pulled the victim into its coils where it would truly constrict. Victims lungs were prevented from drawing in air as the pressure mounted and ribs cracked, suffocation ensued. Two captives, and one of his own warriors had died from the violent serpent. Cancon had no control over any of the attacks, but one, the attack on a captive who had managed to fashion a makeshift shiv, was slain in defense of Cancon. But what was It trying to tell him now, it was changing to black again, and his warriors were safely distancing themselves, but the black was interrupted with a white pattern that looked vaguely like feathers. The mystery would have to wait, Cancon had been assigned another task by Lord Garaduk on level 82, known locally as the Hospice.

 

The hospice was a level given over to the most basic of geriatric care. It held a large hospital that took up most of the east side of the level. The majority of the remainder of the level was hab blocks converted to the care for the elderly. The mid hivers, could rarely afford the quality care they felt their elders deserved, and were forced to send their aging family members to the Hospice. Keeping them all on their own level, let them be more easily forgotten. Conditions were abyssal before the war. In many instances, patients died from neglect from overworked staff and filthy conditions. With the invasion, care had gone from bad to worse, many of the nurses and doctors were conscripted into militia units to tend to Calebra Hive's defenders, leaving the sick and elderly alone and unattended. Then Dark Lung reached The Hospice. The daemonic virus spread thru the aging population sparing few. A quarantine was placed over the level, and the residents and remaining staff were left on their own. All known access points to other levels were sealed.

 

Cancon was tasked with either finding a hidden access lift or stair, unsealing a known access lift, or failing that, making a new breach. Garaduk wanted both a way to skip levels on his climb to link up with the upper strike force, and to spread his engineered disease to more levels. Cancon figured his best hope for finding a lift, lay near the keystone building of this level, the hospital.

 

Cancon and his 9 surviving warriors pushed the corpse cart towards the hospital. They were once again in rebreathers to protect themselves from their masters weapon, and had thrown on heavy black cloaks to conceal their gifts of the gods. They didn't need an elaborate disguise, the few survivors noticing them from boarded up windows, quickly looked away from the gruesome cart. To stare at a corpse cart was like staring at a taxi, the driver might think you were his next fare.

 

The hospital had been quarantined more throughly than the other buildings of The Hospice. The large glass receiving doors had been boarded closed and reinforced with stacks of broken furniture and barrels of useless liquids, mostly mop water. Outside the doors and barricade was an abandoned check point interrupting a single strand of coiled concertina wire that encircled the building. Cancon sent Jenna and two other warriors to break open the check point with axes and sledges, while the rest of his warriors waited with him behind the corpse cart.

 

Out of nowhere, sparks scattered about the check point as a solid round struck something metal. The other rounds did not miss. The bodies of Jenna and the two warriors breaching the checkpoint slumped to the ground as their heads exploded in showers of blood, skull fragments, and brain matter. Head shots, the work of marksmen. There was nothing to indicate the location of the shooters, no loud crack from firing solid projectiles, and no flash from a muzzle to be seen. The work of snipers.

 

As Cancon watched Jenna fall, he realized that his relationship with his longest serving warrior went beyond trust and appreciation of her skills. It went beyond inspiration at her unwavering devotion to the gods. It went beyond friendship. As something died inside Cancon along with Jenna, a funeral pyre was stoked in his heart with a burning need for revenge. Yet he faced snipers. Sniper fire had a way of unnerving the most stalwart of warriors. Warriors primarily dealt with problems through physical violence, it's what made them warriors. But there was no way to retaliate against a hidden foe. Cancon's warriors were just so unnerved now, looking back towards their last bolt hole or ducking beneath the corpse cart for cover. The look in both Cancon's eyes, and the eyes of the snake attached to his torso dissuaded the remaining warriors from any thoughts of retreat or defensive actions.

 

They charged the hospital doors. As they leapt the wire, Farlen, his warrior gifted with several extra eyes scattered across his face, caught his heavy black cloak on the razor barbs of the wire and fell backwards into the cruel fence. His struggles made his predicament worse and soon he was incapacitated. He should have seen that coming. Two more warriors fell to sniper fire before Cancon and his warrior band were beneath the ambulance entry in front of the receiving doors. They started dismantling the barricades by hand and claw.

 

While they were working their way through the barricade the deep barking of a heavy bolter opened up on them. Killing two of Cancon's remaining 3 warriors. The heavy bolter was mounted on a hover vehicle that had silently skimmed by the hospital. The driver and the gunner of the open topped, black vehicle were wearing black power armor similar to their Black Maw lords. Similar yet strikingly different in some ways. It was newer, cleaner, devoid of spikes and arrows. It wasn't trimmed with brass, but all black, save a silver emblem on the chest, and white markings on the pauldrons. The markings were of a raven and the emblem was the Imperial Aquilla. Cancon glanced at the snake growing from his chest and realized the white feather pattern in its scales resembled the feathers of the raven painted on the loyalists' pauldrons. The fast moving skimmer was turning about for another strafing run. Cancon knew they would not survive another burst from its heavy bolter.

 

The snake had other ideas. It struck out at Cancon's only surviving warrior, his flamer bearer Yarl, and bit him in the shoulder. With supernatural strength the serpent lifted the big man off his feet and coiled around him, immobilizing him. But not crushing him. The constrictor held Yarl before Cancon, as it flooded his mind with images of the corpse cart. Cancon ran. As the skimmer made another pass, the serpent held the still living Yarl in between Cancon and the heavy bolter. Yarl screamed before he was torn to shreds by the large mass reactive rounds. The serpent seemed unaffected. The speeder swung around to make another pass, before it made its banking turn, Cancon reached the corpse cart and dove in, burying himself in the rotting cargo. Three more passes from the skimmer chewed up the top layer of corpses in the cart. Cancon caught some minor shrapnel and was lacerated all over his legs and the still human portion of his chest, but he was alive. The heavy bolter was finally silent.

 

The snake started chewing through the bottom of the cart. Not knowing why, Cancon helped it with the blade of his knife. When the hole was big enough, the snake slithered through it and the cart began to slowly roll away. Cancon's mind began to go hazy the longer the serpent pulled the cart. He briefly tried to fight the feeling when a sibilant voice intruded into his mind, "Rest now Cancon, I will see us to safety." Cancon had a brief moment of absolute terror, before the hazy feeling came back and he drifted off to sleep .

 

[Carrack]

6.3 Judgments

Message to be sent via astropathic conduit 11.416-Adept Crya

 

Security-Magenta

 

Sender-Inquisitor Gorvanof, Ordos Malleus

 

Receiver-GKM 1182-Brutus

 

Opening and Closing Mantra- We call for your Righteous Justice.

 

1st Judgement

 

Laboratory analysis of the Black Maw's weaponized virus, vector named Calebra Hive Level 76, commonly named Dark Lung, has revealed that there is no natural way this virus should be spreading at its current rate. At most it should have taken months to reach epidemic status, and that is counting on no preventive precautions being taken. Furthermore, the pristine bandages of Saint Venetious were placed upon an infected subject, they immediately, and before my very eyes turned black. If that is not proof enough my sanctioned psyker, Lady Belinda (KIA), has divined the auras of 7 infected subjects. All auras were black with spots the color of "corroded brass". Although unable to confirm given my besiegement, I have heard rumors of Chi level daemonic manifestations in the heart of infected areas.

 

2nd Judgment

 

I have confirmed, via intercepted ship to ship and ship to planet side communications that The Black Maw Warband of the dreaded Black Legion is invading in mass. The warband is still under command of Lord Carrack, the so called Doom of Red Siliquastrum, Doom of Kasr Woolten, and Slayer of Multitudes. He has been judged In Communi to be responsible for the Alpha level Daemonic incursion on the damned world of Cantu in the Siliquastrum sub-sector, and the use of a daemonic device in the destruction of the Red Hive of Siliquastrum, sub-sector seat of the same.

 

3rd Judgment

I have had the chief astropathic sender of this message consult the Emperor's Tarot using the Sforza method. In order of draw; 10 of Coins, Queen of Swords, The Despoiler (prime position), 1 of ships (reversed), The Emperor (reversed). A dire warning indeed, and the most inauspicious drawing I have yet witnessed.

 

My interpretation is thus. The 10 of coins represents the value of Calebra Hive, both to the Emperor and His Arch-Enemy. The Queen of Swords could mean that a female warrior will have a prominent role, or that a deputy commander for either side will determine the fate of the war. The Despoiler in the prime position leaves no doubt as to who we are facing, who is ordering this Lord Carrack to the wage war upon all that is Holy. The 1 of ships reversed, could mean that one single ship could overturn the course of this war, or in the cards aspect as the messenger, one message could do the same. The Emperor reversed... I dare not speculate at such a woeful turn of His Tarot.

 

My pronouncement of Judgment

 

By the power vested in me by the Ordos Malleus, and the Golden Throne, I hear by condemn Calebra Hive to the purgings of your Brotherhood. In addition, I cast and suspend the ultimate pronouncement of Excommunication via Exterminatus. It is my sincerest hope that I will be able to rescind this most drastic of orders, yet should your purgings fail, I will utilize my authority to condemn this world and consign its souls to oblivion, rather than hand this world over to Chaos.

 

Author's note

I've tried to include a bit of the medieval, and frankly insane, methods of the Inquisition into this story. Did it work, or just sound silly? Also, I like including reports, letters, and such to tell the story, but I feel I might be overusing this method. Should I limit this in the future or is it good to go?

Edited September 9, 2015 by Carrack

[EesiOh]

its gotten to the point where my comments are beyond redundant... 

[paulJam]

Author's note

I've tried to include a bit of the medieval, and frankly insane, methods of the Inquisition into this story. Did it work, or just sound silly? Also, I like including reports, letters, and such to tell the story, but I feel I might be overusing this method. Should I limit this in the future or is it good to go?

like it, creates variation from a straight narrative.

 

good work.

 

Is the GK part of "Receiver-GKM 1182-Brutus" a hint as to which brotherhood will be purging?

 

enjoyed the snake action in 4.3 too, the human shield was a nice touch.

[Carrack]

 

 

Author's note

I've tried to include a bit of the medieval, and frankly insane, methods of the Inquisition into this story. Did it work, or just sound silly? Also, I like including reports, letters, and such to tell the story, but I feel I might be overusing this method. Should I limit this in the future or is it good to go?

like it, creates variation from a straight narrative.

 

good work.

 

Is the GK part of "Receiver-GKM 1182-Brutus" a hint as to which brotherhood will be purging?

 

enjoyed the snake action in 4.3 too, the human shield was a nice touch.

The GK is probably what you think it is, but I have to fill myself in on established fluff about that organization. I only have a vague understanding, which is somehow fitting.

 

I'm glad you liked the snake. My favorite part of that story was killing off 3 minor, but named, cultists from the first couple of installments, and "evolving" the character of Cancon.

[Carrack]

5.4 Respect, Talisman

Ramone felt the thing twitch again. He wanted to throw the talisman to the ground and jump back, like it was crawling with stinging tree-cutter bugs every time the thing twitched. He held onto it anyway. He was pretty sure that was what the spirits wanted. He held the talisman high so his squad could see the twisted piece of metal, those near him nodded or crooked their fingers over their eyes. He was pretty sure they didn't know how to respond to the blasted thing either, judging by their varied reactions. One thing Ramone was sure about the icon was that the other squads, even the traitor guardsmen and other fighters who presumedly knew what they were doing, all showed Ramone and his squad respect. Respect above and beyond what the other conscripted levies got.

 

Respect was a novel feeling for Ramone. He certainly hadn't ever been given any picking Na fruit for Baron Ferdinand and poaching his game back on Fewood. No respect either when the Black Maw conquered Fewood, and Ramone picked Na fruit for a new lord and poached his game as well. When men of fighting age had been gathered by the new lord and sent to the hold of some dank pirate ship, and told they were to be trained as warriors, Ramone felt some respect was being given to him. But that was a lie soon dispelled by being forced to ceaselessly scrub the decks of the ship instead of given any training on how to fight. Then in the assembly areas and manning the circumvallation trenches, their was no respect given by the hardened warriors and daemon world bred mutants of the Black Maw to the levies of some minor agri-world.

 

But Ramone had seen a way to raise his status when his world was conquered. The temples to the new gods and spirits were not as exclusive as those to the spirits of the Emperor and his saints. Even a Na picker and poacher like Ramone could learn the mysteries of the new spirits, so he had spent every opportunity observing, learning, and assisting the priests. He still hadn't been given respect for it though, not until he sealed the covenant with his squad and the Slaaneshi spirits. The ritual was bizarre, enjoyable yet sickeningly unwholesome, and counted heavily on the use of psychedelic mosses Ramone had secretly gathered in the wild forest of Fewood. He only remembered bits and pieces of the sealing of the covenant, but he clearly remembered taking up the short length of rebar at the end of the ceremony and watching it warp into a talisman with a strange half moon and claw design at the end. This talisman was finally getting him some respect.

 

The enemy however, the Imperial militias and PDF fighting a for the 1st level of Calebra Hive, known as The Ground, didn't care about the talisman, or anyone who might be caring it. They didn't care about much anymore. They still cared about their leader, the Ganger General, and they cared about desperately holding onto The Ground, but not much beyond that. They sure didn't care about the second level, called the Attic Strip by the locals. It had earned its name by one time housing overflow storage, when trade by rail and road was still important to Calebra Hive, hence "Attic", and "strip" came from an infamous street of bars favored by the teamsters that took the dangerous overland journeys. Second level wouldn't need a name after the Ganger General was done with it. They were using massive amounts of carefully placed explosives to blow away the floor of Attic Strip, exposing The Ground to quickly lowered assault ramps that would bring squadrons of light armor and companies of infantry to The Ground. More meat for the grinder.

 

Ramone's squad was rushing across shell cratered streets and by burning buildings to get to the latest attack from above. Hetman Carlo, the platoon leader, had informed Ramone's squad that they, along with the rest of the platoon were going to charge up the ramp and hold it open for their own forces to exploit. They were hustling up the streets at a sprint, limiting their exposure to enemy sniper fire. Their speed was their security, and Ramone had never seen his group move like they were now. Hetman Carlo had set a quick pace and the squad, perhaps more closely bound by the covenant with the spirits, were keeping up without difficulty.

 

They rounded the corner and saw the ramp. It was a makeshift affair of plastic boards reinforced with bolted sheet metal. Imperials were running down it and entering an old passenger rail terminal on the left. The other buildings nearby had been reduced to piles of rubble. A shell crater 40 meters direct in front of the assault ramp was going to be the only position the Black Maw fighters could safely fire on the ramp, but they had a long stretch of open ground to get their. The talisman twitched again and Ramone started running for it. Was their speed fueled by their adrenaline? Or did the covenant with the spirits of Slannesh provide a boost for Ramone's squad? He didn't have time to ponder the cause, but his large squad of conscripts rushed to the crater and began shooting wildly into the descending Imperials. None of Ramone's men had time to brace or aim their weapons, but they still managed to drop the front row of Imperial militia coming down the ramp. His two heavy stubber teams in particular, didn't have time to set the bipods of their weapons, and instead, shot the heavy-barrel support weapons wildly from the hip, they still landed kills on the Imperials, in spite of the barely controlled bursts from their weapons. The casualties from the wild shooting were enough to send the Imperial militia squad running back up the ramp.

 

Ramone could see another squad of Imperial militia at the top of the ramp. They were readying to fire down into Ramone's squad with their autoguns and a heavy bolter, but their fleeing friends were in the way. Ramone looked back, and saw the rest of the platoon was moving up to the crater, they couldn't all shelter there, so he gave the signal to charge the ramp. Some of Ramone's men initiated the charge with a few thrown grenades, but most were hesitant about having a grenade roll back down the steeply sloped ramp.

In spite of the climb, Ramone's men still hit the militia with enough momentum to push the defenders off the ramp and onto the Attic Strip itself.

 

The fighting was brutal. Ramone had once witnessed one of the Black Legionaries of the warband practice with his chainsword. There was no opponent, or training target, the Legionary was just practicing with an imaginary foe. It was the most deadly, graceful, demonstration of violence Ramone had ever seen, even though no one was on the receiving end of the whirling chainsword. This fight was nothing like that. It was a fight between fruit pickers led by a poacher, against textile workers led by a middle manager. It was still a fight to the death though. Fruit pickers' teeth flew from shattered mouths struck with butts of mass produced autoguns. Fat lead rounds banged out of a wide range of different makes of stolen pistols to drop weavers to the floor with gaping holes in their chest. But Ramone had the momentum. His warriors were the ones who charged. The charge. From the dawn of warfare, mankind has recognized the advantage of charging into combat. Not just the momentum lending force to the blow, but the productive release of nervous energy, and psychological impact of running at the foe screaming war cries. The offensive mindset won battles, just like it did for Ramone in Calebra Hive.

They had taken the top of the ramp and slaughtered the defenders.

 

The Hetman of their platoon, Carlo brought the rest of the men up the ramp, as another platoon dealt with the Imperials in the rail terminal, and they occupied the corner stores and union soup kitchens that surrounded the hole to The Ground.

 

As Ramone's men took first picks scavenging the militia's corpses, Ramone went to each of his surviving 14 warriors and made them kiss the talisman like he had seen a lord once do with his signet ring. Respectfully, they did so.

 

Author's note.

I've had the story for 5.5 complete for weeks now. I just felt I needed a story to bridge the gap from 5.3, the letter / report from the Ganger General to the Imperial Governor and what I had written for 5.5. But I had killed off my narrator for the battle on level 1, and didn't want to follow a report with another report, I needed a new narrator. I started writing 5.4 three times before the current story got under way. I liked all three but they didn't continue the plot as much as they introduced new characters. I will post two of these false starts and see if any of you think they are worthy of finishing.

 

False start 1

Lythane The Black, Equerry to Lord Carrack and Keeper of the Liber Apocal, surveyed the investment of Calebra Hive. Circumvallation was complete, a triple trench line encircled the base of the megalopolis that reached from deep in the ground up into the thin atmosphere. Contravallation was not quite finished, the roads and rail lines that were the arteries of Calebra Hive to the various lesser satellite hives were fortified against a relieving force, but the outward facing trench lines were not all the way dug through the vast open landfill that surrounded Calebra Hive. He was using captives from the hive to do most of the manual digging, the ones he was not loading into slave holds to be taken to the fleet in orbit anyway. But with only the barest of environmental protections, the captives did not last long in the hazardous wasteland that leaked out of the mighty hive, and had been doing so for Millenia.

 

Lythane walked down the circular stair of the tower of the small bastille that had touched down from orbit on a one way grav barge. He had a meeting with his motley collection of mortal warlords. A tedious meeting no doubt. Lythane the Black had at one time been a powerful sorcerer in the court of the most feared enemy of the Imperium, Abaddon the Despoiler. He had commanded Black Legion Astartes, the pinnacle of genetically engineered warriors, further strengthened by the blessings of the gods. Now he had to contend with pirates, cultists, mercenaries, mutants, and other mortal rabble. Frustratingly, he didn't even know who engineered his fall from the tenuous graces of the Warmaster. He just knew he had been assigned to the Black Maw Warband. Thrust into the command structure of Lord Carrack's warband in an open ploy to ensure loyalty of the Black Maw to its parent legion, and to ensure that the proper tribute flowed from Lord Carrack to the Warmaster. From a commander of demigods, to a glorified accountant, how the mighty had fallen. To make matters worse, Lord Carrack both resented the intrusion on the autonomy of his warband, and as a Chaos Lord deeply lost on the Eightfold Path, had little use for those who drew strength from the sorcerous arts. Hence the assignment of investing the hive and leading the invasion of the lower levels with the Black Maw's mortal warriors.

 

The various commanders were assembled in Lythane's war room. There was Magos-Ordinariate Vizzan, in charge of the True Mechanicum contingent leased to the Black Maw for this invasion. Lounging in a campaign chair, and reeking of obscura smoke, was Captain Beshar, the degenerate pirate captain elected by the motley assortment of pirates that had attached themselves to the Black Maw. Duke Dammagi, the general in charge of the regiments of warriors raised from Howler's Charn, and the other realspace worlds conquered by Lord Carrack, stood to attention and formally saluted the equerry of his liege lord. The last of Lythane's commanders, the horribly mutated High Priest Ra, liaison to the clans of the daemon world Vaska, shuffled the eight legs of his arachnid-like lower half to make room for Lythane as he entered the room in his bulky, ancient, terminator plate and pounded the butt of his force staff onto the floor. The room instantly quieted and gave Lythane the Black their undivided attention. Even Captain Beshar straightened up in his chair. In their own fashion, these were all dangerous men, each a practiced killer in command of hordes of warriors. Yet they all knew, instinctively, that Lythane the Black was the most dangerous man in the room. He could kill them with a thought from his sorcerer's mind, and face no serious repercussions for doing so. They knew their place, and were sure to show it.

 

Lythane briefly focused his will on his force staff to send blue witch fires playing across the bladed striking end, he wanted them to know he was prepared to kill them should the answers to his questions prove less than satisfying. He said, "We must break the deadlock on The Ground. We should already be pushing our invasion force into the lower levels of the mid-hive, and forced at least a partial surrender of the underhive, if not a complete capitulation. What are you doing to break this stalemate and regain the initative?"

 

Duke Dammagi was the first to respond, "My lord, this General Handlery is a canny foe. We have stopped his ability to bring armor to the front, but he has adapted. He is dropping sections of the ceiling down from level 2, and immediately lowering assault ramps onto The Ground through the breeches and bringing down companies of infantry at a time. He is also still bringing up small units of gangers from the underhive to harry our lines of communication and strike at territory we already secured. We can not push on until The Ground is secure."

 

False start 2

Doom....Doom....Doom..... The massive drum thundered with a deep bass that rattled bones across The Ground, Level 1 Calebra Hive. The few remaining windows, those yet to be shot out or shattered by the concussive force of exploding munitions, didn't withstand the sound of the drum. The drum itself was a colossus of an instrument, pulled on an enormous carriage by chains of captives 50 meters long. The drummer was a mix of machine, and something more, or perhaps less than human flesh. The mallet struck the thick layered human skin with earth-shattering force. Doom....Doom....Doom.... Children wept and dogs howled dozens of levels above and below The Ground. All of Calebra Hive would have wept and howled if they had seen what the drum was announcing. The drum heralded the arrival of Monxes Sangue, the Blood Monger, and hell followed with it.

 

Monxes Sangue was a huge tank, three decks, including the main turret formed an armored behemoth taller than many two story buildings. The giant tracks ripped up the pavement as the Monxes Sangue's slowly crawled into the hive from the breach. The Blood Monger had been dressed for war. Untold sacrificed captives had spent their life's blood to paint Monxes Sangue red. Eight Imperial officers were impaled on the spikes protruding from the front of the hull, the same unholy rune branded on each of their chests. Skulls were everywhere, human skulls were piled in heaps on the hull, hung from chains affixed to the barrels of its cannons, and were mounted to the turret on a crown of spikes. Most of the skulls would not remain in place when Monxes Sangue fired its main Baneblade cannon. That was to be expected, more skulls would replace those that fell or shattered.

 

Monxes Sangue did not travel alone. Outriding squadrons of hellhound light flame tanks were speeding through the side streets, stopping only to burn out buildings not marked with the gaping mouth of a wolf drawn in blood, buildings not firmly in the control of the Black Maw. Between the outriders and Monxes Sangue were hordes of mutant and human warriors raised from the clans of the Daemon World Vanask. They were their to mop up what was left after the tank demolished fortified building after building. Their chanting was a discordant counter beat to the Dooms of the drum, and contained an unholy fervor and fanaticism not yet seen on The Ground. The clan warriors were empowered by the presence of Monxes Sangue, for if such a symbol of the gods' power was at hand, surely the gods were watching. The Blood Monger changed the nature of the battle on the ground level of Calebra Hive. Where before its arrival, the fight was a battle over territory between two armies, as Monxes Sangue crushed its way across the level, the war changed into a dark crusade by the mortal followers of the Black Maw.

 

The Imperials were not willing to relinquish The Ground so easily. They were willing, however, to sacrifice the second level, called the Attic Strip by the denizens of Calebra Hive. The Attic Strip had served many purposes over the history of Calebra Hive. Originally, when overland trade with the satellite hives was still important, The Attic was given over to storehouses for goods coming in by rail and road. As the overland route grew more dangerous with the decaying of the world's environment, the teamsters that made the dangerous crossing became more dangerous themselves, and also more prosperous. An infamous strip of taverns sprung up in the Attic, renaming the second level "The Strip" for a time, and capturing the attention of the hive with its nightly duels, backstabbings, and fortunes changing hands over games of dice. But the times of prosperity died as Calebra Hive began to rely more on off world sources of supply, and the satellite hives lost their importance. Most of the taverns closed their doors and day laborers moved in to the level in order offload the bulk goods that intermittently still shipped into The Ground. The level was no longer an attic, or a strip, but had enough of a legacy to retain the name of Attic Strip.

 

The Imperial defenders, under command of General Handlery, The Ganger General, started blowing away chunks of the Attic Strip's floor. In some places, they dropped massive buildings down onto Black Maw held positions of The Ground. In a few cases, the dropped buildings went straight thru The Ground's floor and into the underhive. Hive quakes rocked thru the underhive. In other places, they dropped smaller sections of the Attic Strip, and quickly lowered assault ramps down to the streets below, brining in companies of newly conscripted militia and light armor. Throwing more meat into the grinder. In several places, where they thought the dreaded Monxes Sangue was underneath, they blew out small holes with shaped charges and lowered drug or Emperor crazed suicide squads down on ropes to attempt to destroy the tank with meltaguns and charges. None were successful at slaying the Blood Monger. Even when the last significant section of the Attic Strip was dropped directly onto the blood drenched war engine, the tank was spared destruction by the leader of the Black Maw's forces assaulting The Ground, Lythane the Black, Equerry to Lord Carrack. The powerful Black Legion Sorcerer assigned to the Black Maw threw up wards and shielding with the force of his mind that somehow saved the Monxes Sangue and himself from the falling city. It was not a complete failure on the part of the Imperials, the Monxes Sangue was trapped in piles of rubble, buried up to its turret, which took days to clear, even though it's turret still turned and fired from the tanks entombed position. Lythane himself was also buried in the falling city, protected by his terminator plate, but trapped for hours until he could be exhumed by his warriors.

[EesiOh]

your stories are sooo loooooong but sooo gooood

[Carrack]

your stories are sooo loooooong but sooo gooood

Um thanks. If you are referring to the thread as a whole being long, rest assured, I see this project as being in the beginning of act II of a three act story. The end is in site, and it's grim and dark, maybe. It could end with a peaceful resolution to the conflict, and then all of the participants will join together in singing ancient camp fire songs.

 

On the other hand if it's the individual post that are too long, I have tried to make them readable in a coffee break's time. If I have failed to hit this target, I suggest you drink more coffee, or take longer to enjoy the tasty beverage. They make extra larges at the coffee shops near me. :)

 

In all seriousness, thanks for following the story. Here are two new installments.

 

4.4 Traps

Level 83, the Chops, this would be the level Garaduk would engage the thinned blooded chapter that carried the legacy of the XIX Legion, the Raven Guard. Garaduk still remembered the Sons of Corax supporting his legion in the Great Crusade. They were a perfect supporting force for the mighty spear tip assaults of the Luna Wolves, and later, the Sons of Horus. Useful in identifying the perfect location for the spear tip to penetrate, and exploiting the confusion of the enemy after his leadership was killed in the Sons of Horus assault. But they had been dealt a near fatal blow at the Drop Site Massacre, and Garaduk had seen little of his one time allies since. He had heard not much had changed in the way they waged war, and his brief encounter on The Requiem had reinforced that. He couldn't afford to be picked apart by hit and run tactics or worse, led into a deadly trap. He would engage them here on the Chops.

 

The Chops, the colloquial name for Level 83 of Calebra Hive, was the highest level that could be reached outside by primitive rotor wing aircraft. Much of the west side of the level was given over to hangers that opened out into the hazardous atmosphere of the world of Candlebright. Turrets studded with anti aircraft guns and missile launchers protected the hangers along with an independent void shield. The rotor wing aircraft themselves, were primarily used to check the rail lines and roads after storms, ferry workers to a few small mines and quarries, and for hunters to chase down the mutated flightless birds and mega lizards that survived the wastelands, and according to rumors, the human mutant scavengers that lived there as well. All flights had stopped with the invasion, which didn't concern the majority of the overcrowded level that lived in overflowing hab-blocks and worked in the two main data mills, entering data, that in all likelihood, was meaninglessly outdated.

 

Garaduk had taken a hab-block close to the Alpha 42 data mill, and slaughtered the inhabitants. Their corpses were rotting in the streets and hanging from clotheslines strung out between balconies. It was a deliberate provocation for the Raven Guard. The hab-block was prepared in other ways for the Raven Guard as well. A thin layer of adamantine shavings taken from a manufactorum's waste bins were spread over much of the rooftop, so if a loyalist were to engage his jump pack the shavings would be sucked into the intake and shred the engines. Spaces were cleared in predesignated areas for Garaduk and his Vulture Raptor Retinue to safely use their own jump packs. Some doors were rigged with grenades and cans of promethium. Captives had reinforced some walls with plastic boards and water filled containers. Some doorways were bricked over, making false doors. Holes were cut in floors to drop grenades or fire flamers into the rooms below, same with holes cut in walls. Corpses with captured autoguns were staked in place at some windows, providing the illusion of sentries. A few stairs and floors were weakened so as not to support the weight of an Astartes. Nerve agents circulated through the ventilation system, requiring the mortal specialist of Garaduk's strike force to don environmental suits underneath their black robes and rebreathers underneath their corroded bronze masks. The building was a deathtrap, and defended by Black Legionaries who knew all of its tricks.

 

Now, how was Garaduk going to entice the Raven Guard to commit to a full scale attack into his ambush? Lord Carrack would do something foolish like bellow out personal challenges, or maybe not, he wasn't as brash as most devotees of the Blood God seemed to be. The Master of Chains, above him in the upper hive, would trick them with their vox network. Lythane the Black, stuck leading the mortal armies at the lower levels would lure them into committing with sorcery. Garaduk decided he would use a feint. He sent his retinue of Vulture Raptors into the nearby data mil, butchering their way into the rows of data collector cogitators and sending the survivors fleeing for their lives, save for a few menials who thought they were hidden underneath their desks. Once the mil was cleared, he sent in two of his mutant specialist to attach a limpet tap to the main repository of the data mil. The raptors then returned to the hab-block, allowing the menials to flee back to Imperial held territory to report on what they saw. Garaduk hoped the Raven Guard would assume there was something important in the data mil, and take steps to prevent it being recovered.

 

Garaduk was wrong. The Raven Guard was unconcerned with what Garaduk might uncover in the data mil. They had learnt of its actual lack of purpose before rushing in to stop the Black Maw. They were also unconcerned with fate of the Chops, not truly unconcerned, but pragmatically willing to sacrifice the level for a strategic gain. They waited for hours with no sign of the enemy.

 

A loud explosion from the east of Garaduk's fortified hab-block announced that the Raven Guard had not been idle. Five more explosions, each deeper underneath Garaduk's strike force followed the initial explosion. The one-eyed commander howled in despair and rage, he knew where the explosions happened and what they meant. The superhuman senses of an Astartes, honed on countless battlefields, pinpointed the size, distance, and direction of each explosion as they occurred. Each of the breach points where Garaduk had led his forces into a higher level, starting with his most recent breach up into the Chops, and ending with his last breach out of the Cooler, had been sealed with tons of rubble from buildings collapsed to cover the breaches. Garaduk had allowed himself to be cut off. If he took the time to cut his way back to the Cooler, where he could be resupplied via the yet undiscovered secret lift, he would loose all momentum in his climb to the upper hive. He would have to continue with the forces he had on hand, with what ammunition and supplies they had carried into the Chops. He was not optimistic about his chances.

 

5.5 greed

Lythane the Black took a moment to revel in his latest victory. Since his installment into the command circles of the Black Maw Warband, by none other than the Despoiler himself, Lythane had endured the continual slights of Lord Carrack, knowing the Lord stifled at having a representative from the legion watching over his shoulder. Lord Carrack was foolish to think that Abaddon would not exert some level of control over a warband that had amassed as much power as the Black Maw. Lythane was with the Black Maw only to ensure loyalty to The Warmaster, which thus far Lord Carrack had been nothing but loyal, and that the proper amount of tribute was given up by the warband to its parent legion. The latest slight came in the command assigned to Lythane for the assault on Calebra Hive. Not only was Lythane commanding the cultist rabble, the private armies of mortal pirate captains, and the mortal regiments raised from Lord Carrack's holdings, but he was tasked with striking the lower levels of the hive. Levels where the only plunder to be had would be holds full of the meanest of slaves. But damn this last victory was sweet. The Ganger General, the man who could, inexplicably organize underhive resistance, could outmaneuver the Black Maw through local knowledge of the terrain, who had turned the initial assault of The Ground into a war of attrition. Now he was discredited, hiding like a rat, and his forces being taken apart piecemeal.

 

Greed is what had done the Ganger General in. Long after the last attempt of the Corpse God's lackey to bring armor up to The Ground had been repelled, Lythane the Black had personally visited the remains of the central lift he had used. Lythane had brought an unusual entourage with him for the visit to the scene of the battle, 13 mutated ogryn laden down with heavy bags slung over wooden slave yokes, along with 13 captives, beaten and broken. In front of the gaping, still smoking hole that was once a freight lift, the ogryns unloaded their heavy burden. Piles of gold and silver, loose gemstones, and jewelry of impeccable quality were heaped onto the center of a ritually carved eye on the battered pavement before the lift. The captives were prodded over to the king's ransom with electric goads. Hulking in his ancient terminator plate, Lythane the Black slung his force staff across his back in favor of a more delicate silver sickle. As he stalked around the captives, he slit their throats, and opened arteries in thighs or arms. The captives were too broken to do naught but whimper, relieved that their torment had finally come to an end. Their blood filled the grooves that were carved into the lot to form the Eye of Horus rune. Imbued by the sacrifice, Lythane reached into his mind and found his psychic focus. He spread the tight knot of willpower out like clay, expanding it into a hollow ball steadily increasing in size. Into this hollow ball of psychic energy, Lythane voiced his thoughts, which echoed and amplified in the chamber they entered until the ball exploded, staggering the ancient sorcerer and sending his thoughts into the minds of every soul for several levels above, and more importantly, below Lythane. His message was this, accompanied by an image of the hoard of treasure,

 

"The one called the Ganger General has become a nuisance to me, and is engaging in warfare that is destructive to you. This can be resolved if he comes and faces me in single combat. If he wins, I will take my army and leave, never to return. If I however slay him, I will allow all who have fought me the opportunity to lay down their arms and go in peace. Should this Ganger General prove to much of a coward to spare his people needless bloodshed, I offer these riches to the man who brings him to me, dead or alive."

 

Lythane the Black had used every sorcerous trick at his disposal to make his message believable. But he had realistic expectations, the weak of will, and those given to a certain psychic receptiveness, would believe his words as if they were set in stone, but most would only perceive the message as plausible, yet retain reservations. Those who had true willpower would not be influenced at all. Fortunately, Lythane the Black counted on the gangers, addicts, and thieves of the underhive where the Ganger General was believed to currently reside, to be weak of will. He was right.

 

Unfortunately, the Ganger General reached a similar conclusion, and disappeared before the underhive turned on their one time leader. The results were the same. The head of the Imperial snake had been severed. The charisma of the Ganger General was what was holding the defenders together. PDF colonels, several believing they should be the ones to take charge of the defense, were no longer willing to rely on deputized underhive gangs for support. The gangs themselves had received their pardons and deputizing at the hands of the Ganger General himself, and with him gone their assurances were gone as well. He had fled. His charismatic hold on his troops was shattered. The population that once hailed him as a hero of the people, had their hopes dashed when he chose not to fight like a hero.

 

With no unity of command, the defenders were rapidly fixed in place by the Black Maw. No one came to support them as one by one, the pockets of resistance were snuffed out. The Black Maw was free to continue their assault in the lower levels. They had broken out of The Ground.

Edited September 16, 2015 by Carrack

[Carrack]

Guide to my chapters numbering system.

 

Both chapters that start with 1 are introduction / prologue

 

Any chapter, right now only one, that starts with a 2, occur in the wastes outside Calebra Hive

 

Chapters beginning with a 3 occur in space.

 

4 indicates the invasion of the mid hive by Garaduk One-Eye's Nurgle aligned strike force

 

5 is reserved for the lower level invasion by the mortal forces of the Black Maw commanded by Lythane the Black

 

6 is for the upper level invasion by the elite forces of Black Maw Astartes under the command of the Master of Chains.

 

7 is for the areas of the hive not under direct assault.

 

8 will be for Lord Carrack the leader of the Black Maw.

[Carrack]

3.1 The Blood Eye Hunts

 

The Blood Eye was hunting. The ancient Astartes Stike Cruiser sensed prey in the void. Her auspex arrays had not returned any contacts, yet the machine spirit of the ancient ship knew there was prey about. Long dives into the most turbulent depths of the Sea of Souls had left their scars on the Blood Eye, but they had graced the ship with supernatural senses as well. The Blood Eye could somehow smell prey in the airless void, and was doing so now. She could smell that this was more than just the prey of a fat merchantman, trying desperately to escape the invaded Candlebright system, but a stronger, more worthy prey, possibly even a rival, but still prey. Pack mates or prey, those were the only two types of vessels the Blood Eye countenanced.

 

The Blood Eye left the blockade formation around Callebra Hive. Lord Carrack's flagship, Bitter Revenge, allowed Blood Eye her lead. She cruised into the asteroid belt on the edge of the system. She stalked through the field, lunging into the shadowed spaces where a vessel might lurk, screened by the asteroids from auspex. The scent of the prey was getting stronger. The Blood Eye was getting closer. Auspex picked up rapid changes in gravity in the asteroid field. They seemed to indicate a ship had just recently moved, leaving the far side of the belt for the safe translation points. The ploy would have fooled mundane sensors, but the scent of the prey was not leaving the belt.

 

Two could feint in this void duel, The Blood Eye started after the false trail for a ways, then made an abrupt turn behind a small planetoid of nickel and ice. Crewman were thrown to the decks and unsecured equipment slammed about with the sharp turn. The Blood Eye slowly circled the planetoid as the strike cruiser recovered from its dangerous maneuver. The scent was getting stronger, the prey was following the path of the Blood Eye.

 

As the prey reached the point where the Blood Eye had made its hard turn, the Black Maw Strike Cruiser rounded the planetoid, looking into the vulnerable stern of the prey. It was worthy prey indeed. A loyalist strike cruiser much like the Blood Eye herself. Where the Blood Eye was crafted with technology and skill long forgotten by man, the prey was newer, less scarred, but less soundly built. Where the Blood Eye wore the Black Legion colors of Black and gold, with a great red Eye of Horus across her bow, the prey was all black, save for limited silver trim and markings in white of its chapter, markings of a raven. Raven Guard.

 

The Blood Eye opened up with her prow lances, blasting red cutting beams of energy out of the iris of her namesake markings. Battle damage from war within the Eye of Terra had seen her damaged bombardment cannon replaced with lethal lances powered by warp infused generators. The damage was telling to the Raven Guard ship, but not lethal. The Raven Guard Strike Cruiser, named Nevermore, desperately tried to come about and bring her broadsides to bear on her attacker, but the Blood Eye dogged her prey's every turn. The Blood Eye cut into the Nevermore again and again, her prey grew more desperate with each wounding strike.

 

The Nevermore was running out of options fast. Her most lethal weapons, her space marines, were already deployed to Calebra Hive, but so were her attacker's. She could not outrun her attacker, nor could she outmaneuver the Blood Eye. The Nevermore certainly couldn't afford to keep taking unreturned fire. She took the only option she could, and dove into the densest part of the asteroid belt, prayers to the Emperor on the lips of her crew, she hoped her luck with colliding asteroids was better than her foe's.

 

The Blood Eye gave up her pursuit as the Nevermore dived into the dusty, debris strewn, field. As a parting gift to her prey, the Blood Eye turned her flank to the point in the dusty field where the Nevermore had entered, and opened up with several volleys of her broadsides, causing further turbulence amongst the spinning chunks of metal and ice.

 

The fate of the Nevermore would remain a mystery. Even the supernatural scent of the Blood Eye could not penetrate the most confusing and dangerous stretch of the asteroid belt.

Edited September 21, 2015 by Carrack

[Carrack]

4.5 The Sniper's Dance

My left calf was cramping up again. My newly implanted organs were struggling to balance the lactic acid building up in the muscle without making my head swim with the relaxants being released. I couldn't afford a swimming head now, I've been concentrating on my field of fire for over eight hours, making small, imperceptible adjustments of my sniper rifle to view the kill zone through its scope, than scanning the wider area with my non-firing eye. I have a perfect firing position, but an uncomfortable one. I am pitched above a tall street lamp, I could touch the ceiling of the level if I stood up straight. The four bright halogen lights of the lamp are too glaring to look at from the street level, but I have to crouch down to keep a low silhouette. It is uncomfortable, but comfort is a small price to pay for a good firing position.

 

The enemy is moving across my field of fire, but my trigger finger remains motionless. It is just one of the Arch-Enemy's servants, the man sized figures in the black and green robes and bronze masks, not a primary target. My field of fire is a wide street that ends in a multi level lift. The street has been heavily mined and the lift rigged with demolitions. Layers of demolitions. The enemy has cleared a narrow path through the mines and is attempting to disarm the demolitions. I hope they do not find all of the traps, my Veteran Sergeant placed them himself, it would wound his pride, even though the lift had been rendered useless by tons of ferrocrete sealing the shaft above and below this level. Level 86, I forget what the locals called it, they had such unique names for all of the levels of Callebra Hive, it was unnecessarily confusing, Level 86 was good enough for me. Oh, that's right, they called it The Dance, apparently the power grid on this level was notoriously temperamental, and freak electrocutions were a common occurrence, and when some unfortunate soul was felled by these electrocutions, they were said to "dance". I hope this street lamp is not subject to the unstable grid, for I wouldn't want it to compromise my mission. As for myself, I know no fear.

 

Primary targets sighted. It's a group of five traitor marines. Their armor is black, same as mine, but each of theirs is grotesquely ornate, embellished with brass spikes and leering faces. Each suit of power armor is unique, some incorporating pieces of older marks, some unrecognizable. No squad designations are visible, one pauldron left completely bare, the other embossed with an eight pointed star, or the Eye of Horus. Three carry bolters, one a plasma gun, and the one with the most ornate armor carries a chainsword and bolt pistol, the leader. Two clicks on my vox receiver sound in my left ear. My right index finger gently squeezes the trigger of my sniper rifle as my scope targets the leaders neck. A soft cough out of the silenced weapon joins the quiet chorus of my squad mates. The heavy jacketed round speeds into the target, but a last second shrug, the nervous twitch of a lunatic, puts the heavily armored pauldron in the way of the rounds path to the neck of the leader. The target rocks to the side, barely maintaining his balance in the narrow path cleared of mines. Two of his warriors fall, but fail to set off mines. The surviving targets drag their comrades quickly out of the kill zone. We do not risk another shot revealing our position, our damage is done.

 

[EesiOh]

The Raven Guard Strike Cruiser, named Nevermore

I have to say that gave me a great little chuckle 

[Carrack]

The Raven Guard Strike Cruiser, named Nevermore

I have to say that gave me a great little chuckle

I wish I could claim credit for that reference, but according to lexicanum, the name of the ship is also the last words recorded by the primarch of that legion. I tried and failed to find the original source for that quote. Still it's pretty cool and worthy of naming a ship.

[EesiOh]

Wait so you haven't read Edgar Allan Poe? 

[Carrack]

Wait so you haven't read Edgar Allan Poe?

I've read it, but some official codex writer included the reference in one of the old space marine codex, long before I wrote it, I just borrowed it from them because it was cool.

[Carrack]

7.1 Street Preacher Duel

He was on my favorite spot, preaching out to the crowds for the paltry alms of the underhivers of Level -18. He is younger than me, more clean cut, and has a more expressive voice than me, but his skill is lacking. He is brow beating them, shaming them into giving, its the easiest, yet least effective way to get the faithful to part with their dirty coins. Most underhivers had learned to live with shame, it wasn't something they would spend money on today, when tomorrow would see them do something shameful just to survive. But damn its my favorite spot! Its a narrow support pillar that had thrust through the street from below and provides a good place to stand above the busy intersection and be heard. It also had a little cubby hole where the bent rebar that had failed to keep the pillar in place had worn out a little hideaway. I liked preaching here because in addition to the natural stage, I could slip some of my collected alms into the cubby hole, so when the Kang Krewe or the Mayor Street Gangers came to tax me, I could show them what was in my pockets, and keep what was in the cubby hole tax free.

 

I had to do something about this disrespect. I could stub him, but I only had 5 hollow points left in my stub gun and ammo was scarce. Plus he already had quite the crowd gathered. I listened for a little while, he was doing the same routine, "Give alms and the Emperor will look kindly on your generous heart and absolve you of your many sins." And variations of the same line over and over. As he harangued a group of ketel shroom sippers, I had an idea flash into my mind, I interjected, "What's the point of getting absolved today when you know your going to sip the ketel tea first thing next morning? Otherwise you'll get sick and than how are you going to earn enough to eat?" I continued, if the Emperor cared so much about you to absolve your sins, He would have prevented this invasion, and you wouldn't be forced to drink ketel tea, you would be smoking healthy Black Obscura like you did before the invasion." I had the tea sippers listening to me now. I went on and addressed the thieves, whores, gamblers, and even the few gangers in attendance with similar lines of the failures of the Emperor to address their day to day concerns during the war for Callebra Hive. The crowd found it easy to place blame on His shoulders.

 

The upstart who had taken my spot, predictably accused me of heresy. I was waiting for it. I responded, "Maybe it is heresy, but if you give me alms, I will bring them to the new masters up on The Ground, and tell them where they came from. The Emperor is way off on Terra, and as my colleague has pointed out, is interested only in absolving your sins. I'll buy you real protection, from people you most assuredly need it from." In truth, I would spend the money on cheap liquor.

 

The upstart started to respond, but someone from the crowd swept his knees out from under him and he fell to the street. The crowd called for me to take the stage. As I walked up to the pillar, I placed a kick with my hobnailed boots into the upstart's temple. I heard a satisfying crack. I took the stage and preached collaboration with the Arch Enemy. It made practical sense. The alms flowed like never before. However, something in me died, something vaguely important. When I nonchalantly went to fill my cubby hole, I noticed it was almost full already. That made up for the sinking feeling in my chest.

 

Edited for grammar.

Edited September 23, 2015 by Carrack

[Polythemus]

Hey your writing is good, and maybe you have it's elsewhere but I think the problem with most 40k stories is motivation. You have to convince the reader that in the universe or group your writing about there's a convincing argument for why people behave the way they do. Not sure I've seen that yet.

[Carrack]

Hey your writing is good, and maybe you have it's elsewhere but I think the problem with most 40k stories is motivation. You have to convince the reader that in the universe or group your writing about there's a convincing argument for why people behave the way they do. Not sure I've seen that yet.

 

Thanks for the advice. You are right 100%. I might have touched on a few bits here and there, but if I take the time to provide some believable motivation, I will be a lot happier with the outcome. I don't know why I missed this, it seems so obvious after you pointed it out. Thanks.

[paulJam]

I was assuming there would be an upcoming 'just as planned' moment when everything falls into place :)

[Carrack]

At the very least, I need to write why the Black Maw is invading Callebra Hive, and what are their objectives, and the general point of the story. I have personal motivations for several of my characters, only they are still in my head, I need a way to figure out how to start putting those motivations into the stories without several stories in a row over stuffed with motivations, and going back and rewriting at this point would kill my own motivation. :)

[Carrack]

6.4 The Range

 

Champion of the Chosen, Vinno Acantar, crested the top of the ramp leading into Level 114 of Calebra Hive, and beheld cows grazing on knee high grass. Vinno was ancient, long periods of exile in the Eye of Terra had prolonged his already superhuman lifespan of an Astartes. Vinno had visited countless worlds, during the Great Crusade, he had spread humanity's reach across the galaxy, and in the Long War that followed, he had sacked worlds that weren't even on any maps or charts. In all of his years, and all of his travels, he was unprepared for cows grazing on an upper level of a hive city. He actually laughed aloud, his squad looked at him askance. It was an unfamiliar sound.

 

After the shock of seeing cows in Calebra Hive, Vinno's mind began to register the meaning of this bizarre sight. It spoke of vast wealth. Not just in the technological marvel of a hive level being created as a pasture, complete with artificial lights so realistic it felt like a summer day and a sprinkler system that precipitated a light rain that held the same mineral content of an unpolluted Maiden World. Neither was it the fact that real estate in the upper hive was so valuable that only the wealthy could afford an apartment at these heights. It was the fact that these were ordinary, grass fed cows, not the super efficient, yet temperamental grox that could survive on small amounts of low nutrition scrub, nor the wool bearing rothe ungulates that could live off of lichens on a mountainside, but real cows, almost a forgotten species. The indulgence of the richest of the rich.

 

Vinno and his squad scanned their surroundings, the level seemed devoid of people and structures, save for a few barns scattered across the open pasture. Given the open terrain, the squad mounted into their trailing rhino. A central lift shaft was suppose to go up to Level 118 with stops at each intervening level, according to all three of the different maps of Calebra Hive that Vinno had committed to memory prior to the invasion. This lift would require checking out, but most likely was sealed as a defensive precaution. The squad's main objective, was a servants lift in the southwest corner of the level. This lift supposedly went straight down to mid-hive Level 88. Vinno, a devotee of the Blood God, and as superstitious as most warriors, considered Level 88 an auspiciously numbered level. The lift was intended, according to one noted map, to bring the mid-hive ranchers and veterinarians straight to their place of work, without access to any of the other up-hive levels of their social betters. These two stop special access lifts had the highest probability of being forgotten by the defenders, and left unsealed.

 

After checking the central lift, it was indeed sealed with ferrocrete, Vinno's squad drove over to the southwest lift. It was screened from view by a copse of trees, apparently to keep the comings and goings of the servants from the sight of any up-hiver who might journey down to pick out his steak or some such bit of showing off. The Chosen of Lord Carrack dismounted. A herd of cows had come to graze in the shade of the trees. Just as the last legionary, Copil, exited the rhino after connecting the thrall driver to the armored personnel carrier, the herd of cows swiftly parted. Well swiftly for the lumbering beast anyway. The reason for their parting soon became apparent. A huge black bull was strutting through the parted herd towards the squad. Legionary Casper casually pointed his bolter at the beast's head, but Vinno waved him off. As the bull started snorting and pawing the ground with its threat displays, Vinno merely stared at the 1,000 kilogram animal, slightly inclining his great helm to show his own impressive horns. Wisely, the animal turned about and trotted off to safer areas of the pasture. Vinno's squad was silently impressed. They made their way to the lift.

 

After scanning the doors for traps, Vinno inserted the data key given to him by the Master of Chains, Warpsmith of the Black Maw Warband. The doors opened. The lift was in operation. The up-hive strike force of The Master of Chains could be quickly linked with the mid-hive strike force of Captain Garaduk. Vinno would have to inform Lord Carrack immediately. He would bypass the Master of Chains and take full credit for this discovery with Lord Carrack. The Master of Chains, as powerful as he was, was only interested in his work. The Warpsmith would not even notice the move Vinno would be making, but the naysayers who questioned Vinno being Chosen would have to contend with the real strategic gain of this discovery. Vinno needed to solidify his position before he aspired to something greater. Vinno gestured to Copil, "Butcher one of the cows, we will feast tonight."

 

Note

I finished this piece quickly, but am not sure weather I like it. For one, there is no action, and two it seems like a story I could skip easily. I want to tell an in depth story of one war, but I don't want to get bogged down with every little development, stuff like this can be told in a sentence, "The Black Maw had uncovered a lift between levels 114 and 88."

 

But on the other hand, I like the world building aspect of this story and am trying for a sense that each level of Calebra Hive is unique. This accomplishes that objective, and I get to do a little character development for my chosen champ, which is harder to do for me in the more action packed stories. I also want to escalate the war till it's mostly Marine vs Marine, I'm done with marine slaughtering PDF and militia for the most part, and the loyalist marines are in the mid-hive, for now.

 

Lastly, I hate this sentence.--It was screened from view by a copse of trees, apparently to keep the comings and goings of the servants from the sight of any up-hiver who might journey down to pick out his steak or some such bit of showing off.

 

The lift not being in plain sight helps with it being functional when the other isn't, but I'm not sure of a good reason why it wouldn't be. C&C welcome, and I'm a big boy, I can take harsh criticism if you think it's needed. As always, thanks for reading, and check out the Inspirational Friday challenge in the CSM board, it's a great way to practice your own writing or read some good fluff, and most of the challenges can be written from a loyalist perspective, if you have yet to be corrupted by the Dark Gods :).

 

 

I also tried to add some character motivation for Vinno at the end, I hope it doesn't sound contrived.

 

PS. I'm proud of the title.

[Carrack]

8 Broken Trident

Lord Carrack leaned over the three dimensional battle map and studied the state of his plans yet again. His original plan was conceptualized as a trident. Three separate spearheads were to strike simultaneously the ground level, the mid-hive at level 77, and the upper-hive at level 113. This three pronged attack was to divide and conquer Calebra Hive. To an extent he had, The Imperial commanders could not effectively communicate or coordinate with levels cutoff by Lord Carrack's invading armies. But he had faced serious setbacks.

 

The first setback was when his ground level invasion, that of his human and mutant armies under the command of Lythane the Black, had been delayed by a canny Imperial General. This had slowed the bulk of his army, the troops he intended to use to secure levels conquered by his Astartes strike forces at the mid and upper hive. His Black Legionaries were unparalleled in the assault, but did not have the numbers to hold larger portions of the hive.

 

The second setback, was the speed of which the Imperials were starting to relieve their jeopardized hive. The Raven Guard had already managed to sneak a force past his blockade, and insert them in at least the mid hive levels, if not yet in undiscovered areas of the hive as well. Lord Carrack knew that the slaves of the False Emperor would try to relieve the rich, productive hive, he had just not considered that they would have been able to start doing so this early in the invasion. He was receiving reports from daemons bound to his warband, that more ships were in bound in the coming days or weeks.

 

In light of his setbacks, Lord Carrack assessed his goals for the invasion. First and foremost of his goals, was to take Calebra Hive, the key hive in the Candlebright system. Calebra Hive may not be the seat of the Iminar sub-sector, but it was the economic and cultural heart of Iminar. If he could take Calebra Hive, he could throw the rest of the sub-sector into disarray, and conquer the worlds left vulnerable by the upheaval. Just as he did in the Siliquastrum sector.

 

However, if he couldn't conquer Calebra Hive he must settle for two lesser gains. First, he must loot the hive. Mobilizing the entire Black Maw was costly. He could not return to Howler's Charn without holds full of plunder and slaves. If he did, not only would he become indebted to unforgiving powers like, the Dark Mechanicus, and the Warmaster, but his forces would start to defect to more successful warbands. It always happened, you could win campaign after campaign, yet at the first unsuccessful endeavor, warriors who had solemnly sworn their allegiance would abandon you.

 

One item in particular must be taken from Calebra Hive, the so called Candle of Light, an ancient weapon from before the Imperium of Man that according to prophesies and ancient texts, is located somewhere in Calebra Hive. Retrieving the Candle of Light, was the task ordered by Abaddon, and the reason he granted his consent in invading Calebra Hive. Perhaps the remnants of the XIX Legion had arrived early to secure the Candle of Light before I did.

 

The other lesser gain, if the Black Maw was prevented from conquering the hive, would be to deny it to the enemy. To raze it to the ground. A waste, but better to leave them with the burnt out remains, than a productive hive.

 

Lord Carrack left his strategium for the bridge of Bitter Revenge, bellowing commands to the communication officers to establish secure links with his commanders. He than belayed the order to establish a link with Lythane the Black. Perhaps he would leave his equerry, who was nothing more than a pet spy from the Warmaster, on the planet should they have to leave.

Edited September 27, 2015 by Carrack

[EesiOh]

1 i loved the bit about vinno staring down a bull and using his own horns to challenge it and scare it. 

2 in Broken Trident its all in the same tense until the third last paragraph where it suddenly becomes 1st person with no explanation 

3 as usual. Good work. Honestly I was kind of hoping for an Ahriman-esque 'just as planned' moment but it is also good to see why Carrack wants to take Calebra