The Shield

[Carrack]

Skull

Part 6.1

City of Hammish, Imperial World of Lemish II, Lemish System

 

 

 

Paimun stepped on his champion's backpack as he rushed through the breeched wall, being sure to grind his foot in a little as he stomped down. Up ahead, Casper was making short work of the red and orange armored marine who had manned the hurricane emplacement. With a snap kick, Paimun launched the mortal loader who was cowering behind an ammo drum in the corner. It was a reflexive kick, lighting quick, but not with his weight behind it. Still, it was enough to bounce the worm against the wall, and on his rebound, Paimun punched him with an uppercut with his powerfist, obliterating the loaders ribcage and vital organs inside it. Gore splattered the remains of the gun emplacement and Paimun's black armor. Paimun could hear his masters in His Inquisition speaking through his communication node, telling him this collateral damage was acceptable. He had to maintain his cover while he was with the traitors. His unseen masters must be preparing a major mission for Paimun, for they had been speaking to him nonstop for days. For effect only, Paimun screamed out, "Blood for the Blood God!", and wiped his visor clear of gore. The Chosen of Lord Carrack charged on, determined to exploit their breech as much as possible.

 

Paimun found himself momentarily left behind with his champion, Vinno, who was picking himself up after his inglorious stumble. Paimun's secret masters shouted at him, telling him this was the time. They told him that the Emperor needed him to slay his champion, so he would be in a better position to take over the Black Maw Warband, should Lord Carrack die or loose control during this campaign. Vinno got to his feet, and took a moment to reignite his red glowing power sword. Vinno looked over Paimun, and said, "That thing inside you is talking nonsense again isn't it brother?"

 

Paimun rocked back, visibly shaken. Had his cover been blown? No, Vinno would have tried to kill him, not talk to him with genuine concern in his voice. No, Vinno must have uncovered the heretical lies from the chirurgeons. Like most veterans of the Long War, Paimun had been in medical bays more times than he could remember. But the medical bays, like the rest of the facilities of the Black Maw, were tainted with heresy. At various times after surgeries, the heretical chirurgeons had lied to Paimun, saying his communication node with the Inquisition was actually a mutant cyst on his spleen. A cyst that had a face, and that they had heard talking. He knew the lies for what they were, an attack on his faith, and had always slain everyone who spoke or heard such blasphemy. Somehow Vinno must have heard the same lies. He couldn't be allowed to live.

 

Vinno was dangerous though, he had been Paimun's champion for most of the Long War, and was now the champion of the chosen. But Paimun had learned to be clever over the ages. He had to in order to keep his mission of wresting control of the Black Maw, and leading it into the light of the Golden Throne, a secret. So Paimun pointed the way the rest of the chosen had gone as they advanced into the fortress. Vinno nodded thanks, then took off running, trying to catch up. As Vinno passed, Paimun punched his powerfist into the back of Vinno's helm, bashing through the ceramite to crush the skull underneath, and tear out a chunk of brain and spinal cord. Vinno, Champion of the Chosen of Lord Carrack, a Black Legionnaire that had massacred thousands on Terra, a Nightmare of Humanity's past, fell to the ground, dead. Paimun picked up what was left of Vinno's skull, and held it aloft in honor of the Emperor. The "Emperor" always demanded skulls and more skulls for His Golden Throne.

 

[EesiOh]

And i was really enjoying 

Vinno's story arc too

However I also enjoy Paimun's antics a great deal so i'm not completley sad yet 

[Carrack]

And i was really enjoying

Vinno's story arc too

However I also enjoy Paimun's antics a great deal so i'm not completley sad yet

Spoiler

 

 

I did a quick count, Vinno was the main character in 11 stories, and appeared in 10 more, either here in the fan fic board or Inspirational Friday.

 

[Carrack]

Murder

Part 6.2

City of Hammish, Imperial World of Lemish II, Lemish System

 

 

 

Copil followed through with a downward slash of his chainsword. He was shadowing Casper, exploiting the openings the cannibal was creating as he carved his way through the loyalists with his lightning claw. 8 millennia of fighting the Long War, and Copil was still playing clean up for the other chosen of the squad. Copil was chosen too, he deserved better.

 

The last of the loyalist fell as Obbo snuck in an underhanded cut that drove up through the waist seam of the Angel of Immolation's armor, cutting through organs, than leaving a gaping wound with a twist and withdrawal of the meter long blade. Saint Tiam planted the squad's standard into the neck of a fallen loyalist, and looked over the Chosen of Lord Carrack. Copil reached down and picked up the loyalist sergeant's plasma pistol and a few spare cells. Casper looked over, disapprovingly, saying, "Scavenging are we now, young Copil, and plasma at that." Plasma weapons had long been regulated to thinbloods grasping for glory in the Black Maw, but Copil didn't care, he was treated virtually as a thinblood anyway, and the pistol had incinerated Mavak, the latest of the chosen to have spewed out a hate filled diatribe about the dilution of the legion with the inclusion of those who did not fight at the Siege of Terra, all at Copil's expense. Copil just wanted the damned pistol to keep as a reminder next time the same speech was made by another of the chosen. It happened with great regularity.

 

The thunder of guns started sounding from the bailey of Fort Dominique, followed by the distinctive bass rumble of subterranean munitions. Copil also noticed the sudden absence of the metallic taste in his mouth that accompanied close proximity to void shielding. Although it was possible one of the other squads had destroyed a shield generator, the timing of the outgoing rounds was too coincidental. The loyalists had dropped the fortress's shields to lay down a barrage of ground penetrating rounds on the city below. This must have something to do with what Lord Carrack was after on this planet. The tempo of the mission just increased. Whatever the loyalists were doing that required them to compromise their fortifications, must be stopped. The loyalist were deluded fools, blindly following a collection of their lessors who interpreted the will of a corpse, but they were not stupid, not tactically stupid anyway.

 

Copil wasn't the only chosen to come to this conclusion, Saint Tiam, the de facto leader with Vinno yet to make his appearance, ordered Copil, "Go get Paimun and our champion, Obbo and Poll will begin breaching out to the bailey." Copil rushed back to the site of their first breech, the last known location of their champion. As he made his way down the hall, Saint Tiam added, "And be quick about your errand, boy." To the laughter of the rest of the Chosen. Copil seethed at yet another indigently heaped upon him, and unknowingly fired off the plasma pistol into the floor a few meters from his feet. The ferrocrete cracked and popped with the destructive energy, satisfyingly so. The laughter stopped abruptly, for the first time in a long time, Copil had shut them up. He chuckled a little himself.

 

The chuckling stopped when Copil reached the bloody remains of the hurricane emplacement. Paimun was there, holding aloft the front of Vinno's skull in offering to the Skull King. The back half of the champion of the chosen was obliterated. Paimun saw Copil and dropped the offering, exclaiming, "It was self defense, Vinno was enraged by us stepping on his back after he fell." Copil leveled his new pistol at Paimun and said nothing. Challenges for leadership amongst squads were acceptable means of promotion, and important for weeding out the weak, but they were not allowed during campaign, and when they were, they were formal duels that took place with witnesses, seconds, and all the trappings of legality to ensure the winner rightfully assumed command of the squad. This was not that, and it wasn't self defense either, Vinno's head had been caved in from the back. This was murder. Copil didn't really care about the murder personally, Vinno set the example with the hazing that Copil went through, but at least Vinno was competent as a champion. Paimun was a raving madman plagued by a familiar daemon attached to his stomach or something. Copil wasn't about to shoot the murderer though, when Lord Carrack investigated, it might come down to Paimun's word, who had been at Terra, and held the same geneseed as the Lord of the Black Maw, against Copil's word, who was created by the infamous fleshsmith Fabious Bile, 2,000 years after the Siege of Terra. Instead, Copil backed away keeping his new plasma pistol aimed at Paimun. Before he reached the hall, Copil told him, "My lips are sealed, but you must make your way on your own, the chosen will never accept you as the leader, or even as a member of our squad now, and you have to stop listening to that thing inside you, it will be your death." Paimun staggered at Copil's words, gripping the wall for support. Copil turned and ran back to his squad.

 

[Komplot]

Give me moar!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  

I am seriously liking all of this!!

[Carrack]

The Shield

Part 1.4

Aspis, Sub-Sector Seat

 

 

 

Lorella looked over the audience of the Bestowment Parade, most were children and old men and women. Was the war going to be this bad? She hoped not, but the signs pointed to upcoming hardships. Lorella was getting her fair share of stares, and not the kind she use to get when she was younger, before she had given birth to 11 children. They were questioning stares, stares that asked, "Why are you not in a manufactorum or at a founding of the Imperial Guard?" Lorella tried to answer the questioning stares by fiddling with her Matron Medal, a gold plated icon of a nursing mother, but too few knew what it meant, yet. The medal was awarded to Lorella for having raised more than five men and women who were serving in the Guard. She had eight, the youngest, her daughter Janne, was just 16 years of age, and even now, was drilling on the founding fields of her Triple R. The Rapid Response Regiments. Lorella considered herself fortunate that only two of her children were in the Triple Rs. The rest were getting the full course of Guard training. The Triple Rs were getting two weeks on the fields, and whatever they could manage on the troop ships. The Matron's Medal got Lorella exemptions from service, even though she was still of age, as well as preferential treatment at the manufactorum, like the ability to take time off to watch the Bestowment Parade.

 

The crowd began to cheer. The parade was passing through. Lorella had a good view of the procession, the old ladies in front of her were seated, and short enough to see over when they stood. First came an armored regiment, proud tanks slowly riding down the thoroughfare with pendents hanging from their elevated barrels. The tanks and Infantry vehicles were pristine, with barely dried paint unmarred by weather or battle. Lorella barely glanced at the regiment, craning her neck to see what followed.

 

What followed was a sight Lorella would never forget. Dozens of red and orange clad Angels. Angels of Death. They were huge, their armor was thick and bright, and their guns were so large, that Lorella thought they might be cannons if they were not so easily carried by the Angels of Immolation. In spite of the hulking size of the angels, they marched as one, each angel in perfect step with the others, and swinging their arms the precise distance as every other. Lorella began to ponder how a group could ever be so uniform in their movements. It spoke of a level of precision that was beyond human ability.

 

Following the precession of Angels was the largest tank Lorella had ever seen. Like the Angels before it, it too was bright and defiant in orange and red armor. Cannons were mounted on either side, and the front hull, above a drop ramp large enough for the giant Angels of Immolation to walk down with heads held high. Standing atop the tank as it idled along the thoroughfare, were the two participants of the Bestowment Ceremony. The receiver was another Angel, in armor like his brothers, but embellished to the point of being a work of art. A martial art, for despite the gold filigree, the armor was obviously functional, even showing signs of repair. It wasn't a suit strictly regulated to the parade ground, it was a armor that protected its sacred bearer from humanity's enemies while the Angel of Death who wore it delivered His wrath. Beside the fearsome Angel, was a mortal man, the bestower. Under normal circumstances, the bestower was the center of attention wherever he went. The bestower was Lord Aspis the Pious, Sub-Sector Commander, ruler of worlds in the name of the Emperor. He was resplendent in his flowing robes of state, but Lorella's eyes were drawn away from her world's and the vassal worlds of the sub-sector's ruler. Lorella's eyes were drawn to the object that would be bestowed in the Sacred Cathedral of His Holy Shield, at the culmination of the parade. Her eyes were drawn to the Aspis Eternal, the shield from which the sub-sector and its commander took their names. The shield shined with the light of the sun off its polished boss, with a brilliance more than what the bright day would allow. Memories of lessons in sermons about the relic stirred in Lorella's mind. The Aspis Eternal, the unyielding bulwark of humanity, lived up to everyone of them. Lorella caught herself after the shield passed, she had forgotten to breath in sight of the relic, and her knees had weakened. She was dazed in awe, as were all around her. Absentmindedly, she stumbled off back to the manufactorum as if drunk. The Shield would be bestowed. Her children would be protected.

 

[Carrack]

Low Road 27

2.10

Tancrea, the Pillars of Fortitude, Defence Sector 27

 

 

Ramone paused as he climbed the mountain overlooking Low Road 27. His legs were aching, every muscle in them on fire from the steep climb. His fighters collapsed where they were at the brief halt. Ramone had personal business to attend to before he went through the ritual of checking over his fighters. He took a few steps off the path to find some privacy behind a chunk of ice. Ramone had to be on the move constantly, these rests were for his fighters, not him. To overcome his own pain, he had taken handfuls of anti inflammatory tabs stolen from the Imperials. The tabs weren't his beloved obscura, but they helped with the pain nonetheless. Unfortunately, they tore through his guts, already weakened by eating the snow of an unfamiliar environment, complete with its own microorganisms that there and the other Fewood fighters had no immunity to. This climb seemed more like a test of Nurgle than Slannesh, but Slannesh was with them. Ramone could tell. His squad and Victor's mortar squad, were far ahead of the Vaskans that had joined Hetman Ramone's command after he had sealed the covenant with the Dark Prince. Those who had participated in the ritual, found easier ibex trails and better footing on the snowy slopes of the mountain. Slannesh was guiding their climb and speeding their step. She was speeding them to glory. The Vaskans in contrast, were struggling up the mountain.

 

Ramone completed checking his men and women's feet, weapons and gear. They were all in surprisingly good shape. He would continue to check them anyway. It wasn't just about making corrections and performing rudimentary care, though that was necessary to keeping his fighters ready for battle. The checks also reinforced Ramone's authority, it was him checking them, not the other way around. The checks also showed the fighters that he felt concern for their well being, and would hopefully instill a measure of loyalty. His checks complete, they trudged on.

 

They were coming up to the crest of the ridge that overlooked the road. The wind was picking up, blowing stinging snow into the eyes of Ramone and his fighters. He alone had faced real cold, and though this was uncomfortable, it was not as bad as the cold that had taken most of his feet, eventually leaving him with augmetics, and it would warm as they descended. His fighters, though well equipped, were struggling with the cold. They would keep their outer layers fully buttoned up, then sweat from the exertion, and open their coats to let their sweat freeze, they had no grasp of the danger freezing temperatures could pose, other than their current misery. But the climb was almost complete.

 

Ramone called another halt just shy of the ridge line. This halt would be longer, he would wait on the Vaskan squads if he could, but first he wanted to see what was on the road at the bottom of the other side of the ridge. Ramone crawled up to the spine of the ridge, taking his sniper, Hector, with him. They crested the ridge next to a boulder that would obscure their silhouettes from below, and looked over onto the road below.

 

Low road 27 was occupied. A half kilometer north of Ramone on the road, closer to Defence Station 27C, the valley had been flooded. The Imperials had fortified the dry end of the road with trench works, barricades, and fighting positions. Pits had been dug for tanks to take defensive, hull down positions. Infantry were advancing towards the defense station's pillar mountain along the sides of the valley, above the flood line. There was sporadic fire off to the north in the valley, likely the guardsmen encountering Black Maw forces. Worse, was the flashes of fire visible at the top of the pillar mount, the part that pierced the atmosphere and held the orbital defense station 27C. Ramone knew it wasn't going to be held indefinitely, but the longer it held, the more reinforcements could be transported into the defense sector. It was under attack from the void. Ramone left Hector to monitor the road with his scope, make sure no Imperials came there way, and to count the numbers of troops and tanks below. Ramone got back to his fighters, who were still waiting on the Vaskans, and sent a runner up to Hector, to report back when he had made his count.

 

The runner came back down from the ridge line. It was bad. Ramone listened to the count, and tried to fit it into an Imperial Guard organizational structure according to the stolen books on tactics he had poured over as a menial thrall. His best guess was a light infantry company supported by a tank platoon. Ramone had the high ground, and the blessings of Slannesh, but the Imperials outnumbered him 4 or 5 to 1, and they had tanks. The numbers weren't the only advantage the Imperials had, Ramone knew they outclassed his fighters. Not just in equipment and supporting armor, but in raw soldiering ability. Ramon had trained his fighters as best he could, but they weren't that much better than na fruit pickers given guns and pointed at the enemy. The remnants of Victor's squad were worse, and the Vaskans were probably similar. Still, there was a chance for glory here, and he did have his orders. Ramone voxed his commander War Chief Mokas. It took five minutes to get a reply in Low Gothic from his entourage. This was not a good sign, it meant that Mocus surrounded himself with clan warriors who didn't care about Ramone and the other non-Vaskans to the point of not bothering to learn the language. It meant Ramone was expendable.

 

Eventually War Chief Mocus answered Ramone, at least he could speak Low Gothic, and told him his plan. He was probing the Imperials advances along the sides of the valley. He was confident that he could push back, and fight to the road, but the fortified road would halt his advance. When Mocus gave a signal, either by vox or green flare, Ramone was to attack the Imperials from the mountainside, high enough to be out of reach of their guns. If the Imperials made an uphill charge to dislodge Ramone, he was to fall back, and draw out the attackers. Meanwhile, Mocus would be pushing up the middle. It seemed like a sound strategy, and one that would not put Ramone in unnecessary danger. Ramone informed the Fewood fighters. The Vaskans hadn't made it yet, in spite of numerous signals to hurry up.

 

[Carrack]

Burning Hatred

Part 6.3

City of Hammish, Imperial World of Lemish II, Lemish System

 

 

 

Saint Tiam heard young Copil report that champion Vinno had been slain by the loyalists after they had left him. He cursed himself for allowing his champion to be left behind. It was the call of the Blood God at work. Saint Tiam felt it more than the rest of the chosen, because he carried the Wrathful Standard. When there was blood to be shed, and skulls to be taken, the standard pulled him, led him even, to go spill the blood and take the skulls. The rest of the chosen felt the same way, but with Saint Tiam, the pull was stronger. It had at first been tactical necessity that had made the chosen walk across Vinno's back when he stumbled at the breech, but then the pull of the standard drove him on into the next squad of the Emperor's lap dogs. He had failed to wait for the squad to consolidate after wetting his appetite for blood on the first loyalist. He had left his champion behind. The loyalists had come in behind him, and killed Vinno, the champion who had led the squad for thousands of years, and led it well. Part of Saint Tiam wanted to go back, and track down his champion's killer. Vengeance was always dominating his mind, but Saint Tiam had to thrust his desire for revenge to the side. The Chosen of Lord Carrack were about to breech into the bailey of Fortress Dominique, and they must silence the Imperial Guns. Until the assault was over, Saint Tiam would lead the chosen, now down to six with Marbas, Mavak, and Vinno dead at the hands of the Angels of Immolation, and Paimun missing.

 

Obbo and Poll had been shooting their meltaguns into an armored and locked door to the bailey since the Imperials had cut the shields and started firing subterranean munitions into the city of Hammish, below the fortress. Whatever they had opened their void shields to destroy, the Black Maw wanted to preserve. It was a desperate move, a suicidal move even, for the loyalist to figuratively open the door to the fortress, just to fire rounds designed to penetrate into the earth and explode. There was something buried in the city that they were willing to die to destroy. Saint Tiam hoped it was something actually useful, and not merely the bones of some thinblooded chapter master. He knew that the Imperium placed a great value on its superstitions, he was an Imperial Saint after all.

 

It was back in the early 37th millienium, on the most holy shrine world of Ophelia VII, a Ministorim movement had taken hold with the aim to canonize all individuals known to have performed a personal service to the Emperor, prior to his ascension to the Golden Throne. This movement was called the "Famulanati", and was responsible for canonizing several hundred saints. One researcher found record of such a service during the Great Crusade At a planet now called Maroon. Luna Wolves and Blood Angels had quickly brought the world into compliance, while being lead personally by the Emperor, a rare, but not unheard of occurrence at that stage of the Great Crusade. Following the victory, the fleet command voxed down to relay a message to the Emperor. Tiam took that message and delivered it personally to the Emperor. The careless remembrancer who record the incident incorrectly recorded Tiam as a Blood Angel, and thus Tiam, an Icon Bearer of the the Black Legion, was made an Imperial Saint.

 

The door took one to many melta blasts, and clanged to the floor as its armored hinges liquified with the intense heat. Saint Tiam charged out into the open bailey, once more thirsting for Imperial blood. The chosen charged with him, thoughts of who would replace Vinno put on hold in sight of their hated foes. They were met by boltgun fire from a squad of loyalist protecting a battery of Thunderfire cannons. The techmarines manning the cannons paid the chosen no heed, continuing to fire the artillery down on the city. Mass reactive bolts rocked Tiam back, hitting his chest plate and vambrace, but he kept rushing in. Before he could get to grips with the squad, he was overcome with a hazy, incoherent, sensation, as if he had lost blood or just drunk a potent intoxicant. He staggered and stumbled, reeling with his vision blurry. It left him faltering before the squad of loyalists. The other chosen had felt it too, Harold had tripped, but instinctively rolled out of his fall. Saint Tiam could hear him vomiting into his helm over the vox. The loyalists opened fire at close range.

 

Two things saved Tiam from certain death at the wall of bolts and burning promethium pouring into the chosen from the loyalists' weapons. The first was the sensation he had felt, had afflicted the Angels of Immolation as well. The normally superb marksmanship of Astartes was wild and undisciplined. The second thing that saves him was the cause of the sensation that spread through the open bailey. Three of the abominations created by the Black Maw's Warpsmith, the Chain Maker, had materialized next to the loyalists defending the artillery, flickering into reality from the turmoil of the warp. Saint Tiam knew only one of the abominations, though all were once his brothers. Now they were giant monstrosities of warping flesh and guns, covered in boils and rust. They were Obliterators, and their limbs burst forth flamer nozzles in showers of pus and rot.

 

The boltgun fire from the loyalists, and the pistol fire from the chosen, had little effect on the two squads of marines. It was too badly effected by the aftermath of the Obliterators arrival, but the loyalists' flamer, and the flamers from the Obliterators didn't need to be accurate. The Angels of Immolation's flamer hosed the chosen down with burning, sticky gel. Power armor was usually proof against the effects of a flamer, but if the gel found a compromise in the armor's protection, such as damage or an exposed seam not covered by ceramite plating, then the promethium could burn through Astartes flesh and bone. The loyalist flamer washed over Saint Tiam's armor, and seeped into a crack in his pistol arm's vambrace. The pain was intense as his armor's systems and his own physiology fought the fire, but the wound was sustainable, although nerves and muscle had been burnt out. Poll took the fire harder, a glob of the sticky flames burning through his dented helm, cooking his brain in his skull.

 

In turn, the Obliterators' flamers absolutely blanketed the loyalists in flames. For a moment, the loyalist disappeared with their orange and red armor matching the color of the flames perfectly. Few were standing when Saint Tiam and the chosen came within blade's length. Those that did didn't last.

 

The Obliterators weren't the only monstrosities to teleport to the bailey of Fortress Dominique. The wide open ground, unprotected by void shields, was perfectly suited for such a strike. Lord Carrack himself, along with his retinue, flashed into existence opposite of the guns from Saint Tiam. They slagged two of the guns with their meltas, then charged. Witnessing the charge of his lord, with all of the fury that embodied his bloody god, emboldened Saint Tiam and heightened his already overwhelming rage. He blacked out from the fury of the emotion, his mind not able to comprehend such levels of hatred. When he came to, he would have to tell his lord of Vinno's death. He hoped he would survive delivering the message.

 

[paulJam]

Only a minor thing but stuck with me...

Hidden Content

Saint Tiam heard young Copil report what he had seen, ... left his champion behind. The loyalist had come in behind him, and killed Vinno, the champion who had led the squad for thousands of years, and led it well. Part of Saint Tiam wanted to go back, and track down his champion's

The narration is from Tiam's perspective and he is unaware (i believe) that Paimun in a loyalist at this stage. All the other knowledge stated would be available to Tiam.

other than that...

Hidden Content

Enjoyed the saint aside, bloody remembrancer are actually so unreliable hey

And while i'm here... when Paimun put the stomp and grind on Vinno was a nice touch, opening sentance too, it set the mood !

bit hungry, off to find some na fruit.

[edit re next post] my misreading, thank you for the explanation as well.

[NEW edit re 2.11 - Tancrea, the Pillars of Fortitude, Defence Sector 27]

are lasrifle shots affected by gravity?

[Carrack]

@PaulJam. I fixed a few words to make it clear, but in short;

Copil lies to Tiam about what he saw with Paimun and Vinno, saying that Vinno was slain by the Angels of Immolation. Oh, and na fruit is yummy. Actually I like the idea of na fruit on a couple of levels. First, it's a two letter word, so I don't have to write keetel fish every time I say what Ramone did. Secondly, I like how it fits with my naming conventions for Fewood, everyone so far, all basicly serfs, have Spanish names, yet the world doesn't, and the fruit they spent their lives picking doesn't sound Spanish to me either, an inconsistency that helps describe the world, sort of. It was all unintentional.

. As always, thanks for the feedback and taking the time to read.

[Carrack]

Commanding the Fleets

Part 6.4

Lemish System

 

 

Lythane the Black sat upon the throne of the Retaliator Grand Cruiser, Bitter Revenge, the flagship of the Black Maw. He had been Equerry to Lord Carrack for 50 years, and not once had he sat the throne. Such was the level of trust he received from his lord. It was probably warranted. It was no secret that the Warmaster had installed Lythane as equerry to lord Carrack personally, as a measure to control the powerful warband of the Despoiler's legion. Every other officer wanted his position, it was the position most likely to take charge of the Black Maw, should lord Carrack fall, but Lythane had been given it without them even being considered. Lythane assuming command would only be temporary, however, his ties were too close to the Warmaster, and the veterans of the Black Maw, the core of old guard that propagated the customs and identity of the warband, would fear losing their autonomy with Lythane in charge.

 

There were things Lythane could do to change the warband's opinion of him. First he had to show he was fit to rule, and an opportunity had just presented itself while he sat upon the throne that commanded the Black Maw Fleet. Ships were translating into the edge of the Lemmish system. The ships were firing madly as they left the wake of the Sea of Souls, they must have had a difficult translation.

 

This was an important opportunity for Lythane, he could show the warband that he could prosecute a void war. Lord Carrack was quite skilled in the art of void war, surprisingly so, considering his brutish nature. He was patient, calm, and cunning in the void, none of the qualities he had when met in person. But Lythane had fought the Long War as long as lord Carrack, he had commanded ships in battle as well. He would show the Black Maw that he was as skilled as their lord in naval battles, and they would see that he could reliably command the fleet. It wouldn't be enough to sway opinion in his favor, but it was a necessary step. Lythane the Black waited on more detailed auspex returns as he shifted his forces into a battle line.

 

****************

 

The runty helmsgit dutifully reported, "We are out of the warp, Boss Smacka! Can we go and foight?" What kind of imbecilic question was that? What did the fool think we came here for, to sip tea? I am surrounded by simpletons and cretins. However, my helmsgit, and the other gits on the bridge obviously need some direction and guidance as to our purpose here. I have the perfect answer, beautifully eloquent, yet simplistic enough for my dimwitted crew, "WAAAGH!", I proclaim. The boys see the wisdom of my words, or word, and join in with me saying it. The Kill Kruiser picks up speed with the renewed efforts of my boys. The gits on my bridge, in particular, make themselves busy in the far corners of my bridge. I will have to have some git write down my speech, so I can use it again, that, and for posterity's sake of course.

 

[Carrack]

A Green Flare, A Big Tree, and a Star

 

2.11

Tancrea, the Pillars of Fortitude, Defence Sector 27

 

A streak of green light shot out of the valley from the north, passing over the Imperial lines. The signal that War Chief Mocus was pushing his forces up the middle, and for Ramone to attack the flank. Ramone crawled up to the ridge line with his fighters. The Vaskans, still trying to catch their breath, were on his right, to the north. Victor and his mortars were on his left. The Black Maw fighters took positions behind snow covered rocks or their own packs atop the narrow ridge. The Imperials scurried about, either preparing for Mocus, or having spotted Ramone.

 

 

Ramone shouted out the sacred words of the Black Legion, "We are returned!", and opened fire on the trenches across Low Road 27. His fighters joined him. The trenches were exposed to his elevated position. However, the range was extreme, only really suitable for his two autocannons, but it was down a steep sloping mountain, the bullets from their autoguns, and the fat bolts from the Vaskans' heavy bolters, added the momentum of gravity on their descent into the guardsmen's lines. The accuracy was horrible, but they put out enough fire, into a concentrated area to still have an effect. The mortars did little more than add noise to the fight with the opening fire, striking halfway up the far mountain. The guardsmen below, were quick to return fire, but they had to shoot against the gravity that was assisting Ramone. Their lasguns shot well short of the ridge, and a salvo of missiles sputtered out and exploded, also short of the Black Maw position.

 

Ramone left the side of autocannon #1 to go to his other autocannon down the line. As instructed #1 began firing into the tops of the tanks, with the second joining in at Ramone's direction. They only scored one hit in their first bursts, and the turret seemed to weather the strike. Ramone was hoping to score a tank kill before they either moved out, or Mocus reached the Imperial lines. The guard armor responded to the fire defensively, their barrels couldn't elevate high enough to hit the ridge, so instead, each tank spit out a cluster of grenades in a wide arc. The grenades started spewing out thick, white smoke, obscuring the tanks. Ramone told his #2 autocannon crew to hold their fire, and start shooting again after #1 finished its burst, then alternate turns firing and resting to keep a steady stream of autocannon fire on the enemy. He had witnessed the Astartes use this practice on the tactica deck while training. He looked over at the Vaskan heavy bolter teams, one of which was already clearing a jam, and decided to let them fire as they saw fit. Hopefully they would save a few bolts for the eventual counter attack. Ramone looked down into the valley, he wasn't wiping out the larger force, but he was whittling away at them, and not taking fire in return. Truly he was favored by Slannesh, who has blessed him with such inspired tactics.

 

Ramone remembered poaching game back on Fewood. He had a favorite tree to hunt red bottom monkeys at. It was a large tree in the middle of the ceremonial yard of the parish church. On days that mass wasn't being called, or any other of the infrequent days Ramone wasn't suppose to be in the orchards, the yard and the church were empty, the priest having taken multiple mistresses and spent most of his time with them. The red bottom monkeys grew accustomed to the deserted church, and would occasionally brave the open yard to rob na fruit from the tree. Ramone would hide in the forest at the edge of the yard and shoot these monkeys with his old gun. It was a long shot, and the monkeys were agile dodgers, so Ramone missed most shots. But the monkeys never left the tree, instinctively, they feared the open ground, where most of their predation occurred, and the other trees were just too far away for them to run to. So Ramone would patiently shoot away at the forest edge, until he ran out of ammo or enough monkeys fell to the ground. Then he would walk up to the base of the tree, weathering the hisses and thrown feces from the survivors, and pick up his meat. This is how he saw the battle going. The guardsmen would not leave their trenches, and his fighters were shooting them down, missing more than they hit for sure, but shooting them down all the same. All was going well. Then a star fell on the ridge.

 

The star came from the north, from the pillar mountaintop that held defense station 27C. The stars there were flashing since he first crested the ridge. They were bright enough to be seen in the daytime. Ramone knew they weren't really stars. They were Imperial voidcraft fighting the seized station, trying to cutt off the supply lines of the Black Maw. He had hoped the station would hold out as long as possible. It might still be holding out, for it was but a single star coming his way. It was enough.

 

As the star grew larger, it's shape became more distinct than merely the light of its engines. Ramone recognized it as a marauder bomber, a heavy duty aircraft capable of both atmospheric and void fighting. It came in firing out its nose turret, strafing the ridge line. Lascannons fired out of its front turret as it roared over the ridge, each shot incinerating a warrior. Ramone shouted out over the top of his lungs to fall back. Only the #2 autocannon crew, and his sniper, Hector, both on either side of him, heard his cry. They hesitated at first, but after seeing Ramone grab a pack and jump down belly-first on top of it, to slide wildly and dangerously fast down the mountainside they came up, they followed suit. The cannon crew used boxes of bolted ammunition to slide down, dragging their weapon behind them. Ramone looked back, seeing the bomber flying low over the ridge, shooting its tail guns as well as its nose. He was thrown off his pack when the marauder dropped a single bomb, directly centered over Ramone's former position. His ears rang with the thundering blast. His bones and teeth shook. He landed off his pack and rolled down the mountain, bruising ribs, spraining an ankle, and finally bashing his skull into a rock outcropping that cut open his forehead, but arrested his fall. Ramone lay bleeding in the snow, dazed and dizzy from the roll down the mountainside, but just as bewildered how his fortune had changed so rapidly. Had Slannesh once again abandoned him?

 

 

 

[Carrack]

Only a minor thing but stuck with me...

Hidden Content

Saint Tiam heard young Copil report what he had seen, ... left his champion behind. The loyalist had come in behind him, and killed Vinno, the champion who had led the squad for thousands of years, and led it well. Part of Saint Tiam wanted to go back, and track down his champion's

The narration is from Tiam's perspective and he is unaware (i believe) that Paimun in a loyalist at this stage. All the other knowledge stated would be available to Tiam.

other than that...

Hidden Content

Enjoyed the saint aside, bloody remembrancer are actually so unreliable hey

And while i'm here... when Paimun put the stomp and grind on Vinno was a nice touch, opening sentance too, it set the mood !

bit hungry, off to find some na fruit.

[edit re next post] my misreading, thank you for the explanation as well.

[NEW edit re 2.11 - Tancrea, the Pillars of Fortitude, Defence Sector 27]

are lasrifle shots affected by gravity?

Not in my opinion, the ridge was just out of range, but that didn't stop the guardsmen from trying anyway. Mostly though, they just hanged tough, popped smoke on their tanks, and waited on the marauder to make its reserve roll :) brave dudes. In game terms I put the range somewhere a little over 36", but for the story, I went with the distance between the guardsmen and the renegades as being mostly vertical, and allowed a few hits from the autoguns.

This brings up something I've been trying to improve on. Making my enemies believable threats. I personally feel this is one of the biggest problems I made with Calebra Hive, and most of my stories I've written so far. How do you make the enemy not seem like a bunch of the incompetent goons, without killing off lots of your characters? I'm not that attached to my characters per se, but the only way I can develop them is to have them live, but this means they win more than they lose. I think I've done ok with the stories I've included from the Imperial perspective, but I'm still struggling with doing it from the perspective of "my guys". Ramone is especially hard, because, unless he runs into some gretchin, he is likely to be facing a superior enemy.

[Carrack]

Falling Like Flies

Part 6.5

City of Hammish, Imperial World of Lemish II, Lemish System

 

 

 

 

Garaduk watched his swarm of flies plummet with him as he and the Vultures Raptors stepped out of the roaring thunderhawk. No matter how many times he did something like a combat jump, he still held out hope that he would finally rid himself of the ever present flies and their incessant buzzing and biting. But the flies weren't normal, mundane flies. They were the manifestation of Nurgle's bond with Garaduk. They weren't so easily dismissed, they matched his speed as he approached terminal velocity, as they had done before. It was depressing, no matter what thrill he felt, they would be there to distract his autosenses, harrow his flesh through the slightest breech in his armor, and annoy him in any way that they could. They were at it now, chewing away at a wound in his back below his idling jump pack. It hurt.

 

Garaduk looked down at Fortress Dominique with his one remaining eye. It was rapidly getting larger as he descended from high altitude. The fortress was a turbulent storm of fire. The bailey was burning. The walls away from Fortress Dominique's charge, the city of Hammish, burnt as well. From the opposite walls, the night flashed with fire as well, artillery fire. They were pounding a park in the city, a vast stretch of toppled statuary and disturbed earth. Garaduk's practiced eye told him the park had been hit with ground penetration rounds first, and these, larger, high explosives rounds were widening, and deepening the hole the specialized rounds had created. Already, much of the park was unnaturally lower than the rest of the city. It was if the artillery was dropping underground floors beneath the park.

 

Garaduk fired his jump pack. His retinue followed suit, slowing their falls just enough to not seriously injure themselves on landing. Garaduk's retinue, split into two squads of five, and a third group of seven that would remain with him. He sent the two small squads to the far end of the wall that was shelling the city with its emplaced guns, while he dove for the middle. He missed.

 

The air had grown turbulent close to the fortress, the heat from the flames, and the pressure changes from the sustained heavy artillery fire, had created a swirling wind over the hill. These winds buffeted Garaduk One-Eye off course, landing him and his squad of Vulture Raptors in between the first and second trenches carved into the hillside. The two trenches were empty, the guardsmen who had manned them having rushed to bolster the walls' defenses, but more guardsmen from the lower trenches were climbing the hill, also trying to reach the fortress. As Garaduk and his retinue touched down hard, momentarily stunned from the impact, the guardsmen climbing the hill sprayed out lasgun fire and the occasional plasma bolt into the newly arrived raptors. The lasgun fire stung, but did little more, the guardsmen were climbing the hill in a wide but shallow line, they couldn't concentrate their fire into the small squad. The plasma was more problematic. Plasma guns could drop terminators, and had no difficulty with power armor, it's why they were still used, even though they were occasionally prone to catastrophic overheating. Three blast came at the Black Legionaries with flashes of retina searing light. One struck Garaduk in his left pauldron, burning through the heavy armor to melt flesh and bone. Garaduk would have howled in pain, but he had experienced worse so many times, he checked himself, it would be unbecoming to show such weakness. The second shot was in line from its firer, but was short, striking the parapet of the second trench and exploding it in a shower of dirt. The third shot was also meant for Garaduk, but an instinctive pivot from the cyclopian captain had put one of his Vultures in between him and the coming blast. His Vulture Raptor took the shot in his head, his body remained standing, acting as a macabre headless torch as his head was engulfed in white hot flames. It was uncanny how the dead raptor did not fall, but Garaduk didn't have time to contemplate the bizarre death of one of his retinue. Instead he started running his surviving squad towards the wall of Fortress Dominique.

 

After leaping the first trench, Garaduk fired his jump pack, and rocketed towards the wall. The massive earthshaker cannons were arcing their rounds high, so Garaduk had no fear of crossing the outgoing artillery fire, but the wall had other defensive guns as well. Hurricane bolters mounted on either side of Garaduk had the angle and range on him, but were silent for the moment. Two lascannons just to the left of Garaduk, were not. The first shot came from a cannon mounted at the top of the wall, it had a complex targeting array protruding above its gun shield, it was an AAA weapon, and it was being lifted out of its emplacement by two burly guardsmen. It's powerful blast hit the dirt at the bottom of the wall, a brave effort, thought Garaduk, but they clearly hadn't thought it through first. The other lascannon was emplaced in the middle of the wall. Garaduk had seen it when they jumped the first trench, and positioned himself with one of his retinue in front of him for protection. The thighs and abdomen of the Vulture took the blast from the cannon, the raptor fell to the floor in agony, but with laughter booming out of his vox grill. Garaduk stepped over his fallen brother, and fired his ensorcelled flamer, green hell fires playing across the lascannon emplacements, finding entry through viewports, down the barrel of the mid wall lascannon, and pouring across the gun shield of the top lascannon. Neither would fire again.

 

The two meltagunners in his retinue began widening a breech at the mid wall lascannon emplacement, the rest of the Vultures and Garaduk turned back to the advancing guardsmen. They were shifting from a line formation into a wedge as they hustled over the second trench, Garaduk arced out a sweep of hell fire into that trench to slow them down. The guardsmen didn't have the Astartes superhuman ability to jump the wide trenches, they had to climb down and back out of them. In spite of Garaduk's discouraging flames, guardsmen did start climbing out, and rushed to the first trench.

 

The first trench was built to defend out from the fortress, the back of the trench lacked a firing step, but the guardsmen somehow got men and women up to the back edge of the trench. Garaduk leveled his flamer at the encroaching mortals, and cursed the speed of which his retinue was breeching the wall. Just as the guardsmen lined up for a close range volley of fire, a shimmering dome of cracking energy energized around the fortress. The low hum in Garaduk's audio pick ups, along with the static charge playing across his armor, jolting his painful wounds in his shoulder and back, told him the void shields of Fortress Dominique had been erected. His flies were undisturbed by the energy. Normal flies would have been electrocuted.

 

The shields were a wall of silence and noise. The ranks of guardsmen who were perched at the back of the first trench shot into the shields, which absorbed the fire easily, their only sound, faint echoes coming in under some gullies that had worked their way under the dome. The noise, the thunderous noise that even Garaduk's armor's audio dampeners struggled to block out, was the sounds of the earthshaker batteries firing out, only to detonate into the shields 100 meters away. Garaduk looked back at his Vultures at the wall. They had widened the breech, he rushed to join them as they entered the walls. Garaduk was in.

 

[Carrack]

Carratuge L'ull

Part 6.6

City of Hammish, Imperial World of Lemish II, Lemish System

 

 

 

Was this it? They had pulled me out of hell for this? How long had I been gone this time? It wasn't Copil hooking me into the driver console, that was for sure. Whoever it was, was handling me gingerly, with compassion, maybe pity. I was pitiful. Pain flooded my world as I was connected, I remember once comparing it to the pain of a bright light shining in my eyes, jarring me awake from slumber, but that was back when I remembered what human vision was like. Now I only perceived the world through the auspex of Carratuge L'ull, the sacred rhino of the Chosen of Lord Carrack. The pain had grown worse when I forgot what it was like to see. They had taken my vision long ago, along with my legs, arms, sanity, and soul. They had left me with life support tubes, catheters and most importantly, interface cables, to better know the engine read outs, ammo counts, and other vital information necessary to operate Carratuge L'ull. Why had they left me with free thought at all? Did they even remember I was sentient, when they shoved my wired and tubed body into the compartment overhead the driver console? How could they do this to me. I was always faithful.

 

Carratuge L'ull is being sluggish. Her spirit is not stirring, and she will not give me the full connection that is my only respite from the hell I spend in the compartment, deprived from all contact, its a darkness I no longer see, but feel. But she loves me, I know she does, she must be sparing me the pain of such a brief reprieve, by not allowing me to fully rise out of the slumber I eventually achieve when they lock me away. I greedily take what she gives me. We have been refueled and rearmed. Pit thralls of the assault bay are directing me to the loading ramp of a lighter. Their smokey torches lazily guiding me to move up the ramp in low gear. I can't help myself, I gun the engine and run one over, pulping his grease covered form beneath our treads. They should be more reverent in the presence of the sacred Carratuge L'ull, the vehicle they used to call "The Beast" in this assault bay. She is pleased. Oh what joy! I have made her happy. I could die now, fulfilled. But the waiting lighter signifies one thing, battle awaits. I can't die now, Carratuge L'ull needs me.

 

We keep our engines running as maps and troop dispositions are loaded into our data core. I test fire the combi-bolters into the armored walls of the lighter. The load masters throw fits, but dare not approach us. Carratuge L'ull shows me her love and opens up to me fully. I am alive! I feel as if I'm dancing, even though we are in a cramped lighter. I access the data being uploaded. My lords need me! It is so great to be needed, and I anxiously await the companionship of having my lords in my troop compartment. I miss them so much. I forgive them for locking me away in the hell of the compartment. I'm sure they didn't mean to cause me such suffering.

 

The lighter touches down at the base of a hill. Empty trenches ring the hill all the way to its armored crown. As we roll down the ramp I here curses called down from the lighter's crew, I scan and store the tail number of the orbital craft to revisit this sacrilege in the future. The icons of my lords appear on the map display just around the hill. We slam into high gear, our tracks churning up dirt and ferrocrete. There are just six icons present, there should be ten. Oh no, my lords have suffered tragic losses. They are so kind to me, they don't deserve this. We scan the trenches for someone to feel the pain of our loss. There, up ahead are a pair of guardsmen hefting a heavy bolter up to the parapet of the lowest trench. Could they have been the ones to have killed my lords? Unlikely, my lords are the best warriors ever to stride the galaxy. We shoot them anyway. We can't slow down, my lords need us, but we open fire with the main combi-bolter and the bolter barrel of our pintle mount. The bouncing, racing speed of Carratuge L'ull makes aiming difficult, but we manage to hit the gunner of the heavy bolter, blowing his skull and shoulder apart in an explosion partially contained by the guardsmen's helmet. The loader gets behind the weapon and fires back. At us. Do they not know that we are Carratuge L'ull, that we hold the honor of carrying the very Chosen of Lord Carrack. We wish we could stop and bathe their trench in fire, but we race past, feeling their affront impacting against our side armor. Another exchange of fire between us and the vile slaves of the Corpse God leaves the loader dead, and a painful strike into our flank, ripping apart layers of armor, but not slowing us down.

 

The rest of the trenches have been emptied of those foolish enough to show themselves. We slam to a halt in front of my lords, dropping the ramp and opening the doors. As soon as we register the twelfth armored boot stepping into us, we slam back into gear, and race into the burning city beside the hill. I am not alone! I hear the voices of our passengers and my heart leaps with the joy of companionship. They are my friends. My joy is unbecoming, four of my friends are not here, but I can't help myself, I have been alone so very long. I'm sure they will talk to me this time, thank me for my faithful service over the ages. Maybe they will not lock me away again when they are done with me this time. I can feel it, they recognize me.

 

Copil is making his way to the driver console, as the other chosen jokingly tell him to chauffeur them to the objective. He won't do it this time though, he is just playing along with their jest. Oh no! He is unhooking me! No, not the compartment, I can't take it anymore, I was just there. Don't you love me? No!!!

 

[Carrack]

No Time to Feast

 

Part 7.0

Garland System

 

 

Captain Barre sank into his throne. Up until now, he hadn't had time to come to grips with his fate. He had been to busy trying to prevent it. Now, as he felt the weight of his impending doom sink in, it hit him hard, like a punch in the jaw from one of his bosun mates. In spite of every effort, his fate was inevitable.

 

Captain Barre was carrying a regiment of His Hammer, the 208th Garland Mechanized Infantry, 14,000 men and their accompanying chimeras and tanks, all readied for the front. His own crew tripled their numbers. Most would soon die.

 

Captain Barre had done what he could, he had pulled every trick he had learned from studying the naval tactics of Battlefleet Obscuras. He had pushed the engines of his ship, his father's ship, and the ship of his father's father, Argonos, to her limits, but she was meant for carrying thousands of tons of freight, slowly but surely, from port to port. She wasn't made for sprinting. He had run Argonos towards cover, trying to hide in the rings of Garland's outer gas giants, but he would never make it in time. He had jettisoned his garbage, vented excess gasses, even dumped valuable cargo, all in an effort to fool the Black Legion Strike Cruiser chasing him down, all in vain. He had called all hands to abandon ship. Every lighter, every life boat, and every escape pod had been loaded and launched with as many men and women that could claw their way aboard. It was a fraction of all souls on his ship. He had done everything he could. Captain Barre sat in his throne and watched the great, blood red eye upon the prow of the strike cruiser open wide. Death shot forth from the eye with red lances of hellfire.

 

****************

 

The hunter tore open the throat of her prey, and watched its lifeblood; oxygen, fuel, and men, spill out into the cruel vacuum of the void, to freeze, violently decompress, and suffocate. But she took no joy from her successful kill. She would not be able to feast upon its carcass, for a larger, more deadly predator was hunting the hunter in turn. Not long after the hunter, the dreaded Blood Eye, had splashed out of the Sea of Souls in a mind shattering flood of blood, another ship had made a more stately, but equally violent translation into the void space of the Garland system. Both hunters were ships from a distant era. Both hunters were armed to the teeth with cannon, lance, and swarms of attack craft, all secondary weapons compared to the genetically engineered weapons that crewed the hunting ships. The original hunter was a sleek Strike Cruiser, fast as any ship of war, and as lethal as a knife in the heart, But the hunter's hunter was of a class greater, an Astartes Battle Barge, painted in the orange and red flames of the Angels of Immolation Chapter, named Ember.

 

The Blood Eye was already stalking into the system when Ember appeared at the system's edge behind her. The Battle Barge, for all its lumbering bulk, could run as fast as the Blood Eye. The Blood Eye's only way to escape her own hunter, was to flee across the system, and translate at the opposite edge, or risk a dangerous translation within the gravity of the Garland system's heavenly bodies. So she ran, barely taking the time to fill her prey as she did. It was a race against time, as much as a race across the cold void. If the Ember could summon aid to the opposite edge of the system, the Blood Eye would be cut off, and destroyed. If not, the Blood Eye would escape to continue her 10,000 year long betrayal on the Imperium that wished it had never laid her keel.

 

 

 

Author Note:

I've had 5 false starts writing the next story. Each of these I got a few paragraphs in and gave up, as not being particularly good, even in my own loving, egotistical, eyes :) My problem is I want to write more about Ramone and the Chosen, but am facing a bit of writers block on how to proceed. I know what I want to happen next, I just haven't found a good way to tell it. Then this is supposed to be a grander tale than those two storylines, as well. Fortunately, I can always count on the Blood Eye to get my creativity moving. Well, as the late Vinno would say to young Copil, "Enough useless prattle."

 

[Carrack]

Tactics

 

Part 6.7

Lemish System

 

 

 

I politely direct my helmsgit, "You runty, squig-brained git, steer my Kill Cruiser closer to the foight, not further away!" The imbecile complies with my request, while ducking my encouraging pat on the back. His snazzy helm chair crumples as it takes the brunt of my reassuring gesticulation. I almost forgot, I have donned my favorite power claw, how absentminded of me. The runt offers his unsolicited opinion, "But Boss Smacka, those black, spikey ships are trying to get behind us, shouldn't we stop em?" Of course they are, I muse, it's a classic double envelopment. An artful maneuver to get their guns sighted into our more vulnerable aft. It might trouble my idiot helmsgit, but I am unworried. There is a tactical solution to the classic double envelopment, a solution perfected by my peer Ghazgkull Mag Uruk Thraka. I have studied this solution, and although quite intricate, I feel my boys are equal to the task. I am quite sure such a brutally cunning plan, once properly enacted, will leave my enemies bewildered and amazed at my cunning brutality. I throw something, my unseated helmsgit, at my signalgits, they must be ready to echo my plans to the rest of my fleet, timing is crucial to the success of my endeavors. As the collection of gits untangle themselves and quickly set dislocated appendages, I issue the order to counter the double envelopment, "Charge!" My signalgits quickly distribute my plan across my fleet over the loud yeller. My orders are acknowledged with a cadence of, "Ere we go! Ere we go! Ere we go!" I eagerly anticipate the outcome of my maneuvers.

 

[Carrack]

Leaving the Low Road

 

Part 2.12

Tancrea, The Pillars of Fortitude, Defence Sector 27

 

 

 

It wasn't the fine, black obscura he had once plundered from the fires of Callebra Hive, but it was pretty good nonetheless. Ramone stowed the short pipe in his open parka, slung the dead guardsmen's medipack over his shoulder, and led his most recent converts out of the cave onto Low Road 27

 

 

His converts stumbled out after him on wobbly legs, heads spinning in a daze from the debauched ritual they had just participated in. Some wouldn't make it out of the cave anytime soon, others never would. They would be left there, Ramone, like the Dark Prince whose name the ritual had praised, had no use for those too fragile for such rites.

 

Ramone had been left with just four fighters from his home world of Fewood following the disastrous bombing of the ridge above him. However, his defeat had not effected the outcome of the battle. War Chief Mocus had overwhelmed the Imperials guarding the terminus of Low Road 27. From the looks of the corpse strewn trenches, he hadn't even been slowed. He certainly hadn't paused to ascertain Ramone's fate, or even to loot the dead. His speed had been a blessing to Ramone, for a motley collection of stragglers, too slow to keep up with Mocus's mutants, had filtered onto the road. They had followed Mocus south from the retaken fortress atop the mountain at the valley's end. The stragglers were blessings from Ramone's patron, reinforcements for both his meager numbers and his shaken faith. They were a sign, like the soothing sensation easing his mind and body, that Ramone was still favored by Slannesh.

 

Ramone counted the stragglers as they left the cave, 42, and he still had his original four survivors. They were a mixed lot, coal miners from the outskirts of the Black Maw capital, Howler's Charn, and men and women from throughout Lord Carrack's domains and raiding territories, even a few thralls taken from Callebra Hive. Ramone had convinced the stragglers that Mocus had left him here to take charge. They were a disparate group with a wide range of customs and dialects. The ritual had been necessary to forge a bond across the group, and instill a measure of obedience between the participants, and the ritual's conductor, Ramone. He had himself a platoon, he was a hetman again, truely he was blessed.

 

His numbers counted, and his strength assessed, Ramone sent the stragglers into the trenches, to loot the better equipment of the guardsmen. Mocus had been stingy in arming his few warriors who weren't mutants like himself. Ramone kept the Fewoodians by his side. They would be his disciples in showing this Imperial world what the favored servant of the Dark Prince was about.

 

Ramone took out his pipe and another benediction tab from the medipack. Such chemicals should not be held in reserve for dying guardsmen who worshipped a dead emperor. They should be enjoyed by those living with the grace of the Lord of Excess. As he crushed and smoked the pill, he was mesmerized watching his converts dig out the blessings of his god, wrenching them from the cold hands of his enemies. It was as if he was watching his followers being anointed with holy symbols, lasrifles, grenades, and missile launchers, as much symbols of his favor with Slannesh, as tools to win Ramone glory on his sixfold path. The best he kept for himself and his disciples. A missile launcher was bestowed upon his surviving #2 autocannon crew, their cannon having bent its barrel sliding down the mountain. Hector, his sniper had been rewarded with a potent plasma gun. A backpack vox caster was given to the only fighter to survive atop the ridge, Anna the former handmaiden to one of Fewood's overthrown Imperial lords. She immediately started broadcasting a lurid description of what had taken place in the cave across the net. Words of seductive corruption, announcing the fate of any who would defy the Black Maw. For Ramone, a great coat of quality black leather, with a matching hat, and a spiked power maul, the weapon and symbols of the slain Imperial enforcer found in the thickest pile of corpses. Ramone removed his parka and inner clothes to replace it with the coat, after defacing the silver Aquilla that clasped the belt together. Curiously, a map of defense sector 27 had been printed on the inside of the leather coat. Ramone studied it for a few minutes, finding difficulty concentrating, but eventually seeing what he was looking for. As he did, he made sure his converts saw his back, whip scarred from when he had been caught poaching game as a boy. He would let them guess how he got the scars. Whatever they came up with, would add legitimacy to his command, along with his new uniform and potent weapon.

 

Ramone put his pipe away again, he was reeling from the second tab, his vision blurry. Yet he saw clearly the will of his patron. He tested out his power maul on a few dead guardsmen, crushing their helmets and skulls with each swing, even while perilously holding onto his balance. He had his fighters' attention. He announced, "Our Mistress of Exquisite Pain desires the souls of the cursed followers of the Corpse God. We will bring them to her, so she will know of our worth, and grant us the gifts of a god! But others would steal the honor from us, and waste the souls on lesser gods. The Vaskan clan warriors are taking the high road, and Mocus's wretches are taking the low road, however, there is another road that will lead us to glory, the same primal glory we found in the cave. This is the secret underground rail line, which the Imperials had collapsed next to our beachhead. Slannesh has revealed to me a way in, for I am held high in her beautiful eyes! Follow me faithfully, and she will favor you as well." With that he started up the opposite mountainside from the one he had been blown off. This time would be different. He had clearly earned a place at Slannesh's single breast. His new converts followed.

 

[Carrack]

Slipping Away

 

Part 7.1

Garland System

 

 

 

Gisco made the short leap from the Storm Raven to the hull of the Black Legion Strike Cruiser. The distance was short, eight meters, but any leap in the void was perilous, a strong enough force could send him floating out to the empty void, stranded and alone, most likely to die as his armor and genetically engineered physiology eventually succumbed to the absence of the principal necessity of life, breathable air. That gruesome fate was not a concern as he made his leap, his only concern was letting his battle brothers down by not contributing to the mission. Gisco himself, knew no fear. His boots touched down on the ventral hull of the heretics ship, and magnetically secured him to the surface. He immediately felt the presence of the ship, it was a predatory beast, the creaking of the hull, and the vibration of the engines and firing cannons, felt like muscles rippling across the back of some ferocious carnivore. Gisco blocked out the intrusive presence by reciting the Litanies of Purity, as suggested by Brother-Chaplain Hamilax, at their pre-battle rites.

 

Gisco followed the same skull-helmed chaplain once the last of his squad, Brother-Sergeant Mago, fresh from the apothecaries with augmetic eyes protruding from his equally new helm, landed on the heretics' ship. Following the guidance of the Codex, they were moving to their objective atop the ship rather than through its corridors. This wasn't the ship of some ragtag pirates, it was a Strike Cruiser. It was the dreaded Blood Eye, and it's Astartes, like Gisco and his brothers, were masters of boarding actions. Traveling the interior of the ship would at best, be time consuming. It wasn't free from danger however, a hellish red glare split out of an opening service hatch near the first checkpoint. Traitors climbed out to defend their ship.

 

The first, and subsequent checkpoints, were point defense turrets identified by Gisco's own strike cruiser, Pyromania. Squad Mago, and the company chaplain, were tasked with disabling these turrets as they progressed across the hull towards their designated breech point. Pyromania would register the turrets destruction, and be able to more easily track squad Mago's movements. Disabling the point defenses would also allow for a more reliable extraction, should the squad complete its mission to cripple the Blood Eye's engines, and allow Pyromania, along with the pursuing battle barge, Ember, to prevent the heretics from fleeing, and destroy them at range. It was the most economical option for the Angels of Immolation. They outgunned the Blood Eye, but she could inflict significant damage in a straight fight before she was put down, and a more careful, prolonged engagement might allow her to escape the Angels of Immolation's trap, and flee to the warp at a safe translation point at the edge of the system.

 

The traitors were just as bestial as the ship that bore them. Blood, in various stages of freshness, was spattered across their ancient, black armor. Gobbets of meat hung on wicked hooks, and clung to protruding spikes. The twin crests of the vile caedere remissum topped their helms, proclaiming their damnation for all to see. In their hands were bolt pistols, as spiked and barbed as their armor, and huge chain axes, churning their blades in a thirst for blood. As soon as each traitor emerged from the ship below, he immediately started rushing headlong towards Gisco and his squad. The last figure to come out the service hatch, did not join the first traitors in their charge. The last figure was a bizarre sight. Crimson robes fluttered about in the absence of any breeze. What emerged from the cowled robes was what was truly bizarre. Tentacles, some of flesh, some of metal, snaked about, each ending in a tool, weapon, or instrument of torture. The creatures did not walk on two legs, but eight, each ending in a claw that found purchase by punching into the ship's armored hull. Whether the creature's grotesque deviance from the sacred human form was deliberate, or a result of mutation, mattered not. It must burn.

 

Gisco took a position behind his squad with his sergeant, and Brother-Chaplain Hamilax, as the rest fanned out into a line. The charging berserkers were still out of range of his own weapons, but not the bolters and multimelta of his brothers. They fired into the heretics, each brother keeping his own lanes of fire as determined by previous battles, countless training practices, and ultimately, the Codex. The multimelta silently cooked one of the first berserkers, slagging a great chunk of his chest armor, which added to the burns caused by the powerful weapon. The seven bolters of the squad brought down another before the heretics reached pistol range. Gisco and the rest of the back line added their side arms to the bolter fire. Another berserker was melted, and a fourth was blown off the hull, away and upward, wildly firing his pistol and swinging his chain axe. If he got control of himself, he might be able to change his course with the careful venting of gasses from his backpack power plant, and even the directed firing of his pistol. Gisco wouldn't have bet on the odds of the madman exerting that level of calm control.

 

As the berserkers drew near, they returned fire with their bolt pistols and a thrown grenade. Brother Agbal had his head separated by a bolt that skipped off his left pauldron into his neck, and Brother Mintho was launched off of the ship by a grenade exploding at his feet. Both were Gisco's brothers of decades, Gisco held out hope for Mintho, but would have to settle for vengeance for Agbal's death at the hands of the repugnant traitors. The berserkers charged, Gisco holstered his side arm and stepped to the fore, readying his flamer.

 

The charge of the berserkers was a surreal affair. They were firing their pistols, brandishing their violent chain axes, and moving their heads as if they were yelling out a battlecry, yet in the vacuum of the void, all was silent. The silence was incongruent with the violence of their charge. Part of Gisco's mind registered this anomaly, but most of his mind was taken up with his action. Firing a flamer in zero gravity, with no oxygen to burn, was a tricky shot. He was using a specially prepared canister and propellant charge, they would ensure the flames burned hot, and help focus his spray outward, respectively. Gisco squeezed hard on his trigger, and made a quick back and forth sweep directly across the charging berserkers, rather than more carefully playing out the flames, and arcing them to extend their range, as he would fire the weapon normally. Even so, his flames balled around one of the berserkers, engulfing the heretic in righteous fire, but not straying from the victim to the rest of the traitors. Gisco wished he could have burnt more of the heretics, both from personal desire, and tactical necessity. Five of the maddened butchers hit Squad Mago's lines.

 

Gisco had seen Brother-Chaplain Hamilax fight in the sparring chambers. He had witnessed the chaplain smite the enemies of the chapter from across the battlefield. This was the first time he saw his chaplain fight up close. It was an awe inspiring, emotional, as well as physical carnage. While Brother-Sergeant Mago dueled with his opposite, Brother-Chaplain Hamilax layed about with his Crozius Arcanum, all the while screaming through the vox his hatred for these betrayers. Not every strike dropped a traitor, but most did. Gisco only caught glances of his chaplain's wrath, he was too busy trying to get the angle on a berserker for a shot with his bolt pistol, or at least create an opening for one of his brothers to exploit. Before he could get a shot off, a chain axe came in from behind and slammed into the back of Gisco's helm. He lost his footing and started to tumble head over heels. Fortunately, one of his brothers pulled him back onto the ship before he careened away.

 

Gisco's helm had not been damaged to the point of compromising his environmental seals, but his head had been violently jerked forward, bouncing his brain against his skull. He felt uncharacteristically weak in the limbs. He still managed to sneak in a pistol shot into the back of a berserker's knee, but the bolt skipped off the flexible armor and exploded in the air nearby. Gisco's vision began to tunnle, he knew he was going to loose conscious in spite of the stimulants flooding his brain. He dropped to one knee, further securing himself to the hull with a locking grip of his non-firing hand on an exposed rivet. Gisco shot one more time before he blacked out, it too failed to penetrate the heretic's armor, but it sent him off balance and right into the swing of Brother-Chaplain Hamilax's Crozius. His vision completely tunneled out, Gisco slipped away into unconsciousness.

 

[Carrack]

The Aspis Subsector in Brief

 

Part 1.5

 

Note: this ran long

 

 

 

Lord Aspis paced around his chambers, the latest report laid open on his reading stand. He was rereading it for the seventh time. His feet were sore from walking the Tancrean marble floor. The floor itself had grown warm from his bare feet's repeated drumming, his chambers were expansive, yet there was only so much marble he could trod while avoiding the grout between the tiles. It wasn't that he was paying heed to some childish superstition about stepping on a crack, it was because the grout was imported from outside his subsector, and the marble was from lands he had men dying to preserve. The marble was somehow, more worthy to sustain his pacing. He stopped at the golden stand and reread the brief on Tancrea, the source of the marble that floored his palace.

 

-Tancrea hangs in the balance. The heretics have landed an army of renegades and mutants approximately two thirds greater than the size of our blessed Tancrean Guard. While our guardsmen are vastly superior in quality, the heretics have supported their mortal army with legions of infernal daemons. The heretics had forced a beachhead in defense sector 27 to land their army, which we have since cut off. They have rapidly advanced from their beachhead, pushing south on the main supply routes of the defense sector with their mortal army, and north with their daemonic hordes. The naval detachment from Battlefleet Obscura has been the only thing keeping the world from being overrun. However, by devoting their wings of bombers and interceptors to assisting the Tancrean Guard, they have been unable to prevent Black Legion resupply ships from exiting the Eye of Terror safely, and then moving on.

 

This was the main decision that was causing Lord Aspis to fretfully pray as he paced about his chambers. Tancrea, the Pillars of Fortitude, was his fortress world. If it fell, the heretics could exit the Eye of Terror uncontested, and his subsector's worlds would fall like dominoes. Yet if he sent all of his forces to relieve the besieged fortress, the Black Maw would continue to run rampant over the rest of his worlds. For now, the Emperor had sent his Angels of Immolation to answer his prayers, and they were attempting to catch the cursed Black Maw. While the Emperor's Angels of Death in orange and red may be the answer to his prayers, Lord Aspis still struggled to accept it. His faith, his only solace in these dark days, was wavering. So he prayed and paced, eventually stopping to read the brief on his and His world of Calimyr, to see what fate was in store for the rest of his subsector, should he fail.

 

-Calimyr is lost. How long the world held a hidden cult to the Ruinous Powers, tucked away in its fields and orchards, is unknown. Certainly the size of the cult suggests negligence on behalf of its Imperial Commander. What is known is that the world fell before a Black Maw boot even stepped foot on its surface. Calimyr burnt with the fires of revolution when news of the heretics' arrival in the system could no longer be suppressed. The few remaining Imperial institutions that were tentatively holding on as Calimyr burnt, were mercilessly bombarded from orbit. The Black Maw then gathered up the rebels, further proof of their tainted nature, and left the system. Plagues have afflicted the meager population that remained, along with sky-darkening clouds of smoke and dust. It is unlikely that the world will produce a harvest in the next decade, if it survives at all. Our sources among the survivors are in hiding, the Black Maw having left enough rebels to control the now desolate world. However tragic its fate, the loss of Calimyr can easily be absorbed, until we have expelled the invading heretics. Calimyr's contributions to the subsector at large, were negligible.

 

Lord Aspis muttered to himself, "The loss of Calimyr can easily be absorbed. Not by its still loyal subjects, however few they are, and certainly not by me." Strategically speaking, Lord Aspis knew the brief's assessment was correct, to an extent. He disagreed that the the loss of Calimyr could be easily absorbed. It could, and had been absorbed, without much impact on the rest of the Aspis subsector as of yet, however, Lord Aspis feared that the Black Maw had set an example to the other worlds. An example that he was willing to leave a world in ruin, which might lead some to seek to appease the invaders, in the hopes of sparing themselves such a fate. It also galled him, that he had so utterly failed to keep the planet in the Light of Him on Terra. How many souls had been lost because he hadn't rooted out this cult? He had always done what he could to keep the Inquisition out of his affairs, largely unsuccessfully, as had every Lord Aspis in his dynasty. He regretted it now. How many other worlds, guarded by his shield, had similar cults waiting for the right moment to revolt. Once more, the troubled lord returned to pacing and prayer, until he stopped again at his reading stand, to read of another calamity.

 

-Venicus Shipyards require repairs before returning to operational status. This is all the information that the Priesthood of Mars has given us. From less reliable, but more forthcoming sources, we have learned that the Black Maw warband of the Black Legion, has ravaged the shipyards in a lightning raid, not only denying us the use of its vital facilities, but destroying four cruisers and a battleship that were berthed at the shipyards. The raid also cut our principal fuel supply line, forcing us to use less reliable, and slower routes. Estimates vary as to how long it will take before the shipyards return to service between 2 to 99 years, but these estimates are but guesses from transport captains. The loss of the Venicus Shipyards, no matter how temporary, will make the defense of the Aspis Subsector more difficult.

 

Lord Aspis paced away from his stand, but paused when he reached a freshly laid table. It was breakfast time already. He had been up all night again. He grabbed a cup of The sugary, highly caffeinated tea that he had taken to lately, and passed over all the pastries until he found one stuffed with lumboy, a Calimyran berry. The shipyards elicited a complete opposite feeling for Lord Aspis, in comparison to Calimyr. They were not his vassal, even though they existed inside his domain. They belonged to the mechanics, and they answered ultimately, to Mars, not Holy Terra. As such, he did not feel their loss as personally as Calimyr's. Yet their loss had a direct impact on his ability to defend the worlds he was charged with protecting. Charged by the Sector Commander, the Segmentum Commander, the High Lords of Terra, and by extension, the very God Emperor of Mankind, with protecting. He could not fail. He would not fail. He returned to his reading stand, to ponder the next brief, again.

 

-Morber has finally emerged victorious from its war against the greenskins. In spite of not being reinforced, or even resupplied since the invasion of the Black Legion, they have destroyed the alien menace that has plagued the world for the last century. Their anger is not quenched however, for some of the xenos escaped in the ramshackle fleet they were repairing. The proud people of Morber have raised a dozen regiments of light infantry, and await transport, requesting specifically to be redeployed wherever the fleeing remnants of the greenskin menace reappear. They promise more regiments of mechanized infantry, once they return production to pre-xenos occupation levels.

 

The thought of the victory of the Morber resistance brought joy to Lord Aspis's heart. Not since the end of his father's reign, had the world been truly held in the blessed light of the Emperor. The victory was a candle lit in the blackest night, shining with hope as much as needed light. The Lord Aspis thanked the Emperor for the deliverance of his lost world, and left his chambers for his war council. The status of the rest of the subsector was the topic of his mornings session.

 

[Carrack]

Frothing Mad

Part 6.8

City of Hammish, Imperial World of Lemish II, Lemish System

 

 

As the Chosen of Lord Carrack bounced around in the back of their Rhino, Obbo asked, "Why do we let young Copil drive for us? He hardly has any experience. Personally, I think our servitor does a better job anyway." The other Chosen were silent at first, save Copil, who was punching the steering bar and growling. Obbo wondered if he had joked to soon after the death of Vinno, until Casper commented, "No Obbo, Copil's driving, while horrendous, is good training for the lad. Eventually, maybe in another couple of millennia, he will have learned something of tactical movement in mounted warfare, and we can dispense with his vain attempts at driving." The other Chosen started to chuckle, except of course, Copil. Harold added, "Driver, I believe you just missed a pothole, I thought you were trying to hit them all today." The chuckles turned to outright laughter. The laughter wasn't the normal laughter of the squad at their goading of Copil, thought Obbo, they were laughing louder than usual, and everyone was adding to the jest. They were unifying in the easiest decision of choosing a new champion, eliminating Copil from the potential champions. Good thought Obbo, these legionnaires are my brothers, the more we can eliminate without violence the better, even the come-lately Copil, he was 8,000 years old, but he wasn't with us at Terra, and that mattered.

 

Harold and Saint Tiam were manning Carratuge L'ull's combi-bolters, as they raced to the point of impact for the artillery barrage. They weren't firing. Civilians were staying inside like frightened children, while the less craven men and women fought for their lives at the fortress. They wouldn't even take pot shots at Carratuge L'ull, they weren't going to stick their necks out because their guardsmen had just shelled part of their city. Fickle cowards.

 

Obbo and Casper, not on the combi-bolters, we're watching the auspex display as Copil drove wildly to the point of impact. It looked like the shelling had revealed, and damaged, a vast underground complex beneath a city park. Casper announced, "When we get there, we will dismount and check it out." More silence. Of course that's what they would do, it didn't need to be said. Saint Tiam, uncharacteristically careful with his words, said what needed to be said, "While I appreciate your advice Casper, it has always been our custom that I, or the current standard bearer, take charge of the squad upon the death of our champion, until we select a new one." The other Chosen were quick to jump in and support Saint Tiam, making it clear that they would not follow Casper, without directly telling him. It was skillfully done, as opposed to Casper's apparently crude attempt to take over the squad by merely barking out unneeded orders. Obbo and the others had told Casper he wasn't going to be considered, but without slighting his honor in a way that demanded a duel. Obbo suspected that Casper knew what he was doing, and was taking himself safely out of contention for the championship of the Chosen.

 

Just before they reached the shelled park, a set of blips appeared on the auspex display trailing behind them. Most of the blips bore the familiar icons of Garaduk One-Eye, and his retinue of raptors, however, one fast moving blip further behind than Garaduk, was displayed as a loyalist land speeder. Obbo hated land speeders. He didn't know why he hated them so much that he found himself unharnessing from his safety restraints, and moving to the rear door of the rhino, he just did. It wasn't that land speeders were used strictly by the slaves of the False Emperor, there were other vehicles that held that same distinction, yet they didn't make his blood flow and his hearts pound like happened when he knew land speeders were about. Like what was happening now. He just hated them, intensely hated them. He had once shot a land speeders with his meltagun, just because the sight of it drove him mad. It was a captured land speeder stowed in a cargo hold of Bitter Revenge. He would shoot this one as well, and kill its pilots, and offer up their skulls. He shouted out as much in the crew compartment of Carratuge L'ull. As he shouted, a spray of acidic spit spattered across the inside of his helm. He had been frothing at the mouth. The other Chosen echoed his shout.

 

[Carrack]

Pipping and Braid

Part 2.13

Tancrea, Lorin Pass

 

 

 

 

"So you see sir, that's how I got her mother to braid Ferd's hair.", said Lancer Normund, as he gestured to the ridiculous braids in his cyber horse's main and tail. The other lancers were in hysterics at the, no doubt, partially true, and equally ridiculous story. General Cassum had no idea what he was asking when he had gathered Lieutenant Constatine and the other officers of the 9th Aspis Horse Guard for a briefing on the leadership qualities he admired most. Constatine was honored to serve under General Cassum, in spite of the man's common birth. The general was a proven, and capable commander, and there would be plenty of opportunities to prove himself worthy of his family name, fighting for General Cassum. However, the good general just didn't know how the lancers of the 9th Aspis Horse Guard were organized.

 

Lieutenant Constatine came from a long line of Constatines. He had been formally educated and polished in the prestigious Shield Bearer Academy. After his service in the Astra Militarum was up, Lieutenant Constatine would return to his family estates, and see to their affairs. Part of those affairs was managing the people who worked his lands, people like Lancer Normund, and the rest of his cavalry squad. His lancers were not even his best people, they were the rough men who worked his most rustic of lands. That is what made them such fine lancers, they had grown up in the saddle, riding his family's herds and living simple and rugged lives. Their horsemanship was solid, a valuable skill, but a mostly forgotten one back home on Aspis. But skill in the saddle was not enough, they were lancers not cattlemen, they needed to be commanded in combat by someone who was more suited to lead them in the crucible of battle. Someone like Lieutenant Constatine, who was born and bred to lead these very men. But he was born to lead them, not fraternize with them, and certainly not listen to their crude stories.

 

Lieutenant Constantine gave the order to mount up. The cyber horses' hooves having been picked clean and the steeds watered. The men took to the saddle without complaint. Before he had deigned to listen to their bawdy tales, he had informed them that they would be scouting out the enemy along the Lorin Pass. The pass had become dangerous, with enemy irregulars laying ambushes for Tancrean Guard units trying to come in behind the heretics' lines as they attacked out of Defense Sector 27. The speed of his lancers would hopefully catch the heretics off guard. Once his men were mounted, Lieutenant Constantine himself, swung his legs up into the saddle of the big white stallion, Tamerine. Tamerine had been his favorite horse from his father's stables. He had paid a small fortune to have the spirited steed fitted with the cybernetic suite that among other things, allowed the horse to climb the rough terrain of Tancrea without tiring.

 

 

The Lorin Pass was little more than a glorified ibex trail, used by shepherds to traverse the Lorin Ridge. Lieutenant Constantine led his men single file up the trail for a few hours, until his, and his lancers's horses started picking up the smell of man. They were not skittish about it, they were eager, like the men that rode them. Lances were unsheathed, pistols unholstered. He could see over the scrubby trees and bushes that lined the pass, but if the enemy had climbed the slopes to either side, they could easily hide in the low brush. Lieutenant Constantine and his lancers' were scanning all about. It was Normund who saw them first.

 

He called out their position in a hushed drawl, they were indeed up the slope, concealed in the brush save for the shine of sunlight glinting off metal, amateurs. Lieutenant Constantine calmed his men, also in a low voice, saying that they were out of range of the heretics' rifles. He still had to move his men, fortunately, there was an opportunity ahead. The trail of the pass dipped down, out of sight of the heretics' position up ahead. The lancers followed him at a trot, crouching low in the saddle to minimize their profile. They almost made it unhindered by the enemy. A pair of missiles streaked out of the brush heading down towards his lancers. Lieutenant Constantine put silver spurs into the flanks of Tamerine and galloped up the pass towards the bend and dip, his men followed.

 

The first missile went long, striking the opposite slope of the pass in a shower of fragments. The cyber horses' audio dampeners, along with their war training kept the steeds under control, and the light rain of fragments and dislodged rocks failed to even break the skin of either rider or steed. The second missile wasn't a direct hit, but was close enough to put a scare into Ludwig. It struck just short of the pass, sending fragments into his flak armor and helmet, along with some shards into his steed's flank, some of which bounced off of the cybernetics, and the others made shallow but painful cuts in his mount's flank. The cybernetic suite of the horse included pain blockers and mild tranquilizers. Both were auto-glanded by the more scared than hurt steed, along with a stimulant to keep the horse moving while the powerful drugs eased the mental and physical anguish of the horse. They made it to safety.

 

Lieutenant Constantine told his men to prepare for a charge, should the heretics move down from their position. He handed off a red flare to be launched by one of his men, which would inform the Tancrean Guard where contact had been made. Now they would have to wait, either for the Tancrean Guard to move into the pass in force, or the heretics to move down into charge range.

 

 

*************

 

Ramone kicked his first squads missile loader, the team had taken the shot which gave away their position, and to add insult, missed. The second squad missile team fired only because the first squad had fired, they failed to recognize the error first squad committed. These cavalrymen were just scouts, Ramone wanted them to pass by so he could ambush whatever they were scouting for, and bring glory to Slannesh. This bumbling of his missile teams, along with the irritability Ramone was feeling from the last benediction tab having worn off, reminded Ramone that Slannesh's blessings were earned, never freely given. The red flare was clearly a signal to more Imperials. However, the Dark Prince had guided him here, and here is where her will was to be done. He would need to take care of the scouts before their reinforcements arrived.

 

Ramone took his disciples and his second squad along the slope parallel to the scouts protected position. He still didn't have a clear shot on the cavalry, yet when he flushed them out with his first squad, he should be able to fire into them as they left the safety of the cut in the pass.

 

Once his position was set, Ramone picked up the handset from his disciple Anna's vox-caster, telling her to signal 1st squad. He said, "Slannesh is displeased with your failure to follow orders from her favored servant. Before you feel her displeasure, and she is a most cruel mistress, you must redeem yourselves in his eyes. Do this by rushing down to the pass and following them into the cut. While our mistress is cruel, I am kind, all you must do is get them to leave the cut, and I, Slannesh's favored servant will give her the Imperial souls that will quench her thirst for pain, and save you her admonishments." With that he handed the handset back to his disciple, who began speaking in a husky voice, of some things a displeased Slannesh might visit upon 1st squad. Her descriptions were graphic and gruesome. 1st squad didn't take long to start moving.

 

****************

 

Lieutenant Constantine drew the Constantine family power saber, igniting its blue glowing power field down the cutting edge of the blade, as he watched the half the heretics scramble down the slope, maybe 20 in number. A slightly larger number was scurrying along the slope, trying to outflank him. He shifted back in line and had his lancers turn tightly in the narrow, trench-like cut that the pass had dipped into. While he waited on the heretics to make themselves available to be charged by his lancers, he decided to indulge General Cassum's leadership experiment, if only to calm Tamerine and his lancers' nerves. He said, "When I was in my fourth year of Shield Academy, I was quite smitten with a young professor of theology." He glanced back at his men's knowing smiles, and continued, "Now as a mere student, she didn't even know I existed, but as I'm sure you all are well aware of, women simply can't resist the sight of a cavalryman in his dress uniform astride a well groomed stallion. So one morning, I personally gave Tamerine an hour of brushwork, and starched and pressed my best. I then sent a messenger to her office, to tell her I was having a theological crisis of some sort. After what seemed like hours, she came walking down to the practice parade ground, hunched over with a half dozen wordy, and no doubt, illuminated texts, but still stunning in the morning sun. She saw me in my braid and pipping, sitting tall upon a shining Tamerine, and...." He interrupted his story with a single command, "Charge!"

 

The heretics had reached the pass before the dip, but only the front four could fire, the rest having bunched behind them. Their marksmanship had much to be desired, but not by Lieutenant Constantine. He spurred Tamerine into a gallop, and charged out of the cut, his lancers fanning out into a flying wedge, as expertly maneuvered here, as they did when on the training fields. His family's power saber cleaved the head of the first heretic, adding the current Constantine to its honorable history. The lancers on his wings struck the heretics with short casts of their explosive tipped hunting lances, blowing them apart with charges that were made for penetrating light armored vehicles. Their lances spent, they blasted away with their las pistols. Lieutenant Constantine recovered his power saber to the ready, and spotted the heretic's leader, a dirty, hairy, wretch with a stolen guard issue chainsword. He signaled the heretic to come forward, and meet him in the center of the melee as his lancers cut through the first ranks of the line of heretics. The wretch did the opposite, and skirted to the rear, coward.

 

The heretic's cowardice didn't matter much, for Lieutenant Constantine's lancers, although outnumbered, were cutting through the heretic infantry like a scythe through wheat. They tried to turn tail and flee, but his lancers ran them down, dispatching the traitors to the human race with close range pistol shots, mostly in the back. Lieutenant Constantine himself cut down one heretic, before running their craven leader through the back between the shoulder blades. With his lancers cleared of the heretics, he led them at a gallop back down the Lorin Pass, to report in person what his scouting mission had discovered.

 

****************

 

Ramone impassively watched his first squad fall to the Imperial cavalry. Clearly the favor of the Dark Prince did not extend to those who he had honored by including them in his platoon. The Imperials still had to die though, Ramone had to prove that the rest of his platoon was worthy of the god's blessings. He nudged his disciple missile launcher in his back and the man quickly fired down on the fleeing cavalry. His disciple had fired well, hitting the cavalry officer and one of his men in an explosion of fragments. The officer and his bionic horse emerged from the cloud of smoke bleeding from dozens of lacerations, but still galloping away. The other cavalryman didn't, and his riderless horse ran back into the other Imperials, causing them to falter as they tried to control their mounts. That's when the rest of his disciples and his second squad opened fire.

 

The range was great, and some of the scrub brush partially obscured the Imperials, but another missile from 2nd squad, along with 19 lasguns, as well as his disciples Hector's plasma gun, and Anna's own lasgun, were enough to kill all but one Imperial, who followed his officer back down the pass. Ramone tried to eliminate the two survivors with his disciple missile team, and 2nd squads missile team, the galloping Imperials already out of small arms range, but both missiles went wide. Ramone stood up on the slope above the pass, and proclaimed, "The souls of the followers of the False Emperor are yours, oh Slannesh take them, and continue to bless your favored servant and the faithful fighters who follow him!" Then he sent his followers down to the pass to loot the dead.

 

For the most part, the blessings were spare, a few helmets, las pistols and charge packs, along with some gear, rations, and a few bottles of some horrible tasting, but potent liquor. There was something of value though. None of the cyber horses had survived the Black Maw attack, but they would provide fresh meat, and the cybernetics were valuable. He had no one with the skill to properly extract the expensive components, so Ramone made second squads missile team cut them out with knives and the saw edges of their entrenching tools, meat still attached. Mostly these components would be barter for any Dark Mechanicus units he might encounter, but their was something he could use among the bloody cybernetics, a blessing from Slannesh, showing Ramone that he was still favored by her. There was five intact compu-drug dispensers, and they were filled with the loving blessings of his god.

 

[Carrack]

The Magellous Vaults

 

Part 6.9

Lemish, City of Hammish

 

 

His lord was covered in blood, none his own. Garaduk uneasily approached the bloody Lord Carrack, there was an element of danger in getting close to the Lord of the Black Maw immediately after battle. His bloodlust might not be sated. He might not identify friend from foe. It had happened before. So as Garaduk approached, he kept his wounded shoulder trailing, and touched his knee to the ground just enough to move the dust, his weight still in his feet, ready to spring. Lord Carrack shook his spiked helm like a wet beast shaking rain from its fur, sending out a spray of blood, some of which sizzled as it spattered onto the brass rune held by his helm's spikes. Garaduk tensed his muscles, making the wound in his back ache, but was at the peak of readiness, should he have to defend himself from his enraged lord, or more likely, flee with a jump pack assisted exit. He sighed in relief as Lord Carrack let the handle of his great axe slip through his loosened hands, till the haft struck the ferrocrete in a shower of sparks, the blade of the axe now in his hand. Garaduk raised up and relaxed, and waited on his Lord to speak.

 

Lord Carrack pointed with his axe at the smoking city below Fortress Dominique, and said, "The loyalist dogs were bombarding the Magellous Vaults. My Chosen are their now. Go and assist them in securing our prize. I want their contents to start transferring to my fleet as soon as possible. Lythane is holding off a greenskin fleet now, after we empty the vaults, I intend to leave this world for the xenos. I will not waste my strength fighting the greenskins on behalf of the False Emperor. If he wanted me to keep fighting them, he never should have betrayed me."

 

That wasn't exactly how Garaduk remembered the beginning of the Long War, and the Black Maw had fought the greenskins and other xenos hundreds of times since they turned their back on the Imperium they had forged, but Garaduk was not about to question the veracity of his Lord's claims. It wouldn't be healthy to do so. Besides, he was intrigued by the mention of the Magellous Vaults. He had grown to think that they were but a myth, a tale told between Legionnaires on sentry duty, as valid as lies about one's prowess.

 

The myth of the Magellous Vaults was that they were a secret cache, a depot of war machines and materials stored away by the stagnant, loyalist, shadows of what was the Mechanics. The Magellous vaults were supposed to contain all the necessary weapons to defend against an opening of the Eye of Terror in their area. But the secretive Mechanicus, had supposedly hidden these vaults on some backwater world, away from traffic and prying eyes. Periodically, rumors of the Magellous Vaults would prompt a raid from one of the many warbands of the Eye, but the rumors, well the credible ones anyway, had dried up long ago. The Magellous vaults had become legend.

 

Garaduk recalled his pre mission study of the world of Lemish, as he waited on his Vulture Raptors to rally at his position atop the walls. It used to be a backwater world controlled by the Lemish House, until a collection of cartels united against the stifling taxes, and isolationist policies of the ruling house, and overthrew it. The world had prospered since the beginning of M38, a rare occurrence for the worlds ruled by the inefficient Imperium, but not a unique one. The secret of the Magellous Vaults had probably died with the old rulers.

 

A dozen Vultures answered Garaduk's call, the loyalists guarding Fortress Dominique had taken their toll on his retinue. As soon as the last Raptor reached the wall, Garaduk powered his jump pack and jumped down the hill towards the city of Hanmish. He ignored the few remnants of the guard manning the trenches, they had nothing for him but a scattering of ill aimed las fire, he would leave their mopping up to others.

 

The subjects of Hammish were hiding behind barricaded doors and shuttered windows. The Black Maw were clearly invaders, and they had no doubt heard of the fate of other cities on Lemish, but the Imperial Guardsmen had been the ones to shell their city. So the subjects were staying neutral, in the foolish belief that they would be ignored. The greenskins would surely pillage this city once the Black Maw left. The only living beings Garaduk saw with his one eye, as he jumped from rooftop to rooftop, was a single Black Legion squad, moving on foot towards the point of impact. Strangely, the champion of the squad was Paimun, one of Lord Carrack's Chosen who had followed the now deceased Vinno. Interesting, but Garaduk hadn't the time to delve into that mystery, he intended to be the one to deliver the Magellous Vaults to the warband, and the other Chosen were already there.

 

 

[Carrack]

Blood in the Water

Part 7.2

Garland System

 

 

The swirling lights started to coalesce into discernible images, simultaneously with the return of Gisco's equilibrium. He was regaining consciousness amidst the aftermath of a melee on the hull of a Black Legion Strike Cruiser. It was a grotesque abattoir of gently floating blood crystals and severed limbs, gradually drifting out into the void like buckets of chum dispersing into a sea. The Zone Mortalis of boarding actions was shark infested waters, the melee was sure to attract unwanted attention. Still testing his faculties, he slowly rose from a three point stance to his feet, his head was swimming slightly, not so much from the trauma of the Berserker's chain axe, as from the flood of hormones and stimulants his super-human physiology had released to compensate for the rattling of his brain, but they were receding fast, he was far from out of the fight. It was just in time to, a burst of cannon fire was walking down the hull towards his squad.

 

Gisco twisted to the left and sprinted behind a crease in the heretic's ship's armor. A meter thick slab plate had been bolted over an old wound on the back of the Blood Eye, which Gisco ducked behind along with his chaplain, and the rest of his squad, now down to himself, Brother-Sergeant Mago, and four of his brothers following the melee with the berserkers. Shrapnel ricocheted off the slab patch out into the void over Gisco's head. The cannon was a point defense turret that had been adjusted to fire onto the Angels of Immolation by the machine-beast that had followed the berserkers out onto the hull. It was firing proximity fused munitions, more suited to interdict assault craft, and shred their engines, than to shoot down Astartes. The fragments were unlikely to penetrate Gisco's Mark VII power armor, yet they were still dangerous in that they had the force to potentially overcome his mag locked boots, and blow him off the ship into the void. The blasphemous creature who had turned the cannon onto Gisco's and his brothers, had retreated back to the next turret, the next checkpoint on his squad's route across the back of the Blood Eye, likely to adjust that turret's fire as well. Gisco prepped a krak grenade, sure that his squad would soon charge the turrets.

 

Instead, Brother Chaplain Hamilax commanded squad Mago to follow him, as he raced to the right, past the carnage of the melee. Gisco and his brothers followed. As they ran across the hull, Brother Sergeant Mago informed his squad, via vox, that they would breach the hull at an antenna cluster a 120 meters ahead, and then travel through the top deck of the ship and try to cut off the heretic magos. He named the beast warpsmith, a traitor not only to the Holy Terra, but Mars as well. The bold maneuver was not without its consequences. The turret raked the squad, knocking Brother Sergeant Mago and Brother Mapen off the hull. A light, overhead strike from the chaplain's unpowered Crozius, was able to knock Gisco's sergeant back to the hull, but Brother Mapen was launched beyond reach. He followed his zero gravity recovery training, twisting away and trying to overcome his momentum by rapid firing his boltgun, but the turret's cannon zeroed in on the more exposed marine, and shot after shot sent him further out into the heartless void. The last Gisco saw of Brother Mapen was the marine throwing grenades down to the increasingly distant hull, perhaps their impacts would draw the ship's defenders away from squad Mago, if they were heard at all through the thick armor of Blood Eye's back.

 

They reached the cover of the antenna cluster, and the cannon fire ceased. There might have been some additional protective measure to prevent the cannon from shooting near the antenna, but Gisco did not have time to consider his fortune. Brother Bomlicar had just fired his multimelta into the antenna cluster's service hatch. Gisco waited as a rush of the ship's atmosphere blasted back out the ruined hatch, then stepped to the hatch and sprayed his flamer into the opening. He had to cut his blast short, as a second rush of air was pulled out by the vacuum of the void when a door was opened to the access tunnel leading to the hatch. The gust of air had almost pushed the flames back in his face. Just as quickly, the defenders managed to shut the door to the access tunnel.

 

Without delay, Brother-Chaplain Hamilax pulled himself down the access tunnel head first, followed shortly by squad Mago. Gisco watched the skull faced chaplain lock his feet to the tunnel above the door that had opened, and swing down into the door with the symbol of his office, his Crozius Arcanum. The door blew inward with the force of the strike, shattering into fragments, then the fragments of the door blew back out as the remaining air in the compartment beyond rushed back out as the void pulled everything unsecured out of the compartment. This included a collection of portable monitors, hand tools, and eight mortals madly trying to seal void suits. The debris, living and inanimate, bounced through the line of Angels of Immolation, rocking Gisco back on his heels. As the doomed heretics barged by, Gisco reached out with his non-firing hand, and yanked out the oxygen tube on one of the heretic's void suits. He was certain the mortal would die anyway, but would rather that he died by the hand of the Emperor's Angel of Death, than any other fate.

 

The compartment was now empty of everything but a cluster of conduits that was bound to the ceiling with bronze bands, and which exited the room above another door. Gisco moved up to the far door, flamer ready, as his sergeant slid the locking bar open. He held back his gorge as the ship's artificial gravity asserted itself harshly. This time, when the door opened, the pull of the vacuum only drew out a spatter of blood off the walls of a short corridor that ended in a T intersection. The blood was old, and off color, possibly xenos or maybe mutant blood. The Angels of Immolation entered the corridor and sealed the door behind them. For now, they were out of the void and inside the Blood Eye. Gisco was struck by a feeling that the ship somehow knew he was inside, and was angered by his and his brothers presence. He felt like he had just mounted a terrible beast, that had absolutely no desire to serve as his steed. He followed Brother Chaplain Hamilax in chanting the Litanies of Purity. In spite of his devout repetition of Brother Chaplain Hamilax's passionate recital, the bestial spirit of the Blood Eye could not be ignored.

 

[Carrack]

The Experiments

Part 6.10

The Magellous Vaults, Imperial Wotkd of Lemish

 

 

 

Calamity, disaster, apocalypse, these were the words that best described the current state of the vaults. They fell short in their description, as those words always did. Custos Magellous had been locked inside the vaults that bore his name for thousands of years. He routinely practiced the rites associated with intrusions, infiltrations, and unscheduled entries of all sorts. He was unprepared for 45 meters of dirt, the armored roof, the topmost vault, and much of the second vault to be destroyed by an artillery barrage. He had lost over 16% of the wares he was charged with storing. These were wares vital to the defense of this subsector, so important, that their very existence had been kept secret. In hindsight, the secrecy of the vaults may have prevented their use, before the enemy had blown them open, however, Custos Magellous was not in the habit of questioning his superiors in the priesthood of Mars.

 

What Custos Magellous was in the habit of, was conducting experiments. He had occupied his eons long sabbatical in the vaults experimenting to produce prototype gun servitors of his own design. The armaments had come from the war supplies he was warehousing. The biological matter had come from his servants who had been entombed with him in the vaults. At first he had only used the servants that had begun to question the length of their Martian imposed confinement, but in the end, he had needed all of the biological matter at his disposal. His skill at conducting the servitor lobotomy, had been less than flawless, so he had been forced to make up for his inefficiency with his still loyal servants.

 

An unfortunate side effect of his experiments, had been that he had left himself alone for thousands of years, and as much as he tried to dismiss the unnecessary, emotional, feelings of loneliness, they persisted. If it wasn't for his personal data stacks, he was sure the loneliness would have killed him, however illogical that seemed. His stacks contained troves of information, from genealogies of ancient Mars, to books of prose from authors whom some logis deemed worthy of preserving. Reading the prose had become his favorite pastime, he did not directly download those works into his cerebrum via his sacred neural receptor-reliquary, but instead printed them out onto scrolls, and read them the primitive way. At first this was a guilty pleasure, that although he found enjoyable, he also despised himself for indulging in, but he soon noticed increases in his success rates of his experiments when he set aside time to read.

 

He let his experiments loose on the life signals searching the exposed vaults above. Hulking behemoths trudged through the lanes between shipping containers, with centimeters to spare on either side. Carapace breastplates had been tooled to cover monstrously sized legs, while the chests of the gun servitors were protected by armor panels from tanks. Heads were little more than encased sensor suites that once mounted sentinel scout walkers. Arms were not arms, but a variety of massive weapons; some multi-barrel versions of crew served weapons, others were weapons normally mounted on light tanks, and yet others were weapons entirely of Custos Magellous's own design. Backs were hunched over with power plants and ammo drums. The experiments fanned out into a custom programmed search and destroy pattern designed by their creator. It wasn't long before the booms, whines, hisses, and staccato bursts of his experiments were relayed over the vaults' vox system into Custos Magellous's command center.

 

The vid feeds from his experiments showed Custos Magellous who was attacking his vaults. They were the corrupted Astartes, identified as members of the Black Legion. There were four squads. The squad who had made it the farthest into his vaults, was but five strong, yet they carried an assortment of powerful weapons, and wore ancient marks of power armor not easily produced since the Schism. The second and third squads in, seven and six strong respectively, were equipped with jump packs, which they were making good use in the exposed vault. Curiously, one of their number was obscured by a cloud of flies. The fourth squad was 10 strong, led by a power fist wielding champion, and had just entered his vaults by the edge of the exposed area.

 

He only saw the intruders briefly. They had quickly climbed to the top of the shipping containers that use to reach the ceiling. Custos Magos saw the error in his programming. His experiments had been programmed to fight within the vaults. They were limited in their ability to elevate their weapons, to prevent damage to the vault ceilings. The enemy artillery had removed the ceiling. His experiments were unable to fire on the invaders, and one by one, they were destroyed by the Black Legionnaires from above their firing limits. The corrupted Astartes jump troops had discovered the flaw in his programming, and the enemies casually approached his life's work, and dropped krak grenades on their heads until they died. His experiments had been failures.