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Kelborn

By Kelborn
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simison Venerable Brother

simison

Posted
Posted (edited)

Skal: "Kozja is nearly incapable of casual-ness. Whenever he speaks, it is always with pomp and gravity. He is on good terms with Alexandros, though he believes that his way of interacting with the common man is unworthy of a Primarch's status in a way."

 

[Guess what time it is?]

 

With a swing of his mighty mace, Kozja crushed the warbosses head as though it were overriped fruit. Their leader dead, this portion of the horde began to rout. "Pursue," Kozja ordered to his sons as he opened fire with his plasma pistol. Despite his salvos, Kozja made no move to lead the charge into the fleeing greenskins. Duty had required him to advance from his command position to deal with the enormous beast. With duty satisfied, it was time for him to return to his preferred position in the center of his Legion where he was better able to oversee operations. 

 

Between the advancing frontline and his own steady pace, Kozja quickly arrived at the mobile headquarters he used during campaigns. The massive ground vehicle that reached him had already lowered the forward assault ramp for his entry. A moment of discomfort as he passed through the operating void shields, an experience that his brother Alexandros had likened to walking through gelatine. Kozja could only assume his brother was correct since he had never eaten the dish.

 

His bodyguards formed up behind as Kozja stepped into the Mastodon. Unhurried, he stepped toward the center of the vehicle, which was surrounded by communication systems. The staff came to attention as Kozja approached. "Carry on," Kozja ordered. He stopped before a hololith table that was constantly being updated with current battlefield information. A horde of green dots flowed away from the hive city, pursued by white arrows. No escape would remain for the greenskins as a line of purple arrows had formed at the edge of the Orks' retreat. There, the Halcyon Wardens were dug in and receiving the brutish creatures with utmost efficiency. 

 

All told, the battle, and by extension the Silvanus campaign, was mere minutes away from its conclusion. Despite this joyous fact, there were no outbursts among the Warbringers. No howls of victory, no cries for celebration. Just, simple professionalism. Kozja would have smiled if it had been appropriate. Instead, he motioned to the nearest vox operator. "Contact Lord VonSalim."

 

Although Kozja would have preferred to initiate holo-communication, the Shield-Lord was currently located at the forefront of the Halcyon Wardens' position. As such, vox would have to suffice. No more than a second later, the vox came alive with the orchestra of war. "I hear you, Lord Darzalas," came his brother's voice, strong above the din.

 

"Lord VonSalim," Kozja began, "I have successfully ended the Ork resistance. My Legion will soon be driving the horde toward your position in full. I trust that you'll be able to hold?"

 

"Without a doubt. We will have finished the extermination in twenty-nine minutes and fourty-eight seconds."

 

Kozja nodded to himself. "Very well, I will begin preparing for post-battle operations. Lord Kozja, out."

 

Commands spilled out of him, easily and readily. First priority would be to establish larger field hospitals to handle the wounded. Although Space Marines could withstand much harm before being compromised, a number of Novadeka regiments were engaged in this final battle. Unlike the Halcyon Wardens who deployed only with Legion units, Kozja had insisted the Novadeka be represented to gain additional experience and to support the Warbringer elements. The field hospitals would be necessary to stabilize the most greviously wounded and sent to the nearby city's more through medicae facilities, while the lightly wounded could be treated before their injuries became infected.

 

Details would be needed to assign to clean the battlefield of corpses and, more importantly, recover equipment and gene-seed. The Novadeka regiments could be counted on the former, but the latter duties would be strictly reserved for the Warbringers. Only Legion could be trusted to handle Legion matters. Additionally, this might proved to be an excellent opportunity to retrieve...research materials. 

 

Before the battle had ended, the orders were sent. Even as the Orks were dying, the first of the reserve units were combing through the former battlegrounds, while pre-fabricated hospitals were raised. Kozja watched all of this with cool detachment, the epitome of honourable leadership. 

Edited by simison
simison Venerable Brother

simison

Posted
Posted (edited)

After asking for some help, I have accessed a random line generator, and we now have our first 5 judges for October's entries. Judging will be opened on the 29th, and the three categories are FW, narrative, and newbie. So, it's myself, Blind, Breezy, Kel, and Mikhal.

  1.  
  2. simison
  3.  
  4. blind
  5.  
  6.  
  7. Breezy
  8. Kelborn
  9.  
  10.  
  11.  
  12. Mikhal
Edited by simison
TheBlindPrimarch Veteran

TheBlindPrimarch

Posted
Posted

“The Damned and Forgotten”

 

He stood there, the helm of his mark three “Iron” pattern power armor securely clamped and sealed on his head, same as everyone else who had the dubious honor to be riding in this particular Caestus Assault Ram. For once he was glad for the helm, which he usually felt restricted his awareness of the battlefield around him. Now it offered him obscurity, for with the helm on he looked no different from those who stood in front and behind him, and it hid the shame written clear on his face.

 

He steadied himself as the transport shuddered suddenly, no doubt dancing around the enemy’s futile attempts to bring it down, along with those it carried. He checked his bolter’s magazine one more time even though he had already checked it six times since they boarded the transport, sighing as he mentally acknowledge that such idiosyncrasies likely contributed to his current situation.

 

An indicator flashed to life in the upper right corner of his HUD, warning him of the transports impending impact with their target in two minutes. He took a deep breath, before beginning in unison with those around him the oath he had been taught at the beginning of his mission, assigned by his superiors and ordered to reaffirm each time he went to battle so that he would not forget it.

 

“I am nameless, for I have lost the right to bear a name. I have sullied my honor and the honor of my lord and brothers. I have failed to uphold the traditions and standards lain forth by my Primarch and have thus proven myself sub-standard and below consideration. I have spat on the legacy of the relics of the past and cast off the bonds of brotherhood.  I am Skandale, one of the Damned. I don the black to show all who see me my shame, as proof of my oath to my father that I will not rest until my honor is restored, until I have regained my position among those that once called me brother and I can call myself Warbringer once again.  And should I fail I will be one of the forgotten, left to fade along with all those who failed to regain their lost honor, whose memory was blown away like dust on the battlefield.  This is my oath, and I will seek nothing but a glorious death until I have fulfilled it.”

 

The oath complete, he steeled himself for battle and watched the indicator count down the seconds before impact. Even then, when the counter hit zero the impact struck with the force of an angry Iron Bear, and would have thrown him forward had his boots not been mag-locked to the transport’s deck.  His entire world rattled for what seemed an eternity before everything became still.  For the few heartbeats of his twin hearts that it lasted, it was almost peaceful, but even that moment was fleeting.  He heard the bang of the mag-lock bolts disengaging seconds before the assault ramp dropped open and the troop compartment flooded with light.

 

The lenses of his helm tinted to compensate for the glare but it still took him a millisecond to focus.  Even then his vision beyond the mouth of the transport was blocked by the Skandale who had been assigned point, the boarding shield he carried held up in order to grant them some protection as they disembarked. One of the Skandale in front of him wasn’t so fortunate however, as an errant round ricocheted off the deck and buried itself in his neck. He grunted as he fell, doomed to be forgotten.

 

As they charged forward through the torrent of bolter fire he jumped over the prone body of a massive Legionary, the colors of the Iron Bears barely visible on his charred armor, obviously having been killed by the blast caused by the Caestus. He fired as he ran; intent on getting within distance to switch to his combat knife, sure that he’d have to kill his foes in close combat if he was ever to hope to regain his honor. He roared a battle-cry as he closed the distance, getting within a few meters of the Iron Bear’s line before he saw the bulbous mouth of a masterfully crafted plasma gun turn in his direction and fire. The last thing he saw was the searing light of failure, and then, nothing.

 

***

 

Kozja walked the battlefield, his guards keeping a respectful distance but remained alert for any danger. Even though the Iron Bears had been defeated there were still pockets of resistance that could pose a threat. He stopped as he looked over a field littered with the bodies of Skandale who had been ordered to breach the defenses of the Bear’s right flank. They’d failed, but it hadn’t been a complete failure, as their attack had forced the Bears to redirect their forces to deal with the threat, enabling Kozja and his forces to breach the defenses on the left flank and take the position.

 

He knelt next to the headless body of a Skandale who’d made it further than any of his fellows, examining the melted ceramite of his collar. The body lay a mere three meters from the enemy line with his combat blade still clutched in his lifeless hand.

 

“What should we do with them, my Lord?”

 

“Leave them,” Kozja replied without inflection. “I will not have the stain of their failure sully the honor of this Legion by allowing others to don their armor or inherit their gene-seed. They are lost, forgotten…I damn them for their weakness.”

 

*END*

simison Venerable Brother

simison

Posted
Posted

With four votes, the Imperial Army will be our our focus for November.

 

Additionally, the winners for October are as follows:

 

Narrative

 

"The Damned and Forgotten" by TheBlindPrimarch

 

Forgeworld

 

"A Matter of Honour" by Simison

 

Newbies

 

"Legion Personality" by BreezyLamar

 

 

Additionally, I propose that newbies is a status that is reserved for new writers for a period of three months. After which, they are considered regulars.

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