BotL - Monthly fluff challenge

[bluntblade]

Thinking I'll try a story thing, that gives an inkling of the sheer scale of the Army.

[simison]

Colonel Selene Purechild

 

Daughter of Xander Purechild, many had written off her military career as nothing more than political maneuvering either for the benefit or by the express desire of her more powerful father. Although beloved on Vasalius through her generosity and willingness to interact with the commoner, the young scion had never once experienced combat before being granted the rank of colonel of her own regiment. Despite a full decade of training and instruction in combat theory and application, many detractors quietly remarked that good men and women would soon die for the Purechilds' vainglory.

 

Selene would prove them wrong. 

 

The 12^th Vasalian would remain in reserve for a year after Selene was made colonel. Time was spent recovering from its last campaign which inflicted a casualty rate of 38%, along with additional opportunities to repair and modernize equipment. With the year completed, the regiment swiftly returned to the Great Crusade, their first major battle taking place in the newly named Segmentum Atlantica. 

Edited November 6, 2017 by simison

[TheBlindPrimarch]

Here's my submission for the month of November...Hope you guys like it.
 

Little Warrior

He woke up screaming…

Barii woke up to a pain unlike anything he had ever experienced before in his life. It was as if some cruel monster was slowly dipping his legs in a pool of molten fire while at the same time stabbing his thighs repeatedly with a million knives. The muscles of his chest and gut seized in time as each fresh wave of pain shot spikes of agony up his spine. His mind struggled to process the intense sensations that were making his nerves howl and assaulting his brain. All the while he screamed so hard his lungs burned.

“Shut that boy up!” Came a harsh whisper that hadn’t been quite drowned out by his continuing screams. Someone slapped him across the face and he opened his eyes wide, struggling to see through the tears blurring his vision. His gaze darted frantically as he tried to focus through the pain on the shadows that loomed over him. He reached up and grabbed the sleeve of an older looking man who knelt over him. The man reminded Barii of his uncle. Past his uncle’s doppelganger he saw the bars of a cage lit by the flickering of flames from somewhere he couldn’t see. Beyond the bars all he saw were ruddy red clouds of smoke and the darkness of the night sky.

“Hush now boy,” the not-uncle grunted as he wiped the sweat from Barii’s eyebrows. He glanced towards Barii’s legs for a moment, frowning in consideration before looking at Barii again with a very serious look in his eyes. “You can hear me, right boy? You can understand me?”

Barii nodded weakly as he struggled to focus on his not-uncle.

“You’ve lost your legs boy, both of them,” his not-uncle whispered. “And a good deal of blood.”

Barii shook his head and reached weakly to touch his knee and prove that his not-uncle was only joking, but when his hand reached the place below his knee where his leg should be, there was nothing. As he felt around he noticed he could feel the end of his leg, but that it was much shorter than it should have been. Feeling wetness he brought his hand up and looked at it. It was covered in blood. He felt a sob escape his lips as he realized his not-uncle was telling the truth. The man shushed him as he continued wiping his forehead. A sudden spasm of pain shot up his spine and he began to scream but his not-uncle covered his mouth with his hand. Barii screamed anyway, muffled by the old man’s hand, until everything went black and he fell back into the void of unconsciousness.

~

Barii hugged his father and smiled as his uncle slapped him warmly on the back with calloused hands weathered from long years of working the family farm. His aunt smiled at him wistfully as she comforted his crying mother. She’d been crying since he’d told them about his enlistment into the great Imperial Army the night before. His father released him, and he turned and offered his arms to his mother, who hugged him fiercely and kissed him on the cheek.

He glanced behind himself as the sound of a troop conveyor's horn interrupted the moment. The conveyor was full of new recruits who sat waiting on the road at the end of the long dirt path that led to his family’s hab-unit. The recruiter stood smiling patiently but tapped the chrono on his wrist to let Barii know it was time to go.

He gently pried himself from his mother’s embrace and smiled broadly at her. She smiled weakly in response and hugged his father as if the strength had left her legs. He reached down and grabbed his ruck-sack before flashing his family one more boyish grin and walked down the path. He climbed into the back of the conveyor and waved at his family one more time as the vehicle began to growl down the road. He wiped a tear threatening to escape the boundary of his eye away with the back of his hand as his home disappeared over the hill. The recruit across from him smiled and…

… And the drill instructor screamed at them as they made their way under the barbed wire of the obstacle course, the sound of simulated weapons fire and explosions practically drowning his voice out. Barii grunted as he struggled on his belly through the thick mud, spitting the dirty water that repeatedly ended up in his mouth out as he heaved himself up and made his way to the next obstacle.

He jumped up and grabbed the lowest rung of the ladder and strained to pull himself up, his mud-caked uniform weighing him down. The instructors noticed his struggles and descended on him like land sharks on a wounded Grox, screaming at him to pull harder and threatening him with all sort of creative and painful punishments should he fail. Suitably motivated he grunted in effort as he pulled his body up and scrabbled up the rest of the rungs. Barii did his best…

..Did his best to maintain his discipline as his unit marched down the main procession of the hive towards the spaceport at the edge of the massive city. The cheers of the crowds were deafening, and the excitement was contagious. He wondered idly to himself if his family was somewhere in the crowd but dismissed the possibility as he thought about it. Their farm was much too far away and it was time for the harvest to come in besides. He regretted not being back home to help but assured himself that his father had never lacked for able-bodied help before and so wasn’t likely to need him now.

He was torn from his thoughts as the order EYES RIGHT boomed over the com-bead built into his helmet. He snapped his gaze to the right in unison with the other soldiers and looked up at the Planetary Governor, who saluted them as they passed from the reviewing stand. The Regimental Commander and his command retinue stood with him. Once they had moved far enough past the reviewing stand they were given the order EYES FRONT and they continued to march. The crowd began to throw white pedals down on the parade of soldiers, creating a carpet of white for them to march on.

~

Barii opened his eyes weakly at the sound of a commotion at the entrance to the cage. He turned his head and watched as three monstrous giants filled the opening. One of them pointed at a couple of the prisoners and turned and began to walk out again; a soldier and a woman wearing tattered field trousers and a torn blouse. He realized she was one of the Remembrancers attached to their regiment as she screamed and struggled against the giant’s grip. The giant slapped her across the face, and Barii heard an audible snap as the woman’s neck broke from the force of the blow. The lead giant spun around and grabbed the giant by the collar and pointed at the now dead Remembrancer. The giant simply shrugged as he released his grip on her limp body and grabbed another soldier instead. As Barii watched her body fall, time appeared to slow, and the darkness embraced him once again.
 

~

He knew his mouth was hanging open but he couldn’t help it, nor did he care since as far as he knew he was alone. The vastness of it almost made the titanic ship they’d boarded seem small in comparison. The word “Space” didn’t seem to do it justice. If you had asked him a year ago if he ever thought his feet would ever leave the surface of the planet he called home, let alone see a sight like this he’d have laughed. And yet, here he was, staring out at the endless expanse of space from one of the ship’s many gallery halls. To say he was in awe would be an understatement of the worst kind, and he quickly concluded that were he able to he could probably spend the rest of his life staring at the stars, and still manage to find something new. He was so glad he’d been permitted to wander the ship after his unit had finished getting settled into their assigned berthing.

He practically jumped out of his skin at the sound a low growl from behind him as he imagined some massive beast staring hungrily at his back. He spun around and found himself staring squarely at the belt buckle of an unbelievably tall man in a suit of fancy red and gold painted power armor. The massive warrior’s armor was adorned with swirling designs cast in silver on his forearms and lower legs, and he wore a twisted silver band around his neck. On his belt he carried a wickedly curved sword in its scabbard.

Barii had seen the super human warriors his father had once told him were known as Astartes from a distance when his regiment had boarded the ship belonging to the their Legion, but he’d never had expected to see one this close, especially since they kept themselves separate on board the ship. He was frozen in terror in the shadow of this angel of death. The warrior looked down at him and growled again, and Barii had to struggle not to visibly shake until he realized the Astartes wasn’t actually growling at him, but talking.

“Sir?” He asked hesitantly, unsure of the giant warrior’s rank. The Astartes bowed his head and let out a sigh that sounded more like a deep cough through the helmet’s speakers before reaching up and removing the helmet from his head.

“What are you doing?” The warrior replied as he tucked his helmet under his arm.

“Looking…” Barii began to point awkwardly out the window before thinking better of it and letting his arm fall back to his side. “Looking at the stars, sir.”

“Stop calling me sir,” the warrior replied, his deep, rumbling voice doing nothing to set Barii at ease. “I’m a Sergeant, Sergeant Lunasa of the Third Legion, Crimson Lions.”

Barii nodded in feigned understanding. In truth he was still trying to remember the names of all the Legions in his guardsmen’s primer. He wasn’t even sure which of the Legions they were going to be fighting when they got to where they were going.

“You’ve never been to space.” The warrior said. It was more a statement then a question, but Barii decided it was better to answer anyways.

“No Sergeant,” Barii replied, finding his gaze drawn back out the window at the mention of that great void. “This is my first time.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m sixteen, Sergeant.” Barii replied after a moment. The warrior simply grunted as he re-donned his helmet and looked down at him.

“Report to your berthing young warrior,” the Astartes Sergeant replied gruffly, his voice once again distorted into a deep growl by the speakers of his helmet. “We’re going to be transitioning into the Warp soon. There won’t be anything there you’d ever want to see, trust me.”

“Yes, Sergeant.” Barii replied quickly before stealing one last glance at the stars and hurrying quickly away from the imposing warrior.

~

Barii stirred once again at the sound of men shouting. He opened his eyes to see one of the giants from before making his way through the crowded cell as if he were looking for someone, roughly pushing men and women out of his way as he moved. Barii shivered as the glowing green eyes of the giant came to rest on him. Everything stopped as the soldiers realized who the giant was after, and then the cage erupted in chaos as the soldiers began to struggle frantically to get between the monstrous giant and where Barii lay, only to be thrown bodily out of the way. Suddenly Barii’s not-uncle appeared between him and the giant, the old man’s back to him.

“You’ll not be taking this one, traitor,” his not-uncle barked. “Not while I live!”

The giant stopped and looked down at the man for a second then looked around as if to see if anyone else could believe what was happening. He looked back at the old man and laughed loudly, the harsh sound of it making everyone except Barii’s not-uncle flinch. The laughter continued for a few minutes before fading away and the giant glowered at the old man. As the prisoners in the crowded cage watched helplessly the giant sighed, shrugged, and then shot the old man in the chest at point-blank range with his massive gun. The man’s upper torso exploded into countless chucks of flesh and shards of bone that flew everywhere, striking many of the other prisoners and wounding them. As the mess that had once been his not-uncle rained down on him, Barii’s threw up and his vision swam once more before he found himself claimed by the darkness again.
 

~

Barii stood in formation in full combat gear. His commanding officer was doing roll call while the company discipline officer stood just behind him, his hawkish glare scanning the ranks for any signs that any of them were thinking about deserting. Barii was nervous, but he kept telling himself that he was ready for what was coming. What else had he done all that training for if not this? He raised his hand as his name was called while his Sergeant checked his kit before giving him a reassuring nod. Barii nodded back as the man looked him in the eye. Yes, he was ready. He had to be. He glanced at the Crimson Lions that stood at the back of the hanger. Barii wondered if the Astartes named Lunasa was among them.

The hanger bay filled with the scream of engines spoiling up as the pilots of the landers began their pre-flight checks, the front ramps of the transports opening ponderously to grant them entry into the troop compartments. The assembled soldiers exploded into activity as the officers began yelling out orders, and the NCOs began rushing their men towards their assigned landers. Barii followed the man in front of him, keen to avoid the attention of the discipline officers who were now chasing behind them in order to catch anyone trying to avoid the battle. He felt a moment of dread as his foot touched the ramp of the transport, but he pushed the feeling out of his mind and boarded the lander’s troop compartment. He…

…He gritted his teeth as the lander shook violently, the ponderous craft doing its best to avoid the enemy anti-aircraft fire streaking up towards them with murderous intent. The soldier across from him stared at him grimly and nodded towards Barii’s left with an eyebrow raised. Barii turned and looked at the man next to him. He was pale and muttering something frantically under his breath. There was a little silver Aquila attached to a chain around his neck. He clenched the Aquila in his hands, which were shaking, and was holding it up to his quivering lips and kissing it repeatedly.

Barii snorted in amusement and looked back at the grim soldier and shrugged. The man pointed at the praying soldier and ran his finger across his throat ominously. Barii frowned and turned his attention to the company commander, who had just stood up and made his way to the back of the troop compartment, grabbing a hanging support handle once he was in position.

“Masks on!” He barked. Barii repeated the commander’s order as he donned his re-breather in unison with the rest of the men around him, sealing it before turning to check the seal of the praying soldier while the soldier to his right checked him. He then turned around and repeated the ritual for the man on his right. He could feel the superstitious man’s hands shaking as he checked his seal. The grim man was right, Barii thought, this guy didn’t stand a chance.

“Stand up!” The officer yelled. “Safeties off!”

The troop compartment rang with the echo of the soldiers repeating the order as they stood up and formed two columns facing the front ramp of the lander. Again, Barii felt the wave of dread as he stood next to the grim man and checked the power pack of his lasrifle before turning the safety off. Confident he was all set he, reached up and grabbed the hanging support handle above his head. He could hear the roar of the lander’s engines increase in volume as it prepared to land, and he tried his best to calm the rising felling of anxiousness he was beginning to feel.

“Brace for landing!”

~

Barii started awake and opened his eyes to find himself floating three feet off the ground. Disorientated, he looked around in a daze. As he began to focus he realized that he wasn’t in fact floating but was actually being carried by the giant that had killed his not-uncle. The giant was holding him by the collar of his flak jacket as he walked down a darkened hallway. He struggled feebly to free himself for a moment before figuring out how pointless it was to try.

He looked up at the sound of screaming and realized in horror the screams were coming from all around him. The giant had carried him into a large amphitheater with an alter on a large platform in the center of the stage. There was a giant in green armor adorned in spotted animal pelts and strange fetishes standing by the alter, supervising the activities. Situated around the perimeter of the theater were eight different stations where more giants in green armor conducted various forms of torture on unfortunate prisoners.

Barii looked on in abject terror as at one station a giant slowly turned a wheel with the entrails of a still living man wrapped around it. The man’s lips and eye lids had been removed and his skin was branded with alien runes that made Barii’s eyes hurt to look at for too long. There was a woman who was being violated while her skin was flayed from her body strip by strip. She screamed in ecstasy as they pieced her nipples with long skewers. At yet another station a man screamed through sewn lips while two cloaked creatures with feathers growing from their arms whispered in his bleeding ears. Bloody tears flowed in rivers from his sewn shut eyes.

He vomited as the smell from the next station struck him, and he looked through tear filled eyes as another giant poured viscous yellow-green pus down the throat of a bloated man covered in pocks and sores. The man’s mouth was stretched into an abnormally wide smile and his stomach bounced with laughter as he choked on the mixture he was force-fed.

Each station was more disturbing and depraved then the next, and Barii’s mind struggled to make any sense of what he was seeing. He could feel himself passing out again as his senses were overwhelmed by the onslaught of sights and sounds and smells. As his vision faded he looked down, and all he saw was blood.
 

~

Barii was terrified. Soldiers were dying all around him as he sheltered behind the wreckage of a tank bearing the iconography of the IIIrd Legion. There was another soldier there with him, a woman, but she had been wounded and was breathing laboriously as blood soaked the front of her uniform. The flash of an explosion lit up the area around him, and hope filled Barii as the light revealed the grim man walking towards him, but as the grim man got closer Barii realized he was missing an arm, and half of his face had been burned away by phosphorus. The Grim man fell dead at Barii’s feet.

He watched as soldiers in heavy black armor ran past him, followed by a tank impossibly hovering over the ground. One of the soldiers in black stopped and looked at him, and after a few seconds aimed his lascarbine at Barii but stopped short of pulling the trigger. He looked in the direction his compatriots had gone before sparing Barii a glance and moving on. Barii let out the breath he had been holding in.

Minutes later a discipline officer found him and the girl. He checked the wounded woman first, pulling her tags after finding no pulse and then he turned to Barii. He reminded Barii of his uncle back home.

“Are you wounded?” The officer asked as he recovered the woman’s unspent power cells and rations. He used a knife to cut open her blouse, exposing her breasts to the uncaring night and ran his hands along the inside fabric of the garment. He nodded as he pulled a little book from inside the blouse and dropped it into one of the pockets on his greatcoat.

“I don’t think so, sir.” Barii stammered in response as he watched the man work, wincing as artillery fire landed nearby. The officer gave him a hard, sideways look and stood up, pulling a laspistol from the holster at his waist.

“On your feet,” the officer growled as he pointed the sidearm at Barii’s chest. Barii stood up unsteadily and checked his lasrifle. He hadn’t fired a shot. The officer grabbed him by the arm and pointed towards a fresh wave of soldiers jogging towards the enemy defenses across no man’s land. “See those men? You’re going to charge with them across that battlefield and do the Emperor’s duty, you understand me?”

Barii nodded and gave a half-hearten show of holding his weapon at the ready. The discipline officer nodded and waited for the wave of men to overcome them before pushing Barii forward. Nothing happened at first as the wave of men entered the no man’s land between the positions of the two forces, but the silence was broken with a sudden snap as a man not more than five paces from Barii went rigid and dropped dead from a bullet through the eye. The officers began to blow their whistles as the wave of men began to charge into the surge of weapons-fire that was now streaming from the enemy fortifications. Barii ran as fast as he could, the discipline officer right behind him. He didn’t even hear the telltale whistle of the artillery shell until the world erupted around him and he…

…he looked up at the clear blue sky and smiled as he walked down the dirt road towards his family farm, the trio of field hens he’d harvested on his hunt hanging from a string tied to the butt of his father’s laslock rifle. He’d chosen to dress them in the field, leaving the guts and sweet meats for the birds and other scavengers.

He waved at his father and mother as he crested the hill overlooking their plot of land and whistled to himself happily as he walked. His mother was hanging the laundry behind the hab while his father threw bushels of grain into the back of the trailer attached to the old family conveyor. Barii could smell the pie his mother had made cooling on the windowsill. For the life of him he couldn’t remember a more perfect day.

~

Barii’s eyes flashed open and he found himself starring up into the night sky. He felt the rough rock surface of the alter under his back, and the heat of the candles arranged around him. He turned his head slightly and saw the pelt wearing giant next to him, his heavily tattooed light brown skin glistening in the firelight. He noticed the giant’s armor was covered with more of those strange runes that made his stomach churn when he tried to focus on them, and that the fetishes he had noticed earlier were actually made of bone which he was sure were human in origin. The pelt wearing giant looked down at him and smiled, showing Barii his teeth that were sharpened to points.

“So the pure one awakens.” The pelt wearing giant laughed as he softly brushed an armored hand across Barii’s forehead. “The gods told me an untainted soul would come to me, that I was to capture you, use you to gain their favor. You will be the final ingredient in a ritual that will destroy all those who dare trespass on my lord’s home world.”

Barii struggled against the ropes that bound him to the alter, glaring at the pelt wearing giant in defiance. The pelt wearing giant simply laughed harder.

“Be calm boy, the time to serve your purpose is fast approaching, just as the great schemer planned.” The pelt wearing giant continued to laugh as he mocked him. “Oh, did you really think you went through your whole life without there being some kind of plan for you? No boy, this moment is the reason you never enjoyed the touch a woman, why you’ve never killed another man. You needed to be pure so that the quality of my offering to the gods was acceptable.”

The pelt wearing giant stopped laughing and grew serious and raised his hands towards the heavens.

“The time has come!”

The pelt wearing giant looked down at Barii and grasped the handle of an obsidian athame and raised it above his head. Tears filled Barii’s eyes and his teeth began to ache as the pelt wearing giant began to chant words that were just…wrong. Barii felt the world around him begin to spin as the energy in the amphitheater rose to a climax. The pelt wearing giant’s voice rose in volume until its booming rhythm resounded in Barii’s head. Then there was a bang, like the crack after a lightning strike, and then silence.

Barii opened his eyes after a second to see the pelt wearing giant staring in amazement at a hole that had opened in his chest, seconds before a secondary explosion went off in his chest and threw him from the alter. The amphitheater erupted in an apocalypse of gunfire and battle cries but Barii could see none of it, bound as he was. Suddenly a warrior in red and gold, with a twisted silver band around his neck appeared above him, firing at unseen foes and gesturing to his fellow Lions. After a moment the warrior removed his helmet and Barii found himself looking into the eyes of a familiar face.

“Still looking at the stars, eh little warrior?”
 

+END+

~

Edited November 22, 2017 by TheBlindPrimarch

[bluntblade]

Watching the landers set down and the troops disembarking, Licinius Vastelus could never shake a frisson of fear. He knew the arithmetic well enough, and besides, there was little to match a regiment of the Excertus Imperialis for sheer scale. Six million soldiers were making planetfall by his command, garbed in the deep green and silver of the Kadisian Hounds.

 

More than two thousand troop carriers, each capable of holding three thousand people. Tanks rolled out and Titans strode free of their own landers. To the untrained eye, trying to process it would be like attempting to ascribe a size to a storm cloud. It was too vast, stretching too far, to take it all in. Unless you were the one trusted to steer this colossal engine, wielding it against the foes of the Emperor. Unless you held such power that men and women became coin to spend; provided you did not waste the Emperor’s coin, that is.

 

Vastelus had been dealing with that power and responsibility for twenty-one years, long enough to become well aware of the limits to his power. Dizzying as the heights were, he shared them with thousands of others - men and women of his rank, fleetmasters, Mechanicum archmagi - and others stood above him. Ultimately, he was another cog in this mechanism, and it was a mere fragment of that machine arrayed before him. So much power, with which to do only that which was required of him.

 

Not that he resented it, still less that he wished to forego his duty. His oaths were to the Emperor and the Imperium, and he had commanded armies on a dozen worlds against the traitors. Now he stood here on Revan, preparing to do his duty again, wondering if he could succeed.

 

“An impressive regiment, Lord Commander.” He turned at that, but not out of alarm. His guards would not have permitted anyone to reach him up here unless their authority matched his. Certainly not without stepping out as well, and in any case, he recognised the face.

 

Saerla Kantor was a surprisingly short woman, the same age as him if he was any judge. Her hair was a match for the regimental colours she wore, flint streaked with white. She wore armour - functional stuff, the only sort Medusans believed in.

 

Vastelus bowed, the sort appropriate for a comrade of about equal rank. “Lady Kantor. I’m surprised by the praise, if you’ll permit me.”

 

That got him a taut but not unpleasant smile. “Our Medusan pride, eh? We’re practical enough to know where that turns into antagonising your allies.”

 

“Then I’ll return the compliment. My shuttle brought me over the Steelshod lines this morning.” Tracked by your gunners every second of the way, like as not. So many betrayals already, our trust has worn thin. “As fearsome a sight as I’d heard.”

 

“I only hope the enemy feel the same.” She joined him at the rail, gazing out at the forest on the horizon. Those trees would likely be in flames before the month was out. Then she looked again at the Kadisians, and then to the west, where the 3rd Medusan Steelshod had entrenched themselves both in the hive and in hastily built redoubts and trenches beyond the walls. “Look at us. In another age, we might have been the masters of our own empires.”

 

“In another age, we’d be serving the sort of men who command the Legions.”

 

“Speak for yourself.”

 

Vastelus gave a small smile. “But you still feel some envy for them, no?”

 

“Only up to a point. I’m still all human, despite what my moniker might suggest.”

 

Vastelus quirked an eyebrow. “The one thing begins with ‘steel’ and ends in a broken nose?”

 

This time it was a broad smile that broke out on her face. “Sacred Unity, I’m that notorious?”

 

“At least the rank are learning the consequences.”

 

“True enough. Anyway, have you seen the Scions?”

 

“At a distance, at the Qarith Triumph. If I recall, you…”

 

“Yes.” She didn’t hide her satisfaction when Vastelus whistled. “Only as a captain back then, but yes, I was there for the Reckoning.” Her hands tightened on the rail, and she seemed to be looking past the assembled armies. “We were first in behind the Scions, and we fought with them until they left the land war. They were unlike anything else I’ve seen. Such precision, such power. We have legends on my world about how the Age of Strife tore us down. Those are about all I could compare to what I saw on Qarith Prime. And the Scions met the onslaught and overcame it. It never seemed to faze them.”

 

“That sounds about right for a Legion,” Vastelus replied.

 

“You’ve fought with one?” Her hand rested on the pommel of her sword. Medusan steel, famously sharp. Rumour held that the Warmaster’s sword was forged from it.

 

“Two. The Steel Legion in the Carinae System and the Eagle Warriors on Hynaka. We felt so honoured about that one,” he added, unable to suppress what was a certain wistfulness on a good day, and bitterness the rest of the time.

 

If Kantor noticed, she didn’t deem it worthy of comment. “Did you notice that control? That absolute focus of purpose? We cleansed entire hives of infected people, and that kind of work wears at the toughest mortals. The Scions? If they felt any of the horror that had my men retching -” Vastelus could just about believe that detail “- it never showed.”

 

“Sounds like the Steel Legion. I can’t say the same of the Thirteenth.”

 

“Yes, but my point is, that was then. The Day of Revelation did something to the Scions. Now they thirst for a chance to bring their cousins low.” Unease looked out of place on her features, and all the more unsettling for it. “Icarion’s treason has poison running through all the Legions, on our side and his.”

 

Vastelus grimaced. “That brings me back to what I was thinking about before you joined me. We’re ammunition, here to be expended if necessary.” He shot her an uneasy glance. “Though I’m hoping I’ll feel rather differently after I meet Lord Santor. In the meantime, however…” She was, after all, really quite attractive in her way. “Would you consider dining with me this evening? I’m sure your troops could survive your absence for just one night.”

 

Kantor laughed. “Well, that I did not expect. Not when you seemed so intimidated earlier.”

 

“My lady - Saerla - the Warbringers are coming to this world. In light of that, there’s not much you could do to frighten me. As you’ve said, we’re still human. I’d rather like to remember that for one night.”

 

“Well, Licinius, I can hardly argue with that. Just be aware,” she came close. “If you turn out to be a bore, I have some very good artillerists.”

 

Vastelus grinned. “I’d expect nothing else for disappointing you.”

Edited November 27, 2017 by bluntblade

[TheBlindPrimarch]

Very, VERY nice! Love the dialogue!

[Nomus Sardauk]

Completely agree with Blind, the dialogue between Saerla & Licinius is excellent, I like their observations on the sinister changes in the Scions and other Legions' natures, but I especially love the banter towards the end after Licinius's offer of dinner, just two people coming together to feel human one last time before they likely die in battle.

[bluntblade]

It's getting towards that time again. Who do we fancy tackling next?

[simison]

Previous entries:

 

November - Imperial Army

October - Warbringers

September - Eagle Warriors

August - Fire Keepers

July - Warriors of Peace

June - Grave Stalkers

May - Void Eagles

April - Dune Serpents

March - Steel Legion

 

Remaining Legions:

 

I - Harbingers
III - Crimson Lions
IV - Void Eagles
V - Halcyon Wardens

VI - Iron Bears
VII - Berserkers of Uran
VIII - Godslayers
IX - Warbringers
X - Fire Keepers
XII - Wardens of Light
XIII - Eagle Warriors
XIV - Dune Serpents
XV - Grave Stalkers
XVI - The Drowned
XVII - Warriors of Peace
XVIII - Steel Legion
XIX - Scions Hospitalier
XX - Predators

Edited November 20, 2017 by simison

[bluntblade]

Predators or Godslayers, then.

[helterskelter]

The Drowned I reckon :p

[TheBlindPrimarch]

I'm ok with the drowned...nothing else is really speaking to me right now

[Talonair]

I'll throw in for the Drowned as well

[bluntblade]

In that case, I'll attempt the Drowned too. Need to flesh out the Tidespiter.

[Doctor Perils]

Well... could be the occasion to bring back up a concept that dates back to the very beginning of the project and never got fleshed out: the Navigator Marines of the Drowned, leading to the battle of the paternoval palace...

Actually, perhaps a single Navigator Marine - could be a nice little horror story!

 

 

For the mortal armies challenge, we've still got till the end of the month right?

[TheBlindPrimarch]

Yep

[Demus Ragnok]

I seriously need to start contributing to this monthly challenge.

[MikhalLeNoir]

Story will be edited. But before I forget to upload it^^

 

Sound of Violence

 

 

"Thanks, Howser"

Captain Mullenkamp gratefully accepted the steaming cup and nodded, smiling to his lieutenant and friend. He tilted his head left and right to loosen up his stiff neck muscles. The morning was still young, the twilight had turned the eastern sky pink, and there was a hazy mist over the camp.

The captain took a sip and enjoyed the hot, bitter liquid running down his throat. Although it was summer, the nights were still cold. And here on the banks of the Dunedin River, they were particularly touched when the mist crept up the slopes at night and enveloped the camp like a white cloth.

A small camp; well hidden among the dense vegetation. Only a few clearings had been struck to give the camouflaged guns a fire opening through the treetops. Captain Mullenkamp was in command of this section. His camp served as a hub for supplies and information. Most of the people under his command were greenhorns who volunteered to serve the Imperium dreaming of glory in the great crusade, which never come to pass, or because they left a miserable life behind or worse. Everyone has their reasons, most of the time selfish and seldom noble.

 

Except for Howser, only a few sergeants were battle-tested, but they were not directly in a combat zone or had the value of being targeted for an attack. Goods did not stay here but were carried on and the few information that ran over his radio station were hardly worth mentioning. This backwater planet meant a lonesome life of boredom and the next village was days away.

 

For the rest, he knew, neither his people nor the equipment and guns were ready to fight properly, some were too young, the other was too old. And except for a few anti-aircraft guns, he could only resort to light infantry weapons. So being of no importance to any threat was a comforting thought.

Mullenkamp looked around the camp, where here and there the first figures emerged from the slowly retreating fog. In a few minutes, the sun would rise. He took another sip. Without turning, he addressed Howser.

 

"I had a strange dream."

Howser, who had once again got used to the small fire pit and the coffee, frowned and raised his head. Something in the captain's voice did not suit him.

"A dream, Captain?"

As if alarmed by his thoughts, the silhouette of the captain, his back to Howser, straightened. Mullenkamp took another sip before continuing.

 

"Yes .... a dream. I woke up in a dream of screaming and fighting noise ... I hastily moved my things and .... and when I stepped out of the tent ... just like ", he turned to Howser and pointed to the tent, "When I stepped out of the tent ... blood .... everywhere blood .... everything was red .... the whole camp was a slaughterhouse!" Howser saw the captain's empty look, saw the pain of the pictures, of what the captain obviously had in mind. But before he could reply, Mullenkamp went on.

"Howser .... it was .... so ....." he paused as if searching for a suitable word, "... so real ... I had almost the feeling as if something terrible would happen."

Howser had an ice cold feeling running down his spine and he replied: “Like in a vision?"

 

Two hundred yards away, on the riverbank, Private Dunfry squeezed out of the small shelter that served as a sentry, and, raising his arms, stretched out toward the new morning.

"Bosz ... hey ... wake up ... we'll switch duty soon." Inside there was a cursing murmur and a sleepy soldier crawled into the open air. He yawned heartily and stretched as well. Dunfry patted his comrade on the shoulder, laughing. "If the old man could see you like this now ..." He walked past his companion and sat down on the roof of the shelter, which completely merged with the undergrowth. He pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his uniform bag and offered one to Bosz. He picked one up and sat down with his buddy, one foot on the barrel of the heavy machine gun permanently installed in the sentry post, sticking out of the viewport. Both inhaled deeply and sat there silent for a while, watching as the dusk drew up. The sun could almost be seen beyond the horizon of the treetops on the opposite riverbank.

 

Dunfry stopped suddenly. "Listen"

Bosz looked blank. "Listen to what?."

"Nothing .... just ... no birds ... nothing."

Bosz was too sleepy to worry about it and shrugged it off.

 

Dunfry got up and walked a little towards the bank of the river. A light breeze blew up the river from downstream. From here you could see about a mile upstream and two miles downstream before the river disappeared past bends. He listened ... no sound ... only softly rippling when a small wave rolled against the embankment. And yet ... there was something .... very quiet .....something that tried to fight the silence.

 

Dunfry held his breath and concentrated. There was ... a rhythmic noise ... ... very quiet and far ... but it was rhythm . A rhythm out here in the wild clearly not a natural sound. Without looking at Bosz, he asked, "Do you hear that?"

Bosz was annoyed. "What is it again? I do not hear anything. "

"There ... Drums? ....Be quiet...listen.."

 

The drums were barely recognizable but Dunfry was sure now. They wavered, louder, softer, but he felt he could hear them better the more he concentrated. Then he realized the sound did not come with the wind, it came from the opposite direction. He looked at the opposite side, about half a mile away. He searched the rows of trees on the bank. Wafts of mist rose from the treetops, but he saw nothing.

"Bosz ...."

"Yes .. yes now I hear it too. What's this ?"

"No idea," Dunfry replied, "but it's getting closer."

Bosz had come to him and they both looked across the river to the other side.

"Something is wrong here. We should report, you can not find ... "

"THERE!" Dunfry interrupted Bosz and pointed his finger at the other side. When Bosz saw what his comrade meant, the cigarette fell out of the corner of his mouth.

"Dear Emperor ..."

 

Over a hilltop on the other side, directly in front of the bright strip where the sun would soon rise, thousands of bulky figures came out of the haze, like a green wave it seemed.

Chainswords singing, drums beating and thousand of voices yelling, the wave approached their position.

“Gosh...RUN! Sound the alarm! "Dunfry shouted at his comrades as he threw away his cigarette and jumped off the roof. Bosz did not respond immediately, he stood there, spellbound, looking to the other shore and the green bulky Xenos had already passed the opposite bank, their sound deafening. Dunfry looked over again, tried to count the approaching mass ... 100 .. 150 ... 200 ... he did not know exactly.

 

"Bosz!"

This drove him around, torn from his trance.

"Come on ... damn ... come on ..."

Dunfry disappeared into the shelter, hastily activating the radio.

Bosz ran after him, but stopped again and looked around.

The threatening sound seemed to envelop them, mixed with the howling roar of bolter rounds fire and he felt the angst paralyzing him.

Then the sun came over the horizon and its blinding rays dazzled him.

He did not see flaring muzzle flashes of the ork machine guns.

Dunfry heard the outcry as a chainsword tore his comrade into pieces.

"Damn .... Command One ... do you hear me ... Command One ... we'll ....."

Dunfry stopped. A giant orc stood before him, roaring with bloodlust as he approached the private.

A warm wet feeling spread in his trousers as Dunfry closed his eyes and a big clawed hand grabbed his head. “Mommy….”

 

An explosion tore the sentry away in a fireball. Hundreds of orcs flooded the camp, rampaging with every step. Seconds later, the silence of the morning had given way to the noise of the battle, and the camp turned into a slaughterhouse ...

[bluntblade]

One thing I'll stay straight away... you ought to drastically reduce the ellipsis'

[MikhalLeNoir]

I hope my editor does^^^

[TheBlindPrimarch]

I'll try to get to it tonight Mikhal

[MikhalLeNoir]

Merci beaucoup.

 

This is the most recent version

Edited November 24, 2017 by MikhalLeNoir

[TheBlindPrimarch]

Mikhal, your inbox is apparently full, so I'm just going to post the edited version of your story for you.

 

Sound of Violence

By: MikhalLeNoir

 

"Thanks, Howser"

Captain Mullenkamp gratefully accepted the steaming cup and nodded, smiling to his lieutenant, and friend. He tilted his head left and right to loosen up his stiff neck muscles. The morning was still young, the twilight had turned the eastern sky pink, and there was a hazy mist that hung over the camp.

The captain took a sip and enjoyed the hot, bitter liquid running down his throat. Although it was summer, the nights were still cold. Here on the banks of the Dunedin River, they were particularly chilly when the mist crept up the banks at night, and enveloped the camp like a white cloth. It was a small camp; well hidden among the dense vegetation. Only a few clearings had been struck to give the camouflaged guns clear firing lanes through the treetops.

Captain Mullenkamp was in command of this section. His camp served as a hub for supplies and information. Most of the people under his command were greenhorns who volunteered to serve the Imperium, dreaming of glory in the great crusade which never came to pass, or because they left a miserable life behind; or worse. Everyone had their reasons, most of the time they were selfish, and seldom noble.
Apart from Howser, only a few sergeants were battle-tested, but as they were well behind the front line, and not a valuable enough target to warrant an attack; the experience of the men was inconsequential. Goods did not stay at the camp long, but was carried on to other positions who’s need was greater, and the little information came through his radio station was hardly worth mentioning. Being stationed on this backwater planet meant a lonesome life of boredom, with little in the way of human interaction aside from the other men in the camp, the next village being more than a few days hard march away.

As for the rest of his unit, he knew, neither the men, nor their equipment and guns were ready to fight properly. Some were too young, and the others were far too old. To add to his problems, except for a few anti-aircraft guns, his men were only equipped with light infantry weapons. He took solace in the belief that since his unit was not much a threat to the enemy, they had appeared to consider it of little importance.
Mullenkamp looked around the camp, where here and there the first drowsy figures of men recently awoken, emerged from the slowly retreating fog. In a few minutes, the sun would rise. He took another sip. Without turning, he addressed Howser.

"I had a strange dream."

Howser, who had settled in next to the warmth of the small fire pit with his coffee, frowned and raised his head. Something in the captain's voice did not suit him.

"A dream, Captain?"

As if alarmed by the man’s response, the silhouette of the captain, his back to Howser, straightened. Mullenkamp took another sip before continuing.

"Yes, a dream. I woke up in a dream full of screaming and the sound of men fighting. I hastily threw on my things and...and when I stepped out of the tent,” he turned to Howser and pointed to the tent. "When I stepped out of the tent, blood...everywhere blood...everything was covered it red... the whole camp was a slaughterhouse!" Howser saw the captain's blank look, saw the pain the pictures in his mind caused him, of which the captain obviously couldn’t shake. But before he could reply, Mullenkamp went on.

"Howser...it was...so," he paused as if searching for a suitable word. “So real...I had the feeling something terrible was about to happen."

“Like a vision?” Howser replied, the words causing an icy shiver to run the length of his spine.

Two hundred yards away, on the riverbank, Private Dunfry squeezed out of the small shelter that served as a sentry hide, and raising his arms, stretched out toward the new morning.

"Bosz, hey wake up, we'll be switching duty soon." He yawned. He received a cursing murmur as a response before a sleepy soldier crawled into the open air. He yawned heartily and stretched as well. Dunfry patted his comrade on the shoulder, laughing. "If the old man could see you now."

He walked past his companion and sat down on the roof of the shelter, which was completely hidden by the undergrowth. He pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his uniform bag, and offered one to Bosz. Bosz pulled one out of the pack and sat down with his buddy, one foot on the barrel of the heavy machine gun that was installed in the sentry post, and sticking out of the viewport. Both men inhaled deeply and sat there silent for a while, watching as the dawn drew up. The sun could almost be seen through the branches of the treetops on the opposite riverbank.

"Listen." Dunfry hissed as he stood up suddenly.

"Listen to what?"

"There’s nothing. No birds...just nothing."

Bosz was too sleepy to worry about it, and shrugged it off.

Dunfry climbed down from the roof, and walked a little way towards the bank of the river. A light breeze blew up from downstream. From where he was standing you could see about a mile upstream, and nearly two miles downstream before the river disappeared around a few bends. He listened. There was no sound. Only the softly rippling of small waves rolling against the embankment. Yet as he strained to hear whatever it was he had heard, he heard it again. There was something out there, something quiet. Something that tried to fight against the silence. Dunfry held his breath and concentrated on the noise. It was rhythmic, and it sounded very quiet and far away. The noises of the forest around them were many things, but rhythmic they were not. Whatever was making the noise didn’t belong.

 

"Do you hear that?" He asked without looking at his friend. Bosz glared at him in annoyance.

"What is it now? I do not hear anything. "

"There!” Dunfry exclaimed, looking in the direction of the noise. “Drums? Be quiet,” he whispered as Bosz noisily got down from the roof. “listen."

The drums were barely recognizable, but Dunfry was sure that’s what they were now. They wavered, louder, softer, but he felt he could hear them better the more he concentrated. He realized the sound wasn’t riding the wind, but came from the opposite direction. He looked at the opposite bank of the river, about half a mile away. He searched the rows of trees on the bank. Wafts of mist rose from the treetops, but he saw nothing.

"Bosz…"

"Yes. I hear it now too,” his friend replied as he came to stand next to him. “What is that?"

"No idea," Dunfry replied, "but it's getting closer."

"Something’s wrong here,” Bosz grunted after a moment. “We should report this. You cannot find..."

"There!" Dunfry interrupted Bosz and pointed his finger at the far side. When Bosz saw what his comrade was pointing at the cigarette fell out of the corner of his mouth.

"Dear Emperor..."

Over a hilltop on the other side of the river, directly in front of the bright strip where the sun would soon rise, thousands of bulky figures came out of the haze, like a green wave. Chainswords roaring, drums beating, and thousands of voices bellowing in anticipation of the kill, the Orks approached their position.

“Bosz...Run! Sound the alarm! "Dunfry shouted at his comrade as he tossed away his cigarette and ran back to the sentry hide. Bosz did not respond immediately, instead he stood there, dumbstruck, looking across the river at the bulky, green Xenos that had already jumped down the opposite bank, the sound of their war cries deafening. Dunfry looked over his shoulder and tried to count the approaching mass ... 100, 150...200! There were so many he couldn’t get an exact count.

"Bosz!" He yelled, the sound of his voice finally reaching Bosz, and his friend turned around, torn from his trance. "Come on! Damnit…Run!"

Dunfry dove into the shelter, and hastily activating the radio. Bosz ran after him, but once again stopped and turned to look at the charging aliens. The threatening sound of their voices mixed with the deafening roar of their crude weapons seemed to envelop them, and he felt the angst paralyzing him. Then the sun came over the horizon, and its blinding rays dazzled him. He did not see the flaring muzzle flashes of the ork machine guns. Dunfry heard his friend cry out as the enemy fire tore his comrade into pieces.

"Damn…Command One, do you hear me?” He screamed frantically over the radio. “Command One, we're..."

Dunfry stopped. A giant ork charged towards him, roaring with bloodlust as it closed the distance between the private and itself. A warm wetness spread in his trousers as Dunfry closed his eyes and a big clawed hand reached into the hide and grabbed his head.

“Mommy…”

There was an explosion of gore as the Ork viciously ripped the private’s head from his body. Meanwhile, hundreds of orcs flooded the camp, rampaging through the still waking camp. Within seconds the silence of the morning had given way to the noise of battle, and the camp was turned into a slaughterhouse.

[Kelborn]

Finally, it is done.

Thanks to those, who had a quick look at it as editors. ;)

 

 

 

The Ebon Blade
Author: Kelborn
Forces: XXth Legiones Astartes “Ebon Blades”; Solar Auxilia – 985^thSolar Auxilia Cohort ”Pale Scorpions”
Time: 880 M30– Six years after the conviction and reformation of the XXth
Characters: Dorm Kolbac

 

 

“Keep firing! Don’t let them come any closer! Evac is ongoing! Don’t let your brothers down!”

 

Lieutenant Dorm Kolbac shouted while striding behind his men. They stood on the northern outer defense ring of the Alpha base, which was embedded on the side of a small mountain. The base was surrounded by barren, wide and open russet wasteland. Although seemingly in the middle of nowhere, was the beachhead established, as the capital of their foes was build nearby at the borders of the wasteland. Behind Alpha base was nothing but bleak, solid rock. It was protected from two sides by overlapping fire positions, walls, minefields, and trenches, all filled with the last survivors of the Aeldaxxi compliance force.

His men were focused and eager to buy their comrades enough time to conduct the evacuation. Whenever one soldier had to reload, Dorm filled the gap, adding his precise fire to that of his men. Heavy bolters complemented their fire to the cacophony of death, enriching the air with heat, the smell of blood, whirled dust and lethal bolts. But their enemy did not falter. They just did not stop.

 

“Briac! Concentrate your fire on this rock. Those damn bugs are trying to establish a fire position!”

 

“Yes, sir!”

 

“Mell! Keep your head low while reloading, damn it! Demek? The bombardment will start again at any time. Any news from high command?”

 

“Not a thing, sir. Only static.”

 

Demek worked on his vox unit, desperately trying to establish contact with the main bunker complex in their backs. Sooner or later, they would have to abandon their position, but Dorm wanted to know if they had bought enough time and if their sacrifices were still worth the effort. A crystal projectile crossed his view, mere inches before his face. It might have looked beautiful if it was not the deadly ammunition of his foes. Some of his men were hit by other crystals and dropped dead, their heads being torn apart. Too many fell to fill the gaps immediately. If they would not compensate quickly enough, they would give the enemy precious time to advance. Dorm headed to the walls, aiming at the first bug he saw. His command squad was spread across the wall. Thus, he was alone for a couple of moments. He shot about eight Xenos before the gap was filled with other members of his squads.

 

“Where did that come from? Did someone see anything?”

 

“Sir, over there! Snake snipers!”

 

Dorm looked at the wall again after reloading, and his breath was taken away. Thousands of Xenos creatures were still left on the horizon, slowly but constantly approaching the walls, regardless of all the losses they had to endure. Most of them consisted of the so-called bugs, an insectoid race seemingly supplying the Aeldaxxi Commonwealth with workers and simple soldiers. Some considered them to be nothing more than cannon fodder, wearing their foes out until their more veteran forces would be in the position to deal the killing blow. The bugs were equipped with seemingly primitive lances and crossbows. Appearances were deceitful. Their weaponry had a higher range than those of the Imperial Forces and they were accurate as hell. Many fellow soldiers had paid with their lives to prove their effectiveness. Along the bug infantry were other members of the so-called Commonwealth, all having earned certain nicknames from the ranks of the Imperial Forces: the snakes were a reptilian race, appearing like humanoid snakes; knife ears were apparently members of the Eldar race but being significantly different than their brethren in terms of behaviour and technology and the scumbags, formerly human colonists, who had joined the Xenos society.The diversity of its members combined formed their overall combat strength, which was more than enough to drive back the Imperial Compliance forces of the 33^rdExpeditionary Fleet. Moreover, this combined army was about to overrun the last refuge of the Imperial Forces.

If only the Blood Wolves would have stayed with them. They had forsaken their positions in the offensive to charge ahead, trying to hunt down the leaders of the Commonwealth. Since their departure, no one had heard of them any further. Whatever happened to them, it seemed to matter not at all. The enemy forces continued to push them back. Dorm and the other leaders assumed that the Blood Wolves were no more. Their headstrong behavior had doomed them all. Now were they desperately trying to save as much as possible. They needed to retreat, to regroup, resupply and wait for reinforcements. There was no other way. Dorm hoped that the evacuation would soon be done, and he could retreat with his men to the next defense ring. There, they would be supported by other-

The earth trembled. Loose plates fell off from the wall. Men struggled to stand. A nearby watchtower collapsed, the shaking earth was too much for it after being heavily damaged by the advanced Xenos technology. Another setback in their defensive lines.

 

“Everyone, hold on! We have to keep an eye on-“

 

“Sir! The western wall!”

 

Dorm turned around and prayed to his ancestors. The entire western wall collapsed. Men fell to their deaths. Their screams were consumed by the noise of the crumbling wall. He could see something moving within the fragments, something big, appearing to be insect-like as well. He looked back to Demek, who was carefully looking over the wall, pointing at something.

 

“What is this?”

 

Dorm headed to his vox specialist. Right before their position did the earth rumble. Something big was moving it, and it was heading towards the wall.Whatever it was, he assumed that it was the something like what he saw in the remains of the western wall. He pondered his chances and alternatives. There was only one thing they could do.

 

“Abandon the wall! Retreat to the inner ring! Cover your comrades!”

 

“Sir, what about the wounded?”

 

“If they cannot keep up with us, give them the Last Mercy.”

 

They hurried to get off the wall before whatever was charging at them within the earth would reach its target. His men were right behind him. Running towards the inner ring would take them a couple of minutes. Enough time for their adversaries to catch up. Without the defending fire from the outer walls, they seized their chance. Enemy aircrafts were dashing above their heads, targeting the landing fields. The last anti-air positions were not enough to deal with all of them. Transports full of wounded soldiers were set ablaze. Rains of crystal shards and ominous sonic blasts ripped them apart. Thousands died within seconds. Shocked by the sudden destruction of their way to get off this cursed world, did Dorm and his men falter. With the burning bunker complex in front of them and the advancing Xenos in their backs, they had nowhere to run. Before desperation could poison their minds, their drill took control of them. In the end, they were Solar Auxilia, the elite of the Imperium. There was no space for doubt or fear. Thus, they established the last line of defense, right before the inner walls amidst rocks and debris.

 

“Share your ammunition. Do not hold back anymore. If we are about to die here, then so be it. Let us avenge our brothers! We are the Pale Scorpions! We strike for the Imperium!”

 

Bugs, snakes and other Xenos had climbed the walls and were establishing fire positions of their own. Sniper fire took out some of his men before being shot by Dorm’s last sniper teams. Crystal shards and laser shots filled the air shredding both forces to pieces. So-called egg grenades were thrown and hit some of his men. They clung to them, releasing their deadly load: hundreds of tiny, carnivorous insects were set free, climbing upon their victim. Those who were hit had no chance at all, as they were eaten alive. There was no time to give them the Last Mercy. Their screams added to the unholy cacophony of war and death, echoing throughout the wasteland.

However, the 985^th would not run. Not anymore.

Before a sizable force of bugs armed with chitin blades could reach them, were the clouds torn apart. Heavy bolter fire rained down on the Xenos, grinding them to bloody shreds. Dorm dared to look up and saw their salvation. Like giant angels born of metal and fire were Imperial flyers, no- Astartes flyers, jetbikes, and transports descending from the skies. Some went low, opening their hatchets. He could see hundreds of Legionaries using their jump packs to fall upon the forces of the Commonwealth. Jetbikes and assault flyers were heading for the massive walkers and tanks, taking them out one by one. Black-cladLegionnaires landed amidst his men. Green painted arms held the deadliest weaponry of the entire Imperium in their hands. Some held two pistols, some bolters, some grenade launchers and some charged against the remaining bug warriors, wielding massive chain weapons of all kind. The Commonwealth was taken off-guard. Their lines were shattered and pushed back. Thousands of broken and torn bodies, Xenos, and men alike, laid dead, their blood blackening the red sand. The Emperor’s Angels of Death had arrived and did the seemingly impossible; they threw back the Xenos push.

 

“Pale Scorpions! Do not hesitate!”

 

Dorm was frightened, as he had not heard the Astartes landing behind him. He turned around and saw a highly decorated member of the unknown force. A cloak in the color of dark red framed his ornamented black and green armor. His helmet was different than that of the Blood Wolves. It featured a T shaped visor, something Dorm hasn't seen before. A black skull underlined by a pair of crossed spears and blades was imprinted on his shoulder pad. He held a massive spear, seemingly to be crafted by the highest-ranking members of the Lords of Mars themselves. The spear tip was pointed towards the struggling foes. Its blade was black as the void and inscribed by unknown signs. The Astartes’ appearance was a redeeming angel and of a merciless warlord. Dorm knew instantly that he and his brothers would turn the debacle of their brother Legion into a victory for mankind. The giant's sight was fixed on Commonwealth’s shattered lines.

 

“We have come to bring salvation. The Emperor has condemned this atrocity of Xenos and traitors. We are here to enforce his will! Come with us and you will bask in the glory of victory! Prove your worth to yourself and those who have fallen! Seize the moment and use your hatred against the vile Xenos and the damned traitors of our own kind! Rise, my brothers! Stand as one! FOR THE EMPEROR!”

 

Dorm and his men rose, ready to stand at their new allies’ side. They reloaded their weapons, readying themselves for the coming advance. They had lost all hope only to be saved again. Their battle cry imbued with righteous wrath and the desire for vengeance.

 

“FOR THE EMPEROR!”

 

 

[simison]

I've randomized the judges for this month:

 

1. simison
2. Sigismund
3. bluntblade
4. Demus
5. Blind

 

Judging will start tomorrow, so hurry up with those last entries.

Edited November 28, 2017 by simison

[bluntblade]

Let me find my scorecards.