Final Inspirational Friday - Legends of Chaos (until 11/9)

[Barabbas Sogalon]

The Voice in the Dark and All-Seeing Eye

 

Look at what you have done.

Captain Anton opened his eyes and looked down at a pair of bloody hands, realizing they were his own. He noticed a knife on the floor.

Look at him!

He saw Leon lying there with three stab wounds in the chest while the blood pooled around him and seeped down between the floorboards.

Your own brother. Dead by your hand.

Anton froze at the sight, then he wanted to throw up or claw his eyes out. Perhaps it was just a nightmare or hallucination caused by days of hunger? It had to be.

Wish all you want. This is real, this is all your fault… kinslayer.

For eight days the Voice had haunted him. It had started as barely audible whispers in the shadows, scratching at his sanity and making it impossible to sleep at night. Then it grew louder until he heard the words clearly, as if the speaker stood right beside him or resided inside his head. Cold and raspy, it was certainly not his own.

We have come for you. We have come for you.

Eight months ago, all communication across the continent had fallen apart and the following silence was quickly replaced with the blood chilling sound of someone being burned alive. Power failed next, then fire from the sky crippled all supply lines, scorched the ground and left every city in complete isolation. A month ago, the first city fell to an inferno of green flames, just the start of a daily phenomenon. The fire was not the only thing claiming lives; cold, sickness and starvation plagued the cities, and suicide rates had exploded along with the number of random murders and bouts of madness. Some people even spoke of seeing armoured giants, but that couldn’t be true, the Legions served the Emperor!

Anton tore at his hair and gasped for air. “You made me do this!”

No, this is your doing. I simply gave you some information. You were the one who chose to act on it.

Bright orange light shone through the windows, a constant reminder of the burning horizon.

You were always jealous of your brother. Admit it. You envied all the love your parents showed him, envied his wealth and position in the Army… desired his young wife. She is all yours now. Go out there and claim your prize! You are all going to die anyway.

“Leave me alone!”

He knew he was alone, that screaming at the darkness was pointless, but he was past the point of caring. The Voice laughed mockingly.

We both know that won’t happen. I have come for you. I hear you. I see you. I am you. There is only one way to end this. You know what I’m talking about.

“No.”

Anton’s voice barely qualified as a whisper. He looked from his brother’s corpse to the knife, to his bloody hands, to the flaming light, to the shadows. His head hurt worse than before and it was difficult to breathe.

Are you afraid, kinslayer? Perhaps I should find your brother’s wife and tell her what you have done, tell her about all the dark thoughts that fill your sick mind every time you look at her.

He closed his eyes, trying to hold back the tears.

The green fire is a slow and agonizing death. You don’t want that. The way out is within reach. You know what you have to do. Open your eyes.

Anton did as he was told.

It’s on the shelf.

He saw books, a few bottles and the small pieces of ancient machinery he had collected over the years. There was also a painting showing the capital during summer; the city was gone now and the beautiful forests turned to ash.

Higher.

An old wooden box branded with his family name had stood untouched on the top shelf for years. Anton lifted it down and placed it on the closest table, but his fingers froze when they touched the lid.

Open the box.

The revolver inside once belonged to his father who kept it loaded at all times and it had not been used since they drove out the xenos about forty years ago. He grabbed the weapon with a shaky hand.

Now, pick it up and bring it to your temple.

Anton couldn’t stop shivering and let out a whimper when he felt the cold muzzle against his skin. Tears were flowing now.

That’s it, kinslayer. Just wrap your finger around the trigger. Don’t be afraid. A little more pressure and you will be free of me forever. I promise. It will be over soon.

+++++++

Morastus Yitzhak opened his eyes as another life blinked out of existence nearby. Darkness had claimed the city, making the buildings look like giant tombstones, and everything was covered in a thin layer of pale ash. The difference between night and day no longer existed, black smoke and polluted clouds ensured that the sun never showed itself. A hellish light surrounded the city, bright colour blending into the blackness above, and beyond it lay a continent-spanning sea of ash and fire. The 26th Company, the Noctis Infernae, was coming; the first city to be isolated was always the last to fall. When Yitzhak’s brothers arrived, they would find a city ravaged by chaos, madness and despair, and defenders crippled by a wave of sudden deaths among the officers.

He was the only psyker in the Terran Company, a pariah despised by all, but he had learned to survive in a brotherhood that wished him dead. They never bothered making him a Librarian, the one good thing to come out of it, for he hated the name implying that he was a damned bookkeeper surrounded by dusty scrolls. It was common knowledge that Lord Saevus, his Captain, had an intense hatred for everyone with psychic ability, something that stemmed from all the years he spent fighting horrors during Unification; in his eyes every psyker was a creature that only deserved death by flame, though Yitzhak had the honour of being an exception. Not long after they cleansed the 26th of Nostramans, the Captain ordered the removal of Yitzhak’s tongue in front of all the veterans, wanting to give him a mark of shame to carry around for the rest of his life. Speak no evil, sorcerer. Two from the Captain’s honour guard restrained him while Oath-Centurion Krastor cut out his tongue with an iron dirk and threw the bloody lump nonchalantly into a brazier. Yitzhak remembered the sight and smell as a part of him was fried to a crisp among the flames. Since that day he could only speak by using telepathy, but it was difficult to say whether the voice others heard in their minds was the same as his old voice or not. He hated this existence, he hated the Legion and its “father”, and he hated the Emperor who was behind it all.

Picking up a handful of ash, Yitzhak let it fall between his armoured fingers. They could have killed him instead, but the Lord of Infernal Night was not a man who discarded a tool that still had some use to it. Now he delved into the minds of his enemies to prey on their weaknesses, haunted their dreams, filled them with terror and madness, and pushed the buttons that would drive them over the edge and into murder or suicide. No one could hide from him, no secret was safe and no one died without suffering for their sins. On occasions he had forced worlds to surrender without a shot being fired, though most of the time it was all about punishing those who opposed the Emperor; only difference was that today the Imperium found itself on the receiving end. Not that it mattered. Yitzhak knew he was living on borrowed time, the Captain certainly made that clear, and the moment he had outlived his usefulness, Equerry Jebra would be there to chop off his head. Kalthim Jebra, the humourless bastard whose world only consisted of black and white, of justice and injustice. Yes, his dreams had shown him that he was going to die by the Equerry’s hand, brutally cut down when he was moments away from unlocking unimaginable power.

Thinking about his own death was a distraction, and distractions didn’t improve his usefulness or help his plan to avoid Jebra’s blade for as long as possible. Yitzhak brushed ash off the shoulder pad he had taken from a Mud Digger on Istvaan before looking at the burning night again; years of service to a Company of Night Lords devoted to scorched earth had made him appreciate the duality of light and darkness. The Infernae were less than a day from the city and there were still many weak souls still alive, more prey for the Voice in the Dark.

We have come for you. We have come for you.

[Augustus b'Raass]

Salvage

 

Hidden Content

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

 

The oculus opened slowly, screeching as the rusted edges of the blade-like plates shifted along each other, opening a wider and wider circle of entry into the hulk. The sound was mirrored as echoes came out of the shadowed insides of the drifting ship, and into the Storm Eagle.  “Gives me the creeps every time.” said Stephac, as he looked through the now fully opened oculus into the darkness of the hulk’s corridor. “Well, you’re going in anyway.” replied Lord Azir Hol, his voice acquiring a metallic pitch as he put on his MkIII helmet mid-sentence. “All of you. Now move.” Hol roughly pushed the mechanic forward through the docking tube as they entered the derelict ship. The others followed with worried looks on their faces. 

 

They’d been in this situation before. The night-clad Lords would find a drifting ship, dock it, and send them in for salvage operations. They had to look for supplies, weapons, technology - anything of worth to the Legionaries. And it never went smoothly. Last time, with the staggeringly enormous hulk, they’d found a nest of greenskins that’d killed half their party before they were saved by Lord Azal and his whirring chainblade. That had been a true space hulk. This time it was different. The ship they’d found was smaller, but its insides were more dangerous, Stephac knew. Why else would they send three mechanic aides and four servitors in with an escort of no less than seven power-armoured Lords? 

 

“We shall secure the Armourium first. Follow my lead.” Lord Hol said through his helmet’s speakers. Shoving Stephac roughly aside with his giant armoured gauntlet, Hol walked into the dark of the right-hand corridor. Stealing a look over his shoulder, Stephac could barely dodge the cruel drill-and-saw implementations attached to one of the other lord’s vambraces as he passed by.  Stephac had never seen him before, nor the other three legionnaires following him. Three of his escorts, he knew by name: Krell, Kal and Lord Hol. He was actually acquainted with Lord Hol - he’d been working with the techmarine for over three years now. Hol was a silent, brooding hulk of a man, but he had a sense of justice about him. He’d only hurt Stephac when he was lacks in his duties. Working with Lord Hol was… bearable. It was the other Astartes that worried Stephac, almost more than he was scared of going into the ship. The unknown Astartes had grisly trophies of flayed skin stretched across their plate, and one carried a flamer - its hissing ignition flame bathing the back of the Lord in front of him in a yellow hue. The fact that he didn't know the trophy-covered Lords added uncertainty - how they would respond to him and his perceived faults was unknown, and could not be anticipated. The one known as Krell in particular had a reputation for cruelty.

 

As used to the dark as Stephac was, he would never get used to the sight of the giant figures treading in the gloom of the corridor, the electric current running over their armour. It shone an eerie light on the bulkheads they passed. It made Stephac not want to follow them, to flee. His armpits were sweaty. He was tired. His legs felt hea-. “MOVE, WORM!” The Astartes known as Krell harshly slammed the muzzle of his bolter in his back and pushed him forward. Stephac cursed himself for getting distracted by his own thoughts,  and focused on the job at hand.

 

They methodically combed the corridors with sweeps of their bolters, aided by the lumen casters on the backpacks of Lord Hol and the unknown Astartes that almost walked over him during the initial boarding. The only sound they’d hear was the metallic thunder of the bootsteps of the legionnaires, and the clicks of their helmets as they voxed each other. Nothing more. The ship seemed abandoned, as the corridors emptied nothing but silence. It was nerve-wrecking, especially after he discovered why they were escorted by so many Astartes. The normal Aquilas found in cruisers of this class had all been replaced by the bat-winged skull symbol of their own masters, the Night Lords. They were on an Astartes ship.

 

After about seventy standard minutes, they found and entered an enormous cargo lift. It took six minutes to decent to their destination level. When they finally arrived at the bottom, there was a single, enormous, reinforced slide door. “We’re here.” Lord Hol voxed, as he pulled several levers on the cogitator panel. The door slowly grated to the side. 

 

Inside, there was only darkness. During his personal mission briefing, Lord Hol had laid out the blueprint of the cruiser. As his personal aide, Stephac had been allowed to be present, and thus knew where to find the control station of the Luminarium. The urge to just do his job in the light overtook him, and he started for the panel. He heard the alarmed -or amused- clicks of the Astartes behind him, but he didn’t care anymore. He just wanted light. Thirty meters into the enormous hall, he found the station. He walked around it, to the other side, and positioned himself behind the Luminarium’s console. Spotting the main lever, he pulled it with a relieved smile. 

 

His smile faded immediately, as the Astartes -as one- raised their weapons at him. Paralyzed by wide-eyed terror, he stood there. It seemed an eternity passed before he found the courage to respond. He wanted to start pleading, but before any words passed his lips, the Astartes started moving. They fanned around him, and Stephac realized they weren’t pointing their guns at him, but at something behind him. Slowly, very slowly, he started turning his head around. He felt his dark-blue overall wetting as the object of the Astartes hostility came into his view.

 

Stephac saw the silhouette of an enormous figure, bright lights shining from behind it. It easily stood eight meters tall, with claws the size of a bulkhead and a crown of dragonhead figures. It stood utterly motionless on a pedestal, its arms hanging downward, fastened to the ground with chains. Stephac recognized the enormous machine. He had seen the leader of their armada once, when Lord Hol was granted an audience. Tol Zhaqael was encased in a similar suit of armour as this one. But where the captain’s suit had something of a regal air about it, the figure standing chained here in the armourium breathed nothing but feral brutality.

 

“Contemptor!” shouted Lord Hol “Are you conscious?”. Seconds passed, without reply. Lord Hol put down his weapon and walked up to the machine’s pedestal. Several mechandrites from a console had been screw-locked into the dreadnought’s form. Stephac knew enough to know that Lord Hol could analyze the machine’s status from that console. After a minute, Lord Hol straightened, removed his helmet with a hiss, and gave the order to be at ease. Weapon muzzles lowered. Kal and the other three Astartes moved to guard the four doors of the huge armourium hall. Krell and the legionnaire with the torture element on his vambrace approached the pedestal’s console. As they removed their helmets, Krell sniffed the air and contemptuously looked at Stephac. “Look at the runt, pissing himself. You’re lucky Hol finds you of use, worm.” The unknown Astartes chuckled.  

 

Stephac shrugged, stepped from behind the Luminarium console, and signaled for the other mechanical aides to close in. As they approached the three Astartes, Lord Hol started sharing his analysis report. “According to the chrono-cogitator, all of the contemptor’s combat functions have been deactivated 2543 standard years ago to safe energy. The machine’s reactor continued to power the sarcophagus’ life support systems, but its energy cell has been empty for at least a century. The wrench is either in suspended animation, or dead. Kraus, I want you to check him out.” 

 

Lord Hol stepped aside. The Astartes known as Kraus, the one with the torture device, aggressively stared at Lord Hol for a moment, and then approached the life support console of the contemptor. He worked the device for several minutes. “That ‘wrench’ you spoke of, Hol, is Cilice Macellarius, former standard bearer of the 28th company.” “Ha! Macellarius, eh? That cunning bastard... ” Lord Hol said with a sly laugh. “I never knew he fell in battle. Glad to know he’ll be joining us.” Kraus’ eyes narrowed: “If he is alive... and even so, his mind is most likely no longer sane. The contemptor pattern’s life support systems don’t allow for Sus-An: they keep the inhabitant conscious. Fighting in a crypt-machine is bad as it is, but this poor bastard has been kept conscious in a motionless amniotic tank for nearly 2500 years. Cicile was strong of will, but that’ll rattle your chains, for sure…” Lord Hol shrugged this off: “The 47th has room for him in any case. You try to reanimate him. If you can’t, we’ll find a mutt among our “brothers” to replace him.”

 

Kraus didn’t respond to the implied insult. “I could check out his biostatus and start reanimation protocols, but for that I’ll have to remove the armoured breast plate of his sarcophagus. If we want to salvage him undamaged, the machine itself needs power to unlock the auto-clamps from the inside." He nodded at the techmarine. "We could funnel some power from your backpack into the machine.” Lord Hol nodded and pulled a power cord from his pack. He then signaled Stephac to hand it to Kraus, who had clambered up the pedestal and was opening a socket in the machine’s power generator. Stephac also climed up, grabbed the cord, and pulled it up the pedestal. He stuck the cord into the power socket, and turned it with his powered hydrolic plier until he heard a click. 

 

Immediately, the contemptor twitched. All eyes -and gun muzzles- were on it in a split second. “They do that.” Lord Hol chuckled, and the legionnaires un-tensed. “Krell, you help Kraus in removing the armour, so he can take a look at Cilice.” Krell clambered on the pedestal and together with Kraus went to work on unclasping the sarcophagus’ armour.  After a few minutes, it came loose with relative ease. With help of Lord Hol and his servo arm, Krell lowered the massive armoured plate from the pedestal onto the ground. Kraus began work on the amniotic tank of the sarcophagus immediately. Stephac saw that what he had thought to be a torture device was actually a sophisticated medical tool. Syringes sprang from of the device, which Kraus used to inject serums into the amniotic tank. Stephac noticed how the other two Astartes looked at Kraus’ work with an almost reverend stance, Krell standing on the pedestal, next to the contemptor’s left foot and Lord Hol from the hall’s floor. This went on for some time, and Stephac moved to the dreadnought's back to silently attend his duties with the power cord.

 

Suddenly, an agonized moan erupted from the contemptor’s speaker grills, which quickly changed into a deafening, tortured roar. Abruptly, the machine came to life, grabbing Krell with its enormous claw. The Astartes was lifted into the air in a split second, as the pincers of the machine's claw cracked Krell and his armour like a gillnut, spraying the contemptor, Kraus and Stephac with visceral gore. 

 

Kraus reacted in the same instant, pushing himself hard from the dreadnought’s bulk. He landed on his back, his bolt pistol out and pointing at the machine. Lord Hol was thrown in the firing line however: He had been pulled off balance by the movement of the dreadnought; the power cord still attaching his backpack around the contemptor legs to its engine. The other marines yelled out, trying to flank the dreadnought and get in a good shot.  In a flash, Stephac knew what to do. He grabbed the power cord with his hydrolic tool and pinched with two hands. As the cord was armoured, it took a few seconds for the plier to reach the actual power current.  The dreadnought turned around its pelvis and reached for Stephac with its other claw. Howling with primordial rage, it flailed at the machanic. Stephac stooped and ducked from reach, however, and with all his strength forced the sheering tool through the layers of powered wire in the cord. As soon as the cord finally snapped, the dreadnought’s hulking arms immediately stopped their movement. The Contemptor stood motionless; Krell’s remains still firmly clasped in its claw. Stephac slumped to the floor in exhaustion and shock.

 

“Good work, Stephac.” chuckled Lord Hol got up to his feet. He turned to looked sarcastically at Kraus. “That, 'brother', is why I find him of use: he can think on his feet” He walked over to the apothecary, grabbed him by his shoulder pad, and pulled him to his feet. “You stabilize Silice’s reawakened bio-functions. “ He turned to face the approaching Astartes. “As for you: find something to transport this present to our Lord Captain.”

 

 

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

 

Cilice Macelarius

Hidden Content

http://i35.photobucket.com/albums/d185/mkruijff/WP_20140423_010_zps1b507ca7.jpg

I wrote and published this story four years ago, to go along with pictures of my then-newly painted second contemptor. I'm therefore not sure if it is eligible for the Inspirational Friday contest, but I wanted to share it anyway.

[Kierdale]

One week to go!

via Imgflip Meme Generator

[Kierdale]

Thanks for your entries in Inspirational Friday: Night Lords.

We had three fine entries, all great tales of the eighth legion.

Augustus gave us Salvage, a story of Night Lords discovering a space hulk and a treasure within. I liked that the tale was told from the point of view of a chapter serf legion slave, who was both very human and also showed talent that his posthuman masters lacked. The characterisation of the Lords was well done - I should probably admit now that I’m not particularly a fan of the Night Lords :D but at the same time I’ve only read about them in 30k novels, and the ‘edgy’ image they can have doesn’t interest me - which made it a pleasure to read.

The Voice in the Dark and All-Seeing Eye was Barabbas Sogalon’s contribution. A Night Lord sorcerer, and one who works in an indirect yet horrifying fashion! Lovely! I also liked that a blade hung above Yitzak’s head and he knew about it.

And Hushrong’s A Confession told us of Rohrt McTar’rl’s rise from Nostromo ganger to Night Lord, the retreat from Terra and the flight to the Eye (I particularly liked the talk about the other legions and how they had changed). And the coming of the Despoiler.

In closing: you’ve succeeded in getting me interested in trying the NL 40k books. :tu:

I hereby close that topic but if anyone has more stories on that theme, at any time, please post them here with a suitable title.

And here begins our seventh challenge of Inspirational Friday 2018: Ambush!

One of the oldest strategies in war: an attacker lies in wait, concealed from their enemy, and strikes when their foe enters the kill zone.

The theme of this challenge is to tell a tale of an ambush involving the forces of Chaos as one or both sides.

Where does the ambush take place? Within the twisting alleyways of a besieged city? The darkness of a Deathworld jungle? The confines of a boarded vessel? Or perhaps it is that grandest of ambushes: between voidcraft?

To what purpose is the ambush laid? To assassinate an enemy commander in transit? A raid to capture vital supplies (ammo? Slaves?) or intel? An artefact? Is it merely a slaughter in the name of one’s patron deity? An attempt to cut off enemy reinforcements from supporting a larger offensive?

And is it successful? Do the ambushers make a clean get away, fading into the terrain and leaving no survivors? Or are the tables turned and they are driven off to lick their wounds?

IF2018: Ambush! runs until the 20th of April.

Let us be inspired.

And who shall judge this new challenge? That decision lies with our current judge: Me!

As I said earlier, I’m no great fan of the 8th legion, a fact which either makes me a very good or a very bad person to judge the entrants :D, but I will say that I enjoyed reading all three and am now more interested in the Night Lords.

Hushrong’s entry started with good, familiar territory when it comes to the 8th legion: their gang origins, and showed one marine’s rise...however I feel the focus turned somewhat more toward the Black Legion as the tale progressed. Are you, like me, currently reading Talon of Horus?

Augustus’s showed us the legion at work, the interaction between marines and their mortal slaves as well as marine to marine, which I liked a lot.

However, this is Inspirational Friday and the idea of a Night Lord sorcerer, operating as Yitzak does, was most inspiring to me. I am torn I must admit - this is why I gave up judging IF every week, you know?! - but the story lingers in my mind and thus I choose Barabbas Sogalon’s entry. Take your Octed!

The winner of IF2018: Ambush! shall claim the Octed amulet:

...and the honour of judging the next topic.

[Leonite]

Hmmm...

 

Oooh. Ooohohoh. I have one. This should be interesting...

[hushrong]

Congrats Barabbas Sogalon!

 

Kierdale, I’ve read it and loved it. Same for Black Legion. Those two books, among other things, is why I’ve been building up my own BL army. To keep motivated I want my IF entries to relate to my armies.

 

Speaking of which I have another story to dust off and finish that will work for Ambush!

[Kierdale]

With no entries yet posted I can only assume that people are, in a manner most befitting the current theme, preparing their prose in order to strike at exactly the right moment...

Which would be sometime before the deadline next Friday. :)

[hushrong]

I’m in full Home Alone mode. Swinging paint cans and all!

[hushrong]

Cloak and Dagger

 

Despite the near limitless borders of the galaxy and the Imperium that upholds its claim upon it there are few unaware of the lauded history of the Ultramarines. Their selfless deeds and actions are testament to the Emperor’s vision for such noble warriors. Their intervention upon the battlefields of humanity is the stuff of legend and mythic epics. The retribution they have wrought against the heretic and traitor mercilessly has been in pursuit of the God Emperor’s ideals.

 

For over ten thousand years their history has been recorded and revered throughout the Imperium. However, there are tales and reports that have eluded and confounded even the Ultramarines themselves. The countless actions of Captain Amali Sauriph and his Battle Company are celebrated in no less than a two dozen sectors but entirely unknown to the Ultramarines Chapter and several watchful bodies of the Imperium.

 

After decades of research and investigation data would be compiled to bring to light a damning plot set against the agents of the Imperium.

 

---

 

The world of Hera Secundus and the hive cities that cover its surface celebrate and rejoice in their devotion to the God Emperor. Their citadels number in the tens of thousands and each filled with zealous followers and devotees. Giant statues of the God Emperor and his Saints, varying in colossal scales, can be seen from orbit. Religious fervor and support for the Ecclesiarchy in resources, wealth, and manpower have seen the planet blessed with favoritism and prosperity. However, even in the shadow of saints, chaos dwells in the hearts of few before spreading like a disease.

 

No hive is without its despair and the downtrodden and many turn to other powers to enrich their lives. For years cults would grow and fester as their ranks grew with influence. It would be too late when the Adeptus Arbites discovered the occult organizations that grew from small bands into organized militias able to challenge the powers of Hera Secundus. Upon their discovery of gruesome sacrifices and daemonic rituals the cult militias rose up in arms. Their desire to shed blood spurned on by the promise of great rewards from their new deities.

 

Hera Secundus was burning when Captain Sauriph and his shadow company had arrived. Their rage and fury barely contained upon the sight of the heretics and their acts of blasphemy. In conjunction with the Adeptus Arbites, the remaining Planetary Defense Forces, and loyal followers of the Imperial Faith they would crush the cult militias in open battle. They dragged the heretical preachers from their dens to the pyres as they screamed and begged for mercy. In nine months time the corruption of chaos was defeated and Hera Secundus delivered from threat of evil.

 

Although stating that upholding their service to the citizens of the Imperium was reward enough Captain Amali Sauriph requested two generations of the planets healthy, young males that remained. It would be recorded the Captain stating “the wars of the Emperor are many and we would me amiss to pass offering such an opportunity to serve Him on Terra with such glory” to the loyalist delegation. Unquestioningly and joyously Hera Secundus offered up its youth, a point of pride to have their sons possibly becoming Ultramarines. Thousands of young, mortal males would be taken to the war ships of the few Ultramarines warships in orbit before they would depart the system.

 

---

 

The Adeptus Mechanicus have spread far and as wide with the Imperium they are aligned with. It has also fallen victim to the predation of the same xeno species that challenges humanity’s right to rule. On Sigma Detrus Cyclonia, a manufactorum world, the Ork Waagh of Warboss Gash Nar’Slaash laid siege to its fortress factories. The Warboss’ forces sustaining minimal casualties against the manufactorums orbital and planetary defenses. With his Waagh’s considerable strength in power he wished to boost it further with the war engines produced on this human world. From the commonly used chassis of chimera and Leman Russ battle tanks to the rare armor of the Adeptus Astartes and God Machines of the titan legions were produced within Sigma Detrus Cyclonia forges. All of which were desired by their attacker.

 

Their walls and guns held the Orks at bay but with time and their near infinite greenskin ranks the defenders were collapsing under the siege. Already taking several foundries and factorums the Orks began to turn looted tanks and artillery against those who had earlier made them. They had even perverted the manufactorums to their own designs to produce the Killa Kans and odd weapons used by the xenos. It would only be a matter of time until Sigma Detrus Cyclonia would fall as their astropathic cries for help seemed to have gone unanswered.

 

Yet the arrival of Captain Amali Sauriph would herald the change in fortunes for both sides of the war. With his fleet in orbit conducting hit and run maneuvers against the ork naval blockade a considerable force had been sent to the surface. Shoring up defensives and using diversion tactics the Orks found themselves being pushed back and manipulated into devastating ambushes. More troublesome were the acts of sabotage and assassinations carried out against them. Weapons caches, motor pools, and fuel depots destroyed by unseen agents weakened their offensive capabilities. Nobz and the upper echelons of Ork hierarchy executed with an assassin’s bullet left vacuums for power struggles and infighting.

 

It would take another two years to put down the Waaagh with the death of their Warboss and the destruction of their fleet. More time and vigilance would be required to purge the spores to prevent the Orks completely but with the threat of invasion removed the planet could rebuild and resume operations. Upon completion of their mission Captain Amali Sauriph and his forces required rearming. Sets of armor, weapons, and ammunition would be given with great thanks to the Astartes saviors for their service to the Omnissiah’s holy manufactorums.

 

---

 

Captain Jebediah Ort had been the heir to the grant and title of the Ort Dynasty of rogue traders. The Ort Dynasty had served the Imperium loyally since their induction but that did not stop them from claiming whatever treasures they could harvest for personal gain. The captain had come across a fortune gathered from the dust of a lost empire and travelled to meet with an exchange broker  in illicit materials. Weapons, armor, and spirit stones of the Eldar had been traded for safe passage by an undisclosed benefactor. With such a bounty Jebediah and his crew made full sail to the world of Virituum’s Grace to unload their forbidden cargo. There were plenty of buyers of exotic Xenos trinkets and many willing to pay a hefty sum to collect them.

 

However, it would be Jebediah’s undoing. As he entered the outer sector his ships had come under fire. Hunters slipped from under the veil of the webway and assaulted the rogue trader and his small fleet. They fought desperately against greater numbers of agile xenos craft as they raced toward Virituum’s Grace with its battlefleet and orbital defenses. Eldar shadow and eclipse class cruisers assailed the rogue trader’s escorts with no mercy as they attempted to wound and slow Jebediah’s cruiser as to not risk its loss in a deadly explosion.

 

The Eldar had crippled their prey. Yet, despite their best efforts the rogue trader’s cruiser would make it to Virituum’s Grace and become ensnared in her orbit before being pulled down. The shipped would pierce into the layers of ice on the worlds frozen tundra and sending a shockwave hundreds of miles across the planet.

 

The Eldar failed in exacting a swift strike. In orbit the handful of ships that gave chase to the rogue trader would soon be joined by more as they battled against the lumbering warships of the Imperium. They would contend for control as they sent their warriors to the surface. There they would battle guardsmen who would defend their home against what they perceived as a xenos invasion. The battle would rage on for weeks. The elder faced what they had hoped would not come, a prolonged engagement with the forces of the Mon-Keigh.

 

---

 

The battle raged as neither side backed down and summoned reinforcements. In a neighboring system the Inquisition gathered their military might to aid against the xenos incursion. Within their fortress hidden beneath the burning sands of a death world no less than seven battalion cadres of Inquisitorial Stormtroopers had been mustered and to lead them fifty-four Inquisitors with their varying retinues. Though hailing from differing branches all would work as one to repel the xenos.

 

Lord Inquisitor Serith led the gathered council of fellow inquisitors, stormtrooper commanders, and several fleet officers in briefings of upcoming operations. Soon they would mobilize and load onto transports in orbit to ferry them to Virituum’s Grace. It was then the council doors were opened. Members of the Deathwatch entered the chamber. Their black armor bared the livery of various chapters and the battle damage of unrelenting combat. At the fore was Amali Sauriph, Shadow Captain of Ultramarines Chapter, who would lead his kill teams into battle.

 

The Lord Inquisitor stumbled in her briefing. She had served in her capacity for nearly two lifetimes, two lifetimes where she saw and fought back the terrors that assailed the Imperium. Yet the sight of the Astartes had caused her to skip a beat for a moment. She had laid plans, efforts were coordinated, and she and her forces were to rendezvous the Deathwatch on Virituum’s Grace’s surface. Not here in her fortress.

 

The knowledge of this location was only known to inquisitors only, not their Deathwatch allies.

 

Serith would not hesitate twice nor waste breath on questions as she reached for her needle pistol. Yet she could not match the Shadow Captain’s speed as he drew his bolt pistol and fired. The shell had struck her chest knocking her from her feet. Following the actions of their Shadow Captain the Deathwatch began to open fire upon the council. Yet not all of the mortals were their targets as several inquisitors and officers began to open fire on their colleagues.

 

In that moment a signal was broadcast to troops gathered in the fortress and awaiting in orbit. Stormtroopers fired upon their unsuspecting squad members and naval crew executed their officers to seize control of warships. As fire was exchanged in the council chamber Sauriph had made his way to Serith and held her in his arms. Her armor had absorbed the worst of the bolter shell but it had shattered and splintered into her chest. He drew his blade to give this loyal servant of the Emperor a quick death. He whispered in her ear as the blade kissed her flesh.

 

Within two hours the awaiting ships in orbit declared mission success to Amali Sauriph as he walked through the corridors of the fortress. His warriors and operatives nodded to him as they stacked the corpses of the fallen to clear way for the haulers. He made his way to the vault and ordered one of his operatives to his side ordering him to open the locks. The man entered his code as his biometrics was verified before the loud grinding of gears opened before him.

 

Shadow Captain Amali Sauriph and his operatives entered followed by the haulers to reap what was left within. It was then that the holo capture feeds had ceased.

 

---

 

Inquisitor Judah shut off the hololith as he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He had looked over the feeds for hours as his retinue combed the facility. He tried to watch everything he could and gain all knowledge he could gleam from them. All they had found was a battle damaged fortress, ashes of the dead, and supplies absconded. Let alone a vault containing all manner of forbidden artifacts and technology that had never been catalogued emptied.

 

He retraced the feed to when the Shadow Captain had entered the council chamber, the very room he sat in now. The Deathwatch appeared from nowhere before that yet when they were first recorded they had silenced and executed security personnel in their path. In some junctions Stormtroopers with blood soaked blades in hand had assisted in clearing the path for their astartes masters.

 

Judah looked around the council chamber, watching the slaughter take place in his mind. He saw Lord Sauriph draw his pistol in the blink of an eye and immediately fired. His astartes raised their stalker bolters picking off inquisitors and their retinues with surgical precision. Some inquisitors and henchmen turned on their own before joining in the massacre. As this decapitation strike occurred he recalled the feed of stormtroopers firing into the backs of their squadmates or pulling pins from bandoliers of grenades taking out dozens in a single blast. It was wholesale slaughter. Only the same could have happened upon the ships that were orbit, now long gone.

 

He retraced the feed again and paused as he saw Lord Sauriph cradle the Lord Inquisitor. Tarl, Seraphim, and Gustes entered the chamber in a loose band. They had spent hours going over the facility looking for evidence and compiling data and facts. They were the closest Inquisitoral force nearby when the fortress had gone silent and a call for investigation was given. They gathered around the inquisitor, looking at the image of the astartes holding their Lord Inquisitor.

 

What happened here? Exclaimed Seraphim. She played the feed and they watched as the astartes whispered into her ear before slitting her throat. What did he say to her?

 

Inquisitor Judah stepped away from the hololith. The operatives and few of the astartes present come from many worlds but the majority of them hail from Hera Secundus. They were armed and armored with Mechanicus arms from Sigma Detrus Cyclonia. And the infiltration and destruction of the fortress was their baptism of fire.

 

The feed died, scrubbed from the databanks, and they turned to look at their inquisitor with so many questions but they were greeted with the bark of his pistol. Tarl and Gustes lay dead and Seraphim lay dying. She was in shock as her body convulsed and blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Judah stood over her before kneeling and brushing her hair from her face.

 

He knelt down and whispered to her. I’m sorry it had to be this way, but the Inquisition will want answers for all of this and I am here to make certain they do not. While you searched for ghosts I repaired the detonator that failed when my brothers had left this place. We don’t have long.

 

Seraphim reached for his throat but she did not have the energy to squeeze the life from him. It was futile as the facility began to rock as detonations sounded off in the distance. They grew louder and their vibrations rocked the council chambers as more went off in thunderous explosions.

 

And to answer your final question, my Lord had whispered to her, Hydra Dominatus.

 

Background Info:

Started this as some background fluff for one of my 'infiltrator' squads of my Alpha Legion Cell. Cookie to anyone who can guess one more fun little secret in my story.

[brettfp]

I've been wanting to get involved with this for a while, but I've had a lack of motivation to write stuff/work on my chaos army. And the recent topics I haven't been able to figure out a way to work in my Ork force, but I've just started a Chaos cult gang for Necromunda which I've thought of a lot of background for, so hopefully I'll be writing soon :)

I know that Ambush! would work for a small gang, but unfortunately I don't really have time to write much this week, but hopefully next time!

[Kierdale]

Chaos Gangs...now that’s an idea (added to the topic list) ;)

[Kierdale]

Acoustics

Hidden Content

He squinted as he watched the horizon burn.

“What madness is this?” The question was rhetorical but his aide spoke up nonetheless.

“They are burning the forest, governor-general.”

From the ramparts of the West Keep they , and the hundreds of guardsmen who lined the wall, looked out across the plains - all detail swallowed by the darkness of night - out toward the forested mountains.

The Illway Crags were aflame.

Mechanicus surveyors had noted that far before the coming of Man to Ustaria, the Crags had been volcanic, and their violent eruptions had shaped the landscape as far as they eye could see. Neither governor-general Uthice nor any of his two hundred-odd predecessors had cared for this information beyond the fact that it had provided rich soil, from which came Ustaria’s boon, which in turn fed regiments across the sector.

But now he felt as if he were looking back through time to a time when the planet had been just forming, as fires rose from the mountain range stretched out before him.

“Madness,” he muttered once again.

Madness upon insanity, for the Enemy had made planetfall not in a spear-strike at his fortress, nor even here at the perimeter wall, but had come down in the Crags: a maze of valleys, ravines and switch-back gullies. He smirked as he wondered how many of their drop pods and gunships had fallen foul of the cloud-sheathed peaks.

And now they burned off what cover they had.

Whatever their unmentionable gods had granted them, they must have traded their sanity and tactical acumen for it.

“We sally forth at first light. Hellhounds and Banewolves to the fore.”

 

* * * * * *

Men coughed and choked on the thick smoke billowing from wrecked tanks. The walking wounded staggered about, hands to their ears. Blood trickled from ears, noses and even eyes. And those were the lucky ones. Those who had taken the brunt of the first salvo had collapsed to the ground, their innards near liquified by the concussive sonic blasts. Tremendous, horrendous noise that had reverberated through the Hellgorge. The vanguard had been engulfed in flame as the lead Hellhound’s promethium tanks had gone up, the destructive waves penetrating and setting them off. No crew had staggered from the hatches aflame, as so often happened after a tank kill, for they had been pulverised within their mount.

Those on foot whose bodies had not been broken, nor their nerves shaken, scanned the slopes with their rifles. The land was black from the inferno in the night. All plant matter had been burned away until all that remained were the granite walls of the gorge, twisting and rising up to almost touch overhead.

“Retreat! RETREAT!” Governor-general Uthice shouted into the vox as his Salamander began to reverse, his aide likewise shouting and gesturing frantically to those behind them in the convoy.

So many had been deafened by the initial blasts from the Enemy’s unknown weapons that the vox was near useless.

“BACK! BACK!” His aide jumped from the open topped command vehicle and began running back along the line of Chimeras and other tanks, gesturing madly into vision slits in an attempt to warn the deafened drivers.

There came a sound like wind, growing from a whisper to a howl, as if a mounting gust blew through the gorge. Too late, many of those those who had already been deafened clamped their hands to their ears and dove to the ground. Uthice too threw himself prone in his Salamander as another wave of sonic destruction swept over them. He realised now why the enemy has burned the Crags and drawn him and his men into what they had thought a perfect ambush: the winding ravines channeled the power of the Enemy’s foul weapons. They could strike without being seen. Without chance of failure.

He had been so confident. The Guard would have burned them out no matter where they hid, choked them out with gas-

A Banewolf went up as concussive waves of sound converged upon it.

“GAS!” Went up a terrified cry.

Rebreathers and even the seals of tank hatched were no protection against the corrosive cloud spat out by the vehicle’s explosion. The gas moved like water, as if gripped by a tide, as more and more sonic waves tore down the gorge.

The intensity grew, drowning out screams and explosions and as it swept over governor-general Uthice he rolled onto his back. He was deaf, with both blood and the straw-coloured liquid indicative of a fractured skull streaming from his ears. But before the toxic fumes turned his eyes to slurry he thought he spotted, on the highest peak of the Illway Crags, a lone figure, arms raised, conducting his doom.

The shaking, for he could now only feel the noise, grew to a crescendo and the walls of the Hellgorge came down upon them.

[Leonite]

Urgh, I've been busy, got a painting contest to enter and I've been lacking motivation. I'll need to bow out unless it returns.

[hushrong]

I think you can post work here even after deadlines if you want to share your work. You just have to cite what IF topic its for I believe.

 

Plus, new topic should be coming up at the end of the week so a 'reset button' is going to be happening. Then you have time to plan as the next deadline kicks in.

[Kierdale]

Indeed. If you have a story for a past theme, by all means do post it here, with the theme in the post title. :)

 

And there’ll be a new IG theme coming at the end of this week.

[Kierdale]

Thank you for your entries in Inspirational Friday 2018: Ambush!.

That there were only two entries was a little disappointing. Don’t tell me you don’t like dirty tactics? :D

Hushrong gave us Cloak and Dagger, a tale of the Alpha Legion. I liked the build up over battles, climaxing in the betrayal. And even in the betrayal scenes there were traitors where I hadn’t expected them! It well showed the insidious nature of the Legion.

Acoustics was my entry. I couldn’t let Hushrong go unchallenged, could I? An over confident Imperial governor-general discovers that what he believed was his foe’s mad folly was in fact them preparing the site of their ambush.

I hereby close that topic but if anyone has more stories on that theme, at any time, please post them here with a suitable title.

And here begins our eighth challenge of Inspirational Friday 2018: Chaos versus the T’au

Back in October 2015 we did The Primordial Annihilator versus the Greater Good, which Warsmith Aznable won, and though I am generally not keen on repeating old topics, due to popular demand -and new developments in T’au background- I’m setting Chaos versus the T’au as the next challenge of 2018.

Though the souls of this new race are faint and bland to the neverborn of the Warp, in comparison to the rich delicacies of humanity, that is not to say that daemons do not have cause to (or entertainment in) the corruption and harvesting of their souls.

And to the traitor legions and renegade chapters the armies of the T’au and their auxiliaries (both xenos and human!) are a formidable foe in battle.

Though this challenge is open to all entries which pit the forces of Chaos against those of the Greater Good, of particular interest perhaps is the xenos empire’s Fourth Expansion...

From Lexicanum:

Hidden Content

Ultimately, the Ethereal Council decided to renew the Tau's expansion with a dangerous plan. The AL-38 Slipstream Module was developed after many years of studying Imperial FTL technology. The new technology allowed for the Tau Fleet to move at incredible speeds and a new Sphere of Expansion was declared under the command of Commander Surestrike. Surestrike's armada gathered at Numenar Point, but due to the sheer size of the fleet to utilize Slipstream technology disaster struck. The multiple disruptions in reality caused by anti-matter fields created a chain reaction that created a massive wound in realspace. The rift swept across the Tau fleet, devouring it whole. The disaster was broadcast across the entire Tau Empire and the Etherealsscrambled to contain all knowledge of the catastrophe.

However, the Fourth Sphere was not entirely destroyed. Cast into a nightmarish dimension, 3/4ths of the fleet was destroyed by alien creatures not yet fully understood by the Tau. Saved from oblivion by a nightmarish entity within the Warp, the survivors eventually emerged Chalnath Expanse deep within the Imperium of Man. After many years, contact through the rift was reestablished using communications Drones. The Wormhole was dubbed Startide Nexus and was used to launch the Fifth Sphere of Expansion. The initial reemergence area of the Fourth Sphere has since been fortified into the Nem'yar Atoll.

What became of the Fourth Sphere's Auxiliarieshas since become a mystery. However rumors speak of mass expulsions and executions directed at any non-Tau within the surviving fleet. It has been theorized that this uncharacteristic action by the Tau was initiated after their trauma of what they had encountered within the Warp, somehow blaming the alien races for the catastrophe.

Survivors of the Fourth Sphere continue to have a dark reputation. Its contingents display a brutality and xenophobia uncharacteristic of the Tau. During the Fifth Sphere, Human prisoners were massacred and Auxiliaries were intentionally sacrificed in battle by Fourth Sphere survivors. The Massacre of the Dul'un Lakes and the Eight Days of Infamy are the most famous episodes from this controversy. Eventually, Shadowsun and the Ethereal Council disciplined the Fourth Sphere commanders with a ritual punishment known as the Malk'la before they were returned to the ranks or sent back to the empire for re-assimilation. After a massacre and bloody Krootuprising upon the colony of Ky'san, all auxiliaries were removed from contingents of Fourth Sphere Tau.

What fate befell those T’au vessels which did not emerge from the wormhole? And that those who did survive were tainted by their experiences is without doubt, but to what degree?

And how will the merging of the 4th Sphere’s survivors with those forces of the 5th influence the xenos’ latest plans?

Tell us a tale of Chaos versus the T’au Empire.

IF2018: Chaos versus the T’au runs until the fourth of May.

Let us be inspired.

And who shall judge this new challenge? That decision lies with our current judge: Barabbas Sogalon.

The winner of IF2018: Chaos versus the T’au shall claim not the Octed amulet:

...but the Amulet of Greater Good:

to protect and treasure or alternatively defile, as their mood and allegiance dictates...and the honour of judging the next challenge.

[Barabbas Sogalon]

Having put my judging hat on, I choose Hushrong as the winner of Ambush! I always like a good story about betrayal. Congratulations!

 

Now I need to find out how to kill off some Tau.

[hushrong]

Thank you! As I continue to garner gym badges other trainers beware! Hold on...*puts down mic. We are doing what? Xenocide on a galactic scale? Death the faux pesterer? Who?

 

Kidding aside I was just really happy that I could finish that story that I had left sitting in a folder on my desktop. And even more happy to share it. I wrote it for one of my Alpha Legionaires, Amali Sauriph, and just hoping to show off some clever machinations of his. For a future challenge to myself I think I want to write about my AL without involving ambushes, secrets, or surprises.

 

As for Tau I think I have an idea of what I want to do. I honestly don't know much about them except they look good under our boot. Also wanted to ask since fluff discussion seems permitted here: was there fluff regarding the Tau's first experience fighting against astartes? One of my buddies told me how Tau came across a squad of Black Templars and suffered horribly before killing them. I could never find that story but it sounded awesome. And I kind of want to go that route.

[Kierdale]

Why not drop a question in the BT or T’au forum?

[Trevak Dal]

Not familiar with that story (Tau vs Black Templar) there was one about an Apothecary of Dornian lineage I think having a close encounter with a battlesuit pilot (probably a ShasVre or ShasEl) asking about what he was doing to the dead marines, and extrapolated they were "harvesting some sort of genetic material" another marine tried to jack the Battlesuit, but got a lesson in Real Power Armor and got blow the :cuss away by a shoulder mounted Burst Cannon. The Battlesuit leaves the Apothecary alone and flies off, the Apothecary contacts his captain "Captain, I must speak with you at once" or something like that.

[Kierdale]

The Greater Evil

Hidden Content

The sight of the cracked and defaced Aquila in the largest of the settlements below had stayed his hand. Only that had prevented the commander from ordering the planet bombarded. That the symbol of the Imperium of Man had been devastated thus suggested that perhaps, just perhaps the humans of this remote world might not be blinded by the worship of their Creed, and might be open to the Greater Good. That it was upon the fringe of Imperial Space too was promising; so remote it might have forgotten the mad dogma of their `religion`.

Symbols he did not recognize had been carved into the kilometer-wide Aquila at the center of the city; one featured arrows splayed out from a point...the diplomat of the Water Caste – newly assigned to the commander’s ship – took the icon to represent the colonists’ desire for freedom and thus the commander gave the order to land.

 

* * * * * *

 

The diplomat had sent back a single report detailing the populace who had gathered: he had spoken with barely restrained excitement of the wretches that massed about his shuttle. Bodies so twisted in form that they were barely recognizable as Gue’la. Limbs bound in fetters and chains which penetrated the very flesh of their bodies, hobbling them. He reported that their expedition had brought them to a foul stain upon the alien Gue’la’s empire: a slave-world. And that he would meet with their leaders, on the commander’s behalf, to initiate their emancipation and entrance into the T’au Empire.

The commander had sat back, satisfied to let the Water Caste carry out their duty, and confident that, this close to the Imperium and the Great Rift, he and those of the Fire Caste aboard his vessel would see action soon enough. Kauyon or Mont’ka, he cared not which.

The Water Caste diplomat did not report in again.

 

* * * * * *

 

He did not know if it was lur’tae’mont or some form of ritual insanity but these people did not want freedom. They reveled in their bondage to madness. They mutilated each other, they mutilated themselves, carving strange symbols into their own flesh, cutting, peeling, chaining and pinning. He saw these Gue’la, these humans, carry out acts upon their own bodies which would have caused enough pain to make a Firewarrior faint, yet they exalted the agony. They basked in it and raised icons to their deity.

The first of these icons that the commander beheld was adorned with the defiled body of his diplomat. Not even the greenskinned Be’gel were so vicious – they might butcher a corpse but not...not this...none would have done such things to a body, living or dead, as these people had.

That they were free of the Creed of the Imperium was true, but they had been seized – nay, they had willingly, given themselves over to a far greater evil. They could not be converted. They could not be saved. The sacrilege they had committed left the commander with but one choice.

He had unleashed the Fire Caste.

 

* * * * * *

 

Of greater bulk than a power-armoured Gue’ron’sha, the enemy leader strode across the rubble-strewn battlefield, as oblivious to the screams of the dying as he was to the carpet of the dead he trod upon.

The commander watched this warrior, this lord who had sent wave upon wave of fanatics against the T’au forces before revealing his true Gue’ron’sha soldiers. True Gue’ron’sha was perhaps not quite the correct term, for the commander had fought Gue’ron’sha before and though brutal they had been cold and calculating...while these had been as mad as their cultists, and armed with weapons neither the commander nor any of his officers had ever encountered before. Neither projectile nor plasma nor laser, they had wreaked havoc and great devastation with mere sound.

Yet the T’au had outnumbered, outgunned and outthought them. And so the enemy leader now strode across the battlefield, the guns of both sides silent.

The commander would brook no parlay, no compromise. He was of the Fire Caste, not the Water. This leader would be stripped of his armour and executed. Then, perhaps, if any of his warriors saw sense... but a part of the commander burned to see them all dead. To see their bodies defiled as they had that of the Water Caste, and those of his men that had been captured in the months of battles since. He longed to see this world and all those on it burn. The deed done, he and his ship could move on from this accursed place, so close to the Great Rift.

 

The enemy leader’s armour made him akin to a walking tank. He was as big as a battlesuit, yet exhibited the typical Gue’la nonchalance for head protection: his face was covered with a mask of tanned leather with a muzzle-like vent over his mouth. His scalp was marked with trepanation scars like craters, and his right eye swollen, glowing a baleful green. His armour reflected the madness within, for it was not camouflaged as any sane warrior’s might be, but was – as was that of his followers – daubed in myriad hues from deep purple to pastel pink, and intricately decorated with blasted glyphs.

He came to a halt before a squad of Vespids, towering over the insectoids, who kept their blasters trained on him and moved to encircle him. As trained, the rest of the T’au divided themselves between keeping their guns on the leader too, and across the ruined city block toward the Enemy’s now-silent lines.

The commander stepped forward as his opposite number looked from the Vespids to the Firewarriors and battlesuits about him, to squads of Kroot, out across the battlefield and the dead, and finally back to the living T’au and met the commander’s gaze.

“Many of your people have died here, xenos.” The voice was surprisingly rich and the commander wondered at the purpose of the mask if it was not medicinal.

“More of yours.” He returned. The Gue’la tongue was simple. “But it is over.”

“Indeed. I have seen how you fight.”

This brought a smile to the thin alien’s face and he removed his helmet, handing it and his pulse rifle to the nearest Firewarrior.

“You are not so different from us,” the hulking warrior went on, at which the commander frowned, suddenly doubting his knowledge of the alien’s barbaric tongue. Servoes in the enemy’s great armour whined as he turned, gesturing with his great trophy-adorned axe to the bodies littering the battlefield.

“You are not afraid of sacrifice,” the brute continued, but shook its head, “But for the wrong reasons.”

I converse with a madman, the commander thought as it took in the lord of Chaos before it, the heads, flensed faces, and severed ears hanging from chains wrapped about the head of the great axe in its hands. He shook his head resolutely. “There is no purpose but the Greater Good. You-”

“I know of your Greater Good-“

The commander was about to interrupt when he noticed one of the skulls hanging from the axe. The narrow skull of a T’au, its crown neatly cut away as if to expose the brain.

“- and it is nothing worth fighting for.”

And I am no less mad for conversing with him. Let me finish this. “And what do you fight for?” he asked, his lip curling.

 

* * * * * *

 

Taunting laughter had heralded their arrival, claws cutting through the very fabric of reality as they poured forth from Vash’aun’an. The Realm Beyond.

As the lord of Chaos had raised his great axe and swept it about, emitting an ear-piercing cry from his masked mouth they had come as if called.

Instinctively he had ordered the Vespids to the air and the Kroot to engage while the Firewarriors withdrew and the battlesuits sought higher ground. Insectile screeches had joined the chorus of Chaos as daemonettes had leapt into the sky, pulling the winged aliens from the sky and tearing them limb from limb. And they had danced merrily as they traded blows with the Kroot. Screaming in ecstatic pain as blades and clubs rent their lilac flesh.

 

The tide had turned.

“Pain, commander. Excess,” the voice breathed. He could no longer see the other, his eyes having been plucked out when they had caught him. “The mad drive to satiate an insatiable hunger. To surpass every sensation. To devour the richest of souls! That, commander, is why you strive and fail. We were once like you: denying all but duty. I bade my men cast off honour, sorrow, joy...all. But the Prince of Chaos showed me the true way. Embrace it. Embrace it all and desire more.”

 

 

T’au Lexicon

Hidden Content

Gue’la – Human

Lur’tae’mont – burnout, war madness or shell shock

Be’gel – Orks

Gue’ron’sha – Space marines

Vash’aun’an – the Warp[/hidden]

[Gederas]

The Greater Evil

Hidden Content

The sight of the cracked and defaced Aquila in the largest of the settlements below had stayed his hand. Only that had prevented the commander from ordering the planet bombarded. That the symbol of the Imperium of Man had been devastated thus suggested that perhaps, just perhaps the humans of this remote world might not be blinded by the worship of their Creed, and might be open to the Greater Good. That it was upon the fringe of Imperial Space too was promising; so remote it might have forgotten the mad dogma of their `religion`.

Symbols he did not recognize had been carved into the kilometer-wide Aquila at the center of the city; one featured arrows splayed out from a point...the diplomat of the Water Caste – newly assigned to the commander’s ship – took the icon to represent the colonists’ desire for freedom and thus the commander gave the order to land.

 

 

 

* * * * * *

The diplomat had sent back a single report detailing the populace who had gathered: he had spoken with barely restrained excitement of the wretches that massed about his shuttle. Bodies so twisted in form that they were barely recognizable as Gue’la. Limbs bound in fetters and chains which penetrated the very flesh of their bodies, hobbling them. He reported that their expedition had brought them to a foul stain upon the alien Gue’la’s empire: a slave-world. And that he would meet with their leaders, on the commander’s behalf, to initiate their emancipation and entrance into the T’au Empire.

The commander had sat back, satisfied to let the Water Caste carry out their duty, and confident that, this close to the Imperium and the Great Rift, he and those of the Fire Caste aboard his vessel would see action soon enough. Kauyon or Mont’ka, he cared not which.

The Water Caste diplomat did not report in again.

 

 

* * * * * *

He did not know if it was lur’tae’mont or some form of ritual insanity but these people did not want freedom. They reveled in their bondage to madness. They mutilated each other, they mutilated themselves, carving strange symbols into their own flesh, cutting, peeling, chaining and pinning. He saw these Gue’la, these humans, carry out acts upon their own bodies which would have caused enough pain to make a Firewarrior faint, yet they exalted the agony. They basked in it and raised icons to their deity.

The first of these icons that the commander beheld was adorned with the defiled body of his diplomat. Not even the greenskinned Be’gel were so vicious – they might butcher a corpse but not...not this...none would have done such things to a body, living or dead, as these people had.

That they were free of the Creed of the Imperium was true, but they had been seized – nay, they had willingly, given themselves over to a far greater evil. They could not be converted. They could not be saved. The sacrilege they had committed left the commander with but one choice.

He had unleashed the Fire Caste.

 

 

 

* * * * * *

Of greater bulk than a power-armoured Gue’ron’sha, the enemy leader strode across the rubble-strewn battlefield, as oblivious to the screams of the dying as he was to the carpet of the dead he trod upon.

The commander watched this warrior, this lord who had sent wave upon wave of fanatics against the T’au forces before revealing his true Gue’ron’sha soldiers. True Gue’ron’sha was perhaps not quite the correct term, for the commander had fought Gue’ron’sha before and though brutal they had been cold and calculating...while these had been as mad as their cultists, and armed with weapons neither the commander nor any of his officers had ever encountered before. Neither projectile nor plasma nor laser, they had wreaked havoc and great devastation with mere sound.

Yet the T’au had outnumbered, outgunned and outthought them. And so the enemy leader now strode across the battlefield, the guns of both sides silent.

The commander would brook no parlay, no compromise. He was of the Fire Caste, not the Water. This leader would be stripped of his armour and executed. Then, perhaps, if any of his warriors saw sense... but a part of the commander burned to see them all dead. To see their bodies defiled as they had that of the Water Caste, and those of his men that had been captured in the months of battles since. He longed to see this world and all those on it burn. The deed done, he and his ship could move on from this accursed place, so close to the Great Rift.

 

The enemy leader’s armour made him akin to a walking tank. He was as big as a battlesuit, yet exhibited the typical Gue’la nonchalance for head protection: his face was covered with a mask of tanned leather with a muzzle-like vent over his mouth. His scalp was marked with trepanation scars like craters, and his right eye swollen, glowing a baleful green. His armour reflected the madness within, for it was not camouflaged as any sane warrior’s might be, but was – as was that of his followers – daubed in myriad hues from deep purple to pastel pink, and intricately decorated with blasted glyphs.

He came to a halt before a squad of Vespids, towering over the insectoids, who kept their blasters trained on him and moved to encircle him. As trained, the rest of the T’au divided themselves between keeping their guns on the leader too, and across the ruined city block toward the Enemy’s now-silent lines.

The commander stepped forward as his opposite number looked from the Vespids to the Firewarriors and battlesuits about him, to squads of Kroot, out across the battlefield and the dead, and finally back to the living T’au and met the commander’s gaze.

“Many of your people have died here, xenos.” The voice was surprisingly rich and the commander wondered at the purpose of the mask if it was not medicinal.

“More of yours.” He returned. The Gue’la tongue was simple. “But it is over.”

“Indeed. I have seen how you fight.”

This brought a smile to the thin alien’s face and he removed his helmet, handing it and his pulse rifle to the nearest Firewarrior.

“You are not so different from us,” the hulking warrior went on, at which the commander frowned, suddenly doubting his knowledge of the alien’s barbaric tongue. Servoes in the enemy’s great armour whined as he turned, gesturing with his great trophy-adorned axe to the bodies littering the battlefield.

“You are not afraid of sacrifice,” the brute continued, but shook its head, “But for the wrong reasons.”

I converse with a madman, the commander thought as it took in the lord of Chaos before it, the heads, flensed faces, and severed ears hanging from chains wrapped about the head of the great axe in its hands. He shook his head resolutely. “There is no purpose but the Greater Good. You-”

“I know of your Greater Good-“

The commander was about to interrupt when he noticed one of the skulls hanging from the axe. The narrow skull of a T’au, its crown neatly cut away as if to expose the brain.

“- and it is nothing worth fighting for.”

And I am no less mad for conversing with him. Let me finish this. “And what do you fight for?” he asked, his lip curling.

 

 

 

* * * * * *

Taunting laughter had heralded their arrival, claws cutting through the very fabric of reality as they poured forth from Vash’aun’an. The Realm Beyond.

As the lord of Chaos had raised his great axe and swept it about, emitting an ear-piercing cry from his masked mouth they had come as if called.

Instinctively he had ordered the Vespids to the air and the Kroot to engage while the Firewarriors withdrew and the battlesuits sought higher ground. Insectile screeches had joined the chorus of Chaos as daemonettes had leapt into the sky, pulling the winged aliens from the sky and tearing them limb from limb. And they had danced merrily as they traded blows with the Kroot. Screaming in ecstatic pain as blades and clubs rent their lilac flesh.

 

The tide had turned.

“Pain, commander. Excess,” the voice breathed. He could no longer see the other, his eyes having been plucked out when they had caught him. “The mad drive to satiate an insatiable hunger. To surpass every sensation. To devour the richest of souls! That, commander, is why you strive and fail. We were once like you: denying all but duty. I bade my men cast off honour, sorrow, joy...all. But the Prince of Chaos showed me the true way. Embrace it. Embrace it all and desire more.”

 

T’au Lexicon

Hidden Content

Gue’la – Human

Lur’tae’mont – burnout, war madness or shell shock

Be’gel – Orks

Gue’ron’sha – Space marines

Vash’aun’an – the Warp

You know, when I was reading that story.... I was honestly feeling like I was reading a Black Library fluff piece.

 

And then I got to this point:

The enemy leader’s armour made him akin to a walking tank. He was as big as a battlesuit, yet exhibited the typical Gue’la nonchalance for head protection: his face was covered with a mask of tanned leather with a muzzle-like vent over his mouth. His scalp was marked with trepanation scars like craters, and his right eye swollen, glowing a baleful green. His armour reflected the madness within, for it was not camouflaged as any sane warrior’s might be, but was – as was that of his followers – daubed in myriad hues from deep purple to pastel pink, and intricately decorated with blasted glyphs.

That's when I realized this was the Psychopomps versus T'au Good lord man.

 

Side note: Crap. Now I don't know what to do, because I was planning on having Emperor's Children fighting T'au, but you just did that much better :lol:

 

Side note: Thank you for the easy reference T'au lexicon :lol:

[Kierdale]

Not at all!

I’d love to see an EC one. The Psychopomps aren’t the Emperor’s Children - though I could have emphasised their differences more in the story, beyond the description of lord Sophusar, and the mention of them being former ultra-ascetics.

 

Because I did a Slaanesh one doesn’t rule out more :)

 

Which reminds me: there will be a ‘when old meets new’ theme at some point...

[Gederas]

Not at all!

I’d love to see an EC one. The Psychopomps aren’t the Emperor’s Children - though I could have emphasised their differences more in the story, beyond the description of lord Sophusar, and the mention of them being former ultra-ascetics.

 

Because I did a Slaanesh one doesn’t rule out more :)

 

Which reminds me: there will be a ‘when old meets new’ theme at some point...

True, true :lol:

 

I did have an idea of the T'au being the fortunate(?) ones who meet Legion for the first time.... Hmm....

[hushrong]

Grim Discovery

 

He had read the reports and had seen the visual recordings. The reports detailing a gue’vasa warship that tore from the warp, listing in the void amongst a patrol fleet. Recordings of their boarding parties sent to claim that ship. They had sent their own contingent of gue’vasa auxiliaries with the warriors of the fire caste. They believed they could assist in navigating the vessel, proclaim the Greater Good to their fellow species, and to serve as fodder if that failed.

 

Fifty had been sent aboard the ship and thirty-two of them had died there. Yet they did not die at the hands of defenders. The malnourished, mutated dregs of their species armed with all manner of tools and blades. No, they had died by their own hands. Some turned against another and some turned their weapons on themselves. The other eighteen had been summarily executed after displaying…severe aversion to normalcy and disobeying orders.

 

No prisoners were taken and nothing of note had been discovered. Save for what now laid before Fio’El Griya. He held his arms outstretched as his dissection serfs robed him and placed his arms and hands in large, four-fingered gloves. His helm and faceplate were placed upon his head and he looked down upon the precious prize before him, a genetically engineered machine of war: Gue’Ron’Sha.

 

He had dissected only four of its kind so it was a great honor to be asked to do so again. However, he felt there were fewer options for command so far from their worlds. He could feel their eyes upon him from the observatory that overlooked his facility. Griya paid little attention to them. As he began recording his own notes a machine resembling a multi-legged insect descended from the ceiling bearing all manners of illumination and tools.

 

Before taking any of his implements he ran his gloved fingers over the Gue’Ron’Sha, the altered humans built for war, their dreaded space marines. Its armor was course and burned black. The bare metals rusted and oxidized. A faint feeling of sickness lingered on the back of the Fio’El’s throat perhaps it was the stench of rot from the engineered warrior. Yet something more was there.

 

He made notes of the bone-like growths coming from the armor and flesh-like webbing on the soft armored joints. Most disturbing was its right arm ended in a toothed blade of its armor and bone where it joined the rest of its arm in a fusion of bleeding flesh. Though he could count the amount of these heavily augmented and armored specimens he had studied personally on one hand everything about this subject was off.  Then he heard it.

 

The sensors and monitors did not acknowledge it but he heard the repeated thumps of heartbeats. He placed his hands on the armored torso. They looked childlike while he waited to feel the rhythm of the heart beats he had heard. Then he felt one immediately followed by another. He reached for his plasma scalpel and began to cut into the armor. As he cut through the first layer of ceramite he could not get past the thick tissues of flesh weaved in between the plates of armor.

 

This confused and baffled the Fio’El as no other Gue’Ron’Sha armor incorporated flesh. He had clamped and opened the cut into the armor before probing with his fingers. Griya could feel the heartbeats but also a pulse in the flesh woven armor. Then he felt a bite. He pulled his hand free to see the rubberized glove torn and his finger bleeding. He could hear his facility lesser gasp as he saw the opening widen like a maw.

 

The space marine’s armor split wider open, revealing rows of teeth that had once been solid plates of armor and bone to defend its internal organs. Tentacles whipped wildly from the opening before extending and wrapping around Griya. They began to pull him into the Gue’Ron’Sha. He screamed until his skull was crushed in the maw of bone and armor.

 

The corpse began to convulse and tore free of its shackles. Its bones cracked as the flesh of human, daemon, and armor began to intertwine and reshape itself. Another blade sprouted from its right arm to form a large pincer. The vox grille of its armor had split open forming hooked mandibles before bellowing a reality-warping roar. Fully changed into its war-form the possessed marine began to maul and feast upon the flesh of the xenos in its midst.

 

--

 

The armored panels of the observatory shut close as warning sirens began blaring across the ship. Fire warriors would come pouring in and many would die trying to subdue the monster aboard the ship. The commanders who watched it all unfold began to question what other horrors the galaxy contained that they had yet to discover. Quietly, some wondered if the Greater Good could prevail against it.