[Black Templars] + Crusade Fleet Exonerator + The Beacon Is Lit +

[Adeptekon]

Moving my Homebrew to B&C, I welcome any thoughts:

 

+++ The Beacon Is Lit +++

 

Crusader Fleet 'Exonerator', an assembly of Black Templar strike cruisers called forth to lead a squadron of allied Imperial battleships in pursuit of the most criminal Orks. In particular Orks who slayed the Emperor's Champion: Barrion 'The Blackblade'. Barrion, the champion of the formerly named Crusader Fleet 'Retributor' (of Armageddon), under Marshall Mihilas. The Battlefleet was made up of two companies of Black Templars, a small contingent of Veteran Armageddon Steel Legionaries with armored vehicles, and a Militant Interrogator unit from the Inquisition employing a rag-tag bunch of Ork Hunter mercenaries.

Crusader Fleet 'Retributor' was a force tasked with exacting swift punishment on, and the eradication of all Ork encampments and pirate outposts in the Armageddon Subsector. With the untimely slaying of 'The Blackblade' the Retributor mission of justice and liberation became one of relic retrieval and retaliation on a deeply personal level for the Templar Brotherhood. Despite significant losses against the Orks the Templar fighting companies quickly reformed, and reinforced under the banner of a new sanctioned crusade: 'Exonerator'.

Battlefleet Exonerator would be spearheaded by Emperor's Champion 'Machidiel', a young Initiate elevated to the rank after deemed of exceptional skill, and heroic in many deeds for his age. Machidiel would be the tactical spear of the operation, while the Castellans in council with the Chaplain 'Tyfor' assumed strategic direction and company command for Marshall Mihilas. Mihilas, suffering mortal injury aiding our fallen Emperor's Champion could no longer lead it.

Severly mauled, Marshall Mihilas valiantly defended Barrion's body from further desecration by the Orks. Orks, who managed to steal off with the sacred blackblade. Now our Marshall lay in critical care of medics on the Battlebarge. This new crusade would be sent out in penance to avenge our fallen hero's honor, to vindicate our Marshall's sacrifice, and to bring the blackblade of Barrion back to the Battlebarge for re-consecration.

This Endeavor would however not see fruition as the Armageddon Sector succumbed to warp storms with the opening of the 'Great Rift', which caused great galactic upheaval. The Crusaders would be thrown off course in this violent celestial event, and were now lost, scattered among the stars.

Of Those Ships which did not perish, albeit suffering significant damage found themselves re-distributed somewhere off in the Segmentum Obscura; worse still in the immediate vicinity of a massive unidentified Xenos Armada out numbering the crusaders one hundred to one. Certainly, facing down the Xenos force against overwhelming odds would have made an honorable death, yet their duty was not for their redemption alone. Their duty was to the reputation of The Legion, to a Representative of The God Emperor, our fallen Brother and his noble legacy; for Barrion died facing down the Ork. With his (now missing) blackblade, Barrion fell scores of the troglodytes that dared to engage our forces head on. It is imperative the Templars regroup with their brethren and return to the cause.

The Battered Crusaders acted quickly, attempting an evasion with hopes of reuniting with their lost comrades, but were followed by Xenos scouts which rained fire down upon their already compromised cruisers. The survivors managed to escape in a crash landing on an adjacent, believed to be ancient, Terran-like world. Marshall Mihilas, the Castellans, the Chaplain, along with many battle brothers, and several of their Imperial allies perished. Numerous arms, equipment, and supplies were lost as well.

The remaining Templars re-organize, and elect the Judiciar 'Brahm Dahm', the senior most member of considerable wisdom and standing on his way to becoming a Chaplain, as the stand-in Marshall. Brahm acknowledging the urgent need of leadership over the crusade, agreed it would be just cause to break his vow of silence and assume temporary command.

Judiciar Dahm, Michidiel, and two surviving Sword Brethren survey the wreckage and assess the damage that lay before them. Judiciar Dahm initiates a roll call of survivors, and orders the servitors to take an inventory of salvageable items. Machidiel, and the Sword Brothers split up, each leading a scouting party to identify any nearby threats and locate a safe place to establish a base camp. The Tech Marine and Artificer address repairs, while "The Hospitaller" (as his fighting company refers to him, otherwise known as the Apothecary), tends the wounded, and gathers the dead.

The Templars then divvy up to carry out the tasks at hand. Once separated the Templar scouting parties find themselves harassed by primitives with bows and other projectiles who they ultimately repel with little effort. Later as the Templars reunite and begin to share the news of their encounters, they are alerted by one of the neophytes keeping watch that the primitives have returned, except this time, they appear to be leading a formidably armed Techno-Barbarian war party riding ATVs.

With gestures from the on comers indicating the warriors come in peace, The Templars receive the Warlord as their camp subsequently becomes surrounded. The Warlord following introductions in a distant, but discernable tongue demands they surrender their best weapons and become his vassals in exchange for servants and supplies if they will join his warband.

The Judiciar rejects these demands outright, proclaiming aloud "IN THE NAME OF THE GOD EMPEROR", up he swung the 'TERMINUS ULTIMERE', the executioner's blade, and before him to and fro. Brahm, Machidiel, and the Sword Brethren charge into the Warlord's bodyguards who are disrupted and dispersed. A ferocious fire fight ensues that ends with the Templars driving back the bewildered heathens from whence they came.

With the dark fast approaching the Templars forgo any further action choosing instead to shelter in place. They secure a defensive position among the wreckage and place neophytes around the perimeter remaining on alert throughout the night.

Following the battle with the Templars, the routed Warlord, he and his wounded warband, humiliated in front of their subjects, are enraged. The Warlord swears vengeance and sends forth messengers to all chieftains within his domain. The messengers speed off on bikes with the intent to recruit the greatest skilled warriors from all vassal tribes. For this will not be a battle fought by levies, but rather one requiring the greatest, most battle-hardened of warriors.

[Adeptekon]

As the warband of techno-barbarians flee into the sunset, the land grew dim. To every camp and fort the messengers rode forth, bearing the Warlord’s command: gather arms and call up your champions for there are giants. Tribe answered tribe, clan called to clan; the plains stirred with the slow gathering of men and machinery.

The nomads of the plains were the first to receive the word. The chieftain was silent in receiving the order, the chieftain raised his spear and with a nod his answer was given. He and all his warriors will ride out to meet these intruders. The cheiftain sends riders to rally the warbands.

Later as the warbands arrive they merge their vehicles in a wide defensive circle. Camps go up quickly, the tribes begin to mingle; and soon the plain erupts into dance with the beat of war-drums. Bonfires are lit ablaze; the men, their rifles raised, fire skyward shots, while the women wail and whirl about, waving torches aloft. At dawn the nomadic federation will ride forth to repel the armored giants and claim their spoils.

Next the messengers set out to beseech the Prime of the Clouded Throne. The Prime, more ally than a mere subject, lords over many tribes of primitives, he employs henchmen, tech specialists, and hires mercenaries, but by far his greatest pride are his cloned creations who serve a variety of purposes within and external to his household. The Fortress of the Clouded Throne is guarded by many hundreds if not thousands of baboons and gelada monkeys of which the emissaries must pass through.

The messengers follow a treacherous road until they are forced to continue on foot. The Prime is already aware of their coming; his beastly minions are commanded not to harm but to escort them. The path narrows and twists back and forth as it climbs into the mist, the baboons following closely, eyes keen for any sudden movement.

At last the path opens onto a narrow bridge spanning two sheer cliffs. Across the chasm looms the mountain stronghold hewn directly from the living rock, seamless and flawless, every angle and line cut with obsessive precision. Observant baboons perched upon the rocky outcrops that frame the great entrance move to escort the men inside.

The Prime sits upon his throne of white stone, flanked on either side by giant, silent, watchful cyborg baboons. Of his monkey host only the fierciest of males, greastest in size, both wise and intelligent are selected to guard his throne room. Once brought before him, The Prime gestures the men near and hears their request. He then stands and focuses his left crystalline eye onto them looking them up and down as if to confirm they are who they say.

For a moment only the mountain breeze is heard. The Prime looks out over his wildlands and inhales deep, the cliffs and valleys answer with a chorus of howls, screams, and cries. The menacing bodyguard about him rear up on hindlegs, bearing their teeth, they huff, and bark. The beastly legion attuned to his thought share a neural link with The Prime, ever ready to answer his command.

If ferocity is not enough, then numbers alone should spell the ending of these arrogant, bumbling astronauts so foolish to engage with our alliance states the Prime to the messengers.

Traveling many miles through the night, the messengers finally return to the Techno-barbarian compound. The Warlord and all his men make ready. From great steel hangars they drive out in armored transports mounted with heavy-calibre guns. The warriors wear layered scrap-armour bolted over thick hides, faces hidden behind welded visors, stub-rifles in their hands. The Warlord raises his gauntlet and bellows a single word: “Revenge!” He points towards the crash site. Engines roar to life, and as the warband rides out like a whirl wind the arid flats tremble beneath the tread of their vehicles...